#band au: post canon

[theartistknownaslymond]

As yet untitled Jerott/Danny...something. Flungst? Angff?

Still not writing anything anyone actually asked me for smh...

Setting: post-Checkmate by four or five years, so early-mid-'90s

Characters: Jerott Blyth, Danny Hislop

Background (for more on the characters in the band AU, see notes at the end of the fic): During his relationship with Peder, Jerott got accustomed to travelling to Denmark via Paris - it made the journey longer but it was an opportunity to see his mum and to catch up with Danny. Danny helped him navigate his first openly queer relationship and was there to try and help Jerott not relapse too badly when he broke up with Peder. Even though Jerott doesn't need to go to Paris so often now, he still does - just for a few days every couple of months - so he can see his mother and see Danny and maybe record some music with Danny or play a couple of gigs. The vibe is Married and they just don't know it - but Jerott always seems to have some pretty young thing he's dating after meeting them at a movie premier or something, so Danny figures they just don't stand a chance. It's really just never occurred to Jerott that Danny would be interested in him because surely Danny is far too wordly and experienced to think of Jerott like that.

They do not get together in this fic, but the idea is that it can't be too long afterwards tbh.

CWs: reference to severe weight loss from illness; references to the AIDS pandemic and deaths, plus associated horrors (families not letting friends grieve, doctors not wanting to touch patients, general relentless misery of losing so many people/worrying about the obituaries). Also gratuitous descriptions of food.

---

Outside the metro station, Jerott slung an arm over Danny's shoulder and pressed his friend close for a hug. As he turned his face to present each cheek for Danny's kisses and suppressed a cough at the cloud of Chanel he was greeted with, he noticed the difference in the body beneath his hold.

"Alright - Jesus you're skinny, Danny!" he pulled back and let his hand remain on the shoulder of his friend's jacket, squeezing gently to confirm the contours he'd felt - bone and sinew far closer to the surface than he remembered.

Danny tossed their chin and twitched an eyebrow, grey eyes dark and hooded. "Oh, merci, he's in early with the compliments this time. What have you done now, doudou?"

Jerott studied Danny more closely: they were immaculately styled as always, but the silk blouse and the corduroy waistcoat beneath Danny's jacket hung unevenly against their body, implying a rumpled and gappy silhouette beneath the folds of the Burberry trenchcoat. The lines around the top of their voluminous trousers hinted at a belt cinched tighter than the fabric had been tailored for. Danny's face was sharper than Jerott remembered, too: the jaw almost uncompromisingly square, cheeks a little hollow beneath a subtle hint of pink blush.

"It wasn't a compliment..." Jerott said with the frankness that Danny expected of him. "You look like shit. What's up?"

Danny's brows shot up at Jerott's pronouncement and they looked down at him with a half-vexed smirk. "I look like shit?"

"You look like shit," Jerott nodded.

It was guaranteed to get a rise, and thus guaranteed to provoke some measure of honesty. Besides, even if it wasn't entirely true - Danny could have styled a Saturday morning midden outside a chip shop into something quirky and compelling - it was still true that Jerott preferred to see Danny with softer edges, more of a curious, assessing twinkle in their eye, more warmth beneath the pale tones of their skin. In general - healthier. It was a natural way to feel about one's friend, Jerott supposed.

Danny's eyes narrowed and their shoulder moved a little beneath Jerott's touch. Their lips - a natural pink that looked too pale, especially when one was used to Danny's array of neon-bright lipsticks - pursed a little and finally, shortly, Danny replied, "I've been ill. I'm fine now, thank you for your concern."

Jerott's hand tightened on Danny's shoulder again and his jaw shifted. He didn't manage to get a word out before Danny added, "It's not that. It's not. I've had so much blood taken for tests I don't think I'd feed a midge. I'm fine now, really Jerott."

Jerott noted that his heart had quickened anyway - he'd heard from Francis that Turkey had recently taken a turn for the worse as the weather cooled; he'd had Dagbladet Børsen delivered to his newsagent in Glasgow for several years now and he read the obituaries in a state of suppressed terror once a week, faithful to people he no longer knew, sometimes catching himself praying to distant gods that he wouldn't read a name he recognised there. He regretted the scientific understanding that had almost led him into a different career and now called him to spend sleepless nights poring over articles in medical journals, because it was that or give in to the whiskey again.

He swallowed and made himself take a deep breath - he'd not realised how much worry he attached to Danny and their defiant, flamboyant Marais lifestyle in the present context. But there, for a moment, he'd felt like the street had opened up beneath his feet and the air had turned to hot ash in his lungs.

"Ok. Good. What was it then?"

Danny's eyes had widened again and light seemed to have returned to their pale irises. They smiled crookedly, but it was more fond than defensive now. "Believe me, doudou, you don't want the details. Just some bug." Danny turned away and began walking down the pavement, strolling slowly enough that Jerott had time to light a cigarette and catch up.

"Some bug?" he repeated in a mutter around his filter, making a show of returning his fags and his lighter to his jacket pockets and wondering whether Danny had noticed how worried he'd been, or if he'd managed to hide it.

"Mm," Danny agreed, gazing performatively up at the rooftops of the buildings they passed and ignoring the odd cry of recognition from passers by. "Not helped, of course, by the fact that half the people I know do have it. I'm so bored of funerals, Jerott. Stressed and tired and literally sick of them."

Jerott took an involuntarily sharp inhalation and coughed at the way the smoke prickled in his throat. He grimaced and glared at the pavement, and decided, savagely, that he needed to do something about this - he'd never once in the years they'd known each other heard Danny's voice thrum with such brittle rage.

"You know what, Danny? Screw the market. There's a place yemma and I always eat at not far from here. I'm taking you there to get some proper food in you."

Danny stopped walking and blinked at him with limpid eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Algerian. Tagine, couscous, dips, bread?"

Danny still looked like they were trying to figure something out, but Jerott's brows rose and he pointed at the front of their waistcoat. A distinct growl had emerged from that flat belly at the mention of bread. "I heard that. Come on - we can go to the market afterwards."

Danny's frown deepened and they pressed their lips together, but then they nodded and shrugged. "Yeah. Yeah ok, lead on." Their voice sounded somewhat strangled to Jerott, like there was some undefined emotion trying to escape Danny's fearsome, formidable control over it.

Two silent streets later, when Jerott had finished his cigarette, Danny sounded more like themselves again: "So, will I finally get to meet dear yemma there?"

"No," Jerott eyed Danny and smiled knowingly. "Kahina doesn't just...hang around in cafés, Danny. We eat here together when she's visiting family in the dixneuvième."

"Ugh, then what's the point?" Danny exclaimed dramatically. "You want me to believe you sprang fully formed from the brutalist architecture, doudou, but the woman who made you what you are exists somewhere in Paris, and one day I will meet her!"

Jerott smirked tolerantly and stepped into the entrance of a building to hold the door open for his friend. "The point is -"

He didn't need to finish, as Danny's hands were clasped against their chest and they were already exclaiming rapturously as they walked into the restaurant: "Oh, do you smell that?"

The owner, recognising Jerott, approached to make small talk about his mother, and Danny listened thirstily, totally unconcerned by the proprietor's less-than-subtle attempts to suss out their identity. They introduced themself with a shark-like grin and shook the owner's hand: «Danny. I'm Jerott's friend.»

Jerott closed his eyes briefly and sighed at the effortless way Danny fudged the pronunciation of the word ami(e), so that it might even have been any one of several similar terms meaning lover or darling. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and smiled stiffly at the owner. «Danny's in the band I play in. Danny knows Lymond and played in Russia with him.»

The owner nodded and attempted his own, reassured, smile, and he did not flinch from Danny's enthusiastic handshake. «Another...» he had been about to say 'musician' Jerott supposed, but ran instantly into another question of conjugation. His moustache twitched. «You play an instrument, like Sidi Blyth. How nice. What do you play?»

«All sorts,» Danny chirped happily. «I like synthesisers, but woodwind is my first love.» Their eyes roved over the decor of the restaurant, past rugs and lamps to seek out the guitars and percussion instruments the owners had salvaged when fleeing their home and now displayed in pride of place. «You don't have woodwind instruments here?» Danny gestured to the wall.

«No,�� the owner answered with some relief. He showed them to the table upstairs that Jerott usually shared with his mother.

Over mint tea, as they waited for the selection of dishes Jerott had ordered, Jerott watched Danny gaze out of the window to the other side of the street, their long, freckled fingers tapping on the tablecloth in time with the frantic beat of the music playing from a cassette deck in the corner of the room. The midday autumn light was drawn to the crystal pendant of Danny's earring, and faint spots of rainbow colour were cast in fragments across Danny's cheek. It occurred to Jerott all over again how tiresome it was that anyone bothered trying to define Danny - once he'd learned a way of speaking around the need for masculine or feminine conjugations, Jerott had soon forgotten how clunky he'd found it to begin with. He'd simply become used to Danny as a singular aspect of the world - language rearranged itself around Danny, and Jerott saw no reason why it shouldn't.

Generally, though, Danny didn't care what pronouns strangers used. Danny had made their resilience and self-awareness key aspects of their personality, and Jerott reminded himself that Danny was steely enough to have survived being perceived - in whatever way they had been perceived - by Soviet Russia.

But sometimes, Jerott had begun to realise, the carefully constructed armoury of Danny's identity grew heavy in the face of others' engagement with it. And now Danny did look drawn - bruised by recent sadnesses, nervy about what might come next, both younger and older than Jerott had seen them look.

"Have you had Algerian before, Danny?" Jerott asked, summoning Danny's attention away from the flock of pigeons on the opposite building's roof.

Danny smiled fleetingly and took a sip of tea, then paused to look Jerott over with a more customary, lascivious flick of their lashes. "Not for want of trying..."

Jerott rolled his eyes. "How have you lived in Paris for over a decade and never tried Algerian food?"

"Maybe I've just been waiting for a recommendation from an expert," Danny said snippily. "You always did curries back when we were recording Checkmate. You could have made...this..."

Danny's eyes lit on the food that was arriving and between them, Jerott and the restaurateur explained the dishes as they filled the surface of the table.

"I didn't have much experience cooking Algerian then," Jerott said, helping himself to bread and pickled vegetables. "Curry in Glasgow, curry in Pune, curry in Nevada - with so little seasoning it might as well have been rice pudding..." he trailed off, muttering imprecations in Urdu.

Danny folded their arms and watched him. "So which one of these innocent-looking beauties is going to blow my poor Ashkenazi ass off?"

Jerott pulled a face and bit on a pickled chilli. "They're not hot, Danny, they just have flavour." He pointed out the dishes he knew how to make and explained what was in them and Danny dutifully helped themselves to some of each. Danny loved to make a show of bitching, but they were also eager to express their appreciation: every first bite was accompanied by a moan of delight or some other sound that made Jerott want to kick them under the table. Eventually he gave into the desire and prodded Danny's leg with the toe of his sneaker.

"All right, Meg Ryan - you can just tell the restaurant owner you like it..."

Danny wiped a drizzle of paprika-red oil from the corner of their lips and pulled an exaggeratedly lusty face at Jerott before kicking him back. Then Danny sat back and chewed pitta, watching Jerott's expression and preparing their review.

"It's good, Maeve. Like some of Adam's funky Georgian dishes but..."

"Less walnut?"

"Less walnut," Danny agreed, sipping tea. "It's not as rich as I thought, either. Good choice of comfort food, doudou," Danny surveyed the bowls again and dove in for more helpings of a few select items.

Jerott watched Danny load their plate up and smirked with satisfaction. "Just because it has more seasoning than chicken soup..."

Danny held a finger up. "You do not get to insult Jewish penicillin, no matter how delicious your fancy beans are."

Jerott giggled into his bite of borek and repeated, "Fancy beans..." so that Danny kicked him again.

When the owner had taken away the empty starter bowls and refilled the tea, Jerott looked again at Danny's face in the shifting afternoon light. It seemed to have taken on a new colour - their lips looked redder again, their cheeks brighter, their eyes less like the washed-out grey of the few low clouds outside.

Jerott raised his glass of tea in a salute. "Well, the fancy beans seem to have done more for you in one sitting than however many weeks of chicken soup you've been living off..."

Instead of a filthy rejoinder, Danny pressed their mouth shut and looked away. "Mm."

"Danny, I was just -" Jerott began to apologise, surprised by the frown on his friend's face.

"I know, I know," Danny attempted a breathy chuckle. "It's fine. It...would be fine, only -" they looked down at the exuberantly patterned table covering and traced the patterns on its surface with one short, un-painted fingernail. When they looked up at Jerott the deep, serious pain on their face was such that Jerott hadn't seen since Francis' near-fatal encounter with the river.

"I'm the one who makes the soup," Danny said. The attempt at levity in their voice made Jerott's chest tighten more than if Danny had just let themselves speak bitterly. Instead, the lightness in their voice faltered and stumbled, and Danny swallowed. "Ok, Diamme - you remember, from the cabaret? - Diamme brought me soup and pletzls from the deli when I first got ill, but he shouldn't have been outside himself. Diamme's funeral was last week. The rest of us couldn't attend - the family wouldn't have any of it. They gave him a good Catholic burial. So we're holding our own wake next week and I need to cook for it. I promised I would."

Danny's arm was shaking a little on the table, their fist clenched. They looked down at it and moved it beneath the table, letting out a tut of disgust.

Jerott sat in silence, his arms folded and jaw locked, remembering again all the horror of that moment when he'd imagined that Danny had the illness. The only illness that mattered those days. Anything else was trivial, wasn't it?

"I haven't cooked for myself in months, Jerott," Danny let their eyes fall blankly to the tablecloth. "I'm a catering service for wakes and funerals. Meals on wheels for people who used to be..." nothing seemed to change about Danny's expression or the tone of their voice, but an invisible barrier blocked any more words from emerging.

"Why didn't you say something?" Jerott murmured, sitting as still as Danny, noting that he could barely hear his own words over the hammering beat of his heart. "How many times have we spoken on the phone since you got ill?"

Danny looked up and met his eyes, and, glassy and wide-pupilled, their own grey gaze made Jerott shiver. A bleak laugh made it past their lips. "What, you'd deliver from Glasgow?"

Jerott didn't understand how talking with Danny could so often make him want to laugh and weep at the same time, but he gave Danny a perplexed smile all the same. "Sure. I'm serious though, Danny - you could have told me. It's no hassle to come to Paris and help you cook."

Danny bit their lip and looked down again, wresting with a smile or a grimace - Jerott couldn't say which.

When the restaurant owner returned to their silence he looked alarmed and Jerott tried to smile in reassurance as the man set down hot dishes of stewed aubergine and tomatoes, chicken, olives and dumplings.

«Is everything ok?»

«M'sieur it's perfect,» Danny looked up swiftly, their throat white as a swan's, drawing Jerott's troubled gaze as Danny swallowed down their grief again and smiled for the owner. «My first time trying Algerian food and it's better than I could have imagined. Restorative and delicious.»

The owner left again, somewhat mollified, and Danny turned a wonky smile on Jerott. "Do you think he believes me, Maeve? Have I ruined it for when you come back here with yemma?"

Jerott shook his head. "He believes you. Nothing ruined."

Danny sighed and leaned forwards on the table to survey the new dishes.

"Danny," Jerott was thinking about the way Danny's demeanour had switched for the restaurant owner. About the performative body language and cheerful lilt to their voice. About the things Danny was used to hiding. "You didn't even tell me you were ill. Why didn't you say anything?"

Danny was slowly pulling apart one of the chicken wings they'd plucked from the top of the tagine, their mouth pressed into a sharp line, the look they shot Jerott an attempt to make him back off that was half-hearted at best. "I didn't think I'd be ill that long. Do you tell me every time you get the sniffles, doudou?"

Danny didn't let him reply - they rolled their eyes and swept a hand through the air. "Yes, yes, you do, I know...always complaining about something..."

Jerott ignored the toothless attack and waited.

Danny spooned a heap of olives and dumplings onto their plate and gathered some bread before looking up at Jerott again.

"I didn't want to tell you because it's been miserable here, doudou." Danny's fist clenched on the table beside their plate. "I feel...responsible? When you were with Peder and you started telling me things, I was...I felt like your guide to this wonderful world where anything was possible, anyone was welcome, and if we all just talked it out and understood each other things would be ok. Better than ok, they'd be mind-blowing. Amazing. Earth-shattering."

Danny rolled their eyes at their own words, and Jerott contrasted their pale, pinched expression now with the way they used to lean across café tables and excitedly demand details of the Copenhagen queer scene. They way they'd grab Jerott's hand and shamelessly reel off advice filled with clinically precise vocabulary that had made Jerott's mind reel with possibilities he'd never even imagined. Their smile - proud, filthy - when Jerott chose to report back on a weekend spent with Peder, and the way they'd regale him in turn with tales of leather daddies and kink clubs that left Jerott speechless and perched on the edge of his seat.

Danny shook their head and the gems dangling from their ears swung and twinkled in the sun again. "I feel like I sold you a lie, doudou. We've talked it out here so much and none of us have anything to say any more. We can't talk our way out of death. There's no understanding it, or making meaning of it. It's unfair, and it just is."

Jerott held Danny's gaze, and felt something icy and uncomfortable squirm in his chest. Danny didn't even look on the verge of tears now, their expression was suffused with frosty, brittle fury, something that wasn't nearly as hopeless as the image they were trying to conjure. Hopeless people, in Jerott's experience, weren't near as angry as Danny clearly was.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Ok. I mean, I don't regret...what did you call it? Joining this 'wonderful world' - and I'd have shagged Peder with or without your advice Danny, no offence."

Danny's jaw twitched and a startled flush of colour spread over their neck above the collar of their blouse.

Jerott pressed on, unable to offer any answer to the bigger questions, but still stung by the idea of Danny forcing themself to suffer stoically in case actually saying anything about how bad things were frightened Jerott off. "Do you regret it? Would you go back to...where were you when you found your people, London? Edinburgh? Would you leave them, go back to Glasgow and put a suit on and do what your dad wanted you to do? If you'd known about AIDS?"

A flash of annoyance passed over Danny's face again - maybe at the mention of their father, maybe at the mention of the disease by name, maybe at the realisation that they'd shared quite so much about their past with Jerott over the years - enough to allow Jerott to ask a question like that.

"I can't regret what I just am, Jerott," Danny said curtly.

"So why do you think I would, if you'd told me how bad things had got here?"

Danny hissed, drawing a sharp breath in over their teeth. Now there was a glossy sheen over their eyes, and they tried very hard not to blink. "M'sorry," they murmured after a moment.

"Yeah. I know," Jerott said gruffly and broke their stare, looking down at the dishes cooling between them and giving Danny the privacy of a moment to flick away the water gathering at the bottom of their eyes. He explained the tagines again and then helped himself to some of each before letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and raising his eyes again.

Danny had returned to pulling apart the piece of chicken and they sighed deeply before saying, resentfully, "I can't believe you used my own tricks on me. I've taught you too well."

"I can't believe you 'talked it out' with everyone except me, you asshole," Jerott grumbled, but he smiled ruefully at his dish as he dunked bread in the sauce.

"To be fair, I also didn't tell Francis," Danny said in a voice more like their own, and Jerott had to snort with laughter. "Can you imagine? He'd have set up a Michelin-starred restaurant for my little crowd of queers and misfits. BDSM and brunch bar. Kink and croissants. Attached to an empty hospital building where the infected can get treated by all the experts we can find who are willing to touch our dirty, dirty bodies..."

Again, there was that lurching sensation, when Jerott didn't know whether he should be laughing along with Danny's smirk or weeping with fury at the image they painted. He grimaced.

"Would that be so bad though? Letting Francis help?"

"Perhaps not," Danny conceded. "I do still have some pride though. And I know he's already donating an unsustainable amount to research."

Jerott made a sound of agreement between bites of food, and was soothed somewhat by the sight of Danny voraciously attacking what was on their own plate.

"So what do we need to prepare for next week? When's the wake?"

Danny didn't miss Jerott's phrasing and looked up sharply. "We?"

He shrugged. "If you think my cooking's up to your standards..."

Danny narrowed their eyes. "It could be...if you can follow orders better than you used to..."

"And do you want company at the wake? I'm here to make up numbers, isn't that what playing second guitar to Lymond is all about?"

"Are you asking to be my date at a wake, Jerott?" Danny's eyebrow arched delightedly.

"Not a date, but a friend who isn't about to fuck off just because life's tough, puce."

Danny ran their eyes distastefully over him and  pointedly pushed an olive stone out from between their pursed lips. They took it and deposited it on a side plate with careful deliberation. "Hmm, yes, and how is your lovely girlfriend? Kelly is it? The teenager?"

Jerott sat back and folded his arms. "She's twenty-three, Danny. And no gossip until you agree to my help."

Danny glared at him. "That's rude."

Jerott shrugged again.

Outside the restaurant, above the slate grey rooves, the autumn breeze nudged aside a cloud and the anaemic sun shone through, speckling the grubby window-pane with glitter. Abruptly, Danny let the act drop - just for a moment - and smiled warmly at Jerott.

It was agreed.

Jerott laughed in relief to see Danny relax.

---

Notes

doudou - teddy bear; puce - flea (because what kind of Married would they be without absurd nicknames for each other)

yemma - mother (Arabic)

Jerott Blyth

Band AU Jerott's mum is Algerian, a refugee who arrived in France during the war of independence, and his paternal grandmother was from pre-partition Lahore. He was born in Paris, where his dad met his mum while taking art classes between shifts on placement for medical school. His dad was a surgeon and his mother worked in an art gallery, but has always painted for herself too. Both his parents encouraged his musicality from a young age and he started classical guitar lessons as soon as he could hold a guitar. His parents divorced when he was around eleven and he lived with his dad in Glasgow - his dad's home city - until his dad died of cancer when Jerott was 18. Instead of joining Francis Crawford, who he met at the Solway Moss battle of the bands just before his dad's death, Jerott turned away from music to be a doctor like his father. He went to stay with his mother in Paris while studying and through her met a charismatic older man (Graham Reid Malett) and went off to find himself at an ashram in India instead. The medical degree was forgotten and he learned sitar, Ayurvedic massage, yoga, and some Hindi and Urdu at the ashram run by Rajneesh. He spent a few years in Rajneesh's cult and moved to a new ashram in Nevada with GRM - and none of it did his self-acceptance as a bisexual man any good. Having made a pass at GRM and been rebuffed, he later revealed his crush on Francis during a therapy session with GRM, who began to become obsessed with Francis through Jerott's recollection of him and through his music. GRM engineered a way for them to join Francis' new recording collective, St Mary's, and Jerott gradually realised the extent of the problems with the movement he was in, and with GRM particularly. He reaffirmed his loyalty to Francis, but GRM did him lasting damage that drove him to self-destructive alcoholism. He nevertheless tried to help Francis undo the mess GRM had done and in the process met Marthe - who it was easier to admit to being in love with than Francis. She needed a European visa and the potential for a passport, as well as a boost to her career, so she married him despite knowing she wasn't attracted to men. They had a deeply unhappy marriage and lived in France, using properties Marthe was able to inherit from a relative once she was resident in the EU. Jerott had a drunken one night stand with a Danish guy called Peder at a low point in his marriage, and then he ran into Peder again at another vulnerable moment (the end of Checkmate). He and Peder had a couple of good years together but it didn't work out. Since Peder, Jerott's seen some guys and some girls but hasn't really had anything long-term or meaningful - but at least he always had his best friend Danny to go to for advice!

Danny Hislop

Band AU Danny was born with PAIS and is intersex. The oldest child born to Rabbi Hislop in Glasgow, they were amab and given surgery to make their physical body allign with this assignation. While they were raised as a boy, they knew this wasn't right for them, and the bar mitzvah really cemented that feeling. Danny's family didn't understand their nonbinary identification (NB I know not all intersex people are nonbinary, but Danny is) and Danny left home at 14 with a clarinet and a grade 6 piano qualification and went to stay with a blue-collar, union-stalwart great uncle in Edinburgh. The great uncle helped Danny reconcile their faith with their identity somewhat - the discussions around tumtum (people of unidentified sex) taking place in rabbinic communities came a little late for Danny, but at least they became aware of the term through their uncle. At sixteen they made their way to London in search of a community that matched how they felt about themselves - they became bat mitzvah as well by choice, partly as a way of reclaiming what they felt was forced on them incorrectly by their father. They lived in squats and it wasn't initially a great time to be young and of indeterminate gender in a big city - it took a while to find the right people and they experimented with some stuff they regret. Then they found a healthier community, moved on again to Paris with a friend, became an apprentice in a kitchen and played saxophone and clarinet at jazz clubs. They settled in the Marais - which is both the Jewish and the queer quarter. When Lymond called for auditions to join his experiment in Russia, Danny submitted a klesmer cover of Lymond's song 'Crisco Disco', along with evidence of their fluent French and passable Russian (Danny tries to learn something from everyone they meet, and Paris has a big Russian expat community). They proved themselves resilient enough to travel the USSR with Lymond - though they probably had to deal with a lot of fuckery regarding pronouns and people's perception - and they remained a valued member of St Mary's afterwards, though they still live in the Marais near their drag cabaret friends. They've kind of been in love with Jerott Blyth since seeing him cover for Francis by playing a guitar solo that should have been impossible sober, while so drunk that he also shouldn't have been able to stand up. They are not proud of this fact. They also strongly believe that Jerott will never see them as anything more than a kooky friend who's into far kinkier shit than Jerott could stomach.

[raiiny-bay]

alien emoji

[ryssbelle]

Poppy for N2 au, it took me so long to make her design cuz I didn't really know what I wanted to do only because I feel like her design is pretty perfect.

But then I just thought about fun outfits to give her or outfits that I would find comfortable if I was wearing them and it all came together.

Poppy here is pretty much the same as here movie counterpart, as nothing really changes on her end of things other than having more insight on Branch through his brothers, and through Lief. Shes also a bit more understanding a bit earlier on because of it but it doesnt do much to change her own character arc I would say.

Bonus

Part of Poppys design was based off a design I had made for previous rulers of Troll Village/Tree

Namely Queen Protea who I designed as Poppys grandmother

Named after the Protea flower which part of her design is based off :D

In the context of this Au Protea was the one who conceptualized the tunnels while her son, King Peppy, was the one to follow through after her death

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Burning Branches au - Part 3 Aftermath

Okay so if anyone has not read the other posts on this AU, I highly suggest you do. Believe me this will be much more fun with context. The previous posts are by the same title, minus the "Part 3". I will also be tagging all of them with the title after posting this.

Char = Branch

Lets get into it...

When we last left of the Family Harmony was complete and the V-Twins were being carted off to jail. Char and Poppy kissed and wondered if they could finally get married now.

Then Floyd collapsed. The troll literally had the life drained out of him for two months, he is not walking away from that with just a new hair style. This sends the happy moment into one of panic. Floyd does not wake up when prompted, and not even when the other moved him on to Rhonda. It's clear he needs a doctor, but none on Mount Rageonus know troll physiology, so they need to leave as soon as possible.

But where will they go? Anywhere is still few days drive, and there is barely any supplies on Rhonda. No food. There was water but not enough for everyone. And most importantly no medicine beyond a very old, very basic first-aid kit John had for gotten about. Barb and Bruce stay behind to make sure Floyd doesn't die (and make sure Tiny takes a nap). Floyd has a seizure and Barb steps in taking control of the situation with Bruce freezes. Bruce asks her how she knew to tend to someone who's sick, and Barb explains that Char used to have them as a kid and she was usually the one who nursed Char through his head aches, and when he got sick from the volcanic fumes. This leads to bonding between the two of them, and Bruce starts to think of Barb as his little sister too.

When the others get back, John and Clay kind of freak out about the seizure when told. Trips home can wait they need a doctor. Rock territory is closeted and the doctor that treated Char originally is still around and on call. Still few days drive, but it's the best guess they got.

When Floyd finally wakes up he's a mess. Exhausted, nauseous, with a killer head ache. It's also in the middle of the night, and everyone is still asleep. Well, everyone except Poppy and Char. They were still up due to some shared insomia, and discussing their re-do wedding plans. Floyd's perception of things are still hazy, so he's calling Char by Branch and not noticing the latter's discomfort over the name. Still Char helps alleviates Floyd migraine so he can go back to sleep. Floyd asks how Char would know that it would work, Char says it works for me. Floyd would continue to ponder that, until he passes back out.

When they get back into Rock Kingdom territory, Floyd is taken into the hospital rather quickly, and is put on supportive devices, to combat server malnutrition, dehydration, and oxygen just incase. Brain scans, reveal scaring on his brain from several concussions that went untreated. The source of his seizures, and possibly other symptoms that have yet to show themselves. Once he's conscious he reports of, numbness, pain and tingling in his legs and is looking at possible nerve damage.

During this time, with the help of Barb, Bruce manages to get a letter out to his family explaining what was going on and it would be little longer until he was home. Char and Barb re-unite with their Dad and Riff. And the rest are just trying to make sense of everything.

Floyd has, at least one of his brothers with him at all times. When he's awake they talk and bond, and when he's asleep they comfort his nightmares. He notices that Char isn't there most of the time (he's out making princely announcements explaining the situation and dealing with some back-lash about "returning to his own kind" from some of the less accepting citizens), and is worried that his Brother is mad at him for not coming back. He practically breaks down upon hearing about Char amnesia, and asks to see him.

Char comes, but is very awkward when he first arrives. Floyd takes in all the difference, and mentions the green vest. Char says he can't remember being without it, Floyd says he gave it to him, before beginning to apologize for leaving him. Char shuts it down, telling Floyd his injury isn't his fault, maybe a few days ago he'd have been mad, but he doesn't regret how his life turned out. He hugs Floyd and wipes his tears. Floyd tells Char that comforting was his job, Char says no matter who's older siblings comfort each other. Floyd wants to know how Char's life turned out. Char, eagerly tells him about Barb and Thrash, how he grew up as a prince, and his betrothal to Poppy. Floyd is shocked his brother grew up as a prince, but is happy his brother grew up in a good home, and wanted to meet Poppy, Thrash and Barb as soon as possible.

Eventually, Floyd is released. He's on crutches, with braces on his legs and has physical therapy routine he needs to follow to walk again. They stay at Char and Barb cavern (their royalty they have the room, and Thrash is loving the company, he's convinced their all his kids and no one corrects him) during this time and for a few days after the release, but tension with the public is spiking and they can't stay for long. Barb stays behind to control the crowds and the others go to Pop village. Viva would re-unite with Peppy, and begin preparations to move the Put Put trolls to the village, with an escort of Rock guards off course.

The saga would end, with Poppy and Char finally getting married and Char coronated as king of pop...with an epilogue of years alter when they had twins trollings, named Rosie and Ash (named after Grandma and Thrash).

---

Part One and Part two

And those are my currently plans. I'm going to outline this, but Not sure if I should fully write this thing out now or later. What ya'll think?

[thedeitywhoplayedwithbricks]

John, take me with you....

I keep on talking about like "Omg that's so my jd design" and you guys get one pic with half of him cut out. It's not fair so I'm posting it‼️ I used canonical jd as ref here :3

[sunnystrollblog]

an older comic of floyd and spire’s second meeting

[kujakumai]

in the Band AU fubuki is constantly annoying his little sister by trying to convince her to spend less time on her idol career and play more competitive trading card games

[k1rameki]

BAM BAND GANG ART DUMP ‼️‼️‼️‼️ these five are the evers i love them graaaaaugh

@alex-dontknow @beans2cheese @appallinnballin

and sum more sillies :3 feat some self indulgent itty tagoti teehee

bonus agoti bc i am a intersex transmasc agoti truther thank you and goodnyight

[trollex-is-gay]

Well guy diamond is one of the best character tbh, a loving single father completely devoted to his son/HJ- HB/

I mean honestly he is pretty great, I won't lie when I say he's a decently charming character lol

[optiwashere]

Finally, the modern/band AU is more than idle coffee thoughts.

In which Shadowheart is part of a three-piece metal band that gets stuck in a town called Rivington. Where happiness and a much softer life is something that she doesn't think she deserves. Where she's always in danger of falling back into the relationship with her ex, the Avatar of the cult that raised her, who just so happens to be the band's frontwoman.

Featuring a modern version of my primary Tav, Asheera, as a mechanic who's just doing her job working on the band's broken down van when things get a little more complicated. You can peek at in-game shots and art of her here and here.

Rating: E for Eventual Smut

Category: F/F

Ship: Shadowheart/Trans Fem Tav

Tags and AO3 Summary under the break.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Band AU, POV Alternating, Romance, Angst, Strangers to Lovers, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Cults, Abusive Relationships, past abusive relationships, implied/referenced past prostitution, Dissociation, Trans Female Character, Eventual Smut, in which a traumatized metal guitarist finds love in a small town, and searches for her cottagecore fantasy

Summary:

Shadowheart, the guitarist for a small-time metal band on tour, nearly crashes her band's van into an auto body shop in a podunk called Rivington. That's the least of her worries. Every day on the road revolves around the devolving relationship with her ex, the Avatar of her religion and the frontwoman of the band. Everything is Shar, and Shadowheart knows no escape nor if she deserves one. At least until Ash, the head mechanic of that dinky garage, questions everything Shadowheart's ever known, digging into her life until they both bleed. Ash told herself to forget about them. Forget about Shadowheart. She needed to make forgetting easy and turn her heart to stone to the attractive, enigmatic stranger. That’s all Shadowheart was. That's all she should be.

[lonely-cereal]

Random Post Canon AU idea - TPN kids starting a rock band

After they arrive in the human world, the kids can discover more genres of music. Out of all the kids the one who's the most serious about music and takes up several instruments is Ray. Come on guys, Shirai said himself ray bad a secret deep appreciation for music. I think he'd be super influenced by rock music and stuff.

Another person who gets really into music is Emma. I imagine she uses it to cope with memory loss. Shirai said she can sing well.

Violet and Don also like music a lot in my head.

After finding Emma in the human world, they all end up talking one day about what music they like and instruments.

Ray has never really been a fancy business dude like Norman with his business,he'd rather do something more artistic, so when Don jokingly brings up the idea of them starting a band, he's immediately on board. Emma gets in on it, and Violet or one of the Goldy Pond kids do as well. (Sorry but Norman has a Business and he's probably tone deaf)

They get together and form a band, and after releasing an album the group gets super popular in the human world, bringing more light to the Cattle Kids interested in the arts.

[theartistknownaslymond]

Gotta have some faith in the sound / (You got to give what you take)

Sorry it's Them again! Jerott/Danny post-canon (mid-90s ish) post-finally-getting-together fluffy, happy smut! Body positivity all the way for intersex Danny, who is into sensation play and who now has a boyfriend who knows how to give both good massages and good head. Jerott is just so happy to be there with someone who wants him and gets him, and if Danny decides to praise him along the way, well, he might just learn something about himself :')

Happy non-denominational smutmas to all my followers 🙃

thank you as ever @stripedroseandsketchpads for your enthusiasm, encouragement, researching, fannishness and for this excellent prompt:

holding hands making love prompt? 👀

---

Jerott closed his eyes and inhaled the sickly floral scent of the oil, rubbing it between his palms meditatively.  "Jasmine isn't a traditional Ayurvedic oil, Danny," he said with a smile.

Danny made a sound of pleasure and amusement, and Jerott heard the bedcovers rustle as Danny's body shifted against them.

"This isn't an Ayurvedic massage, remember?" Danny purred.

Jerott let out a laugh of acknowledgement. He looked down and felt his heartbeat skip to a quicker signature. His lover was lying on their bed, naked from the wispy puff of strawberry blonde hair on top of their head to the painted toenails at the end of their feet. In Danny's eyes was something of the wry challenge that was their customary way with new experiences, but these days Jerott found he could also read the anticipation in Danny's mien: the pale, freckle-dusted skin was flushed red in patches. On Danny's cheeks and neck there were blotches of colour like poppies painted in aquarelle: they bloomed out from Danny's sternum, filling the valley between the soft rises of their breasts and colouring the tops of their thighs as though Jerott's hands had already manipulated that flesh as he intended to.

This was not an Ayurvedic massage. If it had been, Jerott wouldn't have been totally naked himself - his body's appreciative response to the sight of Danny's body wouldn't have been visible, and Danny wouldn't now be biting their plump bottom lip with rakish glee, eyeing him up in return.

Jerott ran his gaze over Danny again, feeling spoilt for choice, uncertain where to begin. He would have happily fallen to the bed and smothered Danny with his kisses, with his body, with the desperate, disorderly wandering of his hands - but he'd been the one to offer the massage when he'd seen the way his touch could make Danny shiver with unexpected, honest delight.

The techniques he'd learned came from the ashram at Pune. They'd been honed on a body he didn't care to think of - broader than Danny's, muscled and infused with the scent of ground spice and patchouli. Then he'd used his skills professionally on the ashram in Nevada - he'd seen all kinds of bodies with these hands, unknotting muscles, rebalancing energies and loosening purse strings as he worked on behalf of Rajneesh's great message.

For years afterwards, he'd done his best to forget the lessons of the ashrams - the cod psychology, the smug anti-conformism, shallow in the face of the leader's demands. The massages had seemed like just another trick thought up by Rajneesh, exploited by Geetesh, designed to win them rich backers. But when he'd finally returned to the Indian subcontinent on his own terms, when he'd reached the country of his father's birth, he'd let himself rediscover things that had existed - oblivious to the manipulative gloss put on them by one movement or another - for spans of time beyond the reckoning of someone as small and petty as Graham Reid Malett. What was one megalomaniac to such a deep-rooted, enduring culture? Jerott had seen his former master's power atomised in the face of an ancient and indifferent spirituality and realised he was free.

He drew a deep breath and sent thoughts of his past out of his mind. This wasn't an Ayurvedic massage - not like he'd given to clients at the Nevada ashram, not like he'd given to Peder and his friends in Denmark when he'd come back with a renewed confidence in himself. This was something new - between him and the person he was deeply, terrifyingly in love with.

Jerott climbed onto the bed and straddled Danny's hips and Danny whimpered in anticipation.

"Shh," Jerott murmured habitually, smirking down at Danny's torso, still working his hands together to warm them to the temperature of the oil.

Danny's hips twitched provocatively beneath Jerott's seat and he began by running a teasingly light touch up the centre of Danny's body, fingertips tracing the line of the chakras... No. Tracing the sensitive skin from Danny's navel up to their throat, out over their shoulders and arms. Jerott drew the pads of his fingers along Danny's skin, echoing the feeling of a silk blouse being pulled down and away from Danny's body, like he was opening up the layers of the person lying beneath him.

If he were doing an Ayurvedic massage he'd start at the head - so Jerott shifted his seat a little and rubbed his thumbs over Danny's hips instead, making circular motions, now soft, now increasing in pressure, thumbs now sliding inwards, following the line of the pelvis down, bringing heat and colour to the surface of Danny's skin.

He watched his own brown fingers work, the gloss of oil on them transferring to Danny's body. It was as though, beneath his touch, he was bringing each muscle and sinew to life - glowing and eager. He ran his hands over Danny's belly, feeling soft flesh yield, feeling the hardness of muscle beneath puppyish fat. He didn't tell Danny to relax - he didn't need to. His fingers furrowed the land of Danny's body, unpicking tension, even undoing Danny's tightly wound anticipation, freeing Danny from the control they were used to maintaining.

In answer, Danny sighed and arched their back a little against the bed as Jerott's hands worked up, his touch again feather light at first, caressing inwards around Danny's ribs, his thumbs tracing the undersides of Danny's flat breasts, gently building until the strokes of his digits squeezed as they circled, until Danny's nipples had become hardened points that Jerott's thumb-pads could pass over as softly as the shadow of something on the wing.

Danny moaned at the hint of touch and watched, open-mouthed, as Jerott's thumbs scudded over the pink peaks again.

Jerott circled his thumbs this time, applying a little more pressure and eliciting another sound of pleasure that made his own stomach flip and his cock start with interest. Helpfully, Danny rolled their hips up against him and Jerott let out a breathy laugh of appreciation.

He dipped his fingers in the cup of oil at the bedside again and ran his palms up the planes of Danny's pecs, reaching for Danny's shoulders with clever, squeezing caresses as he shifted and bowed down to lick and suck at the nipples he'd just been teasing with his thumbs. The jasmine oil didn't taste great, he'd be the first to admit, but what did it matter when he felt Danny's whole body shudder beneath him, and that witty tongue, normally so ready with a snappy remark, was reduced to supporting the gasps and moans of Danny's undoing.

Jerott's hands massaged Danny's shoulders, upper arms, shoulders again and neck, and Jerott felt Danny melt in his hold, whimpering some inarticulate command as Jerott's teeth grazed sensitive, puckered skin and his thumbs moved in patterns of pressure up and down the vulnerable contours of Danny's neck. Then he swapped his gestures, stroking down over Danny's chest, gripping each small breast and palming muscle and flesh as he leaned in to suck hard on Danny's earlobe.

Danny's voice slipped into a higher pitch and they shivered and moaned again beneath Jerott's mantling body. Jerott shifted his weight and nudged one knee between Danny's legs, drawing ferociously on the soft flesh of Danny's earlobe with his lips and tongue as he did and eliciting his own name as a desperate plea from Danny's throat.

"Mm?" Jerott answered, pausing to nuzzle kisses into the hot skin behind Danny's ear.

"Don't stop," Danny said in a strangled voice, so Jerott nudged Danny's head the other way on the pillow with his nose and took the second earlobe in his mouth as he worked his other leg between Danny's knees and rolled his hips and hard cock against Danny's body.

It was enough to break down another part of Danny's control: they could no longer lie beneath Jerott pretending to be a passive recipient of such devoted attention. Their hands came to Jerott's back, smoothing up his spine and pulling him close - and it was enough to remind Jerott that he was meant to be delivering a massage, not plunging straight into sex, no matter what his nerves seemed to demand.

He released Danny's ear and kissed Danny's mouth instead, and rubbed Danny's earlobes between his thumbs and forefingers, feeling the little specks of scar tissue where Danny's piercings were. He had to stop and refresh the oil on his hands again, and then he fingered the hot cartilage of Danny's ears and worked his touch slowly, meticulously - soft and then hard and then soft again - down Danny's oil-glistened body until his hands were at Danny's hips and he was left kneeling, poised between Danny's legs.

Danny's hands remained on his back, his shoulders and arms, until Jerott was too far away to reach, and then, reluctantly, they returned to the sheets, gripping and twisting the cotton each time Danny let out an appreciative sound.

Mostly, Danny's eyes were closed - it was easier that way to sink into the sensations of Jerott's touch, and Jerott didn't begrudge himself the opportunity to stare back openly at Danny's rose-gold lashes, to watch the way their nostrils flared as they breathed deeply through the pleasure, to note the severe line of their jaw, which wasn't usually visible but now, from the angle Jerott saw it, rose like a peak at the top of the bed as Danny's head pressed back into the pillow.

Jerott ran his hands lightly over the skin of Danny's thighs, down not halfway to Danny's knees and then back up again to the pale drifts of hip bones lying beneath fat. He swallowed and licked his lips, but made himself wait as he made Danny wait, moving his hands down - smoothing hairs so fine and sparse they were invisible - and up again - ruffling nerve endings and heightening the anticipation of his next stroke - down, smoothing, soft as silk, light as soap washing off Danny's body.

He continued the movement as he finally lowered his mouth to Danny's cock, taking the firm stub of tissue in his mouth and sucking, drawing his tongue up the base in broad strokes that covered over the line of scar tissue where some part of Danny had been sewn shut by a doctor desperate to recreate normality.

Fuck normality, Jerott thought with savage glee, grasping Danny's hips and flicking his tongue from side to side over the soft, silken texture held in his mouth.

He ran his hands down Danny's thighs again, his grip firmer this time, his thumbs caressing the marshmallow-white flesh on the inside of Danny's legs, rubbing in circular motions up to the apex of Danny's thighs, his digits competing with his own face for access to Danny's most sensitive areas.

Danny whimpered and then cursed in French and, to Jerott's delight, in Yiddish. He'd never made that happen before so he repeated what he'd done and Danny's pelvis arched off the bed, pushing back against Jerott's mouth.

Jerott sucked the nub of Danny's cock and then laughed into the damp, downy tuft of hair above it. "Vraiment bien, puce?"

"Vraiment," Danny said from between clenched teeth. "Now come up here, I have something for you."

Jerott cocked a black brow at the head on the pillow but didn't immediately obey. He let his thumbs repeat their massage of the inside of Danny's thighs and he met Danny's tousled expression with an arrogant smirk.

Danny groaned and their legs shivered under Jerott's touch.

"Come here..." they repeated, with a new edge of despair in their voice.

Jerott came slowly, his hands and mouth retracing their way up Danny's body, now guided and tugged at by Danny's impatient touch on his shoulders, back and arse.

When Jerott reached Danny's lips Danny squeezed his arse cheeks vindictively and pulled Jerott's body flush against theirs. Jerott let out a gasp inside Danny's mouth, rolled his hips desperately against Danny's body, and ran his palms down over Danny's nipples again.

Danny's fingers covered Jerott's, pressing his touch down on Danny's chest, and then Danny took Jerott's hands in theirs and sat up, pushing him back with insistent kisses until he was half kneeling, half sitting. Clasping Jerott's hands in theirs, Danny guided his touch around to the small of their back as they leaned, chest first, against Jerott.

"You have something for me, hm?" Jerott asked between kisses, speaking into the softness at the corner of Danny's lips.

"Yes," Danny smirked, their cheek curving beneath Jerott's mouth. They held Jerott's hands in place behind their back and shuffled closer, leaning into Jerott until Jerott shifted his legs out from under him and sat with them splayed to either side of Danny. Danny wasted no time in moving into the space between and wrapping their thighs tight around Jerott's hips.

"What is it?" Jerott tested Danny's grip gently, attempting to run his hands round Danny's waist only to find that his lover's tight hold arrested the movement, keeping him close in their embrace.

Danny pushed their body closer, closer to Jerott's until Jerott felt the unmistakeable demand to lie back and let Danny straddle him, as he had earlier straddled Danny.

He let himself sink down to the sheets and Danny allowed his hands to move around to rest on their hips. They looked down at Jerott with a regal air: chest puffed out, streaked and glistening with jasmine oil like it was war paint, eyelids low over a gaze sparkling with lust. Flushed red lips, a body drawn in indistinct outlines that were as remarkable as any work of art Jerott had seen - Jerott's cock twitched insistently, trapped as it was  beneath Danny's warm arse cheeks.

Danny's smirk was devastating. "What do I have for you?"

They shuffled, one knee then the other, holding Jerott's hands to their hips, up Jerott's torso until they only needed to lift their legs over Jerott's arms and they'd be poised to sit on his face.

"Me, of course," Danny said in silken tones. The certainty, the pride and confidence in those words made a sound rise in Jerott's throat. He swallowed and licked his lips and ran his eyes over the body above his, hungry to taste Danny in his mouth again.

Danny beamed down at him and released his hands so that they could shift their legs and position Jerott's head between them.

Jerott groaned happily as Danny lowered themself to his mouth. He ran his freed hands up Danny's arse and lower back, rubbing and massaging flesh as he went until Danny's hands grasped his again.

Danny threaded their fingers through Jerott's and held his hands against their arse as they ground their body down against Jerott's open mouth.

When Danny did this it never felt suffocating or uncomfortable: Danny paid attention to the way Jerott responded and moaned encouragements that made Jerott's skin prickle. He could hold all of Danny's small cock in his mouth without his jaw aching or feeling like he was about to choke when Danny rolled their hips down. He could find his way around the rest of Danny's anatomy with his tongue, running it softly at first over places that could either be painfully sensitive or dulled to touch by old scar tissue - he worked carefully, like he would do with his hands during the massage - working out what felt good to his lover and what didn't.

And Danny was always happy to help him find the right spot, moving their body and delivering gasped instructions.

All it took was for Danny to breathe an honest "Oy...you're good at this," and Jerott felt his nipples harden and his hips squirm against the bed, his cock responding instantly to the praise. He made a grateful sound against Danny's body and Danny whined and rocked against his mouth.

They tightened their grip on Jerott's hands and then guided his right one away from their arse. Danny reached behind themself, arching above Jerott to draw Jerott's hand away from their body. Danny stretched back, pushing Jerott's fingers towards his cock, and Jerott felt how smooth his own hand was, softened by jasmine oil and hot from the use he'd put it to.

"Don't forget about yourself," Danny purred, looking directly into Jerott's eyes. They released the hand they'd guided to Jerott's cock and sat forward again, reaching down to gently sweep the hair off Jerott's face.

"Ok?" Danny checked. "I'm not smothering you?"

They clocked Jerott's mischievous expression immediately and let out a low laugh. "Careful how you answer that, doudou..."

Jerott, who had no interest in occupying his mouth with mere words when he had other means at his disposal, dipped his chin a little and sucked pointedly at the smooth, domed head of Danny's cock, pressung his tongue up against it.

Danny laughed shakily again and groaned. "...Good answer," they conceded, and Jerott knew that when they opened their eyes again and looked down at him they'd see the satisfaction, the smirk in his expression.

His arms were pinned beneath Danny's body still, but he didn't need to move much to jerk himself off, not when he was already this hard. His right hand moved rhythmically up and down his cock even as Danny held his left hand still, their fingers knotted together behind Danny's back.

Jerott didn't let any of it affect the attention he gave Danny - his own pleasure wasn't a distraction or a splitting of his goals, rather it was like singing while playing guitar, or even just using two hands on the one instrument to make the perfect music. He did what felt good to Danny, Danny told him how good it was, and Jerott's hand quickened with pride, his blood rushed with the thrill of knowing he was making Danny feel that way too.

It could take time and patience to make Danny come, and Jerott enjoyed the challenge - besides, even if Danny didn't get there, Jerott wanted to be certain he'd made them feel exquisite in any case. So long as he was occupied with Danny's pleasure, time stopped and pure sensation ruled: Danny's soft thighs squeezing his cheeks; the warm, wet air Jerott breathed that tasted of the mingling of their bodies; Danny's fingers gently combing through his hair, squeezing his hand tightly behind their back; the feeling of his cock against his palm, as eager for Danny's release as its own.

When his neck felt stiff he shifted and kissed the insides of Danny's thighs, applying pressure with his tongue or plunging his teeth into yielding flesh to leave bruises that made Danny yelp with delight.

Another exclamation in Yiddish - Jerott grinned and nipped Danny's leg playfully. He took another mouthful of skin and sucked, like he'd suck on Danny's cock, and Danny whimpered, their hips bucking, their arse cheeks clenching. French insults mingled with Yiddish; an agonised "hob rachmones!"; a litany of evocative terms that made heat gather in Jerott's groin, spoken as they were with such awe.

He was on the edge now, and he took Danny's cock in his mouth again in case they were too. He tasted their anticipation, and rubbed his tongue against the underside of the head, and as they said, "That's it, that's it, you're an artist!" he felt himself lose the vestiges of his own control as thought and sense and intent all suddenly rushed down to his groin and left the rest of his body flushed empty of all but a ringing pleasure.

Danny's unashamed cry harmonised with the singing of his nerves and Jerott gasped as he let his head fall back to the mattress, satiated and exhausted and fizzing with a vital glee he didn't think he'd felt in years.

Danny released his hand and climbed off him, and Jerott lay in a state of near shavasana, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. He waited, knowing Danny was coming to him, which Danny did, stretching out alongside his body and stroking his hair back around his ear with the utmost tenderness. They kissed him slowly and deeply and Jerott murmured happily into it.

"You're a treasure, doudou," Danny said against his lips.

Jerott smiled and heard Danny tut immediately. "But don't let it go to that pretty head of yours. You'd be insufferable if you knew..."

Jerott blinked and looked at Danny in sleepy puzzlement, wondering why they'd stopped mid-sentence.

They were staring at him intently, thoughtfully, more seriously than he'd expected. Their lips were red and their cheeks blotched pink; their hair was a disordered, sweaty mess. Without make-up they still looked vulnerable and new to Jerott - beautiful but often wary, a warrior without their armour on.

"If I knew...?" Jerott prompted, lifting a heavy arm from the bed to stroke Danny's chin with his thumb.

Danny's lips moved, and a puckered, vexed smirk fought its way onto them. "You'd be insufferable if you knew how much I love you."

The words still made Jerott's body blush with sensation - instant heat, instant gratification making his skin prickle. He offered the bravest, lopsided grin he could. "Lucky I have you to keep me humble, hm?"

Danny smiled toothily and kissed him. Jerott accepted the insult that followed in all its fondness.

[atlasvulcandar]

she has that coping with humour swag

[lovecatsys]

Academy X/Hellions/X Kids Band AU

keno and i were talking abt a potential academy x band AU a while back and then I came up w a very elaborate plot with lots of ideas and headcanons so. here we go.

The Hellions

Julian Keller - lead vocals/main songwriter

Noriko Ashida - lead guitar/songwriter/occasional vocalist

Brian Cruz - rhythm guitar/backing vocalist

Laura Kinney - bassist

Quentin Quire - drums/songwriter

Kevin Ford - percussion & synths (as recurring background/guest musician)

Details/Plot/dynamics/etc under the cut!!

The Backstory

the basic story is that in this AU, they're mutants, superheroes and supervillains still exist, the x men and subsequent teams still exist (and their history is somewhat known) but the kids did not go to the Xavier school and are just mutant kids (mostly) unaffiliated with the X-Men

Julian is a good singer and songwriter, a proud mutant young adult, who wants to start a band. So! he starts the band with his girlfriend (Laura, her backstory is the same she just met Julian and they started dating) and best friend (Brian). Laura has been learning bass for a little while, Brian knows a little guitar, they start to figure out the logistics & gain skill practicing Julian's songs, while looking for more fellow mutant musicians.

They find Nori (her backstory is the same) who's a very talented guitarist and also a songwriter, as well as Quentin, a drummer and songwriter. Both these kids are proud mutants and punks, so they fit along with Julian's ideal vibe for the band.

So! the band cuts a record, their first album, they blow up as a political all-mutant band, pissing off all the right people and gathering a large following of youth, punk, mutant, queer, and counter culture alike.

Julian has always looked up to Emma Frost, and names the band the Hellions after her student team, the rivals of the new mutants.

The Music

The band ranges over a few genres, generally categorized as alternative rock, with punk and industrial elements occasionally.

Julian is considered the "main songwriter" of the band, though Nori and Quentin probably contribute an equal amount of songs. I imagine his voice as being fairly smooth but a bit nasally, with a medium pitch range. His songs are lyrically very sound, and generally stick to an alt rock vibe, with occasional industrial elements (usually due to Kevin's influence/backing musicianship). I'm envisioning him as having a very strong voice. Julian will write about a great many things, generally political messages about anti-mutant sentiment and mutant pride, love and sex (he's such a cheesy romantic), or just whatever. Huge influence for Julian song's vibes is Placebo

Noriko adds an element of electric punk to the band. Her songs are lyrically not very interesting, but she makes up for it in the melodies and her musicianship. Nori has a special guitar designed where she can channel her powers into it and doesn't need to use her gauntlets. This gives her a very unique and HEAVY sound. She also writes about mutanthood and its political aspects, along with other political stuff, womanhood and racism, I'm imagining she has something of a riot grrrl vibe going on (which I've always headcanoned her as being into). Her songs and guitar style in my head are very similar to Nova Twins.

Brian adds a steady contrast to Nori's heavy, unusual guitar sound. His playing is a lot softer and more clear. He does a lot of backing vocals, and there's probably a song or two where he gets to do the lead vocals- either Julian or Quentin may have written a song specifically for him to sing. I imagine he has a very soft and beautiful voice. Though many critics would probably call him the "useless" or least important member of the band, he's actually a very important part of their sound– his rhythms make their sound feel whole in a way. He only really became a musician because Julian wanted to start a band and he wanted to be a part of it, because he loves Julian and in a way almost revolves his life around him, but he becomes an integral part of the band.

Laura has a killer bass line, I imagine she has a great level of precision to her playing, strong hands already skilled from her extensive fighting capability. She may not have learned bass until her late teen years but she got the hang of it really quickly and became a phenomenal bassist. Her bass playing is heavy and precise, and her bass lines aren't exactly the most elaborate, but they're effective and fun (Georgia South from Nova Twins vibes).

Quentin is the most punk member of the band, every song he writes is punk, he is actively part of the subculture, and his mutant pride shines through the most out of all of them. almost all of his songs are political, most often about mutant pride and anti-mutant sentiment, he probably has multiple songs that are about the genocide of Genosha. He also writes a lot about his struggles with mental illness, substance abuse, trauma, and his insecurities. He doesn't sing and generally gives his songs to Julian to sing. He is a very good drummer, his drumming is heavy, loud, and fast– he uses his telekinesis to aid his drum playing. I'm imagining he has an extended drumset he put together himself, and uses psionic drumsticks. However, his drum playing is not as precise as he would like it to be, as he's not a very skilled telekinetic (at least, not like Julian is).

Kevin is not an official member of the band, he's a freelance industrial solo musician who makes all his music himself using a variety of forms of percussion and synths. But as he is an active mutant musician in the alt industry, he collaborates with the Hellions a lot, and Julian, Laura and Brian become close friends to him. He generally works on Julian's songs (or occasionally Nori's) and adds an industrial element to them with synths or various forms of percussion unrelated to a drumset.

I'm also imagining a song where Roxy makes an appearance as a guest rapper.

The Story

After their first album blows up, the band goes on tour and rapidly gains a huge following. They experience a lot of anti mutant sentiment, and protesters at their shows. They generally respond with lots of "f us" and flipping them off. Julian, Nori, and Quentin all use their powers to make all sorts of fantastic displays for the show (who needs light shows when you have telekinesis and electricity manipulation?).

Julian, Nori, and Quentin are the biggest names in the band, and the loudest personalities. They may all be incredible musicians and songwriters who work together very well on stage and in the studio, but they do NOT get along and have massive personality conflicts. It can be pretty playful and ridiculous at times, but it can also lead to serious conflicts that are detrimental to the band. They're all incredibly egotistical and in general don't work together when it comes to deciding who's songs go on the album and who's doing this and that and such.

The band manages to put out two new albums, while experiencing a lot of internal drama, AND on top of that, a lot of anti mutant hate at shows, on the news, on the internet, basically everywhere. Laura realizes she's a lesbian at some point and breaks up with Julian, which causes some heartbreak and conflict, but eventually gets resolved and they remain friends. Brian struggles with depression and feeling like he's useless to the band, he also struggles in his relationship with Julian due to the fact that he's in love with him. Brian also becomes very close to Quentin, and Julian gets jealous, feeling like Quentin, who he's never liked, has stolen his best friend. And well, Nori and Quentin and Julian don't get along, obviously. Quentin also struggles with substance abuse, which becomes more and more serious as the band's history goes on. After their third album comes out at they go on tour, they're already considering breaking up the band due to all of these issues.

On the tour for their third album, the band experiences a serious hate crime- anti mutant bigots organized together and got tickets, pretending to be fans, and bombed the stage during their performance. While no one dies, Julian loses his hands, Brian almost dies, and they all sustain very serious trauma from the incident. While Julian and Brian are in the hospital, recovering, the rest of the band agrees to break up the act. when Julian learns of this, he becomes extremely angry and upset that they made that decision without him.

They all go their separate ways, Brian moves back to Puerto Rico and lives with his family, who help him through the trauma, and he gets therapy. around this time is when Logan dies and Laura takes up the mantel of Wolverine, starting her official career as a superhero. Nori and Quentin both go on to be solo acts. Nori's music becomes even more aggressively political and ANGRY because of the event. Quentin's substance abuse gets progressively worse. Julian retreats into himself and becomes extremely depressed, ashamed of his disability and traumatized by the explosion.

The band remains broken up for a long time, around 4-5 years. During this time, Brian tries to reach out to Julian and help him out when he finds out how terribly depressed his best friend is, but Julian ignores him. Nori eventually decides to do something with all her rage and trauma from anti-mutant bigots, and starts doing activism work for mutants and mutant youth especially. She uses her fame to become a huge figure in the fight for mutant rights, and continues to make political music, though it becomes less heated over time. Quentin eventually gets his shit together and goes sober, and also starts doing some minor activism work, he and Brian also reconnect and date for a little, though they don't make their relationship public and it doesn't last very long, they still remain friends and have a much healthier relationship than they originally did when the band was still together. Laura finds Gabby and finds herself in a very good place in her life for the first time ever as Wolverine (the same basic plot of All new Wolverine happens).

Emma Frost has never actually listened to the Hellions' music, as she knows she would despise it and doesn't want to taint the image of the band in her head, but she's always been aware of them and thinks very fondly of them, especially of Julian, who received public criticism when the band was formed for naming them after the Hellions, who were "supervillains." She was rightfully angered when the concert was bombed, and at some point towards the end of those 4-5 years, she wonders to herself whatever happened to Julian Keller. She seeks him out via cerebro, and when she finds him living incredibly depressed on his own, surviving along only with his residual money from the band's years of fame, she refuses to let it stay that way. She comes into his house one day, paying a bunch of people to clean, giving him prosthetic hands to use with his telekinesis that she had made, and insisting that he needs to get his life together already. She helps him get back up on his feet financially, pays for therapy for him, and encourages him to get back to recording music again (and get a life). Emma basically forces herself into Julian's life and becomes his mentor and mother figure.

Julian starts putting together an album, and meets the love of his life through Emma, a dancer named Sofia Mantega. After his album gets released, and the rest of the band hears about it, they all slowly start to reconnect, keeping it quiet at first, hanging out and catching up, having jam sessions where they play old songs and new songs. They all find that they get along so much more now that they're all in much better places of their lives, though they can still be bitchy and mean and get annoyed with each other, they all build healthier friendships and find that they really missed writing and playing music together.

Eventually they officially announce that the band is back together and will be releasing an album and going on tour soon. Their album is a completely different style and tone than their music was previously. It leans more towards punk and regular rock, and it's a lot more uplifting and cathartic. Lyrically its about overcoming their trauma and not letting the weight of it get them down, continuing despite the fact that anti-mutant hate is still happening. (Placebo's Battle for the Sun is the kind of vibe this situation and musical shift is)

Fans are overjoyed, they make sure to take extra security measures on the tour, and they're all incredibly happy to be back making music with each other again. Their career continues after this, keeping the same new style and generally keeping their music more positive than it used to be. Julian eventually marries Sofia and she features in a few of their music videos as a dancer. Julian also writes many, many songs about Sofia and their relationship and his love for her.

Random Headcanons

Julian has a diva phase, he also wears bright red lipstick and/or a dress on stage multiple times

Quentin leans into his omega gang outfit in the early days, also leans heavily into the omega branding thing

They cover Queen Bitch by David Bowie, alt-ify it and Julian puts his whole pussy into it.

I made a playlist with a few songs that I think capture the style of the band– I do have individual explanations for each song but I've already eluded to some of the artists/albums in this post so I'm not gonna go into it more, feel free to ask though!

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Veneer dies and is reincarnated as Floyd's kid AU

Okay considering how well received, my RPBAM AU, might as well share this crazy idea.

Okay, so Veneer still in prison. He doesn't mind. He's one of the guards' favorite prisoners as he doesn't make trouble and is very pleasant. He and Velvet had to be separated, due to her kind of falling off the deep end after their arrest and it wasn't safe for her to be in the normal prison blocks. its all sun-shine and rainbows until Veneer dies from and accident on prison grounds. I'll think he'd get crushed by machinery.

The thing is, he doesn't realize this, until he's hatching out of an egg in a completely new place, in a tiny body that doesn't listen to him, coming face to face with the person he fucking tortured for two months. He is freaked out.

On the other side of this. It's been a few years since his capture, and Floyd has settled down in Pop Village. On his good days he's on crutches and on his bad ones he can't get out of bed. However, He's made a decent life for himself. He's started a small career of giving private music lessons to the trollings of pop village and has rebuilding his bonds with all his brothers. Poppy and Branch (or maybe I'll link my two AUs and it will be Char not sure yet), have married and are waiting for their first egg to hatch. Clay and Viva are engaged and have move the Putt Putts to the village. Bruce lives with his wife and kids, at Vacay Island but he visits as often as he can. JD kind of wanders, but usually sticks to areas close to the village or Vacay Island, with his camping trips as an exception.

Floyd would find an egg abandoned near the river, and his pissed about it and gets attached quickly. Even after bringing the lost egg to Poppy and Branch, to report the lost child, he offers to foster until its family is found. Weeks pass and of course no one claims the baby. Leaving it's fate up in the air. Floyd by this point extremely attached, and files to adopt the egg, with no one interest he's given the full custody. Floyd is over joyed by this, as kids had been on his mind before but that possibility had been ripped away from him along with his talent. It wasn't that he was infertile his body just was too weak to be able carry safely.

When Veneer, now named Vinyl hatches, he's horrified. HE died, was reborn as a troll, and was now underneath the care of the troll he nearly killed. Veneer feels scared, stressed and super guilty, as now he has to witness the major after effects that Floyd has to deal with. However, as a newly hatched infant, he can not express these emotions beyond crying fits. As a result he's a very fussy baby. Especially when his new "aunts and uncles" come to meet him. First off, Apparently one set of them are the freaking King and Queen, and no knowing troll goverment, he assumes that he and Velvet freaking kidnapped not just a boy band member but that Floyd was part of the royal family, which how in the world wasn't he given the death sentence for (not that that mattered at this point).

Floyd takes his new son's fussiness in stride, but he can't help but still worry. He has no idea what's causing his son such distress, he even took the baby to a doctor to see if there was an underlying issue causing it. He confides in Bruce and Branch (his and poppy's egg hatched, into a little girl named Rose), and they comfort him, calming his worries saying that sometimes babies just need time to adjust to being out of the shell, and that it's okay to feel a little unqualified at first.

Eventually, Veneer accepts his situation, and decides to make Floyd's life as great as it can be, after he helped almost end it. Floyd continues to be a doting dad, happy to see that his son is settling in.

Years pass, and things change. Clay and Viva get married, and eventually announce their pregnant with twins. Poppy and Branch adopt a trolling who lost is family in a fire. Veneer, now completely going by Vinyl, attends school with Rose.

Life appears perfect, until Floyd gets sick. Bad days begin to out number good ones. He'd dizzy and nauseous, to the point of passing out. Stubbornly, he tries to ignore it, not wanting his wonderful to be messed up. besides it was probably just a bad run of his conditions. However, eventually he can't any more...

Veneer, now three fully walking and talking, finds Floyd on the fainted on the floor one day, and runs to one of his uncle's home to get help. The brozone brothers force Floyd into a doctor's visit, which has everyone on edge. Bruce was visiting and took Veneer so the toddler wouldn't have to deal with the sterile doctor's office. Leaving Floyd to talk with the rest. The doctor's confirm his symptoms aren't from his pre-existing conditions, and that scares him. He's scared for his future, and the future of his son. His brother's comfort him. Poppy and Branch vowing that they would never let anything happen to their nephew. Eventually he has a confirmed diagnoses.

He's pregnant. Which his reaction to the news could be considered utter shock. Floyd had been told this wouldn't have happened hundred of times, and if it did it would end in disaster. As such the doctors advise Floyd to give up on the new baby, so he could be their for his living son. This sends him spiraling, because he wants his baby, but if he/they died...Eventually he decides to give them a fighting chance. Branch and Poppy, move Floyd and Veneer into their royal pop, to give them support. Which was a good choice, as Floyd's condition continues to rapidly deuterate.

This whole situation, only raps up Veneer's guilt, after all if he'd never helped Velvet kidnap him, Floyd wouldn't be sick and that baby would have an actual chance. Floyd thankfully makes it through the carrying, but the egg detached early and messily. Its purple and blue shell thin and soft, needing to stay at the doctor's office until it hardened properly. Eventually though, it hatched into a sweet baby girl, named Billie. Underweight and tiny but alive. Floyd is overjoyed, and Veneer vows that he'd never let Billie turn into Velvet.

Billie is taken home, however, Floyd notices some things that worried him. She was very quiet. Like didn't make a noise even when she was having a crying melt down. Eventually the doctors say her vocal chords are severely under developed, and it was likely that she'd never talk, speak or sing. She was basically born mute.

Once more years pass. Billie grows, she can't talk but she signs, Veneer fits into the role of her guardian and translator, and had become well versed in many different instruments, Violin being her favorite. Veneer is close to Billie is ways that he never was to Velvet, and how cruel his twin had been to him is clearer then ever. Far too soon, they both reach adult hood, with big music dreams, however unlike in his past life, Veneer is excited about it, he knows Billie will work hard and cheer him on just as he will. It won't be like with Velvet, especially with the fully support of their large family. And they found great success, Veneer was Billie's manager, and some times did her correo. Everything was perfect.

Sadly though, Floyd would pass away when Billie was 15, and Veneer 18. His weaken body finally running out of road. Veneer pulls everything together for Billie, who's a complete mess. The rest of their family is there, especially John Dory. He's around all the time now, taking care of them when their too broken too.

The fic would end with Veneer, playing with his Nieces at a birthday part years later. Billie was all grown up, successful, loving, sweet, married with three children. Two little girls and a little boy. This was his heaven, not his pence's.

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So, that's my insane rambling. hope ya'll enjoyed.

[smallsies]

howdy, i would love to talk about the fictional characters in my head so please feel free to send me asks about aus or anything while i pack!!