#braym

[undead-knick-knack]

[braincoins]

Prompt: Shallura meeting two of your OCs (your choice of who) and they meet just after something has blown up and all four of them are covered in grime and soot.

((Well! If something's going to blow up, I know exactly which OCs that should be...))

"Sorry! So sorry. Everyone okay?"

Allura looked to the apologizing man. He was pale skinned, dark haired, wearing a long dark coat over a vest, shirt, and pants. He also had some sort of... contraption where one of his legs should be. Well, just the lower part of his leg. He sounded almost Altean, but didn't look it at all. He looked... well, human. Perhaps this explains the strange accent the paladins adopt when they're imitating Coran. She tried to say something, but all the came out was a cough.

"If anyone is in need of healing..." the other man began. He had slightly pointed and sort of...downward facing? ears but didn't sound Altean at all. He also had blue hair in tight locs. His skin was dark and he was wearing a button-down shirt over blue pants of a more rugged cloth.

"I think we're okay, thanks," Shiro said, dusting off his uniform. Most of the white parts had gone black thanks to... whatever that was. Speaking of which...

"What just happened?" she asked politely, trying to see to her own flight suit.

"Well, I'm not sure how you two got here," the first man said, "but then that's IOU for you. As to what happened, I was testing a piece of equipment and it blew." He sighed. "I'm just not a builder of things."

"You don't have to be," the other man said, voice soft as he laid a gentle hand on the first man's shoulder. Allura glanced between them and the look they exchanged - a longer-than-usual gaze, a tentative smile - and couldn't help smiling herself. "Let WUSE handle that."

"I get extra credit if I build my own device."

"Do you need the extra..."

"YES," the first man insisted.

"So can we back up to where you said we are?" Shiro asked.

"Oh, yes. Illuminati University."

"Wasn't there an 'O' in there?" Allura gave up trying to clean herself off; she was really just moving the ...soot? around.

"You're not cleared for that," the blue-haired man said kindly.

Shiro glanced at her and then back at them. "Not cleared for what?"

"To know what the 'O' stands for," came the answer.

"Don't worry about it; fair sure they just say that to be funny," the first man told them. "Sense of humor around here is a bit... different."

It didn't really matter. "We're on a college campus?" Shiro pursued.

Both men nodded.

"How do we get back to where we were?" Allura inquired politely. "It's just that we're trying to save the universe and..."

"Depends," the first man told her, "on how you got here. Magic, tech, some mix of the two?"

She'd heard Shiro call it 'magitech' enough times that she answered, "A mix."

"Ah, well that'll complicate things. But either WUSE or CoM will be the likeliest help. If it can be done."

"It has to be done. We have a team to get back to," Shiro told them.

"Everyone has something to get back to," he was informed. "But we'll try to see you right. Least I can do for letting my sad attempt at machinery explode all over you." He looked to his partner. "Where should we start, do you think?"

"WUSE, I should think. And they'll mind less about the mess."

"WUSE?" Allura asked.

"School of Weird and Unusual Sciences and Engineering. If they can't help us, we'll try the College of Magic. Come on then! No time like the present, except possibly the future."

[undead-knick-knack]

How to Seduce a Little Warrior: Step One

[undead-knick-knack]

I'm just kidding! I think they should make out about it 😘

[braincoins]

WHERE THIS FANDOM AT?!?! (art by the wonderful and inimitable @duckydrawsart - Ducky needs more fandom, too)

I’m with @tybunnythehellmoose on this: the idea of Bram having a throng of fangirls following him around is hilarious. They skip classes and follow him around, send tweets about where he’s at and what he’s doing, and there’s a quiet but high-pitched squealing every time he kisses Ray in public or even something as simple as holds his hand.

Bram having fangirls just follow him around is great, too, because so many dudes are like, “HOW?? How do you get all these girls?!?!?!” And Bram isn’t even interested in them, wouldn’t be interested even if he didn’t have Ray because he is SOOOO VERY GAY.  But then that’s part of why he has the following: he’s a morally gray adventurer with a prosthetic leg and a hot boyfriend and a badass coat.

[braincoins]

For some reason, I decided to write up what happens when someone new comes to Ray’s research centre (yes, centre not center; Ray doesn’t care, but Percy and Bram both think the “-er” version looks wrong). 

Anyway, it can be a slightly off-putting experience to those new to the centre, and it doesn’t help that there are also academic classes being taught there and new hires coming in and out all the time, too. The reputation of the place on the IOU campus is, “Duuuuude, did you know there’s a whorehouse?! BESIDES Sigma Epsilon Chi?” So walking into a slightly more clinical setting often throws people off.

And while Greek parties are still the best place for casual (and free) hook-ups and the so-called “whorehouse” charges money, the latter doesn’t smell like stale beer and also has cookies.

I dithered a bit on whether to put this on the smut blog, but, honestly? Discussion of the mere existence of sex workers-slash-sex researchers isn’t “smutty.” There’s no actual boinking going on in this.

He walked up to the limestone and marble building. This was definitely the correct address he’d been given. It didn’t look much like a... a house of ill repute though; more like one of the fancier and less-exploded university buildings. He double-checked the address on his comtab with the one on the mailbox. Right address. He shrugged and headed in.

He was in a gorgeously-appointed lobby, as if someone couldn’t decide if they were building a hotel or a doctor’s office and had split the difference. Benches lined the walls to either side of him, made of mahogany and plush with red velvet cushions. There was a desk straight ahead of him, like a hotel concierge. There was a door behind the desk that read OFFICE. An elegant stairway curved up behind it. There were hallways to the left and right. The desk had a hotel desk bell, a young woman with pink skin and white & black hair behind it, and a plate of what looked like chocolate chip cookies on it. He approached uncertainly.

“Um, excuse me...”

The young woman didn’t look up from what she was doing. “Client, student, new employee, applicant?” she asked.

“Uh... I am a student at IOU but...”

She looked up now, and gave him the once-over. “Are you here for a class?” 

“No.”

She nodded. “Are you applying for a job or have been recently hired?”

“No.”

She nodded again. “Client then.” She smiled a Polite Customer Service smile and rose from her seat. “I’m assuming this is your first time here.”

“Uh, quite. I was told this was a...”

“Brothel, whorehouse, etc.?” she supplied for him.

He could feel his cheeks heating and he nodded mutely.

She shrugged. “This is the Sex & Sexuality Research Centre,” she told him. “We do take payment in exchange for sexual pleasure, and have a variety of scientists willing to participate in whatever you desire.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. 

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, first time’s free. Also, there’s cookies,” she indicated the plate, “though we’d like you to wait until after your blood work.”

“Blood work?”

She pulled up a tablet and set it on the desk in front of him. “For your first time here, we need your demographic data: name, date and place of birth, dimensional coordinates if you know them, sex, gender, identification, romantic and sexual orientations, etc. It’s all on the form. Don’t worry, we won’t use identifying data in any of the published research. We’ll take a blood sample and do a few quick scans to make sure you’re healthy. We know it feels like a lot, but that’s why we don’t charge for the first time.

“After that, you can choose a room and a partner from the available list. You should also indicate desired activities, so we can further match you with the best possible researcher. Every room comes fully stocked with various lubricants, contraceptives, and toys, as well as appropriate hydration resources. We can even provide sustenance, within reason.”

He didn’t even know where to begin with all that, so he just repeated, “Within reason?” because he wasn’t sure what would qualify as “unreasonable” in a place like this.

“No feasts without proper advance notification,” she told him. “But we can order you a pizza, make you a burger, that sort of thing. And the professor does make marvelous cookies! If you’d rather have something other than chocolate chip, he can see to it.”

He was quiet a moment, considering. “So... basically...”

She cut him off. “This is functionally a brothel, but the sex workers take notes on what goes on here and it all gets analyzed for research purposes. If you’re willing, we’d love to be able to do audio and/or video recording, but those options are off by default. Normally we just use the researchers’ after-encounter notes.”

He thought about that. “And first time is free?”

She nodded. “Yes. After you fill out the forms, get the scans and blood work. And that’s all done here, in-house.”

“And also there are cookies.”

“Yep! Fresh-baked, homemade, not from a mix. Professor Darknoll takes pride in his work.”

He considered all of that and nodded. “So I get laid, get fed, and I can help science all at the same time?”

She beamed. “Absolutely! And I like your attitude.”

He grinned, finally feeling a bit more sure of himself. “Well sign me up!”

[braincoins]

@tybunnythehellmoose‘s reply on this post

I have no idea why they’d hire another violin teacher, but I kind of want them to just so it’ll be some prim proper person and Cora behaves at first, but there’s always SOME POINT in the lesson when she starts fiddling and ignoring her teacher and they’re about to tear their hair out they’re so annoyed, and Cora just thinks it’s funny.

And Bram & Ray fire the teacher for the sake of their (the teacher’s) own sanity.

[braincoins]

“DAAAAAAAAAAAD!” he yelled into the house. Usually you had to specify, but since one of them was already nearby... “C’MONNN!”

“NO. I’M NOT WATCHING BLOODY EUROVISION!” came the shouted answer.

“WHY NOT?!” Dean wanted to know.

“First of all, stop yelling,” British Dad said, limping into the room, cane firmly in hand and in use. “You’re getting too much like Percy.”

“That’s not really a bad thing,” Dean muttered in reply.

“Second of all, I’m not watching Eurovision because Great Bri-...” He tsked and corrected himself, “the United Kingdom never enters anyone worth a damn anyway.” His version of England had only annexed Scotland, and sometimes he forgot which titles went with which dimensions/timelines/etc.

“Have you seen who they entered this year?” he challenged his father. “Or heard the song?” He was right, of course: it was a ballad by some singer who was probably approaching the centenarian mark. There was no way in hell it was going to win, but Dean knew he hadn’t even checked.

“And third of all,” he replied instead of answering, “I already know who wins, and it’s not the UK, so I don’t care.”

“UGH!” Dean literally threw his hands up and looked back to the television, still playing the trumpeting Eurovision Song Contest march over and over again. “WHY would you go ahead and find out?!”

“TO SEE IF MY COUNTRY WON!”

“Technically,” Ray pointed out in his usual even and mild tones, “it’s not yours.”

“All the more reason!”

Dean sighed and gave up. “Okay, fine. You don’t want to watch Eurovision with us, fine. But at least don’t spoil it? I bet Cora 10 Nourellian Sparknotes that Iceland wins.”

“Oh, is that why she was asking?” 

Dean’s eyes went wide and he whipped around to face his dad again, already howling, “BETRAYAL!”

His father chuckled paternally. “Don’t worry, Dean. I told her San Marino wins.”

He hesitated. “They... don’t, do they?”

He snorted and stomped over to tousle his son’s hair. 

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad,” he protested. He heard Alien Dad chuckling now, in the background. In the language his human dad referred to as “Raylienese”, he muttered, <<Make him stop messing with my hair.>>

<<I wouldn’t do that even if I could. It’s sweet and paternal. Let him have this. Hairstyle is fixable,>> came the response.

“San Marino doesn’t win,” he was informed. “Stop complaining about me to your father and enjoy the show.”

“I thought you didn’t know it?” He was finger-combing his hair back into proper place.

“I know my kids. Do you want popcorn? I can make you some.”

“Closer to voting,” he said, smiling, offense of the hair tousling forgiven with the offer of popcorn. “Thank you.”

And then the trumpeting stopped abruptly and the opening music began to play. It was time for the Eurovision Grand Final, and Dean didn’t want to miss a minute of it.