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quickspinner · 4 years

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Little Treasures

Written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Fic Challenge Secret Santa event! The deadline was Wednesday and I was totally on track to be done by then when everything went crazy. So, a little late, but I hope you still enjoy it @piscesangelina! The prompts I used were first Christmas with baby and decorating the Christmas tree.

The total silence in the apartment as he entered told him that the sacred hour of naptime had begun.

The mess in the front room and his slightly wild-eyed wife sitting in the middle of it told him that Marinette had a Project. He paused a moment, a fond smile curling his lips at the focused frown on hers, watching the way her eyes darted back and forth as her amazing, lightning-quick mind worked.

Even as he watched, her lips pressed together and she made a tiny nod. Smile widening into an amused grin, Luka closed the door quietly behind him and set his guitar down. “Hey.”

Marinette jumped and looked up. “Oh, hi,” she smiled, but her eyes were quickly drawn back to the pile of stuff surrounding her, and she began sorting it into piles.

Luka allowed himself to pout just a little, ignoring Sass’ hissing laugh as the kwami emerged from the coat Luka was removing. “Do I get to know what’s in the works?” he asked, tossing his coat over the back of the couch before carefully skirting the stuff scattered on the floor to a chair.

“I just wanted to do this thing,” Marinette said distractedly, sitting back slightly and tangling one hand in her bangs as she tried to think and speak at the same time. “And I’m trying to make a plan.”

“Okay,” Luka said slowly, raising his eyebrows. “Is this a work thing or a passion project or a shut up Luka it’s a Christmas secret thing?”

Marinette dropped her hand and made a face at him, but then she smiled, finally focusing on him, and he softened at once, willing as always to forgive her momentary neglect in the face of something she was excited about. And she was definitely excited, he noted as her eyes took on that familiar sparkle. “Neither,” she said, her fingers clenched on the scrap of fabric she was holding. “It’s just that it’s Erika’s first Christmas—well, her first real Christmas since she was too small last year, and I still want to have a tree, but we need to have things on it that she can’t break or hurt herself with. And one of the bloggers I follow had this really cute idea for an advent calendar full of handmade ornaments, and it seemed like so much fun! So I was looking at patterns on my phone and things while Erika was playing this morning, and I printed out all these ideas, and now I’m trying to figure out which ones I have supplies for and make a shopping list.” She paused, looking up at him. “Is it crazy? Is it too much?”

“Maybe,” Luka chuckled, leaning his chin on his hand as he winked at her. “But I love it. I bet we can make it work. She’s going to bed pretty consistently these days, we should have some time in the evenings. If we don’t take on too much on top of it,” he gave her a knowing grin, and it was Marinette’s turn to pout. “I think we can get it done.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows slightly. “We?”

“Of course,” Luka grinned, grabbing a ball of yarn from a pile at his feet and tossing it at her playfully. “You don’t think you’re doing all this yourself do you? I know I’m not as handy as you but I can sew a straight line and do some beading.”

Marinette’s face lit up. “That’s true, you used to make those bracelets and things. I bet we can find something like that!”

“So,” Luka said, sliding off the chair and crawling carefully towards her. “Tell me what we’re working with, and let’s see if we can work out a plan that won’t have you tearing your hair out on Christmas Eve.” He kissed her nose when he was in front of her, and she moved some stuff to make room for him to fold his long legs and sit beside her. Luka slipped his arm around her waist, and though Marinette’s eyes were going distant again, she snuggled into his side, so he was satisfied.

“Well,” she began, “the idea is you have this big square with all these little pockets, and the ornaments have to fit inside.” She pulled out a sheet of paper that had been pinned under her leg and showed him the diagram on it. “That part’s easy, I can whip that up today even.” She paused, and checked her watch, then nodded. “As long as she sleeps her usual time. Or if not, I can get it done at the end of one of my work times, if you don’t mind keeping her entertained a little longer than usual.”

“I can manage,” Luka nodded. “No problem. So what do you have in mind for ornaments?”

Marinette flashed him a grin, and Tikki popped out of a pile of fabric near his knee, giggling. “That’s the fun part!” Tikki cried, taking flight and making a loop in the air as Marinette pulled out another stack of papers and spread them out in front of him.

Luka surveyed the drawings and notes and patterns, met Marinette’s eyes, and began to laugh. “Oh, I love it.”

The next few weeks were busy, but a ton of fun. They had divvied up the projects, and both Luka and Marinette were snatching any spare time they could get away from the eyes of their curious almost-toddler, to finish their respective pieces. Marinette gave Luka a Look when she ran the vacuum over the carpet and dozens of tiny beads rattled up into it. Luka raised his eyebrows and picked several snippets of yarn off the arm of one of the chairs. Marinette pursed her lips and said nothing.

Luka went to work with a project bag tucked in his guitar case. Marinette knitted and crocheted her way through meetings. Both of them shoved projects under cushions or behind their backs whenever Erika left her playing and toddled near to be picked up and cuddled.

On the last night of November, after Erika had gone to bed, they hung the large fabric square Marinette had made on the wall, and carefully tucked each of their projects into the twenty-five little pockets she had sewed onto it. Though they’d stayed up late the last few nights trying to finish, a few pockets were still empty, but Luka and Marinette were both confident and determined that they could finish the ornaments before their number was up. Luka bit his lip to keep in a chuckle when he saw the numbers Marinette had appliqued to the pockets were embellished with little embroidered motifs.

“Overachiever,” Luka muttered, and grinned when Marinette elbowed him.

“I’m so excited,” Marinette whispered, bouncing on her toes. “I can’t wait. How are we going to wait, Luka?”

Luka laughed. “Well, we could try going to sleep. That would probably help.”

Marinette turned toward him and put her arms around his neck. “Have I mentioned how much I love it when we collaborate.”

“Say it again,” Luka laughed, already bending to kiss her. “I love to hear it.” Marinette leaned up to meet his lips with hers and he happily lost himself in kissing her, in the familiar yet thrilling feel of her body against his.

“Thisss is not ssssleeping,” came a comment from somewhere behind him and over his head.

“Shut up, Sass,” Luka muttered, “Get lost and let me kiss my wife.”

He barely even noticed Tikki’s giggles blending with Sass’s sibilant laugh as Marinette pulled him back in and they melted together.

The next morning they could hardly manage to finish breakfast before they were holding Erika’s little hands and helping her toddle over to stare with round eyes.

“Look, see the pockets?” Marinette pointed, tucking her finger in one to and wiggling it a bit to show Erika.

“Pocket!” Erika repeated, eagerly. She hadn’t quite figured out what pockets were used for but she knew that she liked pockets. Every time Luka tried to show her how to put something in her pockets, she took it out immediately with a frown and a scolding, but she loved pointing out how many pockets her outfit had. She stared appreciatively at the twenty-five pockets before her.

“Every day, we look in one pocket,” Marinette told her. “One pocket. Then we put what we find there on the tree for Erika to look at.”

Erika looked puzzled.

“Shall we do our first pocket?” Marinette prompted, but her shoulders slumped slightly when Erika frowned and drew back a little.

“Go ahead,” Luka said, leaning forward and wiggling the small object in the pocket. “Pull it out and see what it is?”

Still frowning, Erika clung to him. Marinette suppressed a sigh. “Mommy do it?” she suggested, and Erika’s frown pulled into a pout.

“No,” she said firmly. “Wicka do it.”

“Okay, then go ahead,” Marinette said encouragingly, mostly hiding her frustration. Luka was trying not to laugh and Marinette gave him a look that said she was going to strangle him later.

“Kids,” Luka sighed, and squeezed Marinette’s shoulder gently. “She’ll get it.” Marinette relaxed a little under his hand, and tried again.

It took some more coaxing and Luka’s guiding hand on hers, but finally Erika reached in, her little fingers caught the loop, and she pulled it out as her parents cheered and applauded.

The first ornament was a little knitted ladybug with five spots and blue bug eyes. Erika squealed, lighting up, and danced around with it, showing it proudly to first one of them and then the other. She was so excited that she almost wouldn’t let them hang it on the tree. Finally, she let Luka show her how to loop it over one of the low branches. Delighted, Erika flopped down on her back and wiggled under the tree, looking up at the lights and batting playfully at the little ladybug. Luka grinned at Marinette, who did an adorably wiggly little victory dance that ended with her hopping up and down with a silent scream.

Marinette smiled radiantly the next night when Erika, bouncing with excitement, reached into the pocket almost before Marinette could get the camera ready, and pulled out the snake made of sparkling beads that Luka had worked so hard on. It coiled around on itself and had a familiar diamond pattern along the back, its glittering red tongue extended. It was worth the eye strain, Luka felt, nearly bursting with pride, as Erika poked around the tree trying to find a place where the light would shine on it just right to show it off in all its glory. Behind her back Luka and Sass did a pinky-to-flipper high five. When Erika went to bed that night, Marinette kissed Luka hard, squishing his face between her hands. “You’re such a good dad,” she giggled.

Of course, no one could be left out. There was a cloth butterfly ornament with gossamer wings, and a little crocheted black cat that bore a frankly impressive resemblance to Plagg (Adrien had seen it and begged for one for his own tree). The rooster was a cooperative effort, with a knitted body and beaded tail. The peacock was cross stitch done on plastic canvas in metallic thread. The little patchwork dog was an especially big hit.

Of course, there were only eighteen kwamis and twenty-five days until Christmas, so they had to think outside the (Miracle) box for the rest. There was a little baker’s hat to represent Papa Tom, and a tasseled Chinese mystic knot done in red cord accented with gold for Sabine. A pair of pink and purple kittycorn masks made out of glittery paper and sequins dangled from a single cord for Juleka and Rose, and a little wooden boat garishly painted and embellished with turquoise beads represented Anarka. They had debated long and hard for Gina (because Marinette shot down Luka’s suggestion of doing a shrinky-dink motorcycle, which he pouted about for days) and finally Marinette had found a small prism in a thrift shop and repurposed it for an ornament. Erika loved to poke it and watch the way it made light dance on the walls. Luka suggested a stick in the mud for Roland and was scolded harshly (once Marinette stopped laughing).

It was worth all the pricked fingers and late nights of problem solving every day when they saw Erika, bouncing with excitement, pull each new ornament out of its pocket and exclaim over it in her little baby voice, before gravely examining the tree to decide exactly where the new ornament would go.

The upper boughs, Luka and Marinette filled themselves with ornaments they had collected over the years. Each one was a memory and most went on the tree with a fond smile and a quick kiss, with occasional exclamations of “Oh, remember this one?”

There was a hand-painted glass ornament from Milan that they’d found in a shop as they wandered the streets after Marinette’s first fashion week there. There was a silly, cheap tourist souvenir of the Eiffel Tower that Luka secretly hated but for some reason Marinette wouldn’t throw away. There was a blown glass jaguar Luka had gotten in Brazil when he was there for a show.

It was a retrospective of the life they had built together, and Erika’s array of handmade ornaments around the bottom just gave it that extra touch of sentiment.

“I gotta hand it to you,” Luka murmured as he put his arms around Marinette from behind. “You always have the best plans.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek as she leaned back into him.

Marinette hummed agreement and satisfaction, glancing over at the one pocket remaining. Inside was an ornament made from a small oval frame that now held a photo of the three of them. Sass and Tikki were in it too, even though they were invisible. “We’ll know,” Marinette had insisted, and the kwamis had humored her.

“Thanks for going along with my crazy ideas,” she said, turning in Luka’s arms to hug him tight. He bent towards her but she put a finger against his lips to stop him. “No time for that,” she told him with a smile. “Santa Claus has a train set to put together before morning.”

Luka sighed, but kissed her finger. “I guess Santa better get to work then.” He grinned, and without warning, dipped low to catch Marinette around the waist and tip her over his shoulder. “Come on Mrs. Claus,” he said as she muffled a squeal to keep from waking the baby. “Thanks to someone’s over-enthusiastic father we have a freakishly detailed and intricate train set to assemble, and there’s no way you’re getting out of helping.”

“Helping,” Marinette huffed, kicking her feet lightly. “You’d be lost without me.”

“I would,” Luka chuckled, patting her thigh. “I really would.”

#quickspins #lbsc sprint fic challenge #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #lbsc secret santa #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #sprint fic #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics #quicksprints

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goodomensblog · 5 years

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The Demons of St. Jame’s Park

Prompt: “Tell me who did this to you.”

The Demons of St. Jame’s Park

Sidewalks typically do not sway. There are notable exceptions of course, such as when the earth quakes, a landslide occurs, or Satan himself fancies a jaunt to the mortal plane.

None of these events are currently in progress, of course.

So the swaying is, very likely, in Aziraphale’s head. The result of a minor concussion, no doubt.

He’s getting stares as he shuffles, wobbling with a hurried determination through the trafficked London streets.

The cold Autumn air is a stinging touch against his cheek; shivering droplets trail from the gash below his cheekbone. An eye throbs with a dull, insistent ache, and Aziraphale swears he can feel the skin around it darkening into an unsightly bruise. His wrist, bent just slightly further than human wrists are meant to bend, is cradled against his chest. And behind it, he carries a package, beaten almost as completely as he, wedged protectively between his wrist and dirt-stained coat.

He’s nearly made it back to his shop, and as he trots unsteadily over the swaying path, he very purposefully avoids meeting passerbys’ concerned stares. A few miracles would clean him right up, of course, but frankly it has been an exceedingly trying morning and Aziraphale would rather not spare the energy to divert the attention of curious eyes prior to actually doing the healing.

The miracles can wait.

At least until he’s in the privacy of his shop.

And he does make it - back to the shop.

Not that he doubted he would, but his wrist was throbbing something awful and the sidewalk had begun an alarmingly frantic tilt.

The chime of bells as he shoulders into the shop is a lovely accompaniment to the ringing in his ears.

The shop is dim and mercifully quiet, and Aziraphale heaves a sigh. He leans against the door, and it closes behind him with a comforting click. With his good hand, he carefully sets the battered package on a nearby shelf.

With the knowledge that his precious cargo is safe, a wound up part of him relaxes. His head falls back with a thunk, and braced against the door, he closes his aching eyes.

“You’re back. Finally.”

Aziraphale starts at the voice, which rises, low and petulant from the shop’s dark interior.

“I’ve been waiting forever, angel.”

And now the voice is accompanied by loping footsteps.

Aziraphale is exhausted, his body is bruised and aching, his package was very nearly lost, and he does not have the energy to deal with whatever chaos Crowley’s presence will inevitably bring to his day.

It’s not that he fears that Crowley would hurt him - or anything of the sort. Even before The Arrangement, Crowley had really never seemed keen to harm Aziraphale. It’s just - well, Crowley always wants to do things. Grab lunch. Go on a walk. See a play. All lovely activities; and really, the demon isn’t bad company. At all.

And therein lies the problem.

Aziraphale likes spending time with Crowley.

Far too much, considering their respective allegiances.

If Aziraphale is summer-dry tinder, Crowley is the lit match.

And after the morning he’s had, Aziraphale doesn’t have the energy to resist burning.

“Crowley-,” Aziraphale starts, squinting into the darkness. With an irritated snap, he ignites the lights around the shop. “Now is really not a good time-”

“You’ll change your mind when I tell you about the restaurant I just discovered,” Crowley hums, slinking out from where he’d been hiding amongst the shelves. “Let me tell you, the things they do with eggs-”

Crowley freezes.

He’s stopped mid-sentence, and with his hand half-raised, still gesturing, he looks as though he’s somehow fallen prey to his own time-stopping trick.

“...Crowley?”

Aziraphale straightens up. Lifting a hand, he takes a tentative step into the shop.

Crowley’s throat works, bobbing. And then his nostrils flare, as though sniffing the air.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale repeats his name slowly, unnerved by the odd behavior. “What’s-”

Like a marionette whose strings have been yanked, Crowley starts forward with a jerk. And then he’s in front of Aziraphale. And he’s close. At least, closer than the polite distance they normally keep. Despite his rapid movement, there’s an eerie stillness about him; like a snake coiled, ready to strike. His breaths come slowly; careful inhales through his nose, and long exhales that slip between sharp, white teeth. When he leans in, Aziraphale feels each slow breath, a light brush against his skin. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

“Angel,” Crowley says - and his voice is strained, like he can’t properly push the sound from his throat.

Aziraphale looks up, seeking an answer in his gaze, but Crowley’s dark glasses shroud his expressive eyes in shadow. Instead, Aziraphale sees his own reflection: a purple bruise darkening his eye, a raw, sliced cheek, and the bent wrist still cradled against his chest.

Oh, Aziraphale thinks, brows lifting in silent horror, I look horrendous.

Aziraphale is pursing his lips, thinking up the miracles that will rectify his sad state of appearance, when a soft, careful touch draws him forcibly from his thoughts.

Surprise is a reasonably appropriate word to describe Aziraphale’s reaction to the touch - much in the same way as a bit chilly is a reasonably appropriate phrase to describe the Arctic. Suffice it to say, Aziraphale momentarily forgets how to speak, let alone think.

Crowley’s thumb traces a deliberate path beneath the gash. It trembles, unsteady against the angel’s skin.

Crowley swallows once, and Aziraphale watches, mystified, as his throat bobbles with the effort. When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse.

“Angel. Tell me who did this to you.”

Aziraphale’s mouth falls open - because there it is, the chaos.

Because Crowley seems to have forgotten that his thumb is still stroking Aziraphale’s cheek, and the touch feels entirely too nice and it’s doing something odd to Aziraphale’s stomach.

And Aziraphale is pinned, between the touch and Crowley’s stare - which the angel can’t see but he can nonetheless somehow still feel, because Crowley has asked him what turns out to be a reasonable question, given the circumstances, and is now waiting for an answer.

Aziraphale has a choice.

He can tell the truth.

Or - he can lie.

One is vastly preferable to the other.

“Enemiesss?” Crowley hisses.

Aziraphale, watching Crowley’s dark brows curve together, manages a slight nod.

It’s not even that much of lie, Aziraphale thinks. Practically the truth, all things considered.

Crowley’s shoulders are hunching up.

“Demonsss?” he asks, and his voice is dripping with venom.

Aziraphale blinks and hedges. “Well, yes. I suppose they were quite hellish.”

Crowley makes a low noise in his throat. Twisting around, he twitches, raking an agitated hand through his hair.

“They weren’t to touch you. I told them. The bastards - they were supposed to leave you to me.”

Aziraphale blinks again, and he’s doing his best to ignore what that particular string of words is doing to his stomach.

“Leave me to you?”

“I tell them I foiled this, you foiled that. Wax on in my reports about how I very nearly got you this time. You know,” Crowley says, waving distractedly.

“Really?” Aziraphale says, beginning to smile. “Oh Crowley, I do the very same.”

Crowley, however, is not listening. His lips are pressed in a thin, dangerous line, and he paces a tight circle around Aziraphale.

“Who was it? Which ones did thisss to you?”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale stalls, shifting uncomfortably. “It all happened very fast. I could hardly see anything, really.”

Crowley turns on a heel, and then he’s growling low in his throat. “Hastur. He’d do something like this - go behind my back. The rotten bastard.”

“Oh - um -”

Crowley turns. He reaches a hand towards Aziraphale -

- and stops.

Aborting the gesture, Crowley makes a fist. Drawing in a deep breath, he swallows and nods.

“Right. Angel I - this shouldn’t have happened. I can’t-” he frowns. “I’m... not so good at healing. So I’ll, uh, leave that to you. I will however, take care of this.” Gently clasping a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, he dips his chin, somber. “Wait here, angel. I’ll make damn sure they don’t touch you again.”

And before Aziraphale can say anything more, Crowley is brushing past him, yanking open the door-

And oh good lord, Aziraphale’s stalling thoughts finally manage. Crowley is about to get into it with a duke of Hell.

Aziraphale twists, and with his good hand, snatches the back of Crowley’s jacket.

“Wait, wait, wait.”

Halfway out the door, Crowley turns a look over his shoulder.

“I can handle myself, angel.”

“I’m sure you can, but I wasn’t - ah - being completely upfront about, um, precisely what occurred to my, ah, face.”

Crowley frowns, and as he relaxes back, Aziraphale tugs him back into the shop.

“You said you were attacked by enemies. Demons.”

Aziraphale is wringing his hands before he remembers his wrist. Wincing, he miracles the fracture away with a touch.

“Well,” he says, lips pinched with the memory of pain, “they were enemies, in that they were attacking me. And they were really quite demonic, if I do say so myself.”

Crowley closes the door with a click. Pulling off his glasses, he rubs at the creased skin between his brows.

“...hold on. Angel, I think you need to start at the beginning.”

“Yes. Fine, alright. But first I’m healing my face. And I need a drink.”

Ten minutes later, they are sitting on Aziraphale’s old couch. Two glasses of wine are perched on the coffee table, and between them, rests the battered box.

As Aziraphale takes a long swig from his glass, Crowley eyes the box.

“What’s with the package?”

“It, my dear boy, is why I was so mercilessly attacked.”

Crowley, slowly lifting his glass, turns a second, wary look at the box.

“So what happened?”

“Well,” Aziraphale says, and pauses to take a slow, deliberate sip of wine. “I’d picked up the package and was returning home. I’d decided on a stroll through St. Jame’s Park. Even brought some bread. For the ducks.”

“Right,” Crowley says, slowly. “Sure. The ducks.”

“Yes. The ducks. However, as I was tossing pieces of bread into the pond-” and here Aziraphale gestures, tossing imaginary bread over the table.

Crowley stares, glasses slipping down his nose.

“The geese arrived.”

Crowley’s wine lists dangerously in his slackening grasp. His eyebrows lift.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says with appropriate venom, wiggling a bit in his seat. “They came and gobbled up all the bread, and then wanted more.”

“Oh?”

“And what did I have in my grasp?” And here Aziraphale reaches out and flings back the lid of the box with a flourish befitting the contents within. “Freshly baked croissants from Dominique Ansel Bakery,” Aziraphale spits. “And those - those demons, they could smell them.”

“Oh?”

Wine completely forgotten, Crowley is leaning forward in his seat. A splash tips over the edge of the glass, but Crowley doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are bright where they peek out over his glasses, and he’s pressed a hand over his lips.

Folding his arm over his chest, Aziraphale takes another long, slow sip.

“The geese at St. James are ruthless. They’re horrid. Monsters, I tell you.”

Crowley nods, fingers splayed, pressing determinedly over his lips. “Ruthless. Monsters, yeah. Of course, of course.” His eyes are glittering, suspiciously bright.

But he’s quite literally on the edge of his seat, and Aziraphale never could resist an eager audience.

“They smelled my croissants, Crowley. And they wanted them.”

“Angel,” Crowley’s voice is tight and high, “Please. Please tell me that you’re about to tell me what I think you’re about to tell me.”

“What?”

“Were you or were you not, beaten up by a bunch of bloody birds?”

“Horrible, vicious, monstrous birds, Crowley!”

Crowley convulses. Wine splatters the floor as the demon clutches his stomach. His glasses slide down, slipping off his nose as he heaves in silent, breathless laughter.

“Oh it’s not funny! They were pecking me! And slapping me with their wings!”

“Oh I beg to differ.” Snapping his fingers, Crowley miracles the wine back into his glass. Lifting it to his dangerously twitching lips, he takes an unsteady sip. “You have powers angel, why not use them on the bloody geese if the bastards are as bad as you say?”

“And have a scuffle with some pastry hungry geese recorded in my log of daily miracles? I think not!” Aziraphale huffs. “Would you want that on your record?”

Crowley’s lips twitch. “Depends on what I do to the geese.”

“Oh I know you wouldn’t actually hurt them.”

Crowley takes a petulant sip of wine. “You don’t know that.”

“Please,” Aziraphale breathes and reaches for a pastry.

He bites into the croissant, and his eyes flutter closed as the flavor washes over his tongue.

Watching him, Crowley smirks over the rim of his glass.

“Worth it?”

And because Aziraphale is a bit of a bastard, even if he won’t yet admit it, takes another delicate bite and says, primly, “yes.”

Bonus:

Crowley (the one hundred percent besotted demon that he is) agrees to come with Aziraphale on his next pastry laden jaunt through St. Jame’s Park. When the geese arrive, waddling and honking as they march across the grass, wholly undaunted by the demonic and holy auras before them, Crowley’s laughter dries up in his throat.

#my writing #good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable partners #otp: ineffable #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #fanfiction #ficlet #IM DEDICATING THIS ONE TO EMILY BECAUSE SHE CAN CONFIRM THAT GEESE ARE SCARY

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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Jealousy

Aziraphale is used to people stopping by his shop to flirt with his (sleeping) husband, so he doesn’t let it bother him. But when the shoe is on the other foot, Crowley doesn’t take it as well. (2213 words)

A peculiar thing happens in Aziraphale's shop on August 13th at precisely two in the afternoon.

A man comes in looking for a book.

That’s not the peculiar part.

People attempt to buy books at Aziraphale’s shop all the time. They’re mostly unsuccessful, but the opportunity is theoretically there.

The peculiar part comes when this man - a statuesque, ruggedly-handsome man in a finely tailored, tan suit, aubergine shirt, and silk tie; a man who looked like he would be equally as comfortable touring the Savannah on holiday as he would be making corporate decisions in a board room – flirts with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale can be oblivious to those things, but the only people who seem to have eyes for him anyway are older women, mainly widows and divorcees, not searching for an exciting good-looker for their next relationship, but a reliable, stable, respectful man that they can talk to about books and music; who will take them to fancy restaurants on Friday nights and play Canasta with them on the weekends. A nice, non-threatening man who likes to garden and do crossword puzzles and cuddle, who won’t make too many demands on them physically. And even then, by the time Aziraphale figures them out, the women in question have already gotten bored and gone, leaving Aziraphale secretly grateful that he didn’t have to part with another one of his precious first editions.

Flirting happens to Crowley all the time. That Aziraphale notices. Women and men alike wander in off the streets to gawk at him. He’s a demon. He appeals to the baser instincts of mortals and that draws them to him. But he also happens to be stunning (in Aziraphale’s opinion, at least).

Aziraphale sees himself as having the appeal of an old couch – quaint and comfortable, familiar, convenient when you need a place to rest your bum but not the sort of thing you’d get excited over if the doorbell rang and you saw it sitting on your front stoop.

But the man who comes in, with his Rolex watch and his hundred dollar haircut, doesn’t so much as even make eye contact with Crowley.

He only has eyes for Aziraphale.

“Hello,” he says in a voice so smooth it slips through his lips and into Aziraphale’s ears without him needing to breathe too hard. “My name’s Ryan. I called earlier about purchasing a first edition of The Velveteen Rabbit? You said you had a copy?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says with a startled gulp, but he doesn’t know why. He’s not sure why the tone of this man’s voice makes him swallow like that. Or why the way he looks at him makes the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears go pink. “Yes. Yes, I do. Excuse me for not fetching it prior to your arrival. I wasn’t sure you were serious about picking it up.”

“Yes, I am. It’s very important to me. I’ve been looking for one everywhere.”

“Then you’re in luck!” Aziraphale rises off his stool with a hop. “Because I do indeed have one.” He strolls through the rows of shelves, hunting down the copy Adam had so conveniently magicked up for him after the Apoca-no-go. He hums while he walks, suddenly in a chipper mood as he scans the spines in the children’s section.

As happens quite a bit when Aziraphale’s in the stacks, he gets the feeling that he’s not alone. And he’s not. There’s a general presence that seems to haunt his shop, one that he hasn’t sorted out yet. And, of course, there’s his husband, napping on a chair off to one corner that gets neither too much shade nor sun. Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, curious if his husband may have woken up and decided to slither behind him, but it’s not him.

It’s Ryan.

And Aziraphale smiles bashfully to himself.

“You know, many people would simply download a book like this,” Aziraphale says when he finds what he’s searching for. “I’ve heard you can find it online for free.”

“True, but reading a book online doesn’t compare to holding it in your hands. And a first edition has probably been held by many people, read to many children, and just generally loved to pieces. Kind of like the velveteen rabbit. Wouldn’t you agree?”

From behind the stacks, Aziraphale sees Crowley peek out, glaring over the rims of his Valentino shades. The angel’s eyes brighten at the sight of him. He’s about to summon him over, but he blinks, and his husband disappears in the quarter-second it takes for his eyes to open again.

“Yes, I would definitely agree.”

“Of course, it may not necessarily be that way with every book. You have to make a connection with it.” Ryan takes the book from Aziraphale, two of his fingers brushing the back of Aziraphale’s hand when he does. “They’re kind of like people that way. After a while, you develop a relationship with it. It becomes important to you. And you never want to part with it.”

“Oh, that’s … that’s beautiful,” Aziraphale says. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it described that way before, but it’s true. I feel that way about all my favorite books. I do hope your little one feels the same way about this one.”

“Oh, I’m not married.” Ryan flashes his vacant ring finger along with a brilliant smile. “Don’t have any children. I’m sorry to say that this book is simply a gift from me to my inner child. It’s the key to something I’ve been missing, something that I’m hoping to get back.”

“That’s charming. I hope whatever it is that you’ve lost, you find it again.”

“I do as well.”

They talk as Aziraphale rings him up – about books, about music, about the trinkets Aziraphale keeps around the shop and the history behind each one. They briefly talk about Ryan’s job as CFO of a brand new startup that’s skyrocketed within the past year, but they mostly talk about Aziraphale’s shop and his passion for the written word. No other customers come in, or if they do, Aziraphale doesn’t notice. He pulls Ryan up a chair and offers him a cup of tea, hoping Crowley will eventually join them, but he doesn’t go looking for him. Crowley seems to relish his eight hour naps in Aziraphale’s shop.

Far be it for Aziraphale to interrupt him.

As the day drips on, Aziraphale starts to notice the change in the quality of the light as shadows lengthen across the floor. He glances over at the clock on the wall to see if his suspicions are correct, and he gasps.

“Oh, my dear! It’s five o’clock! I didn’t notice the time! Oh, I do hope you aren’t late for anything!”

“Not at all. It was my day off. And I can’t imagine a lovelier way to have spent it than sitting here, talking to you.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

“I’m just curious,” Ryan says, gathering up his book in the brown paper bag Aziraphale supplies him, “what are your hours? I didn’t see them posted on the door. It would be nice to know, just in case my inner child convinces me to buy another book from my past.”

“This store is mainly a pet project of mine, so my hours are a little, shall we say, erratic ...”

“That’s adorable,” Ryan says.

“B-but …” Aziraphale stutters at the interruption “… I should be here tomorrow. Offhand I can’t think of any reason why I won’t be.”

“Excellent!” Ryan smiles, distinctly pleased as he squirrels his purchase behind him. “Then I’ll be back tomorrow. 2:30. Nice snake, by the way,” he says, pointing to a spot behind Aziraphale’s head. “Is it real?”

“Quite.” Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, relieved to see that Crowley hadn’t slipped out of the bookshop and driven off without his noticing, but worried since he only transforms into a snake when he’s agitated.

And from the way he flicks his tongue, eyes wide, shifting uneasily in place, Aziraphale can tell he’s highly agitated.

That makes him dangerous.

“Constrictor?”

“Uh, no …” Aziraphale walks Ryan to the door, eager to close up shop and get things with his husband ironed out. “Red-bellied black snake.”

The smile on Ryan’s face drops straight to his knees. “Aren’t those venomous?”

“Only if they bite you. Thank you so much for stopping by. See you tomorrow. Mind how you go.” Aziraphale practically tosses the poor man out onto the sidewalk but he has no way of explaining to him that it’s for his own good. Aziraphale barely has the locks thrown when he feels the snake rise up behind him, transforming into the human form of his demon husband.

“Ssso, isss thisss going to be a thing now?”

Aziraphale sighs. He loves his husband. He truly does. But he can be so temperamental sometimes, even for a demon. “Why whatever do you mean?”

“Men dropping by your ssshop and making eyesss at you? Eating up all your time?”

“One man.” Aziraphale chuckles. “And my dear, people stop by every day simply to throw themselves at you. Do I bat an eye?”

“But I don’t care about them. None of them make my voice go all quivery like that man made yours.”

“I do admit that maybe I got a little carried away,” Aziraphale confesses, putting a hand to his flushed cheek. “See, I’m not use to getting that sort of attention. It was nice for the moment, but I don’t think it’s something I could handle every day.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I’m afraid I’m not very good around people. I prefer the company of my books and my music … and my ill-tempered husband.”

“But that’s the kind of bloke you fancy, right?” Crowley presses. “Someone who talks to you about books and music, and dresses in expensive clothes …”

“You dress in the most expensive clothes I’ve ever seen!” Aziraphale points out with an incredulous laugh.

“You know what I mean!” Crowley says, gesturing with a frustrated hand. “His clothes have … ffffwwwpppp … colors in them!”

“I see. Yes, I guess that does make a difference.”

“I knew it.”

“Ugh! Listen to me, you stupid old snake!” Aziraphale loops his arms around Crowley’s neck, forcing his eyes on him. “The bloke I fancy, as you so eloquently put it, is the one who’s known me my entire existence. Who drinks with me and goes out to lunch with me. Who fights beside me and stays with me, even when I call him ridiculous. Who comes back even when he threatens to run away.” Crowley’s eyes drop to his feet, unable to look at his angel while he’s being reminded of his less-than-stellar attempt to persuade Aziraphale to abandon Earth and join him out in the stars … which ended with his saying he’d go off on his own and never think about him again. “I don’t care if we don’t talk about books. It’s enough that you sit beside me while I read and hold my hand. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Why in the world would you think I’d want someone else when I have the best possible person for me already?”

“’dunno.” Crowley shrugs. “All we do is hang out here lately. I think, maybe, I was afraid you might be getting bored with me. That tying yourself down to a domesssticated demon might not be what you signed up for.”

“Bored with you?” Aziraphale snorts. “After 6000 years, you think I’d get bored with you now? You seem to forget that during the decades we weren’t together, my time was spent here. You were the one jet-setting around the world. By rights, I think you should be getting bored with me. With my life.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley says, sliding closer. “You, my darling, could never get boring.”

Aziraphale raises a skeptical brow. “You forget, I’m much better at detecting sarcasm now than I was 6000 years ago.”

“That wasn’t sarcasm.” Crowley snakes his arms around his husband’s waist. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be than here, wasting my days with you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. But maybe it is time we take a vacation.”

“Yesss,” Crowley hisses happily. “Go to all the old haunts, relive the glory days.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Otherwise known as last month.”

“You pick first. We’ll go anywhere you want to go. We can pack up my Bentley and leave tonight.”

“Well, tomorrow night.”

Crowley grimaces. “Why tomorrow night?”

“Ryan said he’d be back at 2:30 tomorrow and ...”

Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s collar and (carefully) pushes him up against the nearest wall. He presses him there with his body, tries his hardest to be intimidating, but it doesn’t dim Aziraphale’s grin a single degree.

It never does.

“Not … funny … angel.”

“No?” Aziraphale’s gaze drifts to his husband’s lips the way it always seems to when Crowley has him in this position.

“No,” Crowley says, accepting the invitation of those baby blues and kissing his angel softly. “Not one little bit.”

“You can tell me all about it when we hit the road,” Aziraphale says. “And we’d better make it quick. We’re burning daylight.”

***Notes: Let me guys know if you want to see a part 2 where Crowley actually meets our dear Mr. Ryan XD

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

Text

Snake Bite

Chat log: Alastor learns to dab, Sir Pentious bites Alastor, and a couple of lonely old villains reluctantly talk about feelings and friendship.

If the read more doesn't work for you and you've gotta see this WHOLE LONG CHAT LOG on your dash, 1) you're probably on mobile, and 2) I am very very sorry, it's tumblr's fault and I did what I could.

Sir Pentious

Pentious is waiting outside the Hotel in HIS realm, he's out back in the garden and pacing... well. As well as a snake can pace. He's occasionally slithering in a circle.

Alastor

Alastor's practically scrubbed his skin raw in the shower; he's brushed his teeth until he's numb to the taste of artificial mint; he's picked a bow tie out of the ones Angel gave him—one of the red-and-gold ones designated for "sparkly douchebags" with the matching rose-shaped pin; and he's left something like a will with Rosie, along with a note to put it into effect if she hasn't heard from him by Monday.

He doesn't know what to expect.

He knows biting is going to be involved. He knows Sir Pentious wanted him to clear his schedule, with no indication of how long he was supposed to clear it for. Everything else is a mystery. Interpreting Sir Pentious's words literally, he's going to get bitten, writhe around for a while in excruciating pain, and then go home.

But knowing Sir Pentious—knowing his own—it might be a plot to disable Alastor so Sir Pentious can gloat over him for an hour before taking off his head with an exterminator's blade. And knowing the population of Hell in general, it might all be a euphemism for something far more salacious that he was simply expected to assume. All he knows for sure is that Sir Pentious is going to be very close, and aside from that it's going to be very unpleasant.

He could have asked for clarification. But asking for clarification would imply that his answer would change depending on Sir Pentious's.

It won't.

So here he is. Painfully clean, absolutely clueless, braced for anything, looking around the lobby, and realizing he's actually braced himself for anything EXCEPT the possibility that he might be stood up completely.

A few minutes after one, he sends out a few shadows as espionage—to Sir Pentious's room, to the boiler room, to the hotel's public areas—and finally, relieved, heads to the garden. He wasn't expecting outside. Maybe Sir Pentious wants to show off his big victory over the great Radio Demon.

When Alastor finally sees him, by way of greeting he calls out, "So how DOES one perform a 'dab'?"

Sir Pentious

Pentious awaited him in the garden, merely to avoid the eyes of that Weird Cat and the others who hung around the Hotel. The outside was brighter, and provided much more ominous lighting. Upon seeing Alastor and hearing his voice, he perked up quite suddenly, hood raising.

The question gets a scoff out of him.

"THE DAB? YOU DON'T KNOW??? IT'SSS LIKE THISS!" Stretching one arm out to the right, he bends his left at the elbow, and dunks his head towards the bend in his arm, holding the pose for at least three seconds.

Alastor

"Like this?" He copies the gesture, a mirror image of Sir Pentious's. A new weapon in his arsenal. "Ha. Like Dracula trying to hide from the sun." He plays a sizzling bacon-in-a-frying-pan sound, like vampire skin burning in the day.

Sir Pentious

Pentious claps his hands together, clearly amused.

"YESSS, JUSSST LIKE THAT! THEY HATE THAT ONE THE MOSSSST."

Alastor

The applause sends a jolt through his chest that he studiously ignores. "I'll add it to my catalogue of torture techniques."

He'd stopped walking far enough away from Sir Pentious that they're out of arm's reach of each other but close enough that they can talk at a normal volume—he wants to get so much closer and stay so much farther away, and this is the point where the impulses barely balanced out. Doing his best not to sound as awkward as he feels, he says, "So, speaking of Dracula..." He spreads his arms: here I am, ready and willing. "Were you planning on having this bite out here? Fine weather for it."

Sir Pentious

Pentious eyes him--he's happy with this distance, too. Satisfied, though, he wants to get closer too... his fangs ache a little, watch the other spread his arms. Yes, they had agreed upon that... At the time, he really didn't think that Alastor would agree. And now here they were! His head darts around some, the cobra looking him over.

"YOU AREN'T GOING TO TRY TO SSSLITHER OUT OF THISSS, ARE YOU, DEEREST ALASTOR?"

Alastor

The jolt is replaced by something more like a knife at the punny term of endeerment. He thinks he kept his wince off his face, but he's not totally sure. He lets his arms drop. "If I was going to be a coward, I would have gotten it over with before agreeing to meet and wasting both our time. I even dressed up for the occasion." He tilts his head, calling attention to his new bow tie.

The trophy Sir Pentious is showing off in his own attire hasn't escaped his notice.

Sir Pentious

"AH, I NOTICED. SSO HAVE I."

He pulls on the bow-tie gift from Alastor, truly VERY smug about it.

"THEN HOLD SSSSTILL..." He moved closer, quite suddenly--the rapid and threatening striking of a snake, his tongue flicking as he was mere inches away from the other.

Alastor

Alastor's eyes widen, he leans back, and his hand flies halfway up to his throat; and then he freezes. Damn. So much for acting completely unflappable.

Sir Pentious would enjoy seeing him flinch, at least.

So. Outside it is. Sir Pentious is probably hoping half of Hell will hear him make the Radio Demon scream.

Alastor completes the motion of his hand up to his throat, but only to undo his tie and fold down his high collar. When was the last time he'd been this close to Sir Pentious? Alastor can see individual scales on his face. He forces himself to make eye contact, offers a wan smile, and says, "Ready when you are."

Sir Pentious

He certainly does enjoy it.

His tongue flicks again, the appendage briefly touching the other's cheek. He didn't MEAN anything weird by it, but he certainly got a scent of him.

Pink hellish slitted eyes focused on the other, and he opened his mouth, baring those enormous fangs. Not yet dripping with venom, but oh the threat was there... Not allowing for anymore hesitation, he lunged--SINKING his fangs into Alastor's neck, deep and piercing.

Alastor

Alastor's eyes automatically squeeze shut as Sir Pentious licks him, his breath freezing. Before he has a chance to process the what the hell that means—

He gasps in sharply, a noisy crackling sound, as Sir Pentious's fangs sink in; but the gasp itself is buried under the sound of his voice stuttering across several stations, bursts of overlapping songs—a few incoherent notes of "Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life" and " Snake Eyes" and "Black Snake Moan." The pain from the bite alone is excruciating. Focusing. Focusing him primarily on the fact that Sir Pentious's face is pressed between Alastor's shoulder and his throat.

Sir Pentious

Pentious didn't really know what to expect upon sinking his fangs in, but the radio sounds should have been first on his guess list. It was definitely jarring to hear them so close to his head. Pentious places his hands on both of Alastor's shoulders, now digging his claws into his suit. Just claw him up! Why not!!!

At this closeness, it was all too easy to hear that raspy, human like breathing that cobras made. Like he was going to devour the Radio Demon whole.

Alastor

If Sir Pentious wants to take a strip of Alastor's throat with him when he pulled back—hell, if he wants to take Alastor's whole shoulder—Alastor isn't going to complain. He has to bite his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed to fight the urge to bite Sir Pent back—he's RIGHT THERE, it would be SO EASY to taste his blood—but that would be the end of this trust exercise.

At times it's struck Alastor that Sir Pentious's hissing sounds more than passingly close to a radio's static—and that's even more evident now, hearing his breathing like a rush of wind over a microphone, blowing over his neck. Alastor tries to steady his stuttery station-jumping breath. He leans into the pain cutting up his shoulders and curls his claws into the fabric at the waist of Sir Pent's jacket.

Sir Pentious

He can taste Alastor's blood, and it fills him with madness.

Pentious draws back, blood coating his fangs, as he holds the other up.

"HHMMM.... YOU REALLY DIDN'T MOVE. HAD YOU TRIED, I WOULD HAVE INJECTED YOU WITH MY VENOM!!!"

... But also, the lack of trying to escape, of trying to turn this into some sick broadcast... It resonated with the inventor. Pentious looked over his former ally, and frustration filled his gaze. Frustration and longing.

"... Why couldn't you have ssstayed?"

Of course, this wasn't the same Alastor. Not his own, but... whatever. A moment of vulnerability, just one.

Alastor

Alastor leans longingly after the retreating fangs before catching himself and straightening back up.

At the question, for a moment, his smile almost cracks. His brows draw closer, the corner of his bloody mouth twitches. When he replies, the constant distortion overlaying his voice dies. He almost sounds like a person. "Because I'm a coward."

He didn't mean to say it. He would never have said it under any other circumstances, but he's dizzy and lightheaded and euphoric from the pain and the close contact, and sick guilt he's spent over half a century trying to suppress is buzzing in his chest—and he's said it now.

Sir Pentious

The admission causes Pentious' hood to flare out--whatever he was expecting to hear then, well, just as before, it completely caught him off guard. He couldn't take it at face value, he couldn't trust him. His hand immediate shoots to Alastor's neck, grabbing him and pulling him closer.

"ARE YOU MOCKING ME, ALASSTOR? TELLING ME WHAT YOU THINK I'D WANT TO HEAR??? YOU??? A COWARD??? YOU MUSSST THINK ME A FOOL!!!"

Not that it sounded any which way! But... Pentious was angry to hear it, all the same. It's like he wanted the other to deny it, he wanted him to make up some sort of joke and play him for a fool. He wanted an excuse to tear him apart--but hearing this vulnerability in return put a sense of mortality in him he hadn't known in so, so long.

He'd been betrayed by his only friend, after all, and the serpent struggled so much in trying to make any.

It had been years since then, but still... It hurt him in a way he hadn't thought possible for his old black heart.

Alastor

His hands immediately fly up to the hand around his neck, claws digging into the wrist, prepared to wrench it off—and then, just as abruptly, he forces himself to let go. No, damn it, he's not here to fight.

"You don't want to hear this! I don't think there's a single answer you'd trust out of me but whatever's the cruelest thing I could think of to say—no matter what the truth is." Wasn't that the point of this exercise? To get around the limitation of words, the fact that Sir Pentious couldn't trust and Alastor couldn't be trusted?

So much for that. Hadn't Alastor already known there were no such thing as second chances? Let him be torn apart, it would heal in a few days and he'd learn an important lesson.

Sir Pentious

"CAN YOU BLAME ME!?"

Pentious' voice cracks as he speaks, and he eyes where he'd bit him. He had to think of Valera's words... He seems lonely. She'd compared the two, made them sound so similar... Could trusting him really be a good idea?

... He really did enjoy that visit they had together, eating pasta bolognese and drinking brandy. It had been so... familiar. Pentious frowned, frustration and... distress pulling at every part of himself. His claws flexed, but he pulled them away from Alastor's neck... and he looked down, pulling at his hood like he were considering covering his face with them.

Alastor

"No! I can't!" His voice is thick, a feedback echo whining under his words. "You have EVERY REASON not to trust me! I'd sooner ask Saint Peter for a second chance than ask you." He flings a hand carelessly in the vague direction of Heaven.

And yet, for a moment he'd been stupid and let himself hope. He had to remind himself who he was here to help. "I'm not ASKING for a second chance. Just—don't fight me. And I won't have to fight you."

He feels colder without Sir Pentious within touching distance. He crosses his arms tightly, biting one corner of his mouth to make sure his smile is still up.

Sir Pentious

It stings.

Pentious knows how he's being difficult. His hands open and close, and he grits his teeth, eyes closed tightly. He wishes he could just... move past this and immediately either be fully friends or fully enemies. This was purgatory like no other.

Agreeing to anything felt like giving up and the snake wasn't good at that either.

He glares at Alastor, "DON'T GO ANYWHERE. LET ME THINK."

Alastor

What is there to think about? How hard is it to decide whether or not to keep starting one-sided fights with someone?

But he collects himself. He takes a deep breath, uncrosses his arms, smooths out his bangs, clasps his hands behind his back, corrects his posture, fixes his smile properly back in place, and tries to look past Sir Pentious's visible turmoil and at the garden. Lightly, he says, "I'm not leaving," and immediately regrets as he realizes how easily he could have followed it up with this time.

Sir Pentious

Sometimes he wants to just... grab him by the face and force that smile OFF. But he'll calm himself...

He can't have him as a rival, or as a nemesis. Their paths were too different, and not only that, they were from entirely different Hells!

So close, yet.... Pentious took a deep breath. You're not losing anything, man. You're not. Why was this so hard?

His gaze travels back to the bite, and he flicks his tongue.

"... WHEN WASS THE LASST TIME YOU ALLOWED YOURSSSELF TO BE ATTACKED LIKE THAT?"

Alastor

He blinks, taken aback by the question—and then has to stop and think.

He's always had an unusually casual relationship with pain—and that only increased after he died and no longer had to worry about any damage being permanent. Hell, he's voluntarily been skinned alive so that he could get his own hide tanned—but that wasn't being attacked, that was more like an extreme cosmetic surgery. He's let people who would otherwise never leave a scratch on him get in a stab wound—but that was so he could lure them in close enough to rip them apart. As a child he'd sometimes been too afraid to fight back—but that's very different from consenting to being attacked, isn't it?

"Never."

Will Sir Pentious even believe that? Probably not. Of course not. Alastor wonders why he bothered to ask.

Sir Pentious

He looks at him a long time... studying his expression. Looking for something to pick apart... but it was always that same damn face.

The hum of radio feedback if he stared too long.

Alastor

There isn't much to pick apart. He meets Sir Pentious's gaze when he feels that sharp stare on him, then almost immediately looks away.

He wants to ask whether he ought to be contributing something to the proceedings or if this thinking Sir Pentious is doing is still a solo endeavor, but he forces himself to swallow his nervous chatter and quietly start playing "Snake Eyes" again to fill the silence.

Sir Pentious

The tune is so jaunty, and Pentious twitches... but this was exactly like Alastor, too. You couldn't have a moment's silence with him... The snake groaned, covering his face. Alright. Alright.

".... ALASTOR."

Alastor

The music snaps off. "Sir Pentious?"

Sir Pentious

... You know, it was. Definitely surprising not to hear "Sir Harold". It takes him a moment.

He takes out a GUN, and aims it at Alastor.

"TELL ME AGAIN WHAT YOU WANT OUT OF THISS, AND I WILL NOT QUESSTION IT AGAIN. YOU HAVE MY WORD ON THE MATTER. DO YOU WANT TO BE MY ... FRIEND? OR DO YOU JUST WANT ME OUT OF YOUR HAIR?"

Alastor

Oh—oh, good god, he hadn't planned on being asked directly. (Or with a gun. But the gun was meaningless, the gun was for emphasis. The gun was an exclamation point.)

Being honest had been the biggest mistake of this conversation so far. The closer Alastor got to telling the truth, the less trustworthy he sounded, the less Sir Pentious was going to take what he said into account. The safe answer was "out of my hair." It was the answer that would make sure Sir Pentious was...

... gone, again. Gone and safe.

But, unless Alastor was completely wrong about everything he thought he knew about this Sir Pentious—

—it sounded like he was, impossibly, offering Alastor a second chance.

He croaked, "Friend."

And then, with the dam broken, more tumbled out: "I give you my word that's not what I came to ask for. I'm only here to try to get myself out of YOUR h—hood. But if— What I want— That's what I WANT."

Sir Pentious

Well, he was damned. Valera was right.

This Alastor, much like himself, was a lonely old man. He wanted to be his friend. The snake could only stare, his arm lowering, and with it the pistol too.

"... Really?" This wasn't a voice of accusation or vitriol, or demanding anything. Just, outright, innocent confusion.

Alastor

Alastor had been half expecting a bullet through his pretty new rose-shaped pin. He HADN'T been expecting that look. Perplexingly, it looked like a sort of expression that suggested that Sir Pentious might actually believe him.

A wild panicked voice in the back of his head tried to tell him to yell JUST KIDDING, drop Sir Pentious through a particularly painful portal, and bolt from the scene like a buck out of Hell.

It was the same panicked voice that had gotten him into this mess fifty-fucking-four years ago. He wasn't going to listen to it again.

He looked for something snappy to say, couldn't find anything, and said, "Yes. Really."

Sir Pentious

VALERA WAS RIGHT AAAAAHe put the weapon away, straightening his Alastor's bowtie, and gave a smile... although it was strained. Struggling. "... YOU REALLY ARE FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION, YOU KNOW. THISS COULD NEVER BE MY REALITY."

Alastor

Bow tie. Right, he should—Alastor straightened his collar back into place and retied his now slightly bloodstained bow. "Nor mine," he muttered, his smile sinking toward a grimace. He could have said the exact same words to his own Sir Pentious—but those words NEVER would have been trusted by someone who knew exactly what he'd done when he left. The only reason he'd gotten this far was because that not-knowing meant he could get the benefit of the doubt.

What could he do, then, but milk it for all it was worth as long as he could?

"I can't do anything about my duplicate in your universe. But any time you care to come to mine... well." Well. Friends.

Sir Pentious

Oh, damn. There was that warm feeling in his chest--it felt like he had internal bleeding. It ached and stung, and Pentious clutched his suit some to try to soothe the pain.

He was too expressive for his own food, clearing his throat.

"DON'T SSOUND LIKE YOU'RE ABOUT TO TAKE YOUR LEAVE, ALASTOR. I TOLD YOU TO TAKE THE DAY OFF, AND YOU'RE GOING TO!"

Alastor

"Am I!" His face lit up. "Why? Are we finally going to get to thar part you promised where I'm crying like a baby from pain?"

Sir Pentious

"WHY DO YOU SSOUND SSO EXCITED?"

"YOU WANT THAT?"

Alastor

"Well, you were so graphic about it, you got my hopes up! I set aside the rest of the week to recover and everything." He paused just long enough to get Sir Pentious time to process that. "KIDDING! No, what did you have planned?"

Sir Pentious

.......... NOW HE'S ADVANCING ON ALASTOR, hood raised and eyes glowing red. That menacing long grin.

"OH, NO, ALASTOR, YOU WERE SSSSO EXCITED. I INSSSISSST!"

Alastor

For a moment, he stares at Sir Pentious, eyes wide. Somewhere beneath his usual static, S.O.S. beeps in Morse.

Then he flatly asks, "Do we have to?" But he's reaching for his bow tie again. One final test would be fair, wouldn't it? Alastor deserves at least that much.

Sir Pentious

Oh no. He looks conflicted!!! This man just told him he wanted to be friends!

",,, ALASTOR! YOU CAME HERE WANTING TO BE BITTEN AND POISONED AND NOW YOU DON'T WANT IT BUT ALSO DO?? BE CLEAR, BE CONSISE!!

Alastor

"I was joking about the poison part!" No more masochistic humor in THIS universe. "It sounds a little bit extreme for my idea of a fun afternoon. I was willing to do it to prove my, ah... sentiments—but if we're PAST that, I'd just as happily move on to something less excruciating."

Sir Pentious

He HUFFS. His fangs ache, wanting to bite into something again, but also... He looks strained.

".... SS... SSSSINCE YOU'RE HERE.... DO YOU WANT TO... COME INSIDE???"

Alastor

Is Sir Pentious disappointed? Alastor eyes him carefully a moment, then says, "Sure." After another pause, even more carefully, he asks, "Are you opposed to letting me see what you've been up to in that boiler room of yours?"

Sir Pentious

Little does Alastor know, Penny is suffering from a dizziness spell. It was a side effect of using his fangs like that, even if he didn't use his venom. He had a lot of physicality issues.

Pentious slithered towards the front entrance, "AH, MY RAIL GUN? SURE, AS LONG AS YOU DON'T THINK YOU CAN TAKE IT FROM ME."

Alastor

"Wouldn't dream of it!" Rail gun! Alastor followed after Sir Pentious, just short of skipping in delight. "What would I do with it, anyway—try to carry it around on my shoulder like a bazooka? Ha! No, no—I just want to see what kind of damage it can do."

Then they went inside to play with dangerous toys, the end.

#hissandvinegar #chat log #((anybody who followed my RP blog randomly rather than through my main fic blog is prrrobably gonna be surprised lmfao))#((SURPRISE guess what we ship around here))#((for those of y'all who DID follow me from my main fic blog: look it's like it's an AU post CDIH redemption arc speedrun))

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zodiyack · 5 years

Text

Billy Hargrove VS The World

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader Scott Pilgrim Vs The World AU (See note!)

Warnings: 7 exes that would love to kill Billy, violence, swearing, soft!Billy, I guess two sexual references since it’s Billy we’re talking about, smut mention but no smut, making out, SPOLIERS!, and cheesy pirate Patel

Words: 4947

Note: This is a Scott Pilgrim Vs The World AU because I love that movie and it would be interesting to write an AU involving that. Also this is a multiple part story due to all 7 exes and the battles. One ex per post! (maybe) I’m sorry for the unoriginal title lmao

By the way, yes. There is dialogue from the movie. That is in and going to be in this miniseries. As I said, I love this movie and I think most of the dialogue was funny, plus it is semi important to the story. And the exes are the same people from the movie. Sorry if you don’t like that.

o/o/y/f/c = One of Your Favorite Color(s)

Bold = Words From The Movie (that appear on the screen, if you’ve watched it, then you know what I’m talking about)

Italics with apostrophes = Billy’s thoughts (and Matthew’s thoughts but only once)

Italic = Used for a few different things, mainly enthusiasm/emphasis on words

Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist

link to the soundtrack on youtube ‘cause why not (a few will be in here I guess)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5 and 6. Part 7.

“Look.”

Tommy pointed to the new girl. Finally, some fresh meat for Billy. Or Tommy, whichever one thought of her first. Billy finally grew bored of the girls at school, he waited for one that was newer. Fresher. Cuter.

There she was. Her unnatural o/o/y/f/c hair sat on her shoulders. Roller-blades on her feet, her torso clothed in a shirt covered with a hoodie and another jacket. Her bag hung by her side, headphone strings leaving it and connecting to the headphones on her head. She didn’t look like most girls. Billy had seen most of them, and none had looked as breathtaking nor interesting as her. Before either teens could walk over to her, a boy around their age walked in front of them. She was gone when he moved.

“Weird...”

“I hear she’ll be at Tina’s party tonight.” Carol noticed the boy’s fascination with the new kid, sharing it. “We should go, it’ll give you the chance to learn more about her, Billy.”

“We’ll see.” He brushed off his thoughts about the odd girl, her choice of hair color and clothing, and her headphones that caused her mental absence from the world. Billy turned and walked away, continuing with the rest of his day.

. . .

Billy was stopped by Tina. She asked him how the party was going and if he needed anything.

“Hey Tina, you know everyone, right?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” She let out a small laugh. Billy didn’t know whether it was fake or genuine.

“Do you know this one girl with hair...” He grabbed a pen the same color as the new girl’s hair color, quickly drawing a horrible doodle of the girl’s hair. “Like this?”

“Yes, that’s Y/n L/n.” Tina took a sip of her drink, “Someone said she was gonna be here tonight actually.”

Billy’s hand that held the drawing went down quickly, his head snapping to the side and his eyes searching for Y/n. “What?”

“Oh Billy, you got the hots for her or something? I’ve gotta tell you though, I hear she’s a little hardcore-” Tina had looked down mid-sentence and when she looked back up Billy was gone. She turned her head with confusion.

Meanwhile, Billy was now walking through the crowd in search of his unique looking crush. His eyes and head shifted when he couldn’t see her, switching from left and right with each step he took. He didn’t blink, afraid that he’d miss her if he did. After many turns of his head and movements of his eyes, he finally spotted her. His hand clenched the red solo cup, squeezing it until it was crumpled and disfigured.

He slid along the wall, stopping when his body was right next to hers. He faced her, his body turned slightly so that she knew she had his full attention.

“Hey, what’s up?”

She turned her head to him for a second, facing forwards again and replying with, “Nothing.” before taking a sip from her cup.

“Hey you know swimming?”

“I know of it.” She took another sip, still not facing him.

He rambled on about the breast stroke and how he could teach her. Billy took notice of her silence, looking up to see that she was facing him with no emotion visible.

“That’s amazing.” Her reply was just as her face was; emotionless and dull.

“Uhm...” He looked down. No girl could make Billy nervous. By now, he’d have them a blushing mess, begging for him to do whatever he’d like. So now that the new girl, on the first day she’d ever met him, just somehow managed to make him regret every word he said, he thought he’d gone soft. “Am I dreaming?” Her eyebrows furrowed with confusion and another emotion Billy couldn’t quite think of. However, it was enough to make him regret speaking once more. “I’ll leave you alone forever now...”

“Thanks.”

And Then

He Stalked Her

Until She

Left

The Party

“Dude!”

He grabbed Tommy’s shoulder, spinning him around.

“What?”

“She’s totally real!”

“Who?”

“Y/n L/n.” His gaze went elsewhere. Billy then speeded off to find Tina. “Dude!” She made a face at Billy’s sudden approach, but let him speak. “What do you know about Y/n L/n?”

“All I know is that she’s (ethnicity).”

His sudden dramatic and demanding of knowledge persona swapped to dreamy, just as it had when he said her name to Tommy. “(ethnicity)...”

“Why don’t you go talk to Sandra and Monique, they know more about her.” Tina’s head nodded to two blond women laughing in a doorway. Billy rushed to them.

“Lady-dudes. What do you know about Y/n L/n?”

Sandra spoke up first, “I heard she has a boyfriend.” Monique confirmed her knowledge, “Mhm, yes. Left him back in New York.”

Billy felt a bit annoyed, but still wanted to know more. “Yeah yeah yeah...What else?”

He asked other people, earning all kinds of different responses.

“I heard she kicks all kinds of ass.”

“She’s on...another level!”

“She has men dying at her feet!”

“She’s got some battle scars dude.”

“What about Y/n L/n?!” Robin asked, semi full of annoyance for her old friend.

“You know her? Tell me now.”

“She just moved here, got a job at the mall, comes into my work.”

“Does she really?” His tone was dreamy again.

A girl put her arm around Robin, “didn’t you say she just broke up with someone?”

“Did she really?”

“They had uh...huge fight or whatever?”

“Did they really?”

Robin slapped the other girl’s arm off of her. “Yes! But I didn’t want Billy to know that, Kate!”

“Yeah...I don’t know what it is about that girl-”

“Billy, I forbid you from hitting on Y/n! Even if you haven’t had a real girlfriend in over a year or whatever.”

Billy’s daydreaming halted to a stop. He let out a scoff and turned away.

“Hey, woah woah woah, my man Billy’s got all kinds of girls...he’s totally getting with an older girl sometime, right?” Tommy couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, as usual.

“Getting with an older girl or multiple girls is not having a real girlfriend.”

“She’s got a point.” Kate wrapped her arm around Robin again.

“I thought you guys weren’t friends anymore?”

Robin slapped away Kate again. “I don’t want you scaring off one of my old friends now that she’s in town, Billy. We all know you’re a lady-killer-wannabe-jerky-jerk.”

“That’s completely untrue.”

“That time with Lisa?”

“That was a misunderstanding.”

“That time with Holly?”

“That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“That time you dumped Faith for-”

“Okay me and Faith are all good now, right?” He turned to where the girl Robin had mentioned stood. Her cup was in her hands and her face was blank with wide eyes. She looked traumatized. Billy turned back to Robin.

“Whatever! Y/n’s just out of your league, let’s just leave it at that. Besides, I’m not even sure she had a big break up. She keeps mentioning some guy named Gideon.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is about that girl-”

“FORGET IT BILLY!”

. . .

“What’s this?”

“I don’t know, it’s a letter for you dumbass. Read it.”

Billy grunted and took the letter from his father, tearing it open and allowing his eyes to scan the page slowly. He mumbled the words as he read them. It was only Max and him in the room, so it couldn’t do much harm. “Dear Mr. Hargrove, it has come to my attention that we will be fighting soon. My name is Matthew Patel and blah blah blah blah...fair warning, mono e mono, 7 evil blah blah... This is... This is... This is-”

Max grew annoyed with her older brother. “What?!?”

“This is borrrinnnggg. Get rid of thisss.” He threw the letter into the recycling and walked up the stairs to his room. “Hey Max?” For once, he didn’t care about being an ass to the redheaded girl. He had a plan, and he needed her as an excuse to leave the house.

“What is it?”

“Wanna go to the mall?”

“For real?” Of course, he couldn’t tell her. “Let me get my wallet and I’ll meet you in the car!”

. . .

“Hello. Robin tells me you ordered this ice cream but left before she could give it to you, so here.” The ice cream that she handed him was indeed abandoned when he heard Steve say that Y/n was in the mall and would be hanging around Scoops soon. “You gonna take it? Ooor-”

“Hi, I was thinking about asking you out but then I realized how stupid that would be...so do you wanna go out sometime?”

“Um no, that’s okay. You can just pay for this, alright?”

“You don’t remember me, do you? We met at the party the other day.”

“Were you the swim guy?”

“Nooooooooo, not even. That was some total ass...I was the...other guy.”

“You know you need to take this and pay for it?”

“But if I do, you’ll leave.”

“Yeah. It’s how it works.”

“Okay well maybe, do you wanna hang out sometime? Get to know each other? You’re the new kid on the block...right, I’ve lived here...for a while so there are reasons...for you to hang out with me.”

A short pause was shared between the two. Y/n’s eyes glanced up to Billy’s with an eyebrow raised. He didn’t know why he felt desperate, but this girl was making him feel different.

“You want me to hang out with you?”

“Um...” He looked down shyly, but quickly looked back up to her face. “Yeah, if that’s cool...” His tough demeanor seemed to flee whenever she was present.

“If I say yes, will you take and pay for your damn ice cream?”

He snatched the ice cream from her and tossed it over his shoulder and into the garbage can behind him effortlessly, taking out the money needed and handing it to her. “So yeah, eight o’clock?”

So Yeah ( . . . )

“Why’re you just standing there?”

“Dude, I’m totally waiting on you.” Y/n turned to Billy, her hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie. Billy didn’t know whether she looked offended or confused.

“Oh...I’m sorry, I just assumed you were too cool to be here on time...” In other words, he assumed she was like him. If you were at Tina’s party, then you were bound to be somewhat of a “cool kid” or a rebel or anything remotely relating to popularity. Then again, Tina loved handing out invites.

“Well. You assumed wrong.”

They walked in the chilly weather. Small talk slowly formed and they tried their best to get to know each other just as Billy had suggested. His nervousness didn’t leave him around her, and he was glad that no one else from school was there to see him make a fool of himself. ‘You’re just gonna get lucky and then leave her like the rest of them.’ No matter how many times he told himself that, he was too interested in Y/n. His felt something he wasn’t sure he had ever actually felt.

“So, how’d you end up in Hawkins?” Crap. He wasn’t even sure he could get to like him. Let alone be his snack of the week.

“Just needed to escape I guess...”

“Oh yeah.” He knew exactly how she felt. Or at least what he thought she meant by it.

“I got this job here and Gideon always said Hawkins was one of the cool places, so.”

Now Billy felt the need to ask the question that had been bugging him since Robin brought it up. “Is Gideon...your boyfriend?” It had been bothering him and filling him with a small amount of disappointment and worry.

“He’s...a friend.” Her gaze strayed away.

“Was he your boyfriend?”

She looked hurt. Hurt and uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I don’t get into that right now?” Y/n turned and walked to the swing set in front of them.

“Uh- it’s so not interesting to me...”

Y/n kept walking, Billy joining her and attempting to not bother her any more than he had already done. She took notice and initiated conversation so that he wouldn’t feel as awkward and guilty, “What about you, what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m in between jobs at the moment.”

“Between what and what?” She moved in front of the swing and sat down as Billy started talking. He did the same but his movements were still shy and cautious.

“Well my last job was...a long story, filled with sighs.”

“I know plenty of those.” Billy took the opportunity to check on Y/n. His face slowly looked over to hers, which was looking up and admiring the sky.

“Is that why you left New York?”

She looked in front of her, furrowing her eyebrows and nodding, “Pretty much. Just time to head somewhere a little more chilled.”

A cold breeze swept past the two. It was incredible timing.

“Well it’s certainly chilled here!” The wind gave Billy the perfect opportunity to try and lift the mood. A smile rested on his face, his joke seemed like one of the funniest things in the world seeing as Y/n had that same smile.

“Yeah...”

“It’s chilled as in cold...” Oh no. ‘Why the fuck am I so awkward?”

“Yeah.” ‘Oh dear god she noticed.’

The two decided to swing a bit more. With the conversation at a pause, that was honestly probably needed, Y/n and Billy swung their legs back and forth. competition started. They both tried to see who could go higher, Y/n won and smiled slightly while Billy smiled and chuckled with accepting defeat.

After they finished their fun, Billy and Y/n hopped off the swings for a finale. They continued their conversation afterwards, light droplets of rain mixed with small snowflakes falling over their heads.

“It’s ridiculous. Isn’t it like September?”

“No...but it doesn’t snow much in Indiana...ya know, I can barely see you?” His leather jacket was suddenly not projecting as much warmth as he normally would have anticipated. “This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.”

“I think ‘Act Of God’ is a pretty decent excuse for a lousy date.”

Billy stopped in his tracks. A sneaky signature smirk crept onto his face and his usual attitude made an appearance. “So this a date, eh?”

She stopped as well and turned. “Did I say date?” He nodded. “Slip of the tongue.”

“Tongue.”

“Anyway, nights not over yet...” She turned back to where they were originally facing, “and there’s a thingy over here somewhere.”

“Thingy?”

Once again, she turned her head towards him. “A door.” She turned it back, yet again, but this time there was a door in front of them. Odd. She nodded her head over to it in a beckoning way. “Come on.”

Billy took her hand and was dragged by her over to the mysterious door.

Y/n Come Closer ( . . . )

Y/n took off her shoes and looked up at Billy. He sat at her dining room table, staring at her with awe and adoration. Y/n broke the silence and walked over to her cupboard. “What kind of tea do you want?”

He didn’t know why he took his jacket off. His arms were cradling themselves as one would when they were cold. And he was cold. “There’s more than one kind?”

She opened the cupboard. “We have,” she inhaled. “Blueberry, raspberry, ginseng, sleepytime, green tea, green tea with lemon, green tea with lemon and honey, liver disaster, ginger with honey, ginger without honey, vanilla almond, white truffle, blueberry caramel, vanilla walnut, constant comment annnnnd...earl gray.”

When her sentence was finished, Y/n turned to face a wide eyed Billy. “Did you make some of those up?”

She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a box, “I think I’ll have sleepytime.”

“That sounds good to me...”

She made the tea and set it on the table. Billy’s position didn’t go unnoticed by her, “Want me to get you a blanket?” Her eyebrows were raised with amusement.

“That would actually be...awesome.”

Y/n walked away into her room. A few minutes passed. More minutes. Billy was almost done with his tea. He wondered where she went. He wondered why she was taking so long. Billy decided to go into her room and check on her, making a grunt-like wheeze.

Facing her closet, she was taking off her shirt. Upon hearing him, she turned and raised her arms. “Dude I’m changing.” She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that he just walked in on her while he bra was the only thing covering her chest.

Billy let out a small, “Ah, sorry!” and covered his eyes. “I’m just cold...”

“Here. That help?”

“Yeah...that’s very warm...What is that?” His hands slowly left his face. “Oh- kaaay...” Y/n was standing right in front of him with a cheeky grin on her lips. He leaned in and kissed her. It was finally happening. Their lips danced together, it felt like they had rehearsed the dance for so long yet in reality they were very new to each other.

The make out session with Y/n was all it took to break Billy. He was in love and he couldn’t deny it. As their passion turned rough and intense, he thought of how happy he felt and how he wouldn’t normally feel that with a girl.

They finally pulled away. Billy’s arms were around Y/n and one of her hands was on his shoulder, her arms laying loosely, and her other was clutching his side under his arm.

“Were you just gonna...bring the blanket from your bed?”

“I guess...” Her voice was soft, unlike her previous dead tone. Billy managed to shatter her “hardcore” exterior with a simple make out session. Or so he thought, if you asked anyone what they thought, they’d say Y/n managed to break him within their first conversation and then decided to let him in after touching her lips to his.

“Maybe we should...both get under it...since we’re both so cold...”

“What about our tea?”

Of course. The tea. Billy didn’t give a fuck about the tea. “I can...not have tea.”

The night went on with passion and...lust. They stripped down to their underwear and continued making out on Y/n’s bed. At some point they got under the blankets and Y/n leaned over Billy to continue their rough kissing. When it was “just about to get good”, Y/n pulled away from Billy.

“I changed my mind.”

“...changed it from what?”

“I don’t want to have sex with you Hargrove.” She moved over beside Billy, laying on his arm and snuggling into his side. “Not right now.”

Another, “Oooh- kay?” escaped Billy’s mouth. As usual, he didn’t know if he should feel hurt, angered or just plain okay with it. He longed for Y/n. She was his addiction, better than any drug. In his mind, he made the exception; feel bad about it later, stay with her for now.

“It’s not like I’m gonna send you home in this weather or anything, you can sleep in my bed. And I reserve the right to change my mind about the sex later.” At least he had a chance.

“This is...nice. Just this...” He was referencing their semi-cuddling forms. “It’s been like, a really long time so I think I needed this...whatever it is so...thank you.”

Y/n leaned over and kissed his cheek, “You’re welcome.” He wrapped his arms around her when she wrapped one of her arms around his neck.

. . .

Billy and his basketball team were just having some harmless fun. It was a game, and school was out for the day. No one could do anything bad, right? Wrong.

Read to show off, Billy brought the new girl to the gym. Max was dragged along since Billy was her ride home. He and his team were horribly distracted by the pretty girl now known as Billy’s first official girlfriend. Scowls and mean looks were given to Y/n by the other girls at school, purely out of jealousy. This morning, Y/n was walked down the hall of Hawkins’ high under Billy’s arm, wolf whistles and more sounded around them.

A weird looking guy stormed into the room, “MR. HARGROVE. IT IS I, MATTHEW PATEL. CONSIDER OUR FIGHT,” Y/n looked horrified. She was pale and breathing unsteadily. The guy who had announced himself to be Matthew moved his head slightly, nodding his hair out of his face. “BEGUN!”

He ran at Billy. ‘What is this kid on?’ Time felt like it was moving in slow motion. “What did I do...?” His voice was slow. He really was moving in slow motion. “What do I do...” Matthew launched himself into the air with his fist raised. He aimed himself to punch at Billy.

Tommy gripped the shoulders of the boys next to him, leaning forward and yelling with entertainment. “Fight!”

Billy’s eyebrows furrowed. His fists clenched. He threw the basket ball to the side and shifted to a fighting stance. He blocked Matthew’s punch with his arm and reversed their roles. He swung his fist at Matthew’s face, somehow knocking him to the side of the room. Tommy, Max and Y/n’s eyes widened, as well as everyone else’s in the room.

Matthew still refused to give up. He jumped in front of Billy, “Alright! Alright...”

Max yelled from the bleachers. “Watch out!” They all turned to her. “It’s that one guy.”

“Ha!” Matthew smiled mischievously and ran at Billy again. Sadly, some people just don’t learn from their mistakes. Billy threw an uppercut to Matthews chin, sending him flying to the back of the room. Billy got in some extra punches while Matthew was still down. The two landed in front of each other, most of the people in the gym now gathered around them.

Matthew blew dust off his shoulders and turned to Billy before laughing a laugh that could’ve been mistaken for a villain’s. They started to circle each other, Mathew taking a step to the left and Billy taking a step to the right, “Well well well...you’re quite the opponent.” His neck moved left and then moved back to the right after each syllable when he said, “Hargrove.”

“Who the hell are you anyway?”

“My name,” he swung his right arm up into the air, his left clenched in a fist that met his collar bone. “is Matthew Patel! And I’m Y/n’s FIRST,” Matthew lifted his pointer finger on his left hand and moved his arm to the side. He moved his fingers so that his pinky, ring and middle fingers were out, his thumb and pointer finger touching so that the tips were smooshed together. He turned back to Billy, “evil ex boyfriend.” His shoulders moved up and down one at a time when he said boyfriend. When his hand went down, he let out a growl.

“Her what?” Everyone’s heads turned to Y/n.

She turned to Max and the other people on the right of her. Y/n nervously smiled, “Anyone need a drink?”

A fight initiated between the two boys, fists and feet being used. The grunts coming from both males were loud. Surely, at least one of them would have bruises after this.

Max made a face of massive confusion, looking around for any clues of the situation. Her older brother kept fighting the abnormal kid. After a few more swings, Billy, again, realized how confusing this really was. He wanted to ask beforehand, but this Matthew guy was really determined to teach Billy a lesson.

“Wait!” He held out his hand in a stopping motion. “We’re fighting over Y/n?” He personally had no problem with it, but the “Evil Ex” thing was getting to his head.

Matthew lowered his fist slightly, “didn’t you get my letter explaining the situation?”

“I skimmed it...”

Max squeezed her eyes shut and clicked her tongue. “Mm mm.” She shook her head with her disconfirming noise.

Matthew only seemed to grow madder. “You will pay for your INSOLENCE!” He threw kick after kick after kick, all of which were blocked by Billy. The anger fueled him to the point where Billy could only do few attacks with little time. Just as Billy was gaining the upper hand, Matthew socked him square in the face with both fists, then his right foot with a jump spinning kick.

The people in the crowd behind Billy caught him when he fell backwards from the attack, pushing him forwards and urging him to continue with the fight. Matthew backed up one foot at a time and did weird dance, finishing it off with pulling his coat forward a bit so the dust came off of it and tilting his left foot upwards.

“Hey.” Max leaned forward, gaining the attention of two boys as well as everyone else in the gym. “What’s up with his outfit?”

“Yeah. Is he a pirate?” Laughter flooded the room at Tommy’s observation.

Billy was also curious. “Are you a pirate?” He asked Matthew in a simple and genuinely asking way. Unfortunately, Matthew looked caught off guard and offended.

“Pirates are in this year!” He wasn’t shouting, but he said it with a sassy and upset tone. “Gah!” This time he did shout. His fist was aimed at Billy, and his feet were already moving forward.

More attacks were made. Billy finally did have the upper hand. After Matthew tried to hit Billy’s face again, Billy caught his arms and held them to his chest. His eyes and head turned to Y/n. He was pissed off now. “You really went out with this guy?”

Everyone faced Y/n now. “Yeah.” She stood up and leaned forward, “In the 5th grade.”

Silence. Billy looked around, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he spoke up again, “And?”

She sighed. “It was football season and for some reason, all the little jocks wanted me. Matthew was the only nonwhite nonjock boy in town, so the two of us joined forces and we took 'em all down. We brawled and scrapped, fought for hours. Nothing could beat Matthew’s mystical powers. We only kissed once. After a week and a half, I told him to hit the showers.”

Matthew was full of rage. His furrowed eyebrows and reddened skin could do nothing but confirm that statement.

“Dude wait- mystical powers?” Billy was confused. Unluckily for him, Matthew took advantage of his distracted state and broke free from his grip. Music started playing in the background. Matthew pushed Billy and turned to Y/n, holding out his pointer finger and pointing at her. The veins on his forehead were bulging.

“You’ll pay for this,” He paused for a second. Y/n was visibly afraid. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was was ajar. Matthew finished his sentence with a slight raspy sound to his voice, “L/n.” He swiftly turned to Billy and started dancing and singing. It’s a cringey dance and song to say the least.

“If you want to fight me,”

Max made the same confused face as she had previously. “What!?” She knew it was dumb to pick a fight with Billy, but to sing and dance while doing so? And to get her exes together so they could fight Billy? Were they that dumb?

“Hah! You’re not the brightest.

You won’t know what hit you,

in the sligh-igh-ightest.”

He made sounds with his mouth, floating into the air. Black and white colored girls, kind of like those old animations on tv, were summoned around him. They looked like someone wanted to make demon girls but was a perverted guy who loves hipsters.

“This guy’s good-” One of the basketball team members spoke. He too was wide eyed and confused as fuck.

“Me and my fireballs,

my demon hipster chicks!”

Looks like he was right about hipsters.

“Tell ‘em Matty.” They had a seductive-like voice. With a closer look, Billy could see that their eyes were like snakes. Their teeth were sharp too.

“I’m talking thee talk,

‘Cause I know I’m slick!” He winked before his weird demons spoke again.

“S-L-ICK.”

“Fireball-balls!” He threw the fireball at Billy, who thankfully dodged it in time. Gasps were heard around the room. At least it wasn’t just Billy seeing this shit. “Take this sucker out!” More flames erupted from his hands, shooting at Billy again.

“We’ll show him

What we’re all about!”

“That doesn’t even rhyme!” Billy finished off his sentence by throwing the now broken ring from the hoop at Matthew like a frizzbe. It hit him in the head and caused him to flip backwards a bit. His demons disappeared and it was his turn for his eyes to widen.

‘This is impossible. How can this be?’

Somehow, Billy heard and responded to Matthew’s thoughts with his own, ‘Open your eyes. Maybe you’ll see.’ He jumped at Matthew and returned the punch that had formerly knocked him back into the crowd.

Though, something strange happened this time. When Billy’s fist made contact with Matthew’s skin, he slowly fell a bit, but when he hit the ground, his body turned into 9 quarters. Everyone except for Tommy, Max, Carol, Billy and Y/n continued acting normal. The difference with them and the 5 others were that they had no memory of this “Matthew Patel” or of any fight. The damage in the gym was restored, but still. The 5 of them knew what happened and didn’t know quite yet that no one else did.

“Sweet! Coins!”

“Coins that’re mine, shortstack.” Billy took the remains of Matthew from the poor kid holding them. He walked outside, following the other 4 to discuss what just happened.

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dxmerogers · 5 years

Text

lost without you

i don’t usually put warnings at the beginning of my works bc they’re all fine and this one is too, but i will warn you that there’s ther slightest, ittiest, bittiest, hint of like a daddy kink but i don’t wanna call it a kink bc it’s not even steamy so more of like a dynamic?? idk it’s just that there’s an age gap and that dynamic comes into play. anyway there’s a 17 year age gap and it kinda sorta shows that is all please enjoy :)

“I’m home!” I called, dropping my keys on the table by my door. “I saw your car parked in front of the building, I know you’re here,” I told him, hoping to coax him out of wherever he had placed himself, probably on my couch.

“Living room, sweetheart,” my boyfriend answered, just like I had suspected.

“What are you doing here?” I wondered, finding my way to the living room, bending to press a kiss to his soft lips, smiling weakly as I felt the hair on his face tickle my cheek.

“Got your texts, all fifteen of them. Figured you needed more than an empty apartment tonight. Thought we could order Chinese food and watch a movie or something?”

“Sounds good, but,” I hesitated, we had been dating for six months now but I was still shy about asking him to do things for me. “can you jus’ hold me for a little bit first?” I finish, falling on top of where he was laying on the couch.

“That bad, huh?” He welcomed me into his arms, folding them over my back, pulling me further into his chest, kissing the top of my head before settling his face into my hair, stroking it gently with his hand. All I could do was nod in response to his question. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked with concern, sitting both of us up gently, moving me so that my knees were bent over his lap. I leaned into him, resting the side of my face on his chest. His arm wrapped around my back, resting on my waist. His other hand found the outside of my thigh, rubbing soft, reassuring patterns over the fabric of the coffee-stained jeans I had come home from work in.

“Well,” I sigh, simultaneously appreciating that he wanted to hear about my truly shitty day and reliving in my mind just how royally shitty my day had been, “I guess it actually started last night. I forgot to turn my alarm on, so I woke up late. I rushed out of the house, realized that my socks were mismatched, I spent all day with my feet looking like Christmas.”

“That sounds awful,” he mused into my hair.

“I’m just getting started,” I chuckled cynically. “Next, I went to get my coffee, because at least that could help, right? Wrong. I spilled it all over my jeans, I had to walk around the office all morning with damp denim sticking to my legs. It was terrible. Then, I realized I forgot to pack a lunch in my efforts to make the train on time. So, I went downstairs to get something from the deli and decided to take the stairs, to get my steps in. On the way back up, the heel of my shoe got stuck in the grating of a stair and snapped off.”

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. Which shoes?”

“The ones you bought me,” my voice fell quiet as the tears started. This is so dumb, it just a pair of shoes! Despite my voice of reason telling me that I was totally overreacting, I continued to recount my sorrows. “And they were my favorite pair, and of course, because today wasn’t already enough of a shitshow, the whole network shut down this afternoon, everyone has to go in Saturday morning to make up for lost time. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Chris! It couldn't just be today, no, this bully of a day had to mess with my weekend, too!” I finally finished, a steady river of salt water streaming down my cheeks.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Shhh, I’m here, it’s gonna be okay,” Chris reassured me, resting his hand under my chin, using two fingers to tilt my face up to look him in the eyes. His face twisted into a look of sympathy. He used his thumb to wipe my tears, pressing a kiss to my lips, not caring at all that they were wet and salty. I leaned into his touch, reaching up to wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to me. The hand that had been resting on my thigh found its way to my waist, the other one moving to guide me up over his lap so that I was straddling him. I moved my hands to his cheeks, running my fingers through the rough brown hair that was growing there. Nothing about the kiss moved past the tender motive he had initiated it with, to make me feel a little bit better, and by god, did it work. He’s so good with his lips, the way they mold with mine, drawing apart and colliding again, every little collision like a reminder of how much he loves me. I let myself melt into him, into the kiss, desperate to get my terrible day as far from my mind as humanly possible.

I’m not sure how long we sat like that, on my couch, kissing like there was no tomorrow. Neither of us felt like taking it any further at the moment, so we didn’t. When we finally pulled away, I leaned forward to bury my face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. “Can we order that Chinese food now?”

He chuckled lightly, his shoulder shaking under my forehead. “Sure. Why don’t you go change and put on some pajamas and then pick out a movie, I’ll order the food?” His hands holding my waist, thumbs rubbing small circles where they landed.

“M’kay,” I mumbled, sitting up slowly. He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose before standing up with me. I slipped into my coziest pajamas, they consisted of an old pair of sweats and one of Chris’ old t-shirts that I had reclaimed as my own.

I met him back on the couch, he was flipping through Netflix. “That shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me, you know.” I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks. “What do you wanna watch?” he asked, helping me curl up in his lap again, covering us with one of the throw blankets I kept in my living room.

“How about The Perfect Score?”

“No,” he stated.

“Please? I love that move, I promise I won’t make you watch it again for like a really, really long time. Come on, I need this tonight.”

“Fine,” he sighed, pressing play. “Food’s supposed to be here in about half an hour.”

“Kay,” I mumbled, snuggling further into his chest as his arms wound their way under my own, wrapping securely around my waist. my hands found his as they rest on my stomach, playing gently with his fingers. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“What for?” he asked.

“For taking care of me. I didn’t ask you to come over here, you know. You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but my babygirl needed some comfort, and as your boyfriend, it’s my job to provide said comfort. I love you, I hate it when you’re sad. It makes me sad,” he whispered against my hair. “But I don’t do this because I feel like I have to, please don’t feel like you’re forcing me to do anything, ever, baby. I do it because I love you.”

“I love you too, Chris,” I told him, turning around to kiss him. “I’d be so lost without you.”

“You’d be lost? I think you have that mixed up, sweetheart.”

“Maybe we just help each other find their way, but we’d have no clue where to go without the other.”

“Sounds about right.” We paused, staring into each other’s eyes, lost in some sort of trance, interrupted only by the sound of the buzzer ringing over the intercom. “That’s our food,” Chris stated, standing up after me to follow me to the door.

“Wait, don’t go. Can you just stay? I, you know what? Nevermind,” I mumbled, hesitating to ask him for anything more. Our movie was finished, we were cuddling on the couch, Chris said he had an audition early the next morning o he needed to get to sleep. I didn’t want him to go, I just needed his arms around me.

“You, what?” he prodded, staring into my eyes.

“I feel like I need you here tonight,” I mumbled.

“I’d love to stay, baby. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Because you’ve already given your whole night to be with me, I mean, you have a life of your own, I don’t want to stop you from living that part of your life too.”

“I don’t do it because I have to, I do it because I love you. So, off to bed then?”

hiii i’m honestly soso proud of thisss.

#Chris Evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans oneshot #fluff #relationship #agegap #comfort #imagine #oneshot #chris #evans

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dr-gloom · 5 years

Text

Ssserpentine

A/N: Based on this post by @princeanxious. Dimitri elongates his s’s because the accident left him with some impaired speech that he’s been working to fix. One such method of teaching the ‘s’ sound is to draw it out; unfortunately, many folks tend to normalize this technique so any SLP/SLPA worth their salt tries not to use it if they don’t have to. Virgil’s piercing

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Platonic Prinxiety, familial/brotherly Moceit, possible/hinted at Anxceit, possible/hinted at Royality

Words: 2,393

Summary: After an accident leaves Dimitri physically scarred and half blind, he decides to take back his confidence and turn his blemish into a statement. And of course his family are going to fully support him.

Tags/Warnings: swearing, blindness, mentions of pain, tattooing, sympathetic deceit

Fics Masterpost

Read it on AO3

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Dimitri sat in his car, anxiously tapping the steering wheel and staring at the sign of the tattoo parlor he’d meticulously researched for. Out of all the places close to him, this place seemed to have the best reviews and the pricing was decent (from what he could tell). They even were one of the few places who openly stated that they could tattoo over scars, which is apparently harder to do, or something. All things considered, this was like Dimitri’s Eden. His first-pick college. His safe place.

Okay, really? He was being so weird about this. Just get out of the car already, doofus.

Dimitri takes a shaky breath and opens his door, stepping out into the parking lot. He forces himself forward, approaching the tattoo parlor with determined steps. When he’s about ten feet away he suddenly stops and turns around heading back for his car.

“Nope, can’t do thisss. Absssolutely not. Thisss wasss a horrible idea.”

He grips the door handle, staring at his reflection in the window. The mottled skin that makes up about half of the left side of his face glares back at him like a neon sign. He looks at the glass eye; the green iris and reptilian pupil had drawn his interest the moment he laid eyes on it, and Patton, sweet, loving, never-judgmental Patton had told him to go for it. “It’d be so cool!” he said. So Dimitri had done it.

It was largely the inspiration for the tattoo he wanted to get.

The one he was currently stalling on by staring at his reflection in his car window.

Dimitri groans and lets go of the door handle, turning back to the building.

“Jussst do it. Come on. Jussst…. Walk in, tell them what you want, and get it over with.”

He nods to himself and starts walking towards the door. His hand’s nearly on the door handle when he chickens out, turning around. He walks with quick, rushed steps back towards his car, his face burning. He was being an idiot.

“You know, I don’t think we have extension cords long enough to give you a tattoo outside, as fun as that would be.”

Dimitri spins around at the voice, looking over the man standing a few feet away. The man is dressed in torn black skinny jeans, black boots, and an MCR tank that leaves his tattooed arms exposed. His purple dye-dipped hair is sideswept just out of his eyes, as if he brushed it aside so he could see better. Soft brown eyes look at Dimitri with an undercurrent of understanding, a playful smirk on his viper bite-pierced lips. Dimitri’s brain stutters to a stop. “Wh-what?”

The man - more than likely one of the tattoo artists - thumbs over his shoulder at the tattoo parlor. “You gonna come inside or what?”

Dimitri gives a halting nod, shifting from foot to foot. “Oh, yeah, I jussst…”

The man shrugs. “I get it dude; first time jitters. Happens to the best of us. Come on, I’ll help you out.” He starts walking towards the door and Dimitri follows, walking quickly to catch up to him. “Name’s Virgil, I’m one of the tattoo artists.”

“Dimitri.”

Virgil nods and holds open the door for Dimitri. “So what can we do for you today, Dimitri?”

“I want a tattoo.”

Virgil snrks. “Well I figured that, dude. What are you thinking of getting?”

Dimitri walks into the parlor, looking around. There are tattoo designs pinned up to the walls, focused mainly around the work stations. Two other employees are in the parlor; one at the front desk reading, and another at his workstation tattooing a customer. Dimitri glances at Virgil. “....Sssnake ssskin. On my faccce.”

Virgil hums and nods, moving to sit on his stool. “Okay, sounds cool. A few things; one, the face is pretty sensitive, so unless your scarring - I’m assuming this will go over your scar?” At Dimitri’s nod, he continues, “So unless your scarring killed those nerves, it will hurt. Two, we won’t be tatting you up today, because I need to plan this out. I figure it gives you a little time to decide if you really want this anyways, so what’s the harm. Are you thinking something like broken skin, or just scales?”

Dimitri sits on the padded chair, glancing at the designs pinned to the wall behind Virgil. “I don’t even know what broken ssskin meansss.”

Virgil grins and pulls out a binder, opening it and flipping through it. Dimitri catches the occasional glimpse of a drawing; Virgil’s personal portfolio, he’s guessing. Virgil stops and points at a page. “This is broken skin. It’s a design I did for a client a while back.” The design was of tiger print, drawn in such a way that it looked like the paper had been broken almost like an egg shell to expose the print. Dimitri studies the art piece for a moment before he shakes his head. “I think I’ll jussst go with sssnake ssscalesss.”

Virgil nods, closing the binder and putting it back where he got it from. “Sounds good. How about we exchange numbers so I can send you design plans for you to OK. Sound good?” Dimitri nods. “Good. Logan will book you an appointment a couple weeks out so we have time to get it just right. It was nice meeting you, Dimitri.” Virgil gestures to the man reading up front and sticks his fist out. Dimitri eyes the appendage with a look that just says, “Seriously?” before tapping his own fist against Virgil’s and getting up, heading up to the front desk.

Virgil sits with his feet on the cushioned chair, his sketchbook propped up on his thighs. He taps the end of his pencil against his bottom lip as he thinks, staring at the blank page before him.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for an hour. Lose the ability to draw?”

Virgil glared across the room at his coworker. “No, asshole, I’m just thinking. Something you don’t do enough of.”

The man gives an offended gasp, placing a hand to his chest. “Excusez-moi. Rude, much?”

“You started it, Ro.”

Silence for all of thirty seconds, and then, “Seriously, what’s got you so stumped?”

Virgil sighs and lets his feet fall to the floor, tossing the sketchbook onto the padded chair. “New client wants a snakeskin face.”

Roman’s lip curls in thinly-veiled disturbance. “What, like…. His whole face?”

Virgil scoffs. “No, dumbass. He has a really big scar on the left side. Wants to cover it.” Roman hums in understanding. “I’m just kind of… Strapped for ideas right now. Everything I can think of looks too… Stupid.”

Roman props his feet up against the wall. “Well, what’s the scar look like?”

Virgil digs out his phone and pulls up the conversation with Dimitri. After they’d gotten him squared away for an appointment that was now only a week away, Virgil had asked Dimitri to text him a picture of the scar as reference. Virgil tapped the photo to enlarge it, handing the phone to Roman. Roman looked at the picture for a moment, his lips quirked to the side in thought.

“I may have an idea.”

“Dude, they look like freaking… Those gems from Zelda. This sucks.”

“Well I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas!”

“Actually, yeah, I did.”

“But are they good enough?”

“.....”

“That’s what I thought.”

Virgil’s phone going off at 2 am was not how he wanted to be woken up. Especially not on a Saturday. Wasn’t this supposed to be the one day he got to sleep in? Why did the universe hate him?

“H’llo?”

“Virgil! I figured it out! Get down here now, you have to see this!”

“Can’t you just text it to me?”

Cue the offended gasp. “Text it to you? I’m offended you’d even ask!”

Virgil groans, sitting up and grabbing his boots. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“....Huh.”

Roman fidgets with his fingers, studying Virgil’s expression for any hint of disapproval. “So?”

Virgil sets the sketchbook back on the table and pulls out his phone. “Only one way to find out.”

Roman grins as Virgil snaps a photo and sends it to Dimitri.

Dimitri sat once again in his car, staring at the tattoo parlor several yards ahead of him. He tapped on the steering wheel, the tapping of his finger matching the beating of his heart. Did he really want to do this? A tattoo was more or less permanent, and this was… Well, he definitely wouldn’t be able to blend into the crowd once he went through with this.

Patton laid his hand on top of Dimitri’s, effectively stopping his twin’s tapping. “Come on, Di, it’ll be fine! You’ll look so cool, like a… What are they called… Like a Basilisk! Well…. Half of you, anyways.” He laughs lightly.

His twin’s laugh draws a small smile out of Dimitri, and he sighs. “People are going to think I’m a freak.”

“Then I’ll beat them up!”

Dimitri laughs. “You can’t even clap me on the shoulder without worrying you hurt me.”

Patton pouts and crosses his arms. “Yeah, but you’re my twin, of course I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Dimitri doesn’t respond to that, just looking through his windshield at the tattoo parlor. “Well… Don’t want to be late for my appointment.” He steels his nerves and steps out of the car, Patton’s door shutting a moment after his. Patton moves to his side and takes his hand, and even though Dimitri can’t see him he knows his twin is giving him a reassuring smile. He takes a deep breath and starts walking with Patton towards the parlor.

Dimitri grips Patton’s hand tightly as the needle moves over his skin, trying not to squeeze his eyes shut too tightly or he’d risk crinkling his skin and messing Virgil up.

“It’s okay, Di. I gotcha. You’re okay. It’s gonna look great.”

What felt like an eternity later, Virgil set his machine down and sighed. “Alright, we’re done. Let’s talk aftercare.” He turns on his stool and grabs the supplies he’d set aside at the beginning, bandaging up Dimitri’s face. “So you don’t want to take this off for a few hours. At least two, though to be safe leave it on for three or four if you can. You’ll want to have it covered overnight to prevent the sheets sticking to you or getting stained, so you might just wanna leave it on unless it’s rubbing your skin uncomfortably or falling off already. You’re gonna wanna make sure your sheets stay clean for at least the first two weeks; this means you shouldn’t do anything in bed other than sleeping, to avoid crumbs, pencil shavings, whatever. Once you take off the bandages, you need to immediately wash your skin. We typically recommend something gentle and plain like Dial soap, definitely nothing with a fragrance or those little cleansing beads.”

Patton nods, scribbling the instructions into his notepad. Dimitri’s glad not for the first time today that he brought his twin along.

Virgil’s coworker walks over, his hands in his pockets. “So how’d it go?”

Virgil shrugged. “Pretty good. Dude didn’t even cry.”

The other man swore under his breath and handed a smirking Virgil ten dollars. Virgil turns to Dimitri. “This is Roman, he helped me design your tattoo.”

“Helped? I practically did it myself!”

“It was a 50/50 effort and you know it.”

“....Still.”

Patton jumps up, grinning at Roman. “Hi, I’m Patton! Dimitri’s twin.”

Roman grins at Patton and slings an arm over his shoulder. “Well hello, my fair prince.”

Patton giggles. Virgil groans. Dimitri rolls his eyes.

Great, just what he needs. Some guy hitting on his twin.

Thomas grins as he looks over Dimitri’s face, holding his adopted son’s jaw gently to turn his head. “It looks good! It healed well. You look so cool.”

“That’s what I said!”

Dimitri rolls his eyes. “You two are alwaysss ssso posssitive. It’sss naussseating.”

“Awwww, you love us!”

“....Shut up.”

“Di Di Di Di! Look!”

Dimitri spins his chair around to face his twin, who stands in his doorway bouncing on the balls of his feet with a large grin. Dimitri raises an eyebrow. “Yesss?”

Patton runs over to his twin, showing him his bandaged wrists. “I got tattoos! They’re on my ankles too. Roman did them for me!”

Dimitri’s eyes widen and he gently grips Patton’s arms, turning them to get a look at the bandages. “You got tattoosss? Why? What of?”

Patton grins. “They’re snake scales, just like you!”

Dimitri blinks, processing what he just heard. “Pat…”

“You’re so strong, Di, and I’m so proud of you for not letting your scar define you. I love being your twin.”

Dimitri lets go of Patton’s wrists to hug his twin around his waist, pressing his face into Patton’s stomach. Patton giggles and runs his fingers through Dimitri’s wavy hair. “Love you too.”

“Out of the way, old man.” Dimitri jokes, grinning as he lightly shoves Thomas. The soft hiss he gets in reply has his grin turning into a concerned frown. “Dad?”

Thomas waves him off, grinning. “Oh, don’t worry about it Di. I’m fine!”

“Sssomehow I don’t believe you.”

Thomas frowns, then sighs. “Alright, well… I’d wanted to wait until it was healed to show you, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” Dimitri is about to ask what he’s talking about when Thomas pulls his shirt up, exposing a bandage taped over the left side of his chest. Dimitri’s eyes widen.

“What happened?”

“I got a tattoo! It’s those scales, like yours and Pat’s. Right over my heart, because I love my boys.”

Dimitri flushes, staring at the bandage. After a moment, he gives Thomas a mischievous grin, poking his chest. “Actually, your heart’sss about… Right here.”

Thomas frowns. “What, really? Aw, man!”

Dimitri laughs. “It’sss fine. I like it. I bet it looksss ‘cool’.”

Dimitri sighs, pressing the phone to his ear and listening to it ring before the person on the other end picks up with a tired sounding, “yo”.

“Are you and Roman coming over for movie night? Dad wantsss to know.”

He can practically hear the grin in Virgil’s voice. “Movie night with the serpent Sanders? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Taglist:

@hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2 @tanyatoloni1334

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #thomas sanders

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fanesavin · 5 years

Photo

The Driftwood Prince and Lady Florent share last words and a creature is loose in the castle.

@thatwhichbindsus @ianncardero

Iann paced. He could hear the cries and calls from outside of the Keep. After the funeral, which both placated and incited the commonfolk, the gates of the Keep were now open, to an extent. People were allowed in, Nobles were allowed out. The Inquisition was drawing to a close, the Cloverry on its way to choosing another High Raj. The funeral was perfect, in a way - as was the destruction of the Kesleys, as was even that incredible assassination attempt in the Lower City on the Queen of Dark Woods. People got the burst of excitement (and since it happened in the Lower City it wasn’t too alarming; terrible things happened to poor people all the time), they got the closure they wanted in the might and majesty of Sharma’s funeral. And now they wanted to move on. But the needed the Castle - and the Sunlit Throne in particular - to tell them how they were to move on. Prepare for war, or settle into peace? This middle-state of anxiety could go one way or another. The crown was now removed from the Sunlit Throne itself, and Iann headed to the Great Hall, to look at the empty throne, no longer guarded. There was no more need. It sat there, in a sliver of sun, as if aching for someone to be seated in it. With the boldness of an impatient man, Iann took a step up to the dias, then turned to look out over the Great Hall, if only to understand that vantage point.

“Not quite the same view as the Driftwood throne is it, my Lord?” Ciara asked, approaching him as if she had always been just beside him. Her hair was twisted up - she had been working, until not so long ago. Black dress and black gloves, each befitting her grief as Lady Florent, the little known lady, not as the master of whispers. Her face was fixed as stone, as she looked him over, standing up. He hadn’t been standing much further than this when he had slit the throat of that herald. It had prevented panic, but at what cost? What a fine act it had been too. Cast himself as one of the heroes of the hour. Be interrogated early, when all the pieces were still hidden, rather than later on.

Iann was gazing at the spot on the floor, so near the flagstone of the Forty Isles. The blood from the herald had almost reached it, but not quite. “You know your way around this Castle better than I,” Iann replied with a glance at the Lady, words intending to imply that she was very good at sneaking. “This is no view for me,” he added, casting his gaze back over the Great Hall. He looked to the left of him, which opened up to the ocean. “I get news of my father almost every day, now.” He turned to look to Ciara. “I believe the new Coronation will be swift, once a High Raj is chosen and then we shall all be on our way again, under whatever manner of peace we can take.” Like feeding off meagre scraps, rather than a full belly after a feast. Perhaps it was better that way. “You’ll plan to remain in the Castle, I assume.”

“Does his news concern you?” She asked, sidestepping his comments as easily as she sidestepped bodies. Ciara had her hands clasped before her, her head tilted, watching, her eyes seeking. “Perhaps. Who would you see on the throne, that would give us peace?” She stepped aside, glancing to the sea also, and wondered whether it called his name out loud, or only whispered it in the dead of night. “Wherever I am wanted.”

“No, not wherever you are wanted,” he said with a smile, recalling their last conversation. “You feel most useful here, don’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation, just a mild realization. As a Prince he had the luxury of feeling wanted, and useful, everywhere he went. He took it for granted that people would want his company (while others detested his presence but had no choice but to accept it). Third daughters of fallen lands didn’t have that advantage, of course. She needed a purpose, whereas he could drift on a whim. “I want who ever the people would find peace and contentment in…” But then Iann frowned when he said it. He’d observed Cassandra’s actions, since the High Raj’s death. Although Iann honestly couldn’t fathom that she was behind Sharma’s demise, he did notice her political manoeuvring towards becoming beloved by the people, ingratiated to the Cloverry. He’d been prepared for that possibility. He’d even been planning to offer Cassandra his ally-ship and support. But then he’d heard news that perhaps Miguel had gotten to Cassandra first. And on top of that, Miguel and Ciara were also seen together, heads bent towards each other. “My father’s news always concerns me. That much should be obvious by now,” Iann said, his voice sounding heavy.

“Where I am wanted is usually where I am useful,” Ciara replied in measured tones. Here, she had evidence. Here, she had the capacity to shape a new era of peace, to help Miguel help people (even if that was to Lord Iann’s loss), to forge trade and bring in a new era of prosperity. Bring her family honour. It was selfish, but also kind. His answer was plain and diplomatic, his face as revealing as a thunderstorm. The thought vexed him, as it did her. “I did not mean to diminish your father’s health,” she said softly, and found herself walking closer once more.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Iann said drily. How much reach did Lady Florent have, exactly? She held secrets, that much he’d known for years, ever since the secret she held for him. How likely was she then to help Miguel do what Iann never would: patricide? His father was ailing and weak, but he’d been a good ruler. If Iann was impatient for the man to die, it was only so Iann could rule properly. But he would wait. He wasn’t sure his younger brother would, especially now that the Inquisition was drawing to a close. Iann grew colder, like a Northern sea. He thought of the Inquisitor, likely longing to return to that predictable, unforgiving cold. “Is there something you need from me, my Lady? I’m at your service.”

“Your observation skills perhaps,” Ciara replied, as he became cold and sharper still. Her bones ached - like everyone else, she was tired. She lay asleep at night with guards watching every corner, and since she had soaked her hands in the blood of lord kesley, she could think of nothing but. “Have I done something to offend you, my lord?”

Iann turned to look at her. “Don’t presume to answer my question with questions of your own, Lady of Florent,” Iann replied. “You wear innocence and naivety like a flimsy veil that does nothing to hide your scars.”

Like all men, he snapped and snarled, a rabid dog baring its teeth in warning. Ciara raised an eyebrow, and did not once shift in the breeze. She could not ask him to mind herself, nor threaten him. She had no armies, no true power. Just the servants in the walls. “Perhaps, but my veils suit you well, do they not?”

There was no snap or snarl to his voice. Iann wasn’t behaving rabidly, nor was he baring any figurative teeth in warning. Why would he need to, when their ranking was so distinct and far apart. The Lady heard what she wanted to hear, to justify her own sense of defense. “Answer my question, what do you want.”

That was an order, and Ciara lowered her head just so in respect, although as with all things, it came with a small edge. “It is no great thing, my lord. One of my servants has a daughter who cleans bedrooms in this castle. Lately, she hasn’t heard from her.” Ciara lowered her voice slightly, as she was about to discuss baser things. “Of course, with this many people in so small a space, it is not so surprising. I wondered if perhaps you knew anyone whose tastes leant that way. But do not let me take more of your time if it does not suit you. You have a great deal on your mind.”

A servant? Iann blinked, not expecting any question to do with a servant. He wasn’t stupid of course; he understood that servants could be just as useful as anything else, when it came to information at least. What he had been, was ignorant. Of course - of course a Lady of this Castle who was held in high esteem by the late High Raj, concerned herself with the business of servants. It all fell into place in Iann’s mind now: servants and secrets. “Why would I know anything of the sort. That is gossip, and I don’t think you need to come to me for that sort of illicit gossip,” Iann stated. He stated again, wording it differently yet again. “Ask me what you want to ask me, Lady.”

“I assume you know a great many things, my lord, of whatever may serve you.” Ciara tilted her head, but as she did, the door to the great hall opened, and one of the Rajisthangard stood, staring at her, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “It appears you’ll have to excuse me, your lordship.” Ciara said, with a tone suitable for any nobility interupted by the commonfolk.

“As you wish,” Iann replied, watching her leave, at the cue of a Rajisthangard who’d clearly come to speak to her.

Ssssnek wasss cold. Lossst. Confusssed. It’s bifurcated tongue flickered out over the cold stone of the palace floor, trying to capture a familiar scent, if one existed. It found none.

Scared Lords and Ladies shrieked and scuffled away at the sight of the snake slithering down the corridor.

Ssssnek slithered down the edge of the corridor. It’s tan, slim body was nearly five feet long, and even though it blended well with the stones, it was hard to miss such a creature. It sensed warmth ahead, and the vibrations of… prey? The warmth neared, but it was not prey. The humansss feared ssssnek, so they ran. Ssssnek was glad for thisss. For it had been drained of its venom by the woman, and would need time to replenish it’s stores.

Scared Lords and Ladies trampled and shoved one another to get away from the terrifying creature slithering the halls. “Help! Help!” their calls echoed down the corridor as they rushed and panicked shoving one another out of the way to try and get ahead down the narrow corridor.

Unsupervised NPC child was nearly trampled as the crowd of adults ran by. He thought it a game however, and turned to follow. Until he saw the curious creature moving down the corridor.

Fane heard the commotion coming from one of the corridors and frowned, heading in that direction to investigate the disturbance.

Ssssnek curled up slightly, startled at the shrill cries of the humansss as they ran from it. It nearly struck at them, but they did not come back. After a tense moment, ssssnek loosened itself and moved on.

Scared Lords and Ladies didn’t care if they trampled one another, all they cared was getting away from the snake nor did they care about the little child lost amongst the crowd. Some, thinking to get rid of enemies grabbed tunics and yanked them back to the floor to clamber ahead to survive.

Unsupervised NPC child saw the ssssnek. He smiled. His father had a book that showed drawings of them, and the boy had been fascinated since the first time he sat on his father’s knee and learned their names. But his father had never seen a serpent in his whole life. Not a real one. Perhaps he could capture this one and take it to him.

Fane seeing the rush of people coming out of one of the hallways frowned, gesturing for a couple of the guards who followed at his heel to come with him. He let some of the panicking crowds pass until there were less left in the corridor. Only then did he see the child and the ssssnek. “Lad, why don’t you come here,” he called to the child eyeing the reptile warily.

An open door along the corridor took the sssnek’s attention. It lifted it’s head slightly, flicking it’s tongue into the new space. There was warmth here. Warm stonessss… smell of… othersss. It smelled of furwearers. The serpent slid across the threshold, oblivious to the child that was reaching for it.

Unsupervised NPC child wondered why all the grownups were so frightened. He looked back down the corridor at the chaos, glad they had passed him over to run away. They always thought they knew better. But he knew about serpents. Books made you intelligent, after all. That’s what his father said. so intent was he on his quarry, that he did not see the Inquisitor as he reached for the tail of the serpent, who’s attention was on something or someone in the room (who the child also did not see), and wrapped his hand around it…

Scared Lords and Ladies continued to panic and scream into the rest of the castle their cries and wails echoing in their wake.

Fane seeing the child go to reach for the tail of the snake didn’t hesitate, he launched into a sprint stooping to catch the child under the arms and heft him out of the way before he could be bit.

Unsupervised NPC child made a sound of protest as he was snatched up. The serpent jerked it’s tail briefly as the child’s fingers brushed it’s scales, but otherwise did not turn towards him. “My Lord, I nearly had him!” the boy protested. “He was lovely. Did you see him?? And now he’s gone…” The boy sagged. “My father will be so disappointed…”

Ssssnek could feel the vibrations of the still panicking humans. They were timid creatures usually. And if the serpent had been capable of forethought, it might have realized that news of it’s escape would spread like wildfire.

Fane lifted the child out of the way despite his protests, “I know you did lad,” his words were soft but concerned as he drew him away from the serpent “but that there’s a very dangerous beastie.” He glanced at his guards who were eyeing the serpent warily, “don’t just stand there find a way to contain it, a cage or… box or something.” He carried the child down the corridor, “is your father here in the castle lad?”

But being a serpent, it’s only thoughts were of finding somewhere warm to hide, and perhaps a meal of mice. But it could not eat if it was cold. Though the smell of furbearers was strong. It slipped slowly through the room, among crates and tables and baskets, tongue flicking as it followed the scents it had picked up. Soon it had disappeared altogether, into the walls and the crevices of the keep. It would find it’s back out eventually. Perhaps in the night, when things were quiet.

Unsupervised NPC child pouted as he pointed the Lord Savin in the direction of his father and was carried away, serpentless.

#got au #got scene

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k-liight · 6 years

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Green Hearts

wow. my first fanfiction in almost two years and it's another self-insert fic. XD well, I've been working on this PPG self-insert thing on and off for a couple months now and finished it last night instead of doing my homework, oops. small warning for swearing (mostly on my part) and some smoking (that's all on Ace lmao). this will likely be a two-shot, but hopefully someone can enjoy this first part for now!

To say that Townsville is a weird city would be an understatement. What with all the crazy things in it—giant 80’s-esque monsters, mutant animals, child superheroes, boys with green skin, even fashionable demons—this place was fucking bizarre. But I kind of like that about this city. It’s definitely a lot more exciting than my former small-town home. Sure, the zany assortment of villains makes things a little dangerous, but hey, I need a little danger in my life. Besides, I don’t have much to worry about with the Powerpuff Girls protecting the city.

Except, maybe, for the Puffs themselves getting on me for hanging out with the Gangreen Gang.

Yeah, a lot of people would say that I shouldn’t be spending time with delinquents like them. But the guys of the Gangreen Gang were the first people to genuinely care about me as a person in a long time. And from what I got from interacting with them, the feeling was mutual. We’ve got more in common than I could’ve ever thought—we’re all just lonely, misunderstood people who have been judged and outcasted just for being different. They’ve never really had any friends outside of each other, and me, well, every good friend I’ve ever had eventually cut me off. And besides, I never took part in any illegal activities with them. I just liked to hang out at their shack and eat pizza with them.

Which is what I’m getting ready to do right now. I already picked up the fresh hot pizza—I bought it with my own hard-earned money, mind you—and heading towards their dump hideout. Crazy thought, me hanging out with guys like them. I still remember the day we met. I was just sitting in the park with my headphones on, drawing like I always do and minding my own business, I turn my head away for two seconds to look at a pigeon and some snot-nosed kid decides to snatch my sketchbook from me. Of course, I took off running after the dumb brat, but I’m a terrible runner, so I basically had no hope of catching the little punk. That is, until we both came face-to-face with the green guys themselves. I basically stopped right when the kid did, but I was too shocked to snatch my sketchbook back from him. Green skin?? Was something wrong with them???

“Well well well, what do we have here, boys?” Ace taunted, staring the child down.

“It ssseemsss we’ve gotsss a loner,” Snake hissed mischievously.

“He’s got a sketchbook, boss!” Arturo exclaimed, pointing at it. That made me finally snap out of my trance.

“Actually, that’s my sketchbook he’s got,” I interjected. “Can you give me that back now, kid?”

“Nuh-uh!” the kid teased, sticking his tongue out at me. “It’s my sketchbook!”

“No it isn’t!” I yelled.

“Yes it is!” he yelled back. “My sketchbook! My drawings!”

“Art theft! Art theft!”

“Lemme see dat!” Ace finally cut our argument short by snatching the sketchbook away from the kid. The rest of the gang looked over his shoulders as he opened it up and skimmed through the pages. Their eyes widened.

“Oooooh!” Billy gasped.

“Ehh, no offense, kid, but these are way too good for someone your age to draw,” Ace said. Grubber made one of his signature raspberry noises in response.

“I think the girl’s telling the truth,” Arturo agreed. The kid turned his nose up and hmphed.

“You’re no fun!” he yelled. And with that, he stormed away.

“Eh he wasn’t no fun either,” Ace scoffed. I stood there, waiting for them to return my sketchbook to me, but instead they kept on looking through it. So, I thought I may as well make conversation.

“Hey uh, thanks for getting my sketchbook away from that kid for me,” I said, scratching the back of my neck sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ace deadpanned, not looking up from the pages.

“Thessse are really good,” Snake said.

“Oh, uhh, thank you…” I shuffled my feet a bit. I wasn’t used to people seeing my art like this.

“Thisss one’sss essspecially niccce.” Snake pressed one of his long fingers against the page.

“Which one?” I came closer to the boys to see which drawing Snake was referring to. “Oh, that one?” I asked, upon discovering he was looking at a doodle of one of my fantasy characters. “Thanks.”

“So how long you been doin’ dis thing, anyway?” Ace asked.

“Oh, pfft, long time. Since like, seventh grade, I think.” I have a terrible sense of time and my memory is even worse.

“Awesssome.” Snake crossed his arms and smiled. I side-eyed them for a second or two before speaking up again.

“…So who are you guys, anyway?”

“Who are we?” Ace smirked and shoved my sketchbook into my arms, proudly pointing to himself. “We’re the Gangreen Gang! I’m Ace, and that’s Billy, Arturo, Grubber, and Snake.” He pointed to the other guys respectively.

“Well uh, it’s very nice to meet you all!” I smiled. “You can call me Light.” I figured since most of them were using nicknames why not use mine? I held my hand out for Ace to shake, but he gave it a high-five instead.

“You ain’t so bad, Light,” he said. “Maybe we’ll sees each otha’ around sometime.”

“Yeah, see you guys!” I said as they walked away. I didn’t think I would ever actually see them again. But as it turned out, we couldn’t stop running into each other. The bank, the mall, the town square, the supermarket—seemed like everywhere I went they were there too. Usually wreaking havoc, but that’s beside the point. Every time, we would give each other a holler or chit-chat in the middle of whatever we were doing, until one day Ace invited me to their place. (Actually, it was Grubber that invited me, but Ace had to translate for me.) Of course, I couldn’t say no to that. Then one visit turned to multiple visits, and before I knew it we were constantly hanging out. I found out very quickly that word gets around freakishly fast in Townsville, and soon enough everyone was talking about the Gangreen Gang’s “little friend” (I am not little, I’m 5’10”). So it didn’t take very long for the Powerpuff Girls to find out about me, either. It took a lot of convincing to assure them that I wasn’t a threat, but eventually they got the gist. They still kept a watchful eye on me, though.

In fact, they had their suspicions when I went to pick up this pizza. Those girls, they figured out that I only carry a pizza around like this when I’m going to visit the gang. I gotta give them credit for being so smart for their age. Soon enough, I notice the gang’s little shack in sight. I quicken my pace, a little paranoid that the pizza already went cold, until I stop at the door. Since they’re used to me by now, and my hands are too full to knock, I kick the door open with my foot.

“Special delivery!” I yell enthusiastically.

“Eyy, Light’s here!” Arturo says.

“Pizza time!” Billy cheers.

The little shack is abuzz with excitement, which is nice to hear. Aw yeah, being friends with them is the best. There’s just one little problem…

“Hey! How’sss it goin’, Light?”

…A slithery little problem.

“Ooohhh, hey Snake!” I set the pizza box down, and everyone digs in. “It’s going good. Same old same old.” I can feel my face heating up already. Not good. Snake shuffles towards me and grabs a slice of pizza.

“Thanksss for getting the food,” he says, leaning against the table. Grubber gives a raspberry while smiling and flashing a thumbs-up. I’m still not fluent in Grubber-speak, but that sounded like a “yeah, it’s delicious!”

“Oh it’s no problem,” I say, taking a bite of my own slice. “And I love pizza as much as you guys so win-win!”

Snake chuckles a bit. Also not good. He slinks down in his seat, then flashes me a charming smile while patting the chair beside him.

“Sssit down.”

“Eheh, well if everyone else is sitting…” I get down into the chair, even more flustered. Shit, we’re close. I can really get a good look at his features from here. But before I can get into that, Ace plops down in the chair on the other side of me.

“Hey, Light!” He smiles with his arms wide.

“Ey yo Ace!” I give him a high-five, then another down low, then our hands interlock as if we’re about to arm wrestle. It’s kind of our secret handshake.

“What’s up, man?” Ace asks, casually leaning back in his chair.

“Oh not a lot,” I say, crossing my ankles. “Just hangin’ around.”

“Man nothin’ ain’t eva’ up with you,” Ace complains. “But boy, have we been havin’ a hell of a time lately!”

He then gets into some long, drawn-out story about fighting the Puffs or whatever, but I space out for a second to glance at Snake out of the corner of my eye. Good, he’s not looking. I turn my head a bit and dare to look at him a little more. He’s staring straight ahead of him, giving me a good view of his profile. He’s done with his pizza and now absentmindedly twirling a lock of his raven hair with a slender finger. His forked tongue pokes out from time to time, almost going past that long, pointy nose. His cheeks have a slight rosy tint, which stands out against the rest of his green complexion. His dark lips are parted just a bit. And oh man, his eyes. Those slanted, crimson eyes, wide and twinkling with ever-present curiosity and framed by long, dark eyelashes. A lot of people think he’s funny-looking, but I find him rather alluring. Plus he’s got that personality—so slick, so confident, and yet so adorable. He’s a bad boy with a cutesy side. Hell, it’s no wonder I fell for the guy. Every time I’m around him he pulls me into a trance without even trying and—

Snap snap!

“Earth to Light, are ya listenin’?” Ace snaps me out of my daze, quite literally.

“Huh?” I pull myself away from Snake to face the rest of the gang.

“I’ll take dat as a no.” Ace facepalms.

“Pay attention, you dummy,” Grubber spits out.

“I’m not a dummy,” I huff at him, crossing my arms. I know exactly what that raspberry meant.

“In her defenssse, I wasss a little ssspaccced out myssself,” Snake admits.

“Oh really?” Ace raises an eyebrow.

“What about?” Arturo asks.

“I’sss dunno. Life ssstuff I guessss.”

“Same,” I casually remark, hoping to mask the real reason for my daze.

“Yeah right,” Ace snickers. The rest of the gang, save for Snake, joins in. I glare at them. There’s no way they know about my crush—right??!

“The hell are you guys on about?”

Billy giggles mischievously. Wait, Billy? Mischievous? Something’s wrong.

“Heehee… you’re in lo—”

“Quiet, you.” Arturo cuts him off with a swift jab to his side. My stomach does about ten backflips. They do know. Shit. I’m in trouble now.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and grab another slice of pizza, but I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to eat it.

“You guysss are ssso weird.” Snake reaches down and grabs a soda from who-knows-where.

“Right?” I smile. “And I thought I was weird. Oh, could you get me one of them?”

“Sure.” Snake’s hair falls over his shoulders as he stretches down to get another soda. Oh man, that hair. His hair alone is enough to make me lose it. So long and sleek, and it swooshes so nicely—ahem. I need to stop that train of thought before Ace snaps his fingers in my face again.

“Here yousss go.” Snake sets the soda down in front of me. He smiles—it’s just a little smile, but it’s enough to make my heart skip a few beats.

“T-thanks…” I smile back, lifting the can with a shaky hand. God, when did it get this bad? No wonder the rest of the guys knew. Then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised; I’ve always made things so goddamn obvious. I just hope Snake himself doesn’t see right through me.

“Well now what’re we gonna do?” Arturo asks. Grubber spits out a response.

“No, Grubber, we’sss not playing poker,” Snake counters.

“Actually,” Ace begins, “before we’s get started on anythin’, I’m gonna talk ta Light for a sec.”

I gulp down my sip of soda in mild surprise. “Okay?”

“Ooohhh, you’re in trouble~” Arturo taunts.

“Shut up, shrimpy,” I taunt back with a wink. He growls as Ace and I walk out the door.

Ace leads me about 20 or 30 feet away to a piece of concrete barrier that probably served a purpose at one point but was nothing more than a makeshift bench for the gang now. We sit down, him first and then me. He pulls out a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. I never bothered trying to talk him out of smoking. In fact, he would probably only smoke more just to spite me. He looks straight ahead of him, puffing out his smoke, then he turns to look at me with a small smirk, green eyes just barely peeking out from behind his sunglasses.

“I know yous got the hots for Snake,” he says.

I immediately start coughing. I’m not even sure if I choked on air or if I’m just faking it out of nervousness. Fuck, I should’ve known that’s what this was about.

“Wha—I, haha, you’re nuts.” I casually take a sip of my soda, trying to mask my embarrassment.

“Light.” Ace’s tone is more serious than I’ve ever heard it before. He might not always be the sharpest tool in the shed, but by the very unimpressed look on his face, I can tell there’s no bullshitting my way out of this one.

“Alright. You got me. I’m in love with Snake. There, I said it.” I turn away from him and exhale sharply. “Fuck.”

“Well now that that’s been settled, I’m startin’ ta get a little tired of waitin’ for ya ta make a freakin’ move already.”

Wait, what?

“I’m sittin’ the’e and you two are oglin’ each otha’ and there’s all kinds’a tension but neitha’ o’ ya are doin’ anything and I can’t stand it anymore!

Hold up, is he suggesting that Snake could possibly like me back?? No way.

“And he ain’t gonna do nuttin’ cuz he’s too shy, so if you don’t hurry up an’ make a move I’m gonna do it for ya!”

Snake? Shy? How cute.

“Ya unde’stand, Light?” Ace’s piercing eyes bore into my soul with a commanding look while cigarette smoke blows out of his nostrils. If I wasn’t close friends with the guy, I’d be scared shitless.

“Y-yeah yeah, I understand completely. But jeez Ace, you’re talking about the actual love of my life here. You know I have poor social skills, I have to muster up all my courage just to ask a stranger for directions! You think it’s gonna be easy for me to confess my undying love to someone as amazing as Snake?!”

“Hey.” Ace claps a hand on my shoulder, shaking me a bit. “I neva’ sez it was gonna be easy. But anythin’s easia’ than sufferin’, right?”

I chuckle. “I dunno man, I’ve been suffering in other areas for years already…”

“Well we’s been sufferin’ every goddamn day of our lives.” He takes another drag at this statement. “But if there’s anythin’ we can do to take our minds off’a it, even for a bit, we’s gonna do it. An’ fo’ what it’s worth, we likes havin’ ya around, so we wouldn’t gets tired o’ ya too soon if ya dated one o’ us. Besides, Snake needs hisself a goilfriend.”

He stands up, taking one last smoke before dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with his foot.

“Damn, who knew you of all people could be so inspirational?” I shoot him a smirk as I hoist my own ass off the slab. He makes a face as he lets everything he just said to me sink in.

“I sure as hell didn’t.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then we both crack up laughing.

“Ace, ya goof…” I chuckle, holding my stomach a bit.

“Hey, I’m serious when I sez yous gotta go after Snake, got it?” He’s still laughing too.

“Yeah yeah, I get’cha.” I’m a little less nervous about the whole ordeal now, knowing that Ace pretty much spat all his advice out without really thinking. We head back to the shack, and enter to see pieces of the pizza box ripped and scattered all over the shack, with Snake and Grubber arm wrestling. Grubber has a look of concentration, while Snake’s face just looks pained.

“Ow! Ssstop sssqueezing my hand ssso hard!”

Grubber scowls and spits out something—did he just call Snake a wimp??

“C’mon Snake, you can do it!” Arturo cheers.

“Yeah, go Snake!” I join in. Meanwhile Billy throws some the torn pieces of the box up in the air like confetti.

“I leave the shack for five minutes and dis is what I come back to??” Ace flicks a falling piece of the box away from his face in annoyance. I watch as Snake struggles to overpower Grubber. They both have rather flimsy-looking arms, but Grubber admittedly has more visible muscle. His bicep bulges as Snake’s arm shakes—jeez, I hope it doesn’t snap in half. Suddenly, Grubber gains more strength and slams Snake’s arm on the table.

“Wooooooo!!” Billy cheers, stomping his feet and shaking the whole damn place.

“Way to go, Grubber,” Arturo says, clapping slowly.

“Aww, good try Snake.” I sit back down beside him as he shakes his hand.

“That wasss a bad idea. My wrissst isss gonna hurt for daysss now.”

“Oh I’m sure you’ll be alright soon,” I assure him.

“Hey Snake?” Ace plops down in a chair next to me.

“Yesss?” Snake says, blinking those big red eyes. Ace slaps my back.

“Light here has somethin’ ta ask ya.”

“What?!” Goddammit Ace, why are you throwing me into this so soon?!

“I literally just told ya!”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to do it right now!”

“What did you sssay to her?” Snake sternly asks, crossing his arms.

“Fine then, don’t do it,” Ace scoffs, turning his back to me and ignoring Snake’s question. Snake raises one of his thick eyebrows.

“I am ssso confusssed…”

“Oh it’s nothing,” I lie. “He’s just being an asshole.” Well, that part isn’t exactly a lie.

“Typical.” Snake giggles a little and rolls his eyes.

I hang out at the shack for about another hour or so, then I decide it’s getting a little late. I grab one last soda for the road and make my way out the door.

“Seeya guys!” I say while smiling and waving my hand.

“Yer really gonna up and leave just like that?” Ace asks. He’s glaring at me with an irritated expression. I feel my eyebrows curve upward.

“Ace…”

“C’mon now.” He crosses his arms and taps his foot.

“Accce, quit ssscaring her,” Snake scold, hands on his hips. “Look at her, she’sss shaking.”

I am? Fuck, that’s not good. I gotta get out of here. So I make a run for it.

When I’m outside of the dump, I stop to catch my breath. Way to go, me. I just made a goddamn fool out of myself. Snake was nice enough to stand up for me, and I didn’t even say thanks? What an idiot I am. Ace was right. I should’ve just worked up the courage to ask him out right then and there when I had the chance.

part two

#fanfic #my fanfiction #the powerpuff girls #gangreen gang #self insert #snake #ace copular #big billy #lil arturo #grubber #Light herself #self ship #sanford ingleberry

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tinysidestrashcaptain · 7 years

Text

A (Semi) Regrettable Incident

The Loopy Logan fic I’ve been promising! I hope you all enjoy.

Pairings: I mean, it’s me. Did you seriously expect it to not be Logicality???

Warnings: Well, Logan’s feeling some anesthesia affects, so he’s acting a little like he’s drunk. If that bothers you, perhaps you’d best steer clear of this one.

With Thomas getting his wisdom teeth removed, Virgil had been working overtime, and frankly he was exhausted. After the procedure was completed and Thomas was home safely, he sank back into the mindscape, ready for a long nap.

Virgil could honestly say he wasn’t really expecting anything when he sank into the commons, but if he HAD been expecting something...this would not have been it. Logan was clinging to a very flustered Patton, and Roman had his hands on his knees and was clearly gasping for air in between hysterical laughter.

“What’s going on here?”

“Oh, hey! Welcome back, kiddo! Poor Logan is just feeling the effects of the anesthesia, I’m afraid. He’ll be right as rain in no time, though.” Patton cheerfully reassured him, but the bright red dusting his cheeks was a dead giveaway that something was off.

“Rrrrrrright as rain??? W...whudduz that even MEAN, Pat??? Issss...it don’t make SENSE!!!” Logan slurred, still hugging the moral side tightly. He looked up, caught sight of Patton’s face, and a huge, dopey smile spread across his face.

“You’re so pretty, Pat. D-did I ever tell ya that?” Patton’s face was getting redder by the second, and Roman was wheezing now.

“Awww, you might have mentioned it once or twice, Teach! We really should get you to bed, though.”

“Ooooohhhhh, I’d go to bed wif you anytime!” The sly tone of voice made it instantly suggestive, and Virgil clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh that wanted to break free. Patton coughed, gently pulling Logan’s arms away and leaning back.

“We can revisit that when you’re sober, Teach, but right now maybe Roman or Virgil should help you?”

“Noooooo, dun want them!!! Don’t you looooooove meeeee?” Logan whined, latching back onto Patton, who had never looked more conflicted.

“Of course I do, Logan! I just think maybe I’m not the best person to help you right now. Here, why don’t you talk to Virgil? You were talking about space, remember?” Logan’s face lit up, and he finally relinquished his hold on the moral side, who breathed a sigh of relief.

“Vige...you...you know space, right?!” Virgil choked the laughter down. He shared a look with Roman, and the royal immediately got out his phone and started filming.

“Yeah, Logan, a little. Why don’t you tell me more though?”

“Okay, okay….okay….so….space is BIG!!! An’ there’ssss all thisss shit in it….oops...I-I shouldn’t say that. It’s...is not shit, like poop. It’s stuff. There’s sssstuff in it!” Logan was waving his hands enthusiastically, weaving in place a little. His glasses were slightly askew and his tie was hanging loose around his neck. His eyes were glassy and unfocused.

“What kind of stuff, Lo?”

“Ohhhhh allllll kindsa stuff! Like...there’s ssstars an’ moons an’ planets and black holes! But those’re...those aren’t things….they’re like...the...the...wazza word I’m lookin’ for???” Logan looked helplessly at Patton, who was giggling next to him.

“Absence?” Logan snapped his fingers, pointing at Patton so quickly he almost poked him in the face.

“YEAH!!! THASSA WORD!!! Ab...absynth of stuff….no, thasss not right…”

“Boy, Dad sure is smart, huh?” Virgil grinned when Logan immediately shifted his attention back to Patton and sighed dreamily.

“Course he is!!! P...Pat’s ALWAYS smart...jussss not as smart as me!”

“I don’t know, Lo...he’s pretty smart right now.”

“Pffffft! I’m….I’m allllllwayyyyssss smart!” Now Virgil couldn’t help the chuckles escaping every now and then. Oh god, this was hilarious. He glanced to his side and yup, Princey’s still recording. It was probably going to be shaky as hell with Roman laughing so hard, but still.

“Awww, of course you’re smart, Teach!” Patton said encouragingly, and Logan immediately beamed, which was such an unusual facial expression that it was almost like looking at two Pattons for one disconcerting moment.

“Mmmmma teacher! I...I gotta...find the class!” Logan tried to stand up, weaving unsteadily, and Patton shot to his feet, quickly grabbing his arm to hold him in place.

“Oh, no, sorry Logan. Class was cancelled today. You should probably go lie down, don’t you think?” Logan snickered, a smirk spreading across his face.

“Patton wants ta get me into beeeeeed!” It was said in a sing-song voice, and just when Virgil thought maybe Patton was going to blush himself to death, the moral side straightened his spine, a determined set to his jaw.

“Yes, I do. You need to go to bed, Logan. Right now.” Patton rarely broke out the Dad Voice, but when he did, it always worked. Except for this time, apparently, because Logan was too busy humming and wandering away to pay attention.

“Ssssabout time ya finally admitted it! OH MY GOD!!! ROMAN, LOOK!!!” Logan pointed excitedly out the window, and Roman stepped closer, still recording. This was too good.

“What’s going on, Logan?”

“Isssa bee!”

“Yeah, they’re out there sometimes, pal.”

“I’m….mmm your PAL?!” Logan stared at him, and Roman laughed at his stunned expression.

“Of course you are, Logan.”

“Oh...okay. Ro, look!!!”

“What are we looking at?”

“It’s...it’sssssa bee!!!”

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this. Roman, put the phone down. Virgil, go open Logan’s door.” Patton was still in Dad Mode, apparently, and both of them hurried to do as he asked. Patton crossed the room in four large strides, then grabbed Logan and scooped him up. The logical side squawked in indignation, but quickly settled into Patton’s arms with a dopey smile.

Patton carried him to his room, gently depositing him on the bed. Logan whined and tried to hold him there, but Patton gently pried his arms away. He smiled down at Logan, who gazed dreamily back. With a snap of his fingers, Logan was in his unicorn onesie.

“Oooohhhh….ssss kinky….” Logan mumbled. Patton rolled his eyes and carefully tucked the loopy side into bed.

“Go to sleep, Logan.”

“Love you, Pat…” That froze him in place for a minute, and Patton felt his heart skip a beat. He sighed a little when he heard Logan’s first soft snore. Out like a light, of course.

“Love you too, Logan.” Patton murmured, gently taking off his glasses and setting them on the side table. “Of course you’d say it for the first time when you’re drugged out of your mind. What am I going to do with you?”

In the doorway, Virgil silently glanced at Roman and gestured him down the hall. As soon as the door shut behind them, the hushed whispers started.

“HOLY SHIT--” Virgil whisper shouted, his sweater paws pressed up to his face.

“I KNOW!!!” Roman cut him off, his eyes wide.

“DID HE JUST--?”

“OH MY GOD HE DID!!!”

“Did you get it??? Please tell me you got it!”

“Oh yeah!” Roman pulled out his phone, and they both watched the video again. Logan’s sleepy confession was hilarious, but the heartbreaking expression on Patton’s face killed their laughter.

“Dad’s really gone on him, isn’t he?” Virgil chewed his nail nervously, his mind already coming up with all the different ways things could go wrong for the moral side. Roman snorted, putting his phone away.

“That’s an understatement...” Silence reigned between the two for a few moments, then Roman’s face lit up. He grabbed both of Virgil’s shoulders, a huge smile on his face.

“Oh my god, I have an idea, Surly McEmo!”

When Logan woke up the next day, his head felt a little fuzzy and there was a bitter taste in his mouth, but otherwise he felt normal. He tried to recall the events of the the previous afternoon, but he only got vague bits and pieces. He huffed, grabbing his glasses, then froze as he stared down at himself.

“Why am I wearing this?” Logan verbalized the thought, staring at his unicorn onesie. He didn’t sleep in this, ever. He had pajamas, which were much more comfortable and conducive to a good night’s rest. He quickly showered and changed into his usual attire. He was about to walk to the kitchen to drink some coffee and hopefully dispel the remaining fuzziness from his mind when an arm shot out from Roman’s room, quickly dragging him inside.

“What the--!”

“Shut up!” Virgil’s voice hissed at him, and he stopped struggling. The darker side released him, and he saw both him and Roman standing behind him.

“What is going on?!”

“You’re an idiot, that’s what’s going on. And Roman’s an even bigger idiot, but that’s not news to anybody.”

“HEY!” Virgil rolled his eyes at Roman’s affronted shout.

“Look, the anesthesia had you messed up yesterday, and you were all over Patton. Like...all over him. We all know you’re stupid in love with the guy, and he’s in love with you, so what is the goddamn problem?!”

“I...what?!” Logan was shocked, staring from Virgil’s irritated face to Roman’s sympathetic one.

“Better see for yourself, Professor.” Roman handed Logan his phone, and he played the video. He could feel his face flushing a deep scarlet as it went on, watching him make a fool of himself. At the end, when he confessed the secret he’d kept for so many years, he wanted to throw the phone away from himself, but watching Patton’s reaction gave him pause.

“I...I don’t...I…” Logan stuttered, looking hopelessly lost.

“I told you my plan was better!” Roman hissed.

“Shut up, your plan was ridiculous.” Virgil snapped back. “Look, Logan….you’re in love with Dad. He’s in love with you. You just saw actual video evidence. What is it going to take for you to sack up and do something about it?! The more you drag your feet, the more you hurt Dad, and I’m not having that.”

“...You know he’s not actually anybody’s--”

“Roman, if you finish that sentence I swear to god I’m going to go through all of your vintage Disney posters and on one of them, you won’t know which, I’m going to draw a dick. In permanent marker.” Roman’s outraged gasp was obnoxiously loud, but he stopped talking, so Virgil would let it slide.

“What do I do? What can I possibly say to him? I am his opposite in every way. I hurt him, often. I don’t mean to, it is never intentional, but it is also unlikely to change given our natures. I am not what he needs, Virgil. He deserves someone who can make him happy.” Logan looked at the floor, utterly dejected.

“Oh, that is nonsense! Yes, you do hurt his feelings from time to time, but as you said, it is never intentional and often the result of your lack of understanding. Do you honestly think Patton would refuse to teach you about emotions? Being with him is the best decision you could possibly make. You would be a fool otherwise, and the last time I checked, you rather prided yourself on being clever. Just go tell him how you feel, sober this time. I promise that you won’t regret it.” Roman huffed, pointing towards the door. Logan blinked a few times, then hesitantly made his way back out to the hallway.

As he walked towards the kitchen he heard Roman’s voice behind him “My plan would have been SO much more fun!” and Virgil’s “Your plan was freaking insane, and involved rainbow glitter canons!” in response. He could not believe he was taking advice from those two, and he needed coffee before he did anything else.

He almost froze in place when he walked in and saw Patton happily making breakfast and humming to himself as he flitted from place to place. He silently observed the object of his affections for a moment, struck again by how much he truly cared for him. Patton was….everything. He had tried to bury his feelings, to ignore them, for so long that admitting them was daunting to say the least. Patton turned to grab something and yelped, dropping the spatula in his hand and clutching his chest.

“Jeez, Teach, you nearly scared the life out of me! How are you feeling today?” Patton’s smile might have passed for normal to anyone but Logan. He knew every expression on the moral side’s face, and this smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I...I...ummm….” Logan stuttered, staring helplessly. Why was this so difficult?! Patton’s smile grew more genuine as he watched the logical side stammer. He really did love Logan so much. Logan blew out a deep breath and tried again.

“I...this is hard...I MEAN...NOT...WAIT…!” his eyes flew wide, his face flushing a deep red. Patton arched a brow, watching him flush and stammer.

“I’m sure you were last night, given how much you were trying to coax me into bed.” Patton’s smile was wicked, and Logan’s face felt like it was on fire. He inhaled deeply. He could do this, all he had to do was verbalize his feelings. It wasn’t that difficult.

“I you in love me with...goddammit….” Logan mentally facepalmed. Patton giggled, and Logan decided to cut his losses and walk away. He’d just turned to leave when he felt the moral side’s arms slip around his middle, pulling back into a soft embrace.

“I think you just tried to say you’re in love with me, and I love you too, Logy Bear.” Logan practically melted into a puddle at Patton’s soft voice in his ear, and a shy smile spread across his face. He turned in Patton’s arms, slowly putting his arms around the moral side’s neck.

“You seem to be struggling with words today, Lo, but I’ve got the perfect solution for that.” Patton beamed at him, then leaned down and glided his lips over Logan’s in a soft, teasing kiss. Logan blinked when they broke apart, then tried one last time.

“I...I love you, Patton. I am sorry it took a regrettable incident to finally tell you.” Patton chuckled, softly trailing nibbling kisses across his cheek and down his neck, and Logan felt his knees wobble dangerously.

“Regrettable…?” Logan made a strangled sound in his throat at Patton’s mischievous purr.

“Semi-regrettable.” He quickly amended.

[Two Months Later]

Virgil stormed into the kitchen and fiercely pointed at a surprised Patton.

“DAD, COME GET YOUR RIDICULOUS BOYFRIEND!”

“Viiiiiiirrrrggggiiiiillllll!!! Waaaaiiiit! I….I gotta tell ya…..about the beeeeeeees!” Logan called from the other room, clearly loopy again. Thomas had needed another round of anesthesia on a recent surgery, and while the others had known what was coming, they hadn’t expected it this fast.

“If I have to hear another fact about bees I am flinging myself into the freaking void.” Virgil hissed, and Patton laughed before walking out to the living room.

“I want to hear all about the bees, Logy Bear!” Patton beamed, watching his boyfriend (who had his tie around his forehead and was currently weaving in place on the couch) light up.

“Beeeeeeeessssss!!! Paaaat, I loooooove you!!! You should….you’re like...the best bee. Cuz you’re mine.” Logan made grabby hands, and Patton sat down, allowing his boyfriend to cling to him like a koala bear and gleefully stroke his hair.

There was never a dull moment with loopy Logan, was there?

Tag List:

@acookiedragonblog @the-sides-of-patton @tree4life25 @penstarz96 @cefmua56 @cinquefoilelove @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @otpislife2002 @didsomeonesayprince @chemicallyimbalancedromance @pirate-patton @leesacrakon @sidewritings @cup-of-blue @a-valorous-choice @migraine-marathon @emphoenixcat @kittyboof8 @michealawithana @mdazzleyt @sanders-trash-4ever @getlostinthedark @shygirl4991 @analogicalisreal @puddalogical @sanders-sides-fic-archive

#a semiregrettable incident #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #drug effect mention #loopiness #anesthesia effects

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cas-backwards-tie · 7 years

Text

A Wrinkle In Crime

Gotham x Batfam + Batsis!Reader x Clark Kent

Request: Gotham!Jim, Alfred, Oswald and Bruce end up somehow knocking on DC Batfam’s door. Basis!Reader answers the door and calls for Bruce... Bonus points if Batsis is dating Clark. Include the boys reactions.

Warnings: Mentions of manhandling Oswald (poor Os), Cocky!Bruce, and nothing else.

Author’s Note: Okay, so... This took not terribly long but a long time, and also- it was also hard to come up with a reason Oswald would be with them on good terms so I kind of left what happened before they were sent into this universe as ambiguous and up to you guys. I hope you like this! I thought it was interesting to write, for sure. I put Oswald as the gif for this because it just seemed to fit so well. <3

*This is Written from the Gotham characters POV’s as well as kind of 3rd Person*

“Let’s just get back to the Manor and then we can get things all cleared up, yeah?” Alfred comments as he dusts his pants off, standing up he guides Bruce by the back towards the exit of the building they were currently standing in.

“It’d be best if you followed along, Mister Gordon” Alfred beckoned Detective Jim Gordon and the currently unconscious Mister Oswald Cobblepot to follow them back to Wayne Manor so that they could all get cleaned up before sorting out what exactly had just happened.

Jim somehow manages to lug Oswald into the backseat of his undercover cop car before switching the engine on and following the much nicer car in front of them down the familiar streets which led to a place Jim had only been a few times since the murder of Bruce’s parents. Jim felt sorry that he and Bruce had to meet through such unfortunate circumstances but glad that their friendship was able to be kindled through such events.

Reaching the Manor Alfred parks the car out front, which Bruce thought was odd as Alfred always parks in the garage, but quickly he remembers the circumstance they’re in. Almost ask quickly as Bruce’s mind can move in the current condition he’s placed in, he notices that the Manor is off.

Stepping out of the vehicle with no aid from Alfred, as circumstances were somewhat urgent and unknown, Bruce couldn’t quite place his finger on how the Manor might be different, but all he knew was that it was.

“Do you need help getting’ em’ out of the car?” Alfred says quickly making his way towards Jim’s car.

“No! Nope! He woke up while we were driving.”

“And didn’t try anything?” Bruce commented not looking away from the Manor.

Jim moved around to the back passenger’s side of the car, opening the door and yanking Penguin out by his collar, sure to keep a firm grip on him. “Unhand me you hooligan! I will NOT be treated with such uncalled for disrespect!” Jim doesn’t listen to Penguin’s commands, only trying to pacify him and inform him of the dire situation all four men were faced with, and needed to resolve. Having, unfathomably asked for his presence in the Manor- Jim had to oblige- despite his wishes or recommendations or even assumptions as for what’s to come.

Bruce distinguished more greenery. Flowers, bushes, even the cobblestones out front were much cleaner than he’d seen this morning- though who would really insist he was paying that much attention to the cobblestones this morning? “You comin’ in, Master Bruce?” Alfred takes the lead as he walks hastily towards the door, getting out his key. “What the?” Alfred fumbles once more and murmurs words and various other sure-to-be curses under his breath as he tries to unlock the door. Oswald huffs as he waits in Jim’s custody for the old man to unlock the door, which honestly shouldn’t take this long.

“It- it’s doesn’t work.” Alfred says over his shoulder to the group. Quickly trying to remedy this, Master Bruce leans down and reaches into the similar flower pots near the walkway for the duplicate key they keep in case of emergency. Now of course they’d have to arrange for a different hiding spot as Oswald had seen where they’d gotten it from. “Good thinking Master Bruce.” Alfred comments proudly as he reaches to put the key into the lock.

The door swings open just as Alfred had inserted the key. A young girl dressed in a sweater and jeans looks muddled by their presence, she wasn’t too tall, certainly not taller than Master Bruce for sure. However she had Y/H/C hair, and a seemingly small twinkle of something in her Y/E/C eyes. “Uh... Bruce?!” The girl says a little distressed before slamming the door quickly.

Immediately after slamming the door is then opened again, and the girl peeks her head out to say “sorry,” and then closes it again. The men are dumbfounded- who the hell got into the house and why was she calling for Bruce when Bruce was right here? The boys were stuck in their spots, shell-shocked and rooting for answers.

Soon enough the door creaked open once more before anyone of the men could utter a word to one another. “I don’t- I’ll check.” The girl from before poked her head out, “Yes- they’re still here.” She then disappeared for a second only to fling the door open all the way.

There were many people inside, most of the people- kids- Alfred noticed, were huddled behind the man in the middle, poking their heads out once and awhile. Shock and bewilderment struck across the features of the huge man in the middle. The man stumbled back a bit, before taking a few steps forward, “Alfred?”

Alfred felt his stomach drop and his heart pulse at the single word.

“Yes, Master Bruce?” An older man popped his head out of the kitchen. Walking up to the huge man this older man Alfred had to assume, was... well, also named Alfred. “Oh- not me, well, nevermind then. Who is thisss...” ‘Alfred’ draws out as he stares at the four men in the doorway.

“Who are you?! Where did you come from?!” The huge man in the middle, whom Alfred would say looks very similar to his once-employer and friend, Mister Thomas Wayne- turns to the old man, “Alfred why would they clone you!? Who could’ve cloned you? Dick, I need you to go downstairs and see if you can find anything or anyone who knows anything about this! If anyone has seen these four walking around downtown then we need to wipe all the traffic cams!” The authoritative man sidesteps and waves his arm in a friendly gesture contrasting his previous words and tone, “Please, come in.”

A few minutes later, with no conversation besides asking if the four guests wanted tea, only simple nods and ‘yeses’ as response, the four were lead to the humungous couch in the middle of the living room. Bruce would’ve only known this area to have been a hallway to be in his home, yet despite being eerily familiar, this was not his home.

“Where are we?” Bruce demands from his seat, not faltering his own stare, as the big man had been staring at him alone for quite some time. “I demand you answer me!”

“Wayne Manor... you don’t recognize it?” the big man puts his cup of tea down in the saucer on the coffee table which was the only boundary separating them. “I know you must have many questions, and I can say for the most part that I have answers. Before you ask, this has happened before and that is the reason for me not ‘reacting very strongly or visibly’ as my wife would tell you. However I have not met this version of any of you, but even despite that I could presume who each of you are. I do intend to have my boys get you home as soon as possible so hopefully there will not be any delays or too much interference with either of our universes.” He crosses his arms and sits back in the armchair, obviously waiting for some sort of reaction.

“Mmmm.... So you’re Bruce Wayne? In this universe?” Oswald scoffs as he puts his own teacup back into it’s fitting saucer on the coffee table. “And what do you do?”

“I am the CEO of Wayne Enterprises Mr. Cobblepot.” this universes’ Bruce raises an eyebrow in cockiness, something our own Bruce could never imagine himself doing unless speaking to a foe, which Oswald was not more than a minor annoyance in Bruce’s gaze.

“You mentioned a wife- you have a wife in this universe? And children you said?” Alfred speaks up as he tears himself away from his sip of tea, questioningly watching the grown Bruce for his response.

“Yes, I do... a wife, four boys and one girl, which I’d say is fortunate considering all the other Bruce’s I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He refers to the others in sarcasm... perhaps those Bruce’s were evil or not quite up to the same standard as this one? Alfred would never know. “Of course I can’t tell you if you’ll end up like me or not Bruce, but after meeting others that would be the only advice I could give you. Don’t close yourself off.”

This universe’s Alfred walks in and stops by the couches. “Sir, Tim has gotten the portal all set up and ready when you and your guests are.” This much older Alfred bows and bids farewell to the four guests before exiting to presumably Bruce would guess, the kitchen... maybe all Alfred’s have similar tastes.

“Uh, hey Dad?” the girl who originally had opened the door peeks her head around the corner. “Tim’s ready for you guys.”

“If you’ll follow me please.” Older Bruce stands up and gestures for the men to follow him down a hallway to where Younger Bruce knew his Father’s study was.

“Dad can I go? Clark’s supposed to pick me up soon and I really don’t want to have to cancel, but I’ll understand if I do. We just haven’t seen each other for a month and I really miss him.” Jim watches as Older Bruce’s daughter gives him puppy-dog eyes. Bruce of course caved and told her to go get ready. The only question running through Jim’s head was: Who’s Clark?

The four guests wind up in what Younger Bruce only knew as his Father’s study. Many things were either misplaced or gone, which Bruce could only assume to mean that this universe’s Bruce had taken it to his own and made it fit for his liking. It didn’t look bad- but it just wasn’t his Father’s study anymore, which Bruce thought was devastating as he could never rearrange things other than the way his Father had left them. The thought killed him internally.

Alfred only wondered where this Tim boy was and if he was ready for them than why wasn’t he here? Wasn’t Grown Bruce taking them to him? Before Alfred could further question the truthfulness of this Bruce, the man himself decided to comment.

“Before we go any further, I now realize that this situation is a bit different from the others I’ve been in, as Oswald- you are here... However, I want to say that in your universe such a thing might not exist. You may never stumble onto this future. Oswald in this universe you are a villain against a man which I endorse, who goes by the name Batman. For that reason I need you to turn around.” Oswald gives Older Bruce an incredulous hateful look before turning around and putting his hands up in the air for dramatization.

“Also, for this sake I actually think it’d be best for all of you to turn around” Older Bruce adds. The others don’t have a problem with obliging his request as they turn around, only for Oswald to look at the three of them and stick out his tongue and make a farting noise in an attempt to ‘show them’ Jim would’ve assumed.

“You all can turn around now, but I want to say that this might not be your future , Bruce. You may never endorse a man who approaches you by the name of Batman, but if you do, then, good luck.” Bruce gestures for them to step inside was looks to be an elevator by the looks of it. Bruce joins them before pressing his hand to a scanner, which accepts his handprint and makes the fireplace move back in front of them, closing the door to the elevator which begins to move.

When the elevator opens, the four are left in awe. They walked out into an underground base by the looks of it. It’s huge, spacious and honestly very well kept for a frickin’ cave Oswald thought to himself. There was a waterfall with a pool which seemed to run underneath them with only cement and some sections of grates to keep them from plummeting into it’s stream. The space was well-lit and organized. It was clean.

There was, to the right, an arrangement of glass display cases filled with not only seemingly gadgets and probably mementos, but colorful and not so colorful suits which had to be from this ‘Batman’ that Bruce spoke so highly of. There were many people down here, which Jim assumed to be Bruce’s children as they looked familiar to him and were around what Jim would assume is the right age for Bruce’s children to be.

After the display cases came what Alfred could only consider to be a medical bay of sorts with all the equipment from what he could see from the outside, a hospital. Walking further along there were a heavy set of computers. Many, many computers which shown with bright, almost blinding light. Alfred was surprised that there was for one thing, wifi down here in the cave, but also that it meant somehow Bruce and presumably Alfred (if Alfred is also Bruce’s best friend in this universe) had gotten the computers and everything else wired down here. Outlets? Down in a cave which from the elevator ride had to be at least almost fifty feet underneath the Manor? Incredible. Simply incredible.

“That’s the Batmobile- it’s Batman’s car in a sense. Or a tank, kind of both- however you want to phrase it.” Older Bruce comments as he notices where Younger Bruce’s gaze has fallen to. Bruce leads them over to where Tim is currently waiting, running around to make sure the machine he’s operating is fully up and running. “You ready?” Bruce asks him as with the clones gone it’s one less thing he’ll have to worry about maintaining in his Gotham.

“Yup, fully up and running and good to go, Boss!” Bruce ruffles Tim’s hair before beginning his last speech to his unexpected guests.

“Good work- thanks Tim, I know you this interrupted study time. Is Stephanie still upstairs? Nevermind... So. This is our last stop.” Tim nods to Bruce before waiting for him to end his speech. “This machine is the portal that is going to take you guys home. We caught wind of the site where you guys crashed in, which left us some traces of your universe- therefore- we were able to deduce which universe you came from and can send you back, got it?”

“Got it,” replied the three, a grunt from Oswald was the fourth response. The four each took one last look around what possibly could be what their futures might look like, if not what it could be a part of.

Oswald stepped in first, only to stick his head back out and abruptly ask Bruce a question, which startled him. “Am I a good villain?” a pause, “to Batman, you said?”

“Uh...” Bruce didn’t know how to answer this question. Could a villain be good? But of course what Oswald was asking wasn’t that, but if he did a good job at being bad. “I suppose?” This was the best answer Bruce thought he could give. Oswald, seeming annoyed and fulfilled with this answer popped his head back in the machine eagerly waiting to arrive back home where he could get back to his own mansion where he could relax and not have to be around pesky Jim Gordon and a hormonal Bruce Wayne who was starting to become an annoying, cocky little brat.

Jim Gordon stepped up next, but also asked a question. “Who am I in this universe? You never mentioned anything about me, so... Does that mean I’m... dead?” Bruce looked at him more softly before replying.

“No, you’re not dead. I don’t know what you are in that universe but here you are Commissioner Gordon of the GCPD. You have a daughter named Barbara, who also works with us.” Jim is a little taken aback by his answer. Why would he name his daughter Barbara- of all things? of all people? Surely he wouldn’t name his daughter after Barbara Kean- that’s for sure.

“Thank you,” Jim says before entering the machine.

Alfred steps up next and by the looks of it, you’d think that Bruce wasn’t from an alternate universe but was a psychic whom everyone wanted to know their future from. Except, this time it wasn’t a question from Alfred, but a request from the Older Bruce, “you take good care of him. Well, I know you will. You always do.” Bruce pats Alfred’s back before bringing the semi-stranger in for a brief hug.

“I will, I can promise ya that.” Alfred steps into the machine, content with all that he had seen. Alfred sometimes worried that at the rate things were going with friends, Bruce would possibly quite end up alone in his life. Sure it was too early to tell for sure, and of course there was always Miss Kyle, but sometimes Alfred wondered.... and this gave him hope for the younger Master Bruce.

“Hey you,” the Older Bruce comments to the Younger as he steps up. “You be tough, alright? It’s definitely not gonna be easy- by any means. But you’re stronger than you think. Stronger when you’re with a team, even though you won’t know that for a long time... Don’t be closed off- just remember that, will you?” Younger Bruce pats Older Bruce’s bicep before looking him dead in the eye with his newfound confidence and replies.

“I will. Thank you, for everything.” They share a moment before they get in and are whisked away by the touch of a button back to their universe... a blast from the past.

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