#tec writes

FELICITER SOMNIAS

General Audiences | No Major Archive Warnings Apply

Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford

1,213 words

Tags: Fluff, Slice of Life, Post-Canon, Deleted Scene, Minor Spoilers for Veilguard, like so so minor

Summary:

Dorian is halfway across the foyer, steps soft against the glossy marble floor, when a low, amused voice rings out.

"And just where are you off to at this time of night?"

Bahahaha, of course! Anything for you, boo~ There's not a whole lot of it yet, because I just started writing it last night in a fit of madness after I finished rewatching season 2 of Ted Lasso, but here we are. (As a note: the referenced footballer is entirely fictional because I couldn't be arsed to do research into a real one. Any resemblance to an existing footballer is pure lucky coincidence.)

"Where's a good spot for sandwiches around here?" she asks. Chris furrows his brow at her and she wags her phone, explaining, "Boss wants us to bring back dinner for everyone."

"Ah," Chris nods. He glances at the clock and dips his chin in acquiescence to the time. "Sal's is just around the corner. They do this meatloaf grinder that'll give you a walking orgasm."

Leota wrinkles her nose and grimaces. "I know I'm gonna regret this, but what's a walking orgasm?"

"You know," Chris says, as though it should be obvious. "An orgasm so good you kind of stagger through it on autopilot." He proceeds to demonstrate, without getting up from his stool, moving his arms and legs in stiff, jerky motions and effecting dramatic, drawn out moans that draw a hairy eyeball from the bartender on the other end of the room.

Leota rolls her eyes with an instinctual sound of disgust and leans over to shove at Chris's shoulder. Chris laughs and sways with the motion, tilting so far she worries that he's going to fall right off his stool, but he corrects his trajectory at the last second.

"Thank you for that vivid picture," she mutters. "Can we go get these damn sandwiches or did you want to spend the rest of the night Meg Ryaning all over the place?"

Have a snippet to whet your appetite:

The only reason Chris had agreed to attend in the first place was because of the abject misery on Adrian's face when he opened the invitation. He'd been pale and stoic like a man approaching the gallows, so far removed from his usual chaotic laissez-faire that it had made Chris's stomach pitch and he'd found himself offering to tag along before he realized he was speaking.

"Really?" Adrian had asked, wide-eyed behind his stupid grandpa glasses.

"Yeah, man," Chris had shrugged, turning away so nobody would see the flush in his face. "Solidarity, or whatever."

He'd even gone so far as to struggle into a goddamn dress shirt for the occasion, and how had Adrian repaid him? The little bastard had turned tail and run.

This totally helped! Thank you!!! Here is the fic you inspired: SUNNY SIDE UP ON AO3 And a little snippet, just for fun:

"Since when do you cook breakfast?"

"I don't," Chris says, throwing the burnt sausage into the sink with extreme prejudice. He cuts a dark glower over his shoulder in the direction of the stove and adds, "Clearly." He turns the faucet on and shakes his head. "It was a bad idea. Stupid."

Adrian isn't sure if he's still referring to the idea, or if he's talking about himself. Either way, he he doesn't like it. He frowns at the tight line of Chris's shoulders and says, "Breakfast is awesome, dude. Most important meal of the day, or everybody says it is, anyway."

"Yeah," Chris huffs. "Maybe." He pauses for a second and then turns his head just far enough that Adrian can see his jaw working. "Sorry I woke you."

Adrian shrugs and picks up another of the sausage links. It's a little hot, but manageable. He takes a bigger bite this time, speaking through a mouthful of spice and char as he assures, "It's fine. I was gonna get up soon, anyway. I'm on the lunch shift, today."

Ch 2: "Good! I meant for it to hurt!"

Ch 3: change

Ch 4: paint

Featuring domestic fluff and werewolf angst.

15! Yes! So, this started as a Hannibal fanfic but I liked the concept and decided I'd rather try to approach it from an origfic perspective. It's a wlw (and other relationships, but they're the focus) story about a psychologist who meets a vampire (also a psychologist) at a work conference (yes, seriously) and they start up a torrid affair. I probably won't wind up keeping the title, if I ever do wind up finishing the story. Thank you so much for the ask! Here's a little snippet, to give you a taste:

“How do you not know Dr. Achard?”

Lena lifted one shoulder in a shrug. While specialty fields of academia like psychology were—often rightly—lambasted for being insular by nature, theirs wasn’t so incestuous a community that one could be reasonably expected to keep track of any and every rarified member who had ever left their mark on it in some way or another.

Pravina heaved a deep, wounded sigh and squeezed Lena’s arm before she let it go. “Okay,” she said, flapping her hands in front of her face like an overwrought mother in a period drama. She pressed her lips into a thoughtful line and shook her head, asking mournfully, “Where do I even start?”

“I generally recommend the beginning.”

Pravina rolled her eyes, reaching over to swat at Lena again, though this time she barely made contact, the tips of her fingers only just skimming Lena’s bicep. “You’re hilarious.”

Lena grinned.

“Seriously,” Pravina pressed on, twisting in her seat until she was facing Lena dead on, “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of Iphigenia Achard. She’s like, the consummate lecturer on exanguidine offenders. She’s been speaking on the topic since - ” Pravina paused, sighing out a breath that made her cheeks puff and her lips flap. “I don’t know. The early nineteen hundreds at least.”

Lena’s eyebrows jumped toward her hair. “She’s a vampire?”

“One of the more famous ones,” Pravina confirmed. “She was also one of the first women awarded a Doctorate of Psychology from the Sorbonne, back in 1883. Followed that up with a medical degree from the Royal College of Surgeons in 1895. I know she practiced for a few years after she came to America, but she gave it up for academia pretty early on.” Pravina crossed her arms on the table and drummed her fingers against its surface. “She stopped taking patients sometime in the 1960s, and I don’t think she’s given a talk in a decade or more. I don’t know what brought her out of retirement, but - ” Pravina trailed off again, shaking her head and gazing, mystified into the middle distance as she plucked her wineglass by the stem and took a long, slow sip. “That she’s speaking at all is a big deal. A very big deal. I didn’t want to miss my chance.”

“Wow,” Lena said, fiddling with the decorative sprig of rosemary sticking up out of her glass. She felt fairly bowled over. “I had no idea.”

“No idea about what?”

She and Pravina turned in unison to smile at West as he dropped his beer unceremoniously onto the table. He had a tiny cocktail napkin folded unevenly in one hand and was using it to dab at a wet stain on his tie.

“Iphigenia Achard,” Lena offered with a frown. “What happened?”

West’s jaw tightened and his nostrils flared, eyes flicking to the side like there might be someone hovering over his shoulder, as he huffed, “Nothing. Some jackass decided he wanted to cut the bloodless in line and knocked another guy’s scotch over on his way past me.”

Lena flinched, and Pravina sucked a pained breath through her teeth. As derogatory comments went, there were worse things a vampire could be called than ‘bloodless,’ but it certainly wasn’t polite.

“You need me to go set him straight?” Pravina asked, raising her hand and curling it into a fist.

Christopher Smith & Keith Smith, Adrian Chase/Christopher Smith, Keith Smith/Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: POV Outsider, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Angst and Humor, Parallel Universes, Spoilers, Comic Book Science Well, everyone, I finally did it. I started writing a Peacemaker/Vigilante fic. Naturally I had to do it as an outsider POV exploring the vagaries of a world where Peacemaker’s brother didn’t die young, because I am who I am. I’ve included the summary and a snippet for you below, to get you started. Enjoy! Summary: Keith Smith is out on a perfectly ordinary grocery run one afternoon when he gets sucked sideways through an inter-dimensional portal to a universe where he died when he was thirteen years old. Things only get weirder from there.

Keith has never been on the receiving end of a stun grenade before, but he feels in his gut that this is a remarkably similar experience. Or maybe that’s just the pressure of the watermelon where it’s resting against his stomach. He’d pitched backwards, he realizes, and is now lying on his back on the pavement, his groceries scattered around and over him like so much shrapnel, though thankfully they appear to be largely intact.

His vision is blown and bleary the way it gets whenever he opts to have his eyes dilated at the optometrist’s office and his ears are ringing, so it takes him a second to process the voices ricocheting across the alley around him.

" - the fuck is that guy?" says the first voice in a clear, excited tenor.

"Why do you think I know?" comes the second, gruffer and lower and strangely familiar.

"I don’t know, man! You know a lot of stuff! Like, you just told me this morning that king cobras aren’t even a real thing."

"They’re a real thing!" the second voice shoots back in a huff. "Like, they’re real snakes and they’re really badass and poisonous, they’re just not really cobras."

"Venomous," the first voice corrects.

"What?"

"Snakes are venomous. Poisonous is for stuff you touch or eat. Like frogs or mushrooms or whatever. Venomous is for stuff that bites you or stings you and injects you. Like that half-scorpion Ninja Turtle reject the other week."

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" the second voice grunts. It really is so familiar. If Keith could just think past the pulsating throb in his brain he’s sure he could pin it down.