#i wonder what paperclip heaven is like

[gaypineappppppple]

Don't you just hate it when you drop a small object and it yeets itself out of existance... like I'm sure you're having a blast in paperclip heaven but come back now I was using you

[superherotiger]

Outrun All Harm (Back Into My Arms) - Dadneto fic

Guess who's back at it again with another Dadneto fic haha! This time I was enabled by the amazing and incredible @callie-caje, who had the brilliant idea of sprinting together under a timelimit to get some short fics done! I had an absolute blast writing this one with the prompt 'touching foreheads', and I can't wait to do more drabbles like this in the future! Thanks for all your help and encouragement beloved, and I hope a certain bestie (@sunsetuniverse) enjoys the surprise content ;) Love you all, and thanks for reading!

AO3 LINK

~~~

“Uh- guys? The prisoner cells are all empty?”

“There’s no guards either. Are we sure we got the right place-?”

“Our intel must be outdated, everyone regroup-“

“Wait, something’s wrong…”

“-There’s a bomb! Get out! Everyone get out-!”

When the stern calls and commands echoing over the X-Men comms suddenly went dead with static, Erik felt like he was going to be sick.

The floor was unsteady beneath his legs, as if the world were tilting off its axis. Walls shook and trembled, and lights flickered in distress. Erik thought for a moment that it was just in his head because oh God, Peter is on that mission, something went wrong- he’s hurt- he’s hurt- he’s dying-! But then he noticed Charles trying to call his name with panic flooding his every feature, desperately trying to stay clear of the warping metal walls all around them.

You must calm your mind, Erik!

But how- how could Erik be calm when his son was out there, most likely in danger?

Hell, it was Peter after all, he probably jumped into the danger himself!

Memories of a dark, silent forest and a bloodied locket in his hand flashed across Erik’s vision, and for a terrifying heartbeat, he wondered if history was about to repeat itself. If fate were coming to claim the last remnants of his family.

He couldn’t do it again.

He couldn’t lose another beloved child.

Not Peter, Erik begged silently to the heavens. Please, not my son…

And for what felt like the first time in his life, he received an answer.

“Man, what’s with this team and explosions, huh?”

Spinning around like a tornado at the familiar, laid-back voice behind him, Erik’s knees nearly buckled at the sight of his son -bright and smiling and so wonderfully unharmed- standing amidst a group of stunned, pale-skinned X-Men who were trying their best not to throw up all over the freshly polished floor.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got me to save your skins, huh?” Peter remarked playfully.

“Not our lunches though,” Scott moaned back, before stumbling over to the rubbish bin with an ungraceful heave.

But not even Summers’ disgusting retches could spoil the burst of pride and relief radiating out from Erik’s chest at the sight of his son standing ahead of him. Peter had saved them all -because of course he had, he always did- and Erik was left to marvel at the boy he had the privilege to call his own.

As much as Peter appeared unphased from their near brush with death however, Erik’s veins were still flooded with an undercurrent of terror that had the man clenching his fist in a purely instinctive movement, dragging a startled yelp from his son as he was suddenly jerked forward by the zipper of his jacket. It appeared no one -especially Peter- knew how to react to the unexpected turn as the speedster stumbled over his own feet like a newborn fawn, pulled along by an invisible string until he crashed heavily into his father’s awaiting arms.

“Are you hurt, mein kind?” Erik asked in a shudder of relief as he held the boy tight in his embrace.

“No, no, I’m fine…” Peter reassured swiftly, before wrapping his own arms around his father’s back and turning to lean into the crook of Erik’s neck with a chuckle. “Maybe a little humiliated by getting dragged across the room like a paperclip, but hey- I’ll just dress you up as a clown mid-way through the next meeting as payback.”

“Don’t you dare,” Erik said coldly, though the hand brushing gently through Peter’s silver locks told a different story.

A small huff of amusement. “No promises, old man.”

Eventually, once Erik’s nerves had settled and his brain had confirmed that yes, his son was well and alive and perfectly safe, he pulled back just enough to peer into those dark, alluring eyes. They blinked back at him in fondness, so similar to another gentle gaze that had been lost so long ago. An echo of a fallen love, and the promise of a new one. Erik couldn’t hide the adoring smile that warmed his features as he took in such a beautiful sight.

And as the darkness that had been taunting his mind was chased away by the light of Peter’s presence, Erik closed his eyes and ever so gently rested his forehead against his son’s, pleased when the boy leant into the touch in return.

Fate hadn’t caught up to them yet, and maybe if they were lucky, it never would.

After all, whether it be a deadly explosion or the trickling sands of time, there was nothing Peter Maximoff couldn’t outrun.

~~~

Tag list:

@joyful-soul-collector @lost-lunar-wolf @lbigreyhound13 @aixabi @zanderljones @milstrim @anarinette @sfabsha @appleschloss @sdottkrames @katthebookiestnerd

[aziraphales-library]

I want the most bizarre, absurd crack fics you can find. Any rating/content is fine, I just love how wild people can get.

We recently recommended some crack fics here, and you can find loads more on our #crack tag. But here are some extra wild ones for you...

air conditioned, love unconditional by fractalgeometry (T)

Aziraphale has been the sole ceiling fan cooling the living room for a century. He’s seen it all, and he loves it all. So when a new hotshot (coldshot?) box calling himself an “air conditioner” shows up, Aziraphale isn’t sure what to make of the change.

It doesn’t take long for him to decide that having a friend is nice. It’s only a little longer until he’s wondering how he avoided boredom for all the decades past. It’s good to have a partner in cooling.

Clippley, your Celestial Office Assistant by AppleSeeds (M)

In 1997, Aziraphale becomes suspicious after seeing all of the embarrassing typographical errors on the signs in Heaven. He discovers that Crowley has infiltrated their computer system and possessed Clippy, the office assistant paperclip. When Aziraphale enters the computer system himself to try to extract him, it doesn't quite go according to plan, although he does end up having a rather enjoyable time.

The zombie ducks of St. James Park by nightbloomingcereus (T)

The undead ducks in St. James Park were becoming something of a problem.

High Noon by Supergeek21 (G)

Aziraphale and Crowley decide to settle an argument over a board game like men... with a water gun duel!

Honey Trapped by ineffably-effable (NR)

Crowley thinks he's a bee.

Choose Your Own Azventure by Quefish (E)

Choose Your Own Adventure! Twelve (12) possible endings!

Don't read this like a normal story, it will be out of order, it won't make sense. At the bottom of each chapter you'll have choices. How this story ends is up to you!

I seriously, really hope you enjoy this bit of silliness, I can't wait to hear what you think! Also, this was a lot harder than I thought it would be when I got this idea!

- Mod D

[ikeromantic]

My Heaven

A Simeon Story based on my headcanon MC . . . Approx 1300 words of angsty fluff.

Time was no object to an angel. Forward, backward, or held to one golden moment. It was all the same to a being that lived beyond the temporal world. Simeon stepped back through the years, back to the beginning. Your beginning.

He watched your mother on the hospital bed, pale and sweaty. Exhausted. She barely noticed him as he sat beside her and patted her arm. “It will be alright,” he reassured her. And it would be. It had been. It was.

You were born into the world, red faced and crying. Like any other human infant, though you weren’t. After the nurses left you in the crib, Simeon lifted you up. He loved your tiny hands and feet. Your soft baby skin. He kissed your forehead and told you stories until you fell asleep.

As much as he loved the baby you, he loved the toddler sized version too. With your impish little grin and your high, sweet laugh. You were always getting into trouble, but Simeon kept you out of the worst of it. The time you fell in the pool and he pulled you out. Or the day you tried to stick a paperclip into the wall socket.

Simeon was by your side on your first day of school, too. Comforting you with his presence. Reassuring you that you would make friends. That you were smart. Of course, you didn’t really make many friends. Kids are cruel, and you were strange. There was something otherworldly about you, and they saw the difference. They saw it as weakness.

It hurt the angel to see you sad, but human cruelty was one thing he couldn’t protect you from. He could only watch and whisper kind words to your heart. He wanted to hold you tight, and tell you it would be ok. That in time, all of this would not matter to you one bit.

He was right, of course. You never fit in at the human schools your mother enrolled you at. But one day, you found yourself in the Devildon. And for the first time ever, you fit. You fit like you belonged there.

Simeon always skipped past your RAD years. After all, he’d been there for them. Enjoying time with you as a friend and classmate, not just a guardian angel. He smiled wistfully, remembering the time he’d texted you poetry. The way you’d blushed when you saw him next. The sweet, awkward progression of a romance that wasn’t meant to be.

He wanted to remember those perfect moments, not the heartbreak that followed. Yours, and his. Some things even a guardian angel can’t save you from. Like love, and bad decisions. You fell in love with his brother. Lucifer was charismatic, bold. But he could never bend his neck. Not for anyone, not even you. And then Diavolo . . . no one ever told the Prince no. It had been hard to watch you torn between those two powers the first time. Simeon didn’t need to see it again.

The angel met you on the other side of that trauma, when you returned alone to the human world. Where he helped you pick up the pieces. He watched you grow strong in yourself. Watched you turn your difference into your power. He did his best to simply watch, but he couldn’t help getting closer to you. Spending time with you. Until the night he confessed and you . . . and you turned him away.

For his own sake. Afterall, an angel in love with a mortal was an angel no more.

Simeon stood outside time and watched his rejection all over again. It hurt a little less now. The wound was an aching hole in his chest, no longer the burning tear it had been when you said, “I love you, Simeon. I love you too much to let you do this.”

Time stopped as you reached for his face. Your fingertips almost brushing his skin. Simeon walked around himself, and you. Studying for the thousandth time, your body language. The expression on your face.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Luke said gently. He appeared beside Simeon, stepping into this space and time from the Heavens.

Simeon turned to look at his friend. The young angel had grown. He was taller now, broad through the shoulders. One of Michael’s best warriors - and bakers. “Am I needed,” Simeon asked.

“You are always needed.” Luke set a hand on his shoulder. “But that isn’t why I came.”

“No?”

Luke gestured to the still figures. A younger Simeon, and you - “You walked away, Simeon. I have always wondered why.”

“Because they wanted me to. And it was the right thing to do.” Simeon sighed. “It is the hardest thing I have ever done.”

“I think they wanted you to be happy, even at their own expense.”

“Perhaps. Either way, I did what they asked. And I followed Father’s will.” Simeon tried his best to sound positive about it, but the words came out flat.

The two angels were silent for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. Simeon wondered if their Father knew what he’d given up in this moment. The sacrifice he’d made to follow Heaven’s laws. In his secret heart, he resented their Father for it, and felt guilt because of his anger. He thought sometimes that he’d fallen the moment he loved you. That everything since then was only a shallow imitation of the angelic.

“You know,” Luke interrupted his friend’s thoughts. “Michael says everything that has been done can be undone. He told me that this morning. What a weird thing to say, huh? I mean, I’ve never wanted to undo anything . . .” He smiled. “Anyway, I better head back. I left a cake in the oven.”

And just as quick as he arrived, Luke was gone.

Simeon stood there in surprise for a moment. It almost sounded as if . . . as if Michael . . . knew? And offered him another path. Divinity or . . . you. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and met your unseeing gaze. There was so much hurt in your eyes. A world of loss and regret as you pushed him away.

If there was a chance, any chance at all, that you loved him the way he loved you - there was really no contest. You mattered more than Heaven. He stepped into his younger self and back into the flow of time.

His heart was as ragged and hurt as it had been the first time you refused him, but this time he didn’t let you push him away.

“I love you, Simeon. I love you too much to let you do this.” Your hand fell away from the angel’s face. You turned to leave.

This time, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back around to face him. “I love you too much to do anything else. I know I will regret it for eternity if I let you walk away from me now.”

“But you’ll fall. Like the brothers.” A breath catches in your throat. Your heart races. He is everything you wanted but you know you can’t. You can’t. “Go back to Heaven, Simeon. Be an angel. I can’t - won’t take that away from you.”

Simeon laughs, a soft sound. His smile is wistful. “You are right about that. You can’t. I already gave it up the moment I gave you my heart. Loving you is my Heaven, and no other will do.”

You feel as if you are falling, or perhaps, flying. You’ve resisted Simeon as long as you can, as hard as you can. Yet he is still here. You sink into his arms, and feel the petal-soft brush of his lips on yours. It is a sweet kiss. Angelic, even. But the way his hand slips down your back is at least a touch wicked.

[guardianoffandoms]

Here’s my gift for @voxymoxyboxy for the Sam and Max secret Santa! I hope that you like it!

SHOCK, CRACKLE, POPPERS!

Summary: After Sam and Max escape the pit of hell using Santa’s sleigh, The Soda Poppers decide to trap them in a way they can’t escape!

A chill runs through the main office of hell. Said office had always been about 2 degrees above comfortable because it is hell, after all. Our Dubious Duo, Sam and Max, have escaped the pit of hell and are working on a plan to put the Poppers in their place! However, that plan isn't exactly panning out.

Sam had been in the process of creating a cake so he could trick the Soda Poppers into sending themselves into the pit. This plan had one flaw, the Soda Poppers, while they are annoying, and pesky, and a pain in the ass, they are also remarkably perceptive when someone wants to hurt them. Case in point, when Sam was creating the cake, Peepers realized that he was up to something and quickly alerted his brothers. Together they trapped our duo in cages deep below hell, to wither and suffer for all eternity.

“SAM! THE WRITER IS TRYING TO BE EDGY!” Max whines before Sam interrupts.

“Quiet onion-head, you can break the fourth wall later! Right now we gotta get out of here!”

Sam looks around the room, assessing the situation. He and Max were trapped in cages suspended above apparently bottomless chasms, connected only by brick pathways that had an elevator at one end and an endless number of more cages at the other. Sam scratches at his neck only to discover a collar wrapped around his neck. After a moment or two of trying to pry it off, Sam shrugs and decides to ignore it for the moment.

“Well nice to know interior decorators go to heaven.” Max deadpans.

“Hey Max! Look up there!” Sam exclaims, pointing at a speaker resting atop the elevator.

After a few moments, the speaker screeches to life. They quickly wished it stayed off.

“Hello, Sam and Max!” Specs’ voice rings out. “And welcome to your permanent resting place! We have trapped you in- Hey! Move it!” “No Specs! You can't hog the Announcer of Doom!” they hear Whizzer wine

“Yes I can! I called dibs!”

“Max, I found our personal hell,”

“Being forced to listen to their nasally, annoying, prepubescent complaining for the rest of eternity?”

“I was going to say reruns of care bears but yeah that too.”

“ENOUGH! Sam and Max, for getting in our way we created a perfect trap! One where Sam can't talk or Rube Goldberg his way out! And Max, you can escape, but you have to leave Sam behind! Try to free him, and Sam will pay the price! HAHAH-” The speaker cuts off before Peepers finishes laughing, leaving our duo confused by his warning. Well, one confused and the other concerned.

After a few moments, Sam and Max’s gazes move from the speaker to each other.

“Well that was ominous.” Sam grimaces.

“Yeah, but come on Sam, it's the Soda Poppers! Those pint-sized halfwits couldn't work a mousetrap! Let's get the hell outta hell!” Max exclaims, pulling himself up on the bars of his cage for effect. His show of confidence working wonders on Sam, his grimace turning back into his trademark smile. “You’re right little buddy! Now let's get you out first since apparently you can escape without me, so your cage must be faulty in some way!” Sam exclaims as he looks over Max's cage.

Sam quickly notices that Max's cage is closed by a padlock and chain. “Alright max! All you gotta do is undo the lock. If you got a paperclip this would be a gre-” Sam is cut off by a loud crunch and the bang of the padlock hitting the ground. “Well Sam, while a paper clip would have worked, my jaw needed the exercise!” Max remarks as his cage door swings open and he wanders over to Sam. “You’re a menace to biology little buddy.”

Their jovial attitude was short lived, the closer Max got the more static seemed to build around Sam's neck. “Max, don't touCH TH-!” Sam's plea quickly turned into a pained whine when Max touched the cage. At the noise, Max stumbles back and the speaker crackles to life once more.

“Uh oh! Looks like you found out our plan!” Whizzers voice screeches out. “If you touch Sam's cage, he gets ZAPPED! If he tries to help you free himself, ZAP! No talking, no ideas, no planning!” The reality of the situation starts to set in, and Max was ready to behead three child stars. “Have fun with your cage! Bye-bye!”

The speaker goes quiet, and so do our heroes.

Sam lifts himself up from his fallen position to gaze at Max. He couldn't get out alone, and nobody could read him better than Max. Meanwhile, Max is shivering. Not from hell's new climate, but shivering with rage. He whips around to Sam and sharply grins. “Alright Sam, what's the plan? Because I got two paws, a gun, and the will to make murder a felony in hell.”

Sam smirks at the lagomorph before standing up and observing the lock on his cage. It was a simple lock and chain, same as Max’s. However, Sam did not possess Max’s biting force nor his probably illegal teeth, so they’d have to improvise. He motioned towards the lock and did a hand gesture for a gun. Max quickly understood Sam's bad charades and pulled out his gun to shoot the lock. Before he could pull the trigger, Sam falls to the ground, electricity flooding his body. After a few moments, the shocks stop and Sam lays on the floor catching his breath.

“We got a plan B, Sam? Because as much as I love hearing your pathetic whining, the fact that I'm not causing it kinda sours the enjoyment, ya know?” While his banter was playful, Sam could see the anger building in Max. Satan help the Soda Poppers, because not even god can save them now. Leaning against the side of his cage, Sam holds up his pointer finger and gives Max a wink. A look of realization crosses the lagomorphs face, followed by a grin that he quickly covers with a look of pure grief.

“Sam. Sam, come on. You can't give up that easy! You never give up that easy!” Max exclaimes gesturing around him. ”Come on Sam, we made it to hell! We can make it out, Sam! SAM!” as he spoke, Max started to cry.

“Sam we’ve known each other forever! You can't just give up!” Max looks at Sam,and Sam nods before taking off his hat. Max gazes at the hat a moment before- “FINE THEN! THEN THIS IS THE END SAM! HAVE A NICE AFTERLIFE!” Max yells before storming towards the elevator.

Meanwhile, the Soda Poppers are watching this play out from the main office of hell. A few moments after Max stalks towards the elevator, the camera feed cuts out, leading the Poppers to believe that Max was leaving without Sam. The elevator rises, its doors opening to reveal Max, looking sullen and angry. As the elevator doors close, Max turns to the Poppers.

“Well well well, it looks like the freelance police are over!” Specs proclaims joyfully. Max grimaces and responds, “yeah, turns out Sam wants to do this on his own. Has a whole plan that I'm apparently not smart enough to comprehend so whatever. I've got a wedding to officiate anyway.” Max mutters walking to hell's kitchen next to hell's meeting room. Opening the fridge max pulls out an odd looking concoction, resembling a cake with a bright red candle.

As Max walked back to the Poppers, he shoots the bell at the top of the ice cream truck now parked inside the office. The bell ringing causes Specs to close his book and now all that needed to happen was the Soda Poppers blowing out their candle.

“Hey Whizzer.” Max spoke casually. “Mind showing me your new trick again? I couldn't see it last time because Sam was in the way.” “Of course I can! Or my name isn't Whizz-rael the Tormentor!” Max pulls out the cake so the fire lights the candle. At the sight the Poppers jump for joy. “Aww! You remembered!” “Yep, I sure did, wouldn't miss your birthday for anything!”

As always, the word ‘birthday’ makes the mariachi band show up. And as they finish their song, the soda poppers blow out the candle. Sending them straight into the pit. “CURSE YOU SAM AND MAX!” their voices cry, growing fainter the further they fall. As the portal closes, the elevator opens again, revealing Sam!

Max smiles, running over to Sam. “TA-DA! Another case closed, another set of lives ruined! I say we head home and eat junk food till the cows come home! What do ya think, Sam?” Sam grins at Max’s antics before pointing to the collar still affixed to his neck. Max pauses. “Oooh, right, kinda forgot about that.” He jumps up on Sam's back and grabs the collar before snapping it with his teeth. Sam pulls the remaining metal off, rubs his neck and turns to Max. “Thanks Max, another minute in that thing and I'd have pulled a Cujo!”

“You mean go feral and kill helpless civilians? Sounds like fun! Can we? Can we please?” Max pleads, his smile too wide to appear anything but dangerous. “Sorry little buddy but you gotta wedding to officiate and I've gotta reload my gun.” Sam remarks, walking towards the exit. “Yeah, you’d think the Soda Poppers woulda taken that but eh, made it easy for you to shoot your way out.” Max replies, walking instep with Sam. “Yep, now let's get outta hell before beelze-bub eats all the hors d'oeuvres.”

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Modern Writing Prompts

This is just a compiled list of prompts I’ve collected from Pinterest and other random places, but really only work in modern contexts.  I have other prompt lists that get more specific or more vague as well.  If you want to use one in a request to me, just use the following ‘Character Name and Prompt No. 35 from the Modern Prompt list’ for example + some details if you’d like.

There’s quite a bit on this list, so be wary....  I mean, it’s only like 130 prompts...  Also, I did not organize it.

Key:  

‘*’ Denotes something that could be used as dialogue.

[*] Denotes a swear word that I removed.

"If I was your boyfriend, I'd pepper you with kisses and spoil you so bad."

"My family thinks we're dating."

"It wasn't meant to go this far, I swear."

"You were ready to leave me for her."

"There is no us.  There never was."

"Don't leave me.  Don't you dare leave me."

"You know for a [*] fact that wasn't supposed to happen."

"Sort yourself out first."

"Leave.  Before we wake up regretting what we've done."

"All he ever did was use you?  Why can't you see that?"

"You think this will make me stay?"

"You thought this was real?"

"My mum asked about you again."

"He already knows."

"Can you please come and get me?"

"I'm at the hospital."

"I don't know where I am, help me."

OTP on a hammock together.  Person B is asleep on Person A's chest while Person A keeps one foot on the floor so they can rock the hammock in hopes of Person B remaining asleep.

"It's three in the morning."

"You're my regret."

Take me laser-tagging and then push me into a corner and kiss me.  Then shoot me and walk away.

"Smiles are contagious."  "Don't worry, I'm vaccinated."

"Did it hurt?"  *Rolls eyes "Let me guess, when I fell from Heaven?"  "No."  "What?"  "When you fell for me."  *Grins*

"So...  What's our plan for tonight?"  "We do not have a plan--"  "Well, let's make one."  "--I have my own plans that don't include you."  "I thought we were a team!"  "We are.  Which is why I need a break."  "You need a break from me?"  "Yes...   So I'll still like you in the morning."  "Wow.  I'm that bad, huh?"

Which person of your OTP furiously does push-ups while the other sits on their back and reads a magazine.

He found her sobbing in the stairwell at work.

As teenagers, a boy and a girl agree to marry if neither have by their 35th birthday.  Follow the boy as he attempts to sabotage every relationship the girl has till then.

"I don't care where I'm sleeping as long as it's with you."

As she walked towards the exit of her favourite coffee shop, she glanced down at her cup.  "You're beautiful."  Was written in place of her name.  She glanced back and their eyes met.

She opened her apartment door to hundreds of roses.  She knew they were from him;

he'd found her.

"I've had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with."

"No, you can't get up!  You're my prisoner for today."

"Shh...  It was just a bad dream.  Just a dream, okay?  None of it was real."

"You.  Cuddle.  Me.  Now."

"Baby, you'll never know me."

"I don't give a damn."  "You give so many damns they're visible from SPACE."

She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands.  "One last time."  She whispered to herself.  One.  Last.  Time.

"Keep looking at me like that," he warned, leaning casually on into the counter and sipping his coffee.  "And see what happens."

She looked up at him, tears filling her already swollen eyes.  "But why?  Why would you love me?"  He tightened his grip, pulling her more snugly into his embrace.  "Because you bug me, weirdo.  Duh."

"Just relax, I'll wash your hair for you."

"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention."

"Are you wearing my shirt?"

"You are ridiculously comfortable..."

"You know how to unlock handcuffs with a paperclip?  Teach me!"  "Absolutely not."

"I've never been so scared in my life."  "It was a bubble..."

He was leaning against the wall trying to support his own bodyweight, and his gasps of pain were like music to her ears.

Your date drops you off.  A few minutes later they return to your door sopping wet from the storm because their car broke down.

The phone rings.  The voice on the other end says, "We need you again."  Then hangs up.

A boy and a girl were part of the same team for their high school sports camp.  The girl had a crush on him for a very long time, but was not sure how to say it to him.  In spite of that she mustered some courage and casually said, "hey...  You know what?"  "What?"  "You have the prettiest smile I have ever seen."  The boy's eyes glittered and he replied, "you know what?"  "What?"  "That smile exists only because of you!"

"Did you get my note?"  "Of course I got it.  You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping."

"It's not my birthday."  "It's definitely your birthday."  "Give me a calendar.  It's not and I will prove it to--Oh.  Never mind.  Happy birthday to me."

As she stepped on the train, I fought ever urge to climb on after her.

"C'mere, you can sit on my lap until I'm done working."

"Just pretend to be my date."

"Handsome, broken, and a mistake from the beginning.  Are you sure you're comfortable with this?"

"Are you decent?"  "Not morally, but I'm wearing pants if that's what you're asking."

He was bad.  He smoked, he broke the law, he drove too fast for his own good.  He

didn't care because nobody taught him how to.  But when it came to her, he wanted to be the best man.  He couldn't bare the thought of her being hurt by him... Or anyone else.  He would kill to protect her, the girl who cared about someone as worthless as him in all her perfection.

"I want to take a shower, so you should probably join me.  It'll save water."

"It's midnight!  Where the hell were you?"

"What the hell is your problem?"

"I might have slept with your [clothing article] when you were gone."

"No one has to know about us, I know this could ruin you."

"Are you really gonna leave without asking me the question you've been dying to ask me?"

"You said I'd get to have you all weekend.  Why can't you just tell them you can't go?"  "Because it's my job and it's important."  "And I'm not?"

"You can call me whenever you want...  Even if you don't have a reason to."

"I'm bad at texting first, so I always end up hoping you will."

"This movie is really scary, but you're into it so I'm trying not to cover my face the whole time, but--WHAT IS THAT?!"

"Wait, don't pull away...  Not yet."

"You look really cute in that sweater."

"No, like...  It's just, I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes."

"You know I hear you talking, but I still don't have my coffee."

"Did you think I really cared about you?"

"It's too late to go back."

"I'm sorry this had to go down like this."

"That's right, I lied."

"Just so you know... I don't regret anything."

"You will no longer love me if you see who I truly am."

"But I did all this for you...?"

Person A wins a big stuffed animal for Person B at an amusement park and offers to carry it for them.  Person B says they'll carry it themself, and carries it around smuggly.

While on a date, Person A very shyly touches Person B's hand and Person B reassuringly (and tightly) holds Person A's hand.

"Please get home safely."

"I've got you, baby."

"Man, I can't pay attention to anything else but you."

"Baby, I'm right here.  Shh.. I'm here."

Person A: *does something stupid* Person B:  "....Why are you like this?"  Person A:  "Aww, come on!  You know you love me!"  Person B:  "...Where did you get that idea?" *Joking*  *Silence* Person A:  *Sniffles* Person B "WAIT I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN IT, I LOVE YOU!"

She was the broken and battered girl who longed to be loved.  He was the misunderstood boy who only wanted to love.  She had never paid him any attention until today, when she bumped into him at her locker, causing everyone to stop and stare.

"I'm coming to get you, stay there."

"Are you safe?"  "I don't know."

"Can I at least buy you a coffee?  For old times sake?"

"Don't talk to me.  It's 6 AM and I haven't had coffee yet, so anything I do or say cannot be held against me."

"Dude, that jacket is mine, give it back!"

"YOU USED MY TOWEL?!"

"They're going to love you, don't worry!"

"Stop hogging all the blankets!"

"Wait, when did I take off my clothes?"

"I'm fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten."

"You have no idea how to make toast?!"

"I haven't showered in four days."

"You're more zombie than human."

 "I can't believe I got the first date, let alone a year."

 "Wanna, like--I mean if you're not busy...  We could get lunch?  Or even just coffee if you don't have a lot of time."

 "So I was driving past a pet store and I couldn't help but wonder how cute an animal would be in our home."

 "It's midnight!  Where the hell were you?"

 "I wish I had a camera."

 He/She crashed through the doors of the police station and slammed his/her hands against the steal counter.  "Give me back my wife/husband!"

 The rain came down in heavy sheets.  He pulled his soaked [type of hat] down to protect his eyes and moved forward.  Where was she?  Would he find her in time?  A darp shape against the bridge railing caught his eye when the lightning flashed.  He rushed forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.  He couldn't tell for the rain if she was crying or not, droplets streamed down her face.  Her mouth opened to let out a cry, but when she saw it was him, she pleaded with her eyes.  He only nodded and put his arm around her.  He'd protect her.

 "It's me!  It's me!  Calm down, baby, please."

 "Is the movie too scary?  I can stop it if you want and we could watch something else."

 "Watch, this is the best part!"

 I chose that part in the play only so that I could kiss her.  I hadn't thought about the acting pact, the prancing onstage before a packed audience, or about the make up.  All I wanted was to finally touch her face, kiss those lips, have my moment, even if that was all I ever had.

 It's not like she meant to trip and spill coffee all over him.  It was just the way of her people.

 I woke up, to find a boy's arms wrapped tightly around my waist.  "What are you doing here?  I thought I told you to sleep on the couch!"  I was in disbelief.  I pried his hands off me and it was only then that he stirred.  "Huh?  Oh.  I um....  You had a nightmare."  He face was suddenly serious.  "Who's [guy name]?"

 Person A and Person B share an apartment but have separate rooms.  Person B has a nightmare one night and is really rattled by it.  They get out of bed and walk down the hallway to knock on Person A's door.  The door is already open and Person B walks into the room silently.  They go up to Person A's bed to find that they're already awake.  Person B tells Person A that they had a nightmare.  Person A scoots over in the bed and lets Person B curl up with them and they fall asleep together.

 Person A and Person B are in the kitchen.  Person A is short while Person B is slightly taller.  Person A:  *Struggles to retrieve items from top shelf*  Person B:  "Do you need me to get it for you?"  Person A:  *Gasps*  "How dare you insult the vertically challenged!"  Person B:  *Laughs* "Okay then..."  Person A:  (Moments later) *Defeated sigh* "Help meeeee...."

 Person A:  *Completely serious*  "I have to get something off my chest."  Person B:  *Fingers crossed* "I hope it's your shirt, please..."

 Person A is noticeably disheveled as they enter the room.  "Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff."  Person B, also disheveled and grinning smugly follows behind.  "I'm stuff."

 Person A has an online business meeting with someone important who lives across the world so they have to stay up late for the meeting.  Person B doesn't want to leave Person A alone so they grab a pillow and lay in Person A's lap as they attend their meeting.  Bonus points if Person B accidentally smacks Person A in the face in their sleep and everyone laughs and calls them cute.

 Imagine you've been stood up by your boyfriend on date night and the waitress keeps asking if you're ready to order, but you keep asking for more time, hoping he's just late.  People are starting to look at you with those apologetic looks like they know and you start to feel worse and worse about the whole situation, but just as you get up to leave, this boy you've never seen before sits down explaining loudly, "sorry I'm so late, Babe.  Traffic is crazy right now."  And he quietly adds, "I'm [NAME].  Just go with it, yeah?  Whoever didn't bother to show up is a jerk."  And you do go with it because he's being sweet and trying to save you, (plus he's super cute), and as you're leaving the restaurant after the best non-planned date ever, he asks you out for real this time.

 "That has got to be the lamest pick up line in existence."  "Don't worry that's just Plan A."  "So what's Plan B?"  "To take you hostage."

 "I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust your cooking.  Stay out of my kitchen."

 Person B dancing around their home, headphones in, eyes closed, singing as loudly as they please to their favourite song while Person A stands in the doorway watching their oblivious partner with a loving smile on their face.

  Person A walked into the house, threw their bag on a chair and laid down on the carpet with an air of defeat.  Person B walked in a few hours later, saw Person A on the ground and set to work.  They picked up a few blankets and a couple of pillows.  Then Person B walked over to Person A, laid everything out, and proceeded to lay down with Person A.  Person A slowly curled up to Person B and fell into a restful sleep.  Five hours later, they're still there, just soaking in each other's presence.

 Person A was sitting up in bed, headphones on and staring intensely at their Ipad

screen, which flickered brightly in the dim room.  Person B rolled over and slowly sat up, glancing at the clock and seeing it was well past 2 AM.  Person B leaned up against Person A, eyes still closed and asked why Person A was still up.  Person A popped out an earbud and quickly [states reason] and then turned their attention back to the screen.  Person B yawned loudly, grabbed the device and tossed it off the bed.  Right before Person A could protest, Person B curled an arm around them and forced Person A to lay down.  Person A fell asleep within minutes, tucked securely within  Person B's arms.

 Imagine your OTP getting ready for bed, and Person A is sitting on the bed.  Person B tries to sneak up on them with a hug or a kiss, but Person A has quick reflexes and thinks they're being attacked.  So they accidentally hit Person B in the face and they fall back onto the bed.  Person A quickly realizes who it was then and keeps saying sorry really fast and hugs them and kisses where it hurts.

 Person A has finals coming up and Person B has already finished theirs.  Person A is stressed over the finals and breaks down one night lamenting their ability to do anything right.  Person B calmly picks them up, brings them to bed and cuddles with them, cooing to them and telling them all the wonderful things Person B loves about Person A.

 Imagine Person A walking into the kitchen, only to find Person B in tears.  Person A immediately rushes over to Person B's side, fretting over them, consoling, and asking what happened.  Surprised, Person B explains they were simply cutting onions.

 Person A is baking cookies and has to split their attention between watching the timer and fighting off Person B, who keeps trying to steal cookie dough from the bowl.

 Imagine your OTP making out on a couch, but then one of them accidentally rolls off and the other is either frantically asking if they're okay, or laughing their head off.

 Imagine your OTP ice skating and one of them falls.  The other tries to help them up but they lose their balance and fall on top of the other.

 You were studying for your exams in a few weeks, your boyfriend was sitting opposite you, simply staring.  You couldn't concentrate and were getting frustrated.  "Stop it!"  You yelled, slamming your pencil on your book.  "Stop what?"  He asks, smiling innocently up at you.  "Stop staring, stop making me want you, stop making me feel--argh just st--"  He shut you up, placing his soft lips on yours, letting all the stress wear out.  "Stop stressing babe, it won't do you any good."  He mumbled, placing his forehead onto yours.  "Come here."  He insisted, patting his lap.  You happily accepted, moving over to him and plunking yourself down.  He wrapped his arms around you and you rested your head on his chest, hearing his heart beat.  "That's enough studying for today, babe.  You'll ace that test, okay?"  He kissed your forehead, rubbing your arms.  You nodded and rested in his arms, feeling safe and sound.

 What if he held you tightly in his arms as you lay on his chest, drifting into sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat.  Feeling the slight vibration of his lungs as he hummed softly.  His hands brushing lightly in your hair as his lips pressed against the top of your head, but stayed there for awhile.  Then he let out a faint sigh, taking his lips away, seeming to be deep in thought.

 You shift around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position.  No success.  You hear your boyfriend stretching.  "Can't sleep, babe?"  He asks, letting out a sleepy sigh.  

"Come here," he whispers.  You move over to him and he snakes an arm around your waist and wraps his leg around yours as you rest your head on his bare chest.

 As you lay in bed alone, struggling with reaching sleep, you toss and turn before huffing out in annoyance at still being awake.  A small fraction of light creeps into your room until the door closes and the edge of your bed dips down underneath his weight.  He carefully climbs under the covers, reaching an arm out for you, pulling you closer to his body with your back to his front.  "You can sleep now, baby.  I'm home.  I love you."  He gently whispers in your ear, lightly kissing your cheek then laying his head on the pillow next to you to fall into a dream-filled sleep of your boy being home.

[introvert-no-chameleon]

Chapter 3: Fear Itself

New Chapter is up! AO3

Fiddleford didn’t know how long he’d be able to handle this.

His new senses had begun to overwhelm him; the sharp, fresh scent of pine trees was stronger than it’d ever been. The sound of small critters shuffling around the forest floor and the babbling of a river a few yards away sounded too close. Everything felt like too much and too little. He shut his eyes, trying to think of something to ground him, but his mind only went back to what had happened an hour ago.

He ran away from Stanley.

He ran away from Stanley.

His darling had only been looking out for him, and he’d gone and messed up because of some childish pride. Stanley was right; he hadn’t been able to hold it together after all. For Heaven’s sakes, he was hiding in a bush. It didn’t get more pathetic than that. 

The truth was, he’d already known that he was over his head. He was nothing like the twins, and the transformation was proof enough. It made sense he’d be something this silly, and the Pines brothers would be two powerful beasts. After all, they were stubborn, strong-willed individuals. For all their bickering, when the two of them worked together they made a near-unstoppable force.

They didn’t need Fiddleford. By this point Stanford probably had him around out of pity, or because Stanley fancied him. Why else would they deal with such a whimpering, pathetic coward that ran away at the first whiff of danger, that constantly needed to be saved?

Something crashed through the trees a few feet away, shaking him out of his self-pity. A giant, black hoof, followed by another, came into view just a few feet in front of his hiding spot. Through the foliage, he could see a few more pairs of smaller hooves appear.

The Manotaurs. Fifty-percent man, fifty-percent ox, and a hundred percent aggression. They were minotaurs, if minotaurs went around acting as if they had something to prove.

Judging by the large hoof, it was the leader, Leaderaur, a hulking mass of pure muscle and testosterone the size of their shack. Fiddleford had seen him once, when he and Stanford had gone to observe their behavior. He could still remember, in vivid detail, watching Leaderaur eat a smaller member of his pack just to assert his dominance. Despite being half of an herbivore, he clearly didn’t have an issue swallowing a smaller member of his species.

Even Stanford hadn’t wanted to stay after that.

Fiddleford kept his breathing as quiet as he possibly could in his current state, hoping he wouldn’t be heard. He began to hate his new sense of smell, because he could almost taste the sweat from where he was. The Manotaurs obviously weren’t as concerned about hygiene as they should be.

“Is this where you smelled it, Chutzpar?” The rumbling voice of Leaderaur seemed to shake the earth.

“Yes, Leaderaur!” said a deep, masculine voice. “I caught the scent of emotional issues, vulnerability and debilitating self-esteem.”

Well, he never.

“An excellent snack, then,” said Leaderaur.

Fiddleford squeaked. He covered his mouth, silently cursing himself a thousand times over. A hand grabbed him around his entire body and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed less than a paperclip.

He came face-to-face with two red eyes. Sleek black fur covered most of Leaderaur, making him appear more animal-like than the rest of the Manotaurs, who at least had mostly human features.

Fiddleford kicked at the giant hand that held him in place. It did nothing to deter the beast from keeping him in his grip.

Leaderaur sniffed Fiddleford. A hit breath smelling like rotting meat hit Fiddleford, stinging the corner of his eyes. “Hm. A jackalope. Interesting.”

“I ain’t no jackalope! I’m a human bein’, an’ I demand to be put down this here instant!”

Leaderaur growled, the sound rumbling through Fiddleford’s very bones. “I don’t like my prey to talk back. Especially not such a scrawny weakling.”

Now, if Fiddleford were living a different day, perhaps if he’d gone through less or wasn’t as upset, he’d probably still be paralyzed by the usual raw terror that seemed to lock his limbs stiff whenever he got cornered by a monster, and he probably woudn’t have been able to do much when the giant creature opened its jaws up and swallowed him.

But today hadn’t been a different day. Even on the day of the Gnome Incident, Fiddleford had at least preserved some of his dignity by making it as difficult as possible for the gnomes to move him. The entire ordeal had finished in more or less two hours, including the part when Stanley had patched him up.

Today, however, had been the day where he’d gotten into a fight with his boyfriend, where he’d tripped and fallen into danger like some hot-headed hooligan, where he’d had to deal with the two brothers that just never seemed to get along, damnit, not even for one day, where he now had to worry about getting mauled because he looked like some carrot-munching herbivore and Fidds, frankly, had just about had enough.

With no small amount of effort, he took all the nervous energy coursing through him and forced himself to use it for something either than panicking. While Fiddleford didn’t have a robot or an invention on hand, he did have a nifty set of strong rabbit legs. So when Leaderaur began to open his mouth, Fiddleford kicked him in the eye with all of the energy he could muster.

The good news was, he was dropped, and he hadn’t been too high up. The bad news was, Leaderaur wasn’t alone.

Fiddleford had underestimated the power behind his new legs. He hadn’t poked the eye out, but it wasn’t in good shape either, seeing as he couldn’t open the puffy eye. Leaderaur roared, baring teeth at Fiddleford.

“Leaderaur!” The Manotaur with the red mane, presumably Chutzpar, pointed at Fiddleford. “The jackalope has struck against our leader! This means a fight…to the death!” A couple of Manotaurs began to surround him.

Fiddleford leaped over one of the Manotaurs. Another managed to trip him as he landed. Just as he made a grab for Fiddleford, he remembered his new antlers. He swung his head to the side, his teeth clanking against each other as he smacked his attacker away.

More Manotaurs began to run at him.

Fidds quickly started examining his surroundings, desperate to find an opening, but the Manotaurs had clearly done this dance before. They surrounded him on all sides, arms outstretched and ready to grab him. He may be faster like this than he was as a human, but he was certain they’d catch him if he tried leaping over them.

A Manotaur lunged at him. Fiddleford ducked under him. The man crashed into one of his companions, leaving the opening the man needed to get out, when one of them caught his leg.

“I’ve got him!”

Fiddleford socked him in the snout, drawing blood as his assailant howled. His hand cracked, and he was sure that he’d broken something, but he was too hopped up on blood-pumping adrenaline to stop now. He lowered his head, pointing his antlers at the remaining creatures. Another ran, and Fiddleford managed to knock him to the side with his antlers. The impact made his teeth knock together, but the fact that he’d just taken one more attacker out of the picture made it worth it.

How had he ever missed out on this? To think all this time he’d been taking out his anger on people in a machine when this felt so much better. No wonder Stanley loved boxing so much! Sweat poured down his face, his chest rising and falling. He stomped a foot onto the ground, startling the Manotaurs.

“Come ‘ere an’ get me, ya testosterone-poisoned hornswagglin’ hooligans! There’s more where that came from!”

The Manotaurs, who had begun their attack with confidence began to waver. For a glorious moment, Fiddleford felt confident that he would be able to get out of this after all.

A quick swipe from Leaderaur, however, slapped away his good mood and sent him flying into a bush. He hadn’t expected Leaderaur to recover so soon, nor for him to smack him as easily as Fiddleford would hit a fly with a newspaper. Thankfully, he didn’t feel like anything had broken (aside from his pride, which he figured was far gone by now anyway) but his body hurt, and he felt the sting of a few cuts on his body. To make matters worse, his legs were tangled in the branches of the bush.

The shadow of the giant creature’s arm loomed over Fiddleford’s hunched figure.

He winced, holding his arms up in a vain attempt to defend himself.

“FIDDS!”

A blur of grey knocked the leader down on his back. The ground once again shook, a canopy of dust engulfing the area.

Fiddleford heard a roar nearby. He couldn’t see much through the dust cloud, but he made out what he assumed was Stanford slashing at a Manotaur. Fiddleford took the chance to pull his leg out. He caught some confused Manotaurs unaware by swinging his antlers like the madman he arguably was.

He lifted his head to find the pack retreating. Leaderaur raised a closed fist, ready to bring it upon Stanley’s body. He froze, staring past Fiddleford and at Ford.

Fiddleford glanced at his friend. Stanford managed to look more intimidating than he had yet, teeth bared, claws digging into the earth, fur on end. Even with the comically out-of-place sweater vest he still managed to hold a commanding presence.

Fiddleford felt that instinct grab him by the throat again. He tensed, his legs ready to flee.  

Leaderaur choose that moment to fling Stanley off him and dash off after the pack, his thunderous footsteps fading as he left.

Fiddleford could only watch as the gargoyle crashed into the ground, making a concerning amount of cracking sounds as he hit the earth. He gasped once he noticed a series of thin cracks across the stony body.

The shock of seeing his boyfriend hurt jolted Fiddleford back to his senses faster than anything could. His mind cleared as much as it could when you’d just watch a loved one get slammed into the ground by a giant monster.

Ford ran towards his brother. “Stanley!” He went to Stanley’s side and begun to inspect the wounds.

Stanley groaned. He tried getting up with one hand as support but fell right back down with a hiss.

“You knucklehead!” Stanford helped him up. “You could’ve gotten killed!”

“It’s nothin’,” said Stanley with a grimace. “I coulda taken him down no problem if I had a few more seconds.” His eyes widened as he set his eyes on Fiddleford, his gaze softening. “Sides, he was gonna kill Fidds. Couldn’t let that happen.”

The tenderness in his voice made Fiddleford want to cry, but now wasn’t the time for it. “Ferget about me, yer cracked!”

“I’m what?”

Stanford frowned, wrapping an arm around Stanley to support him. “You’ve damaged your skin. Thankfully, you still seem to be in one piece. If you had been human…” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “We can discuss your recklessness later. Do you feel any pain?”

The gargoyle shook his head. “Nothin’ really, but I do feel kinda woozy.”

Stanford looked at Fiddleford. “Fiddleford, have you managed to regain control of yourself?”

The question hurt, but he knew Stanford hadn’t said it out of malice. Bluntness was just a part of who Stanford was. “As much as I reckon I can, bein’ like this.”

“Good,” Stanford began walking with Stanley. “I’ll need you to help. I can take most of Stanley’s weight, but I still need assistance.”

Fiddleford went over to his empty side. “Give me yer free arm, Stanley.”

“Ya sure?”

“Ask me that again and I’ll smack ya on the head.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he let Fiddleford take it. It was just as heavy as Fiddleford remembered, but he found that he could manage the weight a little better than before. Maybe there was something useful about this form after all.

“Hey, at least that’s over,” said Stanley with a chuckle. “Nice job scarin’ them off, Sixer.”

Stanford gave a goofy grin at his twin’s praise. “I think you did most of the work there, Stanley.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “The two of ya do make quite the team. Saved my sorry behind as usual.”

Stanley frowned, shifting to look at Fiddleford. “Hey—”

Stanford stopped abruptly. He froze, his grip on Stanley growing tighter. “Do. Not. Move.”

“What are ya…?” Stanley followed his gaze and clamped his mouth shut.

Fiddleford’s heart caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse at the creature in front of them, one that had somehow managed to stay perfectly still the entire time and blended with the deep greens of the mossy trees. It’s heavy, labored breaths were the only sound that could be heard.

It was tall, with mushrooms growing on its shoulders. It had hideous fangs jutting out from its bottom jaw, a muscular build, and green skin. Its glowing red eyes were fixed on the trio.

“Oh good Lord,” whispered Fiddeford. “What is that?”

“It can’t be…,” said Ford. “It’s the Gremoblin! I’ve only heard stories about it. Perhaps it isn’t hostile…”

“It has glowing red eyes, Poindexter,” hissed Stanley. “I don’t think it wants to sit down and play cards!”

The Gremoblin reared its head and roared at them.

“Run!” Fiddleford began tugging them away from the hulking beast just as it swiped its claws (why did everything in this god-forsaken forest have claws the size of knives?) where they stood moments before.

“Wait, at least let me take a moment to observe the creature for my journal—”

“Stanferd, I swear to the Lord above if ya dare to stop right now I will throw all yer journals into the Bottomless Pit!”

Stanford’s eyes widened, but at least he didn’t slow down, so Fiddleford considered that as good of an answer as any.

Stanley ducked as the creature swiped at them again. “I’m with Fidds on this one!”

“Alright, alright I’m running!”

“Then do it faster!” said Stanley.

“It’s difficult for me to run like this!”

A shadow flew over them. Fiddleford didn’t have time to register what it was until a boulder fell in their path. The three of them lost their balance and stumbled to the ground.

Fiddleford managed to spring back to his feet, but he couldn’t get Stanley to budge. The cracks on his back spread. “Stanferd, come on!”

Ford held his leg, wincing. “I think I sprang my ankle—well, I’m actually not sure if I have an ankle in this form—but the point is, I can’t move!”

The goblin-like creature went over to them, closing in.

Stanley forced himself to his feet. His lip twisted with pain, but he dragged himself in front of his brother, raising his fists. His stance didn’t have the confidence it usually had; he wobbled just enough for Fiddleford to notice. “Ya think ya can get to my brother? Not on my watch, bucko!”

“Stanley…” Stanford gasped as he tried, and failed, to get on his feet.

“I’ll distract Ugly here,” said Stanley, turning to Fiddleford. “Fidds, get Ford and get the hell out of here!”

Fiddleford didn’t budge. “I ain’t leaving ya!”

Stanley ducked as the monster tried to grab him. He threw a punch at its arm, sending it reeling back. “I’ll be fine! Just go!”

Fiddleford’s chest started to pound again. His arms were lead, his tongue felt fuzzy and his legs trembled, more nervous energy waiting to be unleashed, a coil waiting to unfurl.

Then the monster grabbed Stanley. Its eyes went from a deep red to yellow. It stared directly at his boyfriend, and Fidds could only watch as Stanley stiffened, jaw slack as if he was in a trance.

Then he screamed, and something in Fiddleford snapped.

Stanley Pines did not scream like that. He’d always put on a façade, and even at his most terrified he’d use his energy to fight back. He’d always smirk or wink back at whoever he was protecting, making bad puns as he fought his way out of a problem. Yes, he was a loud man, making his presence known in every room to an obnoxious degree, but he never screamed as if something was being ripped apart inside of him. He never cowered like Fiddleford, or even Stanford did on the rare occasion that he was afraid instead of fascinated.

The Gremoblin dropped Stanley like a dead weight. The gargoyle curled in on himself, trembling, wings covering him. He clawed at his face frantically. Fiddleford didn’t know if gargoyles had tear ducts, but Stanley sounded close to sobbing.

The creature walked towards Stanford, who limped towards his fallen brother, with murderous intent.

It should be noted, to anyone who is reading this, that while Fiddleford Hadron McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual, he was also a man who would go on a rampage whenever someone had earned his ire or broke his heart. At the age of twelve he wrestled a wild hog after seeing it make a beeline for his then-pregnant Ma and won, and he once fought off a grizzly bear with a banjo when it tried to attack Tate on their last camping trip. His wife had (once she talked to him again after the whole robot incident) lovingly coined this particular type of behavior as his “hillbilly frenzy mode”.

So it really shouldn’t have surprised Fiddleford as much as it did when he ended up steeling himself, ducking his head and charging straight at the creature that had lifted a large gargoyle with ease. But the thing about surprises is, even if one considers the possibility of one, it usually doesn’t dull the shock of going through the unexpected.

The creature had focused all its attention on the larger threat, and obviously hadn’t expected the scrawny man to do much, let alone stab him with a pair of antlers with a wild cry and enough force to knock the Gremoblin down.

Fiddleford hadn’t cut too deep, so he managed to retract his antlers a moment later.

The creature was quick to get back on its feet. Two wounds were oozing a dark green liquid that must’ve been the creature’s blood. It charged at Fiddleford, and he leaped over it, using its shoulder for leverage to get a higher jump. Glancing to make sure that the monster was away from the twins, he shouted at it.

“Is that the best ya got, ya white-feathered varmint? Come ‘ere an’ get me if ya want me!”

Fiddleford didn’t wait to see if it would follow; a roar confirmed that much for him. He let his legs lead the way, but while before he’d just throw himself into the wilderness, now knew exactly where he was headed.

The snapping of wood and thunderous steps behind him warned him that his opponent would catch up soon. Which was all well, since his destination was right ahead.

The Bottomless Pit had been one of those anomalies that they’d discovered when Stanford had, in an act of brilliance that Fiddleford used as yet another bit of proof on why Stanford could not be left unsupervised when it came to exploring the unknown, jumped in it. His employer, a man of 12 Ph.D.’s, had, upon dropping a pen and not hearing it drop, took a step forward and fell right onto the pit, taking Stanley and Fiddleford with him when they’d tried to save him.

It was in that traumatic turn of events that the trio had discovered what Stanford claimed he’d known all along: the pit itself wasn’t bottomless, and it wasn’t even a straight fall down. They’d been spit right back out of where they’d fallen in after twenty minutes of what should’ve been a straight dive to their deaths.

And that was more than enough time for the three of them to get away from this monster and back in the shack.

He let the Gremoblin close in. Just as it made to attack, he threw himself to the side. It fell in but managed to cling to the side of the pit. It began lifting itself back up, and that wouldn’t do at all. Fidds went to kick it in, but it held his leg in a vice and dug its claws into the meat of his calf.

Fidds howled, seeing stars and all at once, he wasn’t at the edge of the pit. He was back at the shack, staring at the front door. He stared down at his normal, human legs.

“What on earth?”

It was then he noticed the blood.

It seeped through the bottom of the door, through the windowsill, dripping on the wood floor. Fiddleford stumbled back, hitting the ground as he began to crawl back. He got on his feet and almost tripped over himself as he punched the combination for the underground lab on the vending machine they kept in its place.

Instead of swinging open to reveal an elevator, it just had three people stumble out of it.

Fiddleford’s head spun, his hands flying to his mouth. Every person he cared about lay on the ground in front of him, his young son and the twins, covered in gashes, eyes vacant and cloudy.

But.

They were gone, they must’ve gotten hurt, they weren’t careful—

No.

They weren’t dead. This wasn’t any more real than the fear he’d carry with him each and every day, where he knew that one bad step could lead to a drop or an encounter with something volatile.

He felt it every day, and he figured it was about damn time he’d stop letting it control him.

He made himself to focus on the pain and collect thoughts like the fireflies he’d scoop up in a jar when he was just a youngling, on the hot June nights when the sun had just set.

The image wavered then, a stone thrown in the water, rippling, disrupting.

He thought of Stanford’s relentless, if not at times foolish, courage that never stopped him from pursuing his passion.

The bodies faded away.

He thought of Tate, his shy and curious boy, of the quiet days they’d spend talking about nature or fishing.

The blood dried up, as if it never been there.

He thought about Stanley, always so brash yet so sweet, hardened by life yet able to still hold Fiddleford so tender all those nights, to be so gentle that it felt like Stanley carried his heart on the palm of his big hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. As if Fiddleford was worth that much to him.

He came back, a thunder-clap moment of disorientation as he tasted salt sweat and smelled the pine trees.

“Ya think I don’t know fear? Well, let me tell ya somethin’.” He grabbed a rock nearby. “Ya can’t scare a feller who is already scared outta their wits!”

He smashed it on its hand, and watched it plummet away, down and down, until he couldn’t see it anymore.

And only when he was sure it disappeared from sight did he allow himself to sit down and catch his breath. And laugh. And laugh and laugh until his belly ached and the high-pitched, manic sound bounced throughout the woods, a tension he hadn’t known he held released.

Once he managed to compose himself enough, he went back to where he knew the twins were waiting.

[collegeboardofficial]

Finally got to finishing a new fic! enjoy!! If you wanna read it here instead of on the link, here you go:

Veronica swayed with Archie, rocking side to side as a slow, sappy song played just a little too loudly from the speakers. Archie couldn’t take his eyes off of Veronica. She couldn’t bring hers to meet him. She felt his hands press on the small of her back and she tried not to jolt, shrinking away from his grip.

“You having fun, Ronnie?”

“Mhmm.” Veronica gave a weak smile back at him, nodding, then looking away, searching the rest of the dancefloor for Betty and Jughead. 

She felt guilty. She told Archie she’d go to the homecoming dance with him, but Veronica couldn’t bring herself to enjoy this at all. She knew Archie wanted something more from this, and she thought she did too, but the attraction she felt towards him, like those seven minutes in heaven and those early moments when they both met up after practice and just became infatuated with eachother over walks back home and chats on benches, it had all started to fade, being replaced by something much more tame. Yeah, she could imagine herself going out to the movies with Archie, but only if they were accompanied by Jug and Betty. She spotted Jughead standing by the punch bowl, but couldn’t manage to find Betty. She felt a light tap on her shoulder, swiveling her head towards it, only to find empty space. Betty stood on the opposite side, impressed at herself pulling the oldest trick in the book on Veronica.

“Sorry to interrupt you two, but do you mind if I borrow Veronica, Arch?” 

Archie looked back at Veronica before resting a hand on his hip, and the other on his chin, feigning deep thought. “Well… I was having a wonderful evening with this young lady right here.” He pointed at Veronica. Veronica huffed, rolling her eyes. 

“God, you are way too corny sometimes, Archie.” She chuckled.

Archie jolted away, stepping back and clutching his chest in pain. “Ronnie, Betty, help!”

Veronica dropped to the floor, pulling Archie up and throwing his arm over her shoulder. “Jesus, Archie, are you alright?!”

Jughead strolled by. “Give him a second.” He managed to get the words through a mouthful of cupcake.

Archie winced for a moment, propping himself back up. “Yeah, I’m good, everything’s fine, it’s just that”— He looked Veronica in the eye— “Words hurt, Ronnie.” He said with a smirk.

“You gave me a fucking heart attack!” Veronica gave him a shove on the arm.

“Like the one I just had?” Archie laughed

“I’m gonna remember this when you’re on your deathbed, Andrews.” Veronica poked him in the chest.

“Hey, that’s gonna be pretty soon if you don’t start being any nicer!” Archie pointed at her. 

“Let’s hope not though!” Betty cut in with a toothy smile. She grabbed Veronica’s hand, tugging lightly and leading away from the group. 

Veronica felt her heartbeat quicken, Betty’s hand on hers was like a shock to her system. Suddenly she had tunnel vision, nothing else mattered and it wasn’t like she could even handle thinking about anything else. She watched as Betty turned around to say something to her, and all she could do was quickly nod and smile, because boy did she need a moment to take in everything happening right now. Between the way Betty's hair just seemed to effortlessly fall to her side, the flashing lights on the dance floor, The way Betty’s dress showed off how cute she was while also showing off the biceps she usually hid away with long sleeved shirts and sweaters.... And the thumping of the speakers that made it hard for her to think about anything else (that was definitely it). 

Honestly though, she paused, what the hell was happening? It wasn’t like her to be so off her guard, especially at an event like the homecoming dance, a place where anything could happen, and an audience was ready to watch. This was Riverdale, after all. There were appearances to keep, people to impress, and all she could do was think about how pretty Betty Cooper looked. She felt her cheeks get warm, and was immediately thankful that all of the reds, blues, and purples of the dance floor’s lights hid her blushing. 

“Hey! Don’t be gone too long!” Archie called out to Betty and Veronica as the two made their way further from him and Jughead..

“Yeah, sure thing, dad.” Betty mumbled to Veronica before rolling her eyes. Veronica snorted. Betty’s grip on her hand tightened. Veronica felt her heart thump against her chest. The two kept going, making their way out of the gymnasium.

“Well, thanks for saving me from dancing with Archie for the entire night, but where are we actually headed, anyways?” Veronica asked as the two walked down the school’s hallways. 

“Uh,” Betty looked up, trying to think. “Well, I forgot something in homeroom that I needed to finish my homework, so... I thought you might want to come with me and check for it!” Betty sounded surprised by the words coming out of her own mouth.. 

“Uh huh.” Veronica grinned. “you’re pretty bad at bluffing, you know that, right?” 

“Well I guess the excuse never mattered, because you sure do look happy to be tagging alongside me right now.” Betty raised her eyebrows.

A terrible liar, but Betty Cooper was still the most astute person Veronica knew. She was at a loss for words, then she felt Betty's fingers trace her palm. The two looked at eachother for a moment. It was moments like this that she really hoped Betty wasn’t just trying to be a really good friend. This was it, the excitement, the electricity that she craved, that she just couldn’t feel with Archie.

Betty looked back ahead as they made their way to the end of a hallway. She tried to open a door to a classroom, but the doorknob wouldn’t budge. 

“How do you expect us to —” Veronica started, but Betty had already worked a bobby pin and paperclip into the lock, jostling them around and turning the knob. The door clicked open. Veronica put a hand on her hip. “—and where’d you keep those?” 

Betty tapped the bracelet sitting on her wrist. “Gotta be prepared.” She shrugged, walking into the room. Veronica shook her head, letting out a laugh.

Veronica stood back for a moment, watching Betty step inside, The ruffled edges of her dress knocked against the seats of the chairs that none of their classmates had pushed back into their desks. Betty paced over to her desk, kneeling down and searching inside of its supply holder, under the seat, and looking around. She looked up to see that Veronica hadn’t set foot into the classroom. 

“What’s wrong? Get in here already!” she motioned over before continuing. “You don’t want a janitor or someone to catch us loitering around.” 

Veronica breathed in, looking up for a moment. Here we go, she thought to herself. She stepped inside. The only light coming into the room was from the moon. The way Betty’s hair caught the ribbons of moonlight, complimenting the light green of her eyes, it made her almost too pretty to look at. As they locked eyes, Veronica closed the door behind herself, slowly stepping forward. 

“So, really, what’s that thing you had to come all the way back to homeroom to find?”

Betty stood up, brushing her dress off. Veronica strode up slowly to her. She was so nervous that she almost felt calm. She watched Betty’s posture straighten. Veronica, stepping up to her, maintained her eye contact. She always felt like she had a clue about Betty. She thought about what it would be like to ask her on a date, to walk up to her and kiss her, but this was the real thing. There was no going back, and if she was wrong about what she thought she felt with Betty...

“Remember, there is a right answer.” Veronica tried not to sound nervous while she prodded for a response..

Betty draped her hands around Veronica’s shoulders, circling a finger through one of the curls of Veronica’s hair. “You, obviously.”

Veronica could feel herself melt around Betty’s hands. She stood up on her toes, bringing her hands to Betty’s cheeks and gently pulling her in. Betty closed the distance, meeting her with a kiss. Veronica felt like she could be lost in this moment forever.

Betty broke away for a moment. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Veronica smirked. She wanted Betty to know without ever having to be told, just how long she’d had her eyes on her. Betty rested her hands on Veronica’s cheeks before pulling her in for another kiss. 

Veronica’s hands made their way to the small of Betty’s back as she leaned backwards, pulling the two on top of Betty’s desk. Veronica took the lead, painting Betty’s cheeks with kisses. All this time they’d spent as friends, she’d watched Betty deal with so much, so quickly. Veronica wanted to be her comfort.

Betty put a hand behind Veronica’s head, the other behind her leg. As the two started to make out, Betty placed one of her thighs between Veronica’s legs. Veronica took the cue to go further, letting her. Before the two could keep going, Veronica slipped off the edge of the desk, Betty’s arms wrapped around her, breaking her fall and hoisting her up. 

“Holy shit.” Veronica laughed, feeling her head rest around Betty’s biceps. She wrapped her legs around Betty’s waist. 

“Almost lost ya for a moment there.” Betty smiled.

***

“So you lost both of the ladies?” Jughead picked up a cupcake from the gigantic spread of party food in the gymnasium.

“It happened so fast, I barely realized that my date was gone for the rest of the night.”

“Well, tough titties, Arch.” Jughead watched Archie start to slouch, as he looked at the ground. “However.” Jughead said. Archie picked his head up like a golden retriever after hearing someone mention a walk. “Mr. Mantle’s been eyeing you for a while, now that you’re alone.” Jughead pointed right at Reggie, who was leaning across the bleachers next to Dilton Doiley and staring straight at Archie. Once he realized he’d been spotted, Reggie’s gaze shifted with haste.

“You’re kidding.” Archie laughed at Jughead. Reggie took a sip from a flask, offering some to Dilton without even looking at him. Once Dilton took a swig, Reggie slipped the flask back into the pocket of his blazer. Archie turned to Jughead in disbelief, then looked back at Reggie, who’s gaze came back to Archie, unflinching this time. Reggie kicked off from the bleacher. He gave Dilton a pat on the shoulder before making his way towards Archie and Jughead.

Archie felt himself start to panic. It was that chaotic wave of emotion when all control had certainly been lost and all you had to rely on was instinct. And Archie didn’t have great instincts, as reluctant as he was to admit it most of the time.

“So,” Jug looked archie in the eye. “you’re gonna tell me you haven’t been crushing on that doofus for these last couple months? At all?”

 “Jug, it doesn’t matter. He’s Reggie Mantle, There’s a laundry list of reasons that I can’t!” 

There really were. What were the bulldogs going to say? Not just that neither of the football team’s co-captains were straight, but also about the fact that they just so happened to be into eachother? He already could hear the jokes about the extra practice hours they spent together. Jug was accepting, but what about Betty and Veronica? Were they going to start seeing him the way they saw Kevin Keller? Was that even so bad? He didn’t want to lose the type of relationship he already had with them. And what about Fred? Archie was sure His dad would be supportive of him coming out, but the town delinquent was gonna be a hard sell. Archie’s head was like a bee’s nest, buzzing with thoughts.

“Oh, but you can.” Jughead cut off Archie’s train of thought. He took a sip of punch while pushing Archie forward with his other hand.

Archie stumbled onto the dance floor, looking back like a lost puppy. The scent of cinnamon and smoky wood wafted towards him and he turned back, almost bumping into Reggie’s chest. “You smell good.” Archie blurted out. “Did I say that out loud?” Archie felt his cheeks warming up. 

“You did, Andrews.” Reggie chuckled with a nod. 

“Crap.”

“Don’t sweat it, red. I put in some effort. It’s good to know that it’s going noticed, right?”

“Oh.” Archie’s heart was galloping, he felt like he drank two coffees and then threw in a couple of redbulls right before stepping onto the dancefloor. He tried to form the words. “Well-d”—

—“So you wanna dance, or...?” Reggie shrugged, throwing his hands up.

“Yup! Yes, thanks!” Archie was tumbling over his own words as he watched Reggie raise an eyebrow. He breathed in for a moment, trying to stay calm. 

“You’re gonna do fine.” Reggie laughed. He reached out and Archie took his hand. The two started to sway with the music, and Archie felt himself getting closer and closer to Reggie’s body. Reggie put a hand behind Archie’s neck, and Archie gave in to the comfort, resting his head on Reggie’s chest. They kept swaying, turning slowly. Archie caught a glimpse of Jughead, who Archie could have sworn was sleeping standing up, if it weren’t for the thumbs up that Jughead had pointed his way, making him laugh.”

“What’re you looking at, red?”

“Nothing.” He giggled before looking up into Reggie's eyes.. “By the way...”

“Yeah?”

“...It’s stupid, don’t worry about it.”

“Out with it already.”

“You’re comfy.”

“You’re goddamn right I am.” Reggie said with a smirk.

***

Holding eachother, listening to the faint echoes of the music from the gymnasium, Veronica pulled Betty close again, holding her face for a moment and looking into her eyes.

Even if it was in the cramped and uncomfortable Riverdale high classrooms, having this moment together, alone, it was nice. Not at all how Veronica had imagined their first kiss and everything after to happen, but it felt right. 

While Veronica was lost in thought, Betty took the moment to lean in and kiss her on the cheek. 

“Flattered to know that you just can’t stop kissing me.” Veronica laughed.

“Hey,” Betty pointed her finger at Veronica’s cheek. “It’s a very kissable face.” the two kept laughing, taking in the rest of the moment before an announcement blared across the speaker. 

*ALRIGHT RIVERDALE HIGH, WE’VE GOT 3 MORE SONGS LEFT, SO GET YOUR LAST DANCES IN!*

“Shit.” Betty froze, biting her lip as she started to hesitate.

“You want to finish the dance with everyone out there, don’t you?” Veronica looked at Betty with adoration.

“Is that totally corny of me?” Betty laughed.

“Not at all.” Veronica got up and returned the previous favor by planting a kiss on Betty's cheek before taking her by the hand. They ran down the hallway. As the pair made their way onto the dance floor, they settled into a sway, Betty held Veronica in her arms, and Veronica draped hers over Betty's shoulders.

“Thanks for making tonight so amazing..” Veronica whispered.

“I think you’re the one to thank.” Betty smiled.

“Would you be ok if I kissed you in front of everyone here?”

“You sure we’re not gonna hurt Archie’s feelings?”

“He and I were never really dating, just kinda flirting. Plus...” Veronica pointed behind Betty, who turned her head to see Archie and Reggie sharing a kiss. “I think he’s gonna be just fine.” Betty turned back, and Veronica surprised her with a peck on her cheek before moving to her lips. They swayed to the music, Letting the dance come to a close. 

Betty hugged her. “I’m so glad you moved here.”

“Me too.”

[split-n-splice]

[Chapter Guide]

22. Welfare Check – 4

Maybe he should have followed Team Go’s example and left. It was in his best interest to honor his accomplice’s wishes after all, and maybe that was Drakken’s first impulse when he reached for the key in the ignition. So why he didn’t listen to the voice of reason was anyone’s guess.

He was really pushing his luck by being perhaps the first customer of the day to set foot in Buckley’s Brew. As the door swung shut behind him, he began to question the severity of his recent gambling habit.

A stocky henchwoman-to-be in a witch costume was hissing something unfriendly to Shilo, who looked close to socking the fellow barista for whatever snide things that fell out of her mouth. The witchy blonde’s eyes cut to Drakken, and she curled her lip and turned away to tend to an espresso machine or some such. Through the window to the kitchen, Drakken could see Buckley at work preparing more confections, blessedly indifferent to his entry. Shilo, however, was not.

Her glare seared through him as she planted her palms on the countertop.

The little shop was decorated for the holiday with paper garlands of bats and ghosts and tiny pumpkins at the center of each table. On the counter stood a figurine of an ugly little green witch hunched over a little cauldron of Halloween candy. Drakken helped himself to a chocolate drop, popping it in his mouth as he feigned interest in the chalkboard of specialty coffee, seasonal delights, and made-to-order dishes. He refused to search for strudels in the display case.

His accomplice did not offer a greeting. If this was how she treated the average customer, he wouldn’t feel too bad if she was soon sacked, but he knew he was just a special case.

Her scowl didn’t relent even when her fellow barista swept by behind her, depositing a witch hat adorned with long sickle feathers atop her head. Somehow Drakken doubted mentioning her hair had the same uncanny iridescent sheen as rooster’s back end would come off as a compliment, so he kept the thought to himself.

The jingle of the bell behind him urged him to hurry up, and Shilo grinding out, “What do you want?” helped him decide.

“Waffles and a mocha, please,” Drakken answered politely. He’d never gotten a chance to have his breakfast earlier as he’d forgotten it to get cold in the wagon. She didn’t budge when he pulled out his wallet and held out a note. He raised his brow at her, wondering quietly, “Am I banned?” He should hope not.

“No, but you aren’t welcomed,” she grumbled. She snatched the cash from him. “It’s your head.” She nodded curtly toward the table in the furthest corner where they’d sat the day he’d introduced her to Buckley a month ago. It was a good spot, Drakken decided. Just out of sight of the window to the back, therefore out of sight of the owner.

He’d hoped it would be his accomplice to serve him, but he didn’t complain out loud when it was the blonde witch. At least he had something hot to eat and something sweet to sip. He watched the storefront for good measure, ready to jump up and hide in the restroom should Team Go reappear with reinforcements.

Another customer came and went, ordering joe to go and a devil’s food muffin that made Drakken seethe, but he kept his mouth shut and ate his breakfast.

A sudden grip on his shoulder startled him, but he whipped his head around to see raven hair and jaded eyes and he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Buckley. “What did I tell you?” Shilo scolded under her breath. “You’re going to get yourself caught.”

“Oh, you know me,” Drakken tried to chuckle as he sat back to peer innocently up at her. “I’m not very good at following rules.”

“Well, work on it.”

He winced back from the bite in her voice and the weight of her glare. Villains broke rules – didn’t she know that? He eyed her, and the hand still gripping his shoulder in particular, and decided that maybe her rules were best not broken if he could help it. “I just want to make sure you’re—,” he began, but she cut him off with a snort.

“I can handle myself,” she reminded, and let go of his shoulder with a small shove. “You need to stay out of my way. Worry about yourself, will ya? Honestly – you’ve got a lot of nerve to get on my case and then do something this stupid. I thought you were supposed to be a genius?”

Drakken shrank a little more. “I know you’re capable,” he muttered, poking at his half-eaten breakfast. He grunted crossly and stabbed at a side of sausage. “What do they want with you anyway?” That was a dumb question to ask. Maybe he wasn’t such a genius after all.

“They’re not taking me back,” grumbled his partner in crime, crossing her arms.

“Not without a fight,” he agreed, and her frown lightened just a little while.

She glanced toward the door before plopping herself down in the seat across from him, yanking off the ridiculous feathered witch hat and slumping over the table with her face buried in her arms. He almost called her name after a minute, but she heaved a weary sigh and pulled her head up a little to glower over to the other barista before glaring back up at him. “I blame you.”

Drakken scoffed. “For?”

Her jaded eyes narrowed on him, and she shook her head, refusing to explain with more than a simple, “Everything.” She reached across to steal a sip of his mocha then, and he kept his complaint trapped behind zipped lips. She could probably use the caffeine more than him – but for heaven’s sake – she could go get her own.

“They do want me to come back,” she confirmed. “But if they were going to force me to go, they wouldn’t be wasting time seeing how I’m doing. I must be up to snuff so far. They haven’t drugged or cuffed me yet. Anyway.” She took another sip and surrendered his mug. “If they planned on taking me, they wouldn’t have brought Dad. All the seats are taken. I guess this was my last chance to change my mind before big brother wraps it up on damage control and sweeps me under the rug to pretend I was never their mistake.”

“What?” Drakken uttered around a mouthful, tilting his head. There was something sad in her eyes, and he pulled his stare away to frown at the smudge of black lipstick on his mug. He turned it away from him to sip from a clean edge.

“Big brother doesn’t want a bad apple like me spoiling their reputation,” she explained. “Big brother…you know. Glo—I’m not gonna say it.” She shook her head and sighed grimly. “They’ll probably keep an eye on me through my brothers for a bit, but if I can fool them too that I’m just… this. Some ordinary girl in a small town. Then they might let their guard down and take their eyes off me. We might be okay.”

We. He liked the sound of that more than he ought to. “You sound optimistic,” Drakken noted.

“They have bigger fish to fry than lil ol’ me,” she assured.

“That’s a relief.” He watched the swirling remains of his mocha before knocking it back.

“They’ll never know what hit them,” she agreed with a smile. A genuine smile, one that met her eyes and lifted some of the bleak exhaustion there, if only for a moment. She stood then, making a motion for him to pass her the mug. As she was offering to fetch him a refill, he shook his head and stood as well.

“I think I’ve pushed my luck enough for one morning,” he sighed and looked out toward the storefront. There were still no superheroes in sight, but he wasn’t so gullible as to believe they had given up so easily. They’d be back. It was only a matter of time. “When does your family leave?”

“Dunno,” she admitted. “I guess the twins wanted me to take them trick-or-treating tonight, so they’re bound to turn up eventually to make me spend quality time with the family.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Try the north end of town,” advised Drakken offhandedly. “It’s the rich neighborhood.” He didn’t know why he bothered sparing that information. Let the little brats get paperclips and tasteless candy – what did he care?

A new early-bird customer was just coming in then. Shilo’s idle time was up. Drakken sidestepped out of her way as his accomplice donned her witch hat and cleared the table.

“Thanks for the tip,” she chirped flippantly, and as Drakken turned back to utter something confused in reflex, she smirked and pushed his wallet into his chest while pocketing a bill from it. “See ya around, hon.”

The last bit didn’t sit well with him, but Drakken let it slide before it could trip him up. She was smiling and bubbly and sweet now despite her exhaustion and bottled bitterness. It wasn’t a show of endearment – it was all just a show she put on for customers, right down to the smile she flashed him as he took his leave.

Drakken grit his teeth and forced himself to return to the lair, despite how compelled he was to keep a watchful eye out for the superheroes, anxious his irreplaceable accomplice might be taken away at any moment, against her will or otherwise.

He tried to bear in mind there was certain protocol he ought to be following anyway. He had more important things to do than loiter around town, trying to stalk agents of Global Justice decked out in outlandish harlequin suits – things like barking orders at the henchmen to put the lair under lockdown starting with the garage, and ordering the whole lot of them into the depths of the subterranean hideaway and out of sight from probing spies, and to be on guard for a raid just in case. If Global Justice by any chance had followed Team Go to the oasis, there was the risk he’d caught their eye. Peculiar complexions like his had a way of acting as a red flag for illicit activities gone awry, after all.

But as Drakken sat down in front of the CCTV system, hands folded under his chin as he vigilantly watched the perimeter in grainy black and white feed, an inkling of doubt trickled in, watering a wry seed as he stewed. After some time, his nerves began to settle, and he sat back, weighing the likelihood of Global Justice considering a blue individual a threat or even a suspicious character on Halloween of all days.

He shook his head. He had too much idle time to think.

So he summoned a henchman to the chair to watch the security feed and left to occupy his buzzing mind with something more productive than staring at bulbous screens which only served to make his eyes burn. Let them be the watchdogs and watch the monotonous feedback – what else was he paying them for?

Though he was on the verge of scrapping it for parts in his frustration, Drakken returned to the cannon. It didn’t distract him for long, but it kept him busy long enough to finish it. He got as far as pulling on a mask and giving it a quick coat of spraypaint to emulate the warning stripes of a yellowjacket.

The mask didn’t do him a whole lot of good when the ventilation system in the lair left a lot to be desired, and he abandoned the project before the paint could finish dripping.

Dizzy from fumes, Drakken quickly retreated to his personal quarters and tugged off the mask, gasping for a breath of air yet to be polluted by the aerosol, though it still lingered on his clothes. He tossed his coat over the back of the couch to shed some of it, turning his attention to the kitchen next as he staved off the phantom sensation of standing on the roof of the van with a heavy weight on his shoulders—

It was only noon, he noticed. That was fine. Enough time had elapsed and there’d yet to be an alarm tripped. It was safe to relax a little and call it lunchtime, though his stomach was still knotted up with nerves. He made himself a grilled cheese sandwich, reminding himself he lived alone. Mostly alone. He only unthinkingly made a second because he was hungry, even if it was cold by the time he forced it down.

Neither were satisfying. No amount of butter or cheese could fix that.

He sat hunched over his kitchen island, frowning into a new cookbook that had yet to offer anything that tickled his fancy. Chocolate was an infallible go-to, but chocolate alone wasn’t festive enough. Devil’s food still left a sour taste in his mouth anyway. Pumpkin pie, maybe? No. While he could bake a mean pumpkin pie, the art passed down to him from his grandmother, it was too mundane. It wasn’t like he had anyone to impress – it was just that he must have made a hundred in his twenty-odd years of baking them.

He flicked on the television and melted into the couch, hopeful the leading cooking channel would inspire him, but it was droning on and on about decorative icing on sugar cookies in the shapes of bats and witches and pumpkins. Bored to sleep, he nodded off until a change of pace signified the start of some competitive whimsical cakes designed like graveyards or brains.

Drakken sat up with a groan at the sight of strawberry glaze drizzled over the brain-cake and flicked off the television. It was just a touch too realistic for his taste. He wasn’t in the mood to see desserts disguised as organs.

Pieces floated together as he watched the stars behind his lids as he rubbed his stinging eyes. A moment later, he dove across the couch to fish his notebook from his jacket to jot down three words most certain to be delectable, just in case something came up and he got complacent. It sounded good in his head. It was certain to be leagues better than any revolting red velvet cerebrum.

He didn’t need the worthless cookbook. The itch to toss it in the garbage didn’t feel too unlike disregarding a map on a road trip, but he couldn’t pry his fingers from the spine to drop it. He knew exactly how to make what he craved though – he didn’t need someone else’s instructions to guide him. Still, he grudgingly returned it to the shelf with half a dozen other useless cookbooks like it. His thoughtful mother had bought it for him anyway. He couldn’t just throw out a gift.

As deliberately as he tried to keep his eyes down, he still caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. It was half-past two.

If they weren’t already, those rotten superheroes were bound to be on her any moment now. The lair was in lockdown – but he needed ingredients if he was going to concoct anything to cure a sweet tooth.

He felt his breath leave him and with it his resolve to stay safely holed up in his hideout.

Drakken shrugged on his coat – it had aired out enough – and stuffed his notebook back in the pocket. He knew exactly what he needed. He didn’t need to make a list.

He still stood before the mainframe in the lab to write it out anyway, giving himself an extra minute to change his mind before lowering the lair’s defenses and ordering the henchman at the surveillance desk to keep a sharp eye out or he’d have his head served on a platter.

Drakken was soon coasting through town yet again in the restored station wagon, as the van was still too eye-catching with its damaged side – not to mention it was suspicious enough to the average civilian on a good day. He was minding his own business anyway – just popping into the Smarty Mart. He didn’t need to be secretive.

How he found himself on the wrong side of town – well. He couldn’t play stupid. He was compulsive. He could hardly help that. It was a villain thing.

Knowing he was playing with fire, Drakken kept his eye out as he cruised down Main Street, spotting his lone accomplice soon enough. Given the direction she was heading, she wasn’t heading home. He had to guess she was on her way to the library, her usual respite from the weather, only this time she was likely avoiding the family he happened to know still had a jet parked on the front lawn at her address.

He was bound to be on edge for as long as Team Go was still in town. Paranoia grew by the second as he waited for the dreaded heroes to jump her. She wasn’t far from Buckley’s yet. Her brothers could be lurking anywhere, lying in wait.

She was confronted, but it wasn’t by lousy do-gooders.

Drakken recognized the brown dog from a block away, and he pulled to the curb as Shilo was cut off by the traitorous deadbeat with the leash. He narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers on the wheel, muttering under his breath his hopes for karma to catch the dog boy once and for all, especially once the steaming punk advanced on her. Granted, the temper might have been justified if Shilo had in fact let his dog out to run away, plus she’d nearly pushed him from the second story earlier.

It didn’t change the fact that Dr. Drakken rooted for her at a distance.

Ignoring the urge to intervene against his better judgment, he watched a dispute unfold. It started with some indiscernible shouting and flailing arms, the boy shaking the leash at her. And then Shego – Shilo – was shoved. She pushed back with twice the force, the boy stumbling over his own shoelaces, which lead to the dog being hastily tied to a tree as Shego goaded him on. To Drakken’s disappointment, the sucker was lead around the nearest building, out of sight.

He almost envied the canine’s front-row seat. The dog barked furiously, lunging and straining at the stifling leash tethering it to the tree. A minute or so passed, and Drakken almost put the car back on the road to go investigate for himself.

A weight lifted from his chest then and he exhaled his relief as Shilo strolled out unscathed, her hair only slightly out of place. She chucked something into the air – a pair of shoes – and smoothed out her hair as the sneakers swung on the powerline above. She rubbed her knuckles, patted the mutt happily wagging its tail, and continued on her way.

The backstabber limped into sight toward his dog a moment later, his arm hanging limp and possibly dislocated. If he wasn’t too caught up grieving over it, he might have continued shouting at Shilo’s back.

Drakken couldn’t help smirking. “Attagirl,” he muttered, giddily pleased she’d served payback herself. Proud as he was, the mugging reinforced a healthy respect. His own combat skill wasn’t his sharpest asset – she’d proved that to him not long ago in an enlightening lesson he wouldn’t soon forget – and he knew she could easily do just the same to him.

Hell, she could do worse to Drakken than dislocate an arm or steal his shoes if she wished. He put a lot on the line, trusting the bad apple as he did. She could rob him blind, turn everything of his for her own profit, bend him to her will for her own gain – well, maybe she was already doing that.

He grimaced and tried not to consider he was being taken for a fool, even as he felt incredibly foolish heading for Smarty Mart with the idle curiosity if she fancied cheesecake. He shook his head. So what if she didn’t? He baked for himself. He wasn’t obligated to share his personal provisions, and he didn’t have to impress her with desserts that put Buckley’s to shame either.

It was a good thing he’d made a list, because he found himself distracted with each new aisle. He tried contemplating a meal plan, but his attention was stolen time and time again by enticing arrangements of candy and decorations. He grit his teeth and tried his damndest to turn a blind eye to the festive merchandise, but his willpower caved eventually, and he was soon perusing holiday goods while staving off the fear of his accomplice alone at the mercy of her brothers.

Before he knew where his feet were taking him, he stood in the costume aisle. This late in the game, pickings were slim. It had to be luck he even found a cape.

He didn’t mean to inspect the silky black garment lined in red, and he especially didn’t mean to drop it in the handbasket – though he justified it knowing someone was bound to come up behind him and pluck it from the rack for themselves if he didn’t. He wondered, as he tossed a pair of overpriced fangs in the basket as well, if he could pull off a satin cape on a regular basis, but he halted the thought in its tracks before he could contemplate how many caped villains had been made a laughingstock. A cape was a ridiculous addition to his wardrobe – he was only wearing it for tonight, and then it was going in the office fireplace.

Thanks to his dillydallying and candy inspection in Smarty Mart, what should have taken him no more than twenty minutes from entry to checkout had taken him an hour or more. Still, he was compelled to blame a heavy overcast for the gloomy evening.

He was out of his mind, Drakken soon concluded as he made a beeline for his accomplice’s neighborhood. He couldn’t convince himself he was only passing through on the way out of town, not when he had to drive so far out of the way to do so. He didn’t even make it to her street before spotting Shego in her gear along with the whole gaggle of harlequin-clad boys.

Gripping the wheel, Drakken fixed his glare dead ahead, away from the superheroes toting bags and buckets like all the other kids swarming the streets. He made for home, back to his lair.

He had sightseeing to do tonight, but first he had to get changed.

[crowsent]

My Personal List Of Karkat Insults

I used these back when Cherubplay was a big thing. Feel free to use them in your fanfics, your RPs, etc

Pisscouch

Ventripotent

Asscactus

Shitgibbon

Cretin

Douchepistol

Mouthvomits

Half-eaten Sandwich

Absolute Walnut

Spam Email

Soggy Lampshade

Buttplug Face

Toupeed Fucktrumpet

Utter Cockwomble

Moldy Leftover

Cranberry Fucknut

Useless Paperclip

Legless Table

Ass Dandruff

Warthog-faced Orangutan

Puerile Filth

Pile of Putrescence

Sack of Excrement

Catatonic Peanut

Ignored Text

Broken Headphones

Floppy Breadstick

Neon Croc

Insipid Petunia

Cockroach Motherfucker

Slackjawed Pickletits

Pugnacious Dish Rag

Hamster Basket

Ignorant Fuckmuppet

Snooty McSnotwhine

Undigested Burrito

Slope-browed Weaseldicks

Paint-huffing Shitgoblins

Mangled Apricot Hellbeast

Hemorrhoidal Shit Stain

Pestilent Little Toad

Inconsiderate Space Herpe

Witless Wombat Cocksplat

Tangled Headphone Cord

Uneducated Cat Penis

Unnecessary Stock Footage

Arrogant Beet Casserole

Unusable Bobby Pin

Wannabe Wikipedia Philosopher

What The Entire Fuck

Bloviating Flesh Bag

Shit-faced Ferret-Wearing Shitgibbon

-

Staple your fingers together

Please choke on your spoon

Bright as a black hole and twice as dense

Piss lord of shit mountain

Go fuck a cactus

Shove a cactus up your ass

Rusty used razor from the 1800's

Pile of wombat shit

I'd slap you on he head, but I'm not sure your brain knows the concept of pain

The human personification of Monday

Fuck me sideways with a sandblaster

May natural selection come for your pathetic ass

Human beings perpetually display an inordinate amount of infallible stupidity

You'd struggle to pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel

Someone ought to rip your vocal cords right out of your throat

I'm not frivolous enough to buy your bullshit

Are you making a special effort to be extra stupid today

After evaluating your statement, I can conclude that you are a complete uneducated soapy dishrag

You ask for more stuff than the Red Cross

I don't even know how to respond to this bullshit

Disappointment wrapped in apathy and sealed with self-loathing

There is a land called Shitface Douchebagstan, and you are the king

You potato with eyes

Make like Icarus and fly into the sun

Well, I'd agree with you but then we'd both be wrong

I'm going to pour hot tea on your face

I get so emotional when you're not around and that emotion is happiness

Is your ass jealous from the shit coming out of your mouth

That skinny jeans must have cut the oxygen supply to your head

I think my bunny slippers just ran for cover

You're as pretty as a picture and I'd love to have the honour of hanging you

Pardon me sir, but you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck

Why don't you pray to God to throw some brains down from heaven, or you know, a stone as long as it's well-aimed at your empty head

Consider me the king of weaponized profanity

I don't have an education high enough to qualify understanding the language of douchebag

Did the circus come to town

The biggest dick with the tiniest dick ever to walk the planet

Are you a professional at being a douchebag because you're doing a great job

I'd call you a dick, but you're not good enough to be one

It's amusing how you state the obvious with such a sense of discovery

You are not worth the calories I burn talking to you

Get off your high fucking emboldened horse

I will shove your entire upper body into your own ass and make you fuck yourself from the inside out

It must be hard being that stupid

If you're going to be a smartass, you have to be smart

I don't have enough middle fingers to show you how I feel

Your birth certificate was a waste of paper

Congratulations, I hope you feel accomplished by the fact that you suck

More of your conversation would reduce the amount of brain cells I have

Stop poisoning the air with your toxic presence

Charientism is an art you have no skill in

I'd love to introduce your face to a shovel

Tell your intestines I said hello since your head is that far up your ass

Back the fuck up you soggy burger

From the very moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I'd spend the rest of my life avoiding you like the Black Plague

Pile of white crayons

There's digging your own grave, and there's blasting a hole straight through the earth's core and jumping right in

I'm somewhat of a bullshitter, but please, carry on, I want to listen to a real pro

Your father should have been a eunuch

Natural selection will come for you

If brains were gasoline, you wouldn't be able to drive a tiny ant go cart a single lap around a cheerio

Someone ought to open an umbrella in your ass

Go contract a debilitating case of genital warts

Human equivalent of the common cold

Dog shit is prettier than your face

You seem to be having delusions on adequacy

Stop making me want to pick you up and shake you until your ass spits out the pathetically microscopic amount of brain cells you have in your tiny head

Take a swim in the Dead Sea

Look into my eyes and take a deep breath, does it look like I care

What kind of qualities do you have to make up for your stupidity

I want to punch down a wall and that's sad because I like my walls; they're freshly painted with a nice colour that looks better than the entirety of your face

You need to sit down and think about just how fucking wrong you are

If I want to be you, I'd put a fucking horse face on

Stop throwing a temper tantrum worthy of making my non-existent three year old kid die of embarrassment

-

....long before your parents squirted water at each other from across the clown car and then honked their bicycle horns to indicate they really wanted to make a smug, insufferable little clown baby together

...drunk on your own buzzword, incapable of forming an original coherent thought

...you display a lack of knowledge and a fundamental disregard for human nature so profound, you make me wonder if you consistently incorporate lead paint into your daily diet of doritos

...should be burned to the ground, the ashes salted, and the remains baptised by a priest willing to wade in all that bullshit

...supporting their moronic crusade of dragging everyone everywhere down into the pits of hell to rot

...popping up faster than an entourage of wild untamed forsynthias

...regroup instead of fucking playing whack-a-mole

...skills of a plastic houseplant

[flamed-like-anything]

Ineffable plans

Another Fleabag crossover fic that nobody asked for - this time, with Good Omens. 2100 words. Also on ao3.

"So, I, wow," started the priest, who at this point had recovered some of his wits. "So are you here- Is this- Do you have some kind of message for me, or...?"

"A message?" said Crowley, annoyed. "We're not the Microsoft Office paperclip, we don't just pop up with little hints for you every now and then."

It was a blistering day in mid-August and the priest was shuffling around between the pews in his church, trying to find a football that had rolled under a seat, when he was interrupted by a polite cough. In the light of the doorway were standing two men. One was placid-looking and beaming, in an immaculate cream suit with a shock of white hair. The other, serpentine and dark, seemed to be doing some kind of odd jerking movement with his feet, never leaving them on the floor for more than a moment at a time.

"Do excuse me," said the white-haired man politely, "we're looking for the father of this parish?"

"Hi! That's me," replied the priest, stumbling over a kneeler cushion to offer his hand.

"Ah, excellent," he said, shaking his hand warmly. "My name is Aziraphale and this is my fiancé Crowley."

"Lovely to meet you," said Crowley, continuing his strange dance, as though the soles of his shoes were on fire. "I won't shake hands. Bit of a cold, don't want to pass it on."

"Sure, sure," said the priest. "How can I help you both today?"

"Well, we're looking for a place for a wedding, and we do love old churches like this one," started Aziraphale.

"We had a bit of a romantic moment in one once," supplied Crowley. "It was fun, there were Nazis."

"He saved my books," said Aziraphale, with a tender, loving gaze at his partner.

"Oh wow, that sounds very- there were Nazis?"

"Oh, don't worry," said Crowley with a devilish grin, "they've been dealt with."

"Crowley!" his fiancé admonished. "Don't scare the poor man."

"No, no," the priest reassured them. "We don't like Nazis here either."

"Excellent," beamed Aziraphale, spreading his arms to hustle the priest out of the door and onto the pavement. "Let's talk about it over lunch."

"Where were you thinking, angel?" asked Crowley as they all stepped into the road.

"Ooh, well, there's this wonderful-"

A honking noise was the only warning they got before the lorry came barrelling into them.

In a flash, the priest's vision was filled with feathers, some brilliant white and blinding, some glossy, black as pitch. He blinked, and found himself shielded by two pairs of wings as the wind from the passing lorry whooshed around them, blowing up dust and debris from the road. The vehicle had miraculously swerved just at the last second to avoid them.

"Get out of the road!" Crowley shouted at the back of the lorry, with some rather descriptive hand gestures. The couple both shook their feathers a little, and Crowley picked some debris off the front of Aziraphale's lapels for him, examining it with a grimace.

"Do you think they noticed the old-" said Aziraphale, gesturing at his wings.

"They never notice anything, humans," snorted Crowley, picking a crisp packet out of his feathers.

The priest squeaked.

"Ah," said Aziraphale, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "That was the other thing that-"

"Fuck," said the priest, shaken. "I- You-" His eyes were bulging out of his head. The two angels - because that seemed the only logical explanation - both looked rather concerned as he wobbled over to the pavement.

Reverently, he dropped to his knees, head spinning. "He will cover you with his pinions," he breathed, "and under his wings you will find refuge."

"Yes, yes, that sort of thing," said the angel in a soothing voice, pulling him gently to his feet and patting his arm. "Let's get you a nice cup of tea and some lunch, hmm?"

"Do we have to do this?" asked Crowley in an undertone as they steered the mute priest towards a nearby restaurant. "Couldn't we just-"

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and squirmed a little. "That doesn't seem right."

"But we could just-"

"No," he said more firmly, making up his mind. "We are not starting our marriage by wiping this poor man's memory. It sets a terrible precedent."

"Fine," huffed Crowley, "but if he gets all weird about it, I'm going home."

Luckily, a table for three just happened to become available the moment they walked into the restaurant, and they were soon ensconced in a comfortable booth with a bottle of rather nice Merlot and a pot of tea.

"So, I, wow," started the priest, who at this point had recovered some of his wits. "So are you here- Is this- Do you have some kind of message for me, or...?"

"A message?" said Crowley, annoyed. "We're not the Microsoft Office paperclip, we don't just pop up with little hints for you every now and then."

"Paperclip?" said Aziraphale, bemused. "I'm afraid you've lost me there."

"It's a," Crowley gestured vaguely, "computery thing."

Aziraphale shuddered delicately. "Oh. Well, regardless, no. We're not exactly on... active duty these days."

"Angels can retire?" asked the priest, racking his brain for what he could remember from seminary school. Nothing sprang to mind, but he would be the first to admit that he wasn't at his sharpest at this particular moment.

"Not strictly," said the angel, "but I think Heaven is currently, ah, a little busy with other matters."

"I'm not technically an angel, either," said Crowley, tipping down his sunglasses to reveal his eyes, deep orange with snakelike pupils. "There was a bit of a disciplinary... kerfuffle, and I'm more what you might call your actual demon... type... thing, really."

"So why did you come to my church?" said the priest, taking a large and restorative sip of his wine. "Can you even, how did you cross the threshold?"

"Bit hard on the feet, consecrated ground," agreed Crowley, grinning widely, "but it'll be worth it to see their faces."

"Whose faces?"

"I've had a bit of a bust-up with Hell over this whole Apocalypse fiasco - long story, you don't need to know - but this is going to piss off Beelzebub and the other arseholes to no end."

Aziraphale gave a happy wiggle. "They'll be jolly upset," he agreed. "Gabriel too, the bastard."

Sprawled over his seat, Crowley gave the angel a magnificently adoring look.

"So you really are getting married?" the priest asked, for clarification.

"Oh yes," said Aziraphale.

"And not just out of spite," said Crowley.

"No. Although there is some spite," conceded the angel. "I hope that's not a problem for you."

"I've seen people get married for worse reasons," he said absently. "What did you mean when you said Heaven is busy?"

"Busy playing silly buggers," muttered the demon.

"There was this sort of Apocalypse type thing that we rather, ah, got in the way of a bit - it was all terribly ineffable, you understand - and so they'll probably be off gearing up to do it all over again for a while. They seem to have left us alone, at any rate."

"Is it allowed, the two of you being together?"

"Oh, not at all," said the angel, gripping his fiancé's hand firmly. "They made a terrible fuss."

"I'll note that the Almighty hasn't smited us down, though," observed Crowley. He cocked his head, a little frown wrinkling his brow. "Smited. Smitten. Smoted?"

"Sorry," said the priest, his brain catching up with him. "Did you say that you stopped the Apocalypse?"

"For now, yes."

The priest poured himself another, very large, glass of wine.

"Fuck me. Well, fuck." He took a meditative gulp. "If it comes up again, I'm happy to help, if you need," he offered weakly. He wasn't entirely sure what help, exactly, he could offer, but he could probably do something.

Maybe he could design the uniforms.

"That's very kind of you," said the angel. "You seem like a very nice young man. Are you married?"

"No, not really allowed in the Catholic..." he trailed off, thinking. "Fuck, is any of that true? How does God feel about priests falling in love?"

"It's always difficult to know exactly what the ineffable plan is," hemmed Aziraphale.

The priest frowned. "You can't talk directly to God?"

"Not without being put on hold for hours. It's worse than telephoning the gas company. No, I'm afraid I don't know."

"Probably doesn't give a fuck, to be honest," interjected Crowley. "Compared to our forbidden love, yours is... mildly hinted against."

"Breaking a couple of by-laws, punishable by a fine, kind of thing," supplied Aziraphale.

"Probably not even that! I mean look at us, walking around un-smitten."

"I must protest, Crowley!" said Aziraphale indulgently. "I am entirely smitten." They shared a long, loving look.

The priest, busy having an existential crisis, paid no notice.

"I'm afraid there's really no way to know the Almighty's plan for you," Aziraphale said to him gently, "but that's not so bad, is it? That means you get to decide for yourself."

"Jesus fucking Christ," said the priest, just as the waiter stopped at their table to deliver their food. This being the kind of establishment that insisted on the highest level of discretion and politeness from their staff, he merely raised an eyebrow at the priest's collar and turned away without comment, smiling to himself.

"You don't have to fall in love if you don't want to," the angel continued in a delicate tone, "but equally, if there's someone who..."

The two celestial beings locked eyes with each other again, and Crowley brought Aziraphale's hand to his lips to give it a soft, affectionate kiss.

"Look, it's just not worth putting it off, all right?" said the angel. "Believe me."

The priest hunched down in his chair. "How do you know you've done the right thing?" he said in a small voice.

"Don't ask me about the right thing," said Crowley, "I've been trying to do the opposite for 6,000 years, I couldn't tell you anything about doing the right thing, but I can tell you this: whenever I look at him, all I can see is hope."

Aziraphale visibly melted, cradling Crowley's face in one hand. "And I you, dear boy," he said sincerely, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

After a moment, he turned back to the priest, who was picking at a plate of mussels without enthusiasm, reconsidering his life choices.

"I really don't mean to pry," said Aziraphale hesitantly, "but she's working at that café today, you know."

The priest gave a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Fucking angels."

"Like I said, I don't like to be too forward, but it really does seem a shame."

Crowley, busily wrapping himself around Aziraphale like ivy, hummed his assent.

Giving a lopsided half-smile, the priest looked down at his hands. "I'm supposed to love one thing."

"Love isn't finite, Father," said the angel patiently. "When you find someone you love... you fall in love with the whole world, through them. There's enough to go around."

"Best to be on the safe side, though." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't want to mess up any divine plans."

"Listen," said Crowley, taking an interest. "How about this - you go ahead and get this girl and be happy, and if we see any divine wrath headed your way we'll just sort of... head it off at the pass."

"Yes!" beamed Aziraphale, bouncing in his seat. "We'll keep an eye out for locusts and hellfire and so forth, then you won't have to worry."

"Provided you agree to do our wedding, of course," added the demon with a cocked eyebrow.

"That seems fair," said the priest. "Fuck. OK." He let out a huff of air. He fought the urge to giggle, feeling infinite promise crackling around the edge of his vision. Maybe this could work. It was a celestial being-approved plan. "OK."

"If you start running now, you could get to her in ten minutes," said Crowley casually, pouring himself another drink.

"Fuck," said the priest again, for good measure, and drained his glass. "Right, fuck it." He bounded to his feet and sprinted for the door.

"You could have offered him a lift, you scoundrel," he heard Aziraphale saying to Crowley, but he didn't have space in his brain to think about it.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the door to Hillary's out of breath, dishevelled and panting, sweat beading on his forehead in the midday sun. Pushing open the door, he burst ungracefully into the room and stopped short.

She was standing at the counter, looking alarmed, amused, and pleased in equal measures.

"I-" he started, then stopped. With a couple of strides, he crossed the room and took her face in his hands.

"I have had the weirdest fucking day," he said, and kissed her.

[dotthings]

SPN 14.01 and how SPN’s character-driven ensemble mode owns me

Speaking as a pretty burned-out yet weirdly die-hard Supernatural fan, I have taken breaks from the canon, I’ve been heavily critical, I’ve quit and come back, it’s kinda cyclical, but I don’t hang around to obsess over how ruined everything is each and every week, I go and then catch up again. And here we are at 14.01 and I’m still watching the darn thing and I even came back to tumblr just to make this post because there are things happening that are worth the trip.

I understand getting frustrated but it floors me how so many could look at this character driven, layered episode, despite its flaws, where SPN went into full ensemble mode without losing sight of its main characters, gave everyone character development, showed Dean’s importance via his absence and even Dean pov by implication via Michael knowing inside his head, gave us Sam and Cas bonding, Cas and Jack bonding, Sam and Mary bonding, Bobby and Jack bonding, had Mary expressing her thoughtfulness about what Dean is going through right now, and genuinely being a supportive mother figure to Sam instead of just forcing her “mom voice” without backing it up, raised the volume on the Destiel subtext yet again, and just call it garbage, the entire show ruined, or claim that “Dabb hates Cas” “Dabb hates Dean” “nobody cared about Dean” or that Sam is the only character who gets any love. 

14.01 on top of everything else was a big course correction and very needed note for Sam. It was what I wanted SPN to do for him, and it gave him a wonderful balance between his S8 and S10 meltdowns. I’ve waited ages for that. And twitter fandom is so out of control I got attacked and trolled just for squeeing over it, because, idk, because I love Dean, how dare I actually appreciate Sam Winchester. A Sam who is worried and determined and isn’t sleeping he’s so concerned about Dean and wants to save his brother, yet is mindful of others and doesn’t go over the edge. He connected with Mary, he connected with Cas, he connected with Jack, and not just in a “what desperate thing will we do now to save Dean” he actually connected with them. A Sam who is holding that whole crowded bunker full of hunters together and being station chief yes, even intimidating demons with his Winchester Voice. It was a journey to get here and IMO every bit earned.

Supernatural fandom’s having screaming meltdowns over continuity errors since forever. Some of those “errors” I think have some reasonable inference explanations, some don’t, honestly I’m not against pointing it out but SPN’s been “ruined” by continuity errors since forever, moving on.

While Castiel spent too much time chained to a chair, there are reasonable inferences as to why he seemed weakened and didn’t recognize it was a bar full of demons. Maybe it’s Heaven’s battery burning down. Regardless, it’s moot because Cas would go in anyway. Cas doesn’t give a crap about the odds. Cas wants to save Dean and “I will burn you to ash where you sit” may have been a bluff and he can’t burn anyone but he gave it his all. He’s always punched above his weight and he’s immensely brave (maybe too much, to the point of disregarding his own safety, but he’s a m-f Winchester). He was a badass in this ep. And he went in over his head for Dean. Something even Sam says he wishes he’d thought of first, and we have Sam and Cas’s shared moment of “anything for Dean” and it wasn’t grim or self-annihilating or codependency or their lack of self-worth or suicidal ideations, it’s just something they have in common how much they care about him.

There’s also Cas’s scene with Jack where Cas channels Dean to encourage Jack and let him know he’s not alone, and oh hey guess what turns out Cas was listening all those years to what Dean has said to him, over and over. Turns out he heard it. Turns out he internalized it and now is able to use it to help someone else. Cas had always heard it but maybe he didn’t fully process it, but we know now that he knows.  He gets it and what it means. He heard everything Dean said and that’s now been fully acknowledged and this is major not just for Cas himself, individually, but for his relationship with Sam, Dean, Jack, and it’s a very big deal too for his relationship with Dean.

But please, tell me all that’s trash and “x doesn’t care” and that this showrunner hates his own characters and only an idiot could enjoy this narrative. 

SPN may often be a frustrating source text for me at times but but I know decent thoughtful character driven writing when I see it and I’m going to acknowledge that and the fact that I’m getting this in season freakin’ 14? I don’t even know how the show manages it, it’s like it’s held together with paperclips and duct tape and as it ages its flaws show more but other things have gotten better, like increased presence of female characters, TPTB committment to Wayward, Cas’s increasing importance, the increasing emphasis on Team Free Will, the increased emotion-based Destiel hinting with fewer slash jokes and more “holy crap this could be a real thing,” and actual character development for Sam, Dean, Cas, and others.

And that’s what I had to say about 14.01.

[casino-lights]

The Worst First Date... Ever

A Deputy/Pratt oneshot I’ve been wanting to write for a while now. Warnings apply for strong language, some sexual content, and secondhand embarrassment. Two of the three are Staci’s fault. Which two? You be the judge.

Pratt was acting up again one day in late spring, when the mud on the roads was fender-deep and the sun gave everyone red arms and pinched faces. Hudson was about ready to strangle him as he popped his nicotine gum to the rhythm of the oldies on the radio. Medina could tune it out - it’s classic Pratt, she told herself, hates the quiet so he fills it in the most annoying way he can think of - but once he started banking paperclips off her back, she had to take a stand.

“Pratt!”

“What? It’s target practice.”

“Stop doing that.”

His lips curled up in a grin and he held his hands up innocently. But the glint of a silver paperclip pinched between his thumb and forefinger was not promising, and Medina only glared at him.

“Staci Pratt, I will tell your mother.”

His mouth fell open in an O of surprise, but the smirk quickly returned. As soon as she went back to her paperwork, he bounced the paperclip straight off the back of her head.

“¡Deja de hacer eso!”

He started laughing and dropped his last paperclip into the jar on his desk. “Aww, no eres divertido.”

“Cabrón.”

“Guys!” Hudson snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you’re gonna insult each other, do it in English.”

Medina quickly apologized, then jabbed her finger at Pratt. “You… you… horse-face.”

He nearly choked on his gum. “Horse-face? Horse-face? You can call me an asshole in Spanish but the best you got in English is horse-face?”

“I don’t like swearing in English,” she said with a pout. “It’s dirty.”

“Shit, Sasha,” he chuckled as he stood up and stretched his arms. “You are so fucking cute.”

“Sure, you say that now.”

“Oh, my god, guys, I am begging you,” Hudson looked at Medina desperately. “Please, please flirt somewhere else. I just ate.”

Pratt disappeared into the closet where they kept personal effects, and both Hudson and Medina gave a sigh of relief as they returned to their work. Sasha was patiently filling out release papers for one Charlemagne Victor Boshaw IV when the W turned into a wild scribble as a pair of hands suddenly clasped her shoulders and a muffled voice called “neigh!” into her ear.

Since poor Sasha’s fight or flight instincts always defaulted to fight, she whirled around and swung a closed fist toward Pratt, who recoiled in shock as her hand connected with the rubber snout of his horse mask.

He tugged it off, cackling, and smoothed his hair back as Sasha stood up to face him - not like she properly could with their foot-tall height difference.

Luckily for Pratt, she laughed too, and she yanked the mask away from him. “Why do we even have this?”

“Dunno,” he confessed. “Just saw it in the closet this morning.”

Hudson, her head in her hands, mumbled wearily, “Came from a 390 they found out by Rae-Rae’s. Some jackass was trying to scare Boomer again.”

Pratt’s face twisted into a disgusted expression. “He puked, didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

Medina dropped the mask and wiped her hands on Pratt’s shoulder. “Ew. Drunk puke.”

“Really brings people together.” Pratt took her hands in his and pulled her toward the door. “C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

Reluctantly, she followed him, though she had to quicken her pace to keep up with his gangly legs, and he led her round the back of the station.

“Pratt, what—”

“Just do what I do.” He clambered up atop a parked cruiser, then the electrical shed, before finally scaling the roof. “The view up here is awesome.”

“We have mountains, y’know,” said Sasha as she struggled up the shed. “Why don’t you—oof—just look… oh, wow.” Her eyes widened as she reached the roof and could finally take in the sun setting between the mountains in the distance. “It’s beautiful. I never even noticed.”

“Yeah, see? I told you.” Pratt looked insufferably smug. “It’s ‘cause of that big, shitty billboard down there. It blocks the view from the road.”

“How did you even find this?”

“Joey complained about me smoking by the door - which is where everyone takes their smoke breaks, but whatever - so I came out back, but then she complained about me smoking by her car, so I figured, fuck it, if I can’t smoke on the ground, I’ll smoke on the roof.” He glanced down at her with a gleam in his eye. “Twenty bucks she starts complaining about the smoke coming through the vents or something.”

Sasha folded her arms and narrowed her eyes crossly. “I thought you quit.”

“I’ve quit like, six times. Never sticks. Doesn’t matter. This is nice.” He rolled one of his shoulders and swallowed nervously. “Look, uh… sorry I’m a dick sometimes.”

“‘Sometimes’ is a good start,” she said. Still, she uncrossed her arms and smiled warmly at him. “But you’re forgiven. For now.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and chewed his lower lip before inhaling deeply. “I was wondering if, um… maybe… sometime… do you wanna go get some… err, I mean, maybe you’d like to do… something? With me?”

“Staci Pratt, are you asking me on a date?”

“I… guess?” At her unimpressed look, he cleared his throat and said, more confidently, “Yes, I am. I’d like to go on a date with you.”

She reached for his hand and he gave it gladly, despite his sweating palms and trembling fingers. “Staci, I would love to go on a date with you. What did you have in mind?”

“What did I—” Realization dawned on his face and his expression morphed into shock. “Fuck. I mean… I, uh, I didn’t actually… plan that far ahead. I kinda thought you’d say no.”

Sasha giggled and squeezed his hand. “How about a picnic?”

“Great! Yes. I love picnics. Definitely my first choice.”

“I know this great little spot out past Nick Rye’s place.”

He grinned - more relieved than teasing. “I’ll swing by and pick you up. You still live right outside Falls End, right?”

She nods.

“Good, okay. Good. Eight tomorrow night?”

“Six. I wanna catch the sunset.”

He wasn’t off his shift until seven-thirty. But the lady said six, and God help anyone who said Staci Pratt wouldn’t bend over backward for a lady. “Six it is.” He figured the last hour and half wouldn’t matter. Nothing happened in Hope County, anyway.

He was very, very wrong.

From the get-go, Sasha knew something was up. Sure, Staci combed his hair and - for once - didn’t smell of cigarettes, which was a glorious feat in itself, but he was still wearing his uniform, radio and all, while she sported a sundress with purple polka dots. Not exactly on the same page. Not to mention the fact that he showed up in his patrol car. Something was definitely wrong.

Awkwardly, he shuffled his feet as he stood outside her door. “So, um… I forgot to mention this, but I’m kinda… sorta… still working. Until eight.”

“Staci!”

“It’s okay!” He held up his hands placatingly, one bearing a bottle of sweet rosé. “It’s okay. I made sure I was released from office shit and I did all my paperwork early—”

“You gave it to Joey, didn’t you?”

“I… gave her a couple pages.”

“A couple?”

“…Twenty-nine.”

“Staci!” Sasha nearly slammed the door on him right then. But heaven help her, he was so, so cute.

“It’s not a big deal! All I have to do is keep the radio on, okay?” He reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Nothing ever fucking happens around here, anyway. I promise, Sasha, nothing is going to ruin this for us.”

“I just… I thought we weren’t going to bring work into this.”

“We’re not.” His voice was lower, softer, and his eyes were sincere. “I like you, Sasha. I like you a lot. I want this to go well.”

She drew herself toward him and laced their fingers together. “I like you too, Staci, I just don’t want to mess anything up for you. If you have to work, you should work.”

“Ah, Whitehorse loves me. I’m safe.”

She snorted loudly and he made a face in response. 

“Just get in the car, papi.”

He saluted her sloppily. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Medina, ma’am.”

They hadn’t even touched their sandwiches before their hands were wandering, sprawled out on a blanket decorated with rocket ships as the sun blinked below the horizon. God, he’d wanted to kiss her so badly since he first laid eyes on her, with her rich, silk skin and her soft hair and her perfect, perfect lips and here he was, fumbling his way through it, as she smiled into each kiss. Probably laughing at him on the inside, he figured. Dammit, Staci, keep it together…

She had one of her hands on his thigh, positioned oh so precariously, and the other on his chest and she was so, so into this. He kissed hard, and he kissed a lot, and everyone else she’d ever been with - a generous sample size of two women and one other man - was nervous and shy. She’d expected Staci to be the same way, but ooh, he was fierce, and it lit something up in her body she’d never, ever felt before. Sasha, honey, take it slow…

Her fingers unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt and brushed his collarbone, and he moaned. It reverberated within her mouth and she gasped, and they had a sweet-hot back and forth of sultry noises that led to him on his back with her lips on his neck. She left bruising kisses all across his skin, and her weight on his chest was sending heatwaves through him, and he doesn’t remember his work cargos ever being this tight—

His eyes close on their own as she sucks on the delicate skin between his neck and his clavicle. “Oh, fuck, fuck, yes, God, you’re so fucking good at this.”

She laughed softly, seductively, and then…

Someone else laughed, too. A couple someones, actually.

Sasha pulled away abruptly, brow furrowed, and Staci pushed himself up on his elbows as the radio on his shoulder hummed with the chuckles of everyone else on duty. He stared at Sasha in horror for a split second before he scrambled for the switches, and the feedback screeched through the air with his vicious curses as he flicked the radio off, then on again and off for good in his panic.

Sasha was absolutely speechless, but she forced words anyway. “I… Staci, I… I’m so—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his face buried in his hands. “Just fucking don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she finished. She knelt before him, hand on his knee, and reached for his face. 

He almost pulled away, but he dropped his hands and let her touch him gently. “They’re gonna be laughing at me for-fucking-ever,” he muttered miserably. “I’m never fucking living this down.”

“Staci, it’ll be alright.” Sasha had no idea how, but faith had to be enough, right? “They-they probably don’t even know you’re with me.”

He shook his head bitterly. “The fuck they don’t! I told everyone I know I was going out with you. Everyone.”

On one hand, she was certainly flattered. On the other… uh-oh. This time, she couldn’t even think of anything to say. She just tucked his hair behind his ear and rubbed his knee until he drew himself away from her.

His radio light flickered on and he rolled his eyes. “Fuck. I’m fucked. I can’t just not answer it.”

Sasha checked her watch. 7:48.

“Fuck.” Staci sighed and turned the radio back on. “Pratt here. Unfortunately.”

It was Joey Hudson. With any luck, she’d be kind—

“Hey, love machine, you got something coming.”

—Or not.

“Fuck off, Hudson—”

“No, Pratt, I’m serious. Some asshole stole a ton of engine parts from Nick Rye’s hangar and they’re driving right past you.”

“Oh, shit. I’m on it.” He clambered to his feet and nearly tripped on the blanket. “Shit. Shit!” He turned to Sasha, looking so apologetic she didn’t even know it was humanly possible, and he gestured hopelessly at the abandoned picnic. “Sasha, I’m so sorry, I don’t… should I—”

“No, Staci, you go on. I can deal with this. You go get the bad guy.”

“I—should I take you with me? You’re not walking all the way back—”

She interrupted him again. “Yes, I am. You need your car.”

“But you - you’re in heels. I’m so fucking sorry, Sasha, I’m—”

“Stop it, Stace, it’s okay. I’ll be okay. Now go! You’ll lose ‘em!���

He backtracked to his patrol car, looking desperately from the blanket to her and back again until she waved her hands frantically.

“Go!”

He peeled out, and Sasha could only imagine him taking down a thief with his bruised neck and half-open shirt and lipstick-stained cheeks. All she could do was take off her shoes and pinch them in one hand while she tucked the blanket under her arm and carried the picnic basket in the other.

Staci was right. He was the laughingstock of the entire Hope County Sheriff’s Department for a month. Maybe more. They stopped counting after the seventeenth time they were together in a room and someone moaned in a falsetto, started snickering, or made a filthy remark - usually in Sasha’s direction. It made Staci furious every time, but after the second fistfight, Whitehorse put him on notice and he started avoiding Sasha altogether.

The next time they worked together, he was flying a helicopter into the heart of Joseph Seed’s compound with a United States Marshal in the back. 

And still, the first thing Hudson said when they all piled in was: “Hey, love machine.”

[whimsicaldragonette]

Romancing the Sorcerer’s Stone (Part 4 of 24)

Part 1~ Part 2~  Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~ Part 6~ Part 7~ Part 8~ Part 9~ Part 10~ Part 11~ Part 12~ Part 13~ Part 14~ Part 15~ Part 16~ Part 17~ Part 18~ Part 19~ Part 20~ Part 21~ Part 22~ Part 23~ Part 24~

-Part 4: Golden Snitches-

June 2001 — London, England

Harry shifts nervously from foot to foot, worrying at the emerald cufflinks at his wrists. They arrived just yesterday, with no note to accompany them, but he knows who sent them.

Malfoy. Will he be here? No, he shakes his head. He won’t come to mine, just as I didn’t go to his. Of course, I was in Peru at the time… he smiles, remembering.

He’d been following a lead to an absolutely exquisite cursed gold medallion. Incan, as far as they could guess. Malfoy was ecstatic when Harry dropped it on his desk, flashing that intoxicating smile of his, the one he never let Harry see while they were in school. Harry wonders if things might have been different if he had.

Anyway. Malfoy is… Well, he’s not sure exactly where Malfoy is — he’s pretty sure that much knowledge of Malfoy’s itinerary would be creepy, even for him — but he’s undoubtedly busy unloading the haul from Harry’s last trip and sniffing out a new lead or ten. Malfoy thrives on having a finger in every pot, and his slightly seedy international antiquities business provides plenty of interesting challenges. Some are even entirely legal.

Harry’s only been home to English soil for a few weeks, but already he’s itching to be off again. He lives for adventure, for the adrenaline rush that comes from chasing Malfoy’s baubles. As much as he hated the git in school, he’s come to appreciate the feral beauty that is Malfoy stalking his prey — whether men who whisper rumors of treasure to find, or men who pay handsomely for treasures once found.

Harry stalks the treasure itself.

Malfoy joins him sometimes. He says he can’t trust Harry to grease the right people and to not get into trouble with Dark magic he can’t handle. Harry suspects that, secretly, he sometimes tags along just for the thrill of it.

He tries not to think about it, or about how he likes it when Malfoy joins him on his hunts. It’s just something he doesn’t care to contemplate; it feels safer not to.

April 2000 — Somewhere in the Jungle, Peru

Fucking Zabini!

Harry swerves abruptly to the left, as the cold steel blade kisses his right cheek, cleaving the air where he was standing just a second ago. He swears, letting out a muttered string of mixed muggle and magical expletives that draws an amused snort from his assailant. There’s just one now — Bulstrode. Goyle just doesn’t have the stamina for pursuit on foot, especially when tramping through the jungle while shaking off a Jelly-legs jinx, but that doesn’t mean Harry can discount him. He’ll be back, and twice as deadly for being annoyed.

He hears the telltale whistle of the blade and ducks, rolling blindly to the side and down a short slope, hoping he’s not about to send himself plummeting over the edge of the ravine.

He rolls to a stop, cautiously opens his eyes, and freezes.

The angry hiss of the deadly viper before him echoes  around him; he’s landed in a nest of them.

Slowly, he grins.

“Greetingssss,” he whispers, the sibilant sounds of parseltongue rolling smoothly off his tongue.

May 2000 — London, England

Harry strides into Malfoy’s office, bruised, bloody, and whistling cheerfully. It’d taken three days for Bill to drag him back to civilization, several more to let the wounds heal enough for travel, and another dozen to arrange and complete the journey since they’d been forced to travel as muggles. Now he’s almost feeling himself again, and the heavy weight of gold in his pocket goes a long way to restoring his good humor.

Draco breaks off mid-sentence and turns to glare at him. “Potter,” he says, voice dropping dangerously low. “Where the hell have you been? And, while we’re on the topic, what have I told you about interrupting me while I’m meeting with a client?”

Harry shrugs and tosses the medallion at him. It seems almost to float, turning end over end in a flash of gold until Draco plucks it from the air, seeker’s reflexes still very much in evidence.

He looks down at what he now holds in his palm and blanches. “Is this…”

Harry grins. “Yup.”

“And you touched it with your bare hands?” He looks up at Harry, horrified, as it sinks in. “And I touched it? Potter, how many times have I told you—“

He’s working himself into a fine strop; Harry cuts him off with a snort. “Easy there Malfoy. I had Bill remove the curses on it first.”

“You what.” His voice is dangerously flat, promising a Hermione-worthy tongue lashing to follow.

“Don’t give me that look!” Harry throws his hands up in exasperation. “How else was I supposed to transport it safely? Anyway, the curses on that thing were far too dark for us to deal with ourselves; trust me.” A shudder passes through him as he thinks of how Bill’s face went white beneath his scars as he stared at the results of their detection spells, how he muttered words Harry hadn’t thought he knew.

“Didn’t even have to swear him to secrecy. There’s no way he’s telling anyone anything about that.”

Malfoy’s stare cools further.

Harry groans. “Oh, come on Malfoy. Of course I swore him to secrecy anyway.”

“And have you forgotten that I have a client in the room? Should I swear him to secrecy too?”

Harry grimaces. “Uh, oops? Want me to obliviate him for you?”

“Potter.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in a manner not unlike Snape often had, when Harry was being especially exasperating.

“We don’t obliviate clients, remember? I activated the targeted silencing charm as soon as you walked in. If you can contain yourself for a few minutes — have Sarah fetch you a coffee and a sandwich, and maybe freshen up; you look like hell — I’ll deal with this and then we can talk properly.”

“Dinner? A sandwich is a mighty small reward Malfoy.”

He sighs.

“Yes, yes, whatever will get you out of my office fastest. I’ll finish up in here. And then we can study this,” he tucks it into the special warded drawer on his desk, “and then get dinner while you tell me what on earth left you looking like that. We’ll go to Mazotti’s. It’s Wednesday; you can get that eggplant parmesan you like.”

“Do get Sarah to fetch you something now though,” he calls, just before Harry closes the door. “I can’t have Harry bloody Potter fainting in my waiting room.”

—

“You look especially lovely today, Sarah.”

“Oh, hush, you flatterer,” she says, laughing as she swats at him with her magazine.

“I’m wounded.” He holds his hands to his heart. “Anyway,” he adds, swiping the magazine from her, “what are you doing reading this filth at the office? Do I need to have a talk with your boss?”

She grabs it back. “Honestly, Harry. You’ve been hanging around Draco for too long — you’re beginning to sound like him.”

“I most certainly am not. Take that back right now, wench, or I shall have to be offended.”

She rolls her eyes. “What do I need to get you this time, hmm?”

“Food,” he says, pressing a hand to his forehead and pretending to swoon. “I’m fair famished. Haven’t had any food in ages. I shall surely perish before Malfoy gets out of that meeting. I—“

“All right, all right. I’ll get you a sandwich. Just… sit over there and read this magazine while I run to the kitchen. And don’t touch anything on my desk!”

“You wound me—“

“Last time you stole all my paperclips, swapped around all my pens so the caps were on the wrong colors, and hid my stapler. I assure you I have reason.”

Harry plops down on the couch, pouting, and makes a show of flipping open the magazine.

—

“Good evening, gentlemen. Your usual?”

The waiter doesn’t bother to bring them menus anymore. Malfoy still insists on getting the wine menu, but Harry secretly thinks it a bit pointless, since he never orders anything new. He suspects the waiter agrees with him.

“Yes, thank you,” Malfoy says, and Harry nods, mouth watering. He can almost taste the eggplant parmesan already, crisp and chewy and golden, dripping with cheese. Heaven in a ceramic casserole dish. Malfoy smirks at him, and he knows he must look ridiculous, but he’s been days out in the wilderness. He’ll enjoy any comforts he can get.

The waiter has hardly deposited their plates and stepped away from the table when Malfoy whips out his wand and erects the strongest silencing charm either of them knows. Moody had taught it to Harry, said he’d developed it himself for use against Death Eaters. It should work well enough against Zabini and his gang, Harry thinks. They rank quite a bit lower than Death Eaters, in his book. An annoyance, really, though a persistent one. The charm will blur their image, too, to everyone outside the bubble of the silencing charm, lest anyone get the bright idea of reading their lips.

They quickly perform the familiar ritual splitting of the salad: raisins and walnuts to Harry’s plate, pineapple and olives to Malfoy’s, everything else split equally, and then spend a few blissful moments appreciating their food.

“Tell me everything,” Malfoy says as he leans forward over his half-empty plate, eyes gleaming, and Harry does.

Part 1~ Part 2~  Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~ Part 6~ Part 7~ Part 8~ Part 9~ Part 10~ Part 11~ Part 12~ Part 13~ Part 14~ Part 15~ Part 16~ Part 17~ Part 18~ Part 19~ Part 20~ Part 21~ Part 22~ Part 23~ Part 24~

You can also read, comment, etc on AO3, FF, or Wattpad

[brookeap3]

Post-its and Paperclips Easter

A/N: So this is like a month and a half late. But better late than never right?

{ ffn } { ao3 }

It takes Regina a moment to become fully conscious, struggling to resist the seductive pull of sleep that she’s been under. She feels Robin’s arm draped over her waist, a heavy, limp weight that pins her to the bed as he groans and shifts behind her. That’s not what’s woken her from her dreams, however. That is courtesy of the little boy that is excitedly bouncing at the end of the bed, shaking both her and his father’s legs as he exclaims in a rather loud whisper, “It’s Easter, R’gina! Daddy! Time to get up!”

 Robin grumbles something she can’t quite make out behind her, tucking his head further into the crook of her neck and exhaling heavily. A morning person he is not, even with an enthusiastic toddler running about. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, her gaze settles on Roland, grinning at them from his perch. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

 “Morning!” he answers eagerly, repeating in a determined tone, “It’s Easter!” As if Regina is unaware of that fact, and clearly she’s not showing enough fervor for the holiday. “We gotta see if the bunny came and brought me anything.” Roland tells her.

 His father shifts behind her, jostling the mattress a tad as he rolls onto his back some, still leaving his arm draped over her side, the palm of his hand resting over her waist. “Do I hear something about a bunny?” he asks, voice rough with sleep, eyes still closed as Regina turns onto her back as well and glances over at him.

 “The Easter Bunny, Daddy!” Roland exclaims, clamoring up the bed and flopping down onto Robin’s abdomen, ignoring the gruff Robin lets out at the sudden weight and loss of air. He grins at his father, electrified eyes shifting to Regina as he snuggles in between them.

She turns yet again over to her other side, facing the two men she loves more than anything in this world and runs her fingers through Roland’s messy curls, mussed from sleep. He’s precious. Youthful excitement radiating from him in waves and it’s damn near infectious. Even before she’s had her coffee.

 Robin’s slitted gaze moves from Roland to Regina, dimples creasing in his cheeks as he smiles at her and his son. “Morning, love.” He leans over to kiss her, squeezing Roland between them as their lips meet for a chaste, light kiss of greeting, and they chuckle against each other’s mouths as Roland squirms and wiggles in protest, though they each catch the sound of his giggles. Then he’s letting out another frustrated sigh because they are clearly not moving fast enough for him and they grin at each other.

 “Alright, my boy, you’ve been very patient.” And Robin appreciates the fact that he’s waited to go searching about the house for his prized basket until he��d come to wake them up. There’s nothing Robin loves more than to see the joy on Roland’s face as they play this game. “Let’s go see if we find anything.”

 The three of them shuffle about, Roland hopping up and out of bed, dashing toward the door as Regina and Robin extricate themselves from the covers a bit more leisurely. They meet at the foot of the bed and Robin grins at Regina’s bed head for a moment as he wraps his arms around her waist. He’s seen her countless times first thing in the morning at this point, but it still fills his heart with joy. Has it leaping and fluttering with the amount of love he feels for this woman.

 Pulling her flush against him, he kisses her again, weaving his fingers through the strands of her hair and drawing her close, morning breath and all, for several drawn out seconds. It’s only when Roland pokes his head around the door frame again, whining for them to, come oooooon, that Regina and Robin part, grinning stupidly at each other before following him out of the room.

 It’s a hunt through the house after that to discover where the Easter Bunny has hidden his basket. Regina follows Roland around as he begins digging through his closet and beneath his bed, scattering animals and cars out of his toy chest onto the colorful rug adorning his floor with no success. He abandons his bedroom in favor of Robin’s again and quickly repeats the process.

 “Are you sure he’s come, my boy?” Robin questions teasingly from the doorway, leaning casually against the jamb as his son ransacks his room. He’s grinning at Roland and Regina can’t help but chuckle at him as Roland gasps, Of course, Daddy! He’s just tricky.

 Then he’s darting back out of the room to head for the bathroom and Regina meanders after him, stopping just beside Robin. “Where on earth did you hide the thing?”

 He smirks, tilting his head so he can see Roland rip the shower curtain open as he whispers back to her, “It’s down in the den. Can’t make it too easy on him.”

 She merely shakes her head. As entertaining as this is to watch, her brain still feels fuzzy, and her body is desperately craving the sweet, wonderful caffeine she knows is waiting for her downstairs. Robin’s coffee is a God send. Honestly. She can practically taste it’s seductive flavor as Roland huffs and declares it’s not up here and they head for the stairs.

 Thankfully, his next stop is the kitchen and Regina is able to head straight for the pantry where heaven awaits her. As she swings the cabinet door open, however, Regina pauses, tilting her head in confusion as she’s greeted with the sight of a tiny green wicker basket instead of the usual bag of java. Her gaze flickers over to Robin’s as he stands in the doorway grinning at her before returning her puzzled expression to the object before her and pulling it out.

 “Did you find it, R’gina?” Roland asks, both anxious and a touch disappointed as he eyes the basket she holds in her hands.

 Regina shakes her head, “I don’t believe this one is yours, baby.” If not for the fact that Robin has already told her where he’s hidden Roland’s, this basket contains nothing that would excite him anyway. It’s filled with packs of post-it notes, a few of her preferred pens, the nice kind that don’t bleed and smear when she uses them, and a bit of her favorite Cadbury chocolate.

 “The bunny brought you a basket too?” Curious, Roland scampers over to her, rising up on his tiptoes to peer over the edge of the basket in her hand. “Why’d he bring ya post-its?” he asks, a tiny little crinkle forming between his brows, quite similar to the one that Regina gets when she’s confused.

 Robin’s chuckle sounds from across the room and Regina grins up at him from under her lashes. As silly as this may be, she can’t help but feel amused as well.

 “Regina must have needed some new ones for the office.” Robin tells his son, biting down on his lower lips as he does his best to stifle the chuckle that wants to break free. Accepting that answer with a nod and slight shrug of his shoulders, Roland returns to his task with new determination and runs out of the room for the living room.

 Picking through the basket a little bit more, Regina lifts her eyes to Robin and then smiles as she walks over to stand in front of him. “What’s all this?” She questions once she’s come to a stop.

 “You deserve to be spoiled a bit too.” He tells her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly down the side of her face. “Happy Easter.”

 Her laughter is joyous and echoes around the kitchen as she shakes her head at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

 “But you love me,” Robin counters. The words are still new and exciting for them, barely two weeks since they’d first said them to one another, and neither one of them can help themselves from bringing it up whatever chance they get.

 “Mmmmm, indeed I do.” Her fingers pluck one of the plastic wrapped packs of the paper squares, a lovely lavender shade that’s fitting of the holiday, out of the basket and holds it up to him, smirking as she tells him, “And one can never have too many post-its.”

 His laughter rumbles out as Robin pecks a kiss to her lips. “Certainly not, milady.” Leaning back, he tips his chin in the direction of the cabinet beside the fridge. “I moved the coffee over there. Why don’t you make a pot while I lead Roland in the right direction.”

 Nodding, Regina turns and does just that as he makes his way in the direction of Roland’s shuffling through all their possessions. She sets the basket on the counter, giving it a little grin as she find the coffee grinds and goes about preparing the delicious brew. She’s just contemplating what they should have for breakfast, perhaps she’ll make french toast, it is a holiday after all, the coffee pot finishing up the last few drips when Roland bounds back in, holding up his prized Easter basket for her to see.

 “R’gina! R’gina! He came! He brought me a basket too!”

 Turning from the counter, Regina bends down to Roland’s level, admiring the contents of said basket. “Well look at that! What are you gonna do with all that candy?”

 “Eat it!” Roland exclaims merrily, clearly ecstatic over the whole thing and Regina merely laughs and ruffles his mop of curls.

 “One piece. Then breakfast.” Robin commands, grinning down at both of them. Roland nods and then rushes over to settle in at the table, digging through the plastic grass Regina is positive they will be finding around the house for months to come to determine what candy he wants first and to dig through all of it. The sound of him cracking open plastic eggs and jelly beans raining down rings through the kitchen as she and Robin move to poor themselves mugs of coffee. The excited shrieks every time he finds a new little toy in the basket are too adorable and Regina leans back against the counter and admires the sight before her for a moment. Beyond grateful that she gets to share this experience with them this year. In a matter of a few months they’ve managed to make the holidays something she looks forward to rather than dread.

 Before long, Roland is munching on a chocolate covered marshmallow egg and running off to the living room to play with his new hot wheels cars and then she and Robin go about starting breakfast. Settling on that french toast as Robin scrambles up some eggs for them. It’s something they do all the time now. Lazy Sunday morning breakfasts. Their movements are practiced and natural as Regina hands him a spatula from the drawer and he hands her a bowl of egg whites and yolk all mixed together for her to dip the bread into.

 They flirt with each other as they prepare their meal, teasing quips and a few light touches here and there. Robin skimming his fingers along the small of back and Regina sliding a hand down his bicep and forearm. And then he’s pinned her to the counter beside the stove, captured her mouth with his and Regina revels in the feel of his tongue tangling with hers. The flavor of strong coffee and a hint of chocolate exploding on her tongue. Apparently, he’d snagged a bit of Roland’s candy for himself when she hadn’t been looking.

 Her arms wrap around his neck, drawing him flush against her body. They’re still in their pajamas, only the feel of soft cotton between them as Regina presses her lower half against him and lets her head fall back so Robin can trail kisses along the column of her neck. “The toast is going to burn.” She mutters distractedly and it elicits a light chuckle from Robin, a breath of hot air puffing out against her throat.

 “Hmmmm, wouldn’t want that.” Robin responds, though he doesn’t stop kissing her, merely shifts down to swirl his tongue in the hollow of her throat and then makes his way back up to her mouth, ghosting his hands along her back and down her hip as he kisses her.

 For the sake of their breakfast, they are thankfully interrupted a moment later by Roland’s tiny voice. “Can I have some juice?”

 Robin and Regina break apart, turning to glance at Roland in the doorway. He eyes them with a curious gaze, but nothing more. He’s become quite used to seeing his father kiss her at this point after all. And Regina laughs a bit breathlessly and answers him, “Sure, baby.”

 She goes about pouring him a glass of apple juice, using his favored plastic Nemo cup and then settles down at the table with him to break in his new Easter themed Go Fish game while Robin finishes up breakfast.

 A perfect start to their day.

 . . .

 Today has been everything he could have hoped for. Easter isn’t an overly important holiday for them, Robin’s never been very religious, but he likes to honor and respect the traditions behind it. And in the years that Roland has blessed his life, he’s done his best to make it fun for his son. So they’ve created their own traditions on this day, things he and Roland do every year, even if he’s only just fully coming to appreciate them at his young age.

 He’s finally old enough that they’d been able to dye easter eggs this go around. Something that had turned into both one of the messiest and enjoyable activities he’s done with him. Letting him color over the hard boiled eggs with a white crayon, his imagination running wild as Regina had explained that it would form a picture once they dropped it in the dye. Roland had wanted an egg in every color and Robin had helped him lower it into the cup.

 Once he’d felt like he had the hang of things Roland had started dropping them in like crazy, getting a little over zealous until fat drops of liquid dye had started splattering over the newspaper covered table, landing on his hands and forearms, even one on his tiny little nose. Regina had merely laughed, that beautiful, pure sound of delight, and run a wet paper towel over his face, chastising him to be careful and smiling at Roland’s sheepish grin.

 The entire experience had resulted in the desperate need for a bath and he’d watched from his seat on the lid of the toilet as his son and the love of his life had played in the water, throwing bubbles at each other. Robin thinks they may just have found a new tradition to add to their list of must-do Easter activities and leans down and busses a kiss to her temple, whispering a quiet, I love you, to her and muttering about showering himself. Clearly the two of them have this well handled.

 Regina has inserted herself into their rituals so seamlessly it feels as if she’s always been with them. Briefly, his heart aches for Marian and all the moments she is missing out on. Roland had barely been a year old when she’d passed and she’d never gotten to watch him run around the house searching for a basket or spill jelly beans all over the carpet. Never will.

 However, the gratitude that he feels in equal measure toward the woman cuddled on the couch watching a movie with his son as he prepares dinner is astronomical. She’s incredible. Wonderful. A miracle that’s come into their lives and Robin is so in love with her it hurts sometimes. Today he thanks God for bringing her to them.

 The doorbell chimes suddenly, ringing through the house, breaking Robin from his musings as he chops up carrots.

 “They’re here!” Roland exclaims, jumping up from the couch and barrelling toward the doorway to greet his uncles.

 While the whole lot of them come piling in, Robin continues his preparations as he listens to Regina and Roland greet John and Tuck, Alan not far behind him. Will and Ana will be by later he knows, after they spend some time with her mother.

 “Happy Easter, man” John pronounces as he wanders into the kitchen. “Little lady got you doing all the cooking?” He asks a bit cheekily, a chuckle rumbling and rocking his belly as Robin gives him a snarky reply back and informs him beer is in the fridge.

 It’s not long after that dinner is ready and as he sits down with his friends, his love, and his son, that Robin is once again grateful that his life has been so incredibly blessed by these people. It’s a nice afternoon. Simple and relaxed. Just as it should be. Good company and a pleasant meal. Luckily for them all, Robin is quite the chef and their dinner of pork chops and mashed potatoes, stuffing and carrots is filling and satisfying. And the jello eggs. They can’t have Easter without jello eggs according to Roland.

 However, as time wears on his boy becomes more and more restless, eyeing the storage bin filled with plastic multi-colored eggs filled with treats as Regina eyes his plate and insists he eat one more bite of pork and three more carrot slices, plus another bite of potatoes before he can be finished. It makes Robin grin, always does, watching how easily mothering comes to her, how effortlessly both she and Roland have slipped into those roles. Especially when the little boy pulls a face but dutifully stabs his fork into a carrot and pops it into his mouth. But he adores her, Robin knows.  

 “Is it time yet, Daddy?” Roland mumbles after another bite through a mouthful of meat.

 “Don’t talk with food in your mouth, Roland.” Robin chides him before following it up with, “Time for what?”

 Roland swallows dramatically and huffs out a breath of annoyance in a manner only a four year old can pull off and Robin struggles to keep the grin from his face. “The egg hunt, Daddy! You didn’t forget right?” He looks aghast at even the possibility, eyes flickering over to the colorful collection once more.

 “Ahhhhh, yes, the egg hunt,” Robin hums, taking a leisurely sip from his beer, using it to hide the slight smirk as his eyes twinkle when they catch Regina’s. She knows how much Roland is looking forward to that particular activity. He’s talked of nothing else since the excitement of his basket had worn off. “I’m not sure we’re quite ready for it yet, my boy. We’ve the dishes to see to first. And you haven’t finished those bites yet.”

 The pout that comes over his face is precious, his chest deflating as he realizes they are going to force him to wait even longer for his fun. However, Regina’s never seen the boy scarf down mashed potatoes so quickly. And now he’s been bouncing around while they clean up their plates, Regina and Robin tackling the dishes while Will does his best to entertain him while he fidgets. From her place loading the plates and utensils into the dishwasher Regina watches him glance over to the collection of eggs and back to the magic tricks Will is performing in front of him over and over again.

 “He looks like he’s about to burst.” Regina laughs and meets his gaze.

 Robin glances over his shoulder to his son, grinning. He’s got such a look of anticipation about him, Robin can’t help but be entertained by it all. He probably shouldn’t be. It isn’t very nice to take any pleasure in son’s discomfort, but it is rather amusing watching the way his son keeps darting glances toward the bin, a little pout forming on his face. And he can’t wait to watch him run around collecting them once they finally lay everything out. So he’s enjoying letting the build up grow. As is a parent’s right.

 “I suppose we shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer.” Robin replies as he closes the door of the dishwasher. He presses a light kiss to her brow before making is way to the living room and shifting Roland’s attention to himself. “Alright,” Robin claps, and Roland’s eyes light up, his head snapping up as he looks at his father eagerly.

 “Is it time?” He asks, practically vibrating.

 Chuckling, Robin nods, “Yes. And you know the rules. Upstairs while we hid the eggs and then you can scour away.”

 Roland nods his agreement, a few of his curls bouncing in his face before he jumps up off the sofa and grabs Regina’s hand insisting she wait with him. Robin winks at her as she follows Roland up the stairs, makes her grin over her shoulder at him as he scoops up eggs from the bin John holds out.

 They can’t be upstairs for more than ten minutes but Roland talks her ear off, listing all the candy he got from his egg hunt last year and asking her if she’ll look for them too. He informs her that Uncle John and he normally race and he always wins because he’s the fastest. As he’s giving her tips about all of Daddy’s sneaky hiding places, like inside the gnome hat in the garden and up in the trees in the back yard when she her amusement with the entire situation finally wins out.

 “You gotta think like a thief!” Roland says matter of factly, smiling from ear to ear with is information and being able to pass that knowledge along to her. “Well, that’s what Daddy says,” he adds as an afterthought. Regina can’t help the chuckle that escapes, even as she tries to choke it down, not wanting to discourage Roland’s enthusiasm.

 Thankfully, Robin pops his head around Roland’s door frame a moment later and asks, “You two ready?”

 Roland whoops in excitement and is racing out the door instantly, slowing at his father’s insistence as he reaches the top of the stairs and then hurrying the rest of the way as soon as he hits the bottom.

 Baskets are distributed, the sight of John holding a pale yellow easter basket inciting quite a bit of ribbing from Will. Well, until Ana shoves a pink one at him and insists that Roland has decreed he has to hunt for eggs too. With chuckles all around they begin.

 Regina participates for a few minutes, casually dropping a few of the brightly colored plastic eggs into her basket, more for Roland’s benefit than anything else, before she stops and just watches him for awhile. He’s adorable. Running around the back yard on a mission. Already, his basket is near to overflowing and they’ve only been at this for a few minutes, but then he’s set on winning.

 It hits her then. The entire day culminating in this one moment of pure, innocent joy. It’s perfect.

 She feels a pair of arms come around her waist. Familiar. Comfortable. He settles his hands along her lower abdomen, fingers locking together as his chin rests on her shoulder. Regina smiles, places her own hands over Robin’s and leans back into him as they watch Roland run around.

 Robin’s voice whispers into her ear, his mouth pressed against it and his warm breath on her skin making her shiver slightly. “I’m so glad you’re here. That you get to share today with us.” She can hear the unspoken emotion behind the words, his love for her and this little family it would seem they’re creating together. It would seem that the weight of the moment is hitting Robin as well.

 Tipping her head back so she can meet his eyes, Regina smiles and replies, “So am I. Thank you for including me.”

 One of his hands slips from her waist to brush a lock of hair back from her cheek lovingly. “We want you here, Regina. Always.” Bussing his lips against hers, they turn back to watch as Roland finds the rest of the eggs they’ve hidden for him, the sun just beginning to set as dusk moves in around them. A lovely end to a wonderful day.

[worldslyrics]

Paperclips Isolation Freestyle Lyrics-Example Lyrics, Example Sang this song Which is very lovely and attractive song. Paperclips Isolation Freestyle Lyrics is Released on 2020. Paperclips Isolation Freestyle Lyrics-Example Lyrics song is a great choice for you, If you want to be a singer then Sing this hot and lovely Paperclips Isolation Freestyle Lyrics which is sang by your favorite singer Example. Paperclips Isolation Freestyle Lyrics-Example Lyrics

Paperclips Isolation Freestyle Lyrics-Example Lyrics

It’s the return of the E.G Or as my mum likes to call me… Elliot! I don’t really know what you expect from me I’ve only ever done whatever’s making sense to me I thought that Two-Face would put a Harvey Dent in me But I got legs for days like a centipede If you bought a ticket to my tour – oi, that’s legendary You’ll never really know what all of that shit meant to me Now I got my Mrs and she is the bestest friend to me But I’ve been dealing with some other issues mentally Fifteen years in the game, broke for eight of it Then I started putting notes together like paperclips I ain’t gonna gossip in the hope you relate to it Paid for it already in Theresa’s dictatorship Independent artist, guess I was late to it Stuck inside the Tardis, yeah, I was major sick Called me a Doctor Who, then they tried label this So I stopped believing in my hype, atheist “Make another Kickstarts or Changed the Way You Kiss Me You need another banger” Yo, I’ve already made fifty They just wanted me to copy all my polished history I’ve only got myself to blame and all the Scottish whisky I’m still making choices I ain’t sure of, it’s pure love Mixed with business acumen I’ve learnt off my manager Smirnoff will damage ya, cocaine embarrass ya “Buy a fucking house before you get in a McLaren, yeah?” I could list my cars and scars and all the bras I undid But that don’t mean I’m living one hundred I guess I’ve always wondered, hardly a dumb kid How’d you deal with riches when it’s all said and done did? From diddly-squat, piss in a pot on the rap scene To top of the pops, win the lot with no tag team Switch genres like drag queens and now I’m living pretty Making music for myself, not a committee So I’ll make a couple tunes for my people Just a couple little bangers you can reload Plus I’m cutting down on all the Al Pacino This one’s for the unsung heroes Now I’ve got some kids and a castle What’s that whip, boy? I just drove past you I may be losing my marbles, but I’m still the same arsehole I’ll be buying you a drink at the bar, so… Coronavirus got us all alone at home like Kevin McAllister Can’t go your local and can’t go to Paris Forget marriage, bruv, right now you can’t marry her Cut your double bed in half and put up a barrier Then fantasise, maybe sanitise, go shopping in Morrison’s Where is the pasta? They’re only stocking porridge on the shelf Fuck whatever Boris on, just think about your health It makes you wonder if this Mr Johnson ever liked us Was treating all the Covid stuff like it was tonsillitis I could talk for days about him, that’s a waste of breath Big up every single person at the NHS, and the rest

Paperclips Isolation Freestyle Lyrics-Example Lyrics

Artist: Example Released: 2020

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