#maybe henry himself? we got a little of that from foxe

[forever-fixating]

RWRB Appreciation Month Bingo: Platonic Dynamic

For @rwrbsource and @rwrbmovie's RWRB Appreciation Month Bingo: Platonic Dynamic

Platonic Dynamic: Henry and Pez

Author's Note: Henry and Pez have such an interesting friendship in the book, and I'm so sad we didn't get to see more of it in the movie. (Mayhaps something to elaborate on in the sequel?) I wanted to write this little moment because I believe that Pez was a major support for Henry when grappling with the aftermath of Arthur's death. Shoutout to Pez, you are a real one, darling! This bit is quite angsty, so maybe have a hanky handy?

Pez Okonjo considered himself to be a fairly emotionally intelligent person for his age. His parents raised him to always extend grace and understanding to people because he could never know what they might be going through. But, as he stood outside his dorm room, listening to his best friend struggle not to break down over the phone, he couldn't muster a single mite of grace or understanding for one Catherine Fox Mountchristen-Windsor.

"A-are you sure she isn't available?" Henry was saying. "I-It's just...things are really hard for me right now, and I wanted to-"

Henry's voice fell silent, no doubt listening to the laundry list of excuses and platitudes Catherine's equerries had on hand ever since Arthur's death. Pez tried to be understanding. Really, he did. He had no idea what it must be like to lose the love of one's life. But, in the past few months, especially after the nightclub incident with Bea, Pez had a front-row seat to what it was like to lose a parent.

Or two, Pez thought bitterly.

He listened to Henry mumble something. I swear to God Almighty, if he is fucking apologizing, Pez fumed silently. But anger wasn't what Henry needed at that moment. So, after a minute or two, he knocked on the door cheerfully and breezed in, saying, "So, I know you wanted falafel tonight, but our favorite stand closed early. I got us Indian instead. There's a few different options for you to choose from, plus leftovers for tomorrow!"

Pez pretended not to notice his friend's redden, glassy eyes or the quick swipes he made over his cheeks. Ever since Arthur, it was a delicate tightrope act of knowing when to push and when to let things be. Tonight was the latter.

Henry looked at the bulging bag of food Pez set down on the end of his bed and asked, "Wh-what happened with Cassandra? I thought you two had a date tonight."

Pez sighed, shucking off his jacket. "Can you believe she had the nerve, the gall, nay! The temerity to cancel on me? She said she had food poisoning or some such tosh, but then tell me why I saw her out with her girlfriends at the pub? Women, beautiful, beguiling creatures, though they may be, can be so fickle."

Henry managed a laugh, a small victory in Pez's eyes. "Oh crumbs, Pez. You haven't had much luck lately. That's what? The sixth cancellation in so many weeks?"

"Yes, you needn't rub in it, Haz!"

Of course, it was a lie. In truth, Pez did the canceling, as he had with most of the others who asked him out recently. The ladies were disappointed (because how could they not be?) but understood when Pez explained why. Part of him figured Henry knew the stories were a scam. But Pez couldn't fathom the idea of partying when his best mate was alone with his dark thoughts.

Pez sat down next to Henry, who asked, "Would you like to watch more Doctor Who?"

"Yes, please!" Pez said, digging into the bag and arranging the takeaway containers like a mini-buffet. "I believe we left off right before Ms. Donna Noble was set to make her debut?"

Henry nodded, his spirits lifting. "She's absolutely brilliant, I'm certain you'll love her. I love the dynamic she has with Ten. Oy, Space Man!"

Pez laughed and took a bite of a samosa while Henry queued up the episode on his laptop. As the opening credits played, Henry laid his head on Pez's shoulder.

"Thank you."

Pez rested his cheeks on limp, blonde hair. "You're welcome, Haz."

A/N— Sorry, not sorry, but if the fandom is going to rake Ellen over the coals for her shortcomings with Alex, there needs to be a lot more discussion about Catherine. True, she lost her husband, but Phillip, Bea, and Henry lost their father. She should have been there for them. Comment below with your thoughts! I promise the next ficlet will be decidedly less angsty.

Check out this post and join the fun in celebrating the one-year anniversary of our little romcom that could being released!

[dizzymisslizzie]

Casual Friday

Henry’s luggage is somewhere over the pacific going in the complete wrong direction.

He fantasizes that this would never happen to someone with a private jet.

The heat of LA is overwhelming in his trousers and sweater. His carry-on is a Burberry weekender that has his meds, toiletries and a few books. He’s going to have a buy a whole weeks worth of clothes.

He’s being picked up from airport by his new publisher. He’s on the curb and realizes that he didn’t pass the typical dark suited person holding a sign with his name. He’s looking around and opens his rapidly dying phone to call his contact, Zahra. Before he can type out the message, a red open jeep screeches to a halt in front him. After the dust settles, Henry sees brown curls, a sharp jaw cresting into a chin dimple, a perfect nose holding up aviator sunglasses that reflect Henry’s hapless expression. The curls are cut short but he’s imagining them longer and draped over his shoulder as… wait - is the most attractive man he’s ever seen walking towards him?

“Fox?” The southern drawl that comes out is honey smooth and adorable. He nods and this seems to amuse the gorgeous human who smirks and takes off his aviators. When he pulls the sunglasses off his face Henry notices his sinfully long fingers that he wants to suck into his mouth.

“Is that all you brought?” Adonis asks Henry who still hasn’t said a word. He shakes his head, “The airline lost my luggage.”

“So you need to go shopping?” Eros asks Henry who barely trusts himself to speak so he just nods. The brown eyes of Adonis sparkle and Henry isn’t sure why.

“Well then, Sweetheart. I’ve got just the place. Hop in. Oh! I’m Alex!” Henry’s fucked. “Hi, I’m Henry.”

“Oh I know, let’s get a move on.” Alex winks and takes Henry’s bag from his shoulder and stores it in the jeep.

A short drive full of getting to know you things later…

“Here we are!” Alex pulls in a gravel parking area with an old wooden A-frame store front with gold letters reading Vintage.

“I was expecting…” Henry starts.

“Rodeo drive, your majesty?” Alex smiles wide.

“Not exactly… but maybe one of those malls you’re all so proud of.” Henry looks over the well kept building.

“C’mon, give it a shot.” Alex claps him on the shoulder and walks him into the shop.

A bells rings when they enter, Alex leads Henry to a section of the store.

“Ok, there’s chinos and button ups but there’s some great denim for your readings and these amazing vintage t-shirts.” Alex is pointing in various directions and Henry cannot keep up.

“Sorry, too much?” Alex asks, wincing a little.

“No, I’m not a great shopper. I tend to get anxious.” Henry’s admits as he looks around at the decor on the walls. It’s got rich colors and accents that could border on over stuffed but isn’t.

“Can I pull a few things for you?” Alex asks.

“Yes… I think that’s would be helpful.” Henry is nervous that he’ll just buy whatever Alex picks out for him.

“Stellar!” Alex is off to the races, “oh! Sizes?” Henry tells him and turns to a rack of khakis. He finds a few trousers in his size, a few button up shirts that are neutral colors. He takes his finds to the dressing room where Alex has set up a dressing room full of selections.

“Jesus, we have got to work on your wardrobe.”

“My look is… classic.” Henry’s sticks out his chin.

“Absolutely! But also boring as fuck.” Alex gives him a cheeky smile.

“What’s your plan then?” Henry looks around his selections.

“Picture it! Color… on… your clothes!” Alex does silly magician flourishes and Henry honest to god giggles.

“I am in LA for professional reasons.” Henry’s reminds him.

“And I pulled several business casual options but! You could dress more your age, relate more to your audience, maybe even… gasp… show some personality.” Alex teases.

“Why would my readers care about my personality?” Henry’s quirks and eyebrow.

“They are obsessed enough to come to a reading, they are interested in you. Authenticity, well… it’s something that not everyone can give but I see you can. I think showing more of yourself will resonate with your readers. They might even feel seen.” The sincerity on Alex’s face when he says to Henry makes his inside molten with feelings.

“That’s… exactly how I wanted people to feel with my first book. I… Pez, he’s the only one who sees me.” Henry shares.

“He’s a very lucky human.” Alex says low and a little… Henry can’t place it.

“He is, we became best mates at Eton and it was like he saw straight through the uniform and confident facade and saw me. It meant everything to me and I wouldn’t be who I am today without him.” Henry smiles nostalgically.

“I’m so glad you’ve got him in your corner.” Alex says and Henry can’t believe he’s real.

“Alright, Foxy, let’s try so stuff on!” Alex turns and Henry would swear he wipes his eyes before picking up a few hangers. “Here ya go! Shopping montage!” Alex sits in an overstuffed purple chair and Henry closes the curtain.

Henry tries the trousers first and two of them fit fine, third are too long.

“Hurry up! I wanna see something! Also, I’m almost done with the pick up order for essentials. Any special requests?”

“See something? I’m trying on trousers, I don’t think I need assistance in deciding if they fit or not, Mum!” Henry’s being cheeky.

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Alex calls back. Henry smiles and rolls his eyes. Henry puts on the bright blue button up and navy trousers and opens the curtain.

Alex looks up from his phone and his smile makes Henry’s brain fuzzy.

Tagging @miss-minnelli

[debbeh]

can u give me a guide to the six idiots :33 like maybe with a picture of them n their names n who they play in the Big Three shows :33 pwetty peesse :33

UM YES!?

ok, you saw me earlier trying to format all the images so it's gonna be mostly my (ehhhh) descriptions of the characters and you gotta guess what they look like 😈

Ben Willbond

Yonderland:

Elder Vex (above): the one who says Deb-beh and has the coziest looking outfit I NEED IT RN PLZ and the Tom Cardy- esque hair and earring

Nick: the stick. Grumpy all the time cuz he's a stick >:(. Is also a portal between dimensions but whatevs

Horrible Histories

Mike Peabody :historical news reporter that wishes he were anywhere but here rn

King Henry, Alexander the Great: SkINy MaNdRiA, excellent hair, sniffed a guy

Ghosts

The captain: AKA James, makes a lotta noises, if you ever hear me going weeeahhhhhuuuueeeaaaaaahhhh, I'm referencing him, the gay one<3

Martha Howe-Douglas!

Yonderland!!

Debbie.

Debbie's evil twin sister (bossy boobs)

I just googled it: Rita, the Negatus simp AKA us, the demon that looks like how female animals are protrayed in Barbie movies

Horrible Histories!!!

Boudica (look up the song, it's rlly good), Cleopatra, every female historical figure

Pirate lady....<33333

Ghosts!

Lady Button (present day): Old disgruntled lady that pouts all the time and falls out of windows

Lady Button (flashback)

Mathew Baynton!!!

Yonderland!!!

Oracle: weird blue blob guy, Nigel, Darling

Nanny la roo: NUM NUMS!!!! - nanny that is also a kangaroo

Admiral Anous: Voldemort mf I hate him bc he hates Negatus>:(

Elder Choop: Croissant hair mf, says, "IDK WHY DON'T WE ASK UR MUM??"

Le Fox: French

THE BIRRDDDDD: AKA Thomas Payne, Batman but cooler

Oh yeah, and Elf: the elf shaped one, full name: Grintallin Gobscrew Crotell Fashanu F’naw Goplatz Holla-Holla, has multiple wives apparently and is in debt to the mob

Horible Histories (look all of them up, they are all hot)

Dick Turpin: play the song >:333, shot not one but two men dead!

D.I. Bones: the whakkus bonkkused

King Charles II: absolute party-er

Ghosts

Thomas Thorne, shot, dead! Absolute poetic simp for Allison, drowned himself in the lake ;( -cannot drown-

Jim Howik!!!

Yonderland

Elder Pressley: looks like Elvis, eats christmas tree ornaments

Crone: A sLaPper *wink wink*, has apparently gotten with everyone, goes eeeerrrrrrrrrrr all the time- sounds like a doorhinge, she is amazing

Neil: lhe most normal of the demons probably

Horrible Histories

A SHOUTY MAN!!! :does all the infomercials, will try to sell you piss

King George VI (above) : "oh yesss, dad's dead, I'm king..."

King Richard III: a sweet little guy<3 -according to the song, get's attacked by whasp

Ghosts

Pat Butcher: Greatest DJ in the AAARRREEEEEUHHHHH, killed by a child, AKA Pete in the American version

Larry Rickard

Yonderland

Detective Mounteback: very dumb detective with very large hat

Elder Ho Tan: trans Icon, doesn't like loud noises, absolute baby<3

Sue: above, the lady with the gun from the episode I showed you

Horrible Histories

Bob Hale: weather report, needs a hellicopter and a nice cup of tea, basically Bill Wurtz

Lol knight with shit on head, Aztec guy, George III friend who slays so hard; "ConGRatu-VerY-LaTiOns your... *MAgEsTy*"

Ghosts

Humphrey: keeps getting left on roofs and shelves, does NOT know French smh

Robin: 5,000 yo ghosts, once saw a cool butterfly, KNOWS FRENCH! Got stuck by lightning and now he can turn on lights

and finally... the moment you've been waiting for...

Simon Farnaby!!!

Yonderland!!!

Negatus<333: Silly guy try to take over Yonderland but is just a lil guy, has an evil lair, uses The Font of Orris (cauldron thing that lets you see everything) as a hot tub, get's bullied by all the other overlords, wears pjs with houses on them.

Elder Flowers!!!: Long hair and lack of shirt, vegetarian hippie of the group, wants his clothes to be veGONE, "all you need is love, brothers... oh, and food"

Horrible Histories

Emperor Caligula: the wakkus bonkkus guy

Marcus Licinius Crassus: Knockoff Bassline Junkie song

Ghosts:

Jullian!!!: Died conducting an affair with his secretary!!!, is eternally sorta drunk, does the hand thing, only ghost that can interact with stuff, makes silly EEERREREEEEE noise when he's trying to move something, his name is Trevor in the American version, sad when there's no porn on da TV ;(, has no pants BTW

Thanks for coming to my TEDTALK!!!

Lemme know if I missed anything!

[rwrbficrecs]

5+1 Things Recs Part 1

I want you, I need you (oh baby oh baby) by @rmd-writes

From the first time Henry saw Alex leaning against their dorm, he's thought that he's one of the most beautiful men he's ever seen.

This is five times Henry was interested in Alex, and one time he actually did something about it.

Some Element of Mystery by @xthelastknownsurvivorx

Alex has to face it. He has proof. The evidence is irrefutable. His very attractive roommate is a stripper. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it means that sleeping in the same room as him just got that much harder (ha). ... What he knows is this: 1. Henry works a night job, usually smells like alcohol when he comes home, and is weirdly cagey about what he does. 2. Henry is a highly-skilled pole dancer. 3. Pez let it spill while drunk that Henry knows how to give a lap dance. Henry, red to his ears, confirmed it. 4. Alex accidentally saw Henry's very extensive collection of sexy underwear on laundry day. 5. Henry always pays Alex back in wrinkled small bills from his job, apparently on account of how customers "handle" them.

Or, five times that Alex thought Henry was a stripper, plus one time Henry corrected him.

self-awareness (and lack thereof) by aftgray

Alex is not as observant as he’d like to be. His crush on Henry goes unnoticed to no one but himself—and perhaps Henry, who is too busy suppressing feelings for his apparently straight roommate. Pining ensues.

or

5 times Alex liked Henry and had no clue, +1 time he knew.

or

David is quite literally the whole reason Alex and Henry meet and eventually stop being idiots and realize they’re in love

take me out, and take me home by weather_stained

They’ve only been living together for two months, since Alex moved to the city for law school. Henry's Brooklyn apartment was a short commute to NYU, and the price was unbeatable, so he agreed to move in without even meeting the man in person. He was nervous, at first, to share close quarters with a stranger, but it’s worked out shockingly well; Henry is kind and considerate, and they mostly leave each other alone.

He’s also quite obviously gorgeous, and Alex doesn’t know why there isn’t a string of men coming and going from Henry’s room at all times, or perhaps one steady man. Inexplicably, Henry seems to have been single since Alex moved in in August. 

AKA:5 times Alex doesn't realize Henry's in love with him, and 1 time he gets a clue.

sex ed in 6 steps by @coffeecatsme

“Please tell me you used a condom, Fox,” Alex drawls out, leaning against the wall, and Henry chokes on his next breath.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re gonna tell me all about this tomorrow, but for the love of God, tell me you used a condom and we won’t have mini Henrys on campus anytime soon.”

Or, 5 times Alex thinks Henry's straight and 1 time he finds out the truth.

Or, 5 times Alex jokes about Henry's sex life and 1 time he gets to be a part of it.

Shards of Glass by Sebastian (taydrawrs)

Alex fights the frustration welling up in his stomach, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.  The thing is, this isn’t the first time he’s lost out on a date because they’ve been threatened by what he shares with Henry.  He doesn’t know what it is about their relationship that seems to scare people off, or make them think they’re not welcome around the duo.  He feels more emotionally connected to Henry than to anyone else, but swears he doesn’t treat Henry any differently to how he would treat any other friend.

Except for the cuddles on the couch.

And the pet names.

And maybe he’s a little touchier with Henry than he is with Nora or his lacrosse teammates.

And okay, maybe he openly flirts with Henry more than necessary, but it’s so fun seeing Henry blush and seeing his cool façade crumble to dust in front of him, and it’s even more fun when Henry is feeling a little silly and flirts back.

…oh.

or

5 times Alex and Henry get mistaken for a couple, and one time it’s not a mistake.

[whoevenknows-things]

WIP Wednesday

So. I know I still have a whole firstprice F1 fic to finish. But it's proving to be more of a beast than I expected and work is kicking my butt atm so that fic is probably on hold until August when I have some time off work. But theeeeeeeen I overheard a really cute interation between a mother and daughter on a bus and suddenly I had 7,000 words of a one shot written that will probably be finished before yhe next F1 chapter is. Here's how it starts:

Lottie had a cold bottle of juice she was drinking from and Henry found himself regretting not bringing a cold drink with him too. But his daughter was a good distraction from the heat. “How was school today?” There was a pop from the spout of the bottle as she pulled it away from her mouth. Lottie shrugged one shoulder, a move she had definitely picked up from her auntie Bea, and said simply “fine.” Ahh, Henry thinks to himself, the conversational skills of a four year old. He looks down at her in the seat and he stands protectively over her. He notices there are faint white streaks in her eyebrows and around her hair. He frowns. “Lottie, who put your suncream on today?” “Mr Alex.” “Who is Mr Alex?” “Miss Kate says he’s new. He’s come to our class so he can learn how to be a teacher too.” Ahh, Henry thinks, a new student teacher. He vaguely remembers reading about that in one of the class newsletters. He hadn’t realised it would be a man. Not that that was a problem. Henry was all for breaking down gender stereotypes and he knew how few male teachers there were in primary schools. It would be good for the children to have a male role model at school really. “That makes sense; it looks like he didn’t rub it in as well as Miss Kate did,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Mr Alex was probably fresh out of university at 21 and suddenly applying suncream to small humans for the first time. Henry could forgive the bloke. And then, louder he asks his daughter, “Did he put in on your legs too?” “Yep, and my arms daddy.” “And did you remember to wear your cap too?” She nodded and went back to her juice. Henry sort of hated her cap. Bea had lent it to her one morning when it had been her day to do the school run and Lottie didn’t have her hat. It was a black cap that had faded to more of a grey with a Queen logo on it. Bea had had it for years and Lottie had been obsessed when Bea had given it to her and now she refused to wear anything else to school. Henry knew it wasn’t exactly the most child friendly design but there was nothing actually inappropriate. Besides, he’d be lying if it didn’t make his little gay heart happy to see his daughter in that cap. But he would absolutely deny that to Bea. Something like Paw Patrol or Bluey would still be more appropriate, at least for school. Henry assumed that was all he was going to hear about Mr Alex for now. His daughter settled back into quiet as she looked out of the window and Henry used the opportunity to send a quick text to Bea to check she was still ok to do pick up the next day. “He’s got pretty eyes daddy?” “Who has sweetheart.” “Mr Alex silly. He’s got pretty eyes and he talks funny.” “Lottie,” he uses his best parental ‘warning’ voice, “I’ve told you before that we can’t say things about how people look or sound.” “It’s not baaaad funny,” she says in that way that 4 year olds do, “I like his voice. But he doesn’t sound like you or Auntie Bea.” “Well,” Henry tries to reason, “maybe he’s not from London like us. I’ve shown you videos of your grandpa and he wasn’t from London. He was from a place called Sheffield and he didn’t sound like me and Bea.” People moved all the time for teacher training. “No,” Henry could sense she was starting to get impatient at Henry not understanding her, “he doesn’t sound like Grandpa Fox either. And he says funny words too. He called the bin the trash can and he says math instead of maths. It’s funny.”

[hyperfixated-on-hensper]

I think jasper likes painting

He definitely does! He's very creative, yet naturally messy, he definitely thrives with a paintbrush.

(Since, I headcanon him as autistic, maybe he'd be just like my brother who's also on the spectrum and have been obsessed with Bob Ross as a toddler)

I'll use this ask as an opportunity to share a few Jasper canon/headcanons hobbies.

I believe Jasper is a person with many hobbies; mainly things he's learned to do outta loneliness and boredom.

The first two are actually one's @jasperdunlop told me.

Jasper likes to garden

I don't remember the reason they had this headcanon, but I like to think the reason has something to do with Henry's canon flower camp era.

Like maybe Henry came back from camp and excitedly showed Jasper some of what he learned, and Jasper just took a liking to it.

Jasper is a good cook

This one is actually canon; he's shown cooking on several occasions throughout the show. He cooked dinner for Henry's family (and uncle hair neck) once. He also made the floor fajitas- which he makes every friday, then he also made brown soup for Charlotte's birthday. There's probably more but yeah.

The theory that was told to me was that he can cook really well because he's neglected at home and has always had to cook his own food. That matched with his spontaneous personality means he probably experimented in the kitchen and through trial and (lots of) error became very talented.

A few additional canon hobbies include:

-belt making

-bucket collecting (obviously)

-watching romcoms (He's quoted several)

-Dodge ball

-etc (I know I'm missing a few)

My Headcanons:

I think Jasper is musically talented, I have no reason for this other than the fact that the actor Sean Ryan Fox is a great musician.

So, I've given those traits to Jasper

I headcanon that Jasper can sing, really well, but no one knows it- not even him.

Jasper always does goofy fun renditions of songs (like the cup song) whenever he sings in front of any camera or person, making his voice dramatically loud and probably uses an accent too.

But when he's singing to himself, quietly while locking up Junk-N-Stuff, it's really good. A soft sweet melody that he doesn't even realize he's producing.

And it surprises the hell outta anyone who just so happens to hear it.

Now, I also believe he can play instruments too.

A lot of the time he's alone when he works upstairs in Junk-N-Stuff, so to combat his boredom and loneliness he started fiddling with the piano in the store.

After that he's learned how to play every instrument that comes into the store before he sells it.

He's learned, piano, guitar, harmonica, and the bagpipes.

Jasper can draw- but only one thing, Henry.

Another headcanon hobby; Partially mine.

I talked @americasass-rogers about this one.

It started off as a Hensper discussion, about how I that Jasper- Henry's self proclaimed soulmate- Donlup has had his and Henry's entire wedding planned out since they were in kindergarten.

Then we joked about how if they do eventually get married he's gonna show Piper and Charlotte (the wedding planners) a scrap book with bad drawings he made in elementary school.

Then they said "which would also probably lead to him being very good at drawing henry specifically."

We decided that when he was little he used to show off his drawing to both Henry and probably Henry's mom and later Charlotte being like look at this awesome drawing I made while they were like just little kids drawings. But as he got older he stopped because he realised that maybe it was a bit weird to draw you and your friend getting married but he got really good at drawing that specifically so his drawings now are actually really good he just doesn’t share them with anyone.

The only person that sees the drawings is Ms.Shapen, because he doodles on the back of assignments.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[prettyyoungandbored]

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Nine

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: None

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho, @claudiahxrdy​ (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Bruce’s fingers ran through Demetria’s black hair, tucking a strand behind her ear before his fingers slid softly down her jawline.

She was fast asleep, her head resting on his chest, their legs intertwined. Her breathing was gentle, heart beating slowly against his. Her jacket was draped over her like a blanket. His arms wrapped around her protectively.

After having their way with each other, they’d put their clothes back on with the intention of driving back home, but exhaustion overwhelmed them and instead they opted for sleeping on the floor. 

Bruce felt relief wash over him, knowing that he didn’t have to hide from her nor did he lose her in the process. His eyes fell to her stitch on her forearm. The scar would forever be a reminder of his carelessness and he would never forgive himself for as long as lived.

Her eyes fluttered open, a tired smile forming on her lips.

“Morning,” she mumbled, nestling her head closer to him as she basked in the warmth of his body.

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her close to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore, but nothing some asprin can’t fix.”

“I have a bottle in the top right drawer. I also have aftercare stuff for stitches in my desk if you need it. I’ve had to stitch myself multiple times.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “You do it yourself?”

“Alfred helps.”

She hummed. “I’m getting you a blanket to keep in here. Maybe a pillow too.”

He chuckled, his lips hovering over the top of her head. “I don’t need it.”

She lifted her head. “But I might.” 

“Who says I’ll allow you back in here?” he teased. 

“I can make myself very useful to you.” 

“You’re always useful to me.”

She rolled her eyes, lying her head back down. “You know what I mean.”

His fingers circled her back as he rested his chin on top of her head. “Dem?” 

“Yea?” 

“Are all your panic attacks like that?”

She glanced up. “Like what?” 

“Like how it was last night?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never had one that intense before. They vary in severity, but usually it’s manageable.” 

He closed his eyes, cursing himself even more. He knew he should’ve been there. “What can I do for you when you have them?”

 “Just ask me what I need,” she shrugged. “I’ll usually tell you if I want you there or if I want space.”

“You promise?” 

“I do.” Her fingers reached toward his hair, running through it. “I appreciate you asking.” 

She pecked his lips before stretching her arms carefully, aware of the stitch on her arm. “How the hell did we fall asleep on the floor?”

“I think we were both just were too tired to care.”

She got up, helping Bruce up off the ground. She threw on her jacket. “By the way, how the hell did you and Rachel survive that fall?”

He chuckled. “I’ve jumped off higher buildings. That was nothing.”

She cocked her head. “You live in a penthouse.” 

“When you’ve been at it for as long as I have, you get used to it.” 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” 

He smirked, resting his hands on her forearms. “I don’t want you jumping off buildings.” 

She scoffed playfully. “Fine, keep your secrets.” Then it dawned on her. “Speaking of which, does she know?”

“Rachel? Yeah, she does.” 

“Anyone else?” 

“Lucius Fox. He helps come up with the tools and the Batsuit. All this you see in here is his handy work. As for Rachel, I rescued her a long time ago.”

Demetria nodded understandingly. Bruce put his hands on her hips, pulling her close to him. “I should’ve told you sooner. I just wanted to protect you.”

She gently grabbed his hands. “Be honest with me here, were you really ever going to tell me?”

“I was hoping I could step down before we got married so that I could tell you when it was over so you wouldn’t worry. I realize now how foolish that was.” He paused. “I threw the fundraiser for Harvey because I believe he’s what Gotham needs and deserves. He’s better than Batman. I want him to continue so that the Batman can leave and I can begin my life with you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to be too mad at him, realizing his intentions were nothing but good. She also cursed herself for ever doubting him. 

“Well first, know that the right time to tell me anything is when it happens,” she told him. “Second, don’t get me wrong, what Harvey’s done for the city is great but he’s not you. You should be proud for what you’ve done for the city.” She pressed the palm of her hand against his cheek. “I want you to know that if you don’t want to give up Batman, that’s ok. If you feel like you’re done, then that’s ok too. What I don’t want is to be the reason behind your decision.” 

He shook his head. “You’re always my reason. Demetria, you’re everything to me.” 

Her lips curved into a small grateful smile.  “Just know I’m here and I’m proud of you and that you’ll always be my hero.” 

‘I’m proud of you.’ Four words filled him with a sense of security he hadn’t felt in a long time. No, he never searched for glory or praise when it came to his Batman or personal duties, but Demetria’s support meant the absolute world to him. He knew his luck and he’d be damned if he pushed it any further.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his thumb wiping her bottom lip.

Her hands moved to wrap around the back of his neck and his hands wrapped her cheeks. “I love you too.”

He leaned forward, his breath hitting her lips for a moment before his lips brushed up against hers.

His kiss was gentle, but with meaning, just like his declaration. If both had their choice in life, they would choose to stay in the moment forever. To stay trapped in the most meaningful kiss that made the world and its problems around them disappear. 

Demetria slowly pulled back and rest her head on his chest as his hand rubbed her back. Her eyes shifted over to the computer screens, curiosity filling her eyes. 

“So what exactly is this for?” she questioned, motioning her head toward it. 

Bruce looked at the computers. “Helps with tracking.” 

“Tracking what?” 

“Anything and everything.”

She turned her head to him. “Including me?”

His hands were shoved in his pockets, slight embarrassment painting his expression. “Two times. Tops.”

She leaned forward, a playful smirk on her lips. “You’ve spied on me twice? When?”

“First time was the anthrax scare.”

“And the other?

“Huge drug deal happening in the basement of your apartment building. 

She hummed, the memory coming back to her. “Ah, yeah. That was a fun time.” Her eyes then widened. “Wait a minute. You called me that night...and you...you asked-.” 

“For you to spend the night,” he finished. He nodded. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” 

“So that's why you made me stay at your place for the entire weekend?” 

He cracked a smile. “Made you? I seem to recall you not fighting me on it.” 

“I just thought you were needy.” She looked back over at the computers. “Would you teach me how to use the system?” 

“Why?”

“I want to help you.”

His smile faded. “Demetria, I told you I don’t-.”

“I’m already involved, Bruce. Besides, I’ll stay in here and this is a safe enough space for me. Plus, I worked in journalism. I know how to dig deep and find out things.” 

“I thought your job was to get people on shows?” 

“We had to do background checks and in-depth research.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Look, I can’t jump off buildings or fight, but I can help with hacking and with research and that’s just as useful to your work as the physical stuff is. Think of it as me 

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to fight her. She’d had a point - she was already involved. She was also helpful with the tip from last night. Maybe she could be an asset.

“How do you know to hack?” he questioned, cracking a tiny smile.

“I know people,” she shrugged casually.

He shook his head. “We’ll try it on a trial basis.”

She perked up, her smile widening. “I promise I won’t disappoint.”

“I see you now know our little secret, Miss Gallagher.”

Demetria and Bruce looked over to see Alfred carrying two to-go coffee cups. He made his way to the couple, offering the first cup to Demetria. 

“You’re a lifesaver, again,” Demetria thanked him as she took the coffee. She took a sip, the taste of caffeine, half-and-half, and sugar welcoming her. 

She watched as Alfred set down the other cup on the desk as Bruce turned the computer systems. Suddenly, the pitch black screens turned to looped videos of The Joker. From security cam footage to his video from yesterday, his presence graced the screen and caused shivers to go down Demetria’s spine. 

The memory of the way The Joker’s eyes pierced in to her in the moments before he slashed her flashed in her head. She exhaled, shaking it off so Bruce wouldn’t see. 

Just when a distraction was needed, her phone rang. She dug into her jacket pocket to find it was her mom calling.

“Oh shit,” she mumbled.  

She walked to the other side of the Bat Cave and pressed the green button. “Hey Mom.”

“Thank god you’re alright! I had Henry calling me at midnight in hysterics, saying you were attacked and hospitalized - I could barely sleep last night!”

“I know I should’ve called-.”

“Thank god for Alfred! Alfred called me from the hospital to keep me and Henry updated. He even called this morning to say you were sleeping in and that he and Bruce had you taken care of.”

Demetria made a mental note to thank him for keeping her mother at bay.

“And Bruce! My god, the poor thing!” her mother went on. “I mean, he got lucky he was only locked in the closet, but it could’ve been so much worse. Thank god the rat guy came in when he did.”

“His name is Batman, Mom.”

“ I called Harvey to check on him and he said Rachel was attacked too?”

“Yeah, The Joker threw her out the window-.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god!”

“Mom, she’s fine. Batman saved her.”

She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. This was the absolute last thing she needed.

“That’s it! I’m coming in tonight.”

Demetria’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not! You are not coming to Gotham!”

“Demetria, do not fight me on this!”

“Mom, I need you to stay where you are. Now is not the time to come here.”

“I need you to be safe.”

“I am safe. They’re increasing security at Bruce’s place as we speak.”

“What about Harvey?”

“He’s untouchable. He’s going to be fine.”

Her mother sighed in defeat. “Alright, but I want a phone call everyday. You hear me?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And if this continues, I want you, Bruce, and Alfred on your way here or I’m coming in.”

“Fair enough. I promise everything’s gonna be ok. Just do me a favor and keep Henry calm and updated. I’ll call him later.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Demetria hung up, shoving the phone back into her pocket. She made her way back to Bruce and Alfred who were staring at the monitors. 

“Targeting me won’t get their money back,” Bruce said, his eyes glued to The Joker’s face on screen. “I knew the mob wouldn’t go down without a fight, but this feels different. They’ve crossed a line.” 

“You crossed a line first, sir,” Alfred pointed out. “You squeezed them, you hammered them to the point of desperation and in their desperation, they turned to a man they didn’t fully understand.” 

Bruce turned away from the monitors. “Well, criminals aren’t complicated, Alfred. We just need to figure out what he’s after.”

The case that held his Batsuit rose from the ground as Bruce stared at it. 

“With respect Master Wayne, perhaps this is a man you don't fully understand either,” Alfred suggested. He made his way toward Bruce, Demetria watching him. “A long time ago, I was in Burma, my friends and I were working for the local government. They were trying to buy the loyalty of the tribal leaders by bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So we went looking for the stones. But in six months, we never met anyone who traded with him.One day I saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing them away. “So why steal them?” Bruce asked with a slight shrug. 

“Because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

As Alfred walked away, Bruce and Demetria looked up at the screen at the Joker’s face. 

============================================

Back at the penthouse, Demetria sat in the living room watching GCN’s coverage of the deaths of Police Commissioner Gillian B. Loeb and Judge Janet Surillo. Both were murdered - one poisoned, the other blown up in her own car. Both deaths were believed to have been conducted by The Joker and by the city’s mobs. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if what had happened to her last night was premeditated. One of the henchmen singled her out to The Joker, referring to her simply as “her.” Perhaps she was on the list for round one of victims.

It dawned on her that by confirming her friendship with Harvey in her editorial, she set herself up to be a target. 

She shut off the TV and began pacing the room. What if the orphanage was next or GCN? What if they were going to blow up her old apartment building with everyone in it? What if they were going to try again?

She cursed herself for writing that damn thing. If only she had just let it go, she wouldn’t have gotten herself involved.

She ran her hand through her hair, when she turned her head over to see her laptop. 

That’s when she thanked God she was smart enough to befriend some of the IT people and researchers at GCN. 

She grabbed her cell phone and went through her contacts, before finding the name she needed. She dialed the number. 

“Harvey, are you at the office?” 

“Yeah, is everything ok? Are you alright?” 

“Is Grace at the office?” 

“Of course.” 

“I need you to let go on an errand for me.” 

*********************************************************************************

That night in the Batcave, as Bruce suited up in his Batman outfit, Demetria sat at the desk setting up her new laptop. 

“And what exactly did you tell Harvey you needed a new laptop for?” 

“I spilled water on mine,” she answered, her eyes not leaving the computer. She clicked a key. “There we go! Now if you need me to hack into a place, I’m ready to go. I’m also logged into the scanner and can hear everything, but that’s not as fun.” 

“How do you know which security cameras the buildings use?” 

“Most places have the same system,” Demetria explained. “At least that’s what I was taught.”

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets,” Bruce noted. 

She furrowed her eyebrows. “There’s a difference between my limited knowledge of hacking and you being Batman.” 

He kissed the top of her head. “Are you going to be ok in here?” 

“I have a blanket and pillow and I’m wearing my favorite sweatpants so I would say so.” She eyed his computers. “I’m still working on figuring out those systems but I should be ok.”

His hand touched her cheek. “It won’t always be like this. Soon, you’ll have me all to yourself in bed all night.”

“And I cannot wait, but for now, focus on getting home safe and without a scratch.”

“For you, absolutely.”

He put on his cowl when Demetria said,” “Scanner is already reporting a shooting at West Point apartment on 78th. Gotham PD is on their way. Checking for security footage now to see if it’s the Joker.” She looked over her shoulder. “Better move along.” 

[ponds-of-ink]

Some Miscellaneous FNAF + Don Bluth “Project” Headcanons (Part 1?)

Because this idea has been bouncing around in my noggin, here’s my attempt at thinking like a writer in the 90’s. Keep in mind, this is just me spitballing the ideas that have been swirling in my noggin for days now.

*If Don Bluth is anything to go by, fantastical stuff is a must. Sure, Sci-Fi’s a genre that’s been done in that style. But, if some of the lineup’s anything to go by, then it might lean more into the ‘90s Fantasy genre.

*So, I’m thinking like Narnia but with teleport machines that William and Henry built. Like, you slip into some hidden corner of on of their houses and it’s there. This… mirror-looking portal.

*Henry originally made this with the intention to play out potential Fredbear and Friends scenarios like a Star Trek-like Holo-Deck. But, unfortunately, William requested one for Evan so the little guy could get used to the animatronics indirectly. Evan and Charlie both got lost and um… Yeah, they’re stuck.

*Speaking of those kids, Evan went in first but got captured. Charlie was sent by William to get Evan back, but she became this project’s version of The Puppet. Needless to say, Henry wasn’t happy and William (understandably here) panicked. This was not part of the plan.

*Btw, the Nightmares weren’t originally in the system, but William might’ve accidentally “created” them while setting the machine up. Nightmare Bear probably is both the leader of that group and maaaaybe the over-arching Big Bad. Maybe.

*Anyway, let’s switch to somebody you might actually be curious about: Michael. Well… How he appears in this thing differs from story to story. At first, he’s the fox-masked teen we know and loathe/love. Next, after returning to the real world for a bit, he’s practically an adult. And then, after a tangle with Circus Baby/Elizabeth and her crew, he actually becomes Rockstar Foxy but with a stitched-up gash down his stomach. Idk why exactly on that last one at the moment, but I think it’s because his “avatar” of sorts had to be reconstructed.

*(Oh, yeah. I probably should’ve brought this up sooner. There’s time skips between each hypothetical… episode? Made-for-TV movie specials?… Whatever you wanna chalk this up to. Now, granted, it’s just time skips in the Holo-World and not in Real Life. Be weird to explain thirty-year irl time skips here.)

*Point is: Michael is our Main Man for, at least three of these after the FNAF 4 “pitch pilot”. Though I mentioned Nightmare as the overarching Big Bad, he’ll just be biding his time while the other Main Villains take the spotlight. He can wait for his grand finale.

*So, who are the villains we do see? Welp, we first have William as Spring-Bonnie. TL;DR on his deal is that he sent five random kids through the machine to test the waters, got trapped there himself as his own character, and kinda went stir-crazy after those kids locked him up somewhere. The only thing keeping him from not losing his marbles are his constant song and dance rehearsals… Which, in turn, render him completely unable to talk for the FNAF 3 section.

*Circus Baby/Elizabeth (and her gang). William, during the test run days, accidentally left the machine on one day. Liz stumbled across it while in the newfound Circus Baby’s mode, peeked in, then got scooped into it. She suffered the same fate as the five kids and quickly transformed into Circus Baby herself. Long story short, she’s been running a circus in Nightmare’s own backyard for quite a bit now. You can call her the ringleader of it, since she pretty much is.

*The overall main goals are (1) Freeing the Missing Kids/Afton and Emily Families, (2) Defeating Nightmare, and (3) Making Amends. [Maybe not in that order, but okay.]

*Oh, and the Shadow Animatronics? Henchmen for the Nightmares during this saga. Shadow Bonnie is a Dr. Frankenstein type while Shadow Freddy is a Spy for King Nightmare himself… Well, maybe on Shadow Freddy.

That’s all I’ve got so far. Sorry if this is a little stream-of-conscious-ish and rambling. I have so many ideas and too little brain cells to spill them all out in an orderly manner.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

“Stay the night. Please” for pynch? <333

decided to make this an angsty post-trk, pre-epilogue fic, and I’m hoping it doesn’t feel too out of date and you still enjoy ❤️

12. “Stay the night. Please.”

Monmouth felt quiet, even though it was as full as it got. They’d all silently agreed to return to the building together, despite Maura asking them to come back to Fox Way where she could watch over them. Blue had seemed to consider it, but the rest of them were more used to taking care of themselves and each other. She’d seemed to want to go where Gansey went much more, and Gansey wanted to go home.

They all went where Gansey went. It was an even stronger desire now than before.

It might have been the silence that made it feel empty. Gansey and Blue were curled on Gansey’s bed, Blue still clinging tightly to his hand, with Cheng sprawled at their feet. Adam didn’t think he’d ever seen Henry so subdued. It shouldn’t have seemed like the strangest thing about today.

That felt like Ronan, sat at the opposite side of the couch from Adam, as silent and still as he had been that day in the car when grief overcame him, the restlessness tucked down deep and only visible in the depths of his eyes.

Adam had hoped for his presence to offer some quiet comfort, then. Now he was staring at the bruises on Ronan’s neck with fear clogging his own throat.

Maybe it was that they could feel the lack of Noah’s presence in the place he’d so long occupied. His complete absence sucked out a pocket of sound they hadn’t known was ever present and left Adam’s good ear ringing. His limbs felt dead without Cabeswater tickling his veins. The unexpected grief was overwhelming.

He couldn’t imagine how it felt to Ronan.

The only thing overpowering the hurt was the relief. Having Gansey with them felt like a blessing they hadn’t thought to pray for, despite all the warnings they’d had. Just as Blue hadn’t managed to peel away from him, Ronan hadn’t taken his eyes off of him once. Adam understood. He was also waiting for the farce to wear off, for the trick to reveal itself and strip what they had left away from them. They were all supposed to come home, and half of them almost hadn’t.

Half of them, Adam couldn’t stop thinking. Noah, and Gansey, and Ronan, whose life Adam could still feel slipping away beneath his hands. Squeezed out of him by his hands.

Perhaps the building felt so quiet, so still, because Adam’s insides were such a riot that the outside seemed behind glass.

It made Gansey’s interruption startling loud. “This is unusually somber,” he said lightly. They all only watched him. He gave Blue a careful jostle. “Since when have you let me quiet you, Jane?”

Blue cuddled against him and squeezed his hand tightly, and Adam felt a pang of longing as his gaze shot back to Ronan. Ronan’s leg had started jingling. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” Blue said, aiming for teasing and landing on tired. “I don’t care how annoying you are today.”

Cheng patted Gansey’s leg, and even his grin seemed to fall flat. “Free pass, Gansey-boy. You’re a lucky man.”

Ronan’s jaw twitched, his usual explosive anger bubbling, ready to destroy to avoid self-destruction. Adam’s hand made an aborted movement towards him that he hoped no one caught.

“Lynch,” Gansey said, painfully gentle. “Help me out. You’re not the quiet type.”

Adam watched Ronan bristle as Cheng snorted, which was admittedly a bold move. “Ah yes, surely Lynch has a way with words.”

It should have earned some very particular words, but instead Ronan stared at them in his stubborn silence, then lurched to his feet and into his room. The door swallowed him with a bang, and Adam jumped in his seat.

Gansey was already edging off his bed, but the movement was sluggish, and he didn’t seem too excited to shake off Blue’s reluctant grip. Adam didn’t pause to think before rising. He told himself he was doing the right thing as Gansey met his gaze and seemed to relax.

I’ve got him, he tried to communicate; though he hardly believed it himself. But Gansey smiled, and his gaze held that unbearable fondness it usually did, and he nodded. A bubble of courage popped in Adam’s chest and left him striding after Ronan.

He didn’t knock, partially because he didn’t want to talk to Ronan through a door with their friends watching and mostly because he knew Ronan wouldn’t answer. He nudged his way in quietly, shutting the door with a click instead of a slam. The only indication that Ronan heard him was a half turn of his head. He was sitting on the far side of his bed with his back to Adam, gently ruffling Chainsaw’s feathers.

Adam lingered by the door, and they remained in a stalemate.

Then Ronan said, “You just come to gawk, Parrish?”

Adam could have teased back, should have, knew it was the best opening for him to take—the only one Ronan would offer. Instead he heard the scratch and scrape of Ronan’s raw tone and blurted, “I’m sorry.”

It was so quiet he wasn’t sure Ronan would hear him, but he whirled around fully and looked at Adam. Adam was surprised to see his defenses dropped down. The lingering panic was visible in him, and he swept his gaze over Adam quickly, as if suddenly needing to make sure he was still in one piece. Then he met Adam’s eyes and shook his head.

“Don’t,” he murmured. He held his hand out; it drooped after a moment as Adam hesitated. Ronan’s previous panic slipped into sadness, and Adam went to him.

Then: the relief.

Ronan latched onto Adam’s hand the moment he was within reach and clung. He caressed with his thumb and squeezed with his fingers and reached out until Adam presented his other hand. Ronan drew the first until they were pressed over his heart, and brought the second to his lips.

Adam shook his head as Ronan kissed his knuckles, filled with disbelief. “You can’t—“ he choked, then made a wretched noise as Ronan kissed the pads of his fingers. “Ronan.”

“I know your hands,” Ronan murmured. “They don’t feel like that did.”

Adam sucked in a breath, then huffed. He wanted to believe they hadn’t touched enough for Ronan to be so sure, because Adam was flinty with his affection and didn’t know how to offer it at the best of times. But for the moment they’d been allowed to share it, Ronan had handled him with such reverence that Adam thought maybe he had been memorized. Who knows how many times Ronan had felt it since, or how long Ronan he’d been waiting to begin with to know what to replicate in his dreams.

It was an odd thought, a prideful one of the vain thread that Adam didn’t frequently have. He’d been doubting himself even more than normal these past few hours, unsure if Ronan would want him any longer, or how he possibly could.

But with Ronan finally looking at him, he felt ridiculous for believing it could be different.

Ronan’s expression smoothed out, as if he could see Adam’s acceptance and allowed himself to relax. But then he was letting go of Adam’s hands, and Adam hurt for the instant it took for Ronan’s arms to wind around his waist.

Adam let himself be pulled, stepping into the space between Ronan’s knees and cradling his head with special care. It took a few minutes of Ronan nuzzling him before he felt brave enough to brush his hands over Ronan’s shorn scalp, trailing them down to his neck then quickly retreating again.

“Adam,” Ronan said.

Adam wound his arms around him, sliding down into a crouch so he could hold Ronan against his shoulder. He let out a breath as Ronan kissed his jaw. “Why’d you run?” Adam asked.

Ronan shrugged, sinking closer.

“He’s okay,” Adam said, quietly.

Ronan nodded. He clutched at Adam’s back. “Are you?” Without looking at him, he could somehow tell Adam had a protest brewing, and reminded him, “It hurt you, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Great. Me too.”

“Ronan.”

“Adam.”

“Be serious.”

“Stay the night. Please.”

Adam froze. He made to pull back, but Ronan held tight, pressing his face to Adam’s neck and resolutely not looking at him. “That’s what I wanted to ask,” Ronan continued quickly. “That’s why I left. Because even fucking Cheng is going to stay because Gansey wants him to and that’s fucking fabulous, and I know you would too. But I don’t—there’s not—“

“I’m here,” Adam said, understanding. He wasn’t as good at this as Ronan, which was saying something, because Ronan was awful. Adam wanted to give him everything. He could start with a little bit of himself. “I want to stay with you.”

Ronan let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah?”

Adam nodded. He didn’t care that Ronan was almost crushing him now. The overpowering strength that should have made him shy away was somehow the most comforting touch Adam had ever felt. All in knowing Ronan was holding on when his senses should have urged him to let go.

“Gansey wants you here more than anything,” Adam added. “He was ready to follow you right away.”

“Maggot and Henry-fucking-Cheng holding him hostage?”

Adam huffed. “No. Well, they might have, but I don’t think he would have let them. But I wanted to come.”

Ronan pulled back to look at him now, and like always, Adam gravitated towards him. Ronan’s touch gentled for their kiss, his hand raising to cradle Adam’s jaw and keep him in place. It was unnecessary now—Adam didn’t want to go anywhere. But he wouldn’t protest Ronan’s touch, not when it was lovely enough to wipe away the terribleness of the day, when it felt like a whisper of Cabeswater against his skin. It made Adam pull Ronan closer, cupping a hand around the back of his neck. He stroked it in silent apology, his chest constricting, and Ronan kissed him harder.

“Stay,” Ronan repeated. It was more than a request for the night.

Adam nodded. “Okay.” They remained there until Adam’s thighs burned and he finally had to draw himself up. He winced as his knees cracked, but didn’t let go of Ronan. “Shall we go back out for a bit?”

Ronan did his smoker’s breath, then nodded. “I’ve done enough sleeping on the floor for you, though, Parrish. They can have their three-way out there, but I have a perfectly fucking good bed.”

Adam’s lips threatened to curve in a grin. “So, the couch—“

“Parrish,” Ronan groaned, face mushed to Adam’s stomach.

Adam laughed. “I’m kidding. Message clearly received.”

Ronan smiled; not his sharp grin, but a small, soft thing, as gentle as the lips he once again pressed to Adam’s hand before rising. “Come on, then.”

He held out his hand, and Adam didn’t hesitate.

Prompt List

[invincibleweasel]

Nitpick November: Day 1 & 2

Let’s get this show on the road! I’m gonna be making these posts in pairs.

Nitpick 1: Let’s start with a more meta one. Who’s idea was it to name the characters Ruby Rose, Sun Wukong and Ozma? The names themselves aren’t bad per se. The issue comes with the fact that those names already exist in some form. Ruby Rose has the same name as the actress, Ruby Rose. Sun Wukong shares the name with a character from Journey to the West. While Ozma takes his name from Princess Ozma from The Marvelous Land of Oz. And while it’s not uncommon for the same names to be used across media, especially with mythological characters like Sun Wukong. Generally speaking, the media that they’re from uses well-known names across the board, not just one or two while everyone else gets original names. This is the same series where characters named Crow have their names spelled with a Q. Was it really too hard to name Ruby Rose, Rubi Rose or something? Or change Sun’s surname so it isn’t a direct copy of the mythological figure. Even giving Ozma a surname would do wonders for its recognisability. Nitpick 2: Let’s talk allusions. Allusions are honestly something I absolutely love, conceptually. Every character having an allusion to a story character. Each team having an allusion theme that ties them together nicely. It’s a really neat concept. You have characters based off of fairy tales, mythological figures, fables, folklore, poems, sweets, birds, memes...now hold a minute, what’s with those last three? CFVY’s theme is sweets, not even sweet-themed fairy tales or anything. Just sweets. How exactly are chocolate, fox hunter pie, red velvet cake and yatsuhashi story ‘characters’? Remember, this team was built by Monty himself. The one who established the allusion concept in the first place. If the creator himself can’t be consistent with his own rules. Is there any wonder how we got to RWBY’s disastrous state in the first place? That isn’t even getting into the fact that CFVY do have actual allusions, but none that tie the team together. Coco alluding to fashion designer and nazi collaborator/spy Coco Chanel (mostly in design, to Chanel herself), Fox alluding to The Fox and the Hound (in name and through his connection to a character named Copper only), Velvet alluding to The Velveteen Rabbit (in name and the fact that she’s a rabbit Faunus only) and Yatsuhashi, who doesn’t even get a proper allusion. The wiki claims he may allude to Quasimodo from The Hunchback and the Notre Dame but gives very vague evidence and does not cite any sources. Still, no central theme for the team unlike Teams RWBY and JNPR. They could’ve easily made Team CFVY’s theme sweet-based stories such as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or The Gingerbread Man. There’s plenty to choose from. CRDL allude to birds. Just birds, not even birds from fairy tales or anything. Literal birds. Cardinals, thrushes, doves and larks to be exact. I understand that they’re not exactly the most important or well-liked characters but you couldn’t of at least put more effort into who they’re based on? Birds aren’t story characters, at least not in the same vein as Little Red Riding Hood or Goldilocks.

Keeping with the idea that they’re birds. Why not make their allusions based on famous winged or bird-like characters? Or if you want to keep with the theming that Cardin has by being based on Henry Beaufort, base them off the antagonists of JNPR’s respective stories (like Cardin is to Jaune). One member could be a soldier of the opposing army Achilles/Mulan fought against, while another could be based off a Frost Giant from Norse Mythology to go with Nora. FNKI’s team theme is memes...which aren’t exactly characters either, except for Neon maybe, if you stretch the definition of character in this context. Flynt is based off ‘Flint Coal’, a running joke from Rooster Teeth’s Minecraft Let’s Plays. Which for starters, isn’t even a story character and wouldn’t be understandable to a viewer who doesn’t experience Rooster Teeth content beyond RWBY. Neon is a reference to nyan cat, a dead meme that’s just as annoying as she is. But again, not a story character. Finally, Kobalt and Ivori share an allusion in the dress meme, in which a dress was seen as black and blue or white and gold, depending on who you asked. Given Flynt and Neon’s music-like aesthetics, why not make the team theme characters from musicals or about stories where music/instruments play a large role in it, like the Pied Piper as an example. Another team that I didn’t previously mention is SSSN, and that’s because the team itself has no theming whatsoever. While CFVY, CRDL and FNKI all had pretty weak themes, that at least had them. SSSN has none of that. Sun is based off Sun Wukong from the Journey to the West, Scarlet is based off Peter Pan from the official sequel Peter Pan in Scarlet, Sage has no exact allusion beyond vague Aesop Fable or Aesop himself and Neptune is Neptune, from Roman Mythology. There’s no theme that ties these four characters or stories together. Why not make them all JTTW characters? Or base each member of SSSN off a different classic novel from the Four Great Classic Novels of Chinese literature, which would work well given they’re a team at Haven Academy which is in Remnant’s loosely Asian-based kingdom? It takes very little effort to keep to a consistent theme, yet time and time again I’m left disappointed by Rooster Teeth’s laziness. You are the ones who constructed these rules, I expect you to follow them.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“We All Will Be Together” Chapter 6: Happy Father’s Day

"Alright, class, please settle down," Miss French said, trying to get the attention of her second graders. It was nearing the end of the day and there was a warm breeze blowing through the nearest window, beckoning them all outside. Even Henry was having trouble focusing – all he wanted to do was go outside and play.

But school was still not yet over and he was stuck inside with everyone else.

"Class, I need your attention," Miss French repeated. "Or else we'll never make our Father's Day cards."

Henry sat up straighter, excitement filling him. This was the first year he had a father to make a card for – usually he ended up making a card for his Uncle David instead – and he looked forward to making something for Robin, his dad. He tried not to bounce in his seat as Miss French told each row to go get their art boxes. When his was called, he grabbed his and returned to his seat as quickly as possible so they could get started on the cards as soon as possible.

She placed several piles of construction paper – sorted by color – onto the bookcase under the blackboard. Turning back to the class, she smiled. "I want you to figure out which animal you want to put on your card and then when I call your row, you can come up and take the colors you need."

Biting his lip, Henry debated what he wanted to make. He considered a horse but that seemed more appropriate for his mother. And he knew that Roland would make monkeys – he loved them. Dad seemed to like all animals so that didn't help him make a choice either. As Miss French started to call up row one, Henry panicked as he tried to make his decision.

Dog? Cat? Horse? Lion? Dragon?

What was he going to pick?

"Row four," Miss French said, moving to stand in front of Henry's row. "Your turn."

Henry waited until everyone else filed past him before he headed up to the front. Miss French frowned, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Henry, is something wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know what animal to choose," he said. "Nothing I've thought of feels right."

"Okay," she replied kindly. "Well, what's your dad's favorite animal?"

Henry panicked, his eyes widening. "I don't know."

"Okay, okay," she repeated, soothing him. "Well, do you have a favorite movie to watch with him? Maybe something with animals?"

"Yes," Henry answered, relief flooding through him as he thought of the past couple weeks. "We've been watching Robin Hood together."

Miss French smiled. "I think you're getting an idea now, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Thank you, Miss French."

"You're welcome," she said. "Now go get your paper so I can call up the next row, okay?"

"Yes, Miss French." He quickly picked up some orange, white and green construction paper. Clutching them tightly, he returned to his chair as the next row went up to grab their supplies.

Once the last row – Roland's row – went and got their supplies, Miss French stood in front of the classroom again. "Alright, you're now going to draw the animals you chose – one big and one little. Does anyone need me to draw your animal on the board for you to copy? If so, please raise your hand."

Henry raised his hand along with a few others. Miss French asked the other children for their animal, smiling when she came to Henry. "And you?"

"A fox," he said proudly. She nodded, writing it down in her list before moving on. Excitement filled Henry – he was going to make the best fox dad and son ever.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** 

"How does your card look, Henry?" Roland asked, falling into step with his brother as they left the classroom. "Can I see it?"

Henry shook his head. "Not now. I'll show it to you when we get home."

"Alright," Roland replied, shrugging. "I can show you mine too. I'm really proud of it. Do you know what I drew?"

"Monkeys," Henry said, smiling. "You love them."

Roland grinned as they exited the school building together. "I do. And I like that you chose foxes. Papa is going to love it."

Happiness surged through Henry – Roland certainly knew their father better than him so he trusted his brother's judgment. Grinning, he said: "Good. I want our first Father's Day to be perfect."

"Papa's not going to care about that," Roland replied, frowning. "All he wants is to make sure we have fun. If we do, then he's happy."

"And if we don't?" Henry asked, worried that something would go wrong and ruin the day for his father.

Roland shrugged. "I think Papa's happy just being with me. And now he'll be happy with me and you."

"I guess," Henry replied, still wanting to have an amazing Father's Day. "It's just…I've never really had a father to celebrate with before. Uncle David and Uncle Archie just aren't the same."

"Well, I can help you celebrate," Roland told him with a smile. "We'll have a great Father's Day!"

"What are you two conspiring about now?"

They looked up to find Dad standing over them, smiling. Henry blinked once before throwing himself at his father. "Dad!"

"Hello, my boy," Dad replied, hugging him tightly. He then held out his other arm. "I've got room for you too, Roland."

Roland then hugged him as well. "Hi, Papa!"

"Hello," he repeated. "Did you two have a good day at school?"

They nodded and he smiled. "Wonderful! So, why don't we head home and let you get out of those uniforms? You must be hot."

Both boys cheered and Dad led them toward the car. Roland looked up at him. "I didn't know you were coming to pick us up, Papa."

"It was a last-minute decision," he replied. "Things were slow at the store and your Uncle John assured me that he had everything under control. So I told your mother I would pick you up and spend the afternoon with you."

"I like that," Henry said, giving his father's hand a squeeze.

Dad squeezed his hand back before also squeezing Roland's hand. "So, what do you two want to do?"

"Can we go to the park?" Roland asked, bouncing as they approached Robin's familiar truck.

"I think the park sounds fun," Dad agreed, looking down at Henry. "Do you want to go to the park?"

Henry perked up at the suggestion, nodding. "Can we practice baseball?"

"Of course we can," Dad replied, helping them into the backseat of his truck. "Any other requests?"

Roland grinned. "Ice cream?"

"Please?" Henry added, also eager for the sweet treat. Especially on such a warm day.

Laughing, Dad nodded. "Okay. We'll go have a nice game in the park and then we'll get some ice cream. Hopefully your mother doesn't kill me for ruining your dinners."

They chuckled as he closed the door. Henry settled into his seat as he buckled up and Roland did the same. "We're going to have a lot of fun today," Roland said.

"I know," Henry replied, grinning. "This is going to be the best weekend ever!"

"That's the plan," Dad said, getting into the driver's seat. He buckled himself up before looking back, smiling at them. "Here we go!"

Both cheered as he turned on the car and then pulled away from the school, heading back to the house so they could change and grab their gear. And then they would climb back into the truck, head to the park and have some fun before getting ice cream.

TGIF, indeed.

Continue reading on FFN, AO3 or Wattpad

[altr5312916195]

The Ghoul Boys' Pizza Party

“I can’t believe I let you dupe me into coming to a children's pizza place, Ryan. You really got me on this one.”

Shane told his partner as they stood outside of the abandoned building.

“Okay, yes it’s an odd place to be, but you know there’s been some stories since the opening of Freddy’s.”

“Oh, do tell.”

Shane said, feigning interest as they approached the doors.

“There’s legends of child murders, shady business and family affairs. A few of the restaurants went up in flames.”

Ryan explained. The pair walked up to the doors with the owner, and their crew behind them. The man unlocked the doors.

“Not this one though?”

“Not this one.”

Ryan confirmed as the man pushed the doors open.

“Have fun dudes, I’ll see you at six.” He chuckled.

He handed them pale blue button ups, a golden security badge sitting on top of the folded shirt.

“Great!

Let’s try not to die in a fire.”

Shane said, as he pulled on his shirt, fastening the badge to it.

“No promises.”

Ryan told him, being the first to step inside, buttoning his shirt.

“Oh look at the confidence!

The swagger ole’ Bergara has tonight.”

Shane chuckled as he walked behind.

The door clicked behind the crew as the owner locked them in for the night.

“I got a good feeling about this one.”

Ryan looked back at Shane with a smile.

“As in we’ll find some ghosts, or we’ll be ghoul free and you’ll go home and sleep well?”

“I’m not so sure yet.”

He noted, while dragging his hand across the damp wall. He found some light switches along the way and flicked them on. The overheads failed to power up, but the stage lights flickered on.

“Oh I truly hate that.”

Shane noted as the stage lit up, getting a good look at some tattered animatronics.

“Yeah that’s.. Not what you want to see.”

The Boys stepped to the edge of the stage, while the big three loomed over them.

“So tell me about the lore here. What are we looking at, I seem to recall child murder.”

Shane broke the silence.

“Yes! Lore..”

Ryan broke out of his trance and looked to Shane.

“Fredbear’s Family Diner opened in the early 70’s.”

“Oh they beat Chuck E?”

“Sure did.”

“The old cheese miser, they beat em to it.”

‘No one said they did a good job though.”

“Oh of course not..

Child murder isn’t good for the business,

Ryan c’mon! You should know that.”

“Hey, don’t jump ahead now hold on. So the little restaurant does well on it’s own for a time. It’s owned by one guy, guy decides it’s time to branch out.”

*chuckles* “Does guy have a name?”

“He does.”

*Gasp* “He does!”

“It’s Henry.”

“Henry, no last name?”

*laughs*

That is correct.”

“Oh that’s- *laughs* Wonderful.”

“Right so he teams up with this man.”

“Oh a partnership!

Does he have a name?”

“William Afton.”

“A last name too! What a lucky guy!”

*chuckles* “His full name is in the police report”

“But not Henry’s? He builds this business

From ground up and they don’t even give him

A proper name. What horse shit.”

“The disrespect is real.”

“It is!”

“It gets more real when you find out Afton’s

Pinned for henry’s daughter’s murder.”

*Laughs* “What? No you’re

Fucking with me.”

“Shane, I'm so serious.”

“Stop.”

“Honest to god.”

“That douche, that british douche!”

“Wha- *wheeze*

Why’s he a brit?”

“I just get the vibes.”

Ryan laughed it off, but continued on as they walked the table filled room.

“Freddy Fazbear’s opens about late 70’s right?”

“Things are going steady? No dead kids?”

“No dead kids, then!”

*chuckles* “Oh no..”

“See this is when Henry’s daughter goes missing.

Charlie.”

“That’s her name?”

“Charlette, yeah.”

“Oh okay, that douche Afton kills her.”

“Exactly, and hides her body

In one of the suits.”

“No!”

*nods* “Henry builds these things

And ole Afton thinks it’s a burial ground.”

“What a dick. That’s a new level

Of disrespect Ryan.”

“But wait! *laugs*

He kills five more kids.”

*laughs* “Ryan, that's not funny.”

“Shane, you're laughing too.”

“Well of course! Your delivery

Was so nonchalant.”

*laughs* “So five more kids.”

“Into the suits?”

“Yep.”

“Unrelated to Charlie?”

“Exactly.”

“But why?”

“He never told.”

“So he was taken in for this?”

“Then released because

They never found the bodies.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, and then after Henry..

Well he kills himself.”

“Henry did? Oh god..”

“Right, Afton takes the rights.

Opens a new Freddy’s.”

“That douche bag..

He’s evil Ryan.”

“Truly, it’s scary.

But he opens this place,

Circus Baby’s.

His own daughter dies by

His animatronic, Baby.”

“That’s Karma.”

“You’d think.

You know his son dies too.”

“Who let this man have kids?”

“His dead wife..”

“OH MY GOD” *laugs*

“How’d she die?”

*laugh* “I’ll give you two guesses.”

“Sweet Satan.

Man’s got the worst luck.”

“Well, yknow

Maybe don’t murder children for funsies.”

“Fair point.”

There was a metallic creek behind them as they walked the restaurant.

*soft chuckle*

“Oh no..”

“I-

I’m not turning around.”

*laughs* “Please do,

We’ll turn around together.”

*Deep breath*

“Okay.”

“One.”

“Two..”

“Three.” The boys turned to face the stage once again.

“Ryan the bear moved.”

“Freddy.”

“Oh, Mr Fazbear himself.”

“The big man..”

Freddy’s eyes glinted as they shifted to gaze at Shane and Ryan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Shane.. There’s a child in there.”

“A real one?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Can’t be.”

“What?”

“I said what I said.”

“I- wha-

Alright, okay.”

“Can we sit, and finish the story?”

“You’re not scared?”

“No.”

Shane simply told him, and pulled out a dusty chair. Ryan sat next to him, and sighed. Though his eyes often darted between Shane, and Freddy.

“Fine..

So Afton has a few restaurants running.”

“Despite Henry killing himself.

Got it. Douche.”

“Well the first Freddy’s shuts down.

Not because of missing kids, but faulty walk around suits.”

“Faulty walk around suits,

What did a worker almost die

While handing out cake?”

Ryan starred at his partner silently. Shane laughed.

“They did?”

“That’s when they finally bring Afton in.”

“And then let him go?

Five kids, dead.

Business partner, dead

Worker, dead.

They let him go.”

“It’s insane, but yes.

So they shut the first Freddy’s down.”

“This one, right?

They rebuilt it in the 90s right?”

“Yeah, some things happened in between.

Five kids, spring lock accident, bite of 87’.”

“A kid bit someone?”

“An animatronic bit a security guard.”

“Oh.. Oh well that’s us tonight.”

Shane gestured to the pale blue shirt, gold badge shining in the dim light of their flashlights.

“That’s.. Foreboding.”

“Unfortunately, yeah.

You know they’ve gone through

Team of animatronics

After team of animatronics.

They finally decide to put it all to rest.”

“Everything closes down?”

“All of it.

Years later, Afton’s off the grid.”

“He’s dead?”

“That’s a theory.”

“A game theory, got it.

Now we’re here.”

“Right.”

“Let’s get hunting then.”

Shane stands up, and Ryan follows. He looks down at his watch.

“One thirty A.M.”

“Five more hours.”

Ryan sighs nervously. They move from the main dining hall into a hallway. The dim lights of the stage stay behind them. They turn into a new room, a small stage in the middle.

“Who’s that?”

Shane pointed to the red fur, and yellow eye that peaked at them behind a purple curtain.

“That would be Foxy.”

“The pirate.

Chica, Bonnie.”

“And a puppet.”

“Where is that one?”

“Storage.

Lot of people think Charlie is in that one.”

“Oh fun, gotta love living in a box forever.”

Shane walked to the tiny stage and reached out for the curtain.

“Dude! Stop what’s wrong with you?”

*chuckles* “C’mon it’s fine.”

He pulled back the curtain. A sharp creak rang out as the silver hook fell on Shane’s arm. He hissed in pain and pulled back.

“I fucking told you!”

“So the gears are loose, Ryan.

Shut up, I’m not dead.

Just give me a bandaid and an alcohol wipe.”

“We’re gonna need shots after this..”

“Oh please.”

Shane scoffed as one of the crew walked over and wiped at the cut with a small wipe, and slapped a bandaid over it.

“Good as new!”

Shane smiled, and thanked the crew member.

“Now, how bout a good ole spirit box?”

Ryan sighed, and pulled out the spirit box, setting it on one of the tables next to them.

“Alright Foxy, it’s gonna get a little loud in here.

Bet you’re used to it from all the screaming kids though.”

“Well he hasn’t been around em in a while.”

“It has been a bit.”

Ryan clicked the spirit box on. The loud shuffle of noise began as everyone listened in anticipation. Seconds passed and Ryan sighed again, disappointed.

“Nothing! C’mon Foxy boy, you got nothing to say?”

The room was quiet save for the radio channels shuffling.

Then something broke through.

“Save them.”

Ryan’s eyes widened as goosebumps hit his arms.

“No.”

*chuckles* “That.. that was the clearest thing

We’ve heard..”

Ryan looked at the tattered red fox and stepped back.

“Shane what the hell was that?”

The words “Save them” struck the cold air again.

Shane laughed, albeit nervously.

“The kids need help Ryan.”

“Shane stop.”

“Ryan they need you.”

“Shane it’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

Ryan picked up the spirit box, and turned it off. He quickly ducked back into the hallway.

“Oh come- Ryan come on.”

Shane followed him out. They continued down the corridor.

“Shane it’s not funny,

There’s kids in there.”

“You can’t believe that.”

“You don’t?”

Shane hesitated.

“No, I don’t.”

A dim light at the end of the hall led them to an office.

Computer screens lined the wall.

“I’m sorry I can’t find it

Easy to joke about these kids.”

“Ryan stop.. It’s fine. It’s what we do.”

They looked to the screens as they argued and Ryan stopped mid sentence.

“Chica’s gone.”

“What? No she’s no-”

On the main screen, the stage, there was only two animals up there. Freddy, and Bonnie.

A crash came from the kitchen.

“Is the whole team in the office?”

Ryan asked, and counted the members in the room. They were all there.

“Shut the doors.”

Shane fumbled for a door, there was none. Just a hole in the wall. He muttered in confusion as he hit the red button labeled door. A metal door came slamming shut.

“I don’t think that’s very safe.”

“But the animatronics outside are?”

“Pick your poison Ryan.”

“We are going to die here..”

“Oh stop! *laughs* We’re fine.”

“Shane I don’t think you understand!

So many people died here.

Kids, nightguards, shift managers. Families, Shane.”

“Ryan, it’s not true.”

Ryan shook his head, and turned to look back at the screens on the wall. Shane put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.

“Come on, Ryan..”

He laughed awkwardly, while Ryan shrugged his hand away.

One of the monitors glitched, coming back to show Foxy in a new position.

“It moved.”

“I see that..”

“What do we do?”

“Nothing, we watch them.

What time is it?”

“Three.”

Ryan sighed, and sunk into one of the roller chairs by the desk.

“Ryan what are we doing?”

“I don’t know! Okay?

We’re stuck here until dawn. Let’s just ride it out.”

Shane sat down next to him, and watched the computer screens. The main screen glitched as Bonnie moved off stage, leaving Freddy alone.

“Shane, why do you think they’re moving?”

“They’re programmed that way aren’t they?”

“You think they do that at Chuck E Cheese?”

“Well, yknow..

I don’t know. I’ve never been in this position.”

Ryan shuffled around again for the spirit box and clicked it on.

Shane groaned and flinched as the sound screeched through the small room.

“Oh you love to hate it..”

Shane joked as Ryan shushed him. Shane pouted and sighed, leaning back in the chair. More banging came from the kitchen.

“Let’s eat.”

“Ryan.. *laughs*

Ryan the chicken is gonna eat us.”

“Shane..”

“I’m sorry I can’t help it.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Ryan turned off the box to hear them better. Things went quiet until something slammed against the door. Ryan jumped back with a shout, and Shane pointed his flashlight towards the window.

In the window a purple shadow stood smiling.

“It’s Bonnie.”

“I see him, Shane.”

“What do we do?”

“Everyone stay still, maybe it’ll go away.”

They both spoke barely above a whisper. Minutes passed as the bunny stood unmoving. Humming echoed through the halls.

“Ryan..”

“I know.. I-i know.

What time-”

“Four.”

“This is our purgatory, Shane.

We’re done for.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

After what felt like hours the hulking form finally turned to leave.

Ryan sighed in relief.

“See?”

“Don’t jinx it Shane.”

“I’m sorry.”

He went quiet, eyes falling back on the screens as they watched Bonnie roam the halls. Chica had found her way back to the stage, Foxy was unmoving.

“Why are they moving? What do they want with us?”

“Stop asking questions I don’t have answers to!”

Ryan huffed out. He looked down at his feet, the golden badge glinting in his eyes as a thought hit him.

“William always came in dressed as a guard.

That was his MO.”

“And we’re the guards. What if they’re

scared of us?”

Ryan looked at Shane, dumbfounded.

“What if they are scared of us?”

“One hour left.” Someone from the crew informed.

“We have to get back to the front doors.”

A soft beeping began to ring out. Shane looked around for the source. In the corner of on of the screens a small red battery flashed in time with the beeping.

“We’re losing power.”

“To what?”

Shane shrugged.

“We’re not going to make it.”

“We’re going to make it.”

Something slammed against the door, a dent being pressed into it.

“We don’t get paid enough for this!”

“It’s Foxy, that bitch!

“Shane, you'll make him angier!”

“Yeah? Well he can suck it!

That’s right!”

“They’re kids!”

“Oh please..”

Another slam rang out, as the beeping grew louder, more urgent.

“Five thirty.”

“Shane what do we do?”

“We’re going to get to that door.

He’ll go away soon.”

The banging grew louder, and Ryan moved to cover his ears. He shrank back in his chair, eyes shut.

Despite all this he heard something in the back of his mind as images flash in his head.

It’s me

“Shane!”

Shane stood up, standing between Ryan and the door. The banging stopped. The fox walked away. Ryan relaxed a bit. Until the power went out, and the door opened again.

“We’re going to run for it.”

“We cannot do that!”

“We can.”

Shane grabbed Ryan’s arm and booked it down the halls, dragging Ryan behind him. Foxy wasn’t far off on their steps in the hall.

“Ryan run faster!”

“I ca- I can’t!”

He choked out. His eyes were on the small crew behind them, worried of who may be left behind. Chica met them at the end of the hall as she stepped out from the kitchen. Shane narrowly avoided hitting her dead on and led them into the main room.

“Look there’s the door!”

Ryan laughed in pitiful fear, and small relief. Until Bonnie stopped them in their tracks.

“Oh god, oh fuck.”

Chica, and Foxy had the crew trapped, the doors barely out of reach. All of the voices grew louder around them. Ryan clutched his hands over his ears, his eyes shut tight. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest, and Shane’s tight grip on him released.

“Shane?”

Ryan asked, refusing to open his eyes.

Shane looked at the animatronics as they circled the team. They were so close he couldn’t let it end like this. But he also couldn’t reveal himself. He panicked, his eyes began to turn a deep red as he looked around for another way out. But those kids, they wouldn’t get out of his head. They were so loud.

“OH JUST STOP IT”

He screamed, and they listened. The voices were silent, and Ryan opened his eyes. Shane grabbed his arm again and yanked him to the doors.

The owner opened them up just as Ryan and Shane made it back outside. Though Shane was prepared to barrel through the glass if necessary.

Ryan fell to his knees as they finally made it to the end, and laughed in morbid relief.

“Hey! You guys made it! Did ya have fun?” The owner smiled at them.

Shane helped Ryan up, and glared at the owner. He ripped the badge off his shirt, and slammed it against the man’s chest.

“We’re suing.”

[pawprintsmoon]

You and me, Part III

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30337365/chapters/74893146#workskin

The proposal

After a shower and clean pajamas, Alex finished packing his suitcase, tucking the ring safely inside. The next morning, he was so focused on not losing it again that he ended up misplacing his coffee filled travel mug. He had put it down for one second, and suddenly it was nowhere to be seen. Henry found it in minutes and they left for the airport. Distracted beyond reason, Alex had to hop out of the car to race back inside to grab his wallet. Then he had to hop out of the car again to run inside and get his phone.

After speeding to the JFK airport, they crossed the Atlantic and spent one night in Kensington recovering from jet lag. They spent their first full day at a trans* equity conference. The English press greeted their visiting prince with union jacks and rainbows. Naturally, they responded with charming comments and smiling photos. Alex took the opportunity to livestream a message to his followers: ‘of course transgender high schoolers should be allowed on the sports team that aligns with their gender, and here’s why…’

Privately, in the car back to the palace, Henry expressed the opinion that public schools ought to have polo teams, because it’s a coed sport and ideal for nonbinary teens who don’t like to rock the boat. Alex responded with similar sentiments about quidditch. The rest of the drive they shared a familiar rant about how Harry Potter belongs to the fans (including the trans* fans) and not only to JKR.

That night, just past 2am, Alex turned over in bed to ask, “You awake?”

“Always.”

“Good. We’re going on a fieldtrip. Come on.” Alex pulled them both out of bed, and they got dressed, Alex swinging on his Gucci jacket. He would have worn a hoodie, the incognito uniform of the internationally recognizable, but tonight he didn’t want to hide himself. It was worth the risk. Besides, they didn’t really need to sneak around anymore, did they? Old habits.

He led them out of the palace, down Prince Consort Road. He stopped for a selfie with the sign, because he really had wanted to last time. A second selfie included them both, looking goofy and not caring. When they reached the back entrance of the Victoria and Albert Museum, they kissed lazily against the wall. Once Henry’s lips melted Alex’s nerves, he drew back to take the next step.

“Thing about dating the prince,” he said, holding up keys, “is that you can borrow pretty much anything he owns. And he can get the keys to anywhere if he asks nicely.”

“You’re a thief,” snarked Henry, walking through the door that Alex held open for him. “And a knave, and a scoundrel.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex gave the security guard a wad of cash. “Thanks, Gavin. It’ll be Renaissance City.”

They walked past sculptures, artifacts, and paintings, surrounded by the history that they were a part of. They got to the piazza, Henry’s sacred place. Just like last time, the first statue, Samson Slaying a Philistine took away what little breath Alex had, and he had to lean on Henry for support. Like windswept magnets, their lips met, for no reason at all.

Most of the time, Alex had a strong sense of Henry and himself being part of the current moment of history, changing the world in the here and now. But right then, time seemed to melt, and they were surrounded by historical sculptures telling timeless stories. Zephyr the Greek god of the west wind, Proserpina in the underworld, and Jason and his golden fleece. Archetypical and expansive.

And then there was Henry: the national gay landmark, prince charming, an obtuse fucking asshole. Hopefully his future husband. Sticking with his plan, he pulled away from Henry and got out his phone to open Spotify. Taking a deep breath, he pressed play. “Your Song” came from the tinny speakers.

“It’s a little bit funny, these feelings inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.”

“Why am I getting deja vu?” Henry asked, as Alex wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist.

“No clue.”

They began to sway, slow and intimate, cheek to cheek. He recognized the swelling in his chest as the same ache he’d felt when Henry first played this song for him years ago in the music parlor. Back then, he’d been trying so hard to repress his love for Henry, gripping the settee and wondering how long they would fly across the world to touch each other without talking about it. Now they let love dance around them, unbridled and openly declared in front of the world.

Other memories stirred up unbidden. Henry ghosting him after their first kiss, leaving him out in the snow and questioning everything. And then again when Alex hinted at love, leaving him in the lake with his heart carved out. Twice is not a pattern though, is it. Ever since the last time they were in this museum together, Henry had given his entire self to Alex. He had decided to be with Alex for real that night. That had been when they decided to love each other on purpose.

“I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words. How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”

For several beats of silence, he just looked at Henry. And Henry looked at him, and the museum disappeared. The whole world faded away except Henry and himself. It was now. He knelt down to one knee slowly, never losing eye contact. Henry’s loving smile showed no surprise as Alex spoke.

“Henry George Edward James Fox-Mounchristen-Windsor,” he said, making Henry roll his eyes. “I have a question to ask you. You see, my mom asked me, back in our early days, if I felt forever about you. I knew it then, and I know it now. I want to spend my life with you. So... ”

He paused, reached into his jacket, and pulled out the bedazzled box, rhinestones spelling out ‘love.’ Henry had probably guessed that it was never intended for June’s earrings, because he laughed like the box was an inside joke. Despite knowing what was coming, he inhaled audibly when Alex opened the box to reveal a simple silver ring.

“Will you marry me?”

Henry laughed again, a laugh like the birds of sunrise. “Yes, Alex. I will marry you.”

The prince reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather box, the same size as the one Alex held. Then, he knelt down on one knee as well, mirroring his fiancé. He opened it to reveal a thick antique gold ring inlaid with a gem that Alex couldn’t identify. Beautiful. “Alex Claremont-Diaz, will you spend forever with me as your partner, confidant, and best friend?”

“I,” Alex choked, “yeah, fuck, of course-”

Henry cut him off with a swift and passionate kiss, both of them on their knees, fumbling the engagement rings onto their fingers. Alex felt like the deceased king that had probably worn his engagement ring. They kissed until their knees grew sore, and they collapsed on the tile.

“How did you think to bring a ring and everything?”

“Believe it or not, I somehow predicted that you might do this,” Henry teased.

Their buzzing bodies urged them to get back to the palace, to Henry’s room, to the bed. So they pulled each other to their feet, both dizzy and desperate. Before leaving the piazza they held each other for just a little longer.

“I love you,” whispered Henry.

“Fuck, I know you do.” It’s an amazing thing, to know completely and utterly that somebody loves you. “I love you too.”

“I know.” Henry held him around the waist and their foreheads pressed together. “Hey, so, I know we’re going to have to have a big, gay, traditional, royal wedding and all that -”

“Which we’ll make fun!” Alex said, with the positivity of a camp counselor. The world could really benefit from a big, gay, royal wedding. “There will be so many rainbows, even only if the crowd brings them.”

“And we’ll definitely have an adequate number of champagne fountains.” Henry winked at him. “But you interrupted-”

“Sorry!”

“-me. I was saying that I know we’re doing the public wedding for the audience, and the press, but...” Suddenly Henry looked nervous. “Well, would you maybe want to…”

“Spit it out babe,” Alex kissed Henry lightly on the lips before pulling back to show that Henry had his entire attention. “I’m listening, for real.”

“Would you, would you maybe want to elope first?”

“I… um. Would we, you know, still do the royal wedding afterwards?” Alex asked. “Keep it a secret?”

“Well, yes.” The words tumbled out. “But it would be a secret that we’re keeping for ourselves. We wouldn’t be keeping a secret for an election, or family expectations, or our god damned publicists. It would be ours, and we would keep it because we want to.

“Because I want to keep you to myself, just a little bit.” Henry shrugged, sheepish. “You give so much of yourself to your country, to the world, and I love that about you, but I want this to be just us. I’d be open to inviting Bea, Pez, June, and Nora, and our parents too, if you want.”

“And honestly, I don’t really want there to be a minister or priest… maybe Pez could do it?” Henry continued. “It doesn’t even have to be legal, so people don’t find out. I don’t know, I just thought, it could be just us, making a promise. Not with the crown, not with the church, not with all your adoring fans. Just the people that really matter.”

“I…” A grin spread slowly across Alex’s face. “I love it. Yes. Hell yes. Where? Not Vegas. Paris?”

“Paris.” Relief sweetened Henry’s smile. “And I could play my vows for you on the piano, if you’d like.”

“Yes I’d like! We could do it on a sailboat with a captain! Can you bring a piano on a sailboat?” Henry shook his head and kissed Alex’s grin, nuzzling their noses together. Alex whispered, “Okay, I’ll slow down and we can figure it out together. You and me.”

“You and me.” They fell into each other, a blissful act of entropy, all lips and hands.

“Besides,” Alex said as they stopped to catch their breath. “Secrets can be kind of hot if I remember correctly.”

AN: So, I thought I'd end with the proposal, but I feel like there's maybe more here? Like, this scene was kinda building up to some 'just got engaged' smut, or it could go on to show their elopement. I'm feeling a tinsy bit uninspired for their vows though, so if any of y'all feel like writing those, I could insert to the rest of the marriage scene that could be fun. If anyone feels like doing the post-proposal smut (or the wedding night smut lol) lemme know! Otherwise, thank you for reading! Check out my other rwrb fics, if you feel like it :)

[theaterism]

14: a special memory / for fox!!

memory asks - accepting

The freight train had slowed and juddered to an early stop. The children didn’t know the reason behind the delay. Repairs, most likely — a malfunction in the train itself or an issue in the railroad tracks ahead — but freighthopping required secrecy, so they couldn’t ask. For a while, they stayed hidden in the boxcar amidst the crates and the square bales of hay that made them sneeze if they stayed too close to them.

They still cracked the door of the boxcar open for some fresh air. The train had stopped beside a field. Long grasses swayed in a gentle breeze, and the late afternoon sunlight gilded the landscape in gold.

Time passed, the sun dipped closer to the horizon, and Adeline and Henry chose to venture out on their own. They’d spotted a station beyond the field, and they wanted to search for food. The dimness of the evening offered cover. James asked to join them — his invisibility could prove useful, after all — but they refused. Something about fewer people drawing less attention. The reason made sense, but it still left a hollowness inside James. They promised they’d be careful, and before he could protest further, they slipped out the door and vanished into the field.

The boxcar fell into silence.

Maybe, James thought, they feared he’d panic or tune out again. Maybe they’d telepathically decided he’d only slow them down. Maybe they were right.

James stifled the sting of rejection and sought distractions to pass the time. He performed various coin tricks for boxes and hay bales. Finding them a poor audience, he balanced on them instead and leapt between them. When he grew tired, he sat on the floor with his back against a crate. He tried to hear people talking outside — the engineer, perhaps — but only caught birdsong and the rustle of grass.

He waited.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, exactly, but it had grown darker. His siblings hadn’t returned. Worries swirled in his chest. His fingers traced the gauze wrapped around his left forearm. It itched. He wasn’t supposed to scratch it, but he still rubbed his knuckles along the bandage absently sometimes, or clutched his sleeve as a weak alternative.

Nearly a month had passed since they’d fled. They’d freighthopped several times along the way. Time had gotten a bit strange for James, though — it stuttered in odd places, his memories fuzzy or missing pieces altogether. But he was trying to stay present. It had gotten a little easier. Focusing on his surroundings helped — on the uneven wood beneath him, on the chill evening air, on the tickle of hay dust in his nose and along the back of his throat. He sneezed.

A lifetime ago, when they still lived in the mansion, the children had sometimes discussed running away from home together. They’d never mentioned this dream around other people, of course, especially not around their— a sharp-edged memory; James suppressed the thought and shifted his focus to the adventures they’d imagined. Sailing and mountain-climbing and jungle expeditions. It was an amusing dream, a fantasy explored with crayon drawings and embellished with the knights and dragons they’d encountered in fairy tales. Homesickness had never appeared in these plans. It had never even occurred to the children. They’d never stayed away from the mansion before, never experienced it themselves.

James didn’t know whether he was homesick. He just knew there was a dull ache in his ribcage that deepened when he was alone and a brighter memory flitted into his mind. Their games of hide-and-seek; the comfort of their bedrooms; the times they’d read together beneath a willow tree in the garden — or rather, the times Henry had read aloud while James and Adeline acted out pieces of the story.

On one hand, he never wanted to return to the house. He wanted to shove the past behind him. On the other hand, he wanted to return and see it one last time, though he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why. It felt important. But he couldn’t go back.

There was no mansion to return to.

His eyes stung and tugged him from his thoughts. He’d been staring at the floor. He blinked to clear his vision and realized the boxcar had plunged into darkness. Night had fallen — only starlight and faint lights in the distance shone through the crack in the door. At least an hour had passed without James noticing. His siblings hadn’t returned. He was alone.

Icy dread coiled in his stomach. His heart raced as possibilities darted through his mind. Adeline and Henry could be in danger — they could’ve gotten caught or hurt or worse; the train could leave without them. And he was simply sitting in the boxcar, waiting, useless. He couldn’t lose them too.

The boy reached to tug open the door, but then— footsteps, which stopped just outside. James jolted back and pressed himself against the crate again.

A beat of silence.

“James?” Adeline, whispering through the crack.

Relief washed over the boy. She sounded okay. His own voice came out soft and shaky. “Yeah?”

“We’re back, but— right, so this’ll sound silly, but you’ve got to close your eyes before we come in.”

“Why?” he whispered, baffled. His heart still thrummed in his chest. His relief had grown, though — ‘we’re back’ meant Henry had returned as well.

“Just trust me, alright?”

He took a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. The boxcar vanished into velvety blackness.

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Alright. I’ll tell you when to open them. And no peeking ‘til then, or I’ll steal your coins.”

The door creaked as it slid open. The floor trembled beneath him as his siblings clambered inside. A burst of hushed muttering ensued — James couldn’t decipher it properly, but he got the sense Adeline had bumped into Henry, or perhaps the other way around. The door rattled closed again. Crinkling sounds. Soft thumps somewhere in front of him; his siblings had sat down, he guessed. His restlessness sharpened as the suspense stretched. His knuckles rubbed his bandaged arm. But he didn’t peek.

Then, another sound. Quiet and faintly metallic. A familiar sound, one he’d heard many times in the mansion, one he’d never forget: the sound of lids unscrewing from jars. His heart skipped a beat.

Silence for a full minute. James didn’t dare to break it, though he longed to speak. He realized he was holding his breath. He inhaled softly, exhaled softer.

“Right, okay, it’s— okay.” Eagerness laced Adeline’s whisper this time. “Open your eyes now.”

James opened his eyes.

His siblings sat across from him. Adeline beamed; Henry had a softer smile, though no less sincere. Empty mason jars rested beside them. The darkness had receded enough to see clearly. Dozens of small lights floated around the boxcar, surrounding them, casting a flickering golden glow over everything.

Fireflies.

Pure wonder flooded through James, warm and light. The sight stunned him into silence. Before he knew it, Adeline had pressed another jar into his hands, the glass cold and smooth on his palms. Lights swirled within. The metal lid had tiny holes pricked into it.

Adeline settled herself beside Henry again and gave James an encouraging nod. “C’mon, then, open it.”

Thrill danced across the boy’s shoulders. His hands shaky, he slowly twisted the lid open and set it aside. The fireflies drifted upward from the jar to join the others. Some settled on the walls and floor, on the crates and hay. Some lingered in the air. One landed on his hand, a glimmer of warmth on his skin.

“Oh,” he breathed, finding his voice at last.

The syllable proved enough for Adeline’s excitement to spill over. “The station had food, so we took some”—a nod toward a pile of snacks—“but they had jars as well, so we nicked a few ‘cause we’d spotted fireflies in the field. But we still had to put holes in the lids. Rather tricky, that part.” A firefly landed on her knee. She gently cupped the bug in her hands, then released it into the air again. It floated away.

“We figured it out,” Henry added. “The holes. Found a hammer and nails. We returned those, afterward.”

Adeline nodded. “The engineer’d gone to get tea at the station, and we heard him say the train would be stuck a fair bit longer. We really thought we’d be back sooner, still, but it— it took a while to make the holes and catch enough bugs and everything.” A note of genuine apology softened her tone. “Sorry about that. We just— we wanted to keep it a surprise ‘cause we caught fireflies at home once and it made us all happy, and you haven’t been feeling well, so—”

Her words evoked a strong sense of familiarity, and nostalgia swept over James as a clearer memory returned to him. They had done something similar before, in the mansion. He remembered padding down the halls together one night, sneaking out into the garden, catching fireflies in jars, releasing them beneath a blanket they’d draped between two trees.

Adeline took a much-needed breath and grinned at him again. “Surprise! D’you— oh, don’t cry!”

“’m not crying,” he mumbled, rubbing tears from his eyes. The firefly that had been resting on his hand drifted away. “’s the hay, got in my eyes.” He set the jar on the wood beside him. The floating flickers of gold still blurred along with his vision. He bowed his head and covered his face with his right forearm.

“D’you like it?” Henry’s voice, soft and hesitant.

A shaky breath of a laugh escaped James. He inhaled and nodded, feeling a soft smile on his face. “I do, yeah. Really, it’s— it’s brilliant. Thanks.”

“D’you, um— feel any better?”

The ache in his ribs had lessened; the fuzziness in his mind had eased; the wariness that had laced itself into his frame had faded. He didn’t know how long it would stay that way. But he did feel better.

So he nodded, and honesty rang in his voice. “Yeah.”

—

The freight train shuddered back into motion soon afterward. The children cracked the boxcar door further open to give the fireflies more freedom to fly away, to vanish into the darkness of the night. Many stayed within the car for a while longer, though.

The wheels rattled along the tracks, and the boxcar shook, but a gentle warmth lingered in James’ chest. The golden lights had imprinted themselves on his mind. He still saw them when he closed his eyes. In the company of crates and hay and fireflies and his siblings, he slept restfully for the first time in weeks.

[angelofthequeers]

Bullseye

Rating: T

Summary: Nino's invited his friends for a nice night of darts with him and his father. Nothing could possibly go wrong...right?

Slot: 1-2.5k fic

Written for an anonymous donator for the @mlbforblm drive as a pool request!  The donations go directly to Color of Change, an organisation for racial justice, and don’t pass through our hands at all. I’ve still got slots open, so come and commission me or another of the amazing contributors!

AO3 link

“I can’t believe you guys agreed to this,” Nino says as he follows his father Mehdi into the small building, Alya’s fingers linked with his. Marinette and Adrien trail behind, murmuring to each other about something to do with roofs and picnics, but Nino doesn’t pay them much mind because short of being secret superheroes, there’s not much they can do about a rooftop picnic. Hmm. Maybe he should ask Ladybug for their Miraculouses and take Alya on a rooftop picnic one night. Alya’s always loved leaping and sprinting through the city, with the wind streaming through her bushy brown ponytail, and his stomach flutters at the memory of Rena Rouge’s impish grin during their flirtatious banter, while Chat Noir turns his charms on Ladybug, and she facepalms –

“Like we were gonna leave you to deal with this by yourself,” Alya’s saying when Nino finally manages to drag himself back down to earth. “You’ve helped me babysit the little demons so many times. What’s one night of darts?”

“Trust me, dude, after this, you’ll be begging for a whole week with E-squared,” Nino says. Alya rolls her eyes at his nickname for her sisters, but her mouth twitches so he figures he’s not in too much trouble. “He reckons he’s the next Phil Taylor.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” Adrien pipes up.

“Do you wanna know how many times he doesn’t hit the dart board? And then says that he’s just waiting for his lucky break?”

“…Oh.”

The pub is small and brightly lit without being overwhelming, giving it a nice, cosy air that always leaves Nino in a good mood even with his father acting like he’s two seconds away from representing France in the Olympics. The bartender waves at them as they head for the little party of fellow darts club members near the darts board, weaving between tables – or, in Marinette’s case, being piggybacked by Adrien as though they’re in a minefield, so that she doesn’t trip and cause a minor earthquake with her clumsiness. Though Marinette’s scowling rather grumpily, Nino’s certain that she’s not actually mad at being carried; not when it’s Adrien who’s carrying her, without treating her like a fragile porcelain doll.

“Nino!” Beefy Henri grins and holds out a fist for Nino to bump. “Brought some fresh meat, eh?”

“Yeah.” Nino laughs and scratches the back of his head with his free hand. “This is my girl, Alya. And the two behind us are Adrien and Marinette.”

“We wanted to see the next Phil Taylor for ourselves,” Alya says, nudging Nino. Henri eyes Mehdi, who’s chatting up a storm with the other club members, and snorts.

“You’ll be waiting a while then, girlie,” he says. Alya smirks.

“Good thing I plan on sticking around for a while, then.”

Oh. Nino’s stomach flutters at the implication of Alya’s words. God, how he loves this girl.

“Darts!” Mehdi holds up a dart and turns to face the teens. “How about we give the guests of honour first go?”

“Um, I think I’ll just watch,” Marinette says with a nervous laugh. Mehdi shakes his head.

“Nonsense!”

“But I’m –”

“Come on and let the master show you!”

Marinette shoots a wide-eyed look at Nino, then gulps and approaches Mehdi, while Adrien sidles over to stand with Nino, Alya, and Henri near the board. Nino instinctively takes a step away. He loves Marinette, he really does, but there’s no way he’s going to entrust her with his safety when she’s got a sharp object in her hands.

“Remember that it’s all in the movement,” Mehdi says. “Feet apart!”

Marinette visibly resigns herself to her fate and spreads her feet. Mehdi pauses with his hands just above her shoulders until she nods, then guides her so that she’s side-on from the dartboard with her right foot forward.

“Now, make sure you’re holding the barrel.”

“The what?”

In response, Mehdi positions Marinette’s fingers around the barrel of the dart, then lifts her right arm so that her forearm is at a square angle to her face.

“Don’t hold it too tight,” Mehdi says. “Just take aim…and shoot!”

Right before Marinette releases the dart, a feeling of cold foreboding washes over Nino; the kind of foreboding that one gets when their life is about to flash before their eyes. He jumps back behind Henri and pulls Alya with him, leaving poor Adrien as the unsuspecting sacrifice who’s grinning and cheering Marinette on as she squares her shoulders and then throws with determination.

THOCK.

Alya’s hands fly up to cover her mouth, muffling her choked gasp, while Nino’s eyes bulge out of his head. Every other person in the room is deathly silent. Hell, a white-faced Marinette doesn’t even look like she’s breathing.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god!”

“What?” says Adrien, while everyone else stares at him. Nino’s about two seconds from asking if there’s a Unicorn Miraculous, because if he had to think of a piece of magic jewellery for Adrien right now, that’d be his pick.

“You’ve –” Nino numbly gestures to his own head. “You’ve got –”

Adrien just blinks and frowns. How he can’t feel the dart that’s sticking out of his forehead, Nino has no bloody clue. Alya, meanwhile, is shaking as though she can’t decide whether to laugh or freak out. Probably the latter, considering that she hasn’t even pulled out her phone to snap pictures.

“Um,” Mehdi says. “This isn’t what I –”

“Oh my god, it’s in your forehead!” Marinette shrieks. Adrien blinks again and reaches up to fumble for the dart sticking out of the skin of his brow.

“Huh,” he says. “So it is.”

That seems to be Alya’s breaking point; she bursts into hysterical laughter and doubles over, clutching at one of the tables for support. Nino’s unsure whether he’ll ever feel anything again other than the dumbstruck numbness currently settling on him, while Marinette’s face is turning a nice shade of green à la Carapace’s suit.

“Dude,” Nino says. “How the hell are you fine?”

Adrien shrugs. “I can’t even feel it, to be honest. I’ve had worse.”

“Oh, I bet you have!” Marinette shrieks at him. She storms over and jabs a finger at his chest. “I’m sure one measly dart is nothing to you!”

Adrien grins in an uncanny imitation of Chat Noir’s smirk. “Hey, if you wanted to prick me, all you had to do was –”

Marinette yanks the dart out of Adrien’s head and then tugs him clean over her shoulder. “Sorry to cut this short,” she says to Nino, suddenly dead calm except for the way her right eye is twitching. “Adrien and I have some things to discuss. I’m sorry for ruining your night, Mr Lahiffe.”

Alya collapses to the ground as her laughter redoubles.

“Ruined?” Mehdi says, grinning despite the dark skin beneath his beard still holding an ashen hue. Now that they’re sure Adrien’s okay, the atmosphere of the group is lightening to one of mirth rather than horror. “I hardly think you ruined it. That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in, well…I don’t remember.”

“Mehdi really is the next Phil Taylor compared to this young lady,” says another club member – Adeline – and then the room is full of explosive laughter. Adrien just looks back over Marinette’s shoulder and grins and salutes, and Nino almost chokes on his own saliva trying not to laugh, because Marinette will skin him alive if he encourages her boyfriend’s idiocy.

“Looks like Adrien and I are going to bounce,” Marinette says almost serenely. “Sorry to ditch you and Alya.”

“I don’t think Alya really cares at the moment, dude,” Nino says, eyeing his hysterical girlfriend. “Just, uh, make sure my bro’s still in one piece?”

Marinette smiles. “Oh, of course. Have a good night, Nino.” Then she’s deftly navigating through the maze of bar tables with Adrien still over her shoulder, smirking back at Nino, like she hadn’t been the one carried on Adrien’s back on the way in to avoid a disaster. It’s like she’s got an alter-ego who’s taken over right now, to be honest.

“Man, I need a drink,” Nino mumbles, wishing that he wasn’t still two years below the age limit. Between this and his moonlighting as a human turtle every now and then with his furry fox girlfriend, there’s probably not much more that life could throw at him from here on. But he’s got no doubt that it’ll try its best.