#happy the ripples will be perfect on the surface thursday

[masterbaiting]

the last season of ttoi is set in 2012 which means that ollie reeder could have listened to songs for swinging lovers, american demo, and most importantly, david koresh superstar by the indelicates

SOOOO FUCKING REAL!!!!! in 2017 someone should have tracked him down and forced him to listen to juniverbrecher a clockwork orange style

[dayenurose]

WIP Wednesday

Last week I was tagged by @ludi-ling to share my WIP. Thanks for tagging me. Tagging @angel-gidget , @deliciously-difficult and anyone else who would like to share…

I finally figured out what to share…and it’s Thursday now. Instead of waiting another week, I’ll sneak this in just a little late. Here’s the beginning of the final chapter of ‘Risk and Reward.’ This chapter has definitely spiraled out from the original outline (which is partly why it’s taken so long to write) and I got distracted by Rogue/Gambit week and my original works….

The previous six chapters have covered the risks involved in a relationship between Rogue and Gambit, in chapter seven they finally receive their reward.

(Find the first part of the story here.

Chapter Seven — ‘You May Kiss…’

Remy clasped both of Rogue’s hands between his. She curled her fingers, squeezing his hands in return. His burning eyes never strayed from her clear, green-eyed gaze. He was practically lost in those eyes as he recited his vows. Rogue’s voice was strong and clear—not a hint of doubt or fear—as she responded with her own. Her smile warmed him to the cockles of his heart. This moment felt as close to perfection as he had experienced in a long time.

Suddenly, the Rabbi’s voice broke through the daze with words he had almost given up on hearing. Before today, this had been his fondest dream, the one which he dared not dwell on too often.

“…Anna Marie and Remy LeBeau as husband and wife.”

Though he could scarcely believe what he was hearing, Remy didn’t hesitate. There would never be a reason to hesitate again. Unwilling to break contact with her, Remy kept one hand entwined with hers while he cupped her cheek with the other. She didn’t flinch as his bare skin touched hers. He leaned in to kiss his Rogue—his bride.

For her part, Rogue didn’t hesitate either. Before he could meet her lips, she closed the remaining distance between them. Her free hand clutched at his waist, fingers entangling in the fabric of his suit coat and holding him close. She didn’t pull away or protest as they kissed. There was no fear in her embrace.

As the kiss prolonged, the world closed around Remy until it consisted of only two people. Need and passion made them forget their audience. With Rogue at his side, it was as though he no longer needed to breathe. Fervently, he hoped this would never end.

They had kissed before. There had been hundreds of kisses over their rollercoaster of a courtship. Israel and Antarctica. Valle Soleada and Paraíso. And so many more in between. Whenever they could work around or through their mutations, they kissed and caressed and touched. Remy had the perpetual need to demonstrate through touch how much he loved her and needed her, and she returned that need with the perpetual desire to receive his touch. Despite that, somehow, it had never been enough. Until now.

This time was different.

This was the first time they kissed as husband and wife.

Rogue—his wife. Wife. The very thought of Rogue as his wife sent a giddy thrill through him. 

With his mind and every one of his finely tuned senses focused on his beloved, time slipped away from him. For all he knew, it could have been an eternity before reality snapped back around them. Ororo softly cleared her throat, reminding them that they weren’t alone. Remy couldn’t restrain the giddy grin of delight that filled his face. Never losing contact, his hand drifted from her cheek, across her collar bone, down her arm, along the curve of her hip and finally settling around the small of her back. Rogue pressed closer. Remy wasn’t going to let her go ever again.  

Not settling for a single embrace, Rogue pulled him in for another fierce, passionate kiss. A ripple of laughter ran through the gathered audience of friends and colleagues while Kurt muttered a not quite exasperated, “Not again.”

Remy had a feeling that Rogue would have shot her brother a dirty look if she wasn’t too busy kissing her husband. As said husband, Remy was more than willing to comply.

These kisses were simply the promise of a million more yet to come. And, Remy couldn’t wait to explore them all.

1 - Lucky At the reception…

Unease settled over Remy like a dark shadow. He scanned the lingering party guests. Kitty and Piotr had slipped out almost immediately after the ceremony. He didn’t blame them for wanting to be anywhere other than here. A few of the other guests had also left the party, but the majority remained. They danced and dined and drank. Try as he might, Remy could not watch everyone at once. His eyes were going crossed trying to keep everyone in sight, so that he might see the threat coming before it arrived. While on the surface everything appeared to be going well, a small part of his brain needled him, expecting the other shoe drop. His fondest dreams were coming true. A life together with his Rogue. Too much happiness—too much perfection, too much of everything he had ever dreamed about—was now within his grasp.

From his calculations, he’d been happy for too long. Life had taught him that his happiness was always short lived. He couldn’t trust these feelings of joy, because the moment he became comfortable, inevitably he would lose it all.

(To be continued…)

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 2

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Thursday, continued

All in all, Malcolm thought he put on a decent show at dinner.  Determined not to let his daughter know something was on his mind, he poured all of his attention onto her with a single-minded focus.

Not that his interest was for show- he adored his (not so) little girl and found her utterly fascinating, was always curious about the goings-on in her life, but rarely did listening to her stories require so much effort.

But the important part, he congratulated himself as he pulled ice cream cartons from the freezer, is she doesn’t suspect a thing.

“So, what’s wrong?”

He froze, still facing the freezer shelves, and sighed.  Spoke too soon.  Smoothing his expression back to neutral he shut the door, resuming his assembly of sundae ingredients.  “Nothing.  What d’ya mean?”

“Dad.  You’ve been weird all night.  What is it?”  Clara was seated at the island, eating the caramel topping with a spoon, watching him intently.

She looked no different from when she was a wee bairn or teenager, perched there, seeing far more than he ever wanted her to.  That girl is too damn clever, his ex-wife had always complained, and though he privately agreed would never admit that, usually pleased by her cleverness – except for when it was used to ferret out things he wasn’t ready for her to know.  At least she comes by it honestly.

“It’s… Uncle Wallace’s will was read today,” he started tentatively, waiting for her to nod, gauging her reaction.  “It was as I expected… mostly. He has some conditions for me to inherit, and I have to decide… if I’m going to comply.”

“You?  Comply?”  The teasing tone from the doorway made his head snap up, and sure enough, Rose stood there with her hands on her hips, several cardboard boxes at her feet.  “I’d pay to see that.”

Malcolm’s heart restarted itself at double-time, having stopped at her voice, and he was nearly weak with relief that she hadn’t accidentally overheard exactly what those conditions were.  That was too close.

Shaking his head he turned his back to buy himself some time.  Any chance of getting away with not telling was gone, now that the two people on Earth who knew him best were in the same room.  They were individually relentless when it came to getting what they wanted from him, and their tag-team act was unstoppable.  Pulling down a third sundae bowl for Rose, he waited as the girls squealed and hugged, talking a thousand miles an hour as if they hadn’t seen each other in months, rather than ten days.

Watching with a fond smile, he thought back to the first time his daughter had come home for the weekend from uni, dragging her shy new roommate behind her.

“Dad!  This is Rose, my roommate.  She’s my new best friend. Can she stay for sundaes?  And possibly forever?”

They’d both been scraps of nothing then, adults only in the legal sense.  Now they were both thirty, mature women who worked for a living and travelled the world, and he mourned the girls they’d been even as he celebrated their accomplishments and growth.

Knowing from experience that once they started they wouldn’t stop, and tempted to let them forget the conversation, he took his time building his own sundae first, before sighing and giving in.  “Right, who wants what?”

“Chocolate fudge ripple,” Rose immediately said, settling on one of the barstools on that side of the counter, licking her lips as she stared at one of the cartons.  “And be generous with the scoops.  I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day.”

Malcolm shook his head, obeying as Clara studied her options.  Ever the deliberate one, she could turn choosing a flavor into an art form.  “Just because we’re not in the office, doesn’t mean I’m not still your boss, Miss Tyler.  Don’t get too comfortable.”

“I’m off the clock, hanging out with my bestie,” she shrugged, pulling the dish closer towards the toppings and piling on the chocolate sauce, whipped cream, sprinkles and cherries.  “Besides, the very first time I was here you told me to make myself at home.  I got you Neapolitan, Clar, just have some of that, would you?”

Not waiting for his daughter to hem and haw Malcolm scooped her just that, pushing the bowl towards her.  Moving his own front and center, he stared at it for a moment before adding another few squirts of chocolate sauce to the mint chocolate chip tower of ice cream.

“No vanilla today?”  His assistant didn’t miss a thing, eagle eyes noting his choices even as she devoured her own.  “Decided to live it up?”

“Thought I’d test the limits,” he shot back, “dare to put myself out there.”

She just smirked, licking at the back of her spoon, and he had to tear his eyes away to focus on his daughter again, who was still staring at the various containers, dish untouched.

“You good with that?”

Sighing, Clara nodded, adding her own toppings.  “Yeah, this’ll do.” That didn’t stop her from gazing at the rum raisin with a longing usually seen on sailors’ wives as he put the ice cream away before it melted.

“So, the inheritance?” she prompted, the freezer door shutting breaking her from her spell, and he had to hide a smile at how little she had changed from when she was knee-high to a grasshopper.  Not that she’s that much taller.  She had her mother to thank for that, and it amused him that even now at thirty, she barely came up to his chin in her bare feet.

I’m getting old.

“I don’t want to talk about it now,” Malcolm hedged, eyes flickering over at Rose, who paused.

Tilting her head, she frowned.  “Is this about me?  My being in it, I mean?”

“What?”  The ground shifted beneath his feet, eyes opening wide.  “What do you mean- you know?”

“Well I don’t know details!” she protested, looking up at him.  “But, yeah, I know I’m in it.”

She doesn’t seem mad.  Does she not actually know?  “What, precisely, do you know?” he asked suspiciously.  He’d known her for eight years, and would never guess she might know something like this existed and be okay with it.  What did he tell you?

She hesitated, expression faltering as she glanced at Clara, who shrugged.  “The last time I was there, a few months ago, he mentioned putting me in the will,” she said slowly.  “That he thought I was a nice girl, and he wanted to take care of me.  I protested- it’s not like I need or want his money- but he insisted.  Said it was something he knew I’d had my eye on, wanted to make sure I got it, but he never said specifically.  To be honest, I have been wondering.  I’ve always loved that Renoir, on the staircase – any chance it was that?”

Malcolm snorted.  “In a manner of speaking.”

Both women stared at him with identical arched eyebrows, and he sighed.  His intention had been to tell Clara then take a few days to ponder, but realistically, the likelihood that she would keep something like this a secret from her best friend was flimsy at best.  “First, let me say I knew none of this until Robertson called this afternoon.”

“Is that why you were upset, and needed to talk to Alex?” Rose asked delicately, and he nodded.

“You could say that.”

“Dad,” Clara warned, ”you’re being weird again.”

“I thought I was always weird?”

Identical glares made his jaw snap shut, and he glanced between their faces.  This is humiliating.  Now would be a perfect time for an earthquake, or heart attack, or some other natural disaster to prevent this conversation.  He stared up at the ceiling hopefully, but no relief came.

“Dad!”

“Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing at his face.  “Right, here it is.  Rose, Wallace left everything to me on the condition that- that-”  He met her eye, saw the trust there, and slumped. “On the condition that we got married.”

Silence rang out in the kitchen as they stood there, staring at each other, and he watched the expressions fly across her face closely.  Surprise, of course, confusion, curiosity- happiness?  That can’t be right.

“Is that legal?” she finally asked, tone carefully neutral, and for the moment they both ignored Clara’s spluttering.  Rose met his gaze head on, that spark of mischief and adventure hiding just below the surface, and his heart clenched.

“Apparently.  You didn’t know?”

She shook her head slowly, the shock fading from her face.  “I thought he might leave me a trinket or something- the most I hoped for was that Renoir.  I mean-”  Rose swallowed, and he felt slightly better that she hadn’t run away screaming.

Yet.

“What, exactly, would it take to… to satisfy the terms?”  She flushed, and after a moment he did too, not trusting himself to speak given where his mind had gone.  “I mean- you know what I mean.  And what if… you don’t?”

“If I don’t,” he said carefully, leaning on the countertop towards her, “everything goes to the government.  As for the actual terms, it was fairly simple, basically.  Legally- well.  Stay that way for five years.”  He winced automatically, but she didn’t react other than to blink.

“When would all this have to happen?”

Malcolm paused, assessing her.  She’s too calm.  “Technically, in the next thirty days.”

Rose nodded slowly, before exhaling.  “Right.”  Standing up, she slid her purse strap over her shoulder.  “Um, I’m going home.  The samples are there.  I will see you tomorrow and you,” she glanced at a wide-eyed Clara, “Saturday.”

“Uh huh!”

And then she was gone, leaving Malcolm alone with his daughter and three half-melted ice cream sundaes.

Just when he was starting to worry Clara moved, turning to face him and still looking stunned.  “Okay, what the fuck?  Start at the beginning, leave nothing out!”

-

Rose startled awake, disorientated as she blinked and looked around, trying to remember what had happened.  Why am I on the couch?  The noise coming from the hallway outside her flat coalesced, and she turned her head to stare blankly in that direction.  Who’s knocking at midnight?

Yawning, she struggled upright, straightening her clothes and hair as she shuffled towards the door.  Peering through the security hole, she rolled her eyes to herself.  Of course.  Who else would it be?

Swinging the door open, she stepped aside.  “Hey.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”  Clara was still bright-eyed, full of energy, dumping her jacket and purse on Rose’s kitchen table and hustling to the kettle.  “It’s only just gone midnight!  Look alive!”

Rose followed her into the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe and trying to keep her eyes open.  “D’you know, this was the number one thing I hated about living with you.  I genuinely do not believe I have ever seen you asleep, except for that time you got the flu.  And even then, you were just groggy.  How d’you do it?”

“Coffee!”

“Right.”  Rose yawned again, hugging herself.  “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

Clara paused then, leaning back on the counter and smiling sheepishly.  “Wanted to check on you.  That was something, wasn’t it?”

Brain still rebooting, it took Rose a minute to grasp her meaning.  “You mean the part where your uncle is trying to marry me off to my boss?”

“Technically he was Dad’s uncle.  But, yes, that part.  It’s bonkers, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”  The kettle whistled then, and she shook her head.  “Pour those, will you?”  Not waiting for an answer she returned to the couch, curling up in one corner and pulling a fleece throw around her shoulders.

Clara followed her a minute later, carefully carrying two full mugs of tea.  “Here we go, ton of sugar and a dash of cream, just how you like it,” she chirped, handing one over, adding when Rose coughed at the first sip, “and a splash of scotch.”

“Thanks,” Rose said dryly, watching her friend settle into the other corner and smiling.  They’d done this a thousand times, during uni and after – spiked tea, curling up on the couch and talking about boys.  Malcolm’s not a ‘boy’.  He’s her father.  What the hell do I do?

“So, what are you thinking?” the brunette prompted, watching her expectantly.  “You haven’t said anything yet.”

“Who could get a word in edgewise?”  A glare made her sigh. “I genuinely have no idea.  I mean, yes- it’s bonkers.”

Clara froze with her tea halfway to her mouth, mug hovering oddly in mid-air.  “Do I detect a ‘but’?”

Running her thumb along the lip of the mug, Rose tried to absorb the warmth from it as she organized her thoughts.  “Losing the funding would be the end of the Foundation.  Full stop. You know he hates taking outside money, all the strings attached.  Without the inheritance, it’s over.  Eight years of my life, gone.  I’d have to get another job.”  Staring down into her drink, she tried to picture going on interviews, job hunting and working for someone else.  I like working for Malcolm.  There’s a reason I never left.  “There’s no denying I’ve got it great right now, and I don’t want to lose that.”

“Is that it?”

Her friend’s even stare bore a hole in her defenses, and Rose ducked her head further, hair falling forward to cover her face.  “I’m sure Wallace had his reasons,” she muttered defensively.

Silence lingered long enough for Rose to raise her head and make sure Clara was still there, only to find her watching with a calm, almost accepting expression on her face.

Nothing could have prepared her for Clara’s next words, however.

“You’re in love with my dad, aren’t you?”

[thecarouseruk]

80 Oxford Rd, Manchester M1 5NH

Just on the tip of where Oxford Road leads into the city of Manchester, there lies Grand Central. It’s one of the city’s few and far between rock bars and somehow it suits, both in terms of its location and its unpretentious exclusivity. On first impressions you might not be too excited by Grand Central, but spend awhile and you uncover some of its finer qualities, many of which you’d struggle to find in a city that continues to climb up its own anus with seemingly every passing day.

In its current form, Grand Central has been in Manchester for 17 years. When Gilly’s bar was the go-to place in Manchester, there was an understood term amongst Manchester’s mods and rockers; ‘GC before Gilly’s’.

Grand Central is without pretence a no frills place when it comes to drinks. You’ll find your standards including Fosters, Kronenburg, Jim Beam White Label, Bushmills, Jameson and Jack along with some Trooper and Hobgoblin for good measure. If there’s one area that Grand Central could vastly improve, it’s by featuring guest beers, particularly local grown. There is a current desire for local beers in Manchester and it one that is sadly missed here and would be most welcome.

Grand Central is a proud, unassuming place that is untouched by both the hipster swarms from just up the road and the modern, super clean student halls in the other direction. The chairs and tables are seemingly unchanged from the day it opened, worn and worn into the surface, speckle-stained tables as reliable as they were on day one with the strong whiff of chips and spilt beer. Blue and off-white floors merge into carpet and linoleum giving it a feel of being unfinished more in a ‘this shit’s going to get fucked up anyway’ sense than one for a lack of care. Finally, 50p pool. According to management you’ll find no cheaper in the whole of Manchester.

I’m told getting established live acts is never an issue for Grand Central due to their notoriety as one of Manchester’s more famed rock venues. Live bands have played at Grand Central for over 10+ years until recently. In fact, it is an almost the perfect middle ground between Manchester’s Ritz, Academy and Gorilla venues. Plus, it’s directly below the train station which brings many a rocker from the countryside. For these reasons, Grand Central became somewhat legendary as a pre-gig gig venue. Now management are looking at bringing back live acts from December and will host a new night called ‘Thursday Nights Alive’.

Some of the booked bands include reputable local acts like Cryptic Shift, Sinnergod, Rammage Inc, Bloodyard and Deviants, whose lead singer starred in the recently finished Bat Out of Hell musical, so you can expect some serious quality and some serious vocal workouts.

Continued Below…

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It surprised this long-time casual patron to find out that Grand Central has quite the history too. It has a disused subway tunnel as well as a disused bar below. Sadly, it has gone to wrack and ruin since its heady days but the remnants remain- dusty but still full of character which will hopefully be one day resurrected.

For now the space is being rented out for an upcoming feature from Shane Meadows and I can see why. The old tunnel is dark and filled with bar stools and nigh-on-impossible to see down. But you can imagine the people streaming down there from the train station above for a sneaky drink underground. On the walls you can still read old cocktail recipes as well as the very last lineup for band practice in the corner. The rest of the area I have been sworn to secrecy by the manager about but when we say this is a bar for rock and metal people, we mean it.

Clientèle has varied over the years; rockers visiting the city, those who reside here and including everyone from Sabaton, Maiden, Accept and Municipal Waste. Blaze Bailey holds all his launch parties at GC and Shaun Ryder of Happy Monday’s fame has been something of a regular.

Rumours of Grand Central being a brothel and being haunted never seem to go away. Interestingly, they’ve never tried to stave off these rumours and, if anything, have encouraged them. Danny Daemon, the manager, has never reportedly seen anything himself while living upstairs but has seen many a pint randomly fall off the bar without a happy drunk in sight. As for the brothel, he doubts his girlfriend would be very happy if that were found to be true.

The photo wall of regulars from times gone by gives weight to the feel you’ve received from Grand Central a few moments after you’ve walked through the door; this is a place where the rock and metal world resides as a community. The people talk freely to each other without pretence, gathering around the bar to do so; some with long biker beards and indecipherable band logos rippling across their huge chests, others looking more skinny and awkward. They all add to that ambiance.

This is further exemplified by the jukebox that is not only churning out the classics (Motörhead, Maiden, Sabbath and even some classic Funkadelic for equal measure) but it is also filled with local acts who have performed and have been added over time. If you can play, have songs and give it your all, they’ll have a stage and a home for the night for you.

The manager Danny is a member of prog metal band Prognosis along with his fellow bartender for the evening. He told me that while playing Bloodstock this year, during the interviews, it was mentioned time-and-time again how Manchester is the current epi-center of rock and metal in the UK. If this is the case, Grand Central would be the Inn in which you raise your glasses and rest your weary head at the end of the night. Having poured us a needed drink after we’d sunk into Grand Central’s inevitable, simple charm, Danny’s told us, under no uncertain terms: “Rock and metal ain’t going nowhere. Not under my watch.”

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Bar review: Grand Central 80 Oxford Rd, Manchester M1 5NH