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blzzrdstryr · 3 years ago

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Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

#yandere albedo x reader #Yandere Albedo #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #Yandere genshin #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Male yandere #Yandere x reader #Yandere #male yandere #my writing

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Male lizardfolk x female reader (nsfw) *Commission*

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

A commission for @ivymemnoch, featuring a nerdy lizardfolk boy (colouring/design based on a European green lizard) and a tall reader. This is the first of my five commissions to be completed and posted on here, and since it’s a paid commission, it doesn’t get early release on Patreon. Enjoy!

8144 words, no warnings, only fluff, some geekery, and some nsfw at the end. I will add though that I discovered that snakes aren’t the only reptiles to have two penises... lizards do too.

---

After a draining, all-day session in the recording studio, the last thing you wanted was to step out of the soundproofed booth and hear the relentless thrumming of raindrops on the windows.

The producer called over to you, briefly drawing your attention away from the foul weather, and grinned. “That was great! You really nailed her character. I think we can press on with the next section on Monday.” The sphinx smiled at you and stretched slightly before adding, “You have a good weekend now. Rest that voice of yours!”

You smiled and turned to look out of the nearest window with a grimace sliding onto your face. “Ugh. What a day to leave my umbrella behind,” you muttered. “Anyway, see you.”

Lingering just a moment more in the doorway of the recording studio, you eyed the rain and then - resigned to smelling like a wet werewolf - made a dash for it. Three seconds after you’d left the building, it doubled in strength and began to thrash down. Up ahead, still illuminated despite the fact that it was after five o’clock, was a shop you’d often thought about going in, but had never made time to venture inside. With an indignant squawk as the universe nudged you not-so-gently towards the comic book store by dripping water down your collar, you hurtled across the empty street, splashing through rapidly-forming puddles, and shot inside, soaked.

Standing on the mat for a moment, you shivered and gazed around at the room beyond. The walls were lined with bookshelves containing relatively ordinary looking books, and in the centre of the room was a lower stand displaying comics. On the top of this shelf, however, was a small army of figurines from a plethora of games and movies, and as you spotted a favourite of yours, you grinned. This place was nerd nirvana.

At the back of the room, surrounded as if in a shrine by a small alcove dedicated to arts and crafts and prop-making supplies for tabletop games, was the counter and cash register. The figure sitting behind it had looked up as you burst into his slice of peaceful heaven and the movement of his colourful head drew your eye over to him. Tall, slim but clearly muscular, with lime green skin speckled with gold and a wash of vibrant blue across his throat and up his cheeks towards friendly, golden eyes, the lizardfolk looking at you in mild surprise was frankly gorgeous.

You blinked stupidly for a second and then blurted, “I promise not to drip on any of the books.”

He grinned, a wide, warm smile that showed a row of pointed white teeth. “Appreciate it,” he said. His amber, unblinking gaze shifted to the rain and he said, “Gods, it’s really throwing it down out there.”

“Yup. I didn’t make it more than a hundred yards from work before bolting for cover. Nice place to duck into though,” you added, eyeing the figurines and graphic novels around you.

“You work near here?” he asked, setting down the tiny model he’d been painting. His clawed fingers were surprisingly slender and delicate.

You nodded. “Currently, at least. I’m a voice actor. The recording studio is just round the corner.”

“Sweet!” he exclaimed. “You voiced any characters I might know?”

You shrugged. “Maybe? I mean, Eliana from Ice Dragon Chronicles is probably the one I’m most known for? Mostly it’s just small parts for all sorts of things though. She was a rare break…”

“No way!” he breathed, “That’s awesome! Oh wow…” and he practically giggled with delight. His blue throat flushed a darker, more vibrant colour too. “That’s so cool. I’m sorry - you probably just wanted to browse in peace, or even just stay out of the rain. I’m sorry.”

Laughing softly, you said, “You know what? I’ve always wanted to check this place out, but I don’t really know where I’d start… I’ve read a few Manga, but I’d like to try a graphic novel…”

He stood, revealing just how tall he was. You were pretty tall yourself, for a human, but he stood easily a head higher than you. He blinked slowly and grinned, twitching his head towards the shelves along the walls. “Here’s one I always recommend to get people started. I warn you though, it’s a slippery slope… If you like this one, you’ll be obsessed in no time. I’m Bik, by the way.”

“I think I can handle it,” you smiled and he chuckled, handing you a slim but beautifully designed book with a dragon on the front and a female knight on a chestnut charger.

The art style was gorgeous and the writing seemed pretty good quality too, and as you leafed through the first few pages, you found yourself drawn in to the story about the female knight and the dragon. Finally you glanced up at him and said, “I’m assuming you don’t want me to read it all here right now…”

“It’d be nice if you bought it,” he grinned playfully.

He’d just reached out to take it from you when the door opened and a hunch-shouldered werewolf pushed inside, having just shaken the worst of the weather off on the doorstep all over their companion. The person behind her was a tiny, slender, and extraordinarily pretty young woman with pastel lilac hair that for some reason looked natural rather than dyed. Despite her almost innocent, childlike looks, she seemed decidedly furious about the soggy insult from the werewolf. In turn behind them came a figure who would have blotted out the daylight in the doorway had there been any to speak of outside.

You’d never met a hobgoblin before, and you tried not to stare as he lumbered in after the other two who had come to an abrupt halt at the sight of Bik and you standing together with your new graphic novel between you. The grin on the werewolf’s face made you think of feeding time at the zoo, and Bik clearly noticed it because his lithe tail swished a few times behind him in annoyance.

“Shall I take that for you?” Bik asked, offering his elegant hand again for the book and leading you over to the till so that you could pay for it.

You smiled and nodded, aware that the small group behind you were muttering between themselves. Bik was obviously aware of it as well, and seemed irritated by it, though you weren’t sure why. As you fished out the right money from your wallet, he muttered, “My D&D group… We meet every Friday. I’m sorry about them.”

“They seem nice,” you smiled, trying to reassure him. “You know, I’ve never played.”

“Really?” he asked, his golden eyes flashing brightly for an instant.

You shook your head and took the book from him, sliding it into your bag to keep it dry. “One thing at a time, eh?” you grinned before he could invite you to join in and he laughed.

“Hope to see you back again,” he added sheepishly. “There are some others I can recommend to you, whether you like that one or not.”

You nodded. He seemed so cute with the way he tilted his head and blinked his big eyes every now and again. His colouring was also astonishingly pretty, looking like a mosaic of gold and green all along his back, with that vibrant zing of blue around his throat. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” you said as you turned to go, and you really meant it.

While you were walking down the row of books towards the door, grateful that the rain seemed to have lessened considerably, you heard the werewolf dig her friend in the ribs and mutter, “Talk about your type!”

“Shut up,” Bik hissed. “Or she won’t come back.”

Of course, you did find yourself returning to his shop, though not on a Friday evening. You were sure his friends were nice, but you weren’t really there to meet them; at least, not just yet.

Bik’s face lit up when you stepped inside and he hopped down off the counter where he’d been sitting like a naughty schoolboy, swinging his legs and reading a comic which sat in his lap. “You came back!” he chirruped as he set it aside and came over. He wore tight-fitting jeans with a big hole tailored in the back for the thick root of his tail, and a blue t-shirt with a faded print on.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” you asked, aiming for playful but still coming across as a little shy, perhaps even coy. “You said you had more recommendations for me…”

“You liked it then?”

“Loved it! The twist at the end was amazing.”

His toothy grin made your stomach flip over and you glanced away as a blush rose up your cheeks.

You spent the next half an hour dissecting every detail about the first book he’d recommended, and from there, he chose three others that might suit.

Over the next few weeks, you returned to the shop regularly, and on one blustery August afternoon, you found him preparing some props for his next D&D session. Instead of talking books, you asked him about them, and he tilted his head in that adorable way he had, glancing over the half-finished figurines and what looked like a maquette of an old castle ruin or something.

“Did you make that too?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yeah. It helps with the game, but honestly I just enjoy making stuff…”

“They’re beautiful! You could work in the props department at a film company or something.”

His blue throat became so vibrant in contrast with his lime green skin that it almost hurt to look at him, and he half turned away. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I get a lot of free time in the shop; fellow nerds aren’t too thick on the ground here, if you know what I mean. Hey, listen,” he added, scratching the back of his head with a clawed finger. “I’ve… uh… I’ve been wondering if maybe you’d like to come along to a session one day? You don’t have to take part or anything if you don’t want to, and we are, like, halfway through this campaign, but if you wanted to you could fill in for one of the NPCs or something… But… uh…” He trailed off, embarrassed and picked up one of the half-finished mimic chests on the counter top.

You watched as he turned it over in his delicate fingers and then chuckled. “You know what? I’d love to.”

At that, he dropped it and spun back around. “You’re serious?”

“Sure! Why not?” you asked, stooping to pick it up and handing it back to him. “Should I bring snacks?”

“Oh my god, could you get any more perfect!” he blurted and then laughed, staring down at the miniature mimic in his hands as if hoping that it might just eat him up on the spot. “Snacks would be amazing, but you don’t have to. Usually we take it in turns to bring something. It’s Oleander’s turn this Friday.”

“Oleander?”

“I don’t know if you remember her, but she’s the tiny one with the purple hair. She’s half fae and all sass. She bakes the most amazing sugar cookies though…”

“Got a sweet tooth then?” you asked and he nodded.

“Duly noted. Tell me about the others? Was the big one a hobgoblin?”

Bik nodded. “Yeah, that’s Jos. He’s kind of shy, but he’s great once you get to know him. He’s playing this tiny elven bard, and she’s -” he broke off, realising he was about to go off on a long and potentially quite boring waffle about their characters. Clearing his throat, he said instead, “Anyway, so yeah, that’s Jos. The werewolf is Emma. She’s… a bit brash and loud at times, but she means well.”

“How do you guys all know each other?” you asked, moving over to examine the figurines on the counter while he talked.

“From school, actually,” he laughed, setting the mimic back down. “It’s the typical - stereotypical I guess - thing of a bunch of rejects forming a bit of a ragtag band, and we’ve just been best mates ever since.”

With a fond smile, you firmly agreed to come to their next session.

You showed up with a bag of cookies, not wanting to seem tight but equally not wanting to try and one-up the resident baker in the group. You were also running a tad late after the recording session had run over, and the door was locked when you arrived at quarter past seven, and you had to bang on the glass repeatedly until Bik scuttled out to rescue you.

“I’m so sorry!” he said as he stepped to one side and let you in. “I thought I left it off the latch for you! I should also have given you my number. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine!” you laughed as he cringed. “But I wouldn’t say no to having your number…”

He went still and then smiled.

You followed him into a storage room at the back of the shop which had been decked out with flickering LED candles, and in the centre of the room was a round table set up for their game. They hadn’t really started yet, and Oleander was, to your surprise, sitting in Jos’ lap. He pecked her affectionately on the top of the head and picked her up, setting her back down on the ground. The werewolf, Emma, snuffed at the air and turned around, tail wagging from between the slats of her chair.

“Hey!” she grinned, leaping up and stepping over to hug you. “I’m sorry. I’m a hugger. You made it though! And…” and she sniffed ostentatiously, “And you brought goodies!”

“I couldn’t not bring goodies,” you chuckled, handing the modest bag of cookies to Bik.

“Tibikthio,” Emma said in a mock-formal tone to Bik, “You picked a good one.”

You turned slowly to the lizardfolk who had closed his eyes in semi-horror. “I hate it when you use my full name,” he groaned.

“Tibikthio…” you repeated. “I like it…”

You caught the tiniest flicker of something cross his face but it was gone a second later.

“Well he hates it!” Emma barked. “Come on, pull up a chair.” She adopted a silly accent, like some old crone, and added, “There’s plenty of room, m’dear!”

Smiling, you glanced at Bik, who still looked a bit embarrassed about the whole name thing, and then you settled in between him and Emma as the game began.

To start with, you stayed on the periphery, letting them tell their story and act it out. Some of them would have made good voice actors, though Oleander tried a bit too hard in places. But they were having an absolute blast. Bik was the dungeon master, weaving elements of improv and story-crafting seamlessly into one narrative, though there were some gaffes and hilarious moments when it all fell apart. By the end of the session, you had cried tears of laughter until your stomach hurt, and had had your heart in your mouth for the entirety of one fight in a long-lost temple.

It was past ten when they wrapped up, and Bik insisted that they just leave everything there for next time. “It’s late,” he said, “And who wants to tidy up now anyway…?” He was met with a chorus of nods and yawns.

Your stomach growled though as you stood and you felt a bit light-headed.

“You ok?” Bik asked, head tilting quizzically. “You look a bit squiffy… Didn’t make you queasy with all the guts and goop at the end of the fight, did I?”

Reassuring him, you told him you had just missed supper that night because of work, and he looked horrified. “There’s a place round the corner that’s open til midnight. You want to grab something?”

Your initial reaction was to refuse politely and say you’d rustle something up when you got home, but you happened to catch Oleander’s violet eyes as she looked from Bik to you with what could only have been described as a look of hope on her face, so you took a gamble and nodded. “Sure, I’d like that.”

Bik shut up the shop and bid his friends goodnight. Oleander winked at him but offered no comment before demanding that Jos carry her home, which he dutifully did. Bik caught you looking at them and smiled. “They’ve been together since they were sixteen. Real high school sweethearts.”

“They’re adorable,” you offered. “I mean, they’re kind of polar opposites, but… it’s nice.”

“There’s hope for those of us who tend to prefer other species…” Bik muttered playfully. “Come on, it’s not far.” As you walked along the empty street, he asked, “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” you replied honestly. “I had no idea it was so…” you waved your hand while you searched for exactly the right word.

“Nerdy?”

You snorted a laugh and corrected him. “Complicated… involved… complex…”

He shrugged casually and shivered. “It’s what you make of it, I guess. We’ve been plotting this particular campaign for months. It’s nice to be able to play it finally!” He shivered again and hugged his bare arms around himself, claws scratching slightly on his rough skin.

“Are you cold?”

He nodded. “I forgot my jacket. I’m not very good with the cold. It’s a lizardy thing.”

The evening wasn’t particularly chilly, but you supposed he was cold-blooded.

“You want my jacket?” you asked. “I think your shoulders are slim enough that it’d probably fit you.”

He shot you an odd look. “Isn't the guy supposed to be the one to offer that to the girl?”

“Only if you stick to stuffy old gender roles,” you grinned. “You want it or not?”

“Yes please,” he mumbled and took it off you with a grateful smile. He looked odd wearing it, but he burrowed into it for the remainder of the short walk to the late-night restaurant.

The two of you sat down and chatted, and you remarked on just how relaxed it felt.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s… It’s nice. I’m glad you got rained on all those weeks ago…”

“Me too,” you laughed. He was a dork, but you liked that he felt genuine, and that his sense of humour was a bit off the wall.

The restaurant wasn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but the food they served looked amazing. Run by a big Highland minotaur with a massive belly and a hearty laugh, it offered exactly the kind of meal you needed after not having had much all day, and the two of you took a seat in a quiet corner on some comfortable, diner-style benches.

The lizardfolk who took your order reminded you of a gecko, and had pinkish colouring and large, blue eyes. While you had always been drawn to lizardfolk, somehow no one seemed to compare to Bik lately.

While you waited for your food, Bik interrupted your musing and asked, “What made you get into voice acting? Maybe next time you can voice some of the other characters they meet…?”

“I think I’d like that,” you admitted. “Normally everyone just asks me to do impressions of famous people, you know, because I have an ear for accents and all that.”

He smiled and rested his chin in his hands, staring at you unblinkingly. It might have made anyone else seem a bit intense, but with him it just seemed endearing. As much as he loved to tell a story, he seemed just as happy to listen to one too.

“Honestly, I kind of fell into it. I did music and drama at college and was all set to go down the ‘traditional’ acting line, but I found I was more comfortable bringing characters to life with my voice than my entire body. It’s still really hard work though. Most people reckon that if you can do a few accents or a funny voice, that’s it, but it’s so much more than that.”

He nodded in agreement. “Oh absolutely! I mean, I think I gathered as much just from what we do in our little amateur group. We all sit round a table and we say our ‘lines’, and we all bring our characters to life as convincingly as we can. We’ve been doing it for years, but we’re still not very good!” Bik grinned at you, showing all his teeth, and you smiled back. A moment later he added, a bit dreamily, “I still can’t believe you voiced Eliana. She’s one of my favourite characters ever! I love that game. I wish she’d been a playable character…”

You laughed, honestly a bit bashful.

Before it could become awkward, your food arrived and the two of you chatted some more around mouthfuls of delicious, humble, homely food until you thought you were going to burst.

“Oh man,” you groaned, sitting back in your seat. “I won’t need to eat for a week!”

Bik smiled and said, “I actually probably won’t eat for a week.”

“Wow, that’s…”

“Economically beneficial?” he snickered. “True. I’d rather be like that than like Jos. He has to eat six meals a day just to fuel his body.” He leaned on the table and added in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “And you know what? Oleander eats just as much as he does.”

“No way!” you gasped. “But she’s tiny! How does she do it?”

“She’s half Fae,” he said. “There’s probably magic involved.”

“Lucky her,” you muttered. “Though on second thoughts, grubbing up six meals a day sounds like a lot of effort. But seriously though, I am so full.”

The minotaur who owned the place came out at that moment and said in a heavily accented rumble, “Ach, too bad! I was gonna offer you’s some dessert!” He waggled a pair of menus at you hopefully.

“We’ll just have to come back next week,” you said and the minotaur laughed heartily.

Bik seemed sleepy after the heavy meal, but he walked you back to your place and you exchanged an awkward hug on the threshold. You got the sense that it wasn’t just you who wished it had been more, but neither of you was ready to make that leap just yet.

That first Friday was the first of many trips to the shop to watch them play D&D together, and after only a few weeks, you began to join in more activelyn. And so you found yourself lending your vocal cords to street merchants and beggars, high nobles and sea captains as the unlikely group made their way across their fictional land. The tables had turned a bit, and now it was you who made them helpless with laughter, even mimicking Oleander’s very particular speech patterns when the group ran into a mimic.

“That’s amazing!” she said. “Are you sure you’re not Fae?”

“No,” you said, “I mean, I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I’m very ordinary…”

“You’re not ordinary at all!” Bik blurted and everyone burst out laughing.

“We all know that Bik’s got the hots for you!” Emma grinned.

Oleander chimed in with, “Well, as much as a cold-blooder can have the ‘hots’ for anyone…”

“Oi,” Bik grunted. “I’m sitting right here you know!”

“Better speak up more often,” Oleander teased playfully, chucking him affectionately under the chin like he was a favourite hunting hound or something, “Or she won’t notice you…”

“I’m going to write you all into a jail cell next week,” the dungeon master grumped. “Then you’ll be sorry.”

After that session, he claimed he was tired and begged off going to supper with you. Of course you said it was fine, but you had grown used to your private suppers together and fought off the lump of disappointment that lodged itself unexpectedly in your throat. He waved and slouched off down the street, leaving the rest of you outside the dark and empty shop.

“I think you went a little far this time,” Jos commented in his deep, gravelly voice to the two girls and they sighed. “He’s always been very sensitive about… you know, ‘matters of the heart’…”

“Yeah. Poor thing,” Oleander said and she looked at you with her large purple eyes. “The more he likes someone, the more awkward he can get. I’m sorry we butchered it tonight for you though. I’ll make it up to you. Fae’s honour.” After a pause, she added, “You do like him, right?”

“Very much,” you admitted quietly. “He’s very gentle. It’s nice.”

“He used to play lacrosse back in high school,” Jos grinned. “He wasn’t gentle then! But he’s sweet when it comes to people he cares about. He looked out for me at school.”

You shot him a surprised look and he laughed. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “You just don’t look much like the type who needs anyone to look out for them…”

Oleander patted his colossal forearm and cooed, “Ol’ Jos here wouldn’t say boo to a housefly, would you darling?” He smiled affectionately at her and said nothing. “We’ve always been the outcasts and misfits I guess. Bik’s the most normal one of the lot of us, all things considered.”

Emma announced with a sudden curse that she was running late to meet her girlfriend, and loped off into the night on all fours with an accompanying farewell howl, her backpack bouncing around on her shoulders, and Oleander and Jos bid you goodnight and headed off towards the bus stop, leaving you to make your own way back. It was strange not to have Bik by your side that night, and it made you realise how close you’d become to him over the last few weeks.

Back home, you curled up on the sofa, not ready to start thinking about bed just yet, and had just got your phone out to drop him a text when your message tone chimed at you. The way your heart clenched with excitement at the sight of Bik’s name on the notification made you pause a moment and wonder just what this affection for him was turning into. Images of his bright green skin and golden eyes darted across your mind; the sound of his laugh, the way his tail coiled itself off the ground when he walked, the way his clawed hands held the little props he liked to make… You’d been telling the truth when you’d admitted to Oleander just how much you liked him.

‘Hey’, his text began. ‘Sorry I bailed like that. Did you get home ok?’

‘:) yeah,’ you replied. ‘And it’s fine. I get it, but they meant well. And I’m looking forward to the next session already!”

Jos was the one who finally insisted that you had to become a permanent member of their fictional gang. Casting a look at Bik as you all loitered in the main shop after the session, you saw the way he bit his thin lips and coiled his tail around one ankle. “Should I?” you asked.

You’d grown in confidence around them, glad to have been welcomed into their group, and he nodded mutely.

“That doesn’t seem very enthusiastic…” you shot with tongue-in-cheek humour dancing in your eyes.

“Obviously he’d love that,” Emma said. That day she wasn’t in her wolf form, and it was one of the few times you’d ever seen her as such. She had ash blonde hair with a harsh side-shave above her left ear while the rest was long, tied back in a ponytail. Her body was strong and muscular, and honestly she was utterly gorgeous.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and adopted the tone of one of the temple guardians you’d voiced for them earlier that evening. “Come now,” you said with mock sternness, “Speak the truth, young dragonling…”

Bik immediately caught on and followed the joke as he spoke in the voice of his dragonborn bard, quavering and simpering. “Please… oh Great One, don’t make me speak more on the subject… I’m only a worthless wyrm…”

You closed the short distance between the two of you and leaned in close. His jaw slackened slightly, his throat bobbing, and his beady, amber eye locked onto your face. “You are no such thing,” you smiled. Biko’s throat worked nervously. Drawing back, you added, “And I’d love to join the group. You’ll have to help me think of a character.”

Bik still looked like he’d suffered a minor heart attack, but Jos whooped and Oleander giggled. “Great!” they said as one.

You turned to Bik and said, “Maybe you and I can chat it over after dinner, if you’re still up for our usual post-session snack?”

“Definitely,” he croaked, voice sounding thick and slightly awestruck. He looked a bit stunned, but you decided it was in a good way.

He held the door open for you and you stepped close to him as you headed out into the late evening, pressing a hand flat against his chest as you passed, and murmured, “Thanks.”

He recovered quickly, though he did seem to be concentrating very hard on the task of locking up the shop, and as the two of you walked away from the others, he kept glancing down at you.

“What?” you finally asked with a giggle.

“Nothing.”

“It’s clearly something…” you pressed, turning and walking backwards so you could look at his face. “Regretting your decision to let me join the gang?”

“Not at all!” he replied, apparently horrified that your thoughts had gone there. “No… The opposite actually…”

“Oh,” you sighed.

He breathed your name and then stopped. You drew to a halt as well, watching him with a hammering heart. Starting to talk again seemed tricky, but he managed it. “I… Uh… I’m really glad you’re… you know… around… Ah, shit… I’m so bad at this…”

“I’m glad I’m around too,” you said, and you slid your hand into his. His skin was rough and cool, and your first thought was that you would very much like it against other parts of your body.

Bik tightened his grip on your fingers briefly and let out a breathy, nervous laugh. “I’ve never, uh… courted a human before… Is that even the right term for it?”

“You can call it what you like,” you said. “And you don’t have to do anything special or different. Just… keep hanging out with me. Maybe we could watch a movie or something some time?”

“Ok,” he said, swallowing thickly again. “Let’s go somewhere different for dinner?”

You turned your eyes from his to the restaurant sign just up ahead. “But we always go here,” you said. “And we’re almost there… Where else is going to be open at this time of night?”

“You could… come back to my place?” he asked. “I mean, it’s nothing special, but… I’m a tidy reptile, I promise! No hoards of strange things either. I’m not a dragon…”

You had to laugh at his oddball sense of humour that only got quirkier the more apprehensive he got. He also couldn’t stop his throat from fanning slightly too, the reptilian version of sweating nervously you supposed. “Alight. I’d like that.”

The upper storey of the old house where he lived was open plan, with beautiful bare rafters and sloping ceilings, and hardwood floors. His claws clacked adorably on them when he moved about. He also had the heating on stupendously warm, and you took your coat and jumper off immediately. “Sorry,” he said when he saw what you were doing.

You reassured him, and started to look about a little bit while he busied himself in the kitchen and poured you both a drink.

There were bookshelves on practically every available space, and as well as containing a collection of rare first editions and hard-to-come-by novels, they also sported photos, some in battered frames and others just propped up here and there. Most of them featured lizardfolk who looked a lot like him. “Family?” you asked and he came over to stand beside you.

“Yeah. We were a big clutch,” he said as he held the glass out for you. “Poor mum! There are twelve of us.”

He told you the names of each of his siblings, and what they were up to now, but you were really only half listening to the words. There was something magical about his voice, some unearthly quality it took on when he began to tell a story, regardless whether that was a story about his own life or a fantasy tale made up with his friends.

“What?” he asked softly.

“I… I like the sound of your voice,” you said honestly, and you reached your fingers tentatively up to touch the blue of his throat. He drew in a shaky breath, eyes closing as his reptilian head tilted upwards to allow you better access to him. “You’re very beautiful,” you whispered. “The colour of your skin is incredible… I like this bit too,” you added, running a finger down his cheek where it blended from green speckled with gold to intense blue.

Bik brought his hands to your shoulders and looked down at you, blinking slowly. “Really?” he asked. “It’s not very… I mean… most males of my species have much deeper blue… I mean, just look at my brothers,” he added awkwardly, nodding at a picture behind you.

“I like your blue,” you chuckled without turning around.

Embarrassed, but obviously deeply flattered, he brushed his knuckle against your cheek and said, “Would you like that supper or do you have other things on your mind?”

With a grin, you said, “I suppose I could be distracted by food…” you admitted grudgingly as your stomach rumbled.

You watched him walk away to the kitchen area of the loft apartment, and sighed. This was turning into exactly what you’d hoped it might - a friendship blossoming into something deeper.

Wanting to test that theory, you crossed to join him and, while he still had his back to you, you slid your arms around his slender waist and hugged him. “You need a hand?” you asked, pressing your cheek against his back.

“I… I was going to suggest takeout,” he said bashfully, glancing back over his shoulder at you. “But if you want me to cook, I can?”

You shook your head. “It’s getting late,” you said, releasing him. “Another time. Let’s get takeout.”

While you waited for the food to arrive, you bickered playfully over movie choices, finally settling on some cheesy old film about a dragon who shared his heart with a selfish boy. It was actually pretty good, but it was still horrendously dated in places. It didn’t matter to you though. The food was really good, and the two of you snuggled up on the sofa to eat, with you leaning against his side.

“I couldn’t do this with many people,” you said, nudging him gently with your elbow.

“Do what?”

“Cosy up under someone’s arm. I’m usually too tall.”

He chuckled and swallowed. “Never dated an orc then, I take it.”

You shook your head. “Not dated all that much at all to be honest.”

“What? But your gorgeous,” he blurted and his skin flushed a much darker green. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you said and put your hand reassuringly on his thigh. He jumped and then slid his arm around your shoulders, setting his empty takeout box down on the coffee table beside the sofa.

He gazed at you, a more serious look in his eyes, and said, “You know, I couldn’t help noticing your choices of media…” You flicked him a frown and he went on. “Ok, the first graphic novel with the dragon was on me, but everything else has also had dragons or lizards in…”

“You detecting a preference here?” you sassed gently.

“Am I?”

With an ostentatious roll of your eyes, you said, “I mean, I’ve always thought your kind extremely beautiful, but my interest in you is to do with you. It’s not some empty kink. You know that, right?”

He nodded slowly. “Just checking.”

“And what about you?” you said, also setting your empty food box down and shifting your position so that you came to rest astride his lap, the film almost over, forgotten and playing in the background. “I have to admit that your dragonborn seems to like humans rather a lot… Have you got a thing for us warmbloods?”

His throat worked and he didn’t meet your eye for a moment. “I mean… yes…” he said, and his clawed hands found your wide hips. He ran a circle carefully over them and moaned, his own hips shifting a little beneath you. “But when you walked into my shop, all bedraggled and soaking wet, I’d honestly never seen anyone more beautiful in my whole life.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek. He turned his head slightly as you moved away and drew you back for a proper kiss. His claws raked gently through your hair, messing it up as he gripped you firmly but tenderly, and his tongue slid slowly out to taste you, savouring the kiss. It wasn’t a conventional kiss like those you were used to, but it worked perfectly well. You rolled your hips against him once again and he broke the contact, letting his head fall back against the sofa cushions. His tail coiled and uncoiled beside you on the sofa and you reached for it.

“Can I touch you here?” you asked and he nodded breathlessly.

He gasped as you stroked your fingertips along the slightly rough skin of his tail and he brought the tip of it up to caress the back of your hand.

“Kinky,” you grinned and he snickered.

Bik, somewhat slack-jawed and clearly aroused, brought his blunt muzzle to the curve where your neck met your collarbones, and inhaled the scent of you deeply. His tail coiled tightly around your wrist for a moment before unravelling and falling limply onto the sofa again. “I want you,” he rasped.

You let your hips grind into him again and he gasped and uttered a soft curse under his breath as he stared almost reverently up at you. You nodded, and his claws hooked the hem of your top and lifted it up carefully, revealing your bra and he made short work of the clasp. Taking the weight of each breast in his hands, he caressed you and then, with pupils blown wide and dark so that his irises were a mere halo of gold, he took your nipple delicately between his sharp teeth and very gently sucked, moaning softly as he repeated the gesture on the other one. His rasping tongue curled around them too as they hardened under his attentions and you gave a shaky exhale.

“So beautiful,” he whispered as he let go, leaving you throbbing and tingling. “Gods, you’re so beautiful.”

“Bik…” you groaned when he stopped touching you so that he could simply stare at your half-naked body in his lap.

He smiled and to your immense surprise, simply stood up, hooking his arms under your thighs as you gripped his waist instinctively with your legs. He was a lot stronger than he looked and you nearly yelped in surprise. “I’ve got you,” he said as he carried you towards his open bedroom door, nudging it shut behind him with his tail.

He laid you down on top of the duvet and undressed the rest of you slowly, savouring the sight of you as he gradually revealed your body. You looked up at him dazedly and saw the tent straining against his jeans. “Bik… Not fair,” you said. “You’re still dressed.”

More nervously now that the attention was on him, he took off his own t-shirt to reveal a pale, creamy green stomach and chest. He was still stippled with other hues of green and even a few freckles of black, but his front was mostly pale. His lean waist and narrow hips looked deliciously inviting and you sat up and ran your fingers around the inside of his waistband just to watch him shiver beneath your touch.

His hands hung quietly by his sides as you undid the button of his jeans and he stepped out of them carefully. His taloned feet were as delicate as his hands, and you marvelled at them too before letting your gaze sweep up his slim, strong calves to his thicker and more muscular thighs and to the tight, black boxer-briefs that hugged every single curve of his body.

Bik lay down beside you without taking them off and raked his claws up the length of your legs and, applying a little pressure to your hip, pushed you onto your back. With his tail, he tugged your right ankle close to his body and parted your legs enough for him to run the pad of his thumb in a slow, teasing circle around the soft, sensitive skin above your clit.

Your body lurched joyously at his touch and you sucked in a breath. You began to tingle all over, heat prickling beneath your skin as he woke your whole body up with reverent kisses and touches.

“Can I taste you?” he asked a while later after he’d reduced you to a writhing, whimpering mess, and you nodded.

After you moved further up the bed to give him more room, he reverently placed both palms on your hip bones and nosed gently at your sex. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe and you cried out and arched your back as he laved over your lips and just flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“You taste so beautiful,” he said before returning his attention to your body. He circled and nudged at you, dipping his tongue deep inside you as well, always coming back to your clit until you were almost screaming with want.

“Bik, please… Please make me come,” you panted. “I’m so close…”

“Can humans only come once then?” he asked with over-accentuated ignorance, and you knew from the tone of his voice that he knew the answer to that already. You growled inarticulately at him and he pulled back. “I’d better stop then.”

“No!” you half sobbed. “Please…”

Smiling softly, he stared at you and moved his thumb back to your swollen clit. His claws were too sharp for him to work you inside, but the pattern he made on your skin with his tongue was enough to drive you right to the edge, and then as the white heat built inside you, you felt your orgasm rolling over you like a great ocean breaker and you cried out, grasping at the sheets. As you came, he pressed his tongue hard against you, savouring you as you came against him.

When you eventually slumped back against the pillows, breathing hard and almost dizzy with how good you felt, you half opened one eye to find that he had lain down on his back and was palming his erection through the fabric of his boxers.

“Bik?” you asked in a slightly slurred whisper. Your fingers moved to the waistband and he tensed slightly. “Bik?”

Licking his lips nervously, he nodded and you drew his boxers off. At the top of his legs was a mounded sheath which quite obviously contained not one but two cocks. Neither was necessarily all that large, but they were very beautiful, and fully erect.

“We’re not exactly built like humans,” he said bashfully as you stared openly at him. “I… I was worried that -” he cut off with a deep grunt as you trailed your fingers around the edges of his sheath. His twin cocks - both a bright vibrant green tipped with blue - writhed slightly, coiling around one another and glistening with the same clear fluid that slicked his sheath.

“You’re beautiful, remember?” you reminded him, shakily propping yourself upright on one elbow to get a better look at him. You repeated the gesture, running your fingers tips around his sensitive sheath, and he accepted your words as truth as you started to worship him with the same careful tenderness he’d just shown you.

As you lavished attention on him, he started to unravel.

Soon his spine bowed up off the bed and his hips squirmed as you worked his twin cocks in one hand. The tighter you gripped him, the more noise he made as they twisted together beneath your fingers, and you finally wrung a deep, guttural, low-frequency rumble out of him that reminded you more of an alligator than the more delicate lizards he resembled.

“Gods,” he rasped, “You make it feel like spring…” and you knew he was referring to the traditional lizardfolk mating season. You’d just lowered your mouth to the tip of one of his cocks and given it a tentative suck when he blurted, “Can I come inside you?”

You nodded, and he switched positions with you so that he was on top. The heat of his cocks was a delicious contrast to the constant coolness of the rest of him and you bucked upwards against him just to feel them pressing against your sensitive clit.

“Both?” he asked warily and you nodded again, shifting so that he could line himself up. He kissed down your neck and between your breasts again before he nudged the tips of his cocks to your entrance. As he slid into you, slowly stretching you full, you watched his face carefully. Again, he began to rumble softly and he almost couldn’t speak as he hissed, “So tight… so hot… gods, you’re so hot…”

With a final push of his hips, he slid all the way inside you and paused a moment, clearly fighting the instinct to come almost immediately. Recovered, breathing steadily, he began to slide in and out, his rhythm increasing in tempo as he lost himself in the sensations of your body. The way his cocks felt inside you, twisting together and shifting in a way that no toy could ever hope to replicate, was unlike anything you’d ever experienced and you knew you were going to come again in no time.

“I’m…” he grunted.

“Me too,” you said, grabbing his rough-skinned arms and pulling yourself even further onto his cocks. “Bik, I’m going to come again.”

“Fuck,” he croaked as you clenched tight around him with a cry.

You wrenched his orgasm from him with the force of your own and he arched his spine, hips driving him deep inside you as he released, and he yelled out, voice hoarse, the sound cracked and broken. His jaws parted to reveal his sharp teeth and you kept your grip on his arms as you came a second time.

He shuddered violently, grunting and breathing hard through flared nostrils, and then fell forwards, barely catching himself in time on his forearms. He was spent and exhausted and so beautiful. His blue colouring shone in the dim light of his bedroom and you trailed your fingers lazily along the bridge of his nose towards his lips.

“That was incredible,” he whispered when he’d got his breath back. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No,” you smiled and he hugged you briefly, lapping a little lizardy kiss on your forehead before pushing himself up on shaking arms and sliding free of you. His cocks coiled briefly in the warm air and he rolled onto his back beside you. With your thighs still slick with his release, you tucked yourself up beside him and took your time in exploring his relaxed body. Where before he had been tense, almost nervous, worried that his non-human body would be too strange for you, now he seemed to have fallen peacefully into a haze of bliss, and he let your hands roam all over his torso and down to his hips while wearing a soft smile the whole time.

His cocks lay soft across his skin, occasionally twitching and drooling a little, but eventually they began to shift back into his sheath. He slid his hand down and adjusted them, and shot you a look. “You really do like lizardfolk, huh?”

With a wry grin, you shook your head and said, “I really do just like you.”

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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#exophilia #lizardfolk #lizard man #lizard monster #reptile monster #male monster #male monster x female reader #female reader #lemon

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btswritingcafe · 4 years ago

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the daily grind | specials.

welcome to btswritingcafe’s monthly special highlighting our members by diving into their world of fanfiction. we want to discuss your passions and interests as you work through a fic, showing our readers the behind the scenes grind.

our hope is for all of you to take the time to read what each writer faces when it comes to tackling a new fic. we hope that you can see their excitement as they share. please know that every writer is always excited to share what they do for each story. thank you all for the support!

meet the two writers featured for this weeks issue. make sure to read below the cut to see all the amazing responses from ish and minhee!

♡ — @se0kie | ish

♡ — @cheonjae-min | minhee

BEHIND THE SCENES WITH: @se0kie

lost in the sea foam, kth [pt.4] | f, a

⟶ it’s difficult being a god. what with all the immortality, the decades bleeding into each other and losing every human being you come to care about. and taehyung’s lived, or whatever it is gods do, for a very, very long time. he thinks he needs help but the fates are being the mysterious, useless hags they’ve always been. they think the solution lives in jeju at the blue side marine conservation. turns out Y/N is the only mortal he’s met who’s ready to challenge him head on. of course it’s not like she knows her new intern is king of the sea, maker of horses, the earthshaker, poseidon himself after all.

GET TO KNOW ISH AS A WRITER

♡ — what inspired you to write this fic?

well to be honest the whole series started off from this random scene i thought of while just causally daydreaming. it’s the smut scene that’s all i’ll say but the idea popped up from this clear underwater image of loads of colourful shoals of fish swimming and bright coral reefs and wondering if coral reefs are soft enough to do the sexy on. that was the first hit of inspiration and then i was re reading a greek myth book from my childhood so i ran with the idea of modern poseidon taehyung and a marine biologist reader

♡ — how long does it usually take you to write a fic?

it takes longer for me to actually gather up energy to start writing otherwise once i’m in the rhythm a fic will finish in like a day if i’m lucky and maybe a week or two if i’m being lazy

♡ — what was your favorite scene to write and why?

my favourite scene has got to be the one where tae leads the group of turtles back to shore and notices how happy and overwhelmed the oc is

♡ — what excites you about writing in general?

it’s always been amazing to me how i could put together a string of words and other people who read it would feel those emotions. i’m always trying to say something through my writing, even if i don’t entirely know what i believe i write what i’m meant to write. just the thought of putting out a story into the world gets me through it all and whenever i feel an intense emotion or think of a particular scene i’m always excited about putting it down as words.

♡ — what do you usually write first in a fic (from the beginning, major events you have in mind, dialogue…etc).

it may sound super old fashioned but i can only write in chronological order. i can’t write a certain part and leave it be unless i’m like crazy inspired and the words just flow i prefer writing a fic top to bottom. so yeah i write everything from the beginning and just see how it goes from there

♡ — did you listen to any music while writing this fic?

i didn’t listen to any music but i recommend listening to mariposa by peach tree rascals for this chapter

♡ — is there anything you find particularly difficult when it comes to writing?

i have a bad habit of repeating the same words and using complicated sentence structure so i really have to remind myself to take it easy all the time. but otherwise the biggest obstacle for me is overcoming the procrastination and actually getting up and writing.

♡ — what helps you to get out of writers block?

i don’t really force myself out of writer’s block, i always draw the outline for every fic at the beginning and everytime i write a little portion i get to strike it through and that kinda helps. but i go weeks and weeks without writing anything and once i feel guilty enough to break out of the cycle i write a few paragraphs and then hopefully the burst of energy follows through :)

♡ — what do you believe is your strengths as a writer?

i don’t really think very highly of myself as a writer but i feel like my writing is pretty approachable. i don’t make things complicated and i just let the words flow so i think it’s easy to read

♡ — what do you want people to specifically notice in this fic?

i have never had as much fun with writing as i have with this series!! i really love how this story is going and i’m having such a good time writing it i just want the readers to feel it too. i want them to lay back and just have a laugh or two and relax with this one :)

We love to see all the content that you create! This series surely is amazing. Thank you for all you do, Ish!

BEHIND THE SCENES WITH: @cheonjae-min

secret, myg | f, h

⟶ “i’ll meet you halfway.” and “there’s enough room for the both of us.”

GET TO KNOW MINHEE AS A WRITER

♡ — what inspired you to write this fic?

It’s pretty funny! Y/n in ‘secret’ actually had a similar experience to myself in real life! It was at the concert last year. If you’ve been to a concert at Metlife, you’d know how crazy it could be while leaving so my friend and I were looking for our ride at the back where there’s a big lot! There were a bunch of people, and then screams, and black vans leaving the venue. Later on during Jungkook’s GCF, I realized it was them! Lol

♡ — how long does it usually take you to write a fic?

On a good day, a few hours. If it’s an idea that I see has some potential in, I’d rest on it which could take up to a couple of weeks. This is the result of my tendency to overthink ㅜ_ㅜ

♡ — what was your favorite scene to write and why?

My favorite scene was the one where the reader and yoongi meet! I really wanted to play a little bit with their dynamic. I wanted the perception of Yoongi to come out as the opposite of what we would typically see in other stories and in real life.

♡ — what excites you about writing in general?

The spontaneity of it! Writing is easy when you just start jotting down your ideas, seeing some sort of flow. If you think about something too much, the outcome probably won’t come out as good. Ironic how this is coming from the self-proclaimed overthinker, right?

♡ — what do you usually write first in a fic (from the beginning, major events you have in mind, dialogue…etc).

The first thing I write are the major events, and the general concept I have in mind [who, what, where, when’s, etc.]. After outlining the major parts, I start from the beginning and fill in the holes I listed as the major events. Kind of backwards, but it works.

♡ — did you listen to any music while writing this fic?

I have not.

♡ — is there anything you find particularly difficult when it comes to writing?

Pace. When i posted ‘secret’ I wasn’t too thrilled about it to be honest, but at the end I thought of it as just another practice piece. This is why I find outlining most important nowadays, so that I could have a better idea of the length and pace of the story >//<

♡ — what helps you to get out of writers block?

Rest. I think resting is important by occupying yourself with other things, especially if you’re a writer.

♡ — what do you believe is your strengths as a writer?

My strengths as a writer, I feel as though I don’t have too many yet and that I’m still lacking in some areas. There’s no specific strength I can think of because I think I still have space for improvement >//<

♡ — what do you want people to specifically notice in this fic?

I want people to realize something that probably seems cliche. I want them to take this an example that people aren’t always what they seem. The reader perceives yoongi to be “aloof” or as someone who sees him higher than anyone else just because he’s an idol. This is what I took out of it.

We are thankful for all of your effort and hard work for all that you do! You are amazing, Minhee!

member of the cafe and want to be featured on our upcoming features? read this post here!

#daily;grind #monthly;specials #daily;third #the daily bangtan grind #network post

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ah-artcrew · 4 years ago

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AHAC GaBB Artist Feature

KiRAWRa

Heya! I'm KiRAWRa - an artist, creature designer, mother of rats, and virtual pet site addict. Fun fact: I believed in Santa Claus until I was 15 years old.

What's your favourite medium to work with?

My favorite medium is digital, I draw digital almost exclusively, but I also LOVE to experiment with crafts and traditional art. I have a tradition going back more than a decade now to try at least ONE new craft every year. So far I've done sculpting, screen-printing, plushie making, pyrography, glass etching, string art, and wire sculpting just to name a few!

What's your art/making process?

I'm not sure how much of a "process" I actually have, other than just trying to make art that is refined but also doesn't take a million years to create. I'm extremely sporadic, so as soon as something is finished, I'm immediately thinking of the next several projects or illustrations. I usually finish drawings in a single sitting, and while I do allow myself to go overboard on special illustrations, most of my art now tends to have very few layers dedicated to shading and highlights (though my methods and style are still constantly evolving).

For the rest of your life, would you rather be blown back 10ft/3m every time you sneeze or have baby owls for fingers ?

Oh man this is tough. As an artist, obviously proper dexterity is important, but I also have allergies and tend to sneeze a LOT, sometimes 5+ times in a row, so I could easily send myself flying right out of the house! If there were a way to strap myself down, I think I might take a chance with the sneezing 😂

How would you describe your artstyle?

Oh gosh, I honestly have SO many different types of drawing styles. I think I main "semi-realistic" but I love doing toony stuff, super detailed stuff, and even angular, geometric stuff.

MAP Question - What was your inspiration for your AMV section? Why did you choose to do what you did?

Ah yes, the AH doggos. Well first of all, I'm not the best at drawing humans. I have a huge backlog of ideas for AH fanart, but I could never illustrate them quickly enough if I were to try and draw humans. I am much faster at drawing animals and since I'm also a total beginner when it comes to animation, I decided to stick with something I was comfortable with. Thus, the FAHC Mutts were born! I do intend to continue using them in future art, and I would love to explore animating these doggos more.

Who's your favourite Achievement Hunter and why?

Ohhh you're really gonna make me choose a fave, are you? Well, it's 100% Michael Jones and anyone who spends more than 5 minutes around me will know it, ahaha. This man is such an entertaining, soft pile of sincerity. Any time I'm not feeling great, my husband will ask "You wanna watch a video with Michael in it?" 'cause he knows it never fails to cheer me up.

What's your favourite AH video or series?

You must know this is an IMPOSSIBLE question to answer because they have years of golden content at this point, but one of my favorite hidden gems is the Minecraft aquarium episode: What Fish CAN'T You Catch?

What do you do when you're not watching AH?

The only time I'm not watching AH is probably when I'm sleeping, but I also love reading, playing MMOs, and pampering my pet rats.

Where can we find you?

I can be found pretty much EVERYWHERE, so feel free to follow me wherever you're most comfortable! https://kirawra.carrd.co/

Favorite AH work:

http://fav.me/dcpydy1

Favorite Non-AH work:

http://fav.me/ddvafux

Artist/Friend Shoutout:

https://sam-oberg-art.tumblr.com/post/189667085923/ah-dino-au-revival-so-long-ago-i-made-this-post

#ah community #AHAC projects #ahac #GaBBAMV

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copias-thighs · 5 years ago

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Ignore me, I’m just complaining again as always. For the past month and a half I’ve been pressured into painting a wall for my sister in law and I mentioned before I don’t want to do this at all. Well anything artistic in general for her since she and her younger brother can be rude about it all some times. When she first found out I was artistic, she asked me to do a jungle mural on her wall for her daughter (who was 5 months about at the time) in her house she lived in during that time. Sure, no biggie. I didn’t mind. I was being paid for it, it would be done in time for Christmas, and was being given everything I needed for it, best of all I had no specific date to have it done by. She told me to do what I want, as long as I had 4 monkeys and a tree from the photos she sent me. That being said, I did what she asked and proceeded to draw on the wall she wanted on. Mind you, it’s the first time I’ve EVER painted a whole piece on a wall. I wanted it to be perfect and wanted to take make sure I drew it all correctly. She has a younger brother who was about 13 at the time and he is very, extremely vulgar and rude. He won’t care who you are, he’ll verbally harass you and feel no guilt. Even if you haven’t done anything wrong to him or anyone else. When I started drawing, he yelled, “So this masterpiece of yours is going to be a year long ordeal? Great.” Rolled his eyes and left. I knew what was going to happen, so I started showing up at her house with my noise cancelling headphones to tune him out while I finally started painting. A month passed as I was close to finishing the wall. I was tired, sore, I had a headache, and I had a lot of stress on me because I had so many personal issues eating away at me during that time. I just wanted to finish. My playlist started to buffer a little as I was finishing up painting what needed to be green. Grass, leaves, flower stems, that kind of stuff. I heard my sister in law go “Shhh! Cut it out! She’ll hear you!” Confused, I paused my music and tuned in out of curiosity. So much for noise cancelling, am I right? Her brother begins to get louder screaming, “I don’t fucking care. I don’t see why you’re paying that girl to fuck up your wall! She flat out ruined it! Hell- if you wanted to ruin your wall, I could’ve spread my ass cheeks open and shit all over your walls! You can pay me for it too!” I wanted to hide in a hole and cry. Have I really messed her wall? Was my first time painting something this huge a major fail? I felt horrible. I gathered up what was mine and ran out of there. My fiancé had to be the one to finish it. I got paid for it though, but for what? I didn’t want the money anymore, I wanted an apology that I never received to this day.

A couple of months later, her daughter’s first birthday began to approach. She was born in the summer and my sister in law had a set theme for it. A water theme to be more clear. She had a fancy camera and decided to have a special feature at the party. A backdrop with props. Which seemed pretty cool. She asked me for ideas and I told her some. Making fish using their handprints and glueing a fishnet on the backdrop, things like that. Well she replies with, “Oh cool, I didn’t know you knew how to make those! You’re doing the backdrop for me, right?” Well she never asked me, she just threw it at me.. so I said sure Ig... she told me that she needed the fish and all the backdrop stuff done before the 2nd of June. It was early May so I had plenty of time. Nope. Out of nowhere she calls saying that she needed them within the next few days, and I was nowhere NEAR done. She still demanded it and I scrambled to get it all done. I had to put the wall up on my own and it was barely the middle of May at that point, with the party still set for the 2nd of June. Didnt get paid for it and I literally had no money to buy what I needed since I didn’t have a job. I had to scrimp up about $5 for what you see that she couldn’t spare. At least she kept the decorations. She claimed her 1 year old daughter was upset that there was only ONE dolphin, even though that’s my sister in law’s favourite animal, and was she and her little brother were upset there wasn’t much done for the backdrop.

A year later, summer was rolling back in again and her daughter was turning two. Cute, happy, yay, happy feels. I was at my sister in law’s for a little get together, and she comes up to me, with me feeling dread as I knew what was going to happen. “Ohhh, I cant wait until she turns two! I have such a cute idea! I’m going to have a Mickey Mouse Club House theme with a backdrop saying “I’m TWOdles! Isn’t that cute?!” I uncomfortably smiled and nodded giving a weak “yeah” as a silent anxiety attack started kicking in. She stood there for a good few minutes as if she was waiting for me to ask to help her, which I obviously didn’t, getting flashbacks from how she demanded things to be done last second last time. So she huffed and said, “I need life size cut outs of Minnie, Mickey, Goofy, and Toodles. Do you think you can do that?” I really didn’t know how to, I honestly didn’t. I told her just that, but she didn’t let it go. She ended up telling me to make her just their heads and the words “I’m TWOdles” and how she needed them by June. This time I had a whole month. I wasn’t as anxious, I had time to figure out how to get it done. Well two weeks later she calls demanding it to be done before the day after. I panicked, seeing that I was having trouble colouring the heads nicely without being judged on how you you can see marker lines and such. And when I showed her what I had done, she was upset because it wasn’t enough to cover up the wall. She wanted more things to fill it up. So I hesitantly said large balloon flowers. She can make those on her own, while I finished the heads. NOPE! I had to be the one to do that too. I’ve never worked with balloons, I’m afraid of the sounds they make, I can’t stand them unless they’re the foil ones. I have a huge ass phobia about them and nearly cried as I made the balloon flowers. I flinched, winced, and the threw the balloons with each nasty rubber rubbing sound it made. My fiancé had to literally fucking hold me each freak out I had with those damn things. Well I had to get it all done because it’s my fault for suggesting balloon flowers to begin with. which I did. The day of the party, her family was wowed by it. Her little brother however, was angry I was getting compliments. So he began shouting that he did it all, and he worked really hard on it all. My sister in law was mad too that I didn’t get her daughter a present. Ig the wall wasn’t a good gift.

Now here I am currently, stressing over a wall plus more. My sister in law moved to a new home recently, and needed help painting walls. I painted all 3 rooms. I thought that was the end of that. WELL BUCKLE UP because she said some, “Oooo, guess what! My daughter has been asking for you to paint her walls! She really wants monkeys, lions, and elephants on her wall!” At this point I had enough. I asked, “SHE wants the animals? Or YOU want them?” She went quiet and said, “no, she’s been asking for you!” Pretty damn specific for a 3 year old to want, considering she can barely say anything. She can’t even say her own name. Here I am, sketching on the wall, with my sister in law coming right up to me telling me that she wants fish to be painted on the walls of the toy room after I’m done with the jungle crap. I got really annoyed and said she can easily use the fish stuff from her 1st birthday. She ignored that. After I drew all the crap on the wall in pencil, she stops me in the hall and adds, “Hey! So my hallway looks so bland! Any ideas on how to make it prettier? Like a tree with squares for photos?” I told her she can buy a tree decal on Amazon for cheap, but she cuts me right off screaming “Checked already, they’re $200.” I practically live on Amazon and told her no, they aren’t that expensive. Only to be cut off by her screeching “They’re $200, I don’t have $200! Give me ideas!”

Wow, ok.

So I said to do this: Put a large photo of her and her kids with neatly organised smaller photos of family moments around it. Like this:

Nope, she told me that it was “too messy and too thrown together.” Agitated, I told her it’s getting late and that I had to leave. She then started following me around when I gathered all my pencils and erasers, asking when I was coming back over to paint and if I could bring my own paint. I kept calm and said I didn’t have much money to spend to buy paint (I quit my job around November the year before) and that I’ll come over the next time she’s off work. Which turned out to be Mother’s Day. I told her I’m not coming in because I wanted to spend time with my own mom and she tried telling me all these “gifts” her 3 year old daughter was eyeing for her. Joke or not, I got annoyed because I stated multiple times that I have no job and little money to be spending on paint. I have to take care of my mom and siblings back home, buying food and house supplies with what I have. Well my dumbass absentmindedly said “This- This wall is your Mother’s Day present.” She gave me a face and said “I didn’t ask for this! This isn’t for me, my daughter wanted this!” With and eye twitch, I said that this is something SHE asked for and how HER DAUGHTER can barely speak. She can’t even say a full sentence, her name, my name, and if it’s hER DAUGHTER wanting this, what was requested for the wall was oddly specific for her to want. I told her bye and tried to leave as quick as I could to avoid any new “favours” she might have for me. As I start heading to the door, she yells after me, “come up with more ideas for the hallway for me! We’ll talk later!”

Another fun bit is that now she has a son. And for his first birthday photo shoot, she’s going to dress him up as a dinosaur, breaking out of an egg. Problem is, she doesn’t have a huge egg. She comes up to me and says, “So I need I giant egg, you can figure out how to do that, right?” I couldn’t even say no because her family was watching me, waiting for me to say “yes” even though I wanted to say no because I don’t know how to. Hell, I still don’t! I’m beyond scared to make it! When she decided for me that I was going to make her a giant dinosaur egg regardless, mother fucker adds in “Oh! I also need a life size Forky, Mr. And Mrs. Potato Head, Slinky, etc for my daughter’s birthday!” I WANT TO FUCKING CRY SHE NEEDS THE TOY STORY CRAP NEXT MONTH AND I DONT HAVE ANYTHING THAT BIG TO DRAW ON FOR IT AND I KNOW HER ASS IS GOING TO BITCH FOR IT THIS MONTH AND I KNOW IM NOT GETTING PAID FOR ANY OF THIS FUCKING SHIT FUCK ME

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lvsifer · 6 years ago

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PoeBen fic

Originally for the #BenPoe Hurtfest, but of course it took me ages to finish.

A glimpse into their past, shares moments, shared comforts, and the gathering dark. Cross-posted on AO3.

preview:

“Ben…” “You know I hate that name.” “Don’t be an asshole.” Ben gives him a petulant look and Poe has to grin. “You afraid, Solo?” “I hate that name, too,” Ben snaps but doesn’t slap Poe’s hand away. He pouts with those full lips of his. Poe slides closer. “Okay, buddy. What don’t you hate?” Silence for a moment. Ben just stares at him and Poe could swear that his cheeks and ears redden. “Y—”

Poe sees Ben the first time when he is twelve and Ben is nine. Ben is at the side of Master Skywalker, shoulders hunched , messy black hair, face too pale to be healthy. He lacks the grace of his uncle and has none of his charisma. He speaks little and when he does, it is with strange intonation, as if he has to force each word from his lips. There’s something about him that Poe has never seen. Not just the quiet or the way he avoids eye contact, it’s something more, something other, and Poe, he wants to know. Master Skywalker’s visits rarely exceed a couple of days, but in those days that he does, Poe watches Ben. It’s new to Poe, he is not used to staying behind to observe. Action drives him, but with Ben...something pulls him back. It’s like staring at the rippleless water of a lake from a jetty, before jumping in.

The old library seems to be one of Ben’s favourite places when he isn’t training with Master Skywalker. Poe suspects it’s not for reading and rather for the privacy the dusty rooms offer. The wing that Ben chooses is cloaked in silence, and even those who venture there quickly leave when they notice Ben. And always: stacks of papyrus shoved to the end of the table, ancient texts marked with fading Jadi symbols, and closer to Ben, a holopad with calligraphy letters. Ben tries to copy them in his own splotchy strokes of ink, but it’s easy to see that he will never succeed. Yet, time and time again, Poe finds Ben practising until one day Ben swipes the desk clean, shattering the ink jar, paper and papyrus to the floor. Approaching steps—probably the librarian—startle Poe into action. He gets up that moment and wordlessly helps pick up the shards of glass. He smiles and Ben looks at him for the very first time. His eyes glint wet and black and within them something stirs that almost frightens Poe. He grabs Ben’s arm, leading him between the shelves to hide from the librarian.

It starts quietly between them, like a secret. Some unspoken thing, not kindness, but perhaps curiosity. They are strangers to each other. Perhaps they will never be more. But it doesn’t matter. From that day in the library onwards they keep coming back. Glances at first, a half-smile, a stolen touch. Then hours that amass, and Ben is quick to charge at him when they spar, and slow to speak when they merely sit and watch from behind trees or the great columns of the Academy. Ben doesn’t talk about his parents, only flinches when Poe calls them war heroes, like everyone calls them.

“They’re never there,” Ben says.

Poe stays quiet. He feels stupid, like he’s hurt Ben. He looks down.

“I didn’t really know my parents… My grandfather raised me,” Poe says quietly.

“Grandfather,” Ben echoes.

“Yeah.” Poe swats his arm and stands. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Ben looks up at him a moment, long lashes fanning and casting streaks of shadow over his cheeks. His uneven features look like porcelain, not pretty like the boys in pictures, but like some mural in an old temple, half faded, half forgotten, unknowable.

“Okay,” Ben says.

Sometimes they wander deep into the jungle of Yavin 4, where flies sting them and the undergrowth scratches their legs. It does not deter them from going on until at last they hear the rush of the stream, Poe’s secret river. He’s called it Shara, after his mom. He likes to spend his few free hours here, listening to the water, staring up at the pieces of sky visible through the trees, where one day he will fly an x-wing too, just like her. When Ben accompanies him, they build spaceships from twigs and leaves or spar, and Ben wins just as often as Poe. Ben gets stronger every year.

At thirteen, Ben has grown taller than Poe, but he still walks hunched as if he doesn’t want to be looked at or talked about, and people do talk. How Ben has his mother’s eyes, but his grandfather’s soul. How his abilities far surpass those of his peers, and how too often rage seems to eclipse him when he trains with his uncle. They say, he’ll be out of control soon, that he will snap. Poe hates those rumours. Ben isn’t like that.

They’re by the stream again, carving lines into the wet dark earth with two thick branches, reminding Poe of Ben’s failed attempt at calligraphy. Instead of a quill, Ben now keeps the hilt of a lightsaber on his belt.

“I’m joining the fleet,” Poe says and looks up from his own artless scribble. Ben doesn’t. He says nothing, just slashes at the earth, then throws the branch to the side and sits down by the river. Poe has thought long about how to tell Ben, has kept it to himself for three months and it has festered inside him. He’s wanted to go ever since he can remember, has trained for it allof his life. There is no feeling like being up in the air, the adrenaline high of looking down between the wings, gyre of motor beneath him like a beast at his beck and call. His mother’s legacy, and more. His freedom.

Thunder rumbles low above them and the sky dims. There’s been tension in the air all day, sudden winds, the scent of ozone, the nameless pressure preceding a storm. Poe joins Ben, sits closer than he usually does. Lightning cracks over the sky and for a moment douses all in radiance. Ben raises his head, eyes wide. He’s not a child anymore, but Poe knows there’s always been a part of Ben that was frightened by a storm. He’s not sure why, not sure if it’s fear at all, or if it’s... kinship. Thunder again. Louder this time, but still no rain. Ben inhales sharply and Poe grabs Ben’s shoulder. There’s something about him that makes Poe want to protect him.

“Ben…”

“You know I hate that name.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

Ben gives him a petulant look and Poe has to grin.

“You afraid, Solo?”

“I hate that name, too,” Ben snaps but doesn’t slap Poe’s hand away. He pouts with those full lips of his. Poe slides closer.

“Okay, buddy. What don’t you hate?”

Silence for a moment. Ben just stares at him and Poe could swear that his cheeks and ears redden.

“Y—”

Lightning strikes and the thunder that follows is as loud as the bombs that fell when Poe was a child. This time they both wince. Ben averts his face. Poe swallows drily and takes a deep breath, tries to think of a clear sky above clouds.

“Hey. Hey it’s okay. You’re safe.” Poe repeats the words that his grandpa told him whenever he’d wake up crying in the night.

Ben stands abruptly. “I know I’m safe.” All his muscles are drawn tight and Poe watches his feet shift as if getting ready to fight. Poe stands up, too, slowly, and slides a hand to the small of Ben’s back, leading him towards the mouth of the cave to their left. Inside, burnt twigs and ash mingle midst a circle of stones. The traces of their campfire from two days ago.

“Wait here. I’ll get some new tinder before the rain starts, ok?”

“Ok.”

Poe smiles and heads outside. He strides away from the stream, looking for any dry grass he can find. He slides his mom’s knife from his pocket and cuts off thin slices of bark, then returns to the cave. Lightning sharpens all shadows as it flares. Ben has gone further inside, but here, the thunder echoes even louder. It’s deafening. The storm must be right above them. Then the hail starts. It’s slow at first, but quickens with every heartbeat until chunks of ice shatter down. Poe gathers the rest of their firewood and carries it to where Ben is cowering.

“I hate—the noise—” Ben chokes out. “And the light is so—”

Poe nods. “Yeah. Yeah the noise.” He arranges the tinder and wood and kindles it with the matches he keeps in his jacket pocket. He cups his hands and shields the spark as best as he can, gently blowing it into a flame.

“Thanks,” Ben says. His voice is barely there. He looks even paler now, almost haunted.

Poe reaches into the jacket pocket again and fishes out a dented, self-rolled cigarette. His last. He cocks an eyebrow at Ben and grins.

“You smoke?”

Uncertainty flickers over Ben’s face. “Yes.”

Poe bends forward and lights the fag over the fire, inhales and passes it over to Ben.

“Here.”

Ben takes a deep drag and his eyes bulge as he coughs out smoke.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Ben croaks.

Poe claps him on the back grinning and is a little proud. The fire crackles and the shattering of hail turns into the prattle of rain. The thunder quiets, the lightning dims. They share the cigarette. Their shoulders brush and it’s not half bad, Ben warm beside him. Ben takes the last drag of the cigarette and turns towards him. His eyes are red-rimmed, from the smoke or from lack of sleep, or both, and he’s biting his lips and then swallows in that particular way that has the hairs on Poe’s back stand up. Poe can never avert his gaze. He leans in, and twirls a lock of Ben’s black hair between thumb and index finger. Ben doesn’t move away.

“Would it be ok to kiss you?” Poe murmurs.

“Y— Yeah. Yeah.”

Poe slides a hand to the nape of Ben’s neck and draws him forward. Just the ghost of touch as their lips brush. Fingers curl into Poe’s sleeves and Ben pulls him closer. Heat rises within Poe and he licks over Ben’s mouth, slipping his tongue inside, pressing it against Ben’s. Electricity crackles along Poe’s spine. Ben’s lips are soft and sweet and urgent in how they move against his own. Poe shoves him until Ben’s back hits the cave wall. Ben is pliant beneath his hands. God, he’s wanted to do this for so long. Fumbling hands, hot breaths.

“Can I—can I touch you?” Ben looks up, lidded eyes, kiss stained mouth.

“Absolutely.”

Fingers slide over Poe’s belt and he can feel Ben’s hands trembling. Poe kisses his mouth, his neck and shoves one hand under Ben’s shirt.

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes.” The lie is obvious.

Poe bites at Ben’s collarbone as he rubs his thumb over Ben’s left nipple. A moan falls from Ben’s lips, turns into a keening whine as his body arches towards Poe. They skid to the ground, hands still on each other. The fire bristles next to them, amber-bright, casting heat onto their faces. Ben is half in the shadow, half aglow by the flames, but his eyes are still black. A shudder runs down Poe’s back. He traces his knuckles over Ben’s cheek.

“Ben…”

“I hate that name.”

Perhaps he is right, perhaps that name is not for him.

“What should I call you?”

But Ben answers nothing. The silence stretches between them, desert-vast, unbearable. No word Poe might utter could pierce it, he knows this like the rising moisture in the air, thick, drowning each breath, remnants of storm. So he kisses Ben again, and Ben kisses back, pleading mouth ripe, begging with whine and whispers of more and please. And Poe wants all of him. This might be his last chance before the fleet and before the skies will open for him and who knows if he will ever come back or if Ben will still be there if he does. He’s kissing Ben’s neck and has his hands on Ben’s belt. He halts. Ben has averted his face. He lies limp, hair falling over his eyes, tremble to his jaw. Cold shivers through Poe and his heart sinks.

“Hey,” he murmurs and makes to stroke a strand of hair from Ben’s cheek. Ben clasps his wrist.

“Don’t.” His voice is choked, fearful.

“Did I do something you didn’t like?”

“No.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Ben sits up, back turned to him. Poe moves closer, carefully wraps his arms around Ben’s wide shoulders. He holds Ben until the flames dwindle and darkness descends. In it, Ben shifts and tenses. He moves from Poe’s embrace and tilts his head as if listening to something in the air, suspended in the lengthening shadows. His features harden. Cold air seeps in from the mouth of the cave and with it, the scent of wet earth and rot. It’s visceral like carnage or blood drool slipping from the maw of a beast.

“We should go,” Poe says, heart suddenly thumping.

Ben stares out into the blackness. He walks without another word, steps heavy, and in his mien not a trace of the fear, the instinct, that now claps around Poe’s heart.

“Wait.”

Ben doesn’t. Poe speeds up his steps until he reaches him, already outside, and draws him back. Without thought Poe slaps him across the face. Ben stumbles back, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The realisation of what he’s just done sears through Poe and he grabs Ben by the arms, sliding his hands to Ben’s neck. A quick kiss to his mouth, then another. Lips open, teeth clash, and Ben’s hands feel hot where they grab at Poe, the air chilly on his skin. He shoves Ben against a tree, hollow wheeze as Ben’s back meets bark. Then Poe is between his legs, hand pushing under his trousers and Ben groans, wonton, yanking him closer. He jams his hips hard against the inside of Ben’s thigh, and without thinking bends to bite at Ben’s neck. A curse falls from Ben’s mouth as Poe draws the skin between his teeth, untender, while his fingers wrap around Ben’s dick.

“Please,” Ben rasps. “Please, please.”

A surge of heat blinds all of Poe’s thoughts. There’s only Ben and how good he feels, how soft and sweet and dirty. He wants to make him come, wants it with an intensity that drives him to move his hand up and down, fast and hard, slicked only with Ben’s arousal. He can feel his own climax nearing as he drives between the crevice of Ben’s thighs with every thrust of his hip.

A shattered moan. Wet warmth spurts over Poe’s hand. He looks into Ben’s face and comes, too.

They lean against each other, breaths ragged, heat bleeding from them into the dark. Poe counts their breaths, aligns his own with Ben’s. The stickiness between his legs and on his hand dries and the chills of the night chase goosebumps over their skin. They untangle clumsily. He tries to steal a glance from Ben, but Ben keeps his eyes to the ground. Cloth shuffles, they right their clothes.

Quiet between them. They walk on.

They stumble through the undergrowth, scratching their legs and arms, guided only by the small flashlight Poe always has with him. The jungle feels almost alive around them, noise of breaking branches, shuffling leaves, bird calls and distant howls. They’re not allowed to stay out this long, and Poe finally understands why. Shadows twist, convulse around them like grimaces turning into strange shapes. Adrenaline eats what there is left of satisfaction and Poe cannot but exhale in relief once they reach the forest border. The lantern-illuminated path that leads back to the Academy comes into view and Poe turns off his flashlight. He glances at Ben. The lantern glow only grazes his hair, leaving his face to twilight. A slow inhale.

“When will you leave?” Ben asks. He does not look up.

Poe studies his face, but he can discern nothing.

“The training for the NRDF starts in a week.”

They have not spoken of it, but it is there between them. It won’t happen again, of that Poe is sure. A strangeness has grown between them since that night. Ben does not look him in the eye, shies from his touch, lips tight, fists tighter. Perhaps he’s right to. What they’ve done has changed them and who they are to each other, it has made them more than friends and less than lovers, for whatever that means. And he’s leaving. He’s never known it with more clarity than when Ben looks at him. Part of him wants to stay, wants to cherish what time they might claw from the routine of their trainings while Ben stays on Yavin 4, no matter if what they started in the jungle continues or not. He wants to be there for Ben, tell him that he’s not alone, that all the people are wrong to whisper about him, that he is brave and strong and so much better than what they say. But the skies call. He’s heard their song all his life, has it singing in his veins at night and day. To find out more about his mother, to become a pilot of the New Republic Defense Fleet, to serve and help and be weightless above the clouds. And Ben knows it too. Poe cannot stay. And that is that.

The last day draws near. Dusk bruises the horizon and daylight’s fading fast. He finds Ben in the library. Books lie scattered over his desk, but none of the symbols on them look familiar. Ben is writing in strange letters, arcane, on paper like he used to, but it’s not calligraphy that he scratches with strokes of blotchy ink. Poe stands by the door and stares. Something keeps him from coming closer. It’s as if there’s something around Ben, another presence, unseen, intangible, but there. A shape within the gloaming. Poe swallows hard, tries to command himself to move, to go to him, but he can’t, won’t and mustn’t. He might attract the attention of what lurks behind Ben. His breath comes short and sweat starts to bead on his forehead and palms.

Ben looks up. Their eyes meet.

Poe makes to step towards him despite the dread that grips him, but Ben’s stare halts him. No, not Ben. He was right. That name does not fit, never has. The boy at the table stands up. Poe’s heart hits like a drum, deafening as he fights the instinct to flee. The boy rounds the table slowly, and he does not look like thirteen, doesn’t look like a boy at all, even though Poe knows that’s what he is. There’s something in the way he moves, forceful, heavy, graceless. Like some awakened thing, like the stench that night in the jungle, of rot and blood, raw meat. Poe swallows hard. Everything inside him screams for him to get away, but he thinks of the way the boy flinched when thunder struck and how warm he felt. How he wanted to protect him. The boy stops right before him. They’re the same height even though he’s three years older.

“Good bye,” the boy says it as if he has to claw the words from deep within his throat. Then he shoves past Poe, marching him back a step in the process. Poe stands frozen for a heartbeat before he turns around to watch the boy go. It’s the last time he sees him in a very long while.

When Poe finally joins the fleet it’s like taking a breath for the first time after having been underwater for too long. The sky opens before him, but more than that, among the older pilots are a few who served with his mother and they have stories to tell. He finds more than comrades, he finds friends, and no matter how hard the training is and how exhausted he is every evening, he would not change it. There seems to be no limit to what he might do or where he might go. He hopes his mother would be proud.

Poe does wonder about the boy, hopes he’s found...something. Peace or rest or at least refuge from that shadow upon him.

But these thoughts fade, too. The years eclipse them until there is only the blue of the sky.

#poeben #benpoe #darkpilot #ben solo #kylo ren #poe dameron #star war #the force awakens #the last jedi #writing the sin

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bluesrrgents · 7 years ago

Note

Hi!! I was just wondering - do you have any good andreil fic recommendations?? I ADORE lessons in cartography and wanted something like that. I'm sorry to bother you if you don't read FICS!!

i haven’t yet read lessons in cartography i’m sorry :( i’ve been told there aren’t any other fics quite like it but i’m still willing to make a list of andreil fics to recommend!! thanks to all my friends who gave me more recs

* a star just means i haven’t read it but it’s been recommended to me

sky blue sky by jaylocked

Neil collects the cup a moment later, almost absently, as he thinks back to the nightmare that had started his day. He takes a sip, planning to turn away, and is almost assaulted by the sheer quantity of sugar in his drink. Who knew coffee could taste that sweet? It’s disgusting.

Neil looks back to Andrew, who is once more leveling a blank gaze at him, hazel eyes deeply unimpressed. Neil quirks an eyebrow, confused. It’s definitely not worth it to say anything. After all, it’s been engrained in him not to draw attention to himself, to order whatever is blandest and least interesting, to get in and out best he can.

He can feel the weight of Andrew’s gaze on his back as he leaves the cafe, but he tries to ignore it.

this one is 2 parts, about 3k each but it’s cute

*light fires at night (to push back the void by inthesea

The first time Andrew realizes he wants to hear the words, Neil isn’t even doing anything. He’s just sitting there, staring at the horizon with that stupidly dramatic faraway expression of his, and letting the cigarette burn down between his fingers all the way to the filter — an outrageous waste of good nicotine, if you asked Andrew.

(Or: 20+ times Andrew and Neil say I love you, and one time they say it out loud.) (61k)

this one seems to be the most similar to lessons that can be found so i put it at the top :) the rest are ordered based on word count

*your crown of thorns holds roses by quensty

Three days after he signs his death sentence to Palmetto State, five after Andrew Minyard sends him flying breathless to the ground, Neil’s gaze snaps to the locker room mirror and stares, frozen, at the word threat scrawled along his spinal cord in terrifying, heavy bold.

All in all, he isn’t thrilled about the situation this puts him in, but, based off the negative connotation, it isn’t one-sided either. On the bright side, at least this means his soulmate doesn’t harbor any grandeur delusions about him. (4.4k)

*missed call by badacts

There was one thing Nathan had always stood by, his personal code – if you were going to go after someone, you went after them. Not their dog, not their parents, and definitely not their partner. He might not have managed to teach that to his henchmen, but he clearly succeeded with his son.

That, and ‘a head for an eye’. (5.7k)

*now i’m covered in the colors by alaynes

Nathaniel Wesninski is six years old when his first soulmate mark comes in. (9.7k)

*be neither fish nor fowl by Saul

They found it in the locked room of a Royal Navy’s vessel, The Fox waiting to take her crew and their new spoils across the deep blue.

It was beautiful. It was rarer than any diamond.

“A mermaid,” Dan laughed, taking a step back and sweeping her hat off her head to hold to her chest. “They were transporting a mermaid.”

It was going to make them rich.

( wherein the Foxes are pirates, Neil has gills, and no one quite trusts the magic.) (26k)

this fic has three parts!!

*latchkey child by Saul

The segment’s title declared EXY’S DARLINGS - WHERE WILL THEY GO FROM HERE? in a yellow banner along the television screen’s bottom. It was a spotlight feature on where Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama were planning to go after their high school graduation. Of course they were expected to join the best, but a few reporters speculated on favoritism from the Raven’s coach if they signed on at Edgar Allan, and if that’d impact the Exy prodigies’ relationships with their potential teammates.

Usually his mother would box his ears for looking at anything Exy-related, but he changed the channel long before her shower finished, the black ink on a younger Day’s cheekbone haunting him worse than the date in the corner.

( Neil wakes up seven years younger, and, slowly, takes matters into his own hands. ) (31k)

*and in a flash, it’s gone. by Idnis

‘I wouldn’t associate with Andrew anymore, nor with any of the others. You can’t trust foxes after all.’The man’s fist connected precisely where his head wound was, and then Neil Josten was gone.

Neil loses his memory and has to somehow make sense of the pieces of his past and present. And Andrew. (36k)

*die young by moonix

Ever since the violent death of his mother Neil has withdrawn completely from the outside world. He lives with his Uncle Stuart and barely ever leaves the house. In order to help him overcome his anxiety, Stuart hires his favourite waiter, Nicky, to befriend him. With Nicky come the rest of the Foxes, and Neil finds himself being reluctantly adopted into a much bigger family, reconnecting with an old friend, and developing a crush… (41k)

*dangerous magics by SashaSea

“What if evil doesn’t really exist? What if evil is something dreamed up by man, and there is nothing to struggle against except out own limitations? The constant battle between our will, our desires, and our choices?” -Libba Bray, Rebel Angels

(urban fantasy/Celtic legend AU) (52k)

on the impossibility of reality by defractum (nyargles)

“Inception,” says Ichirou Moriyama.

‘You’re crazy,’ Neil does not say, but it’s a close thing. “It can’t be done,” he says instead, after a too long pause.

An Inception AU. Kevin is the best extractor in the game, Neil spends too much time pretending to be other people, and Andrew? Well, Andrew knows all about inception. (56k)

*grey zone by maydaykevin

Neil’s frown deepened as he stared at the card he was holding.

'Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141Long Island, New York 11954’

“You’re telling me this is my only chance at survival?”

“The only one you’ve got left kid.”

A Percy Jackson/Foxhole Court AU (57k)

*to know a man by moonix

In which the Foxes all work at a coffee shop run by Wymack, Neil is their newest recruit with a dark past, Andrew is obvious, Neil is oblivious, and everyone ships it apart from Aaron, who just wants to study in peace. With guest appearance by a stuffed jellyfish called Josephine. (58k)

*claw marks by flybbfly

The Foxes are an underground resistance group in a dystopian near-future. Neil is the shady new recruit.

Part 1984, part “The Lottery,” part “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” part V for Vendetta. (70k)

fear in a handful of dust by flybbfly

“I need to talk to Minyard,” Neil says, sipping at a soda. “How do I make that happen?”

Kevin chokes on his whiskey. “You don’t.”

In which Neil doesn’t have Kevin Day to convince him to play, so he becomes a sports journalist; Andrew is a keeper in more ways than one; and Quidditch is the sport du jour. Featuring a frankensteined team, eternal roommate Matt, and hawkish sports section editor Dan. Oh, and Andrew has a shady past (present? future?) that Neil can’t quite figure out. But that’s nothing new for Neil, who is constantly hiding everything about himself anyway—this time with magical abilities greasing the way. (104k)

*armies by nekojita

Upon Mary Hatford’s death, Nathaniel Wesninski makes the call to his uncle Stuart rather than continuing on the run and ending up in Milport, Nevada.Upon graduating university, Andrew Minyard turns down all offers of a professional Exy career and muddles through a 'normal’ life, until the boredom and inanity of it all wears him down and he accepts an offer of a break to spend some time with his cousin Nicky in Stuttgart, Germany.There he meets Abram Hatford, a handsome and broken young man who has more in common with Andrew than he suspects, and nothing’s normal anymore. (341k)

WIPS

sickeningly sweet (like honey) by broship_addict

Andrew Doe is twelve years old when he walks into Fox’s Sweets Shop. Somehow, he leaves with three friends and all of them are Exy-obsessed losers.

Also known as the kid AU in which the Foxes are happy children and Andrew has a crush. (22k)

*the bodyguard by bourbon

“Hello, you’ve reached the homosexual agenda, how may I help you?”

“Nicky.”, Andrew growled.

“Oh, my favorite cousin! I would ask you to join our cause but it seems you already did.”

Or where Neil hires Andrew as a bodyguard but ends up (fake) dating him instead. (43k)

*dog in the manger by Saul

It’s 1922, and rumor had it Wesninski’s son wasn’t so dead after all. A sudden upheaval crumbled the Butcher’s empire almost over-night; in his place, a scarred and terrifying man threatened to set Baltimore alight.

Four years later, Aaron Minyard receives a call from a brother he hasn’t spoken to in a decade, sweeping him into a whirlwind of corruption, homicide, and exhausted, tremulous trust. (52k)

*a hole in the world by lscar123

An accomplished FBI agent. A young runaway who is more than he appears to be. A serial killer that’s haunted both of them for years.

The City of Angels just got a lot more interesting. (132k)

doe & josten: deductionists by SpangleBangle

Andrew Doe, rude but brilliant consulting detective, thought he had no need of a partner as he worked slowly away at dismantling the largest crime family in the country, helping out with other cases on the side to relieve the tedium. That was, until a scruffy runaway with a stupid amount of secrets stumbled into his life. Or, more accurately, broke into his kitchen. (152k)

ok i’ll stop myself, i hope you find some you love!!

#andreil #fic #fic rec #aftg fic #aftg fic rec #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game #the foxhole court #masterpost #zoe.txt #ask #tfc #tfc fic #tfc fic rec

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barpurplewrites · 7 years ago

Text

Free Falling

For @a-monthly-rumbelling non-smut prompt - They work opposite each other.

-x-x-x-

Belle ambled along with the morning rush hour crowd as they left the train station, there was no point trying to walk quickly with this many people crowded together. By the time she reached Victoria Square the crowd had thinned enough for her to pick up her pace and hurry along to the Jewellery Quarter, with a quick detour by the library to slip her books into the return slot. She made it to Frederick Street with twenty minutes to spare before work started, just enough time to trudge up the three flights of stairs and pop the kettle on before she was due to start answering the phones.

Like most of the building in the Jewellery Quarter her office was an old former Victorian factory, (according to her research they used to make pins here). It was pretty enough from the outside, but the layout inside was not the most practical. The three flights of stairs were steep and there was no way for a elevator to be installed, because of the preservation order on the structure. The ground floor had no natural light at all, and was rented solely as storage, but there was an underground garage for the lucky few who had parking permits. Belle was far too junior in her company to even be considered for one of the precious few allocated to them. The second floor featured a large central area that went all the way up to the glass roof. This sort of indoor courtyard provided the offices on that floor with light and gave everyone in the building somewhere nice-ish to eat lunch. The third floor covered the four edges of the space under the roof, which meant that is was freezing in winter and baking hot in summer with nothing in between.

Belle puffed a stray lock of hair off her face as she got to the top to the last flight of stairs, she was definitely getting fitter. By lunchtime Belle was willing to trade any fitness benefits for a boat-load more patience. She’d had three customers call to complain this morning that the order they placed yesterday hadn’t been delivered yet; honestly there were only so many polite ways she could explain that ‘same day dispatch’ did not mean ‘same day delivery’. She’d earned a good, strong cuppa, but before she reached the little kitchen Katie caught her arm.

“Look. Gold is on the warpath again.”

The small clothing company that Belle worked for covered two sides of the square, across the courtyard the rest of the building was occupied by Gold and Son, a legal firm. The offices of each were visible from the other most of the time since nobody bothered to draw the binds and shut out the only natural light they got. Mr Gold was known as something of a perfectionist, and his frequent fits of temper provided something of a show for the staff in Belle’s office.

“Come for lunch, Katie.”

“Hum? Oh no, I want to see what happens.”

Belle swallowed her sigh and walked away. She always felt awkward listening to Mr Gold shout, she didn’t get the same thrill out of it as her colleagues, nor did she always hold to the general feeling that Gold was just a picky bastard who like to throw his weight around. She’d noticed a pattern to Gold’s outbursts, the cocky, sloppy workers who were happy to do a slapdash job got yelled at; people who had made an honest mistake where called into his office and gently talked to. The gentle talks didn’t draw the same attention as the shouting, so nobody she worked with paid them any notice.

She was half-way down the stairs having decided to pop across to the café for lunch when the subject of Gold’s temper thundered by her almost knocking her flying. The man didn’t stop, or even throw an apology over his shoulder, he was far too busy muttering something about stupid shellfish. Belle sighed to herself and carrying on down the stairs.

Feeling much better after lunch she was ready to face anything the afternoon threw at her, at least she thought she was until she got back to the office to find that Penny was waiting by her desk.

“Oh, there you are. The newsletter needs to go out this evening, can you get that done, please.”

Belle frowned, the newsletter was Penny’s job, but she was always shirking it off on to the other staff. Seeing her hesitate Jenny leapt in with, “I knew you wouldn’t mind, thanks Belle.”

“Penny, wait.”

The phone on Belle’s desk started ringing and Penny gave it a pointed look; “Don’t keep the customer waiting. I’ll e-mail the products that need to go into the newsletter.”

With that Penny was gone, Belle took a fast breath and picked up the phone; “Good afternoon, Clothing For You, how can I help you?”

Much to Belle annoyance Penny left the office early after emailing her the barest bones of the weekly newsletter. Thanks to a glitch on the website Belle had been answering calls non-stop as customers tried to place their orders. At half past five, quitting time, her boss Chuck wandered out of his office and helped himself to one of the sweets from the jar on her desk.

“Penny mentioned that you wanted to try your hand at the newsletter this week, Belle, how’s it coming?”

Belle was going to strangle Penny for throwing her under the bus like that.

“I haven’t had a chance to start it yet because of the website glitch the phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

Chuck sighed, “It’s got to go out tonight Belle,” – he fished a set of keys from his pocket and dropped them on her desk, - “Lock up once you are done, please.”

She watched him walk away in a state of mild shock. She was now stuck doing somebody else’s work, after hours on a Friday night. Fan-fucking-tastic. Right, she could do this, but if she was going to do this she was going to play the Forbidden Music. The office radio was always tuned to a pop station, which had driven Belle crazy until she’d learned to ignore it, but since she was the only one in the bloody office no one could complain if she listened to classic rock. It took her no time at all to retune the ancient radio to her favourite station, and ture it up a few notches as Poison sang about cowboys and sad, sad songs.

Gold found his foot tapping and couldn’t work out why for a moment. He was the only one left in the office and had been absorbed in correcting the sub-clauses of some documents. Now he was paying attention to his surroundings again he became aware of music, and not the normal pop rubbish that got played by his staff. That was Tom Petty, wow, he’d not heard this one outside of his own home in ages. He stood up from his desk and wandered out into the main office to look for the source to the music, it certainly wasn’t coming from this office. He grinned as he looked across the other side of the building, in the office there was a young lady was dancing around to Tom Petty. She glanced across towards him and suddenly gave a shriek before falling over. He started forward as if he could do anything at this distance, and breathed a sigh of relief as she jumped to her feet with a nervous grin. She gave him a thumbs-up and darted away. She must have gone to the radio because the music dropped in volume. His office was suddenly very quiet. He stood for a moment tapping his thumb against his fingers and then came to a decision.

Belle was groaning to herself. Not only had she disturbed Mr Gold with her music, he’d caught her dancing and seen her prat fall. This was going down as a truly crappy Friday night, but on the plus side the newsletter was finished and as soon as she hit send she could go home. A tap at the office door made her jump.

“Hey there, sorry didn’t mean to startle you again.”

Belle blinked at Mr Gold standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry about the music, I didn’t know anyone else was working late.”

He gave her a warm smile, “It was nice to hear good music in this building. I’m sorry I scared you, are you alright?”

She unconsciously rubbed the elbow she had banged off the floor and nodded, “I’m fine thank you.”

He jerked a thumb towards the kitchen that their companies shared; “I was about to put the kettle on, can I make you a cuppa?”

“I’ve just finished for the night.”

His face fell just a touch, but he recovered quickly. Before he could say anything else Belle quickly babbled out; “We could go and get something stronger than tea, if you’d like, and if you’re not still working I mean…”

He glanced at his watch and then smiled at her; “I think we’ve both earned a beer,” – he edged into the office and offered her his hand, “Aiden Gold.”

Belle jumped up from her desk and hurried across the room to shake his hand, but she tripped over a loose carpet tile and landed in his arms instead. She raised her head from his chest and gave him a weak smile; “Hi, I’m Belle French and I’m a total Klutz.”

He chuckled as he set her carefully back on her feet and gave the offending square of carpet a hard look; “That was defiantly the carpet’s fault. I know a good lawyer if you want to sue.”

“Tempting, but I think I just want to get out of her and get my hands on a tall cold drink.”

“I know a good lawyer who can help with that too. I’ll, erm, just go and lock up and then we can head out?”

“Sure thing.”

Belle took her time to avoid any tripping over again as she closed down her computer and got her coat. Across the building she saw Aiden doing the same thing, and smiled to herself. Maybe this wasn’t the worst Friday night she’d ever had after all.

#a monthly rumbelling #non smut #rumbelle fic

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tafferling · 7 years ago

Text

Canvas

Fandom: Resident Evil | Characters: Chris Redfield / OC | Rating: T | 2800 words | Domestic Cuddles

Home is where the heart is. Where your wifi auto connects, and your fridge has got a full row of eggs stocked, and none of that low-fat-bs-milk. Mostly though, home's where Chris Redfield wanders without gear on his shoulders, and I'm free to pad about in socks, sweats and something heavy, soft— and mostly dreadful if we're going to be honest about it.

I'm fond of home. How can't I be. Fond of him in his favourite grey t-shirt (one of the many variations of it, at any rate) and that pair of sweatpants with the green waistband. There's a neatly tied loop on that, one I can't not tug on whenever he shuffles by.

Yeah, temptation and me have always had a volatile relationship. Tug-tug-tug I'll go, and he'll swipe at my rump with the palm of his hand and reward me with a throaty grunt of fake protest.

Home is that, and it's worrying what's on telly— or him being a terrible backseat gamer full of bad advice and an excuse of I'm too old for this shit . Nevermind that he still beats me a good three out of five times if I'm daft enough to challenge him, so what gives?

Tonight though, home is quiet. It's him exhausted and beat from a deployment that's got him limping and aching, so the most of what he's interested in is a sum of fuck all until it's time to squash a pillow under his ear.

I plant bare feet on the coffee table, my cold toes curled together tight, and balance a pad of paper on a knee. There's a half finished sketch of some fantastic dream covering half the page. It's shoddy. Real shoddy, and I tap the black marker pen against the paper while I whistle through its cap held between my lips and wonder how to fix it. But the movie on the telly distracts me a little, my eyes idly cutting between the drawing and Toothless enthusiastically bucking through the skies with a distressed Hiccup on his back. Right then, somewhere between a half disaster and some grand aerial acrobatics of dragon and Viking, Chris huffs next to me. An amused huff, I note, and when I look at him he's got a small smile on his lips.

Yeah, who'd have thought? Chris Redfield; Veteran Field Captain of the B.S.A.A, an occasional sampler of animated movies? Either that, or he's too weary to grope for the remote.

Nah, I like to think he's full of surprises, that one. And I hope to be fishing more wonders out of this steel drum of a man for a long while yet to come. It's… nice.

Much like the gentle curl of his lips, how it lifts into the light shadow of his stubble and breaks up his hard features. And then he laughs. A small laugh, much like that smile, but that doesn't mean I don't get my heart squeezed, because those laughs come around as often as snow donuts. Or blue moons. Or good men.

He catches on to me staring and shoots me a glance. Well. There's one sitting here. A good man, not a snow donut. But my point still stands. His brow arches, an unspoken What dancing about in his muddy blue eyes. Nothing, I almost say, but then my eyes flick to my pen. Then back at him. Back to the pen. Back at him.

Hmmm— Inspiration strikes with a giddy little jolt and I'm wiggling in my seat while he looks on with just the faintest hint of alarm.

I grab for his arm and tow myself across the couch and closer to him. Chris watches, but doesn't protest. He's the sort that makes a show of not being big on affectionate gestures. Keeps them private. Keeps them simple. Meaningful. Me? I'm not that reserved, and I know he's a fan, even if he's not about to admit it.

He smiles when I lift his arm and drape it atop my knees. The sketch pad is forgotten. Slides right off and onto the carpet. It was going shit anyway, no one's going to miss it.

While the drawing gets cosy with the floor, and he turns back to the telly, I study the hand splayed out on my knee. It's a big hand. Heavy. Scarred. The clear ridges of veins run under well worn skin beat at by time and sun and work alike, and a dusting of coarse hair tracks over the ridge and up along his arm. I flip the hand, tap my fingers against his.

I love these hands. Their texture, every rough calloused patch and the soft bits between. How they can be unrelenting. Firm. But also incredibly tender and gentle with a knack for fine details.

I'd been on both ends.

My thumb slides into his palm, has a go at divining his past and future from the landscape of deep furrows. There are horrible things written in there. But a few good ones too, except mostly I read what's for dinner: Chicken stir fry. It's right there, plain as day, in how this one intersects with that other one. I trace a path back out over the heel of his hand, right down along the dark lines of veins under his skin, and then I finally get to work. The pen flicks up and then down, and I set the tip just below the sinews stretching along his wrist.

Skånsom, I write. Careful and at an awkward angle, with my breath whistling through the cap pinched between my lips. His pulse shudders against my thumb.

Chris blinks down at the letters once I'm done, and after a slow pump of his fingers asks: "What's that mean?"

I turn my head and puff the pen cap from my mouth. It lands on the table with a few muted clacks. "Gentle."

His brows rock up while I track my knuckles under the words. My handwriting is atrocious.

"And I've got more." The pen waggles between my fingers. When he doesn't protest, I set it down again, land the tip on the firm, warm skin of his forearm.

Unlike me, he tans easy, that lucky bastard. Though on his arms the light nutty colour of his skin only serves to make his fading scars pop out glaringly. There are plenty of them, left by god knows what or who, and I focus my attention on the discoloured patch of a well healed burn.

Skaists I write across it, whisper, "Handsome" for his benefit.

"You think so?"

"Mhmm—"

Chris breathes out a quiet, well contained laugh. "All right. Keep going."

I shoot him a sideways glance, startled. Here I'd been thinking that this'd be as far as he'd let me paint him, but if I'm going to get permissions, then who am I to disappoint?

My lips slant down in a frown. "I'm running out of space though."

"Liar."

"Nuh-huh—" The frown is hard to hold and crumbles quickly into a smile. With a drag on his arm and a light push, I swing a leg up to straddle him. My knee digs between him and the couch arm, wedges in tight.

His hands go for a bit of a hike while I'm busy wiggling myself down on his lap. They leave a trail of tender warmth along my sides, right until they come to rest on my rump. And then the bastard peeks over me and laughs at the telly.

I'll never grow tired of his laugh. Truth be told, I can't rightfully think of many things I love more than that particular sound rumbling in his chest. Well. Okay. Maybe the feel of him rocking about under me while he's chortling away comes in a close second right now.

"Nevermind me," I mumble with mock irritation while he goes on to ignore me. Least to have a good go at pretending. I grab the bottom end of his shirt, start to pull it up. Slow and steady, my knuckles dragging against the collected heat on his skin, until the collar catches on his chin.

"Work with me here?"

He lifts his arms and the shirt whispers up a little further. Not all the way. Just enough to cover his head and block out the movie. I press in closer, drawn to warmth like an eager little moth. My nose goes to look for his, plays a little hide and seek while he's stuck under the shirt. A gentle bump here. A brief touch over the bridge of his nose there. Until he pushes his legs up and I get shoved forward to bump my forehead against his.

Fine. The shirt comes off.

Oops— He blinks. Perks a brow. His eyes settle on me, and I study the shreds of brown in the stormy blue of them as they flick left and right like he's studying me in turn. And then I give his hair a half hearted pat in an attempt to put it back in order. Though I admit I like it when that usually well behaved, short cut of his gets all ruffled. How it scatters the bits of gray in it, that hint of salt along his temples giving away the years he's carried. He's got some in the evening stubble on his cheeks and chin too.

"Oh," I say and poke a finger two inches away from his ear. "You've got a new gray hair."

He grunts. "And whose fault is that?"

"Huhm— Probably Piers?"

Chris drops his arms back down, sets his hands against my rump again. Squeezes. He mouths Yours at me, and I flick the pen at the tip of his nose. Then I bunch the shirt together and chuck it on the backrest before I get settled in better on his lap. And then I stare for a little while and sift through words in my head. They don't come easy though, because he's distracting. From his broad shoulders, the sharp lines of his collarbone, and the shadow of coarse hair that gathers on his chest and dives down in a dark line before it vanishes into the band of his slacks.

There are marks on him most everywhere I look. He's got them all over, and I've spent a lot of time memorising them. Tacked memories to them, some of them lived, others told. Most told, to be fair. They're terrifying.

"So?" he interrupts my study, right as I think of the badly scarred stitches left behind by a horrible Christmas day. Yeah. Terrifying. My eyes dart up to him, catch him once again not looking, his stare glued to the telly.

"Art doesn't like being rushed," I chide and adjust my seating with a few wiggles until I'm resting snug against his pelvis. He exhales a somewhat shaky breath in response and his hands go back to busying themselves on my rump.

Damn stubborn, that man.

Leaning forward, my hand splayed out on his wide shoulder, I let the pen get back to work.

Tendre, I write above his collarbone. His eyes flick down.

Finally, I think. But his attention is short lived. Or at least he's making an effort to get back to watching dragons and vikings do their thing, whatever that thing may currently be. His jaw flexes as he wrestles with a smile. One more shift of my weight, and an unfocused look settles in his eyes, telling me he's not really fussed about the vikings and dragons any more at all, but he'll be damned if he'll let on that fact.

It's a game he likes playing.

And a game I like winning.

So while he keeps his gaze stubbornly set forward, I go and refill my vocabulary.

I arc my back away from him, my hip snapping forward with the movement, and twist until I reach my phone lying on the table. Stretching far as I can, I almost topple backwards once, but he props me up with a gentle hand resting against the base of my spine, only to let his fingers glide back down the moment I'm sat straight again.

"Give me a sec," I mumble while I swipe the phone on and start looking for a matching word to go with the next piece on him. Hello Google translate my old friend. It doesn't take long and I've stocked up on a few, toss the phone back onto the couch, and move on to his left arm.

Veli, I write just below the curve of his shoulder. "Brother."

He hums.

It's got two meanings, that one. Brother to a wonderful woman, one much prettier than him, which I let him know often enough. And brother in arms to those who'll trust him with their lives.

I move to the right next. Put the marker down on his biceps, and paint Fort on that particular piece of well maintained muscle. Perfect a spot as any, no? The t smudges at the end though, leaves an unwanted blotch, so I shuffle closer and lean in to wipe away the ink. For a little while, I linger there. Take a drag of air. Ink. Fabric softener. Soap. And a familiar scent of his skin. Rainy days, a promise of earthy grit and passion.

Nothing can hide it all the way. And hardly a thing is better.

Once the word is cleaned up, I straighten and ride my hip forward slightly. My reward is a slow exhale of air that almost gets stuck halfway up in a throaty sigh. Might be I'll win this yet.

Back to the canvas: the next piece of it squarely in front of me. Mutig , I write gently over his chest, stretch the word diagonally and go out of my way to have it cross his heart— and that a line goes right over a nipple, because why not. For that I get a grunt and a hearty squeeze of my rump.

"Brave?" Chris asks.

"Richtig," I say, and he gives a faint nod. He likes me speaking German, though I've got no clue whatsoever whyever he would.

But anyway. Moving on. With his chest labelled appropriately, because I don't know a man more willing to put himself in harm's way for the good of someone else, I hunch forward and lower the pen to his abdomen.

Amante, I write. The line of dark hair gets in the way though, so I have to space the letters out a little. And apparently the whole deal tickles. His muscles flex under the tip of the pen and he puffs out a quiet chuckle.

"Hold still," I mutter, since now the lines are all wonky and I have to try again. That, and the line of dark hair diving down into his trousers gets in the way. Ama nte the word ends up reading, with the letters a bit bent. And because he's caused me trouble, I duck down and blow air at the ink. A few more twitches later, I lean back, prop my hands up on his knees behind me, and look him up and down.

And he looks back. He's staring, actually, and carries a small, crestfallen frown.

"That's it?"

I blink. "Getting a little cocky, are we?"

Chris shrugs. "You tell me."

"All right. I have one more." Scoot-scoot-scoot, and I'm almost perched on his knees so I can grab the band of his slacks and pull them down. Slightly, mind you. And careful.

"Well," he hums up there somewhere. "You didn't have to go through all the trouble just to get my pants off."

"Shush." Said pants stay on, I decide, but they hitch low enough so I can put the pen down above the line of neatly trimmed pubic hair. He looks after himself. Really, what's not to like?

What's not the like at all?

Mine, I paint, one careful letter after the other, and sign it with a flourish.

When I look up, he's got an odd smile on him. Slow and slightly lopsided. And quite weighty, his eyes heavily lidded. He steals the pen. Swipes it right from my fingers before he pulls me forward, his hands hooked into my knees. One of the hands tracks up along my spine, and settles firm around my neck. Locks me right in place. The corners of his mouth hitch up a little higher, turn the smile to an inviting grin. Playful.

And that's home too.

The comfort of things found rarely anywhere else.

A warm finger drags the collar of my jumper down, rolls it over my shoulder to bare a little more skin. He carefully twists my head back, and the tip of the pen lands a heartbeat later, a light touch on the ridge of my collarbone.

I count the letters— one, two, three, four— and a warm, scratchy kiss down the curve of my neck.

Yeah. Home is pretty damn nice.

[I was told this should have ended in smut. Should I continue it?]

#Chris Redfield #Resident Evil #Domestic Fluff #Cuddle Fic #Self Indulgent Taff Drabbles #WordSoup #Redfieldium #ChrisX?#Sorry #Tafferfield

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stvrmwitch · 7 years ago

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50 Bookish Questions Tag!

Thanks to @enogreads for tagging me :)

1. What is your favourite book and/or book series of all time?

All-time favorites are always a stretch for me because the books that matter most to me shift based on what I need at the time, but The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet and We Are Okay are books that make me feel at home. And the child in me is saying, “don’t forget to mention the Wayside School books!” so you know, those too.

2. What is the longest book you have ever read? How many pages?

Maybe Deathly Hallows? gr says it’s 784 pages.

3. What is the oldest book you have ever read? (Based on its written date)

I don’t have a lot of interest in old books, but probably Gulliver’s Travels.

4. What is a book series that everyone else loves but you do not?

Divergent. Though my main frustrations are with the writing not the story I guess. Other than that I never caught onto the Percy Jackson train. Don’t hate it, just don’t love it.

5. What book or book series would you like to see turned into a film/ TV series?

Ah yes. So many. Screenwriting is not something I’m pursuing but it’s a hobby, and everything I read gets the “could this be adapted” thought process. The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet would make a perfect limited miniseries, but could also be serialized based on the concept. Beauty Queens would be great as anything from a musical to a tv show to a movie to a comic book tbh. Ramona Blue has a “shot over a long weekend with unknowns and maybe one biggER name star who’s also producing” indie vibe. Ditto for We Are Okay. The Song of Achilles should be a miniseries as well; one of those massive budget, A-list cast, premium cable shows. I could go on, but I’ll spare you.

6. What is your favourite stand-alone book?

Ari + Dante

7. What is a book that you feel glad for not reading?

None I can think of.

8. What is a book that you feel guilty for not reading?

I feel somewhat guilty for not finishing The Dark Wife because it feels like I’m not showing wlw solidarity, but as much as I go hard for the concept, the execution was so disappointing to me.

9. What is a book you have read that is set in your country of birth?

Fun Home

10. What is a book that you own more than one copy of?

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone is the only one except for plays. Like I have Shakespeare anthologies plus some individual plays. And I have the off-Broadway and Broadway copies of Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

11. What horror book made you really scared?

I don’t read horror!

12. What book do you passionately hate?

Ok so I’m like passionately not impressed by this book that I’m also lowkey obsessed with. It’s not good. Elements are but overall I don’t like it. but I’m just so intrigued that I’ve read it multiple times and made a million notes. It’s Fated by S.G. Browne. Every time I hope it will be less not good and it never happens.

13. What is the biggest book series you have read? How many books are in it?

There’s no way it’s not Harry Potter.

14. What book gives you happy memories?

On the Banks of Plum Creek

15. What book made you cry?

Y’all I cry so easily. The Song of Achilles tho...... sobbed.

16. What book made you laugh?

When Dimple Met Rishi is really sweet and pure and I’ve literally lol’d a few times.

17. What is your favourite book that contains an LGBTQ+ character?

Ramona Blue, currently. I’m also a big fan of The Sidhe.

18. Have you read a book with a male protagonist? What is it?

Lmao aren’t they all... um yeah idk I just looked over at my bookshelf and one of my new faves is Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor.

19. Have you read a book set on another planet? What is it?

A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs. (The Barsoom tales were, like, a thing for me after I was assigned that one in college.)

20. Have you ever been glad to not finish a series? Which?

Not really? I’m kinda keeping The Last Star at arm’s length because The 5th Wave was such a terrible movie and made my excitement for the series disappear. But I’m also trying to get over that because one shouldn’t necessarily impact enjoyment of the other.

21. Have you ever read a book series because you were pressured?

Probably the Hunger Games. I really wanted to get them read before the movie came out and I couldn’t avoid spoilers. Plus my college roommate was reading them at the same time so it was a good time to squee together. So pressured, but not in a bad way.

22. What famous author have you not read any books by?

Douglas Adams. Hitchhiker’s Guide has long been on my tbr but I’ve been itching to read it lately.

23. Who is your favourite author of all time?

Oscar Wilde.

24. How many bookshelves do you own?

Just bought two last week, so now I have six.

25. How many books do you own?

dont make me admit that. More than I’ve ever properly budgeted for, let’s say that.

26. What is your favourite non-fiction book?

Save the Cat! My interest in screenwriting led me to it, but it’s a really useful tool for novelists as well and anybody telling stories.

27. What is your favourite children’s/middle-grade book?

Hmmm... The Little Prince perhaps.

28. What is your next book on your TBR?

My library hold for Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari just came through this morning, so I’m going to get to that when I finish When Dimple Met Rishi.

29. What book are you currently reading?

When Dimple Met Rishi. So good. So sweet. And it features a girl in STEM wow amazing five stars for that.

30. What book are you planning on buying next?

Noooooooo. I just spent so much last week, and now that I’m apartment hunting, no more books. Tragic.

31. What was the cheapest book you bought?

There’s a great used bookstore in Boston with an outdoor bargain area and I think I’ve picked up stuff for $3 and under.

32. What was the most expensive book you bought?

Alright. Y’all already might’ve peeped me revealing that back in the day I was superwholock garbage. WEll. I have this “The Essential Supernatural: On the Road with Sam and Dean Winchester” donkey ass book that is $50 and I probably got a little discount but still paid really close to that amount.

33. What is a book you read after seeing the movie/ TV series?

Big Fish. I’m genuinely astounded that that movie came from that book. Like, the leaps from page to screen y’all.

34. What is the newest book you have bought?

these are all the books I bought at B&N last week

35. What three books are you most looking forward to reading this year?

Radio Silence, The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter, and The Princess Diarist.

36. What is a book you love that has a terrible trope? (Love triangle, etc)

Ugh this is such a good question and here I am drawing a total blank.

37. Have you read a book in a different language? What was it?

Only some basic Spanish books when I took classes in middle and high school. Though my niece is in a bilingual program and brings home a lot of books with English and Spanish versions.

38. What is a book you’ve read that is set in a time period before you were born?

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

39. What book offended you?

WE ARE OKAY. ARE WE, NINA? ARE WE OKAY? nOPE

‘kay but I genuinely was offended because Dunkin’ Donuts coffee is compared to diner coffee and legit like.... no???????? Dunks never did nothin’ to you and ur rly gonna come for it like that??? ok, Nina. ur wrong, but ok.

40. What is the weirdest book you have read?

Uhhh. Yet again, she draws a blank!

41. What is your favourite duology?

Isn’t Strange the Dreamer meant to be a duology? The second book’s not even out and that’s my favorite.

42. What is your favourite trilogy?

Answering this question, I’m realizing that I haven’t read many trilogies in my life. Definitely The Hunger Games though. I just gorged myself on all three during a weekend-long summer storm.

43. What book did you buy because of its cover?

Wuthering goddamn Heights. I don’t even like that book, but the cover was phenomenal and I was like ok yeah Camille, let’s fkn do it

44. What is a book that you love, but has a terrible cover?

Aww that’s mean. I can’t think of any. I usually go for pretty covers and forget the rest. But I have the edition of Radio Silence with the cover I like less if that counts?

45. Do you own a poetry anthology? What is your favourite poem from it?

I don’t have an appreciation for poetry, sorry! I do own anthologies because I majored in English and had a writing concentration, but that’s literally the only reason I have them: they were assigned. So no favorite.

But since that seems lame and I haven’t been asked about short stories, I have a favorite from the 2013 Pushcart Prize XXXVII: Best of the Small Presses. It’s called “Juniper Beach” by Shannon Cain and it’s so wonderful. Really tight narrative woven together with zero snags along the way.

46. Do you own any colouring books based off other books?

Nope. Really wanted the Fantastic Beasts one but my wallet said ho don’t do it and for once, I listened.

47. Do you own any historical fiction?

I do not own any, but -and this feels totally like someone else’s memories- when I was a teen, I was all over Harlequin historical romance books oh my god.

48. What book made you angry?

See #39. I put that book down for weeks over it and told everyone I knew about the slanderous lies within.

49. What book has inspired you?

Paint It Black and White Oleander both make me want to be that good of a writer.

50. What book got you into reading?

Honestly my mother got me into reading, not any particular book, though imma single one out in a moment. Like my mom has literally never gone a day that I’ve been alive not spent reading. She got me started at the library young and I read my way through the whole children’s section. The Boxcar Children and the Baby-Sitter’s Club books were a big draw. And the one I’m singling out is On the Banks of Plum Creek which was a library discard. I read and reread that one about a million times. I’d loved books and reading but I’d never feasted on a book before that one. I never read the Little House series, my obsession was limited to that one book.

I’m tagging: @ozzery, @anassarhenisch, @midnightinkspill, @mariedtofiction, @rawr-booklover @booksandsweettea, and @thewizard-ofbooks

As usual, if you’re tagged please feel no pressure to play! And if you’re not tagged and you wanna play, please go forth and do so!

#tag game #book talk #about me #i try to switch up tagging ppl because it's hard to tell who wants to be tagged #also like #sorry if you've already done this and i tagged u

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winemum-ignis · 8 years ago

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the fall

Notes: well this turned out longer than anticipated. It was going to just be a short ‘ive not written smut for literal years so I'll ease my way in gently with a bit of leading into then fade to black’ but then I started thinking about location and plot and everything got out of hand and now it's three in the morning and I am dying of a massive caffeine drop. Leads on from the Gladnis mentality I set up in my older fic ‘under the stars’, does contain chapter 1 spoilers, I can't feel my face anymore.

Gladnis. 2025 words. NSFW. Implied explicitness.

“Slumber party!” The exalted cry that came from the blonde who threw himself on the bed was a quick answer to the posed conundrum. “It'll be just like back home.” There was a slightly wistful tone to Prompto’s voice as he laid down on the plush bed, arms and legs spread out. It was a beautiful hotel, much better in comparison to the other places they had stayed since leaving Insomnia, but of course they expected no less from Galdin Quay. The only issue was that with the limited number of rooms the party of four was split between two rooms. Not necessarily a bad thing considering they had very much been in each other's pockets since leaving the crown city. A bit of breathing space would probably do them all good. That and a nice rest in a comfortable bed and they would be set to head to Altissia.

“Well that's that settled.” Standing up from the far too comfortable arm chair he had been sat in, Ignis picked up the suit jacket he had slung over the back of the chair, rummaging into its inner pocket to pull out the key card to their room before tapping Gladio on the shoulder. It almost seemed a shame to interrupt him as he looked so peaceful and statuesque; elbow propped on the arm of his chair as chin rested on knuckles, book resting against a muscular thigh as fingers lightly tapped the edge of the page as they awaited when they would next need to turn.

No longer engrossed in his book, the eldest of the four gave a questioning ‘hmm’ as he looked from Ignis standing over him to Prompto making himself comfortable on the bed he had claimed for his own while Noctis tapped away on his mobile. “Do you want me to leave the door unlocked or are you coming to bed now?”

Awaiting the swordsman’s response a hand rested itself on hips when their eyes met. He knew that look, he knew it well and as he looked back at fiery amber eyes the tall young man found himself clearing his throat in order to try and remain composed. “I might as well come now.” Eyes remained locked as words were exchanged, Gladio's choice of phrasing being enough to warrant a small head shake from Ignis who honestly at this point didn't even know if it was intentional or not. Maybe he was just imagining it, reading into something because a part of him still longed for the relationship they couldn't have. He told himself that was it, combined with their exceptionally romantic surroundings and it all made sense. They said nothing could happen, so it wouldn't, and these imaginations of his mind were just his sunbonscios’ wishful thinking.

It didn't take long to do their good nights, Ignis reminding Noctis and Prompto to try and be up at a vaguely human time although he would believe that would happen when he saw it with his own eyes. As soon as he closed the door to his and Gladio's room, twisting the latch for the lock, all thoughts of morning and the next days events were gone from his mind as without a moments hesitation strong hands had grabbed him by the waist, pulling bodies together. Perhaps he hadn't been imagining it.

As lips met, a comforting sense of familiarity washed over the pair of them and as hands rose to cradle Gladio's bearded jawline Ignis couldn't stop thinking of how much he had missed this. Judging by the hands that gripped his hips tightly through his clothes he wasn't the only one.

Perhaps it was naïve of them to believe that they could have just gone about the entire trip just as servants of the crown and nothing more. Every time he had watched the specimen of a man before him exert his strength, every time he had woken up being accidentally hugged close against solid body in the close confines of the tent, every time he had gotten the content smile after cooking one of his favourite meals, every time he was the only one awake early enough to provide him company for preparing breakfast and watching the sunrise, every time he gave him that coy suggestive smirk when it was just them, every time it lit a fire within Ignis that he had to quell every single time.

Leaning back just enough to part lips the older male instinctively leant in to close the gap once again just to be thwarted by a finger softly pressing against his lips. “Gladio, you know how much I want this…” Ignis’ words trailed off somewhat as green eyes took in the face of the man before him, his voice barely above a whisper as fingertip stroked slowly over a slightly pouting lower lip. Even as he knew what he wanted to say, he lacked the conviction to believe the words let alone speak them outright. “We talked about it, we ca—“

“Fuck what we said.” Those words were like music to Ignis’ ears. Unable to even get a word in edgeways as lips were once again hungrily pressed against each other, fingers deftly unfastened the shirt buttons before shoulders shifted and with a few quick movements the strategist allowed his shirt to fall to the floor. Just the first of many garments that would soon find themselves strewn across the room in a flurry of passion.

The waves crashed gently against the sand, the gulls on the hunt for breakfast as the sun rose and new schools of fish came out to greet the day cawing to one and other as the muffled sounds of people taking a morning stroll across the shore drifted on the sea breeze. As the golden sunlight flooded the room the twenty two year old started to stir. While one hand rose to rub awake eyes, the first thing he saw was the man sleeping practically on top of him that he was currently entwined with.

There was no hiding the content smile that adorned Ignis’ features as he lay still on the plush bed, not wanting to move and wake up Gladio who was sleeping with his face buried into his neck, but at the same time he had noticed what had actually awoken him. He could ignore the soft chime that came from his phone that was somewhere in the room but he knew that the longer he ignored the alarm the louder it would get. If only he could just…

“No.” The familiar, somewhat hoarse morning tone of Gladio muffled against his skin managed to draw a soft chuckle from the brunette who felt both the legs and arms that were wrapped around him tighten as he had tried to sneak his way out from under the muscular limbs.

“I've just got to turn off my alarm.” Managing to shift himself slightly, fingers toyed idly with still damp black hair. He didn't even know at what time in the proceedings it was they had had the bath, it hadn't taken long for both of them to lose track of time. In fact he didn't even know if he had emptied it once they'd finished. All he remembered was the fact that by the time they had climbed out there was more water out of the tub than inside it.

“Or you could ignore the alarm.” It was tempting, so very tempting especially as his skin was now slowly being smothered in gentle kisses that gradually trailed over his neck. “And we can stay in bed a little longer.” An arm that had lazily draped over Ignis waist as he had slept shifted beneath the sheets that haphazardly covered the couple allowing hand to stroke down over every muscle of his hips before gliding up his inner thigh, stopping and settling itself torturingly close to his crotch. Two could play at that game.

When he was clothed it was easy to forget how strong Ignis was. He didn't have the same solid tank like build of Gladio but he still had considerable strength and the muscles to prove it. Just because he didn't choose to show it off didn't mean he wouldn't choose to use it. In a blink the swordsman found himself flipped onto his back, eyes locked together as Ignis leant over him straddling his thighs. “Or I can turn it off, and then we won't have any interruptions.” Thinking it was a fair suggestion, there was no hesitating as he completely removed himself from the man he left laying in the bed, stretching out aching muscles before he started following the sound of the now hardly quiet delicate chiming of the alarm to find what garment he had left his clothes in, picking up his glasses from the coffee table in the process and slipping them onto their rightful place.

As he looked down at the now silenced device that was when it all changed. When he no longer cared about what he could let the enticing figure of a man still laying in the bed do to him, when he didn't care about the miniature paradise they resided in and as soon as he opened his mouth again Gladio knew something had happened. He didn't even have to see his face to know as the younger males tone instantly switched into one he knew oh so well. “Gladio, take the spare key for Noct’s room and grab both their phones.”

Before he knew it, Gladio was catching the suit jacket that was flung at him as he sat upright in the bed, his look of utter bemusement going completely ignored as he rummaged in the suit pockets for the aforementioned key card. “Ignis, what's going on.” He was used to seeing the advisor in work mode, his work was practically his entire life that wasn't what confused him, what got to him was how quickly the brunette had shifted into it. One minute they'd been entangled with each other in the sheets, the next he was already half dressed and ignoring his question.

“Noct will still be sleeping, let him stay that way but get Prompto up.” Swiftly buttoning his shirt, Ignis picked up Gladio's clothes which had been just as scattered around the room but as he passed them over to him, a hand grabbed his wrist pulling him close. Unlike the previous night there was nothing coy about the gesture; this wasn't flirting, this was worry.

“Iggy.” Even though he was once again ignored, the way in which Ignis was frantically swiping and tapping on his phone was not to be taken lately and as brow furrowed, hand released the wrist that it had grabbed.

“Don't let them leave the room, they can't know anything until we have a better idea of what's going on.” Pulling his shirt and trousers on, Gladio once again opened his mouth to protest, to try and find out what the hell had happened but before he could even start to form the words Ignis reached out to him, in his hand the phone with the only information he could get too. “I can't get an updated article, nothing well load, I have no signal, I can't get through to anyone. I can't even get radio to come through, I only have what came through at some point last night...” While the black haired male glanced over the rather short article he sat back down on the bed, fingers laced together with the mans sat next to him, each providing the other with what was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze.

“I need to see if this is real, try and get some more information, a newspaper anything that can give us a better picture of what’s happened. It might be nothing…” He knew it wasn't, they both did. If it was nothing then they would have heard, they would have been able to get in contact with someone. The idea of it was earth shattering, incomprehensible. The thought that Insomnia could have fallen, the repercussions were endless, for all of them.

#ffxv #ffxv fanfic #ffxv fanfiction #gladnis #gladnis fanfiction #ignis scientia #ignis #ffxv ignis #gladiolus amicitia #gladio #ffxv gladio #gladio fanfic #ignis fanfic #wmific #ffxv spoilers

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original-character-archives · 8 years ago

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Name: Dean Age & Date of birth: 20-22, Pisces(March) Species: Anthropomorphic cat Gender: Agender, typically uses “he/his” pronouns but is ok with any Orientation: Demiromantic Asexual Fandom/Original: Original; belongs to my story world “Sunflower”

Warnings: Mention of anti-lgbt attitudes, bullying, supernatural horror

Biography: Dean was born and still lives in a small town nestled in valley between a hilly coastal mountain range and a long stretch of larger mountains and wilderness. This town, called Sunflower for the proliferation of those flowers that grow around it, is somewhat cut off from the outside with only one road, and lacks a lot of modern technology. It was founded many decades earlier by a group of LGBT folks who wanted to create safe-haven in a time when the hatred they faced was life-threatening. Dean grew up with two loving parents, though he mostly only had a bond with his mom, Camellia. She always encouraged him to work with her- often out in the garden, or sewing clothes. His dad, on the other hand, was really into hunting and fishing, which upset him. Dean was determined male at birth, but insisted as young as 5 years old that he wasn’t a boy or a girl. Many people just assumed he was female however because he just happened to have traditionally feminine interests and features, most notably an unusually high voice. While not for his identity, Dean faced a lot of bullying as a child. He was extremely sensitive and cried a lot, wore clothes he made himself (that at a young age he wasn’t very good at), struggled in sports, and could be bossy when playing- all of which made him a target. For a long time, his only friend was his cousin Sierra. There was also Emilio, the son of his parent’s good friends, but Emilio tried desperately not be associated with “the weird kid”, despite the fact he actually really liked Dean. Dean went through an even rougher patch a little bit before highschool. Emilio completely pushed him away due to his own issues, and Sierra started spending a lot more time either alone or with other friends. Dean found himself wanting to be alone as well, and that’s when he first became acquainted with the supernatural legends of the forest behind his home. It was said the reason the land Sunflower was located in was available and not developed was because of a fear that various demonic forces lived in the forested mountain range to the east. Dangerous wild animals did live out there, so the town was surrounded by a large fence on that side. Dean found a gate not too far from his house and decided to explore. The experiences he had were mostly psychological- intense feelings of being watched, strange bouts of nausea, unexplained whispering that might have been in his head. After that he didn’t want to go back, but continued to be plagued by nightmares where he did see demon-like creatures. Things eventually came around for him in his second year of highschool. Sierra made more of an effort to spend time with Dean and her two friends Shay and Rene as a group, so Dean ended up gaining two new friends. Emilio still kept his distance, but they slowly returned to sort-of friendly terms. Dean found himself involved with the theater at his school, making costumes since he had given up on acting. He finished high school off alright, and was offered the job of being an play/event organizer for the elementary school theater. A year or so later, a stranger named Ari comes to town, and Dean is the one of finds her passed out while he’s collecting sunflower seeds. He helps her and they become quick friends- but she seems to be troubled by something. The rest is the start of my story involving Dean as the main character..

Appearance: Height is about 5'6", is about average weight with most sitting around his belly and thighs, giving a bit of a “pear” body type. Small shoulders and hands. Has fairly well-toned arms from lots of garden work. Fur mostly a creamy white all over, but he has brown spots around his left eye, on his chest, elbows, knees, and has brown feet. Has big golden yellow eyes. He likes to wear clothing he makes himself, which he does eventually get better at. Usually these are simple sun dresses often in warm and floral patterns, or similar button-down cotton shirts with shorts or jeans. Likes to wear big cozy knitted sweaters in the winter. He also has an affinity for overalls and sun hats.

Personality: Generally has a friendly and enthusiastic disposition, though can be a little on the shy side. Tends to fuss over things and can come off as nagging or controlling. He is quick to offer his help others and works diligently to make sure all is well with his little world. He hates conflict but easily feels put off when others don’t match his kindness, and can behave passive aggressively when he feels let down- which is easy, how sensitive he is. Though he tries to be kind to everyone, he can’t help but get stuck on their short-comings.

Favourite & Least Favourite things: Likes: Vegetables (carrots!) and fruits (squash!), gardening, flowers, sewing, theater and costume design, meeting new people, working with kids, hats, collecting any object with a memory attached. Dislikes: Pretentious or judgmental people, meat (he eats it sometimes, but prefers fish), scary stories, violence of any kind, unhealthy vices like smoking or drinking.

Strengths and Weaknesses: Strengths: Has lots of love to give, energetic, good at setting and working toward goals, creative and talented Weakness: Struggles with social anxiety, sensitive and breaks down easily when overwhelmed, prone to taking things too personally, avoids confrontation

Additional notes: I put a lot of drawings of Dean and his fellow Sunflower residents on my tumblr here(Fennelcat),and plan to add more info such as story details, development prompts, etc. Someday I might turn this into a comic. :3

fanart/fanwork: Yes!!!

#original #submission #orientation discrimination #oooh what a detailed story #fennelcat

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taebabysbirthday · 6 years ago

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Zach Gage Views of iPhones iOS

Computer programmer Zach Gage has released some great iOS apps. We catch up with him and ask about his work, his life and programming in general.

Q: Tell us about yourself.

A: I’m an artist and a video games developer, and I live in NYC! I'm very lucky in that my day job is doing those things independently. I've been working with computers my whole life. I hooked up our first computer (a Mac LC) when I was six they were pretty easy to hook up. In college, I moved away from programming and pursued more traditional arts (painting, photography, drawing, design), and then after finishing up there I got back into programming through art.

I started making conceptual artworks, digital sculptures, websites, one of the first twitter bots and an iOS sound toy called SynthPond which led me to doing iOS development and reignited my interest in game design. I still do art and games, and see them as stemming from the same creative process. In fact, I just released my latest piece, a conceptual game about Twitter. It's called Twitter Teaches Typing.

Q: How did you get started?

A: I got started in games design with a program called HyperCard when I was seven or eight. It didn't have any programming elements, but you could draw scenes and link them to each other with buttons, so I could make rudimentary point-and-click adventure games. Soon after that I moved onto Apple's Cocoa (which is different to what cocoa is now). It was a very cool visual programming language that was eventually spun off as Stagecast Creator, and is now wholly defunct. When I was in middle school, I went to computer camp where I learned BASIC and then C++. I can't recall my first program, but the first thing I sold commercially was a puzzle platforming game called Escape From Pluto. I sold exactly one copy to one of my friends through a website that let you put games up for sale way back before the year 2000.

Q: What do you think the iOS app store has brought to programming and software sales?

A: I don't think the App Store has really made programming much easier, although learning to program is definitely easier these days. Things like www.processing. org are on the forefront of this. The App Store has definitely made software sales quite a bit easier though, especially for one-man shops like mine. Being able to get started selling things without needing to figure out credit card processing and country-specific taxes, especially in foreign countries, is a huge deal also, being able to see your game or app on a professional store is pretty exciting for people just getting started. When I grew up you had to go to computer stores (which basically don't exist anymore) to get software. I think if I'd been able to sell my little games in boxes on shelves at the store and had been able to tell relatives and friends “Check out my new game! It's at the store”, that would have been extremely cool to me.

For a while, the App Store made marketing easier as well, which was a huge boon to me. Apple still helps significantly with PR if you can manage to get featured, but I think getting above the noise to get the attention of Apple (or anyone) has become a lot harder as the number of apps releasing every day has skyrocketed. I still think Apple does a great job finding small new games, but there's just so much out there. At this point, to get above that initial noise, you kind of need to have your PR together right off the bat or you need to be well networked to people who can help promote you.

Q: You have some pretty zany apps in your collection, such as Really Bad Chess, and Ridiculous Fishing. Where do you get your ideas from?

A: I think about games a lot, and ideas come naturally all the time. Often I have more ideas than I know what to do with, but I like to make quick prototypes of anything that seems like it might be good. I probably discard nine out of ten prototypes, but occasionally something will click and I'll build it out further.

I feel like ideas are important, but ultimately pretty cheap. Most of the difference between something great and something awful is how you put it together. I’ve had so many ideas that sat on a shelf for years because I lacked the core component that would make them amazing. Usually it’s something right under my nose! Ideas are like weird magical universes, and games are just one tiny corner of that universe that's interesting. The real work is in finding those corners, and then figuring out how to share them with people.

Q: What’s your favourite app you’ve written, and why?

A: I don't play favourites with my work. I love them all equally while I'm building them, and find them all utterly exhausting afterwards. I guess if I was forced to choose, Really Bad Chess might be my favourite. It's not often that you get to turn a 1,500-year-old game upside down with such a simple change. I think my games surprise me in terms of how deep and interesting they are when I'm prototyping them (that surprise is the key thing I look for), but Really Bad Chess went much deeper than that. I didn't expect it to transform the experience of learning chess the way it did.

Q: What advice would you give to someone who wants to start app programming?

A: I don't think our ideas should be led by technology. We live in an amazing future time where we're surrounded by these incredible devices all the time and they inspire us and awe us with their power, but ideas built around "what if I had an app that did..." or "imagine a VR game where..." are almost never fruitful. They rely too much on their relationship to technology to be deep. What makes great ideas great is how they build deep connections into our lives.

Someone with very little experience should first think only about the best way to get into programming, because learning programming (any kind of programming) is the gateway to turning your ideas into actual things, and until you've done that, you can't even understand what it means to really even have an idea for a program. I think www.processing.org or https://p5js.org are great places to learn to program. If you're interested in making games, YoYo Games' Gamemaker (www.yoyogames.com/gamemaker) is great, and so is Twine (http://twinery.org). Another pretty good option is to use a html5/javascript library like Phaser (https://phaser.io). The common thread amongst these tools is not only are they designed to be easy to use and accessible but they all have strong communities where you can get help and share your creations. Gamemaker games can compile for iOS, and Twine runs as a website or can be wrapped with something like PhoneGap to run as an app, and Phaser has a whole suite of methods for using touch controls and running as a website (or as an app through something like PhoneGap). None of these programs require having a Mac or an iOS device to start, although you'll need both later (along with an Apple Developer Account) to compile and submit games to the App Store. If you’re dead set on starting with iOS programming proper, I'd recommend having a modern iPhone and a Mac of some kind. Most people use phones instead of iPads and I think you should set your sights as small as possible and only design a game or app for one type of device. iPads and iPhones have pretty drastically different use-cases and you don't want to fall into a trap of having to support a bunch of extra features just to include all devices or the trap of not putting your best foot forward by just releasing something that’s universal but isn't really a great experience. Swift is a fine starting language, but having to learn a professional IDE (Xcode) can be a real struggle for a beginner.

Q: What pitfalls are there when getting an app on the App Store?

A: There’s about a million pitfalls and a billion things it takes to make something successful. If you're looking for a career in this space, the most important thing you can do is have patience. It took me three years and six games and each game I built did worse than the previous one. Years ago I asked around with other successful indies and three years seemed to be the minimum amount of time it took people and that was when getting attention was much easier, so the biggest pitfall is quitting your day job before you have a successful app.

Don't quit your day job. I don't say this as a discouragement, but as advice. You need a revenue stream to maintain your sanity and be relaxed enough to learn the things you need to learn and to make sure you continue to enjoy undertaking this long and arduous process. You need to be able to take risks without the failures destroying you. While I was getting started, I did freelance ad work.

There's so much to learn and everything is constantly changing and shifting under your feet. How do I turn this idea into a real thing? How do provisioning profiles work? How do I understand crash reports? How can I navigate all the strange idiosyncrasies of the app submission process? How do I reach out to journalists and bloggers? How do I network without coming off like a jerk? How do I promote myself without coming off like a jerk? How do I promote myself in a way that feels comfortable to me? How do I amass a fan-base? How much should I charge? How do I build in-app purchases that feel fair? How do I design good screenshots or write a great description? What makes a good name and icon? How do I pitch an idea or story? Who is my audience? What makes my work meaningful? How do I work with ad networks? How do I support the GDPR? What analytics should I use? How do I use analytics? How do I support my work over the long-term? How do I stay sane reading reviews and responding to bug reports? This is just a tiny selection of the kinds of things you'll have to figure out to get a foothold in this industry and the answers to all of these questions are ever-changing, personally variable and bring up many more questions. It sounds scary, but it's not so bad if you take it one thing at a time, but that means giving yourself the kind of environment where you have the space to screw up and the stressfree time to learn slowly. This means releasing many things and not relying on your apps for survival. Successes never come out of the blue, and even the ones that got really lucky are never the first things someone tried. Make sure you give yourself space to try and fail and learn over and over again and make sure that kind of process is the sort of thing that will energise you and give you joy. I hope that wasn't too depressing, but I think pragmatism is important in this line of work. I honestly love this hectic and ridiculous environment, as someone doing risky things; it really benefits me to work in a space where risk is required to find success.

Q: How has the App Store changed over the years?

A: The App Store is ever-changing, so it's hard to pinpoint one thing. I'm not sure anything at all is the same as it was at the outset. The main language people code in has changed. Most of the APIs have shifted. Device screen sizes, resolutions and aspect ratios are different. The design of the App Store and the way games and apps are promoted has changed several times. There are significantly more apps coming out every day than there were at the start. The ecosystem around the App Store has seen the birth and death of many sites and communities. Working with Apple has changed significantly as Apple's priorities have shifted, allocating more resources to the App Store and developers. Communicating with users and managing reviews has changed a lot too. I don't do much differently due to the crowded market. My goal has always been to promote gaming literacy and critical thought to the new communities of players that have shown up since the advent of mobile gaming, and that means that I don't just make games that are approachable to these players, it also means pitching stories to non-gaming or non-tech focused websites and publications. Surprisingly, these markets haven't actually gotten a lot more crowded even though public interest in video games has gone up significantly, so actually the PR part of my work hasn't changed as much as you would expect.

Q: What Apps from other developers are currently taking up your spare time?

A: About a month ago I finished DR. MEEP, which I really loved. I've recently got back into Pokemon GO. The app they made for the Apple Watch is amazing! I've also been playing some Holedown. On the App side of things I use Dark Sky, Fantastical and Reeder, amongst all the standard stuff (Kindle, Audible, Twitch, etc.

A: My wife and I still play Ascension all the time. I also love 868-Hack, Mario Run, A Dark Room, Eliss Infinity, Canabalt, Hook Champ, Threes, Sword & Sworcery, 7 Little Words, King Cashing, Windosill, Super Hexagon, Lost Cities, Blackbar, Boson X, Kero Blaster, VVVVVV, Desert Golfing, Crossy Road, Stellar Smooch, Reigns, and Florence.

Q: What is your development process?

A: I make about forty prototypes a year. Around four to eight of those are good. What I'm looking for with a prototype is for it to be more interesting than I initially thought it would be. Then I try to make some quick design decisions to build upon whatever aspect of them was surprising and interesting. If I'm successful, I usually get a little game that can hold my attention for ten to twenty hours. Maybe two or three of those initial prototypes makes it this far a year. At that point, I need to figure out how to build upon the game again, turning it from something that's fun for ten to twenty hours into something that is fun ideally, forever. Usually only one game makes it that far each year, but also one of the twenty or so prototypes I have kicking around from previous years rears its ugly head and I get an idea that works for it. This tends to result in about two new games a year. I'm basically constantly bailing water out of my boat, but the water is games and every time I get halfway through emptying the boat, I get some other idea that I have to work on right at that moment. It's pretty exhausting, but I feel like if I don't get these games out it's a disservice to the work and the ideas that went into them.

Q: What are you working on at the moment?

A: Right now I have a number of promising prototypes going that I don't want to talk about publicly yet and I'm taking some time to revisit my older games that are still on the App Store to update them and add some significant new features.

Heres his iphone buying guide 2019

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