#mmc extra

[kyrasims91]

Crow's Perch, House Renovation 🏡

(there's 3 more room that haven't decorate cause me lost some idea to déco 😅)

[garvalhaminho]

why does every tsc male main character act like a divorced father of three w bills to pay at 17. who gave them the right.

[incandescentsims]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 🦇🌕🐺 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙  

[eemcintyre]

Matthew McConaughey could play Billy Loomis but Skeet Ulrich couldn’t play Vilmer Slaughter I said what I said

[enigmaticexplorer]

Let Me Love You - Part I

Masterlist | Next Part

General Summary. An opportunity to expand your grandmother’s business brings you to Coruscant and a chance-encounter with Commander Fox. Friendship is your intent. But feelings grow, and with them, renewed fears. 

Pairing. Commander Fox x female!OC

General Warnings. Self-esteem issues; intimacy issues; trust issues; explicit sexual content. 

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Word Count. 2.4K

A/N. Happy Kinktober! My kink is the hyper-independent FMC who’s convinced she’s incapable of being loved, and the confidently-patient MMC resolved to prove her wrong.

Also, this story wouldn't exist without @/dystopicjumpsuit's In the Matter of Marshal Commander Fox vs. the Stocking Kink, the Court Finds the Defendant Filthy. There is zero correlation between the two, but DJ's one-shot reminded me how much I love Fox. And thus, this story was born.

9 Yelona, Zhellday

Autumn on Coruscant elapsed like the other seasons of the year—controlled temperature, heavy traffic, and malodorously polluted air. The environment was a stark contrast to your home planet, Lefaepa. 

With its fields of amber, and its hills of autumnal red, and its valleys speckled with clumps of asters and sunflowers, Lefaepa was the planet to visit for the annual Harvest Festival. 

It was a tradition that dated back ten thousand years. Month-long festivities concluded on the 35th when everyone gathered in their local towns and shared the reaping of their harvest. 

The communal and unevolved technological aspects of Lefaepan culture set it and its neighboring systems apart from the rest of the galaxy. “Backwater,” they were called. “Archaic.” 

But the Lefaepans didn’t care. They were so far removed from galactic societal expectations and dictations that the opinions of those located billions of kilometers away hardly mattered. What do the people who live in cages know? they laughed among themselves.

You missed it—your home, the silence at night, the fresh air with its honeysuckle breeze. 

Since you first arrived on Coruscant two years ago, you’ve returned home twice for the Harvest Festival. Your parents appreciated the extra help on the farm, and you enjoyed the pitchers of apple cider, the twangy music, and the abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. 

This year, however, you were missing the festivities. An argument with your mother left you too raw to visit home. No matter how much your heart longed for the stars and your soul yearned for the quiet of those red hills, your pride kept you away. Your mother had gone too far this time. 

Her constant pressure to settle for the first man who gave you attention—her constant remarks that you weren’t “getting younger”—had coalesced into a resentment unbreakable. Even now, three weeks after your argument, a bitter taste filled your mouth. Ire clenched in your jaw. 

Was it not enough that you had performed well in university? 

Was it not enough that you had expanded your grandmother’s business?

Were you not enough on your own?

Conflicting thoughts clashed within your mind, a war raging. 

Swords clanging—an adamant acceptance of your independence. 

Cannons blasting—a defiant roar against your mother’s comments and interferences. 

Arrows piercing armor—a desperate, silent plea for someone to see you, to believe you were enough to be loved.

Over time, many battles were fought. 

For weeks, the armies fell quiet, re-strategizing, allowing you a moment of peace. And then they surged forth, a surprise attack spurred by your mother or your insecurities or—

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

The voice plucked you from your spinning thoughts and you recoiled, looking up from the thin coin you were cleaning. Weaving his way through the glass cases of artifacts strolled a man in red armor: helmet tucked beneath an arm, curly hair close-cropped, groomed stubble faintly shadowing his jaw.

A member of the Corrie Guard. You were familiar with them. 

After the Clone War ended two years ago, the Jedi uncovering and preventing a massive scheme to destroy the Republic, the Grand Army of the Republic was restructured. A tentative peace encompassed the galaxy. There was no longer a need for full battalions of soldiers. 

Pension plans passed, many soldiers retired. Some remained, though. Some, like the Corrie Guard, who were organized into an internal defensive bureau—the Department of Security—dedicated to protecting the New Republic from terrorist cells. Cells that were keen for chaos and anarchy.

So, the Guard’s random visit to your gallery was surprising.

“Can I help you?”

The Guard approached your counter—where you conducted all final transactions—with an aplomb that clued you into the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you the owner of the gallery?” At your nod, the Guard extended a gloved hand. “I’m Commander Fox.” The handshake was firm and brief. Matter-of-fact, just like the commander’s tone. “Yesterday, two Weequays were spotted on a public cam just outside this gallery. They were wearing black cowls and dressed in dark clothing. Do you know anything about them?”

The description, while slightly vague, was familiar. Your eyes narrowed. “They came inside and looked around a bit.”

The commander maintained eye contact with a calculation that made you tense. “For how long?” 

“Maybe five minutes.” You rounded the counter and motioned for the commander to follow you. A couple paces led you toward an unseemly case in a corner near the locked door that led to the backroom. “They spent most of that time looking at this: the Sword of Skander.”

Commander Fox peered into the case, eyeing the ancient sword inside. “What’s its story?”

“The sword belonged to Emperor Skander of the Meso civilization that existed ten thousand years ago,” you said with a cool, blasé inflection born from years working in this field. “When he assumed emperorship, his empire was close to collapse. To fight off his greatest enemy, he went to a sorcerer-type people and begged for an undefeatable weapon. They gave him this sword.”

“Undefeatable?” The commander raised his gaze to yours. A white scar cut across his chin. “It’s a sword.”

You offered him a bland smile. “The metal of the blade is unique. It no longer exists. It’s either been depleted so much it’s undiscoverable or it’s been hidden.” 

Commander Fox observed the sword with an unreadable expression. “And yet the metal in the sword remains.”

“The sword is protected by both cultural heritage laws and general artifact preservation laws,” you explained. “It was given to my grandmother forty years ago by a local community with ties to the Meso empire. One of their children was playing in a random cave when she found the sword. The locals recognized it from their legend. They wanted to protect it. So they asked my grandmother to safeguard it from those who would test the metal and replicate it.”

The commander ran a thumb along his lower lip. “Did the Weequay ask you any questions about it?”

“No.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “When I asked if I could help them, they left.”

“What’s so special about a rare metal?” Commander Fox mused aloud. At your silence, he pinned you with a hard look. “You know something.”

You hesitated. When you inherited the gallery, you had promised your grandmother to protect the sword’s secret capability. A capability that would earn the interest of different parties, including terrorists. 

“Very few people know this,” you said quietly. The commander shifted forward. “The sword’s blade can cut through any material. Including beskar.” His eyes widened. “And its blade is imbibed with a quick-acting poison. One little scratch and you’ll be dead within a minute.”

“That makes it a dangerous weapon,” Commander Fox murmured. He surveyed the front windows. Stained glass. An assortment of colors. They shielded visitors from Coruscant’s environment, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of ancient times, transplanting visitors from the modern world into history. “In the wrong hands—”

“That’s why only a handful of people know the truth.” You gestured to the case’s peeling wood and scratches. “And why its appearance is so modest.”

The commander released a contemplative sound.

Unease pricked the back of your neck. “You think the Weequays may suspect its true origins.”

His demeanor was impassive. “If I asked you to move the sword to your backroom, would you?”

“Only if you answer my question.”

“You haven’t asked me a question.” The corner of his mouth curved at your annoyed eye roll. “But…I believe there’s merit to your suspicions.”

You gave a sharp nod. “There are cases in the back with strong security systems. I’ll move it into one of those.”

“Thank you.” Commander Fox adjusted the helmet beneath his elbow. “Do you have private cams set up?”

“I do.” You extended your head to the one behind him, well-hidden among lacy drapes. 

“Good.” He scanned the gallery, most likely searching for the others. “Can I get a copy of the last week’s footage?”

“The last week?” His nod was perfunctory. You pursed your lips. “I don’t have time right now—”

“I’ll return to tomorrow.” He glanced once more at the sword. “If that works with your schedule.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Commander Fox offered his hand and you accepted it. Again. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

10 Yelona, Benduday

“Commander Fox.” You greeted the man with a close-mouthed smile. “Give me a minute.”

The commander, with his helmet cradled in the crook of his arm, nodded. The patient apathy on his face hid his true thoughts as he appraised a glass case housing five clay tablets inscribed with an indecipherable language. Your radiocarbon tests dated them nearly one-hundred thousand years old.

“As promised,” you said to the elderly man opposite your counter. Removing the lid from the large, nondescript box, you beckoned the man to peer inside. Joy played on his withered mouth.  

“Your payment,” he said, brandishing a bank card, “as promised.”

A swipe of his card deposited the credits into your account. It would take no more than thirteen hours for the transfer to complete its process. 

With a wave at the elderly man, you turned your attention to Commander Fox. 

“As promised for you.” You slid a datafile across the counter. “The five days preceding the Weequays’ visit, and the day of.”

Commander Fox rested a hand atop the ‘file. Like yesterday, red armor accentuated by a white chest plate covered his body. A black kama encircled his waist; a white utility belt sat snuggly on his hips. He set his helmet atop the counter.

“You must make a lot of money to afford these pieces.”

“I don’t sell the artifacts,” you said. The commander straightened slightly at your terse tone. “A majority of them were gifted to me by my grandmother. The rest are on loan from museums or private collections.” Your arms crossed your chest. “Artifacts are meant to be admired, studied, and respected. I’m not in this trade to buy and sell rarities just for the ego of having lots of money.”

If he was bothered by your sharp response, he didn’t show it. “Then how do you make money?”

“Through appraisals and consulting, mostly.” You rested a hip against the counter. “Preserving certain artifacts is expensive. If you don’t know what you’re doing, it can be either dangerous or ruinous. Lots of people will pay a good amount of money for an expert to preserve their family heirlooms or treasures they’ve accumulated. And they’ll pay even more to store their collections. I also document and organize assets for clients.”

Commander Fox dipped his chin toward the front door. “And that man—what did you do for him?”

“A cleaning.” You shrugged at his bemused frown. “Inside that box was a stack of plates that have been in his family for eight generations. Each plate is painted with a unique decoration. The paint is hundreds of years old and frail. A regular cleaning wouldn’t suffice, so I handled it.”

“That’s a lot of work for…” The commander cut himself off.

“Junk?” you surmised. He offered an apologetic grimace. “It may be junk to you. But artifacts mean different things to different people. Not only are they a way to study history and cultural nuances, they also connect you with people you might have nothing in common with. They offer a new perspective.”

You gestured to an ornamental warrior’s mask hanging on the wall behind you. “This mask belongs to my oldest client. She’s lost mobility in her hands and her eyesight is waning. She asked me to store the mask for her granddaughter, who will inherit the heirloom on her twentieth birthday. It’s been in their family for nearly two thousand years.”

Commander Fox whistled lowly.

“That’s a lot of history stored within a single, material item.” You scanned his face. “But it’s not just about preserving that family’s history. The mask is symbolic—it represents the family’s drive and resilience in times of turmoil. It’s survived horrific times, and so can they.”

For several seconds, Commander Fox scrutinized the green-blue mask. 

“I…don’t have anything like that,” he said slowly, almost as if to himself. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I’ve never been one for history. I prefer a quantitative approach to my work.” 

“Different methods of thinking,” you said. “But equally important to society.”

He levelled a shrewd look at you. “What does it mean to you?”

“I told you—”

“I don’t want a practiced answer.” He arched a brow. “Why do you care about this stuff?”

“It’s history.” Your eyes drifted across the gallery, perusing a set of dry scrolls, a painting of unfamiliar constellations, a set of vases detailing a primitive form of hunting. “Being around these things—holding them…it reminds me that my life is short and insignificant. History won’t remember me, so I might as well live my life how I want.”

For someone like you—someone who experienced the heavy, debilitating pressure of responsibility when making even the smallest of decisions—it was comforting. 

Commander Fox braced an elbow on the counter. “You don’t think you’ll be remembered?” 

“I’d rather be known than remembered.”

“A contradictory sentiment for someone in your industry.”

You conceded his point with a small smile. “There are people who leave a lasting impression on others. I’m not one of those people.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You left an impression on me.” 

A doubtful eyebrow quirked. “Is that so.” 

“You shared a secret with me.” The beginnings of a smirk ghosted his mouth. “One that only a handful of people in the galaxy know.”

A quiet laugh escaped, and you shook your head, amused. “I hope I don’t regret that decision.”

Commander Fox tapped a slow rhythm against the countertop. “Nah. You won’t.”

“I gave it some thought,” you said, while Commander Fox pocketed the datafile. His silence demanded an explanation. “A Guard investigating something is serious. I mean, you jurisdiction is terrorism.” Whatever vestiges of humor remained vanished. “Tell me, Commander, will my gallery be safe?”

“You’re concerned with the gallery?” At the incredulity in his voice, your eyes squinted in confusion. He searched your face. “Not your life?”

Your blank blink earned you a displeased frown. 

“They’re after the sword,” you said plainly. “If I don’t get in their way, I doubt anything will happen to me.”

Displeasure remained present in the scoured lines of his forehead but the commander didn’t press. Instead, he grabbed his helmet and gave you a final onceover. “I’ll be visiting every day for the foreseeable future. To keep tabs on things and to sweep the area.” 

Dark brown eyes—like the blackest of caf with just a dash of milk—held yours. He waited for your nod of acknowledgement and then turned on his heel.

“ ‘Til tomorrow,” he said in farewell.

Masterlist | Part II

A/N: This story exists because I wanted to see someone like me fall in love, and be loved. I wanted to know it’s a possibility for me.

[doriana-gray-games]

lmaooo it's hilarious that you've previously said that for Lestrade "the height of their intimacy is using a term of endearment" and then their first use of one (only if Sherlock is a woman which I will say is a little unfair) is when they want to figuratively spread Sherlock's viscera across the seedy bar floor. Thanks so much for your hard work. Good luck from here on

You might think them using your first name is intimate, but the height of their intimacy is using a term of endearment (you won’t hear it much outside of the privacy of the bedroom and in letters though!)

Hahahaaaa 🤣 I suppose I can clarify... Their exceptions from that are in a partly-sexual/partly-demeaning way while they are mad or annoyed or used ironically. They reaaaally think back on using that word later while trying to sleep and hate themselves a little (a lot) extra. Trust me.

(only if Sherlock is a woman which I will say is a little unfair)

Believe me, I looked far for a good word with the same vibe that I could use for MMCs and/or NBMCs. I even asked my discord, and we tried to think of a word that had the same demeaning/sexist/flirty balance, and the closest I think I got was "sport"... which... no.

The word was Sweetheart, in the middle of the rant, if anyone is curious. If you are FMC and have romance points. If anyone can think of a word that strikes that balance of demeaning/sexy vibe for MMCs or NBMCs, send it to me! And if I find it fits, without assuming too much of the player MC, fits the setting, and L's character, I'll add it ❤️😘

[uzumaki-rebellion]

I don't know what it is, but I enjoy writing from the MMC POV in romances. I typically like to write dual POV, but writing solely from a guy's POV is so much fun. I've done it with my "Stark's New Intern", "A Daughter's Plan" and 'Lick Back" fics. It really forces you as a female writer to really look at women from an outsider perspective to show what makes the guy fall. And I'm a sucker for the 'guy falls first' trope, so those two things together are extra fun.

[melodiousmonsters]

Hi hope you like some sketch dumps of things I'm 90% sure I haven't posted yet. And because I'm feeling extra generous I'll explain some of the ones that need a little more explanation. First three are just sketches of random monsters, fourth one is of a half-finished design for an adult (not elder i think) Brinapool(the hornacle of the mmc universe), fifth is an nearly complete design for a young Onix(torrt of this universe), don't mind the slug in the yelmut sketches, and the last one is of currently existing ocs, the epic tring doesn't have a final name but I'm using Chunk as a placeholder/nickname, and Searaph the cherubble, both of them are friends of the monsters that made fire oasis. Don't ask me about ocs beyond their personalities or something like that because a lot of stuff about them are story important btw.

[stansaaa]

i need fantasy romance book recs like ACOTAR if anyone cares to share please!! i’m about 100 pages from finishing ACOSF and it’s been my fav in the series, so preferably books that match that vibe if possible :) i know there are quite literally a million places to look for books similar to ACOTAR but i thought i’d share some more specific things i’m looking for to see if anyone has some more personalized recs (sorry i’m extra & prob asking for a lot, but anything helps!)

things i’m looking for:

- enemies to lovers ofccc (bonus points if it’s a slow burn arc & they don’t automatically stop hating each other the first kiss)

- smut. it doesn’t need to be a LOT a lot (i think nesta & cassian’s story spoiled me lol), but def more than like YA fantasy books & with lots of good sexual tension leading up to it

- a hot male lead (goes without saying i think?) but someone like rhys & cassian, though maybe even meaner bc i <3 big mean men

- NOT modern/contemporary, like no technology/modern slang, etc

- witty banter/dialogue between the two characters

- their love story stays just as interesting even after they sleep together for the first time and they don’t lose their hot tension

- bonus points if the MMC is like hundreds of years old and the FMC starts out as human/isn’t quite as old

- also bonus points if the FMC is really strong in her own right, but the MMC really wants to take care of her anyway

- tbh i also love some good possessiveness/jealousy and i didn’t feel like there was enough of that in ACOTAR so if there are any books where the MMC is like that, that’d be perf

thank you in advance if anyone sees this!

[nikethestatue]

I’ve noticed a lot of people saying that after the mess that was CC3, they’re quitting that series. But ignoring CC3, what do you think is the problem with the series? Why wasn’t it as appealing and popular as acotar?

I am assuming you are asking about CC?

Bryce was not a likable character. That's pretty much it. And the romance wasn't interesting or dramatic.

I think for most people, Bryce was too...radical. You can be many things, but it felt like Bryce was TOO MANY things. I can't really explain it and I don't want to slut shame a character, but I feel like lots of people had a problem with 'early' Bryce, with the drugging and the fucking, and it wasn't done very well on part of SJM.

I think that there was an element of 'I kinda want to take a shower' after reading some of this, and 'what the hell is swimming inside of her?' and I think for fantasy that's geared primarily towards women, those aren't selling points. People can argue with me all they want, but ultimately, women don't want to read about FMCs who are extra slutty. In this genre, the FMC doesnt need to be a virgin necessarily, but most don't want someone who is blowing a goat shifter in the club. Even in very dark romances, the FMCs are written in a certain way.

And Hunt was a good MMC, but he became dull and suffered from the Rowan-syndrome, where he mostly followed Bryce and got involved in her dumb plans because she told him so.

It's funny, because plot-wise, CC was incredibly interesting. Much more interesting than ACOTAR imho. But 99% of the characters fell flat, and that's why the series isn't popular.

[ninjastar107]

'Caught Inbetween' - A protoman-centered MMC fic

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The Doctor had begun to call him 'Breakman', insisting that it was because his purpose was to break Megaman in half and not because he couldn't take a direct hit without collapsing.

He laid on the ground again, seething through the power fluctuation. He was told he wasn't at risk of offlining, but the fluctuations he experienced wasn't much better. His firepower was unmatched at the cost of his stamina, and he found himself practicing finding a balance more than anything else. At least the shield did a good job giving him some extra protection. Less and less he saw Wily. big plans were being set in motion between constructing buildings and robot masters, the blueprints of which felt a bit too familiar for his liking. They reminded him too much of his old doctors work, the feelings of which he hadn't fully sorted out yet, and they all were built with one primary directive: destroy Megaman. Were all of Lights projects really 'half baked'? Was he built to be so, but only after some time together the doctor changed his mind? Why would anyone trust Light if he was allowed to do that so frequently? Wily avoided explaining why he was so shunned, and did he really need 8 extra robot masters just to take on one robot? Some details just weren't adding up.

Blues strapped his helmet and buster to the inside of his shield and swung it around his shoulder. If he wanted answers, he'd have to investigate.

--

A downpour had sparked as his traversed through the city. He had passed through a few times before, knowing the route well enough to take it with his eyes closed. Not that he preferred that, but the dark clouds could only block so much. He waved to the crossing-guard robot and followed the general flow of traffic, sticking close to those who held umbrellas. Standing in the subway, the crowd waited for the next train to stop by. It was weird not feeling tired, now would have been a perfect time for a nap. In fact, the idea of not needing to take the train in general crossed his circuits. It was far too bright in the subway anyway, and it's not like he was running on spare time anymore, what harm would walking bring? As day darkened, and the sun sank below the horizon, the rain reduced to a light drizzle. Blues hummed and meandered around, hopping fences and weaving through alleyways with ease. Green and white octagonal buildings stood within the gated perimeter. Very few lights lit up entryways and windows in glows of blue and orange, reflecting off of lines of white paint drawn on the pavement. A few bins caught his eye, particularly one labeled 'USED' that had various sets of googles and stained lab coats. He poked around, glancing through the dirtied lenses and setting them off to the side as he dug further. Eventually he found what he was looking for: a welding glass meant for onlooking only, for when touring groups wanted to see the manufacturing in action. Just the perfect fit too, maybe he could find a few spares just in case- "Hello?" Blues froze. "State your name and business." The monotone voice ordered. He turned to see a large drill bit aimed at him. The android behind it dawned green and purple armor, her dull eyes staring through him. "Blues, and you are?" He stiffly smirked. She stared at his features, "You are a robot?" "You are too?" he tried. Her arm lowered, "I am Quake-woman. You are trespassing." Blues nodded, eyeing to see the best way to get out of the situation. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." She tilted her head, retracting the drill back in. "Where did you come from?" "…." How the heck was he supposed to answer that? He pointed to the general direction he entered from, and her gaze followed it briefly. "You are coming with me." She ordered, holding out her hand. Blues complied, not wanting to wind up on a list for anything, especially without a means of getting out of there quickly. The interior was more homely than he imagined a scientific outpost would be. warm yellow walls, bookshelves, a TV, a few chairs and a couch- it felt more like a home than a place of work. No doubt the hallway led to bedrooms, maybe a lab was present deeper in? "Doctor Lalinde, I found a trespasser," Quake-Woman loudly informed, "He is inside with me." "What!" The doctors voice shrieked. An older woman with greying purple hair practically tore her way into the room. She stopped in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the two. "Tempo, you are not supposed to invite intruders into our home!" Blues felt the doctor staring at him, reading him. He saw a spark of familiarity in her gaze and quickly looked away. "I do not think he will cause trouble. He made no attempt to run or fight when I confronted him." She informed. "That doesn't mean he's not armed and wont change his mind!" Lalinde ran a hand down her face. He adjusted the grip on his shield. Tempo's grip on his arm tightened in response. "His name is Blues and he was rummaging through the used lab equipment designated to be cleaned for reuse." Lalinde blinked, the 'spark' turning to an ignition. "Really? You can let go of him," she finally stepped in fully. "You were after those glasses right? Would you like a clean pair?" "No," Blues folded his arms, unimpressed by the tonal change in the atmosphere. "I'm just passing through." "I see…" Lalinde adjusted her own glasses. "It's wet out there, do you want to stay until it stops?"

Tempo stood at attention waiting for directions. Blues glanced to her feeling uncertain of her intentions. She looked human enough, but still she was bound to such rigid structures. Was Megaman the same way? Was he still the only one who was truly caught in between? "Only if I can ask a few questions."

--

It was an accident, a cave in that crushed her and damaged her memory. What she was now was but a husk of what she was before, though not without hope. Lalinde had been working on putting what she could back together, but it was long and tedious work. Blues was relieved that it was just that and not anything else. The wonder if Light would have done the same for him lingered in the back of his mind... Wily changed his power core and it didn't change who he was, who's to say Light's plan wouldn't have done the same? Did he really run away for nothing? He pulled at his belt, a feeling of guilt running like tremors across his circuits. "Is there anything I can do to help Tempo recover?" Lalinde shook her head, "I'm afraid not much, but I think having a friend wouldn't hurt her." Tempo and Blues exchanged glances. He smirked, "I'll have to come back then."

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 11. Imperfect Holiday [D1]

Pairing: Gruber x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Train heading north through the English countryside

Continuation of: RICKMAS2022 Prompts 14. Icy Roads & 15. Frosty Glass

A/N: It’s been a year! Well, three days short of a year but still a year! And I’ve had so many messages, lots of asking about Hans and Anna-Louise — how it turns out, if she finds out who he really is, how she reacts to it if so, and everything else. I’m honestly so thrilled this story caught so many darlings’ attention and I’m more than happy to continue this story. As I write this it’s 16.09 the 10th of December and I’ve yet to actually start writing - the past few days have been hectic and my little one has been sick so there’s been need of extra cuddles which hasn’t allowed me to write until now. But I’m excited! (Continuing this note after I’ve written the fic…)

Okay, so, this turned out to be bloody long - again, why do I do this to myself? Especially on days I have so little time 😅👍 I’m very happy with the continuation of this story though, and in true Hans x Anna-Louise spirit, there will be one more part this RICKMAS - two parts, just like last year, and I’ll probably make it tomorrows prompt actually - why not? It matches up well and I’m sure to have a bloody war with the keyboard yesterday as well given I tend to make these fics longer. WORTH IT THOUGH! 🙈👏

Tags/TW’s: Different Lifestyles, Running Away (technically), Self Doubt, Forehead Kisses, Kissing, Caring, Hand Holding, Being Spoiled A Little, Falling In Love, Unmarked One Bed Trope, Motion Sickness, H/C, Patient MMC/Anxious FMC, Following One’s Heart, Secret Identity

Recap of last year’s fics: Anna-Louise (Lulu/Schnuki) Humphrey met Hans Gruber a snowy evening when he pushed her out of the way of an oncoming car while she were slipping around on an icy road in the middle of her run-down hometown. He captivated her with his handsome features and eyes that seemed to truly see her, and he was in turn captivated by her, seeing much potential and sweetness.

When they met again at the little café where Martha (the old lady with a fat dog and a cane she liked to swat at peoples legs) exclaimed him to be a handsome gentleman while Anna-Louise did all she could not to die of embarrassment at the old lady’s choices of conversation they ended up talking about her coming with him. Anna-Louise told Hans that was how to get kidnapped one-o-one but Hans pointed out he felt they were far more than mere strangers.

All her life she had been treated like a nuisance, a person not even worth mentioning by her full name — sometimes just as blabber missy even — and she had longed for years to leave. But she’d been frightened, fearing she’d end up a lonely puddle of anxiety more than anything. Yet, Anna-Louise ended up running to the train station at nine in the evening, hoping he would be there, and of course, he was. They left the poor little town together on the train heading north after sharing a toe-curling embrace where Hans kissed her forehead while calling her Schnuki and his sweet treat…

Word Count: 4.9k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

The train lurched into action and my stomach dropped. I was a silly-nilly, a delulu Lulu truly. It’s all gone pear-shaped now, hasn’t it? Dad won’t make it without me, sis will be a furious mess for him to deal with when Ferdinand’s litter box needs cleaning and when he needs his weekly bath with the oils and nobody will do the laundry, and the bins, it’ll pile over and— But my eyes went to Hans at that moment — sitting opposite me in a private cabin with red chequered seating and walnut furnish — and my rampant thoughts calmed down.

He watched me, his undivided attention fully on me. I wanted to squirm under his clear eyes yet I remained still, feeling wholly seen and wanted by that mere look of his. “Is my mind in a hoax with my eyes?” he asked, making me scrunch my brows. “I can’t believe you are actually sitting there, here, with me.” My cheeks burned at his words, spoken in that German accent of his. “I can’t believe it myself to be honest. I feel… Stupid.” “Stupid?” he asked, his eyes widening while his brows shot up. “This is a thing of romance movies and hostage situations, perhaps a police chase movie with bombs and exploding train tracks that’ll force the passengers to jump into the snow at break-neck speeds and run for their lives or—” I clamped my mouth shut. “Sorry, rambling again…”

Hans tilted his head, one leg crossed over the other with his coat only resting atop his shoulders, watching me with a small smirk. He was too bloody handsome. My very bones felt warmed by that daftly charming smirk. It wasn’t as devastatingly chaos-wrecking as his smile though. I liked both equally either way.

“You are worried, no?” he asked. “Worried?” “Well, you said it yourself, we are strangers and it is kidnapping one-o-one for a woman not to go anywhere with a stranger, especially a man. Yet,” he held out his hands, “here you are. Having boarded a train taking you anywhere.” The fact he remembered exactly what I’d said had my heart performing a stutter before my mind kicked into gear. “Not anywhere, last station is Durham, I’ve wanted to take this train many times. Not that I ever thought I would, I kept track, pun not intended mind you, but I never thought I’d actually get on, you know? Where would I go? I have nowhere to go, never had anywhere to go, and why would I leave when my family needs me,” I rambled on, my nerves getting the better of me again. Stop, stop, just, stop, or he’ll kick you off the train before you can say you’re a blabber missy. God, I’m so annoying.

“Well, you are correct, schnuki. The last station is Durham. The rest of your words, I can’t deem as right.” “What? Why?” “You have everywhere to go, many things to see and experience. Your family treats you poorly and I, for one, do not accept someone as bright and sweet as you to be kept bound to such a terrible fate. Cat claws and mints, doing other people’s bidding at all times.” He watched me most intently as he spoke, goosebumps travelled down my spine when he spoke of doing other people’s bidding, the words felt two-fold for some reason I couldn’t wrap my thought-riddled head around.

“You’re rather blunt, you know.” I thought that from the very start so maybe it’s a trait of his? Or a German thing? Martha would have a field day if he were to join for crisply burnt biscuits and cold tea next Thurs— Ah, right… “Schnuki?” I shook my head to focus on the man and not my bloody overwhelming thoughts. “Are you well?” he continued. “S-sorry, just, lots of thoughts.” “Speak them,” he said, leaning back and getting comfortable (at least it looked like it).

I blinked at him for a moment, my hand squeezing the edge of my duffel bag beside me while I did all I could not to weep at those words. He probably thought little of them, but they had me gobsmacked. “Speak them?” “Yes, you know, say them out loud. Is that not the term in England? Works fine in America.” I chuckled while my entire face heated. “Yeah, sure, it’s right but… I talk enough as it is.” “I doubt you could ever talk enough, schnuki,” he said with a deep chuckle.

My face sank, my shoulders slouched and I felt a million utterances of blabber missy and shut it, Lulu attack me from within. From the past. The very, very recent past. But Hans wasn’t like that, he wasn’t some prick spilling poppycock into my ear or forcing me to do something I didn’t want to do. No, he made me do something I’d dreamt myself blue about.

The plush bench beneath me sank on my left side, Hans sat right next to me and I hadn’t even noticed he’d moved. His hand enveloped mine, my eyes turned wide while he squeezed my still-scratched-up skin — Ferdinand was probably at the top of the tree now, swatting at tinsel and knocking off the star at the top while I was nowhere in sight and I wasn’t sure how it made me feel knowing the feral kitty wouldn’t be fully cared for. Would he end up on the street or could I at least count on sis keeping him, and feeding him?

“You are brave, my sweet treat,” Hans said. “I will not allow you to squander your life away any longer, understand me?” he continued and I gulped down a breath before nodding, my constant stream of words quiet for the moment. My insides were in shambles over the sudden close contact though, he was so warm, and he smelt like mint— No, not mint, menthol. Menthol and ginger, and something… something else I’ve never smelt before. “Speak those thoughts,” Hans said beside me. “You smell good,” I blurted out without thinking first.

My ears were given a cacophony of his laugh, deep and rumblingly loud — it was perfect. “You smell like a treat,” Hans said and smiled at me after he’d stopped laughing. “A sweet treat.” “Oh, it’s my shower gel, it’s scented like gingerbread cookies.” “Ah, yes, that’s the smell, partly at least. There’s more to it though.” “More?” “Yes, something incredibly sweet,” Hans continued and we fell silent as our eyes locked. His were so clear, so open, and endlessly bright with sprinkles of grey within the blue I hadn’t noticed before. Blimey, you’re perfection… “I’d say that’s you,” he said softly and I blinked. “Did-, did I say that aloud?” He chuckled and leaned in, kissing my temple, while he rumbled a deep “yes”.

My cheeks burned, feeling bloody mortified and flustered. “Oh,” I managed and he squeezed my hand. “You have the brightest of voices, schnuki. Speak as much as you need,” he assured and what on earth was I supposed to think of that? Nobody had ever said such a thing before, my voice was annoying and far too shrill, and used too often too — ask anyone, I’m a blabbering nuisance.

We fell into a stiff silence, but he never let go of my hand and the train chugged onward toward the north with the winter wonderland hidden in darkness outside the window only reflecting the inside of the space we sat in. Hans urged me to get some sleep, we were apparently a few hours away from our stop, but how could I possibly sleep with adrenaline and nerves turning me into a mess? I felt a sandwich short of a picnic, as if I’d gone completely bonkers — the entire situation was madness, and what if it all went to pot? Dad and sis would take the Mickey out of me if I returned home after a few days, they’d know I tried to get away and have a laugh at my uselessness…

Hans had already drifted off to sleep beside me, his hand softly clasped around my smaller one while my entire body gravitated toward his. He was warm, sturdy, and I couldn’t help but lean against him while my eyelids drooped. It was close to midnight I think when I finally dozed off, my head still spinning with questions and worries of all kinds.

***

Hans called my name just as I chased Ferdinand through the house to snag him up in a towel after his weekly bath. He hissed and roared in a manner no kitty was ever supposed to, I clamped down on him, rubbing with the towel when Hans called my name again. My home evaporated and I found myself back on the train, clamping down on Hans’ hand too harshly. I let go and scooted to the side a bit.

“Dreams?” “Just, yeah, Ferdinand needed a bath and I had to dry him and rub him with a— Oh, you don’t need to know that, sorry,” I said while my voice went from hoarse to its usual state. “The cat?” “Yeah, right, sis’ cat. He’s a feral thing, he’s sweet, but he’s… Sorry…” He nodded and reached out to grab my hand anew, little indents from my nails littered his skin, just beneath his knuckles. “I’m sorry, I-, I didn’t mean to scratch you.” “This?” he asked, holding our joined hands up. “It’s nothing, don’t fret over it, sweet treat,” he continued and kissed my fingers one at a time — I was sent into a burning heaven of warmth by the action.

The train came to a halt and my sluggish brain went into overdrive again as Hans let go of me and stood. “This is us,” he said and the speakers sparked to life with a woman saying “Darlington Station” and then repeated it once more. “We’re off here?” I asked and he nodded while grabbing my bag for me. He had no luggage at all it seemed.

My nose wrinkled at the sight, he walked ahead of me as the doors were too narrow for us both to go through and the lane just as tight. My bag looked beyond cheap when slung over his shoulder dressed with a seemingly incredibly expensive coat, and the Oxfords on his feet paired with the grey linen trousers matched so perfectly that my bag stood out like a ragged reindeer among Arabian horses.

He took my hand the moment we stepped off the train, the station lay nearly deserted so there was no need to stick close yet he kept me right by his side. “I can carry that myself, you know,” I said and he nearly glared at me. “No.” “I’m perfectly capable—” “I’m aware, but just because a lady is capable doesn’t mean she should. You should know how to change a tire, but you shouldn’t have to do it. You are perfectly capable of carrying your bag, but I will not allow it when I can do such a thing for you, schnuki.” “O-oh…” I whispered, my cheeks once more burning hot while he smirked at me and squeezed my hand.

We moved across the street to a car park with snow crunching beneath our feet. Hans released my hand and bent down by a gorgeous car — it was sleek and maroon blue with an air of richness to it. It looked like it hadn’t been parked there for very long though. He dragged his hand by the wheel and produced a set of keys.

“This is yours?” “Rental,” he said. “Allow me.” He opened the passenger door like a gentleman and I slunk inside, keeping my feet outside the door to dunk them against each other not to drag in more snow than needed. The creamy leather smelled divine even if it were terribly cold, my old jeans did little to keep the chill of the seat from crawling into my skin and up my spine while Hans dropped my bag in the trunk and slid into the driver’s side.

The engine purred to life and I buckled up. “Good girl,” he said and gave the strap over my upper body a tug, cinching it across my middle at the same time. “There, perfectly strapped,” he continued with a cheeky grin and began backing out of the lot while I gaped at him.

Hans drove with skill and ease, weaving through the streets, taking several turns along smaller ones with tightly packed buildings dressed in Christmas lights standing on each side before the open road lay before us and my eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. Should have grabbed my motion sickness patches, I thought while my stomach protested and the back of my mouth filled with saliva I struggled to swallow.

“Are we driving far?” I asked, my voice quieter than usual as I gripped the car door to make my body feel a bit more stable, it usually helped the motion sickness a wee bit at least. “Twenty minutes, given the roads are clear. Why?” Hans glanced toward me and his eyes widened. I was probably a bit pale. “Motion sickness,” I said, slightly shamed by being a nuisance once more. “I’ll drive as steadily as I can. Is it speed, turns or the motion in general?” he asked and I gaped at him, feeling like my jaw got too much exercise since I met him. The care and interest he showed in everything regarding me was insane. “Acceleration and unsteadiness,” I confirmed to be the worst parts for me. “But you drive really well.” “I’ll do my best to keep steady, schnuki.”

Hans eventually slowed down when we entered a narrower street lined by giant trees void of greenery. It was still pretty though. “Here we are,” he said and steadily slowed down before making a smooth turn into a giant estate with several brick buildings. It was absolutely beautiful but truth be told I just wanted out of the car to breathe some fresh are and stave off the motion sickness. The red sign at the end of the driveway dressed with garlands and twinkling lights said Headlam Hall, Rural Resort & Spa in golden letters.

I was out the door as soon as the car stood still. Hans came around and stroked my back a few seconds later while I breathed deeply to take away the worst illness. The fresh air was wonderfully clean and crisp. A faint scent of cinnamon and hay lingered within it and I honestly couldn’t say I disliked that particular smell. Smelled like Christmas on the countryside.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, his care beyond sweet. “Yeah, just need some air, it’ll pass in a few minutes. Sorry for being such a nuisance, Hans.” “Don’t say such a thing.” He looked almost offended at the words. “What thing?” “You are in no way a nuisance. Had I known I would have procured some pills for you.” “That’s my responsibility, I have patches at home, crazy how well they work for me without side effects. Should have grabbed them, but I packed so fast. Martha got them for me, some Chinese shop had them when she was in London visiting her sister. They’re bloody brilliant really, the pills always make me drowsy for over a day, and I— Oh, sorry, rambling,” I said and stopped myself from spewing more unnecessary words by taking a deep breath. “Stop gifting me words in your sweet voice only to apologize for it,” Hans said gently and kissed my temple. I shivered in my thin, tattered jacket and he fetched my bag while I tried to steady my legs — if it were his sweetness or the motion sickness making me wobbly I couldn’t really tell.

I was in some form of an awed daze while Hans led me inside the three-story brick building covered in vines that still held their leaves even in winter. The building was beautifully decorated with fairy lights around windows and the roof, with a blanket of snow all around it looked like it was taken out of one of those Christmas rom-coms where they needed to save the inn only to end up falling in love and living happily ever after (after some sappy words or cringe-worthy kissing scene).

The reception area was spotless, a beautiful mix of modern and classic English style that made me feel completely misplaced. It was rich, luxurious, and far beyond anything I’d ever dreamt of experiencing up close. Unlike the little café in my hometown with its tacky santas, plastic garlands, and altogether jumbled decorations this place was stunningly decorated in red and gold with real trees and boughs. I felt truly out of my depth. But Hans, well, he moved with an air of belonging to him, his strides confident and his whole look made it feel as if it were an obvious thing he belonged in such surroundings.

I kept looking around, nearly twisting my neck off to see without moving my legs, and Hans got our room sorted and declined any attempts of the receptionist to ring for someone to show him to it. He ended up leading us through the building, past a modern bar with a burning fireplace and sitting area next to it, through a big room with several seating areas, up some stairs, and through some hallways. It was as if he knew where he was going, as if he’d been there before. I merely followed like a lost puppy.

The room was stunning. Absolutely gorgeous with hints of tweed fabric, deeply rich wooden furnishing, and pale beige and white fabrics that soften it all. Tasteful Christmas decorations were placed in perfect spots and there was even a little hearth in the room, with two winged-backed chairs and a little table in front of it as well as two stockings hanging from the mantel. The giant four-poster bed screamed for me to lay down but the bathroom off to the side called for me even more.

Hans came up behind me, setting my bag on the floor before wrapping me in his arms, holding my back toward his front while my heart hammered as if I were some silly little schoolgirl with an irrevocable crush and filled with unruly hormones. “How about a bath before bed?” he rumbled by my ear and I nodded, lost for words by how closely he held me. “I’ll sort the room and you go relax, schnuki. Take a bath, and then we’ll turn in for the night.” “Sounds good,” I managed to say while he kissed my temple quickly before letting me go.

I ended up taking a long shower rather than a bath. I was too tired to wait for the tub to fill and it felt like a waste when I hadn’t the energy to really enjoy a long soaking. Hans didn’t bother me, even if I had left the door unlocked. As I dried my hair, while wrapped in the lushest of white robes, my tired body began to tremble. My hands worst of all while my legs felt like overcooked spaghetti strings beneath me.

I sank down on the chair by the claw-footed tub, squeezing the towel in my hands to try and stop the shaking. I left. I really left. And I’m in a spa resort, with a German bloke I don’t know. I’m a bloody moron for all of this. Am I completely daft? I’m usually not some muppet, but this is beyond stupid. I can’t even get home if I want to, not that I want to. I don’t want to, why don’t I want to go home? Shouldn’t I want to be with my family and all that good old hometown fluffing people always talk about? Especially during Christmas no matter that I know it would be a more than imperfect holiday, a disaster as usual, with things for all others and none for me but those from Santa that really are just from me to me. I'd probably end up wailing in bed with my face pressed into the damn pillow, just like every year...

A knock at the door interrupted my, rambling, pittyfull thoughts. “Yeah?” “Are you dressed?” he asked. “I’m in a robe.” The door opened the next second and I did all I bloody could to stop my hands from shaking and my face from betraying my anxious state. “Schnuki, my sweet treat, are you alright?” Hans asked while he stepped up to me, sinking to one knee while wrapping up my hands, still holding the wet towel, in his. “I’m— Well— I am, I am but, I’m not. I should be, and I am, but not really no.” I made no sense.

“Let’s get you to bed, you need sleep. Did you eat before meeting me?” “No, no Dad had his pals for poker and sis had me running to the shop for a new lipstick and then I packed, and I tried to make sure Ferdinand would have enough food and I did his litter box, cleaned it fully and put new sand and everything and I took out the trash and started a load of laundry and then I packed, and I cleaned my room and stripped the bed so—” “Schnuki, my sweet treat, calm down for me,” he said and cupped my face with his hands, his eyes holding mine steadily while I stopped rambling; in a rush to explain myself to the best of my capabilities so he would understand why I hadn’t eaten.

“There’s a silk pyjama on the bed for you,” he said, talking softly as if I were some delicate thing needing gentle care. “I’ll order some room service and you’ll eat before we sleep. Eggs and bacon, sound good?” “Y-yeah,” I exhaled, feeling all degrees of spoiled and pampered, cared for, and baffled by the warmth it filled my stupidly thundering heart with. I’m such a silly-nilly… I couldn’t help but wonder if I had been right two days ago, about Christmas being the time for kindness and care, perhaps this Christmas would be one like that for me?

“Alright then. I need to make a call, I’ll be on the balcony.” “There’s a balcony?” I asked, my eyes widening, and he smirked with a cheeky look. “We’ll have breakfast with blankets out there tomorrow, sound good? The view is fantastic you see.” “Oh, oh yeah, sounds brilliant,” I replied and he kissed my forehead most softly before leaving me to dry off my hair completely. That I wished to know what those lips felt like against my own was a thought I couldn’t quite get to pipe down. I bet he’s brilliant at kissing, nothing like Bobby Parker… I shuddered at the memory of my first kiss, and soon enough my mind ping-ponged like a rabbit between holes in the ground with memories of the kisses I’d had in life.

Bloody hell, I’ve had terrible luck in the love department… Well, the kissing department, I’ve never fallen in love with anyone. Maybe it’s all the blokes unable to kiss making me unable to fall in love. But I knew it was a place thing, rather than anything else. Living in a tiny town had few options lining themselves up, and with my sis being the pretty and popular one I stood even less of a chance. Every bloke I’d ever kissed she’d already been pawing in one way or another only to lose interest.

I hung the towel to dry and left the bathroom only to see the lilac-coloured pyjama set of silk on the giant bed. It looked like pure luxury. I’m supposed to wear that? I couldn’t do it, so I rummaged around in my bag for my old flannel pyjama bottoms and my old Bowie tee washed out completely and worn at the seams with a little hole right where I always fiddled with the hem. I glanced at the lilac silk once more before scurrying back into the bathroom and changing.

I walked over to the balcony door, finding Hans pacing on the other side of the glass in just his linen trousers and white shirt, his red tie still firmly secured too. He looked good enough to eat whole. Don’t be daft, Lulu…

As he paced back and forth I could hear a muffled snippet of his conversation every time he was close to the door. Words of stocks and vaults, then words of exits and insurances. Perhaps he worked on the stock market? Or a bank? He looked the part, like one of those Wall Street blokes you’d see on TV from time to time. Just, less dishevelled and without the crazed look of rapid exchanges needing one’s full attention.

“We will be in and out in four minutes,” he said while stopping with his back toward the door. I saw him fully through the sheer curtains but he hadn’t taken any notice of me. “Alex can crack it, Henry will be in the car and it’ll be smooth sailing. I’m close to Newcastle, picked up a little something special on the way so I’m a day late and will be two days late getting there. Can I trust you to handle getting the team set up and ready to go in four days? Friday’s are checking days, it’ll be stocked.” I wasn’t sure what the bloody hell I was hearing but it sounded important. His voice was so much harder than when he spoke to me, and clipped in a different way entirely. The sweetness and care had vanished, leaving only a decisive deep voice behind. A commanding one at that.

He ended the call and I scurried back to my bag, rummaging through it, pretending to search for something when the door opened and closed behind me. For some daft reason, I wasn’t scared despite the red flag of him being so different on the phone. Nothing about Hans scared me, not even being in the dark about who he was. He was Hans, he cared and he listened. He tended to me and took me away from the place I’d been dreaming of escaping for years but never dared to leave. He saved my life the very first time we met. I don’t know anyone who’d put themselves in harm’s way for others… Especially not any stranger in the middle of the road.

“Schnuki, what’s this?” he asked and I half turned my head, still kneeling on the floor by the foot of the bed with my hands in my bags. “Do you not like my present for you?” he asked with a glance toward the pyjama set. “You bought them?” I asked while straightening, abandoning my pretend hunt. “Yes.” When? “I love them,” I confessed. “But I can’t wear that.” “ That ? Something wrong with them?” “No, no! They’re perfect and pretty and super soft and a beautiful colour and everything,” I rushed out. “They’re just… expensive looking. I don’t wanna ruin them, you know?” “Ruin them? By wearing them as intended?” Sure, when you say it like that it sounds as silly as a goose having shoes and a bonnet.

Hans stepped closer, his eyes roaming over my form hidden beneath the loose, tattered fabric I wore. He tugged me into his arms and I gasped at the sudden closeness. He was still so warm, despite having been out in the cold English winter for several minutes. “Anna-Louise,” he said gently, “you ought to get accustomed to wearing fancy things, and eating good food, being in luxurious surroundings. I won’t have you in anything less than that.” “Hans… What-, what do you mean? I’m perfectly fine with way less, I don’t need all that fancy stuff. I’m used to—” “You’ll get used to better things quickly enough, schnuki,” he interrupted. “Hans, we barely know each other, you can’t lavish me with things like that.” “Don’t say such a thing.” “That I don’t want to be lavished upon like some fancy old lady sitting in parlours sipping tea in expensive silk while waiting for her dear husband to return home from some overseas journey?” I joked while giggling, but he didn’t laugh. “Hans?” “I do a lot of business overseas, would it be terrible of me to wish to come home to you, waiting in pretty silk, after each trip?”

He took a step back while I tried to take in what he’d said. Our eyes locked together and I damn near couldn’t breathe as he looked at me with such longing. “In pretty silk?” I whispered, wholly overwhelmed and wondering what kind of rich man I’d stumbled upon. “All finery imaginable,” he said with a nod. “Why would you want me?” I asked, for the first time posing the question which had been bugging me for a long time without me realising it. “Why would I not want you?” he asked, but before I could ramble a number of reasons, he kissed me.

I melted. He kissed me softly but with urgency, his thin lips perfect against mine. He kissed me so well my foot came off the bloody floor like in a sappy romance movie, I couldn’t help it. Fireworks exploded in my veins, my mind turned utterly quiet and nothing in the world mattered but him holding me close, kissing me with passion and longing leaking out of him with a dark hum while his arms tightened around me.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh boy... this really did turn out to be quite long but gosh I love these two so much I can't help but wanting to write for them - and it's just too much fun too 😂👏 I hope you enjoyed the continuation of this story from last year and as I said above there will be one more part to this story tomorrow! Hope you're excited for even more of these two and the secrets they carry along with the love that's flourishing between them 🥰❤

Q: Would you rather spend Christmas at a big resort, with all amenities, or a small town in a picturesque cottage? 🎄 A: I'll take the cottage - I do love those cosy vibes and I don't mind having to stoke a fire and wear an extra jumper and socks 🥰

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[Dec:2023]

[incandescentsims]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 🌕 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙  

[cleverthylacine]

I'm not well versed in Transformers, but who is your favorite Autobot? What's one thing that if Hasbro called you up right now and said they would do whatever you suggested, you tell them?

My favourite Autobot is easy because I don't like most of them very much. I love Decepticons.

It's either Jazz or Ratchet or Rodimus, depending on the phase of the moon and whether my brain is in RavWaves mode or Deadlock mode.

Jazz and Ratchet and Rodimus are all people who probably would have been Decepticons if it weren't for a stroke of fate.

I also love Rosanna, but she's a civilian and she's been in like 3 things, one of which almost everyone hates.

The problems with Autobots:

they tend to use the same colour schemes which makes them hard to tell apart

many of them are boring af

the Decepticon movement was a legitimate revolution against an extremely bigoted and oppressive government, and the Autobots were the liberals who patted them on the hand and said "we can do this the nice way" even though most of them were from social classes that were literally disposable.

some of them are fucking fascists

some of them are just such goodie two shoes rule bound characters you have to laugh (Star Saber in anything other than IDW was probably the robot version of Sheldon Cooper once)

It's really only in TFA that I don't think Optimus Prime is a giant hypocrite. I don't hate him. I think he's an awesome character. I enjoy him a lot! I also write a lot of fic where he gets his aft handed to him, at least verbally.

But I don't really sympathise with him. Because even when he's unfailingly sweet, like in TFP, he's still...a part of the problem, not the solution.

In some series the Decepticons did become horrible and genocidal, which is wrong, of course, but that led in IDW at least to both sides playing atrocity chicken.

In other series the Decepticons are anti-human mostly because we're in their way and we like the Autobots. In the Bumblebee movie they never even wanted to come here, but they had to--it is Prime's fault that their war came to Earth.

If Hasbro was willing to do whatever I said I would ask them to create a series of all the femme characters most people don't know about. And not make them teeny tiny Core Class dolls. (I own a few of them because they're cute, but.)

I would get them to include Ravage now that ES has confirmed her for a femme. (She is ACAB, assigned cat at birth.)

This would also include:

Esmeral, who should really be a leaderclass because her husband is the size of a small planet (from the Victory manga)

General Strika, who is the least feminine female character in all of transformers and a butch goddess of war (from TFA and Beast Machines)

Botanica because she's cool AF

Rosanna and her evil twin Flipsides (Rosanna's in KP but both of them are in... TFA, I thought? For a heartbeat.)

Howlback (done like her twin sister Ravi, with biped-to-quad transformation that does not involve extra limbs hanging off, because both MMC and Xtransbots have done it just fine) from the Cobalt Sentries who never got a show

Lyzack (from Victory -- the twin sister of Leozack who defends the home front and is a teal and pink seeker)

Nautica (from the IDW comics, who is the most adorable of nerds even if she is Ravage's unwanted aemula/kismesis/hatecrush until they make friends)

the Megatronia combiner which includes Megaempress, Trickdiamond, Lunaclub, Flowspade and Moonheart)

Minerva (yes there's a legacy but it's tiny and they made it a walgreens exclusive)

Clobber (from Cyberverse)

Nightbird (G1 not ROTB)

Termagax (Megatron's mom from the IDW 2019 series)

I have nothing against Elita-1, Arcee, Windblade, Chromia, Moonracer and Slipstream but some people can name hundreds of male characters and only those six and not even all of them.

If I was also G-d of the Transformers franchise as a whole, I would revive Kiss Players, cut out all the bad sex jokes and dropped panties of teenagers, rename a few things -- we do not need a base called "the spiral vagina" -- and take the plot we were actually given in between sex jokes, which was very cool, and write it all out as a comic/story/cartoon. They did the plot in the last few episodes of the radio show after kind of leading up to it very slowly between dirty jokes.

Everyone says Kiss Players is the worst thing Transformers ever made. I'm sorry, that's RID 2015, which is a Transformers show for the "Blue Lives Matter" crowd where the entire plot of the show is to find all these low-class Decepticons who are from denigrated castes that escaped from a prison ship and throw them all back in jail. Like seriously fuck you very much.

I will take perverted panty jokes over asskissing the cops any day. Besides some of the stuff that looks so bad and gross looks so bad and gross because it is--you're not supposed to be down with it, you're supposed to guess that a certain person is being groomed looooong before she figures it out. and the main human characters are actually Secretly Lesbians

I'm sorry this is way more info than you asked for but this is my main hyperfixation other than thylacines, fossas, small wild cats that can't eat you, and other cute weird predators.

[adoringsentiment]

do you still play that occult babies thingy? cuz i only know about morgyn's baby, and i want to see babies of caleb, lou and paka :)

thank you for asking! as a matter of fact, I have played quite a bit of that save. the main reasons why I haven't been posting are:

I feel like my screenshots are ugly;

the save is insanely laggy and it has been pissing me off;

I managed to have four infants at once and I can't do anything but drown in dirty diapers, as shown below:

anyways, here are Sage Ember, Bianca Vatore and Luna Wilder:

I haven't had babies with Lou (I chose Wolfgang instead) and Paka'a (but it will happen eventually). The other kids are Patchy's and Daddy Winter's.

[phantomdialogue]

˗ˏˋ. ݁₊ ✶ ˖ 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 - 𝟑/𝟓 ☆ . ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

premise: after spending her whole life as a pawn for the vampyre council, misery lark finds herself in yet another plan to bring peace amongst the different species. however, she's got her own plan for how to use her arranged marriage to her advantage. lowe moreland wasn't expecting his vampyre wife to make him feel the way he does but as tensions shift amongst the species, perhaps working together will do far more good than expected.

couple: lowe moreland and misery lark

tropes: omegaverse (ish), vampire x werewolf, almost grumpy x sunshine, rivals to lovers (ish), arranged marriage, a little found family, fated mates

review below!

review:

i'm really conflicted on this book. i feel like i was going back and forth between two books about the same characters that the storylines didn't mesh well together. on one hand, there was some clear political drama that ali hazelwood set up between the different species of humans, werewolfs, and vampyres (the spelling did also get annoying). but it just seemed so lackluster and was used more as a filler for when the romance needed time to sit. especially at the end around 75-80%, all of the sudden everything turned on its head and the twist was just so confusing to me because i don't feel like we got much lead up to it. on the other hand, there was the arranged marriage romance between misery and lowe. that part i did enjoy... until the third act breakup. the third act breakup was just so irritating because there was such an easy solution to it and because we never read lowe's point of view, it felt really unwarranted.

misery was a fun fmc, however, and i did enjoy her snark and sarcasm. it added a light to this book and really elevated the romance to see her and lowe's interactions as their personalities clashed at the beginning because of the way they were pretty closed off from each other. lowe was... fine. he wasn't a bad mmc but he also wasn't that great. the third act breakup is literally 1000% his fault. in fact, a majority of the conflict in the romance comes from him and not being honest about what's going on. which also brings up that i felt like we dragged the conflict in the romance out immensely and then using it as fuel for the third act breakup really just frustrated me after 25 ish chapters of knowing what's going on and the book avoiding addressing it.

the smut... wasn't that great either. i loved the lead up to it (the airplane scene kind of lives rent free in my brain because that was hot) but when it got to the actual smut, it just didn't hit as hard i feel like the smut in her other book that i've read did. the knotting/omegaverse aspect of it was also incredibly hyped up online and it just fell short for me.

overall, it's not bad. but it's definitely not what i was hoping for i guess. i think that it's fine and if you want a fun werewolf x vampire book, this fills a little need for it. however, i think it would have benefitted dramatically from maybe an extra 50 pages to give itself the time to develop the political drama better if she really wanted to go that route.

q & a:

are they endgame? - probably... i guess... i feel like lowe really needs to work on his ability to communicate honestly and openly with misery to get to the point of being a strong endgame. but the way that he handled certain truths with her and caused the third act breakup really brought down his character as a whole. if he had just been honest with her, i'd probably be far more inclined to think that they would be endgame as well as rank him higher as a book boyfriend. i think misery has some issues of her own to work through but lowe feels like the main issue with the two of them.

did i cringe? - the dialogue in the smut really just did not work for me. i think ali hazelwood was going for a bit of an alpha thing with lowe and it just felt wrong because he wasn't like that except for during sex. he's supposed to be this alpha that is widely respected because of the air around him and how he holds himself and how dominating he is but we don't see that as a reader really and it makes his dialogue during the smut really out of character and sometimes gross.

favorite part? - the romance up until 75% ish through was really strong i think. i enjoyed the pacing of them coming together and connecting and falling for each other as well as acknowledging their differences. i think this book would have been so much better without a third act breakup because the romance leading up to that was probably the best part of the book.

least favorite part? - my main issues with this book comes from a lack of plot/development. there was a lot of potential here and it lived up to some of it but also falls short on a lot of it. the actual plot outside of the romance felt so minor compared to everything else going on. because of that as well, the plot twist just felt so underwhelming and confusing because there is so little actual build up to it while the build up to the romance is much more developed.

favorite quotes (some spoilers here, of course, but minimal):

I have no friends on the left, and only enemies on the right. So I ground myself and look straight ahead.

Those eerie, unearthly, beautiful eyes, glowing at me in the dim lights, a chilling green that borders on feral. I wonder if I’ll get used to them. If one year from now, when this arrangement is complete, I’ll still think them bizarrely lovely.

“Is it true that you don’t have a soul?” It’s goddamn noon. And there is a child here, asking me: “Because you used to be dead?”

It’s like you’re—I don’t know, suspended. Untethered from everything around you. I just need to see you go toward something, Misery.

They rarely touch. When they did, her wrist accidentally brushed against the front of his shirt, and he found himself tearing off the piece of fabric where her smell was most intense. He slipped it in his pocket, and now carries it everywhere. Even as he leaves to avoid her.

“Maybe there is something devastating about the incompleteness of it. But maybe, just knowing that the other person is there . . .” His throat bobs. “There might be pleasure in that, too. The satisfaction of knowing that something beautiful exists.”

"I would take her for a single night knowing that I’ll lose her by morning, and I would hold on to her and never let go. I would take her healthy, or sick, or tired, or angry, or strong, and it would be my fucking privilege. I would take her problems, her gifts, her moods, her passions, her jokes, her body—I would take every last thing, if she chose to give it to me.”

There is something patently sexual about this, no question, but it goes beyond. I’m being discovered. Mapped. Soothed and ignited at once.

“You’re not a problem, Misery. You’re a privilege."

He’s not sure he deserves the warmth of his current life, but he’ll keep it anyway.