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black00olive · 2 months

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The Right Words

A/N: This was supposed to be just a little thing about Satan writing a love letter to but it quickly ended up spiralling into somewhat of an analysis of Satan's feelings towards you (take that very lightly as a lot of this is just made up of vibes). Also, the "you" isn't a completely blank slate as I did base some of it off of my own MC and all that (that's where most of the canon divergence comes from). I have never written a love letter before, so pls don't bash me for my love letter writing skills. It was also pretty challenging to write something from Satan's POV since he's a lot more sophisticated than I am Lol. In any case, hope you enjoy :3

Pairing: Satan x Reader

Wordcount: ~3,900 words

Summary: Writing should come easy to Satan, he’s practically read every book in existence and written several pieces before. Yet, when it comes to him writing a love letter to you he finds himself completely stuck. None of the words seem right and nothing he’s written seems to fully describe his feelings for you. As he stares at the blank piece of paper in front of him, his mind wanders and he starts to reminisce about how he developed these feelings for you in the first place.

Reading, and the absorption knowledge in-and-of-itself, was a core part of who Satan was. “He was the nerd of the family,” that’s what his idiot of a brother, Mammon, had claimed— said idiot of a brother had quickly learnt to not say such things about him, but that was neither here nor there. Some other core parts of who he was were his love of cats (though in his opinion everyone should love them, and those who didn’t were wrong), how well-connected he was with high society, and lastly his wrath— though he works hard to contain that one. Overall, he was a classy and upstanding demon. Further, if you were to ask someone, or even him, to describe himself they would most likely use words such as knowledgeable, polite, respectable, and intelligent.

In layman’s terms: Satan was smart and cool.

That’s why he’s so confused as to why he was finding himself hunched over his desk hopelessly writing his 34th love letter to you. Furthermore, why was a well-read demon like him unable to find the right words? He was finding that no words could even begin to describe the feeling aching in his chest, and he knew his way with words.

Satan was no Asmodeus, he doesn’t have a different demon (or demons) in his bed each week. He doesn’t have a list of ex-lovers so long he could wrap himself up in it, twice, nor does he flirt with every demon that even so much as glances at him. However, that doesn’t mean Satan is completely inexperienced; he has had lovers before, has lain with others a couple of times, and even made several of his high-society acquaintances through waxing poetries at them. He is quite good with that last one, he’s made many demons swoon with just his words and been told that he has quite the silver tongue. Yet all words seem to escape him when faced with you. He could repeat the same words that had made so many demons before you fall to their knees, but…

Even those sentences couldn’t even begin to encompass all that you are, and all that he feels for you. You deserved more than some half-hearted words that he had just uttered to get what he wanted. You were so much more than any of those words, as well. The entirety of his being was consumed by you. The way you spoke, the way your eyes would crinkle when you laughed at an especially humourous joke, the way your eyes sparkled once you came across something that caught your interest. Your smile, your bravery, your sarcasm, your kindness, your cockiness, your somewhat childish humour, and even your cruelty. Each and every little thing about you made him erupt in emotions that he had previously only read in books. None of the books could compare to the all-encompassing feeling it truly was.

Satan stares at the paper in front of him with a clenched jaw and lets out a disgruntled huff. Letting go of his pen (he really should loosen his hold, it might break and with the rate he’s going he won’t have any left before he finishes a writing something he’s even somewhat content with) and crumpling up the piece of paper, he then chucks it to the pile of other love letters— none of which had come out like he had wanted—, and he starts anew.

It’s a little silly, he thinks, that things ended up like this. When you had first been chosen as the exchange student Satan hadn’t cared, rather he had found himself a little annoyed. It would be incredibly inconvenient to live in the same house as a human, especially with how Lucifer had hounded them to “be more careful” and “suppress” themselves a little more around you. So in the beginning he had kept his distance from you. He had better things to do than to entertain a “dumb” human like you, humans are just a bunch of useless trouble anyway. He cringes at what he had thought of you in the beginning.

He isn’t sure when his feelings for you first started changing from mild annoyance to something else (that’s a lie, he remembers the moment vividly, but sometimes he questions if his thoughts about you had shifted earlier and he just hadn’t noticed). Perhaps it was when you first got your pact with Mammon, just a day after first being summoned. While Satan would be the first to admit that his brother is a complete idiot that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s the second most powerful of them, a student council officer on top of that, so for an ordinary human to manage to form a pact with him so quickly was definitely intriguing. At the time he thought you would stop at that, but you didn’t. Instead you decided to compete against Levi in a competition, a quiz to see who was the biggest The Seven Lords fan at that. A fool’s errand, Satan would have said if you had asked him at the time. Yet you seemed determined to actually win.

He had heard that humans often had a lot of audacity but he would have thought that even the dumbest human could tell that they had no chance of winning. Levi was older than you could even rationalise in your limited human mind, and he had spent a good portion of that time consuming any sliver of TSL media. You must have known that, right? No, Satan knows you knew that, you are a lot smarter than he had ever given you credit for in the past, yet despite that you were still determined to go through with the competition. He supposes it was that reckless determination that had fascinated him enough to tell you to seek out Simeon to help you win. You hadn’t won but you did end up forming a pact with Levi later that same day.

It is that same reckless determination that he loves and hates, it both causes him anguish and makes him admire you. It was that same reckless determination that made you protect both Beel and Luke from Lucifer that day Luke entered the underground tomb and had taken The Grimoire. He had not been there while it had happened, but he had heard. At the time it had amused him how you had stood against Lucifer, now it makes him wish you didn’t disregard your life as much as you had done in the first couple of months of your stay. You already have such a short life, you shouldn’t cut it even shorter… Satan cuts off that thought right there and crumples up the paper in front of him before he places a new one in its place.

He hadn’t believed Asmo when he had said you had been able to coax out more power in him than Solomon ever had. At the time he had just assumed it was Asmo getting too excited over a new “play-thing” (his lip curls up at that, he hates calling you such demeaning things) and was over exaggerating as he usually does.

Yet, Lucifer was wary of you. That meant something because as much as Satan hates to admit it there are very few things that Lucifer can’t handle. During that time Satan had only focused on the fact that you bothered him, and you forming pacts with his brothers bothered him even more. To former him, it was very clear as to what he needed to do. In the present, however, Satan thinks it was foolish of him to be so willing to give away his autonomy just to get under Lucifer’s skin. It was also said foolishness of him that led him to almost kill you when you had rejected his request to form a pact. Satan can feel himself start to frown at the memory of him threatening to tear you limb from limb. He had been so enraged by the thought of a simple human being the one to reject him, that an ordinary human— who didn’t even have the capabilities to use magic— would think themselves better than him, the Avatar of Wrath. The current Satan could never even imagine himself saying something so vile and hateful to you, but at that moment he had been fully ready to go through with the threats. For once in his life, he’s glad Lucifer had stepped in and stopped him.

Then, in spite of the threats, you were still willing to help Lucifer and his relationship (though Satan also has the sneaking suspicion that a big portion of the reason you wanted to help was because you had grown tired of their arguing, especially while sleeping in your room). Arguably, transporting them into, at the time had seemed like, a dating sim wasn’t the best plan but you still tried to make the best out of the situation. It’s cliché, but he can still remember your words from the evening before they were supposed to “profess their love” with vivid clarity because, admittedly, Satan believes it was then he first started developing these feelings for you.

You had asked to speak with him after he had apologised for dragging you into the whole mess. “You don’t have to force yourself to like someone you don’t. Lucifer doesn’t see you as a child as much as you think, he only wants to look good in front of Diavolo as his number two,” is what you had told him. The first part stuck with him, is still stuck with him if Satan is going to be truly honest. Such a simple concept, that you don’t have to like someone. One that he had come across in his books several times before you had even been a thought in the universe. Despite that, when you had said it to him in your typical bold fashion it was as if it was the first time he’d heard of the mere prospect. Like a fog that had swallowed his brain was finally cleared. Satan believes that if you were to ask Levi to describe it, he would say something along the lines of: “he finally reached a high enough level to unlock the ability to understand secret texts.”

Your very simple words had given him a shocking amount of things to contemplate, even more so when the whole situation with Grisella’s death on the train. Her perspective of it not mattering what hand fate deals you but how you deal with it along with yours had made him come to the realisation that he can never go back and change the circumstances of his birth. However, he can choose how to live his life and that has nothing to do with Lucifer. Because he’s not him. It was such a simple answer to an issue that had been plaguing him ever since he was born, and he’s sure that he was only able to find the answer because of you (irregardless of how much you’d like to claim that you didn’t much of a part in his discovery).

Then after the whole fiasco of Lucifer and him switching bodies you had finally accepted his request to form a pact with you. Satan feels his fingertips graze over where his pactmark sits on your body as he smiles. A pact, something that connects the two of you on a much deeper level than any piece of metal exchanged in a ceremony ever could, not that he wouldn’t mind being bonded to you in such a way though. A pact, something akin to an invisible string that ties the two of you together; a string that pulls him to you constantly (he wonders if you feel the same pull), a string that makes him share your pain, a string that binds the two of you together until the day you die.

Perhaps even longer, Satan thinks as his eyebrows furrow and he feels his whole body tense, because you did die. He had felt the tightness in his neck, his brothers had as well— the brothers that had formed pacts with you at that point at least— and they had all ran to the foyer where they had found you along with their youngest brother but it was in a situation Satan is sure he’ll never get out of his mind. Mammon had been the first to move, he had ran to you and had clutched your dying body in his arms. Satan curses his past self for not doing the same. He curses himself for just standing there, watching helplessly, as your pain coursed through his body in pulses. In rhythm with your dying heart. He should have joined in as his brothers started to yell at their youngest, he’s the Avatar of Wrath. However, in that moment, despite having watched countless of humans die before you— being the cause to some of them— he had never in his life felt more lost. Yet, you came back. Satan had watched as you stepped out of the shadows and as you, the one in Mammon’s arms, had slowly fade into nothingness. He had stood just watching as you revealed the truth about Lilith and your relation to her. The he had continued to simply watch as the rest of his brothers had all started hugging you. When he looks back on it, he hadn’t done much but watch during the whole incident. It had weighed heavy on his heart ever since and he had vowed to never be so complacent when you’re in danger.

Then after the whole incident his brothers and him had gone on to do something that he now realises (thanks to you) was incredibly foolish. What number was he of foolish things he’d done in regards to you now? Satan is quite shocked that despite every foolish thing he and his brothers have done you’re still willing to put up with them. Not just that, but you’re willing to love them. Despite the fact that they had foolishly tried to pretend like you hadn’t died that night and that everything was fine. Despite the fact that because of their own denial they had neglected to check if you were okay after you had just died. Despite the fact that they had pushed the responsibility of mending their relationships onto you once more while you were trying to deal with your own whirlwind of emotions over your own death. Despite all of it, you still chose to love them. Satan doubts they’ll ever be worthy of that, of your love, of you. Rightfully, you had called them out on their shameful behaviour.

That evening when you had told them off for down-right ignoring your death Satan believes he fell for you completely, body and— if he had been a human— soul. The green wrath that surrounded you that night was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. His sin engulfing you and the tendrils of it ebbing throughout the dining hall. You had been stewing in this anger for quite a while, he had concluded that evening, because the wrath flowing off of you was so strong. Intoxicating, almost. He had never seen you that angry before, you were usually very good at keeping calm. Of course, you got annoyed and irritated a few times but nothing to that degree. He had needed to stab his fork into his thigh to maintain even some semblance of composure, to not transform fully. As you were berating them he had found it hard to breathe with how your wrath was overwhelming all of his senses, much like how his love is for you nowadays. It was also that evening where Satan finally realised that the seeds of you had fully bloomed into a garden and grown roots in his heart, and he wasn’t willing to rip them out. He loved you, he realised, as much as you’d like to say it wasn’t possible to love someone after such a short period of time he knew he loved you and he’d never love another.

Truthfully, he feels a little bashful admitting that he had only realised he loved you when you were taken over by his sin and insulting them for their poor decision making in deciding to ignore your death, but he was going to be honest with you. You had once said that you value honesty a lot, and he’d give you anything you wanted— no matter what it was; whether it be all the riches in the world, someone’s head, or even the crown to a country. He’d give it to you— and you had wanted his honesty so he’ll give it.

The days following your outburst his eyes could not leave you, as much as he had wanted them to (you were still mad at him, he had yet found the words for the apology you deserved; by simply just existing you tend to render him speechless). He started to notice every little thing about you, your routines, your habits, your ticks, your quirks. Each thing made him fall deeper and deeper in love with you. Even in his lonesome he couldn’t escape you. In every book he’d find you, usually taking shape as the love-interest as he immersed himself in a world where he was that book’s protagonist. In his dreams the two of you would go on adventures, ranging from simple dates on the beach to travelling to different human-world countries. Even when he was out shopping he’d find himself reminded of you from various trinkets and thinking of what clothes or foods or various other goods you’d like. A few times while passing more risky stores that he’d commonly find Asmo browsing, he couldn’t help his mind from wandering to things he would one day like to see you in (if you were comfortable with it, of course. You and your comfort take precedence over everything else).

Eventually he had found the words and given you an apology for how he’d behaved, not even just regarding your death but prior to that as well, and you had accepted it. As the relationship continued to grow as had his feelings. He was no longer simply “in love” with you, but rather he felt something much more intense, overwhelming, and ineffable. Satan supposes that’s why he can never seem to find any words that seem fitting enough for you or the love he holds for you.

Combining his fingers through his hair, Satan sighs as he leans back in his chair. He had set out to write a love letter to you, yet all he’s done so far is reminisce over how his feelings developed for you over the course of your stay. He looks down at the paper in front of him and gently glides his fingers over the words. He isn’t even fully sure why he’s writing this to you. Right, because you valued honesty. The paper starts to lightly shake and Satan realises it’s because his hands are trembling. How humiliating, he’s the Avatar of Wrath, 4th most powerful lord of the underworld, yet the idea of giving you a love letter is what makes him tremble. What if you don’t reciprocate his feelings? His mind starts to doubt, but he forces himself to calm down. Even if you don’t feel the same he will continue to love you and stay by your side. His feelings for you will never change nor waver, he’s sure of that, and for as long as you’ll allow him he’ll stay right by your side.

The Love Letter:

My Dearest,

Recently my thoughts have been drawn irresistibly to you, while that in-and-of-itself isn’t uncommon I find that now it’s become unbearable to simply keep them to myself. So, here I am penning my deepest affections for you as I find myself reminiscing over our shared past. Once, I recall you had told me that you value honesty, so I shall be fully honest with you as I write this. When you had first been summoned I had not thought much of you. I had assumed that you wouldn’t have survived to the end of the exchange year. Yet, you did, technically. However, you didn’t just survive, you managed to thrive. You subverted every last one of my expectations and I found myself growing more and more affection towards you. Now, you’ll be leaving and returning to the human world in a couple of days and I would forever regret it if I didn’t disclose my feelings to you at least once before you leave.

I love you, truly and deeply. From your courage to your kindness as well as your defiance, you have ensnared my heart in ways I never thought possible. You consume my every waking thought and even as I sleep I still find you in every one of my dreams. You’ve seen the depths of my fury, the intensity of my wrath, been victim to my thoughtlessness, and yet, you remain. You choose to stay by me regardless. You’ve awakened emotions in me that I had once only read within the pages of my books. Love, trust, and a tenderness that shouldn’t be possible of the Avatar of Wrath. I find myself yearning for even a moment of your attention, a quick glance or wave as you pass me through the halls. With you, I am not just Satan, the Avatar of Wrath, but something more, something much bigger; a being capable of deep, profound love.

There is not a moment that goes by in which I don’t adore you. Each day I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with you and all of your quirks. From your beautiful eyes, which seem to invariably lure me in, to your laughter that, like a melody, pierces through the cacophony of my existence, bringing a sense of peace I never knew I craved. And your touch, gentle and reassuring, has the power to calm the raging storm within me. Your endless curiosity makes me remember the beauty of learning and of our world. Your reckless bravery, however with that one I wish you would rely on me more. You don’t have to deal with everything by yourself. Even the traits that humans tend to label as bad I find myself loving; your sarcasm, your stubbornness, your cockiness, your selfishness, and your impulsivity. I even find myself loving your pure cruelty, however rare that one is.

Know this, my beloved, my heart, once a vessel of only wrath, now beats with an ardent longing for you. It would no longer be right to call it mine for it seems to be filled solely with you. I am yours, wholly and completely, bound by a love that transcends the very fabric of our existence. No matter what your response is, trust that I will stay by your side for as long as you let me; whether that be as a friend or as a lover. Either way, I will love you until the end of eternity.

Forever, and always, yours,

Satan

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me satan #satan obey me #satan x reader #satan x mc #om! shall we date #om! swd #Satan is a little (way too) down bad but it's okay #we still fw him #gn reader

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garbinge · 2 months

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THE BIKERIDER AND THE BARTENDER (PT 1)

Johnny Davis x F!Reader // Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: The stories of you and Johnny fuckin' Davis. When you show up to The Stoplight for your shift, you end up getting convinced to go to the family picnic where Johnny fights Big Jack, despite your trauma around fighting.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+, regardless of content. Fighting, trauma, blood, mentions of a dead ex, lost love, haunting, language. Hurt/Comfort. A/N: This is part of a series I plan to post, just a look inside The Bikerider and The Bartenders life.

When you walked into the bar for your shift, you didn’t expect the group of bikers to be having one of their biker meetings. Sitting facing Johnny and Brucie, the chairs arranged so much differently than how they usually were when the bar crowded up at night. Your head was in another fuckin’ planet anyways but as you pushed the doors opened and were met with 40 necks turning your way, you looked around to take in the club meeting happening.

“Sorry boys. Didn’t know it was book club time.” Sarcasm. Your language of choice especially around the guys. Despite the mockery in your sentence, your voice didn’t show it at all, you knew how to keep your composure even when the inside of your brain felt like fucking exploding. You stepped your normal pace as you moved in front of the group and were only mere feet from the leader of the Vandals and his best friend.

“Johnny. Brucie.” With a head nod in acknowledgement you made your way back to the bar, to get set up. Clean your counters, polish your glasses, take inventory. One of the few things that made your head not feel like exploding, keeping busy.

It was then that you heard them arguing over the idea of a bar phone. Who pays for it, who uses it. If you weren’t in such a shit mood, you would have smirked, maybe even laughed under your breath, but your thoughts were somewhere else. That was until Johnny yelled. You should’ve jumped, should’ve gotten scared, your heart should’ve been beating a little faster than it was just seconds ago but the only thing that changed was the noise in your head and the position of your eyes. They went from looking down at the dirty glasses to Johnny’s seat in the middle of the bar, your head resting on the faucet and everything else about your body in the same position it was before he yelled. It took a lot more than a loud shut the fuck up to rattle you.

Same for the guys, although, some of their faces dropped, their attitudes and conversations surely did too. You heard the screeching of some chairs, the creaking of others as they adjusted themselves. Their eyes did the opposite of yours, while yours looked up, theirs looked down. The Vandal apology you’d call it. When their eyes would lower in submission, their hands get a little sweaty, if they were more on the verbal side they’d probably fumble over their words or barely finish their sentences. They were like dogs, their wants and needs were determined by behavior and body language left for the whole fuckin’ world to decode because they didn’t have it in them to say a few lousy words. But you wouldn’t fault them on it all the time, at the very least the Vandal apology was one that dogs would see as a sign of respect, so you did too.

“We need a phone back dere in case anyone gets in trouble, all right?” Brucie’s voice softened too.

That’s when you realized back dere was where you were. The phone was going to be your responsibility. You were going to be its babysitter so no one made their booty calls. When it’d ring, you’d answer it and determine which drunken Vandal was the least drunk and most reliable to pick up whoever from whatever trouble. Right about now you felt like you needed your own Vandal fuckin’ apology.

“...we’re gonna put knots on your head with it.” Brucie’s last sentence was your cue to chime in.

“And if they won’t I will.” It was a threat. There were no two ways about it. You thought you were softening your sentence by continuing to wash the dishes, not making eye contact with the boys when you said it, just a simple reminder was all. But when the silence lasted a little longer than you expected, you looked up to see everyone’s heads turned towards you and when you looked around, their eyes fell to the ground, some with a nod for extra reassurance. There it was, your Vandal respect apology. “Thank you.” You smirked and went back to stacking glasses to dry.

The conversation changed just as fast as it got brought up, someone mentioning expanding the club, adding charters. Shit that you couldn’t be bothered with. If it didn’t have to do with the bar, you could care less. Until you heard Johnny’s response to being challenged.

“Fists? Or knives?”

Fighting. The trigger of all triggers for you. Ironic how you ended up tending bar, where fights were inevitable to happen. But when fights popped off like that, they were easy to brush off, you knew how to handle ‘em, breaking ‘em up, egging them on if needed in some cases, and usually just as quickly as they came to be was as quickly as they were done. But this was different. This was planned, organized, or as organized as these guys could get. This was familiar territory for you. Too familiar.

As the crowd dispersed, you realized that as you were caught up in your thoughts the meeting had finished and the guys were going back to their pool games, moving their seats around tables, coming up to the bar. So you did what you did best to keep your head from exploding. Work. That was until Johnny stood at the corner of the bar farthest from everyone else, but closest to the door and patiently waited for you to make your way down to him.

“Want a wrap?” You placed the empty glass in front of Johnny as he sat at the bar. You were talking about anything but food, but by the response Johnny gave you he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Huh?” He also might not even have cared what you were saying by the looks of it, he wasn’t even bothering to look at you as you spoke, his eyes on everyone around the bar, but your next line definitely got his attention.

“Get a sweat going?” As you poured the pitcher of beer into his glass. His head snapped to you.

“What?” His face was scrunched up in confusion, searching your face for some clue as to what the hell you were talking about. Johnny had an idea what you meant. Sex. All this time you were working at The Stoplight, he knew you better than to attempt to flirt with you. It was clear how it went with all the other Vandals, plus that wasn’t how Johnny did things.

“Heard you were getting ready for a fight. Hands wrapped, get a sweat going, pretty sure that’s what that Muhammed Ali guy does before a fight.” Before he could answer you were turning around, grabbing more glasses for a couple of the guys down the bar.

Despite the tension of him realizing he misinterpreted you, Johnny’s confusion softened into curiosity. The frown was still pasted on his face but it had lightened up a bit.

“And uh, what do you know about fighting?” He was turning completely in his seat now as you reapproached him.

So much. Way too much even.

“Not a lot.” The shrug was the added flair to really sell it. And Johnny’s nod was the added flair to not know if he really bought it. But it was enough to know he wasn’t going to push it.

“What I gotta do to get you to come?” The glass was half empty and you weren’t even sure when he had drunk the thing but you were more confused at what he was saying. You had an idea. Most of the guys spoke sexual innuendos to you where you were able to pick out the ones that came out of nowhere and didn’t necessarily make sense. And that’s what this was feeling like to you. Normally, you’d threaten, scare, or firmly relay your disgust in them, but with Johnny, you didn’t know the best way to respond. He’d never flirt with you. From the first day he met you he showed you nothing but respect, never let a disgraceful comment off his tongue to you. Which is why right now you were frozen looking at him with that same confusion he was looking at you with moments ago.

“To the fight, it’s gonna be a big family picnic. Beer, food, racing. S’good time. You should come.”

Oh. Come to the fight. That made sense. If you were anyone else you’d probably melt of embarrassment right now but instead you just handled it how you knew best. Sarcasm.

“What? Need a bartender to keep the glasses from gettin’ muddy.”

Johnny smiled at that and lifted his glass to take what was likely going to be his last sip before the glass was left with bits of foam.

“Nah, no bartender. Jus’ figured you could come by, you’re one of us you know.”

No, you didn’t know. You weren’t one to belong anywhere, although if you had to this seemed like the perfect place. A group of misfits, of people who were outcasts, who had very little.

“I’ll see.”

You did more than see. You showed up. It was freezing, which was the excuse you used to grab the bottle of vodka and claim it as your own, something to keep you warm.

“Ey! Look who showed up!” Cal was grinning from ear to earring. Offering up a simple wave you also managed out a light chuckle which was all the invite in the world for Corky to come and grab the bottle from your hands and drink it himself.

“Get your own.” It was spoken as you snatched it back and pushed him, no smile or chuckle around at all anymore.

“Told ya, she’d be salty.” Cal was still smiling as Corky backed off and plopped down next to him on the picnic table.

“When am I not salty.” You smirked again in Cal’s direction, clinking your bottle to his as you walked passed, not in the mood to sit with them and hear whatever they’d get into conversation over.

It was pretty packed, kids runnin’ around, tons of bikes lined up, dirt bikes amongst the road ones, some cars from the families that showed. It was the one place where your blue pickup didn’t stick out from the rest of the vehicles. It was old, older than old, but so were a lot of the cars that it was parked next to.

“Smoke?” Johnny was now walking up next to you, a box of cigarettes fidgeting in his hand. His gaze was in front of him, at the bikes doing donuts in what probably used to be a simple patch of slightly dirty grass but was now turning into a muddy pit.

“Smokin’ before a fight, seems smart.”

“Come again?” His face was scrunched up again, you knew you weren’t the best communicator but sometimes with guys like The Vandals, it made you wonder if you even spoke English.

“Ain’t that bad for your lungs before a fight?’ With your eyebrows reaching the top of your forehead, it was a sign that you thought what you were insinuating was obvious.

“Thought you ain’t know much about fightin’?” His hands were cupping around the cigarette now as he began to light the thing. It was the only reason his head was looking in your direction but his eyes were focused on the end of the bud as it caught flame.

“I said I know a little.” There was that flair shrug again, the one that helped sell your lack of fighting knowledge.

“Nah, you said not a lot.” He pointed his cigarette at you, his voice altered slightly as he held the smoke in before exhaling it, waving the cigarette again for you to take it like you were smoking a joint.

“I say a lot of things.” There was that damn shrug again. It should’ve been a goddamn salesman with how much it was trying to sell your lies for you.

“Nah, not really.” Shaking his head, Johnny looked over at you now, eyes and all. The cigarette was now being passed back to him as he took a few more inhales, looking back out at what you assumed the guys were cuttin’ to be the fighting ring.

“Johnny, it’s time!” Brucie was yelling out from across the field and with no hesitation Johnny was passing the cigarette back to you.

“Keep that warm for me.”

The cigarette went out, but you tucked it into your front pocket as you made yourself comfortable on the top of one of the tables. It was a good amount away from the mud pit but gave you some height to take in the fight without any obstruction. The vodka bottle and you were pretty comfortable, all things considered.

Johnny got a few hits in, but Fat Jack was landing solid blows each time, it helped that he was also throwing Johnny around a bit. It wasn’t exactly the fairest fight, but these things never tended to be. In your experience, you weren’t exactly sure the last time you witnessed a fair one. The thuds and blows were loud enough to be heard even as far back as you were. The mud even kicked up that far back as well, you were just happy that the blood seemingly stayed in the perimeter of the pit. If anyone had just shown up now, and they wanted to place a last minute bet, they’d easily put their money on Fat Jack. As Wahoo so politely put it, he was tossing Johnny around like a ragdoll and it seemed like Johnny didn’t have much left in him.

Shouldn’t have smoked that damn cigarette. That was the thought tossin’ around your mind right now. That along with the fact that as much as fighting was a trigger for you, you fucking loved it. Your eyes were like hearts as you stared on to every hit, every step, every grunt and cry out in pain. It was fucked. But now? Fat Jack was fucked.

For someone who got triggered by all of this, your eyes got mighty big when Johnny bit down on Fat Jack’s leg, and then the cracking of his finger was heard loud and clear as Johnny fuckin’ Davis broke Jack’s ring finger, pretty much ending the fight there. Johnny Davis didn’t fight fair, and that was a dangerous game to navigate for you.

He was covered in mud, his nose had dried blood around it and overall it was a disgusting scene that shouldn’t have been so intriguing to you but it was. Heart eyes. You probably shouldn’t have called it that because to other people heart eyes were probably described as drooling, lust at first sight, a very obvious sign of attraction, but for you it was just intrigue. Like no matter how bloody or how many painful bouts there were you couldn’t take your eyes away. Like a car crash, you had car crash eyes, but nobody ever called it that.

“If you were gonna let ‘em have a chapter, why’d you go through the trouble of fightin’ him?”

“If anyone was gonna have the idea, it had better be me, right?”

You heard his reasoning and honestly it made sense. He was the president, he had the authority and like you loved to describe them, they were dogs. This was their way of showing who the boss was.

“How’d I do?” Johnny was looking up at you now, leaving Brucie behind as he hobbled in front of you.

Your eyes stayed on his not looking anywhere else, similarly to his on yours. “Alright.”

It could’ve been insulting, if it was any of the other guys, they would have puffed their chests out and started the line of excuses as to why they made the mistakes they did, or how you were wrong, probably get a little insulting back. But not Johnny.

“That’s what I was goin’ for.” He smiled for half a second, and you could see the mud and the dried up blood there as well, but in your peripheral vision, because your look was still directly on his eyes. “You got my smoke?” He asked, despite the hobbling and amount of punches to the face he got, he was still able to move his eyebrows up in question with no issue.

“Kept it warm for you.” You pulled it out of your pocket, your elbow leaning on your knee as it stuck out from your grip.

“I’m gonna go clean up.” One hobble later, he was closer to you, his filthy hand was nearing yours as he grabbed the cigarette, staring at you for a half a second longer than you expected before he limped off to clean up you presumed. Brucie, his girl, and a few of the other guys and their ladies were gathered around you now but you could have disappeared and none of them would have noticed. So you did, leaving the vodka bottle for them, too. The only thing they realized was that there was a free seat for grabs and a new bottle to drink from.

Without thinking, you walked towards the back of the field where Johnny sat next to a cooler, tossing the water on his face and using his dirty shirt to clean it off as best as he could.

“Hope it was empty.”

It was an honest thought, imagine pulling cold beer out of a muddy ice bath, but you wouldn’t put it past any of the guys here. Before you came around as bartender, you were pretty sure the guys drank skunked beer and from the same unwashed glasses for months.

“Using the last of it to ice my knuckles.” He pointed to the cans on the table. As he did so, your eyes watched his knuckles which were no longer as dirty, just scraped and bruised.

“I got some stuff in my truck, if you want I could patch it up.” Your thumb was pointing behind you at your blue pickup which was only feet away now.

“You keep shit to patch people up in your truck?” There it was that confused face Johnny wore so often in response to you.

“I do.” A nod. No shrug this time because you weren’t lying. You were telling the simplest version of the truth.

“Alright then.” The pain was plastered on his face as he stood up and began his shuffle to your truck, you were close behind, letting him get a few paces ahead while you grabbed the cans of beer. There might’ve been a first aid kit in your truck but definitely no ice packs.

The squeal your truck let out as you opened the passenger door was obnoxious. But Johnny didn’t think so.

“Good piece of metal you got here.” He was leaning against the bed of it as he spoke to you.

A similar noise happened again when you opened and closed the glove box once you grabbed the first aid. “Yea, that’s all it is, a piece of metal.”

Balancing the kit on the truck bed you pulled out the alcohol, gauze, and ace bandages. With one piece of gauze, you drenched it in alcohol and rung it out once so it wasn’t dripping. “This is gonna sting.” It was the warning you haven’t given in, well what felt like forever, but came back like muscle memory once that kit was opened.

He whimpered under his breath as you pressed the gauze to his knuckles, but he didn’t pull his hands away. They were resting comfortably on yours, if that was even possible with all the missing skin and bruised knuckles. With one more gauze pad you removed any of the leftover dirt from the open skin and wiped off the alcohol so his hands were dry.

“So you gonna keep me on the outs here?” His eyes were locked in on the ace bandage as you wrapped it around his palm.

You didn’t answer, you just stopped moving your hands and looked up at him. His eyes caught yours for a split second before they jumped away into the open sky. It was obvious he wished he still had that cigarette, his tongue was swiping against the bottom of his mouth. “Just meant–you know.” He shrugged, his eyebrows meeting in the center as he spoke.

“No, I don’t know.” Your nostrils flared as your eyes went back down to wrapping his knuckles, a small smile peeking through that he wasn’t able to see. The frustration was very apparent in his next statement. “W’da fuck.” That part was mumbled and strung together like one word. “You know your shit.” He was shrugging again.

Johnny had a way of still not saying what he was thinking even when he thought he was. “Still not following.”

“Where’d ya learn how t’do this.” It was a statement not a question, like he finally had it in him to speak a full coherent sentence.

You could have joked, made it feel less awkward, more of a moment, but then that wouldn’t be the truth. “My boyfriend used to fight.”

That got his attention. For a couple minutes, he thought over what to say. The silence should have been weird for you, but it wasn’t, you didn’t care.

“That so?” He nodded, his response not leaving you much to work with in ways of a simple answer, so you opened up, a little.

“It is.” Now, you were switching over to his other hand, it was less bloodied, but it was still needing a little TLC. “Boxed. Small-time.”

“Early retirement?” Johnny might not have talked much, but he sure did pay attention. He noticed you were using past tense in reference to fighting.

A small snort came out from your nose. “We could call it that.”

“Still doesn’t answer how you know your way around a bloody knuckle.” Johnny’s voice was muffled, your eyes looking up to see he had a new cigarette in his mouth, clearly using his patched up hand to grab it while you focused on the other. “Those boxers, dey–uh wear dose gloves, don’t they?” His cigarette was bobbing up and down.

“He did street fighting too.”

His whole body moved along with his nodding. “So what’s he do now?”

“Not much.” The answer came quickly, like you knew the question was coming.

“Should bring the kid around, ain’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t.” Another quick answer for an expected question.

That got Johnny’s attention, his head turned to you immediately, his brows weren’t just meeting each other over the bridge of his nose but they were probably overlapping at that point. Before he could say anything you gave the clarity he was looking for.

“He’s dead.” Those were the magic words that changed his facial expression completely. His eyes falling down to the ground. The Vandal fucking apology. “I don’t need no sympathy, Johnny.”

“You used to patch him up after his fights?” He wasn’t offering sympathy, just making conversation, wanting to find out more about you.

“Patched him up until he wasn’t able to be patched up no more.” You took a deep breath, dropping Johnny’s hand now and stepping back. He was still leaning against the truck, mentally prepared to thank you and step away but you continued to talk. “He was a boxer, pretty damn good one, too.” You laughed a little, your eyebrows raising as you remembered the countless boxing matches you saw him win. “Won enough that he got some eyes on him.”

Johnny was nodding, fully smoking his cigarette now instead of just keeping it in his mouth and blowing the smoke out that way.

“Hot shot guys–Cosa Nostra.” That was the only name you needed to say to give the full picture. The Mafia.

“Shit.” Johnny said under his breath.

“Yep, that it was. Boxing turned to street fighting, that turned into fixed fights. Which turned into the punch that got him knocked out. For good.”

“That–uh–that’s rough.” He was shaking his head.

You smirked, “That’s what I thought, that his funeral would be the hardest day of my life, but burying my boyfriend was the fuckin’ easy part, if you’d believe it. The rough part was getting those asshole’s off my back. I paid ‘em 150 bucks every two weeks to pay off what they had planned to win from those next scheduled fights that obviously weren’t going to happen and well, it was never enough.”

“What’d you do to get ‘em to stop?” Johnny was looking concerned at you now, curious if this was still a problem of yours.

“I spooked ‘em.” With your arms crossed, you waited to see his reaction.

He pulled his cigarette from his mouth and waved his hand wanting you to elaborate.

“I knew I couldn’t fight ‘em, I’d end up dead myself, so I spooked ‘em. Had half the crew thinkin’ they were being haunted and the other half that they were hexed. A lot of fake bloodied writing on mirrors, planted a book in their office that explained how a family had died there back in 1867, put dead mice in the cupboards, had ‘em hanging by their tails, hid porcelain dolls around too, those I’d get the ones whose eyes would open on their own, also put them in the weirdest places, best one was under the bathroom sink, guy would reach for toilet paper and be met with a hexed one eyed open figurine. Also hid up in the vents one week too and made noises, that one almost got me shot but it was what eventually forced ‘em out and too far downtown to make the trip back up for 150 bucks worth it.”

It wasn’t a true honor to leave Johnny speechless, but in this particular instance you felt pretty accomplished.

“Yer fuckin’ serious?” He said it so fast and with his face so twisted up.

“Okay I lied about the rats, too gross, but everything else I did.”

“Yer fuckin’ crazy.” It was said just like his previous statement, fast and with his face twisted up. Until he let out a laugh, one that you’d never heard come from Johnny before. “You spooked ‘em.” He spoke it through chuckles, kicking off the truck now, his finger shaking at you. “That’s good.”

You smirked, walking back to your truck to drop the kit back into the glove box. Turning around, Johnny was still standing there, his smile beginning to fade, but the remnants of it were still there.

“How long ago was all this?”

The time you took to answer made it seem like you were calculating the time, but you could’ve answered immediately. In your sleep, even.

“About two years.” It was more like 2 years and 3 months but you weren’t going to get too detailed.

“What’d you do after you got rid of the Gambino family?” He joked, speaking the famous gangster family name, but his face was serious, his cigarette tossing to the ground.

“Moved in with my piece of shit brother who gladly took my newly found biweekly 150 dollars.” With that the glove box slammed shut and you were sitting with your legs hanging off the side of the passenger seat.

“What made you move to Chicago?”

“You know, Johnny. This might be the most I’ve ever heard you talk.

“What can I say, getting slammed in the mud makes me chatty.” He shrugged, his body still covered in dirt.

You leaned down and grabbed the two ice cold beers before you were jumping down and closing your car door. Your hand extended out to Johnny to give him the beer, pointing to his knuckles so he could ice them. Taking your own beer, you started walking back down to the picnic, cracking it open and taking a sip. You turned back to look at Johnny who was standing in the same spot, beer can over his knuckles, dirt falling off his shoulders and smiled over the top of the can.

“I came to Chicago for something new.”

Dividers by @realitycanbewhateveridesire ♡ 🏍️The Bikeriders Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#The Bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #Johnny Davis #Johnny Davis Fanfiction #Johnny Davis x Reader #Johnny Davis x You #My Writing #Garbinge #The Bikerider and The Bartender

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witchblood-if · 2 years

Photo

“A Macigian never reveals their secrets. A Witch even less so.”

Well, you had a good run. For the last 70 or so years that you've had your little shop in Esmar's capital, nothing overly exciting happened. Apart from the occasional political changes and economical shifts, you could mostly carry on business as usual. But when the Fae calling herself your "best and only friend" invites you to pull a heist on your rival's home you didn't realize what effect that stunt would have on your immortal life. But damn, you really wanted that statue back.

Play Demo

Witch Blood is an upcoming urban fantasy interactive fiction story where you take on the role of one of the last proper witches of Esmar, hoping to resolve a very time-sensitive mystery that might cost you your own life if you don’t get on with the investigation soon.

Does it have to do with random people’s head exploding?

Is this the reason you seem to have more prophetic dreams than usual?

Why are there so many strangers storming into your shop demanding answers you couldn’t possibly know?

And why does your familiar keep eating your receipts? You need those for your taxes!

Create your very own witch. Appearance, personality, gender and sexuality... All that Jazz

Choose a furry (or non-furry) companion for your immortal life

Become a master of 5 witchy skills that may or may not help you along the road

Keep your business afloat (you got bills to pay, after all)

Solve a mystery, save a bunch of people, and meet the Gods (???)

Find love, friendship, or rivalry (or maybe all three of them at the same time) with 5 different people who will. Not. Leave. You. Alone.

And for the love of the Gods: please stop spitting coins

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So far it will probably be a 16+ kind of rating for:

Mentions of violence, blood and gore

Strong language, cursing

Suggestive language

but things might change. I’ll keep you updated in any case.

The Best Friend: Faith (f)

Flirty and flighty, Faith is certainly living her best life. And while she’s not always the most reliable of friends, she always shows up for your weekly tea and gossip session (and more often than not with baked goods as well). If you’re looking for a fun night out: Faith is your gal. Don’t ask how she pays for all of it without having a job though.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Knight in Shining Armor: Isaac (m)

A stranger visiting your shop and ... flirting with you? Thankfully you’ve lived long enough to see through his ploy and stay unaffacted to his charms. Mostly. With a quick smile, a stance almost too relaxed and some really suspicious questions you can’t quite get a read on him. And you have the feeling he is also not really a tourist interested in your special sale items.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Loyal Advisor: Eli (f/m/nb)

Another stranger. This one seems much more honest than the last one but somehow you haven’t decided yet if you appreciate that or not. They say there is a problem their employer has sent them to hopefully solve and after some extensive research you seemed to be the least untrustworthy person of your craft to potentially help. You can’t quite tell from their stoic face if that sentence was supposed to be a compliment, a joke or very subtle sarcasm. But the pay they offer is nothing to turn your nose up at and you’ve worked for way shadier people.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Crazy Mushroom: Mezilkree (f/m/nb)

Mezilkree has been a frequent visitor of yours for quite some years. Mostly they just hang out at your shop and try to scare potential customers. When you try to make them leave they declare they are a customer, throw a bottle cap on your counter and shove a handful of candy from the jar you keep for kids in their mouth. Sometimes they even do buy something if they’re on an errand for their family, but as their community grows more and more resentful of non-mushrooms this occasion becomes rarer and rarer. In the many years of botherment, you have found Mezilkree to be a mischievous but sweet troublemaker. Some of the time, at least.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Other Witch: Levan (nb)

An Enemy. A Fiend. Your Immortal Rival. Most of the time you and Levan stay clear of each other, as is agreed upon in your Contract of Geniality. But now they have decided to steal a very valuable artifact you have spent months on locating. At least you’re pretty sure it was them, who else would be skilled enough to enter your home. Even though you don’t particularly get along, Levan is a witch you have known for the longest of time. But because of their spiteful nature and (admittedly somewhat deserved) arrogance you have long decided to avoid them, lest you burn down the whole town in a fit of anger. They really know how to push your buttons.

ROs Physical Appearance

Witch Types

Demo

#ro ask ----> Scenarios and asks including all ROs

#ros ----> unspecific general info about ROs

#ch: [name] ----> info about that RO, often paired with #ros

#ch: carter ----> facts and info and rambling about the author

#mc ----> anything to do with your character, customization and so on

#lore and #lore ask ----> anything that’s about worldbuilding

#story and story ask ----> anything to do with plot

#lovely ocs ----> readers showing off their ocs

#lovely readers ----> lovely words from lovely people

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello my lovelies! This is a first attempt at Interactive Fiction, and on an even more important to note: a first real attempt at writing. I hope it doesn’t suck too much! Also please forgive orthographic and grammatical errors, English isn’t my first language :) (if you see something, say something tho)

Currently the prologue is in the works and will face some editing and expanding.

Until then,

Love, Carter

#if #interactive fiction #intro #intro post #if: submission #if: intro #it's witchy time #choicescript #Witch Blood #csript game #status: wip #fantasy #urban fantasy #mystery #16+#witchblood-if

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thelightfluxtastic · 9 months

Text

The Crawler's Language

So I'm not a linguist by academic specialty but I am bilingual and fascinated by languages and every time I reread the Underland Chronicles I think about language and especially the Crawler's style of repetitive speech.

All of the species in the Underland have different speech patterns. The bats speak rarely, quietly, and in short sentences because it is physically difficult for them. The spinners speak through vibrations. The rats as a species are associated with humor, they're most likely to use sarcasm and constantly make jokes. But when all of these species do speak, they use the grammar and syntax common to human Underland English.

The exception is the crawlers, who have a distinct verbal quirk, saying things like: "Smells what, so good, smells what?" In this essay I am making basically two arguments:

The crawlers word order is completely normal for Underland English.

Often, when discussing the crawlers, the book narration will make a point of Gregor or others having to mentally re-order sentences to understand the bugs. But if you take out the repetition, Crawler sentences become things like:

"Smells what so good?" "Be she the princess?" "Hates us, the Overlander?" "Unless this be not the Cradle"

And this order that goes Verb-Object or Verb-Pronoun is not unusual for standard Underland English. Human and other characters throughout the books say things like: "Stop you. Stay you. Slow your hearts." (Ripred, Book 1) "Meet you Mareth and Perdita" (Dulcet, Book 1) "Gather us here for we must discuss" (Vikus, Book 1)

It's even baked in to the standard Underlander farewell, "Fly you high".

So the crawlers are speaking correct sentences in Underland English, just repeating the first phrase at the end. Which brings me to my second argument.

The repetition serves a grammatical function

In paying attention to the crawler's speech, I found a pattern. The repetition is not present in every sentence. Crawlers often make simple declarative statements without repetition:

"You look much like but smell not like" "Temp will share her food with me" "Rats give many fish"

The repetition specifically happens with questions:

"Ride you, ride you? Run you, run you?" "Give you five baskets, give you?" "You so say, you?"

Even Vikus takes on this particular grammatical feature. When speaking to the Crawlers, he says "We will give four baskets, and one for thanks" but later asks "Take us to your king, take us?" when asking a question.

There are exceptions to this, but to me they seem to be in cases of emphasis or explicit confirmation:

"Only the Princess, Temp serves, only the Princess" "Hate warmbloods, cutters do, hate warmbloods"

I have no idea if this was Suzanne Collins intention, but for me personally, it reminds me of how questions are structured in American Sign Language. In ASL, a question is indicated by raising or lowering the eyebrows. Signs for question words like who/what/where/why exist, but aren't always necessary. One of the structures common with ASL is to put or repeat the question word at the end, so you can sign a longer phrase or sentence normally, and only have to worry about the question facial expression for the last word. Bill Vicars at Lifeprint/ASL University has a more in-depth explanation, comparing it to English questions structured as "You go to [X university], don't you?" or "You like engineering, do you?" But basically, in ASL, a perfectly grammatically correct way to ask if someone is Deaf is to sign: YOU DEAF YOU?

It is also worth exploring why, in my opinion, the crawlers are the only species who have this visible difference to the audience, even though all species are speaking English as a second language. And at a meta-level, it contributes to the basic assumption that the crawlers are dumber than the other species. Gregor has the most to adjust to, but even long after he's accepted that the Underlanders aren't primitive, and bats/rats are intelligent, he still has a kind but condescending outlook on the crawlers. And even other insect species (like the fireflies) look down on them. Having the crawlers speak differently from anyone else emphasizes their alienation from all other species in the Underland. And it reminds me of how some accents or dialects, like AAVE, are associated with stupidity or assumed to be "incorrect" English when they have perfectly valid and functional structures and meaning.

#the underland chronicles #language #linguistics #mine

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amaranthhiding · 6 months

Text

Indeana Jones and the Tear of Pele

My fic for the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2024 that I've been pouring my heart and soul into for the last few months.

Art by Aggiedoll

Castiel POV

"So…," Dean bridged the gap of their sudden silence. "What's on your bucket list?"

"What?" Castiel asked, wondering what would happen if he simply gave in to his fingers' itching desire to reach out and slide over Dean's arm. Now that he'd gotten another brief taste of it, the urge to feel, to sense, to touch was so much harder to rein in, lighting up the nerves in fingertips that were his alone again after all the time he'd spent locked into his own mind without any control over this body.

"Not in general," Dean clarified nothing whatsoever. "I sure hope you ain't gonna kick the bucket any time soon. Or, like, at all. I just mean while we're here."

Castiel had to admit that standing so close to Dean really impacted his ability to focus, celestial being or not. He could only make half a sense out of this string of words. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Dean was covering some kind of nervousness with the way he kept interrupting himself by adding more sentences. Only that there was no discernible thing for him to be nervous about. There was nothing but them and the open sea.

Dean POV

The frog chirped and hopped away with one long leap. Running on intuition more than any logical reasoning, Dean pushed aside the fern that the animal had disappeared behind, uncovering an opening in the ground. He pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight, shining down into what seemed to be a steep, narrow tunnel leading down into pitch black.

He hated narrow fucking tunnels. A small part of his brain still seemed to be functional enough to have his phone send Sam his coordinates with a brief 'Just in case'. Then he stowed the device back in his pocket and covered his face in his hands, dreading what came next.

Cas, he reminded himself. He was doing this to get Cas back.

Words: 32,679 Rating: Explicit Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Season 11, Beach Vacation, Fantasy Adventure, Humor, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Castiel, Castiel's True Form, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Dean in Denial, Dean Makes Up Excuses for Touch, Castiel Uses Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Castiel Goes Missing, Castiel and Dean Save Each Other

Link to Fic Link to Art

Reblogs are much appreciated! <3

Taglist under the cut.

@samsrowena @suninjang @typicalrowena @jomybeloved @thefandomsinhalor @butch--dean @fanficlounge @cocklesdestielfiction @destielficbasket @romachebella

If you'd like to be added/removed from my taglist for Destiel and/or Samwena content, let me know in a reblog, reply, or personal message. :)

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gunilslaugh · 11 months

Note

Heyy!! Hope you are having a great day 🩷

Can you maybe ot6 hiding your relationship from their members and how they got caught? It can be angsty as well, i love me some good angst 😌

I hope you're having a great day too 💙 I didn't really know how to write this as angst, but I tried my best! Sorry if it's not that good.

All members < ˆ ~ ˆ >

Summary: Xdinary Heroes were hiding your relationship from not only the public, but their members too… their members just caught them.

WC:~2.3k

Warning:a bit of angst

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

It wasn’t Gunil’s initial intention to keep your two’s relationship hidden from his members, but that’s how it turned out. He was going to tell them, but there was this part of him that likes how you were only his. Something that he didn’t have to share. He found a bit of fun in sneaking around with you too. It was a bit like he had a secret life. A secret life where it could just be the both of you together without any other worries. He wasn’t ready to give that up yet, so he decided to hold off from telling his members about your relationship.

“You’re dating someone!” Jiseok yelled out. He was looking at some of the pictures Gunil had taken of him and he scrolled one photo too far. Revealing a photo of Gunil kissing your cheek while two of you wore matching hoodies.

“What?” The rest of the members called out. All of them were currently in the green room for a music show. Gunil immediately became very flustered and a stuttering mess.

“I- wh- I-it’s.” He lets out a sigh. “Would you believe me if I said they were just a friend?” Although he already knows the answer. By now Jiseok has shown the photo of the two of you together to the rest of the members.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Seungmin asked. He was clearly hurt by Gunil keeping your relationship hidden from them. Gunil looked around at the other members. They looked hurt too and confused as well.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you guys or anything like that. I was going to tell you all,” Gunil defended.

“When?” Jungsu pressed. He was clearly annoyed and didn’t look like he fully believed Gunil either. Gunil lets out another sigh.

“I don’t know. I just liked that they were only mine. Being with them was like an escape.” Gunil tried to explain.

“It’s not like we would take them from you,” Hyeongjun stated. Guilt starts to build up in Gunil’s chest. He knows that if he just told them that they would have been supportive about it.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was just being selfish,” Gunil apologized. It was all that he could do. Now he has to wait for his members to forgive him.

Jungsu

Jungsu and you were friends. At least that’s what Heroes knew the pair of you as. Jungsu never told them about you and him getting together. He was too scared about how they would react. Jungsu himself thought that this fear was irrational, however his mind resulted to the worst case scenario each time he thought about telling them. That he would tell them, one would accidentally slip to a manager or staff and then the two of you would have to break up. He didn’t want your relationship to come to an end, so he kept silent about your relationship.

“Since when do you call y/n ‘baby’? Did you two start dating or something?” Jooyeon spoke, with the last sentence holding a sarcastic tone. He happened to be peeping at Jungsu’s phone screen, seeing him texting you. It would have been fine if Jungsu just played it off as a joke, but instead all he could do was laugh awkwardly. Making Jooyeon realize that his use of sarcasm wasn’t necessary.

“You two are actually dating?” he asked in disbelief. He said it so loud the rest of the members in the dorm heard him.

“Who’s dating?” The members questioned, coming into the room.

“Y/n and Jungsu,” Jooyeon informed. Disbelief makes its way onto the rest of the members' faces.

“Seriously? Since when?” Seungmin asked.

“...Two months,” Jungsu revealed. His voice was barely higher than a whisper.

“Two months? Two months and you never told us? Why?” Gunil questions. It was clear by the looks on the members' faces that they felt betrayed by Jungsu not telling them.

“I was scared,” Jungsu admits.

“Of what? You know we like y/n.” Jooyeon noted.

“That management would find out and make me break up with y/n.” He voiced his concern.

“So you don’t trust us to keep it a secret?” Hyeongjun accused.

“No, I didn’t say that. It’s just a worst case scenario. That I know is unlikely to happen, but it could and that really scared me,” Jungsu reasoned. The other members understand where Jungsu is coming from, but they still are hurt. They never thought that Jungsu would keep his relationship hidden from them. It will take a bit of time before they’re able to move on from this.

Gaon/Jiseok

Jiseok liked the thrill of being in a secret relationship. The fact that nobody else, besides you, knew. He was having fun sneaking out to go see you in the middle of the night or lying about spending time in a studio when he was really going to hang out with you. He never meant for the secret to go on for this long though. He thought he would enjoy it for a few weeks, a month even, but then come clean and tell his members about his new relationship. However Jiseok just wasn’t ready to reveal his romantic secret. He can’t even think of a good reason for why he doesn’t want to tell his members.

“Didn’t you say you were gonna be at the studio today?” Jungsu prompted. Jiseok begins to slightly panic.

“Yeah, I was why?” He tried to sound casual.

“Really cause I went there to see if you wanted to grab dinner, but you weren’t there.” The panic begins to fully set in now.

“Must’ve been when I stepped out for a moment,” Jiseok’s voice wavered.

“I thought that too, but then I ran into Gunil and he said that you never came to the studio at all today.” Jiseok knew that he had been caught. Gunil entered the room along with the rest of the members. They had a feeling Jiseok was keeping something from them. It’s not the first time Jiseok wasn’t where he said he was going to be.

“Yep you were never there,so where were you?” Gunil pressed.

“On a date with my significant other.” Jiseok looked down at his lap, not knowing what else to say.

“Why did you hide it from us?” Jungsu inquired.

“I didn’t mean to keep my relationship a secret for this long I swear. It was fun having it be a secret y’know. I liked it. I originally planned on telling you guys about it after a couple of weeks, but I just never felt ready to tell you guys. I don’t even have a reason for why either. All I can say is I’m sorry.” The members weren’t too upset with Jiseok. They did still feel hurt about Jiseok not telling them about his relationship, but they understood that it wasn’t anything personal. He was just having fun with his secret.

O.de/Seungmin

Seungmin knew that if he ever got into a relationship that he would have to hide it from the public, due to him being an idol, but he didn’t know that he would end up hiding it from his members as well. A lot of dating rumors about idols had been going around recently and seeing all the hate these idols got for mere rumors put Seungmin off to telling anyone about your relationship. It’s not that he thought his members would disprove of him dating, but rather that he thought it would be safer for his members to not know.

“Who’s y/n?” Hyeongjun asked. Seungmin was currently showing Hyeongjun a video on his phone when you just so happened to text him. Seungmin panicked for a moment.

“Just a friend.” He played off.

“You save all your friends contacts with hearts after their names?” Hyeongjun arched an eyebrow. The other members happened to catch wind of the conversation taking place between Seungmin and Hyeongjun and made their way over to them.

“They’re my favorite one.” Seungmin tried to pass off, but he knew that he would have to come clean.

“You’re really still not gonna tell us. Seungmin, it's obvious they're not just a friend,” Hyeongjun said.

“Yeah either you are dating whoever this y/n is or you wish that you were,” Jooyeon stated.

“I am,” Seungmin came clean. “I’m in a relationship with y/n.”

“And you didn’t tell us because? I thought we were close man.” The members never thought that Seungmin would keep quiet about being in a relationship. It hurt them. They would tell Seungmin about their crushes, but he failed to mention that not only he had a crush, but was also in a whole relationship.

“There are a lot of rumors going around about idols being in relationships. They get so much hate just for these rumors. I thought that it would be safer for you guys if you didn’t know, so that if my relationship got out that you guys wouldn’t get unnecessary hate for knowing that I was in a relationship. I don’t really know if that makes complete sense, but I just thought that it would be for the best.” Seungmin explained. The members could see where Seungmin was coming from, but they were still hurt and needed time to forgive him.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeongjun and you were childhood friends. The rest of the Heroes knew all about your guys’ friendship. They thought that it was cute and were glad that Hyeongjun had such an amazing friend like you but his side. What they didn’t know was that you weren’t just his longtime friend. You had become his significant other as well. Hyeongjun didn’t tell them: A) he wasn’t sure how to bring it up and B) he was worried that with more people knowing about your relationship that there would be more chances for someone to slip up and accidentally reveal it. Rationally he knew that his members would keep it a secret, but there mere chance that the two of you being together could be revealed was enough to scare him into keeping quiet.

“I know that you and y/n are really close friends, but isn’t kissing their temple while hugging them like that a bit much?” Jungsu asked. Jungsu was scrolling through the practice videos Hyeongjun had on his phone when he came across the photo of you and Hyeongjun together. The color drains from Hyeongjun’s face.

“Um…it was just for the photo? Like a joke.” Hyeongjun’s voice was not believable at all. He knew what he was saying held no truth to it anyway.

“When did you two start dating?” Jungsu asked.

“Who’s dating?” Jiseok questioned upon entering the room and of course his statement was enough to catch the other members attention as well.

“Y/n and I” Hyeongjun found his voice enough to reveal your twos’ relationship.

“Why would you keep that a secret from us? You know when you first told us about them we thought that you guys were dating anyway,” Jooyeon said.

“The more people who know the more chances there are of it possibly getting out. It’s not that I don’t trust you guys, but the thought of our relationship getting exposed to the public terrifies me,” Hyeongjun reasoned.

“Still sounds a bit like you don’t trust us,” Gunil stated. Call it the hard truth Gunil said what the other members were thinking in their minds. Yes, they could see and understand Hyeongjun’s point of view too, but it still hurt that he thought one of them would slip and expose his relationship.

Jooyeon

Jooyeon himself is shocked how he has gone so long without telling the members about his relationship. Being in a secret relationship was a fun game to him. A game that he didn’t want to stop playing anytime soon apparently. Everytime he would go out on a date with you without getting caught filled him with a great sense of accomplishment. He didn’t really think about how he was lying to his members, too busy being blinded by the thrill. Plus sneaking away to see you was also a much needed break from the stress that came with his occupation. He could forget about work while he was with you. He didn’t need to be Jooyeon from Xdinary Heroes, only Jooyeon, your boyfriend.

“Where have you been?” It was like a scene from a movie. Jooyeon silently crept back inside of his room. Only to be discovered by Seungmin who was waiting there in the dark sitting on a chair. His voice scared the crap out of Jooyeon making him jump.

“I thought that you were sleeping,” Jooyeon siad.

“I was until I heard what I thought was you going to the bathroom around one am, but you didn’t come back, so I checked the bathroom to see if you somehow fell asleep in there. I only discovered that you weren’t in the dorm,” Seungmin explained. Jooyeon realized that he had been caught. His little secret relationship game was over.

“I have something to tell you and the other members,” Jooyeon confessed.

That’s how all the members found themselves gathered in their dorm living room half-asleep and bed headed.

“I’m in a relationship,” Jooyeon disclosed. The room fell silent. It was broken by Jiseok’s laughter.

“That’s funny Jooyeon, good one.” Jiseok smacked Jooyeon on the back of his shoulder.

“I’m serious,” Jooyeon told. It seemed like his members had gone into shock. No one said anything as if they couldn;t process Jooyeon’s words.

“How could you not tell us before?” Gunil was the first to speak and he was clearly hurt.

“I was having fun with it being a secret. I liked sneaking around. I don’t know how I’ve gone so long without telling you guys honestly,” Jooyeon answered. “I’m sorry if you feel hurt by me not telling you,” he added, but the members did feel hurt and they would need some time.

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lifewithdavefarts · 11 months

Text

DaveFarts - Episode 26 “Critical Stink” [Episode List] During a D&D session, Tim insists that he should be immune to poison damage. The gassy-as-usual Dave makes sure he’s gonna regret such request.

POV: Tim

Critical Stink

The evil Yuan-Ti general and his minions had us cornered: the humanoid snake turned out to be a bigger threat than our team expected. Radahm, our Rogue, managed to backstab one of the lesser enemies in front of us, who then bled to death mere minutes later. Ergg, the annoying wizard, quickly casted a defensive spell to protect us but the snake-like soldiers had weapons capable of undoing any form of magic (…something we never heard of before, in our years of adventures, but OK).

I, the brave Paladin Desal, was our team’s last hope: I could attack our formidable foes with my mighty holy sword, getting closer to the general himself, whose venomous bite was just as dreaded as the blade of his mighty scimitar. Yet, I decided to go for it, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immunity many moons ago. This is why The Fate brought us here… why She brought me here.

It was all leading up to this.

I rush with all of my might towards the snake general, who noticed my deft movement, his long neck dodging my sword at the last second. He hissed back at me, his mouth going for my arm.

I felt his teeth piercing through my white armor, but once again, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immun-

“What do you mean I’m losing HP?!”

Me (Desal), Greg (Ergg) and Adam (Radahm) were having one of our D&D sessions, which are getting rarer given how busy we are. Dave was our DM for this Quest and… we didn’t really like where this was going.

First, that whole bullshit with Yuan-Ti weapons undoing Greg’s magic (and magic in general apparently). Never heard of such thing nor we care, even though Dave found our shock quite delightful. And then -and this is more personal-, all of the sudden, my character stopped being immune to poison… because plot I guess!

“Dude!” I scolded Dave. “I thought we agreed on this like moo- I mean months ago.”

Adam and Greg backed me up, just because the wanted to dunk on Dave than anything else.

“Gentlemen.” our DM replied, in a mockingly formal tone. “…and Tim.” he turned to me and took a sip of his beer, then resumed talking. “What I told you back then was that The High One would grant Desal poison immunity in case you rolled a Nat 20 on a Defense Roll.”

I remained silent.

“And, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t see a 20 anywhere on this table.”

The derisive sarcasm was just as annoying as it sounded, not even considering Dave being utterly wrong about this. If only I could find those papers where we actually took note of this…

“I’m with Tim on this one.” Greg said. “Also if he dies, our quest is basically over.”

“I guess we’re done then.” I said, referring more to the fact that Greg agreeing with me was basically a death sentence to any possibility of being right. “What about you, Adam?” I asked.

“Well, I got my share of EXP by backstabbing that snake guy, so I’m gonna try running away my next turn.” he snickered.

“Team of the year.” Dave commented, amused.

“Disgusting.” Greg remarked.

“Wow the the True Neutral Rogue doing True Neutral things I’m such a bad player.” Adam replied.

“Hey! This is not about Adam’s admirable commitment to role-playing.” I pointed to our DM. “This is about Dave making up the rules.”

“Here’s what I have to say about it.”

Dave, who was wearing a brown hoodie and a pair of dark blue jeans, simply leaned a bit, the wooden chair he was sitting on cracking under his weight. One of my friend’s deafening farts soon followed, the wooden surface making it even louder. Not the first one my bro ripped during our D&D session (we were all high on beer and junk food, so gas was expected), but definitely one of the louder ones. While he still casually does it, I’m pretty sure, considering that evil smirk, that this one time he simply ripped one to, well, startle me, as he knows very well how awkward I (still) get whenever Dave is so chill about my fart kink.

“I guess a storm is getting closer.” Greg commented, after the 5 seconds blast ended.

Dave quickly snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Good call. Let’s wrap it up.”

So our DM quickly made up that those Yuan-Tis that almost killed us are afraid of thunderstorms (ripping another thunder-fart to further prove his plot point) and thus they ran away, scared, leaving us there, licking our own wounds (almost literally, given Greg rolling a 4 when he attempted to heal us).

We survived, but that was pretty underwhelming.

“So Greg managed heal me, no more poison and shit like that.” I commented.

“I’m your DM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.” Dave reminded me, that annoying sarcastic smirk drawn on his face, fully aware of how annoying he was being.

But admittedly that’s part of the fun you know.

“Well that wasn’t fun at all guys, see you in about 6 months for our next session.” Adam said, as he got up and reached for his jacket. Greg did the same.

We had one last sip of beer together and then our friends left, leaving me and Dave alone at our place. It was late, about 1:00 AM, but also a Saturday.

As me and my bro/roommate tidied up the table we just finished playing on, he decided to keep making fun of my strategies.

“The first mistake was choosing the Paladin as your class, as I told you many moons ago.” he snickered.

“Says the Wizard enjoyer. Having fun casting shit from behind the trees?”

“Yes, because I don’t get poisoned from there. Also, I’m more of a Bard you know.”

“I shouldn’t get poisoned, you know it. But our DM got amnesia apparently.”

Dave laughed, rolling his eyes. “Nat 20 on Defense Roll.” he spoke slowly. “Such a difficult concept to grasp!”

We sat once again at the now clean table, opened two more beers and we kept talking.

“Look, I’m not saying that you don’t remember it. But yes, you don’t remember it.”

“I don’t remember it.” Dave insisted. “Because it never happened.”

“Literally the only thing my character is going for is poison immunity.” I stated, perhaps exaggerating, but you get my point.

“Wow immunity against the worst damage type. Congratulations, Desal! You’re a Paladin, start summoning light pillars or some other gay shit!”

“Dave, we agreed on it. I DESERVE to be immune to poison.” I insisted.

“Fine.” my friend took a quick sip of beer. “All kinds of poison?”

“Yes.” I said, satisfied.

“…even poison gas?” Dave said, a faint smirk appearing on his face.

“Well yes of course, especially pois- I know where this is going.” I glanced at him, unimpressed.

Indeed, Dave laughed and once again leaned, another loud blast erupting from his jeans-clad ass, the wooden chair under him enduring that powerful flatulence like a silent hero. 5 more seconds of farting and he was done.

“You g-gotta admit…” I said, bravely, almost shaking for how embarrassed I was. “That’s one type of poison I’m definitely immune to.” I joked, I tried to.

“Shut up.” Dave replied, chill as usual about my fetish. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that, but Tim…” he put his hand on my shoulder, being hilariously serious about all of this. “We’re talking about my farts: one of these days you’re gonna die because of me.”

He finished that short speech by effortlessly ripping one more quick 2 seconds rip, faking a sad expression, as if I truly was risking my life. I managed to laugh, my boner however almost hitting the table for how good those farts were, a faint smell reaching my nostrils as well.

“Come on. Let me have this at least. Poison immunity in real life!” I kept joking.

Dave looked at me, with a smirk, then turned his attention to a D20 dice we left on the table and reached for it.

“You know…” he started talking in a tone of voice that made me think this whole thing turned into a business deal for some reason. “I can grant you your precious poison immunity… if you pass the test…”.

He was fiddling with the dice, now looking back at me.

“Let me guess: another rule you just made up.” I said.

“Not at all! I forced you through this test so many times lately… but tonight I decide if you actually passed it.” he laughed.

I had no idea what he was talking about. Or rather, pretended not to.

“I don’t understand. Are you planning some kind of challenge?”

“Sort of. I’ll just show you how it’s going to work.”

He passed the dice to me and I just stared at it for a few seconds.

“Roll the dice, Tim.” he said, with a smirk.

I played along and mindlessly let the dice fall on the table. It rolled for a few instants and then I read the number facing up out loud. “Meh, that’s a 4. I’m just like Greg.”

In response to what I just said, Dave snapped his finger to gain my attention. As I turned to him, he leaned once again and a thunderous fart echoed in the empty living room, easily surpassing the sounds coming from the TV across the room, the wooden surface of the chair he was destroying with his gas greatly increasing the loudness of the already powerful rip.

The blast lasted around 5 seconds and… that wasn’t rocket science, I knew where this was going now. I was speechless, I had no idea Dave would even think something like this.

“No.” I simply said, shaking my head, embarrassed.

I stood up, leaving the dice on the table, ignoring the fact that my friend could clearly see the tent I pitched through my blue sweatpants and walked towards the couch, as I kept repeating “No”, each time my bro laughing more and more.

“Scared, Desal?” he promptly asked.

“No!” I took a big breath, turning back to my bud still sitting at the head of the table, his eyes glued on me, his smug smirk still drawn on his face. “It’s just… come on man… I don’t want to… of course I…”

Dave stood up and walked towards me, without losing that smile, now looking a bit more chill. “You know you don’t have to worry about this, not with me, right?” he simply asked, and I knew exactly what he meant.

“Alright…” I said. “I’ll do your dumb test.”

He laughed. “This also counts as me getting my revenge for, you know, you doubting my DM skills.”

I figured I’d just give up: Dave was gonna blast me either way, and I deeply appreciated how he wanted to make sure that no, I had nothing to worry about, he knows I have this kink, he knows I was gonna like this… but that wasn’t going to stop him from torturing me with his well-known blasts. A “revenge”, as he calls it.

Truth to be told, as much as my boner tells you other wise… I do have my limits, and my friend’s farts sounded very nasty tonight, fueled by hours of beers and low-quality food. What made it so dangerous (and hot) is that Dave is well aware of his skills, so he knew that this was indeed going to be a test.

My bro sat on the couch and nodded at me, as if what was going to happen was completely normal, so I sat next to him.

“So… roll for initiative?” he joked, handing the dice back to me.

“I hate you so much.” I replied. Dave just never ceases to amaze me though.

I let the dice roll on the small table in front of us, as Dave took a sip of his beer. We both watched it bounce around for a few moments, until it stopped, a big 7 facing up.

The fart I heard when I rolled a 4 was already impressive so… how is a 7 going to sound like? My roommate seemed to read my mind since he elbowed me, smug smile and all.

I clumsily tried to ask how, well, he was going to face-fart me this time. “What do you want me to… you k-know.”

Dave simply put the beer on the table, right next to the dice and, still silent, simply stood up, towering over me, my face already aligned with his sagging denim ass. He stepped in front of me and reached for my head, planting it on that warm ass, still stinky for all the previous farts he ripped, a faint scent of rotten pizza greeting my nose. He held my face there for a few seconds, in silence, as if he wanted me to, well, enjoy that the leftovers of his previous rips.

But now, finally, the test has officially begun: a big fart engulfed my face, my friend barely needing to push it out, ripping that blast almost effortlessly. He firmly held my head in there, as if I was going to move it away, which obviously wasn’t going to happen.

And yet, Dave keeping my face into his roaring butt, letting me take big whiffs, was always a great bonus: whether he did that because he knew my kinky ass would like it or not… I just didn’t know, but I was ok with it nonetheless… as long as he was okay with me.

He raised his left leg a bit, letting his ass roar even louder.

The impressive flatulence lasted 9 seconds: just beautiful, but I knew this wasn’t the worst (best?) my bud was going to hit me with tonight.

Dave let my head go, turned around to stare down at me, and laughed a bit. He then sat back next to me, as if nothing gross and weird happened.

“This is how you get poison gas immunity: you gotta train those nostrils first.”

“I hate you so much.” I repeated myself, as I took a sip of his beer.

He patted my shoulder in response. “No worries, your training will resume soon.”

I reached for that cursed D20 once again and fiddled with it a bit, before going for another roll.

“How long is this test going to last?” I genuinely asked, with a hint of sarcasm.

“We’ll see.” he winked at me, while looking at something on his smartphone.

Still deciding on whether I was or not the luckiest man in the world because I have a friend like him, I went for another roll, the D20 once again bouncing on the small table in front of us. Admittedly, I sighed in relief when I saw a 2.

“Remind me to never take you to Las Vegas…” Dave commented.

Since it was 2, my bro simply spread his long legs, showing off his sagging jeans in the process, and ripped a short (but still loud, despite being muffled by the couch) toot. Small for Dave’s standards, not even 4 seconds long, but still a nice sounding fart overall.

Not that I wasn’t aware of his skills, but the fact that those were all natural, back-to-back, was almost fascinating to me. Fetish or not, I wish I had such powers.

“Still pretty impressive for a 2, I gotta say.” I said, getting more comfortable with openly acknowledging Dave’s talent.

My roommate chuckled in response. “Such a kinky bitch.” he joked.

As my way to challenge him after that ridiculous fart, I quickly went for another roll. The dice spun for a moment until it revealed the number at the top spot, which immediately made me swallow my pride: a 16.

“Looks like you’re gonna get your ass kicked, Paladin.”

“You better shut up or I’m gonna kick yours.”

“With what? Your nose?”

As Dave (rightfully) made fun of me, he stood up once again, this time on the couch, towering over me even more than before (he had no shoes anymore, only a pair of sweaty socks).

“Just… just do it.” I simply said, horny, my heart racing fast.

Amused, my friend managed to directly sit on my head, as if I was a stool.

“You really want me to k-kill me?”

“I’m your FM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.”

I remained silent. “FM…?”

“FM dude.” Dave kept talking, still sitting on me, as if this was such a natural way to talk to each other. “FM!”

“I don’t get it.”

“Too much blood rushing down your cock, fine.” he said, knowing exactly how true that statement was. “I’ll give you a hint then.”

Treating me like the wooden chair he soiled with his gas, Dave leaned a bit, as he pushed the next rip out… but after a few seconds nothing came out.

“I’m brewing a big one, give me a moment.”

And we just remained there, silent, the stench of his ass almost forming a fog around me, the rough surface of his sagging jeans brushing through my hair. I heard Dave laughing, fully aware how weird that scene must have looked.

“Alright, here it comes for real. Ready?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer as an earthquake shook my skull, making my body shake down to my knees. The vibration literally made some drops of pre-cum leak out of my penis, further proof of my friend’s incredible powers. The fart, needless to say, was so loud it almost made me deaf: I wasn’t made of wood, but the sound of Dave’s blast bounced off the top of my head quite nicely, sounding like a loud, low-pitched chainsaw.

21 seconds. 21 fucking seconds. All natural, all as disgusting as it sounds. I didn’t even need to sniff as I was probably trapped in an invisible bubble of gas.

Finally, after wiggling his ass a bit so my hair would completely absorb that fart, Dave stood up, ripping a couple of small toots while doing so, and sat back where he was. He looked at me with a smirk, but couldn’t help but laugh noticing me startled facial expression.

I’ll just never get used to this.

“FM… Fart Master… Fuck you.” I said, shaking my head.

“If it's any consolation… you almost earned that immunity you wished for.”

This is all just a dumb kinky game for him. I couldn’t be happier, but also holy shit, the thin line between kink and torture was getting blurry with a friend like him.

“Just say that I earned it. It’s late, we’re both tired.” I tried to end this, not that I wasn’t enjoying it but come on, I couldn’t force my straight bud to do, well, this, even though it was his idea to begin with.

“Fine. One last roll.” he agreed.

I shook the dice in my fist for a few seconds before finally letting it fall one last time on the table. It bounced a couple of times, I could feel the tension rising.

And finally…

No.

No fucking way.

There’s no way this wasn’t scripted somehow.

“Uhhh… Dave?” I dared to turn to him. He was already laughing.

A Nat 20, a fucking Nat 20, something that I always crave during our D&D sessions, but this fucking dice decided that a FART session was more important apparently.

“That’s gonna be a critical hit, Tim.” Dave stated, standing up again.

“No way you got that much gas already.” I bravely said.

My friend laughed again, that usual smirk drawn on his face.

“I’m just gonna blast you on command for a bit.”

The fact that he said that sentence so naturally made me leak a bit more.

“uhhh… thanks?” I said, my brain now completely devoid of any blood.

“Yeah sure, just lie down so I can put an end to this test.” I obeyed. “And also to your face, obviously.” he added, pointing down at me.

Once again, as if it was something completely mundane, Dave waited for me to lie down, so he could simply sit directly on my face, treating my head as part of the couch. Then, he just sat down on me as he said, the sagging jeans-clad asscheeks basically devouring my face. I couldn’t see anything but some details of the seams and textures of my friend’s jeans; at the same time, I felt the warmness, the stench, the sweat, all at once. I was used to my bro blasting me up close and personal, but this time it felt particularly overwhelming.

He wasn’t crushing me (I’m sure he was doing his best not to), but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t feel most of his weight all over my face. As his ass was resting on my nose, he put one leg on the table in front of the couch and leaned a bit, so he could ease some gas out… or rather in.

As promised, Dave was gonna fart-face me on command for the critical hit. He masterfully sucked some air in, showing off his skills smoothly. I knew this was gonna be a fucking fart concert. I was both horny and scared, because my bro is indeed the Fart Master, as he bragged earlier.

His ass stopped making noises, a sign that what came in was going to be blasted out soon.

“I mean… all of this to earn something you had all along. What a thirsty bitch.”

I heard Dave say, playfully mockin- wait what? All along? But I didn’t have time to say anything back because of the loud fart that pierced through my eyes and ears. It sounded a bit more “airy” than his previous ones, given that it was on command, but oddly enough it’s like there was a mix of natural gas in there as well: the stench of spoiled beer definitely helped prove it.

The fart lasted 11 seconds, way “shorter” than the previous ones, but as I said, this was gonna be a concert, so as soon as the first blast ended, Dave started sucked air in again, faster than before, as another ass-thunder quickly went down my throat, loud and proud as my friend does them.

Basically, this concert was gonna be one long ass fart with many interruptions.

This one was more of a series of 7 loud long rips ripped back-to-back, lasting about 3 seconds each. It was insane: it was like somebody was shooting at my face point blank with a fucking shotgun.

At this point I started to wonder whether Dave knew I was still there, as he kept ripping farts as if there wasn’t anyone lying under his ass.

Now he was sitting full-weight on me, almost making me fuse with the couch. He spread his legs wide again, as much as his sagging jeans allowed him to, so he could easily release an impressive, meaty, loud, almost wet rip all over that sweaty mess that used to be my face. Now that’s definitely a mix of natural and on-command, and the fact it was slightly wet only made the smell burn my nostrils even more.

This one fart didn’t want to end instead, my bro’s ass roared all over my face like one of those beasts we fought earlier during our D&D session. A display of cocky, disgusting manliness I’ll never get used to, given how skilled Dave is.

Finally, after around 20 seconds, his ass went silent again. I heard Dave whistle in relief.

“You ok down there bro?” I managed to heard him say. So he does know I’m still here!

He got up just a bit, his ass hovering (or rather, looming) over me, just enough to let me slip out of that gas chamber. I sat back to my place as he let his ass sit on the couch again, this time without having me under it. I managed to give a quick look at my friend, who had this silly smile on his face. He was visibly disgusted, but also oddly amused.

“Than-“ but he cut me off.

“You know, you totally earned your poison immunity bro.” he paused for a few seconds. “I mean… that’s what I’d say if you didn’t already have one all along.”

Oh, right. “What the fuck does that mean…?” I asked, sounding a bit more rude than I wanted to.

Dave laughed. “I actually found our conversation from months ago.” he showed his phone to me. “This is the part where we agreed on your immunity, but I forgot.” He chuckled.

I skimmed through the messages and, indeed, I was right.

“You sick bastard.” I sneered at him.

He found it hilarious. I found it… well, I too thought that it was hilariously hot as fuck, but I had to fulfil my role of being a pain in the ass.

“So you just wanted to torture me.”

“Not at first.” he admitted. “Then again, it’s not like I need an excuse to blast you, right?” he then said, winking at me. “Plus, I’m a Bard, I can make music with everything.” he then added, patting his ass.

I just didn’t know what to say, so I did what every mighty Paladin would have done: I simply stood up, not caring about my very visible, damp, huge boner, and went beating my meat in the bathroom upstairs.

Honestly, if Dave took his role of DM as seriously as his role of being my FM, our D&D sessions would go much more smoothly.

The End

#eproctophilia #davefarts #fart kink #malefarts #fart story

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shuinami · 1 year

Text

Part 3: How to write an MLE-based London accent authentically

Part 1: Who, What (London Accents) | Part 2: When, Where, Why (Black Londoner Culture since Windrush)

As I conclude this little guide, I'd like mention that my ask box and DMs are always open if anyone has further questions or anything 🤎

In this section, I'll go over some advice, the grammar and vocabulary and provide some suggestions for references.

Section A: Basic Tips

When to use slang

The concentration of slang is key to differentiating characters as well as writing an accent authentically. As an MLE-based speaker who is not actually a roadman (meaning a gangster, though many people misuse the term to refer to anyone who uses MLE, especially if they are working class), like most of us, Hobie does not utterly kill it with slang that would likely not be understandable to the people he’s with. There are a lot of phrases and idioms/metaphors that seem self-explanatory once you know what they mean or that seem similar to Americanisms (e.g. roadman = street/hood nigga), but of course, as someone who doesn’t use the terms, hearing it in passing, it probably wouldn’t be understandable, despite the speaker thinking it is.

Coming from a diverse place, often with immigrant parents who don’t even speak English as a first language, if fluently at all (not in the case of most black Caribbeans from former British colonies, but remember Asians and Africans are more plentiful here), trust me, we know what we sound like 😂! Most of us code-switch, as we learn standard English in school and, until more recently, where more people are 3rd gen+ immigrants as opposed to 2nd, we actually tend to pick up MLE slang from experiences outside the home as we grow up. At the same time, some people really don’t care at all and don’t change how they speak for anyone haha. I don’t recommend trying to write code-switching if you’re not extremely familiar with MLE because you’ll probably lose the flow and also, Hobie only eases up a little bit after his intro.

My point is though, that not every single sentence needs to have slang in it. Most should, but if you’re trying to be serious or sexy, for example, and you feel the need to tack on some slang just to convey Bri’ishness, even if it doesn’t really fit, don’t do it cause it’s no more authentic than just writing plain English in those scenarios.

When talking to people from his own dimension, however, slang it up if you’d like, because the expectation would be that a (working class or ethnic) Londoner would understand him.

For humour, mocking and teasing, we love to use slang because a lot of it is funny, even to us. Like I said, we know what we sound like. Those are the moments when more obscure slang (such as Cockney rhyming slang) might come out for comedic effect.

It’s good to have some balance, so not every word needs to be substituted. If you couldn’t read it without a fucking huge glossary, you’ve probably done a bit too much.

Writing the Accent

It’s good in moderation. ‘Luv’, ‘ain’t’, replacing the last g with an apostrophe in -ing words - you all have those things down, it works, good job.

HOWEVER, it is very clear that a lot of you have no clue what letters we do and don’t drop/change and in what words, as well as a lot of you going OT with removing the T’s from the middle of words. I know it kind of sounds like that to you but it reads like an over-exaggeration or mockery, particularly because most London accents, including Hobie’s, are much lighter in comparison to Brits from other areas, in which such omissions and alterations of letters would be somewhat appropriate but still, in moderation. I don’t recommend typing out the accent often, just sprinkle it around for a bit of flavour but don’t consistently write in that way because your writing loses legibility and it gets quite distracting.

Content

The stereotype of British people liking sarcasm is true for most and, in general, we like to have, what we call, ‘a bit of banter’. We’re a jokey people, even if those jokes can be a bit harsh or teasing. Confusingly, even if we are joking around, it doesn’t mean necessarily we’re being friendly, joking is just how we communicate (e.g. “Oh boy, humbling reality Spider-Man has arrived”, “What does that do?” “Apart from having a great name?”, “super humane and not creepy”, “this is a great look…”). I think most people have got this down really well, so keep it up guys 😎🤙

Another thing is cussing, swearing, profanity, whatever you wanna call it. We do it a lot for no reason, mainly spamming the word “fuck(ing)”. So have fun with that if you aren’t already.

We’ll get into it more in the terms of endearment section of Section B but, basically a lot of Londoners are typically not too mushy or affectionate, as is the stereotype for big city people and, additionally, British people in general aren’t the most direct in their words. Obviously, some people are but it’s not the culture if you’re trying to write proper ‘authentic’ haha. For a lot of us, saying sweet stuff can be quite laborious when sincere or cheesy or confrontational levels of direct really 😂 We ain’t the friendliest of types through our words so I'd recommend relying more on context for the sweet factor unless it's a stand-out moment.

Different parts of the UK, even within England itself, have different slang

Idk what else to say about this but yeah, there’s some phrases I’ve seen people use that have me scratching my head cause “nobody [from my area] says those words in that order” but I’m guessing it’s down to people incorporating slang which is more commonly heard up North because it’s all classed as British/U.K. slang when you look it up so, just be wary of that.

Section B: Grammar and Vocab (the thing you’ve been waiting for 😂)

I’ll link a document here so I don’t clog up your dash more than I already have. Feel free to bookmark it or anything, I’ll update it if needed. The contents are links to the relevant section so you can just click those if you’re not trying to read the whole thing.

I only included some highlights of the things that are easy enough to explain just by writing them out with their meanings but it’s by no means an extensive list. I’ve studied a few languages but I’m not a linguist so I just did my best.

If you want to go more heavy with the Cockney slang, I’ll leave it to someone who’s more familiar with it (or not… lol) to explain those terms and when to use them properly.

Section C: References

Of course, it’s all good and all that I’ve given you instructions but to make it sound natural, you’d need a point of reference. Here are some references of black North West Londoners from the early 80s, black East Londoners, black Londoners more generally and a Daniel Kaluuya interview so you can get a better feel of how we sound:

Clip from ‘No Problem’, the first Black British Sitcom

youtube

The accents within this one group of siblings is very varied and none of them use MLE, as per the time period. The two younger sisters have accents most similar to Hobie’s. The show follows a group of siblings of Jamaican descent living in a council house in North West London, first released in 1983.

Clips from ‘Chewing Gum’ by Michaela Coel [CW: they're awkwardly talking about sex in a lot of the clips + don't listen to Candice's boyfriend, Aaron, he's not from London lol]

youtube

The show takes place in Tower Hamlets, which is in East London and was first released in 2015. Tracy has a similar accent to Hobie and also uses a mix of more general/Cockney-influenced slang and MLE, so this one should both be a fun watch and be useful, you’ll also want to pay attention to Candice who has a more MLE lean to her speech.

Clips from the Foot Asylum crew most of them are MLE speakers, see some examples of our banter with friends lol

Clips from ‘Top Boy’

youtube

Another show that takes place in East London, this time in Hackney, which is an area known for being kind of rough in terms of gang activity. Almost all the characters speak exclusively MLE in this show. If you want to watch it, TW for violence and gang activity, death, etc. (18+). You can tell based on the ones I’ve chosen that Sully’s my favourite character lmao.

Fun fact, as you might hear the character, Dushane, reference, Sully lives on a canal boat for a while as a form of refuge. I know a bit about boat dwellers in London from a lecture at uni but if anyone wants me to do more research and do a post and explain the waterways and stuff, again, feel free to drop an ask and I’ll do it :)

Clip from ‘Love Island’ just pay attention to the black islanders, Tyrique and Whitney

youtube

I just finished watching this year's Love Island UK so I thought I’d throw the clip of Whitney, Lochan and Tyrique fighting in here lmao

& Daniel Kaluuya talking about Spiderpunk to bring us full circle✨

youtube

#hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #spider punk #black british #writing advice #across the spiderverse #shui fic #shuinami

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britcision · 2 years

Text

Listen. If being mean to you guys wasn’t so much funnier than giving you exactly what you wanted, I swear I wouldn’t do it.

But it is. It really is.

As always, AO3 link is still in the first chapter!

First:

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @eonic @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @arandomturd @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10

———————

Danger Twink Powers Activate

“Danger Twink is on the move!” It was Nightwing yelling it into the comms. It had to be, because not a damn one of the rest of them could have got through that sentence without laughing.

Oh, his voice was all joyful glee and Spoiler was soooo mad she left when she did because what the fuck is she missing, but the message was clear.

Things in the ballroom hit a flashpoint, and for some reason Danny was doing the shit kicking. She’d wonder what the fuck Jason thought he was doing, since he’d been in arm’s reach of the guy all evening, but.

Yeah. Last she saw, Croc was separating them. Apparently Danny took a little less kindly to that than you’d think.

“Report?” She asked hopefully, half wanting to be called back to the hall. She’d nearly reached Black Bat, but let’s be honest.

Ten, fifteen Riddler minions? Bat could finish them before she even got there.

Red Robin sounded annoyed, as he always did when one of them (usually Damian) jumped the gun on him.

“They were walking Jason Todd towards a bomb vest. His civilian friend took exception to that, and now he’s… Wing what would you call that?”

“If the kid was twice the size I’d call that a classic sumo stance but he’s a fucking twink so it’s never gonna… well fuck me.”

Red Robin picked up the narrative again, now deadpan.

“He’s stopped Killer Croc dead and lifted him off the ground. Might be a butchered judo throw.”

“Need me back in there?” Spoiler pressed, both fingers crossed even as she ran down a hall. She’d only gone down one flight, there was a balcony into the dining hall.

She could make it.

“Negative, Spoiler. Get to Black Bat, Robin make sure that machine can’t be activated. Signal?”

Fucker. She’d make Tim suffer for it once they were all out of costume.

“You’d better fucking record the fight,” she grumbled, even as Signal buzzed in, sounding almost out of breath.

“Close, just got another block to clear.”

“Would this be a good time to remind you all that Fenton is a meta?” Robin bit out, shades of sarcasm filtering all the way through the falsely conversational tone.

Spoiler damn near tripped as Nightwing cursed.

“Okay fucking what?” That was a little important to be skipped over.

“Shit, yeah, sorry Robin… we didn’t have time to fill you guys in, Robin thinks he saw Fenton teleport. But he’s not teleporting now,” Nightwing added quickly, the frown clear in his voice.

As was Robin rolling his eyes.

“Abnormal strength is one of the most common meta abilities, in case you’d forgotten. Watch closely for the rest of his power set.”

Red Robin cut across them both, voice sharp. New factors always put him on edge.

“Robin saw, or Robin thinks he saw? Can we confirm this?”

Which, ouch, Red Robin might need to check his room for traps for a while.

Spoiler flinched, even through a grin. As much as it sucked for them, it was good fun for her when the Robins squared off. If either ever asked for help, she’d be happy to provide.

“He thought he saw, but the timelines didn’t match up. It was maybe three minutes before we bumped into you, they couldn’t have crossed the hall in time,” Nightwing explained gently, trying to keep the peace.

Robin clearly already had vengeance on his mind.

“I saw them all disappear, Nightwing, it is hardly my fault if the rest of you are incompetent! Black Bat agreed,” he added almost sullenly, and oh Spoiler could see the pout now.

And hear the faintest hint of smugness under the last declaration. Poor kid still had such a hard time accepting anyone believed in him.

Might have helped if he spent less time insisting that he was better than everyone else and they were all beneath him, but hey, League of Assassins training didn’t include humility.

Not for the heir to the Demon Head, anyway. Black Bat managed just fine.

And added in her two cents pretty much immediately, backing Robin up.

“Agreed. May not be strict teleportation, but Fenton has meta abilities of some kind. Shadows?” She asked, and the chat went silent for a moment, clearly waiting on Signal to weigh in.

His sigh was as resigned and tired as could be imagined.

“I’m not going to know until I get a look at him, guys, you know that. Might be cool if he does though, it’d be nice to have another meta on the team,” he added thoughtfully.

Robin tutted, but before he could voice his opinions of that Red Robin butted in again.

“Current circumstances may indicate that Fenton at least isn’t averse to conflict, but that doesn’t mean he’s on the right side. All that can wait for now, do you have an ETA, Signal?” He asked, clearly still typing away in the meantime.

Yeah, keeping the bats on task was a little like herding cats. They’d get the job done (and look good doing it), but keeping the comms cleared of banter was just never gonna happen.

“I’m outside, can’t see anyone at first glance. Want me to lock the place down?” Signal replied, and Spoiler sighed.

Bringing Signal in after dark always felt like cheating. Boy got OP in all of the shadows. Even if there might be someone else playing in them tonight.

Red Robin ignored her comment, still all business.

“Scan for Two Face or any of his crew first, go a block or two over. He may have been planning the initial attack. Can you cover up the damaged windows?

She could hear Signal sucking air through his teeth. A habit they’d all tried to break him of, if only for the truly ratty way it crackled over comms.

“I can up the lights inside, but not if I’m a block away. Priorities?”

“Scan first. Black Bat, Spoiler and Robin, when you’re done assist Signal. We have things handled in here.”

“And I’m recording it for you Spoiler, pinky promise,” Nightwing added gleefully, and she really wanted to kick him. “I left a camera high before joining the fun. Found Riddler yet Little Red?”

“Call me that again, Discowing.”

“Uh, that was a have you found the Riddler, Red Robin?”

“Not yet. It’ll go faster if you all shut up and do your jobs.” Red Robin still sounded actually annoyed rather than having fun, and Spoiler snickered.

“He’s worried his new best friend will be in danger,” she sang into comms, launching herself down a staircase and landing neatly with her knees planted on the shoulders of a running goon.

The burly woman toppled and Spoiler smacked her head off the floor for good measure, pulling out her zip ties.

“Civilians in danger is supposed to worry us, Spoiler,” Red Robin sniped back and she sighed again.

Yeah, okay, he had a bug in his ass. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone either. Riddler must have bought the good encryption today.

“Yessir Red Robin. Shutting up,” she agreed with a one finger salute he’d never see, then continued on.

Missing all the fun just because the boys didn’t want to share. Wasn’t that always the way?

Honestly, if it hadn’t been Killer Croc Jason might not have suggested going rogue. Riddler’s guys carried guns, and even without the man himself around any spray would probably catch a hostage.

But Croc was a good guy, as weird as that might seem to say about a rogue. He’d been dealt a crappy hand, and while he wouldn’t shy away from violence on his own account, he had a kind heart.

He’d helped Roy get clean, and curbed Jason’s own more destructive tendencies in the past. Croc kept almost but not quite getting out of the life.

And, as expected, even as the big guy hauled himself to his feet he roared at the tensed goons.

“You lot get the fuckin’ bats, I can handle a scrawny little shit!” Slitted eyes narrowed as he turned to find Danny, who grinned back.

“Y’know, you’d be real surprised how often I hear that,” Danny snarked, shaking out his shoulders.

Jason resisted the urge to laugh, backing carefully away from the pair and the Riddler goons not already disarmed by Nightwing.

He wasn’t allowed to get in on the action in civvies, but he could throw the world’s clumsiest punch if none of his siblings were looking.

He could hear them over his comms, hurriedly coordinating, but for now he zoned them out. Better to focus on Croc and Danny.

Croc chuckled softly at Danny’s remark, flexing his claws.

“And yer still here. Is that what I’m supposed to get from that?” He asked in a low, rumbling voice. Danny just shrugged cheerfully.

“Or that I’m a habitual problem on purpose who never learns his lesson. Either’s good, really.” Spreading his feet to shoulder width apart, he flexed his knees and raised both hands.

Killer Croc actually laughed at that, ignoring the Riddler goons now firing up towards the ceiling.

“Shoulda stayed down on the floor, kid. Nobody’s gotta get hurt today,” he growled, which Jason felt was frankly unfair.

“As the guy who was being led to a bomb vest, I’m good with an intervention,” he quipped, raising both hands innocently when Croc shot him a look. “Man exploding hurts, I dunno if you’ve tried it.”

Jason had. He was mostly okay joking about it.

From the sudden worried look Danny shot him, maybe that “mostly” showed through a little too much.

Right. Because Danny still didn’t know how he’d died. Hopefully still didn’t, anyway.

Before he could try and work out what to say, or to send or whatever, Croc lunged at Danny.

Jason expected him to dodge. Danny was built like a Robin, lean and slender, and from what Jason had seen so far almost always smaller than his opponents.

Definitely smaller than Killer Croc.

Danny didn’t dodge. Tensing in place, he met Croc’s charge dead on. And stopped it in its tracks, not even sliding back across the floor.

And yeah, Jason was gonna have to stop being surprised every time the future Ghost King flexed, he’d gotten there by kicking ass but this was the first time Jason had seen him fight.

He was gonna enjoy it.

Croc looked just as stunned as Jason, both wrists caught in Danny’s hands as the kid grinned up at him.

“Blowing up definitely sucks, 0/10 don’t recommend,” he agreed with a smirk, shifted his grip, and tossed Killer Croc across the floor.

The large meta threw himself back to his feet, an almost growling chuckle breaking free.

“You’ve got some moves, kid, I’ll give yer that,” he rumbled, closing the distance a little more carefully, now wary of Danny’s hands.

Jason was dimly aware of Dick kick flipping his way around in the background. There was already a lot less gunfire. And while he’d usually be kibitzing, there was a new show on today.

Killer Croc vs Danger Twink, ten rounds no waiting.

The gala hall descended into madness faster than Bruce could ever have anticipated. If he’d been concerned when Jason had been singled out, it was only worse when the bomb vest appeared.

Jason would likely have been fine; none of the bats would let him get seriously injured and hells, Jason could have disabled the vest himself.

Bruce could see the wiring from his spot on the floor, apparently completely forgotten by all as Croc faced off against that scrungly fucking kid.

Danny Fenton, whoever he was, was reckless, dangerous, and clearly didn’t care what happened to those around him.

Danny Fenton wouldn’t let Jason be trapped in a bomb vest. Would put his own life on the line to prevent that if necessary, wrestling with a gigantic cannibalistic meta.

Danny Fenton was almost certainly a meta himself. Even Batman couldn’t throw Killer Croc around like that.

It was hard for Bruce to maintain his usual analytical detachment, watching as Killer Croc took a wide swipe. Danny ducked away, still grinning, bright as anything.

It was always hard when something involved Jason. The presence of a new meta on complicated things further.

Bruce wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, though part of him wanted more than anything to at least push his comms back in and check in with the children.

Nightwing was present and had already disarmed a good chunk of the goons, which meant there had to be more outside. They wouldn’t send him in alone if there was another choice.

Croc’s order had at least kept the gunfire high will Nightwing fucked around on the pillars. As usual he was having far too much fun for the severity of the situation, but Bruce couldn’t fault him that.

There were far too many surly protectors of the night, and he’d do what he could to keep Dick from ever being one of them.

Not least because there were only so many good brooding gargoyles around.

The man was still an effective crime fighter, and Bruce always appreciated the chance to watch him work. It was the only good thing about being stuck in civilian wear.

Jason would usually agree, he was the only one who hated being out of the fight even more than Bruce or even Damian, yet… if Bruce dragged his attention away from Killer Croc, his boy looked almost happy.

Deeply entertained, cheering Danny on from the sidelines. At least he was keeping out of the fight himself.

Right up until two more of the Riddler’s goons advanced on him, directed by Tablet Goon.

“Fools! Just bring the boy here, let Croccy deal with that pest! And take down that bird!”

Bruce tensed, wishing there was something more direct he could do. Red Robin and Oracle would both be hard at work cracking the tablet, and he’d never out pace them.

Still, there had to be something. Nightwing alone clearly wasn’t enough to scare Riddler off, so whatever plans they’d had were still a danger.

Jason didn’t even seem to notice the burly couple now advancing on him as he watched the fight, which was unusually careless.

Danny must be a worse influence than Bruce had thought. Or was it intentional? Blunting Jason’s sharp senses and telling him it dulled the pit?

Nightmare scenarios built themselves through Bruce’s head, even more as the large woman grabbed Jason by the shoulder. He visibly startled and tried to pull away, swinging a punch of his own.

Clumsy. Apparently untrained. Good. There was a chance his surprise was also an act, and Bruce almost felt bad for his suspicions.

But no, he knew Jason better than anyone. He could tell when Jason was or wasn’t faking. He was just still quick on his feet, clever as always.

Unfortunately there were too many goons for Nightwing to be of much help to his brother. He was keeping the guns high, striking with his batarangs to knock weapons from their owners’ hands.

He couldn’t get free to get to Jason.

And Jason couldn’t fight to the best of his abilities, even if he had already given both goons a bloody nose each. He landed a couple more hits before a third goon hurried over, catching him from behind.

Part of Bruce regretted telling Jason to stay visible. If he’d known he was going to be targeted… but no, the other guests would surely have noticed if he disappeared.

There was something almost like panic on Jason’s face as he was lifted, but no, that would be part of the act. Red Hood could take twice as many in under a minute.

Maybe excitement? Maybe upset that he wouldn’t be able to see the rest of the fight? Or that he couldn’t intervene when Danny needed him?

Danny was still fighting with Killer Croc too, utterly oblivious that the one he was trying to protect was being dragged away.

Untrained. With some experience, certainly, but no formal schooling to raise his situational awareness.

Bruce added it to his notes on the young man. There was a chance Danny had a little vigilante experience, in sleepy Amity Park.

Probably nothing more than some human muggers or gangsters. Nothing that would have prepared him for someone like Killer Croc.

It was almost a shame, really, the kid was quippy enough to be a Robin, bantering with Croc between grabs and punches. Light on his feet too, darting in to strike himself between blows.

Perhaps he’d befriend Dick as well. Or Tim. Either may be able to help him away from whatever bad habits he’d fallen into.

At the very least, keep him from dragging Jason down after him. His boys might be a good influence on the young meta. Would he be too old to talk to Duke?

And unfortunately his lack of experience was beginning to tell too, Bruce’s breath catching as Croc finally got a hand around the boy’s throat.

Danny was lifted from the ground, then slammed bodily into the floor. A startled squeak punched out of him, making him sound painfully young and something in Bruce lurched.

No matter what else he was, what kind of trouble he got into, that boy was the same age as his sons. Had jumped into a fight he couldn’t expect to win for his son.

They need to do something.

Danny barely even registered Jason’s message when it brushed across him, the tension of that ready-ready-ready sparking a moment of actual fear.

Barely there, gone in a second, but it slammed back into something Jason had said earlier on and Danny knew he had to go.

Before they got far enough he couldn’t reach. Before they could put Jason, the kid who blew up, in a fucking bomb vest.

Because that was what happened to the second Robin, wasn’t it? No one knew for sure, but the Joker liked to crow about it when he was particularly riled up.

Even if Danny hadn’t believed it before, the second he felt Jason’s heart stop seeing the vest gave it credence.

And yeah, Danny was just not gonna think about how quickly he’d gone back to business as usual, especially not to be jealous? Cuz nothing good that way lay.

Fucking Gotham. If Jason had lived pretty much anywhere else, getting out of the game woulda gotten him far enough from explosives to not need to face that trigger.

It cast a shadow over what was supposed to be just some fun, a fight in his human form for a change. Just a chance to rattle the batkids and get his ass hauled up to the stage beside Jason.

Because that? That was serious. That wasn’t happening.

Nobody was going to shove his Knight’s death in his face on Danny’s watch. No matter how much Jason’s aura had settled, a constant brush of gleeful-excited-kick his ass.

It didn’t erase the memory of that one heartbeat of dread that froze Danny’s core.

Although since he could kinda see Nightwing bouncing around from the corner of his eye, that wasn’t likely to be a Danny-only problem.

Maybe he could play Match The Wayne To The Bat once that damn vest was out of play.

He was almost having fun again, enjoying the experience of getting into a fight as a human, of not having a secret identity to protect.

No one in fucking Gotham cared about some ghost hero from Amity Park, not even if they were about to look him up. They had his name, his damn parents would tell them the rest.

It was nice to see just what his human body could do, rolling away from claw strikes and hitting back against tough scales.

And then he heard Jason swear. Felt the tug and sudden emptiness as he was pulled away between them.

Attention suddenly divided, he didn’t realise Croc’s hand was on his neck until he’d already hit the floor.

Jason didn’t consciously will the gun to his hand. It never quite got to the mental act of wanting it to appear.

He just heard his king make a noise of pain and his struggling hand closed around a pistol grip that wasn’t quite real. Not yet.

A startled glance showed nothing there, but he could feel the sense of the gun, just waiting for that final act of want.

It was an effort of will to resist, especially as he was being wrestled up to the stage.

Which had been part of the plan. Get close enough to provide backup for Bruce, see if he could knock the tablet somewhere Dick could get it, whatever.

He wasn’t actually struggling, and probably wouldn’t until they actually tried to put the vest on him. That, yeah, he was gonna pass on, but if he got close enough he could disarm it.

He did manage to wrench around enough to see Croc scrape Danny back out of a now cracked section of floor.

Knew he wasn’t controlling the sudden flare of rage-concern-protect-protect-How Dare He, because every ounce of his self control went to not closing his hand around the gun.

He’d left it at home, extremely deliberately. Under lock and key in his own gun safe, in his own safe house, before even going to the manor.

Fun new things to learn about being a halfa, adding this one to the list. Nobody said anything about the damn gun being able to teleport.

(Not that he was complaining. It was damn convenient, and a decent substitute for the All Blades. Hopefully having two weird magic pact weapons wasn’t gonna cause interference.)

Not summoning it got even harder when Danny reached back, brushing safe-fine-worry-now what even as Croc began dragging him after them, towards the front.

Jason hesitated for a heartbeat, not sure how to answer. Not even sure what his options to answer were, or how complicated he could make it.

So far it had mostly been emotions, intent, and there were limits to what you could really say without words. It was great for clarifying and expanding a message, but to plan?

Yeah, limited was the generous way to put it.

Why was Danny worried now? This was part of the plan, getting them up to the front.

Danny didn’t… feel hurt? Even as he rag-dolled in Croc’s grip, there wasn’t a trace of pain or even discomfort, and maybe Danny could hide that but Clockwork said he’d always know.

It was kinda his job. So what the fuck was Jason missing?

Scanning the room, his confusion only grew. Nightwing was making his way through the goons with batarangs and bolas, and most of them hadn’t switched to “help our fallen comrades” yet.

Bruce was still on the floor, completely forgotten. The rest of the hostages were fine, also on the floor, mostly quiet. No meat shields in sight yet.

His confusion must have spread across, because he felt Danny’s swell to match it, and then another gentle brush.

Death-protect-won’t hurt you

Jason tensed again, wondering where the fuck Danny thought the Joker was, and then remembering… Danny didn’t know. They’d never talked about how he’d died.

Specifically avoided it, actually. So what…

All on its own, his gaze landed on the bomb vest. Now discarded on the floor, the goons who’d been carrying it being harried by Nightwing and scolded all around by Riddler’s tablet, also on the floor.

Had. Had Danny felt that moment of fear? Recognised what it was?

Fucking Jason had barely even felt it, had made his usual jokes about it that made his family groan. It was practically routine.

Was Danny the only person in his life who wasn’t used to him coming face to face with his death?

Something grew painfully tight in Jason’s chest at the thought, but he soothed it down. Hell, if Danny had felt him wobble, that wouldn’t fuckin’ help.

He was fine. This was all going according to plan, though if Dickie had his say they might not even get through the whole plan.

Jason did his part, struggling just enough to keep all three of his goons engaged with dragging him to the front. Croc was also beginning to look annoyed, gesturing with Danny like he was a stuffed toy.

“What, yer boys can’t even handle one little bird, Eddie?!” He roared, leaping forwards to land heavily on the stage.

Jason’s awareness of Danny spiked, and he did his best to project wait-wait-safe-I’m fine. Wasn’t sure how to communicate “we can keep the same plan”.

Danny looked around again, eyes meeting his for just a moment, and Jason tipped him a wink between dramatic grimacing. Maybe flexed his arms just a little more than necessary.

Keep the show going.

Even left behind, he felt Danny’s aura soothe. Felt it wrap around him almost like a giant hand, like he was something fragile and soft.

Reassurance-trust-safe

Well, it was a start, but Jason would prefer Danny was having fun. That had been the whole damn point of getting involved.

It was a little tricky to work out how to share the feelings without changing his expression, but he settled for head butting the woman holding his left arm.

It gave him a moment where he could let the grin slip, a fierce satisfaction meeting the spray of blood.

Confident-happy-fun

Even if they got the bomb vest onto him, Riddler was easy. He had a pattern, a method he refused to deviate from, and while he was one of the more cerebral rogues?

He just wasn’t ready for the Red Hood brute force technique. There’d be clues in the vest, some complicated puzzle, but every puzzle had a cheat code.

Now the game was who finished the fight first, them or Nightwing.

Croc stomped up onto the stage, bending to scoop up the bomb vest with the hand not holding Danny by the neck.

Just gonna leave Riddler’s tablet yelling and swearing camera down on the floor.

Vibes. Danny might be new to town, but Riddler just wasn’t growing on him. Maybe it was all the armed goons.

Maybe it was just because he hadn’t even bothered to show up. Like, give a guy something to work with. At least Killer Croc got his own hands dirty.

Inspiration struck and Danny, reassured by Jason’s continuing cheerfulness, casually let his legs flop forward to tangle around Croc’s as he turned to rise.

The big guy didn’t fully trip, but he stumbled forward enough that Danny could use a quick moment of telekinesis to tug the bomb vest from his hand, sending it skidding across the floor towards Bruce Wayne.

If the guy was Batman, that’d be that problem pretty neatly solved. It should even look like Croc threw it by accident to any outsiders.

As if to sell the idea, Croc roared in frustration again, ripping Danny up and away from him and holding him at arm’s length.

“You are beginning to wear on my patience, kid,” he growled, eyes narrowed. Danny gave his best innocent grin back, clutching at the hand at his throat.

It hadn’t actually been cutting off his oxygen until now. Not that he needed it, it was just worth noting.

Remembering to struggle for air was the key.

“Aww and here I thought we were bringing the house down,” he teased, his voice coming out a little choked. Always helpful.

And being all the way up gave him a great vantage point to check on the rest of the room.

About half of the goons were down now, either twisted up or unconscious, and the rest were getting smarter. Or maybe the dumber ones had just gone down first.

They were hiding behind pillars and tables now, not out in the open where Nightwing could get them without coming down.

And coming down would put the civilians in the line of fire.

None of the civilians were making a break for it either, just sat in their groups on the floor not making a peep. Danny might think they were too scared to move if he hadn’t been in one of the groups.

As far as they were concerned, the outcome was pretty much guaranteed.

It was really, really fucking weird. But then, so was willingly living in this city and coming to these events, which were routinely attacked by costumed weirdos, so.

Croc interrupted his thoughts by grunting and tossing him aside, then stomping towards Bruce and the vest. Skidding on his back, Danny took advantage to snag the Riddler’s tablet as he passed.

Sure, he had no idea which of the bats would be trying to hack it or how they’d be doing it, but he knew what Tuck would want. The tablet itself if possible, VPNs turned off and wifi set to open if not.

He also turned the volume off before flipping it over and covering the camera. As much fun as giving a wave would be, Danny had Opinions about people who brought bomb vests to parties.

Opinions that had only gotten significantly stronger now that he had a suspicion of how Jason had died.

Yeah. They were gonna talk. Before they got to the halfa training if possible, because… yeah. If Jason hadn’t seen his ghost form yet, that was gonna suck.

Maybe he should have Jazz on standby.

Tucking himself more firmly into his nook in the ceiling, Red Robin swore into the comms as bullets clipped past about a foot away.

“Fuck’s sake Nightwing, could you not swing by while you’re taking fire?” He grumbled, most of his attention still fixed on his wrist computer.

He had the stream, was almost through to Riddler’s actual location, if he could just…

He completely missed Nightwing’s reply as his computer beeped, letting him know that the tablet’s VPN had just shut down.

He had everything. Full access to all files, location tracking data for the last month, even the search history.

Everything he’d have been scraping for evidence when the dust settled and he got the device itself in hand, just… laid bare. It almost felt like cheating.

Sticking his head out far enough to get a visual, he searched desperately for the tablet. It had been up on the stage, but Riddler’s background ranting was suddenly gone…

Red Robin’s jaw dropped. Slowly rose again as he swallowed, reaching up to tap his comms.

“Danger Twink has the tablet.”

The connection fell dead silent, the entire group quieting even in their own independent fights.

Shaking himself, Red Robin closed his wrist computer. They weren’t done just yet.

“Nightwing, I’m now free to join the party. See if you can’t get the kid away from those goons while I round up some stragglers. Spoiler, Black Bat, report?”

In a hallway closer to the kitchens, Spoiler rolled her eyes and rolled off the last goon, tugging out another set of zip ties.

Black Bat was already up and scanning the area, but there were no more sounds of running feet.

“Wrapping up here. Ten presents for the fuzz all tied with a bow. Want us to come and join you?” She asked hopefully.

Of course she was still missing the good stuff. Jason’s new boyfriend was fucking great, they’d have to restrain Bruce from pulling out the bat-doption papers before the end of the night.

Given half a chance the kid would probably pull on a suit of spandex and join them with his sense of self preservation… or lack thereof.

If he could learn to be discrete in public.

Red Robin, of course, crushed all her hopes to dust.

“Hold on that. Robin, report?”

Robin tutted, ducking under a kick and darting in, catching the bulky man off balance and taking him to the floor. Half a dozen quick strikes landed before they hit and the teen rolled away.

His opponent didn’t get up. Not that he had time to savour the victory before he had to roll away again, now dodging a hail of bullets.

“I’ll be done before they can reach me. Seven down, five to go and all progress on the machine is halted. I believe they intended to connect it to the power grid, those cables are now severed.”

The easiest way to make sure whatever the thing was remained inert. He wouldn’t have a chance to examine past the smooth silver casing until these fools accepted the inevitable and went down.

Knowing Riddler, at least one side would contain a touch screen with some insipid riddle that a dedicated toddler could solve.

Pass. If the man wanted a battle of wits with the bats, he would need to arm himself first.

And teach his men not to shoot at his own machines.

Taking cover briefly behind the case, Robin took a moment to assess the room. The remaining goons had all taken cover, and spread out too.

Inconvenient.

Almost worse than Red Robin’s patronising tones.

“Start the clock then Robin. Spoiler, see if you can’t prove him wrong. Signal?”

Signal sighed, rolling out his shoulders and flexing his shadows. They called him out of bed, then left him running around outside while they had all the fun.

“Area’s clear. If Two Face was planning something he’s scrapped it now. I found some skid marks but no clear tire prints.”

He dropped a pin on the location anyway; he or Oracle could check traffic cameras for the area later. Right now Bluebird was putting Oracle through her paces with a major chase across the city.

One day he’d kind of like to do a car chase. Changing the traffic lights, skidding round corners, running the bad guys down. That’d be cool.

He brightened up suddenly, remembering the agenda for tonight.

“Hey, want me to come in and get your civvies to safety RR?” If Nightwing was busy with goons…

“Not needed bud, sorry!” Nightwing called happily, dropping down from a pillar in front of the last gunman standing and kicking his gun away, jabbing Manson’s taser into his chest.

The guy jolted in a very satisfying way, interesting sparks sizzling across his skin. His escrima sticks wouldn’t do that.

And he finally got close enough to use it. With all the goons focused on him, it had been easy for Red Robin to take them by surprise.

A set of batarangs from behind, a couple bolas, and the only guns around were on the floor.

Which meant that all they had to worry about now was the three goons wrestling Jason, and Killer Croc himself.

Nightwing was kinda hoping he’d get the chance to take care of Croc. Their normal tasers didn’t work as well on his scaled skin, but they eventually got the point across.

This thing? Maybe he’d need to borrow it.

As Dick. Better make sure Manson didn’t see him using it in costume.

Which also meant not using it on Croc. Sighing to himself, Nightwing stuffed it back into a belt pouch and turned to survey the room.

At least all their remaining bad guys were now clumped together, up at the stage. Two of the goons were bleeding now, one from a broken nose and the other…

Fuck, did Jason bite a guy? Maybe he should have been watching that side of the action.

Any musing quickly shut itself down as Croc surveyed the room, bomb vest in one hand and Bruce Wayne in the other.

By the front of his shirt, not his neck, but then Bruce wouldn’t have put up a fight. Nightwing’s gaze immediately darted around, searching for the danger twink.

He’d focused on taking down the goons on the way to the kid because the opportunity arose, but he had this feeling that Danny Fenton was someone you always wanted an eye on.

“Fuckin’ useless,” Croc growled, scanning the room quickly and shaking his head. He might as well have come alone.

The last three of Riddler’s goons, still all needed to keep a struggling Jason restrained, were growing increasingly nervous.

The gunfire should have drawn the others in. At the very least someone should have called. And now they’d lost contact with Riddler too.

Danny was quite enjoying their confusion, the tablet now safely tucked in under his shirt. Whatever opinions Riddler might have about his bellybutton were his alone.

An eerie silence fell now that the gunfire had stopped, the hall that had once been buzzing with conversation now holding its breath.

Nightwing and Red Robin were both there, moving slowly, cautiously towards the stage. Having seen the Wayne family’s heights, Danny was gonna start playing guess the bat.

Red Robin? Had to be Tim. Too tall for Damian, too short for Dick, and coincidentally Nightwing was a good bit taller than Red Robin too.

The dominos made the faces harder to recognise but the way they exchanged a glance, still wary of approaching too closely? That was very familiar.

Danny just hoped that Bruce had managed to do something with the damn vest in those few seconds while he’d distracted Killer Croc.

It was now waaaay too close to Jason for Danny’s liking, even if the odds of getting it actually on him were pretty near zero. Not unless Croc dropped Bruce anyway.

He really didn’t wanna have to ectoblast anyone. That’d be a real awkward conversation, and even Jason didn’t know the extent of his powers yet. He deserved the chance to find out first.

Croc seemed to have come to the same conclusion about the vest though, because he held up his hostage in one hand and brought the vest closer to Bruce instead.

“Right, you two back off or the lot of us go up, alright?” He growled, visibly annoyed by the turn of events.

Danny had to guess he’d expected they’d have a little longer before a full bat attack. Hell, maybe the bats usually waited until setup finished.

There was no way to be sure. There was just so much cat and mouse in Gotham, so much emphasis on plans and backups and understanding.

Danny simply could not. He would just die (again) if he had to sit around and wait to see what his rogues were doing before they struck.

Luckily, they seemed to feel the same, because usually they barrelled out of the portal and made a beeline for him, their goal, or both. There might be plotting in the zone, but that was never Danny’s problem.

Fucking Vlad was the notable exception, and Danny was delighted to see that the man was visibly fuming. Arms folded, scowly pout, like he’d just had his own plot foiled.

Whether because Danny very pointedly had not rescued him or the bats had shown up, Danny neither knew nor cared. It did wonders for his mood.

That and the ongoing warmth from Jason, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. Danny picked out a momentary regret that they hadn’t had time for Sam to get herself “captured” for the bit.

There was still time.

Nightwing and Red Robin had stopped in their advance, apparently to reason with Croc. Apparently his scales were not actually explosion proof, which made his last bid for control a little desperate.

Danny wasn’t actually listening, looking around hurriedly til he caught Sam’s eye. As a liminal she couldn’t quite hit the same intricacies of empathic messaging, but it didn’t matter.

They’d known each other long enough, through enough, that all it took was a look. A suggestive waggle of his brows.

Sam grinned back, hand diving into her hidden pockets again. She had something fun. Now all they needed was a distraction.

Or just an opportunity.

Quietly, innocuously, he scooched himself around behind Croc and readied to spring.

Vlad was aware that it was beneath his dignity to sulk. However, he was currently in the ass end of New Jersey, at a shoddy gala with people who were perfectly happy with armed criminals, but not an ill timed comment.

If they wished to shun him like school children, he would allow himself a brief sulk. Even in their little group on the floor, they had contrived to separate themselves from him.

All the better.

These reprehensible fools had apparently attacked the gala without any sort of plan, provided no challenge to a pair of almost-children in masks, and achieved nothing.

Daniel hadn’t even bothered changing to deal with the big one. Just jumped on him like some sort of animal.

The fact that it had worked only made matters worse.

It wasn’t that Vlad wanted to be the blushing heroine of a trashy novel. He hadn’t intended to fall into Daniel’s arms, or anything of the sort.

Even if Daniel was an adult now, Vlad thought of him as a son. And perhaps that was all he’d hoped for… recognition of the bond between them.

It was perfectly fair that Daniel had suspected his involvement, no matter how long it had been since Vlad had inconvenienced him with a harebrained scheme. He was well aware he’d earned his reputation.

But it would have been nice if the boy had cared. Had been even remotely concerned once he knew Vlad was innocent.

But no. The second he knew Vlad wasn’t involved, it was like he didn’t exist. Just left him to the mercies of the goons and these bats.

Vlad might be reasonably bullet proof but that didn’t mean his feelings were.

If Bruce Wayne got himself killed he would raze this city to the ground.

All of the bats had tensed when Killer Croc’s demands came over the comms. Red Robin flicked open a secondary channel for them, a single murmured message coming through.

“Backup in the dining hall. Croc has Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, and a bomb.”

Even the usual flow of argument and commentary was put on hold.

The remaining goons had been restrained. With Red Robin’s intel, Batwoman was on her way to where Riddler had been broadcasting from.

Whether he’d still be there or have cut his losses, no one knew. The video call was still open but not doing much.

“We didn’t even get a riddle,” Spoiler grumbled, and Black Bat half smiled behind her mask.

She was back above the dining room, creeping through towards the chandelier’s maintenance hatch. Spoiler had left it open behind her, and it was a simple matter to find herself an overhead perch without being spotted.

Nightwing was mainlining the negotiation, his comms still open for the rest of the bats to hear how talking Killer Croc down was going.

Spoiler alert (a phrase she’d heard from Tim and would be keeping forever): not well. Croc might not be bomb proof, but he also knew they weren’t going to risk the explosion.

What they needed was an opportunity. Something to distract him enough that one of them could get close enough to strike.

While Croc held the cards, the three goons still struggling to restrain Jason were looking into the shadows erratically enough to make it hard for her to get close.

They didn’t seem to like the vest being waved around either, but they probably weren’t going to break ranks. More’s the pity.

But Jason wouldn’t be able to act directly anyway. Although… Danny had already tackled Croc once.

Her gaze darted around, looking for where the kid had gone now. Croc had tossed him, and… and he was coming back for more.

Yeah, she liked him. And he was significantly closer to Croc than the rest of them could get, while being mostly overlooked.

She had to guess he wasn’t an active vigilante anymore, or he didn’t worry about a secret identity. Vlad looked more sullen than surprised by what had happened, so she’d guess he already knew.

And if Danny’s evil billionaire knew who he was that could explain his complete lack of caution. Something to ask about later, anyway. For now she tapped her comm.

“Above. Danger Twink is in position behind.”

Neither Nightwing nor Red Robin could respond verbally, not with Killer Croc’s attention wholly focused on them, but she could see Nightwing’s lips twitch. He inclined his head slightly, hand folding and flexing into a brief ‘yes’.

Confirmed. He had noticed Danny creeping up as well.

“Distraction?” She asked softly, shifting about on her perch. She couldn’t get down any lower without giving herself away. They would have too much time to react from this height.

She could swing down in a blaze of glory and give someone else a chance to strike.

Before either of her older brothers could respond, Signal tapped in and she saw an unnatural flicker of shadows at a window. Left of Killer Croc’s position, from Nightwing and Red Robin’s perspective.

“Uh… guys, I’m in position outside the window, but something’s fucked. Robin, you sure that machine didn’t activate?” He sounded tense, and Black Bat tensed along with him.

Had they all missed something? Or were they inside the machine’s effects?

Robin only sounded annoyed though, a dull thudding accompanying his voice.

“I am currently sat on the machine while Spoiler restrains the last fool. It has no power, is producing no detectable energy or wave, and the screen is blank.”

He’d probably kicked it to make the noise.

Black Bat’s brows furrowed. Too many questions. And not only hers; for once Spoiler was all business, even if her voice was a little strained.

“Describe what you’re seeing, Signal. We know there’s one potential villain in the building beyond our rogues, and Two Face may have left an early surprise.”

Signal still sounded worried, and she couldn’t quite make out where he’d gone. Not good.

“That’s actually kinda the problem… I didn’t notice til I came to the window, but I can’t see a thing inside. It’s just blinding light like I’m staring into the sun, and I can’t do a thing with it. Lemme try something else…”

The shadows just inside the windows began to shift and Black Bat hissed, tapping her comm again. It was nothing the others should notice yet, but Croc might catch it from the corner of his eye.

“Signal, stop. Shadows moving, Croc directly ahead, may see.”

The shadows stilled at once, Signal’s sigh of relief a little odd in contrast, but she figured she understood. At least his abilities still worked inside the hall.

But what would be blocking his vision?

“Could this be a Signal-specific countermeasure?” Spoiler asked tensely. It sounded like she was on the move again. Probably Robin too.

“Or it is Fenton,” Robin put in darkly, confirming Black Bat’s suspicions a second later, “we are on our way.”

“Fenton?” Signal asked, sounding confused. “How would he be blocking me?”

“We do not know the extent of his meta abilities,” Robin explained tersely.

Spoiler’s eyeroll was easily audible. She had a gift that way, and usually it made Black Bat smile. Today, she was worried.

“First you thought he teleported, then we hear super strength, now light fuckery? What’s next? Laser eyes and flight? He’s not Kryptonian.”

“Probably,” Black Bat added, lips quirking just a little at her own joke. Spoiler at least chuckled, shaking her head.

“Look, what we need to decide is if we’re letting him take another run at Killer Croc before he takes the question out of our hands. Does anyone else have a way to get the bomb off him?”

A resounding silence answered, even Nightwing and Red Robin hesitating their negotiations. Croc was, if nothing else, stubborn.

He only wanted Harvey Dent. Not even a way out. Not that they’d have let him go, of course. Something had brought him back to town and they had to know what.

“Right.” Spoiler sounded firm now, and Black Bat settled. The easiest way to solve the mystery of Danny’s powers would be to ask him.

Privately.

Not tonight. All else being equal, Black Bat still thought he wasn’t a threat. He was a good kid, tough if he’d already gone a round with Killer Croc and wanted another.

Frowning down, she cocked her head slightly. Her perch was as close to above Croc as it could be, and she couldn’t quite see where Danny was looking.

“He is waiting for something. He needs a distraction,” she concluded, frowning down at tensely set muscles. Coiled to spring, just like her.

If the others were surprised she’d pulled full sentences out, it didn’t show. She could hear the smile in Spoiler’s voice.

“Then let’s give him one. Bat, Signal, bring the noise. Red, Nightwing, you’re on Danger Twink watch. Get in and get him out ASAP. Croc won’t go down easy, but we should be in to assist in five.”

“Tt. Three,” Robin corrected derisively and Spoiler snickered. Minor bickering aside, they switched easily as a unit from Red Robin’s command to hers.

It felt good to be a part of something. Something strong, but also something close.

“Black Bat, when you’re ready, count it down. Time to put that window practice into action, Signal,” Spoiler declared, and Black Bat sent two quick taps back.

An affirmative. One last scan of the hall, checking for anything else she might have missed, and she noticed that Sam was also tensed.

Further back than both Nightwing and Red Robin, she was far enough from the action to be safe. But what was she waiting for?

Probably the inevitable. It was that kind of night.

They’d had the “on three or three and then go” argument about a hundred times by now, and from Cass’s experience they’d had it every single time someone new joined the family.

Signal had had his, and currently they were settled on “on three”, so she shifted into a readied position and began the quiet count.

“One. Two. Three.” And she dropped.

Glass shattered. A third bat dropped from the ceiling, a descending mass of black as the bright yellow form of Signal burst into the room.

Croc roared at both, grip tightening on the bomb vest.

Samantha Manson rose like an avenging angel, leapt from the middle of her group, and threw a large and heavy thermos directly at…

Well. She might have been throwing it at Killer Croc. But she definitely hit Bruce Wayne square in the head as the big guy pulled him in.

The thermos clunked off his skull, pinwheeling away and for a heartbeat Nightwing was a little disappointed. And then it landed perfectly in a familiar hand and Danny whacked Killer Croc upside the head with it.

He didn’t have the same momentum as his first leap, didn’t take the guy all the way to the ground with him, but he put everything he had into that strike.

And landed like a koala, clinging to his shoulders, which definitely also helped as Killer Croc stumbled forwards, his grip weakening.

Bruce fell away and Nightwing spent a moment feeling kinda bad for the guy. That thermos must have been solidly built, there wasn’t a dent on it as Danny gave Killer Croc another resounding smack.

Nightwing and Red Robin were already moving in even as shadows sprang up around the three goons holding Jason. They went down together, Jason struggling free.

His eyes snapped to Nightwing’s, past him, and then suddenly he was charging. For half a second Dick held his breath.

No green in his eyes. It was just Jason.

And then he was past and Nightwing swore, spinning as Black Bat and Red Robin joined the fight with Killer Croc.

Jason had seen something, and might need backup.

The urge to laugh very nearly had him breaking character. But these were civilians; he had to pretend to be concerned.

Sam had fucking landed on one of Riddler’s goons. Not one of the ones he’d tied down already, and an almost unconscious hand had grabbed her ankle. Probably just a reflex.

It was probably the irritation at being benched that had Jason stamping firmly down on that wrist as he snatched Sam into the air. The hand nearly fell away on its own.

The long folds of her dress draped around him, covering him in purple bows as well, and the crowd audibly gasped.

Nightwing took a quick glance back at the Croc fight. Signal had Jason’s three former goons covered, and Black Bat and Red Robin had joined Danny with Killer Croc.

Red Robin was trying to coax Danny back out of the fight to give Black Bat a little more freedom to move, but the kid looked like he was having fun.

The heavy hits and numbers were beginning to tell on Croc too, along with the loss of his leverage. He was slowing, his swipes less aggressive and while his teeth were bared, he wasn’t biting.

It wouldn’t be long til he gave it up. It’d be hard enough to get away with only two bats on his tail, if Spoiler and Robin arrived he wouldn’t have a chance.

Whether he knew they were there or not, he was clearly considering it, head beginning to tick towards the window.

Nightwing took it all in in a split second, and headed after Jason.

“Going for the civilians, you guys good if I start on wrap up?” He called, skidding to a stop on his knees and cuffing the softly whimpering goon.

Red Robin gave him a stream of invective that probably meant “no you fuck get back here”, but Killer Croc caught him just below the gut and tossed him backwards.

Putting a hand on Jason’s shoulder, Nightwing turned him quickly and pushed him towards the wall.

“Stay away from the downed bodies and take cover,” he ordered and Jason’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded.

Yeah, he’d hear about that later. Worth it.

And it meant Jason got to princess carry a conspicuously unprotesting Sam, which could only be a good thing.

Turning back to the fight, Nightwing rolled his shoulders and grinned. Looked like Croc was still giving them the runaround. And Danny was still in the thick of things. Still on Croc’s shoulders.

Signal had finished gift wrapping his thugs and seemed torn between trying to help and keeping out of range. Maybe he was still having trouble seeing.

“So, do you guys need me over there? Cuz I saw a table of champagne glasses in the other room that weren’t tipped over and I could use a drink,” Nightwing teased, watching Signal’s lips tug into a reluctant grin.

Red Robin managed to flip him off, ducking under another strike.

“If you’re on fucking civilian duty come and get this fucking civilian,” he yelled, not even bothering with the comms anymore.

“Hey, I’m fine!” Danny protested loudly, hooking a foot into Croc’s elbow to pull a swing short, making the big guy swear loudly.

“Yer all fuckin’ annoying,” Croc growled, making another reach back with his other arm to try and dislodge Danny. Who ducked down, but didn’t lose his grip.

Black Bat took advantage of the opening to close in low, striking several pressure points across Killer Croc’s chest and forcing him to take a step back.

Behind Nightwing, the doors burst open to admit Spoiler and Robin. Croc hesitated again, then sighed and sat heavily on the ground.

“You’ll have fuckin’ scared him off now,” he grumbled as Red Robin and Black Bat shifted warily to flank him.

Pretty sure Two Face woulda been scared off before the broken windows, Nightwing sauntered casually over and helped Danny off Croc’s shoulders.

“Civilian acquired,” he told Red Robin cheerfully, grinning wider as the younger vigilante groaned.

Danny grinned back up at him, looking around.

“Thanks for the assist, Nightwing, I don’t know what we’d ever have done without you,” he cooed, and Black Bat snickered.

Robin and Spoiler were making their way through the felled goons, tying up any that had just been knocked out and beginning to drag them to a pile in front of the stage.

The remaining hostages, guests and staff combined were getting to their feet now, beginning to chatter amongst themselves again.

Spoiler made it a point to collect the pillowcases of valuables, lest someone try and reclaim something that didn’t belong to them.

It was almost routine at this point and Nightwing felt his shoulders settling as a gentle buzz of conversation filled the room once more. Beside him, Danny stretched.

“Anyway, did anyone see where my date went?” He asked brightly, looking around the hall.

A light went on in Nightwing’s head. This… would be essentially the perfect moment for closet time.

Glancing around, he caught sight of Jason and Sam, about where he’d left them. He pointed Danny their way and gave him a gentle nudge.

“Back in the corner there. She looks fine,” he added innocently, aware of the not so subtle eavesdroppers to their conversation.

Danny grinned up at him and headed off in that direction with a cheerful wave.

“Better check anyway. You never know.”

“Hey, wait!” Spoiler called, jogging up to join them with a frown on her face, “You should get checked for injuries!”

Danny sped up if anything, waving to her too.

“Nah I’m fine, not a scratch!” Which might well be a fucking lie, but Nightwing was willing to let that wait for now, tucking Spoiler in close.

“Pretty sure Jason’s about to give him a pretty thorough once over in a closet,” he whispered, and was a little surprised when she just rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, and he’s not supposed to know we know that,” she whispered back but let it drop.

Unable to argue with the indisputable truth of that, Nightwing shrugged and turned back towards Signal.

“At least a couple of us should be out of uniform anyway, so we aren’t missed,” he subvocalised over comms. He got three taps back, and saw Black Bat melt away.

Fuck.

“Tell Sam I found you,” he added in a hiss, keeping the smile on his face. He didn’t need to test out the big taser personally.

Another tap and he was at Signal’s side, announcing himself with a gentle hand on the younger vigilante’s shoulder. He still seemed a little disoriented.

“You okay kid?” He asked quietly, frowning as Signal shook himself. Maybe it was for the best that he hadn’t been directly tangling with a rogue.

He gave Nightwing a slightly sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m just still kinda seeing stars… it got a little better now that I’m inside, but it still feels like someone turned the brightness up on my eyeballs.”

Nightwing made a face, giving him a careful pat on the back. That did not sound fun.

“Do you have any better idea what’s causing it?” He asked hopefully, glancing around. The broken windows meant it probably wasn’t something that had been done to the glass, but didn’t narrow things down much.

“Tt. It is obviously the presence of the other meta,” Robin cut in impatiently, arms folded as he glared up at them.

Nightwing glanced down, shifting automatically to give him space to join them. As much as Damian loved to sneak around, the others had kinda gotten used to it.

Overexposure. That’s why Dick usually telegraphed his presence as loudly as possible; it made people more likely to think quiet meant he wasn’t there.

Signal frowned, head tilting as he looked around the room. Even with his eyes hidden behind the domino, Nightwing figured he was checking for brighter spots.

“Maybe? But I haven’t seen anything like it before. It’s not coming from any specific person,” he explained slowly, scanning all the guests.

Paused, brows furrowing further. But Nightwing had an idea, tossing an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, stick around for the turnover to the cops and we’ll see if we can’t get you a chance to talk to the kid in person. Give you a chance for a better read.”

Signal hesitated a moment longer, then nodded, shifting his focus to the two of them.

“Yeah, probably a good idea…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head a couple times, then raised a hand to rub at his temples. “Alright, that’s really fucking weird. It’s just gone.”

Something tickled up the back of Nightwing’s spine and he did his own quick sharp scan of the room. Jason and Danny were gone.

“Y’know, after all this excitement someone might be tempted to call the rest of the gala quiet,” Jason remarked with a soft chuckle, following Danny from the dining room to the main hall.

Danny shot him a wicked grin over one shoulder other hand checking a likely door.

“Why, were you hoping for a quiet night?” He teased and Jason grinned, shaking his head.

“And miss Sam’s well earned explosion? No fuckin’ way. Hang on, there’s a closet a little further down that’ll be a little easier to get discovered in,” he said quickly, pulling ahead to lead Danny to another, more obvious door that was visible from the main hall.

“Oh, do the others have their party clothes hidden in the other one?“ Danny asked with a smirk, clearly enjoying the way Jason’s step stuttered for a moment.

It was Jason’s turn to look back, a long, slow look was much more calculating. Assessing. Danny just shrugged.

“I’m not saying anything to anyone. Wild coincidence how many of your siblings have been touched by death though. Almost as many as the Gotham vigilantes.”

He might not have guessed by that alone-alone (Gotham was a dangerous city), but it wasn’t like Jason would know to call him on it. This might be his Robin reveal biting him in the ass.

Still, it wasn’t like Danny wouldn’t meet Bruce and Batman eventually. His family were nosey shits - tonight proved that. Better that Danny knew what he was dealing with.

Stomping the part of him that felt bad firmly down, Jason tugged Danny into a broom closet barely big enough to hold them.

Not like the bats would feel bad about sticking their noses in, and it’s not like he’d told Danny. Danny worked it out himself.

Not like they’d have had a chance in hell of hiding it if the Ghost King really could sense everyone who’d died. It wasn’t gonna be the biggest news on any day of the week that involved Danny.

Danny was still watching him, the faintest brush of amused-concerned-we good? sliding across his senses. Jason snickered and reached out to ruffle his hair.

“Yeah, there’s probably at least one set of party clothes back there. But they’re not the ones we want walking in on us, right?” He asked, pulling the door carefully almost shut behind them.

Danny settled, grin broadening again as he reached up to ruffle Jason’s hair back.

“Not that I don’t think they’re dramatic enough, but it’s way less suspicious if we’re exposed to all and sundry,” he agreed with a much too charming wink, and set about unbuttoning his shirt.

Jason hesitated for the barest second more, calculating again… but this time for a much better reason. His own little imp of mischief raised its head.

“Think anyone would notice if we swapped ties?” He asked with a sudden grin, tugging his blue tie loose. Loved the way Danny’s face lit up with manic glee as he tugged his own off and tossed it over.

“They’re not the exact same colour but close enough if we were “distracted”,” he agreed with a cackle, taking Jason’s tie and stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

Jason hooked Danny’s over a mop and began working at his own buttons. Stopped. He could undo them nice and neat. He could also…

He wasn’t against flashing a little skin for the rest of the evening.

Taking both sides of the shirt in hand, he yanked hard enough that Danny had to dodge a button shooting out at him. And abandon his own undressing to clap both hands over his mouth against laughter.

“Did you just fucking rip your shirt open like a caveman?!” He hissed in delighted glee once the giggles subsided. Jason smirked, completely sure the impressed look in his eyes was real.

Nothing else there to see, right?

“Not according to anyone else at this party, there’s not a soul in that room that won’t believe you ripped it off me after that display,” he pointed out smugly, and Danny had to stifle a cackle by shoving most of his fist in his mouth.

It felt good to be actively doing something after being sidelined for the entire attack. Good to see any traces of that worry, of that all too familiar burning rage in Danny’s face.

No one else should ever have to feel like that. Not for Jason.

Now, laughing until he couldn’t breathe and had to sag against Jason’s chest for support? That he was extremely comfortable with.

Steadying his shaking king, Jason hummed thoughtfully and ran his hands through Danny’s hair a few more times. It was already wild and unruly, so the step from there to sex hair wasn’t all that far.

Danny gave him a gentle jab with his elbow before straightening, tugging his own shirt open with nary a care for the last two buttons. Then he paused, reaching for his belt.

“So how far are you comfortable with this going?” He asked innocently, too innocently. In that sweet, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth tone Jason had already learned to suspect.

If Jason Todd had one weakness, he’d never backed down from a dare in his life. Why start now.

“I’ve never seen anyone arrested at a gala for indecent exposure,” he replied in his own best innocent voice, the one used when Bruce caught him hiding the bodies.

Danny snickered and pulled his belt off, kicking his trousers… yep, all the way down and off his legs, and in case any of his nosey bastard siblings were curious the boxers or briefs question was answered.

Not that any of them would be surprised, given the cut of Danny’s pants. Briefs today at least, but Jason very deliberately was not going to speculate.

“You don’t have to match,” Danny assured him quickly, still grinning as he picked up his pants to hang them artfully over an upturned bucket, “can’t have the man of the hour kicked out of his own party.”

Suddenly the closet felt a lot smaller. A lot warmer. A lot harder to breathe. Because. Yeah. That’s what they were doing.

They were staging a fucking sex scene, on their third hangout in their lives, and Danny had fucking said that.

Even the heady knot of tension suddenly in Jason’s gut couldn’t stand a chance against the wave of snickering.

It gave him a moment of distance, to catch his breath and remember why they were doing this, and tug his own belt open. Unbutton his pants, mind very firmly fixed on Bruce’s reaction.

“Danny, never fucking say that to me again unless you want me to streak through this hall,” he said as seriously as he could, loving the way Danny’s eyes darted down and then back up to his face.

He would love absolutely nothing more than to get kicked out of his own party… any night but tonight. Tonight, he had no fucking intention of missing out on Sam going nuclear.

Snickering to himself, Danny nodded and took a moment to survey his own state of deshabille.

“Noted. Oh, and there’s this one trick Sam taught me to make it look like we’ve actually been making out,” he added quickly, grinning up at Jason.

Whose cheeks just might have pinked a little bit with the suggestion, gaze tracking straight down to Danny’s lips for reasons which had nothing to do with a trick.

What would Danny taste like? Could he taste sarcasm and bad puns?

Danny didn’t seem to notice, biting down on his lower lip and letting it drag out slowly between his teeth. If Jason was a stronger man he’d have looked away, but just…

Watching that soft, pink lower lip beginning to redden and flush at the pressure, and holy fuck it did look almost kiss swollen. Jason bit down on his own lower lip without meaning to, pushing down a longing sigh.

Startled when Danny snickered and reached up to poke just below his lip.

“You’ve gotta pull it through too, you can’t just bite it,” he teased gently, bringing Jason back to what they were actually doing.

And, fuck it, being a little flushed would help the illusion. He obediently pulled his lower lip free, slowly and with just enough pressure to get it really red.

Danny’s eyes, already on his mouth, lingered for a moment, and Jason did it again just to see his reaction. Were his cheeks pinking up too?

And then the absurdity set in, and Jason snickered too.

They were fucking stood almost chest to chest in a closet, the rising hum of conversation behind them indicating the hall filling up, biting their own lips.

What was his fucking life?

He bit down on his upper lip a couple times too, and that pretty much broke Danny into silent giggles. Jason flipped him off, grinning back.

“Fuck you, you’ve gotta do both it’s not like you only make out with your lower lip,” he hissed and Danny’s shoulders shook, but he was clearly convinced because he did it too.

And yeah, that wasn’t nearly as sexy to watch. Just funny, bringing back the reality of what they were doing. What they wanted.

It definitely worked. Danny looked thoroughly debauched now, hair tousled, lips red and kiss stained and wet where he poked his tongue out to wet them, clothes tugged all over the place.

Jason tried to ignore it, to focus on the logistics. If they wanted a convincing sex scene… if Danny bent over Jason wouldn’t have to see that pretty face anymore, but nor would anyone else.

And there really wasn’t room in the closet. Danny must have twigged to the problem too because he snapped his own eyes from Jason’s face and frowned around their tiny space.

And yeah, he was definitely a little redder. Probably on purpose. Completing the illusion. For sure.

Then he looked back at Jason and grinned.

“I have an idea, but it’s gonna make some noise. You about ready to be discovered?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

Jason snickered, glancing back towards the door for a moment then nodding. He had an idea by now. Danny seemed to have a preferred move.

“Yeah, I’m good. Do I need to catch you?”

And this smile was one he hadn’t really seen before, soft and fond and filled with undeniable warmth.

“You fuckin’ get me Jason,” Danny sighed happily, then jumped up and locked his legs around Jason’s waist. Kicked a bucket on the way up.

Jason’s hands flew to catch him automatically, and yup, he definitely had two handfuls of Danny’s ass. Only briefs keeping it from being skin to skin.

But this was the goddamn plan, Jason reminded himself, finally having to look up into Danny’s face. Felt better when he saw that Danny was blushing too, and staring.

Yeah, they were both in it now.

Jason did his best to keep his hands as professional as possible while holding Danny’s butt.

“This okay?” He asked a little belatedly. Danny visibly snapped himself back, shuffled a bit in Jason’s grip, and grinned again.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna drop me,” he agreed, draping his arms over Jason’s shoulders. Squeezed a little tighter, pulling in until their mouths almost touched, and hissed, “door.”

Jason almost turned, almost tensed, and forced himself not to as the door pushed open. Breathing heavily was not difficult, but made it harder to hear…

The door had stopped moving. A heartbeat of silence, Danny and Jason suddenly realized they should be moving, and then a very familiar chuckle.

“Oh, is it that time already?” Selina purred, her body blocking most of the light from the hall. She surveyed their positioning in a flash, nodded. “Stuff your fingers in his mouth, Jason darling, you might as well pretend you’re doing a good job.”

Jason barely had time to move, hand coming up automatically and conveniently cutting off Danny’s snort of laughter. And Selina screamed and spun away, “accidentally” pushing the door open wider.

They weren’t quite exposed to the whole hall, but the angle was clear enough for more than a dozen guests to look in.

A few more drifted over as Jason swore loudly, twisting to grab for the door and “accidentally” show off a little more of their tableau, pushing it closed.

He let Danny drop down after the door was shut, the smaller man’s shoulders once again shaking with laughter. Jason grinned down at him, tugging his shirt back into place.

“So do we let them think I’m finishing you off or just get back out there?” He whispered over a renewed and much louder buzz of conversation.

And much closer. Someone else might come for a look.

Letting Sam walk in on them directly was real fucking tempting.

But Danny shook his head, still snickering as he pulled his shirt closed too.

“Better get back out there, I don’t want to miss any of the fireworks. As much fun as “finishing it off” would be,” he added with a snicker, pulling out Jason’s tie and fastening it sloppily around his neck, “I should go grovel.”

“We should,” Jason agreed with a snicker and nodded, doing up the buttons he had left. He didn’t want to miss the show either.

Danny paused though, looking around their closet as Jason tied Danny’s tie on, settling his jacket and closing his pants.

“Jason…” There was something a little strange in Danny’s voice now, something that made Jason frown as he turned back.

“What? Shouldn’t you be dressed?” He asked, and Danny shook his head, an awed grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah, about that. I think your step mom stole my pants?” He said it like he couldn’t quite believe it, which was fair, because Jason definitely didn’t believe he was hearing it.

“What?” He cast around quickly, and sure enough… Danny’s pants were nowhere to be seen.

Of fucking course she did. Why wouldn’t she.

“I didn’t really see her in the dining hall either,” Danny mused, something clearly dawning on him.

Something bright and wonderful and Jason really should worry a lot more about how Danny was putting things together.

“Jason…” Danny shook his head slowly, then grinned up at the taller man, eyes bright with laughter. “Is your step mom Catwoman? Legally you have to tell me or it’s entrapment.”

Snorting most of a laugh through his nose, Jason shook his head. If she didn’t want to be outed, she shouldn’t have stolen a man’s pants.

“Yeah, that was Catwoman,” he agreed, raising both his hands in surrender as Danny pointed menacingly at him. “I didn’t make her do it!”

Luckily Danny definitely saw the funny side too, snickering as he leaned back against one of the shelves. Was attacked by a bucket. Fought it to a standstill and gave up on shoving it back into place.

“You’re the one who has to go get me replacement pants!” He argued almost a full minute later, like there hadn’t been a pause.

If Jason hadn’t spent years not laughing at Dick’s bullshit on patrol… but no, he kept an excellent poker face thank you very much.

And Danny had a point.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, turning back towards the closet door and wondering what kind of expression he should put on for the people outside.

Embarrassed? Danny’s pants were literally fucking missing. Hopefully they’d be just outside the door, but what if they weren’t?

If Jason had an imp of mischief in him, Selina had all of the Hells, complete with devils. She might have kept them.

Before it came up though, the door was pushed open again and Jason moved automatically to shield Danny from view. He might as well also pretend to be chivalrous.

But it was just Cass, back in her own suit and looking distinctly amused.

With Danny’s pants.

‘Found these,’ she signed, passing them over with her right hand. Stifling a snicker, Jason took them and nodded.

“Thanks Cass. We’ll be right out,” he told her, turning back to Danny as she closed the door.

Pressing his lips firmly together, Danny couldn’t quite hide a smile.

“Convenient.” He said shortly and Jason grinned. Tossed his pants at him.

“Hey, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She probably robbed Selina to get them.”

Already pulling his pants back on, Danny frowned.

“Hey, she didn’t get my belt back…” Then he shrugged. “But Sam’s parents paid for it. So does that mean the Aunt Harley she said she texted…”

He trailed off suggestively, and Jason blinked, taking a second to track when the “she” shifted. Ah. Selina. He grinned.

“Yeah, she texted Harley Quinn. She’s sort of an unofficial member of the family now so even if Sam didn’t give him a concussion, Bruce may not survive the night,” he joked, then nodded to the door. “You ready?”

Danny took a moment to double check, tucking his shirt back in and straightening jacket and tie. Reached up to pat his hair and then obviously decided to leave it.

“Yeah, I’m good. Hey if anyone asks, do we tell them we finished?” He asked, clearly half joking.

Jason smirked, pulling the door open and slipping out.

“If they ask you, I did. If they ask me, you did.”

Still snickering, Danny followed him back into the limelight.

“Great.”

Pamela Manson was having the best gala of her life. Her dear little Sam had finally found herself a decent young man, from a good family, and they were getting along just swimmingly.

Oh, Sammy had fussed at first, she was always so loyal, but Pam could see her little girl warming up to young Jason.

It would have been best if they could have escaped notice during that tiresome rogue attack, but she hadn’t been able to reach her daughter before they were pulled into groups.

At least it didn’t seem to have put the boy off. He seemed to be quite the fighter too, it had taken three of those dull and muscly people to pull him around.

Perhaps he liked that Sam wasn’t the kind of girl who would sit around waiting for rescue. Oh, Pam would like that.

As much as she didn’t understand most of what Sammy said and did, Pam wanted her little girl to be happy. And while she still held out hope that this “goth” phase would end, Sam would never be a delicate flower.

All they needed was the kind of young man who could appreciate that, and maybe help guide her interests to something more acceptable than all those protests and demonstrations.

Yes, Jason Todd-Wayne might just be the best thing to ever happen to her family. Brucie was even Jewish too, and while no one had told her if Jason was (and the Mansons were hardly orthodox), it would be so nice not to have to explain all of their holidays.

They might even be able to hold the wedding in a synagogue.

Pamela wasn’t much of a traditionalist, not for the ones that weren’t a display of status at least, but she had quietly resigned herself to Sam having some courthouse wedding, or even eloping.

That awful Fenton boy would only encourage it. Honestly, she might have preferred if Sam had brought along that Valerie. Jason had plenty of attractive siblings and Val was clearly a social climber.

But now that Sam had met Jason…

Perhaps if Brucie could be persuaded, they could find somewhere nice out of Gotham and Amity Park both… but Sam did so love the gothic architecture. If it got her in a synagogue, Pam was prepared to compromise.

It wasn’t like a decent rabbi would marry her in some horrible black or spider covered gown. She would meet in the middle for her little girl’s happiness.

She was just looking around for Brucie again (poor man, he’d been through so much, perhaps a little motherly affection would do him some good too) when she heard someone scream.

Surely not another rogue already, the bats hadn’t even left yet?

Sam hated galas. Every single one, with a fiery burning passion. The fake smiles, empty headed aristocrats, and mind numbing conversation made her want to puke.

But her parents loved them. Were all about the image of “happy family perfection”, all about the fake smiles and lies. They loved images.

She could give them an image to hold onto forever.

She was being Conspicuously Alone by the quickly resurrected drinks table now, trying to persuade the bar staff to unionize. There was no way they were being paid enough for all these constant attacks.

They didn’t even get dental. Most of them weren’t even full time, AND they bought their own uniforms. It was a disgrace.

Danny and Jason had disappeared together, so really all she had to do was kill time and wait. Let people see her alone, let them wonder how long she’d been alone.

Her mom was off bothering Brucie again, probably already bartering for a spring wedding. Maybe apologizing for Sam hitting him with the thermos.

Sam wasn’t gonna. She regretted nothing. He was a manipulative asshole, and unlike his kids? She didn’t think it made it any better that he didn’t do it on purpose.

Some things didn’t have to be malicious to be shitty and hurtful, but people always made excuses like the intent should matter more than the impact.

That thought made her snicker a little. She’d made a little impact of her own. To his face, with her thermos.

Fuck that guy.

She hadn’t given a shit about him one way or another before tonight, not past him being yet another society himbo. Lucky he was cute and rich, because not much else was going on.

She’d never had much to do with his adopted brood either, although there she had changed her mind. Despite Dick being a cop, they’d been surprisingly down to earth.

Probably what came of having been adopted into society life rather than being born in. Sam could admit she had her share of annoying rich people problems.

Most of the Waynelets didn’t, at least not the more obvious signs, and it was refreshing. She’d finally had fun at one of these stupid events.

She’d always wondered if Cass had a lot more going on than her inability (refusal?) to talk made people think. It was why she’d learned ASL, but the opportunity had never come up.

They just didn’t go to many of the same galas. And if Sam ever had to go to any again, at least she’d have some backup.

She was a little surprised that they hadn’t found her by now, honestly, but maybe Tucker was keeping them away. If any of them wanted to argue about thermos percussion, she had time.

Then she heard the scream and a smile pulled across her face. She squashed it back down quickly, turning with the crowd to look for the source.

Stopped, frowning, when she saw Cass hurrying past with… an extra pair of pants? She was going the way Sam needed to anyway. Sam hurried to catch up, leaning in to whisper.

“Where did you get those?”

Cass gave her a very knowing look, nodding ahead to the wall they were making for. With a small and mostly inconspicuous door.

Sam almost tripped over her own feet and had to run a few paces to catch back up.

“How the fuck did his pants get out here?!” She hissed, fighting to keep the giggle out of her voice. Didn’t matter which “he”.

Cass chuckled softly under her breath, then signed a fancy S. It took Sam a moment to put it together, but the only other person they’d met today was…

“Selina?” Cass nodded again, pulling to a stop beside the door. Gesturing for Sam to take a step back.

They were right in the middle of everyone’s attention now, party guests who’d followed Sam to the noise stepping back and forming a ring with Cass and the closet at the center.

They weren’t as quiet as they thought they were about filling people in either, and Sam heard her own name more than once. They were waiting to see what she’d do.

Oh, she’d show them what she was gonna do.

The guests had been guided from the dining room once more, valuables redistributed under the watchful eye of the bats.

Most of the staff were cleared too, leaving just a few behind to start early on clean up. Whatever had been fucking with Signal had stopped, and now it was just Nightwing and Signal, waiting with Killer Croc til the cops arrived.

Well, not just them. Red Robin was having himself a little bit of a freak out, pacing the hall.

“It should be here! Where could it have gone! It didn’t have legs!” Yeah, he was also ranting to himself.

Nightwing and Signal exchanged looks. Did a quick rock-paper-scissors.

Some motherfucker had definitely told him that Nightwing always picked scissors. Unfair. Treachery. Betrayal.

He wandered over to Red Robin anyway.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, Red?” He asked casually and ignored the glare he got for it.

“Riddler’s tablet! O has the address and all the tracking information, but the tablet itself could still tell us something. None of the goons had it and I swear I searched everywhere!” He aimed a kick at a fallen plate, sending it spinning across the floor.

Nightwing stared at him for a long moment.

“You have the tracking information?” He asked gently. Maybe sleeping more was actually bad for Tim.

“Of course!” Red Robin grumbled, waving his wrist computer crankily, “Danny turned the VPN off and it hooked up to my bluetooth, it’s still pinging as being in the building but I can’t find it!”

Nightwing stared at him a moment longer, waiting for him to work it out. Red Robin narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed at being pulled from his search.

“What.”

“You have the tracking information,” Nightwing repeated patiently. Red Robin shoved both fists into his own hair and pulled, groaning.

“I swear to fucking god Wing I will kill you, WHAT.” Nope, he was clearly doing the genius-hyperfocus-spiral thing. Simple solutions had left the building.

Nightwing sighed and pulled up his own mini computer.

“Just use Find My IPhone. It’s specific enough to get within a meter, it’ll tell you if it’s in the room,” he explained when Red Robin was clearly actually considering murder.

It was Red Robin’s turn to stare at him. Then he groaned and scrubbed both hands down his face.

“I fucking hate you so much right now,” he grumbled, tapping at his wrist computer to open the website, “there’s no fucking way Riddler didn’t turn that… off…”

Nightwing didn’t actually have to look at his display. The glowing dot was clear on its own. Instead he draped an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders.

“Are you okay, kid? Usually you’re the one pointing this stuff out to us,” he asked quietly, holding on when Red tried to pull away.

Red Robin struggled for a moment anyway, then sighed and shook his head.

“I just… it’s still bothering me. I swear we had Riddler on the ropes last week, but his guys are busting up a gala tonight like nothing’s wrong? There’s no riddle, he didn’t even show himself, it’s just… this feels wrong. This isn’t how Nigma behaves, and I don’t like it.”

Nightwing pursed his lips, considering. The kid had a point, and it had been bugging him too.

“Wait til we work out what the machine Robin found is. If it’s a fancy unfolding arcade cabinet, maybe that’s where the missing pieces fit,” he offered gently.

Red Robin rolled his eyes, but didn’t try and push him away this time.

“Yeah, and if it isn’t? He was shipping in a lot of explosives for something, Nightwing. I thought we caught him early, but if that was just the tail end this could all be a big distraction for something much worse,” he argued, folding his arms.

“So we’ll see if Bluebird or Batwoman picks him up tonight, and if they don’t we’ll pay him a personal visit ourselves later in the week. He was pulling through Bludhaven, I’m not letting him off my turf either,” Nightwing added with a snicker.

It seemed to soothe some ruffled feathers, and Red Robin sighed, turning his attention back to the wrist computer.

“First we find that fucking tablet. Looks like it’s just outside the doors.” He headed off across the hall, that determination back in his stride.

Nightwing tipped Signal a wink and moved to follow, rolling out his shoulders. The sooner they got this sorted out, the sooner he could nip out of costume and rejoin the fun.

Red Robin threw the door open, revealing two of the staff and a bored looking Tucker Foley, leaning back against the wall and playing with… the Riddler’s fucking tablet.

When the door opened all three looked up, then Tucker grinned and waved.

“Oh, hi guys! They wouldn’t let me back in, but Danny gave this to me and I figured you guys would want it. There’s not much on it, but you guys probably have access to stuff I don’t, right?” He asked cheerfully, holding out the tablet like it was nothing.

Nightwing pressed his lips together very firmly, holding back a laugh through sheer will. Red Robin had been struck dumb, hand half extended in front of him.

Tucker pressed the tablet into it, waving cheerfully.

“Anyway, have fun with that, I gotta go, I don’t wanna miss the show.” And he just. Walked away. Back into the main hall.

Red Robin stared after the man for almost a minute, then turned to the tablet in his hands.

“Stardew,” he said weakly, and Nightwing frowned, turning to him.

“What?”

Red Robin turned the tablet around.

“He was playing Stardew Valley. On the Riddler’s tablet. The whole time.” His voice trailed off, staring after the Black man, and Nightwing shrugged and took the tablet.

Closing the game, he stopped and frowned, turning the screen. And sure, Tim was the family tech expert and Dick liked playing dumb, but he knew base code when he saw it.

He handed the tablet back to Red Robin.

“He was playing Stardew Valley on Riddler’s totally cracked, fully open tablet,” he corrected, snapping Red Robin’s attention back to the device.

Red scrolled through a couple of quick screens, tapped a couple of commands, then sagged back against the wall and groaned.

“How the fuck is he not already one of ours?” He asked with what Nightwing was almost going to call lust. Time to text Connor and warn him he might be getting a second boyfriend.

Glancing at the tablet again, Nightwing snickered.

As if Tim on his own wasn’t already more than enough.

Sudden yelling erupted from the depths of the hall, startling both vigilantes back into action. They were already moving before the probable cause sank in.

Nightwing groaned.

They were missing it. No time to change back now, they were going to miss it!

The costs of the vigilante lifestyle kept growing and growing.

———————

You have about a week to persuade me it’s funnier to write Sam’s explosion and use all these fun new words Pamela has for Danny like “harlot” and “strumpet” and “charalatan” than it is to just start the next chapter out of the gala and let it all happen offscreen.

Starting now 💖💖💖

Next Chapter:

#danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dpxdc #dead on main ship #danny vs killer croc #danny x jason #my ongoing curse: the desire to write good scenes vs the horrible gremlin need to cut off at the worst moment #but listen it all adds to the story #and red robin freaking out made me giggle #this one was nearly too long anyway #but so much fun #you can’t make me write combat if i switch away

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enchantinglyjade · 4 months

Text

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤

Chapter Seven

Ravenclaw!OC x Slytherin Boys

Masterlist Previous | Next Warnings: None

Wednesday morning is much of a surprise to Twila.

“Twila! Twila! Wake up!”

Multiple hard knocks awaken the girl from her slumber with a jolt. Her heart pounds with every worst case scenario as she flops out of bed, her blanket, of course, deciding at this exact moment to get wrapped around her ankle and nearly trip her on her way to the door. She swings open her dorm door with heavy breaths, kicking the blue blanket angrily to the side, only to peer down at a pair of first years.

“They put frogs in the lavatory!” The shorter one yells, despite only being a few inches away.

Twila takes a slow blink, allowing time for her brain to catch up to speed and wrap around what’s happening just now.

“Come quickly!”

She lazily drags behind the two girls out of the common room and downstairs to the nearest girls bathroom. The prefect rubs her eyes with a groan as the sunlight hits her face from a window on the closest wall, but she stops at the sound of a ribbit.

Ribbit Ribbit

She drops her hands, staring at the wooden door with caution. She looks to the two girls, who only part way for her as she walks forward. Twila places a hand on the door, already able to feel the chaos without even needing to see it. With a deep breath, she pushes the door open, coming face to face with green and yellow toads flying back and forth, and up and down across every feasible surface. The last thing she expected this morning was a trip to a swampy bathroom, quite literally this time.

A particularly large toad launches forward through the door frame, causing the three girls to scream as they jump out of its path. Unfortunately, a handful of the amphibians take inspiration from this and follow suit, causing them to spill out into the halls, now gaining the attention of other nearby students.

“Cast Evanesco on them, I forgot my wand.” Twila says with a groan, tiptoeing around the small creatures.

The two first years look at her in shock at her request to cast a fifth year level transfiguration spell on the toads, but they try their hardest anyway. But Twila hardly notices their struggles, especially not when a certain blond prefect is laughing his ass off at the end of the hall.

“Malfoy.” She grits her teeth, approaching with a less than happy expression.

The boy puts on the best innocent face he can muster through his suppressed laughter, eyes feigning surprise as she stops in front of him. “Oh, hello, Twila. How are we this morning?” The two other boys, Blaise and Theo, snicker from beside him.

Twila crosses her arms. “Oh, just great actually.” She responds sarcastically.

Draco keeps himself from smiling. “I’m glad you’re doing well. What’s got you out of bed this morning?” He says taking a moment to peek down at her sweater and plaid pajama shorts in contrast to all the black cloak uniforms surrounding her.

She takes note of this as well, but pretends not to care. “Just out for my usual morning stroll.” Her voice still drips with sarcasm, making it clear she knows exactly who's behind this situation.

The blond puts on a dumb smile, nodding his head in revelation. “I see. I’m sure it’s wonderful taking a stroll this early in the morning.”

“Oh, it’s just my favorite. The things you see, you know?” Twila matches him with an equally fake smile.

The urge to laugh is quite a challenge for Draco at this point. “Oh, I totally get what you’re saying. You really get to see nature in a whole new way. Truly the highlight of every morning.”

“Emphasis on the nature part.”

A hint of aggression surfaces in her voice in her last sentence, but Draco decides to push her just a little bit further. “Right. So, why are there toads in the bathroom anyway?”

“Draco, I’m gonna kill you.”

A small chuckle finally escapes his throat, finding himself very amused at how this plan worked out. “Now, now, Twila. Don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction. It’s just a few lousy toads.”

She groans dramatically, turning away to see that the first years managed to clean up all the toads by now. Then, she raises a warning finger at him. “I’m going back to sleep. Leave me alone.” She warns, but he can see the small smirk pull at her lips before she walks away.

Unfortunately for Twila, she has no choice but to stay up now. Classes will start too soon and she still has yet to get dressed. Lucky for her, the day would go on as any normal Wednesday would. Care of Magical Creatures with the girls. Charms with Celia, Ominis, and Sebastian. History of Magic, where she is unfortunately dragged behind Jewel the entire time without the ability to mutter as much as a single word to Mattheo, who Jewel makes sure to sit on the other side of the room from.

Arithmancy, however, is odd this time around.

She sees him again, Tom. She’s alone for the first time today and stuck in a room with the very person everyone has now told her to stay away from. Even his own brother has warned her against him. She keeps hearing Mattheo’s words play out in her head from last night. As much as she’s been told to feel scared of him, she only feels frustration. Why won’t anyone give her an explanation? People love to get on her back for her secrets and yet everyone seems to be doing the same to her. Is she just supposed to trust that she’s currently sitting 10 feet from the most ‘vile’ man in the school just because of a few rumors? Sure he doesn’t seem like the most talkative and friendly of people, but Twila is no stranger to being seen as the weird outcast. Then again, Mattheo and Draco never did tell her that Tom’s dangerous per se... So maybe there’s another reason they want her to stay away.

Regardless, she decides to be adamant about avoiding his gaze, just in case.

༺ ☆ ༻

Annoying Draco during dinner is a new favorite pastime for the girls, much to his dismay, especially while his other friends like Blaise and Theo are present. Though, Draco just learns to ignore the girls until dinner ends at this point.

“Ready?” Twila suddenly greets him.

The girls stop themselves from exiting the Great Hall, looking back at their friend as she stands in front of Draco. “Aren’t you coming, Twila?” Jewel asks.

“Can’t.” She smiles fakely. “Draco and I are assigned to the clock tower tonight.”

Draco’s brows furrow at this, before his face drops in remembrance. “Damn.” He mutters under his breath. He stands with a sigh. “Let’s get this over with, Ravenclaw.”

He grumbles his way out of the Great Hall, not bothering to wait for Twila as she walks not too far behind him. As the commotion of the dining area dies out, their footsteps echo throughout the greater silence of the giant halls. She rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t act so grim. I don’t exactly wish to spend my night like this either.”

He laughs fakely at this, continuing forward as he speaks to her over his shoulder. “I’ll try my best, but I’m not exactly feeling peppy and cheerful tonight.”

She scoffs. “Oh, trust me, I know the feeling. You wouldn’t believe the morning I had.” She says through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing at the back of the boy's head as they make their way up the endless stairs.

Now his smirk turns genuine.

As the sun finally sets, the two students find themselves surrounded by incredibly sized spinning cogs, and grinding metal gears. The area is dimly light, only allowing the shine of the moon that comes through a giant stained glass clock face, embroidered with golden roman numerals. About a hundred winding, wooden stairs lead down to the cemented floor of the courtyard, a multiple ton pendulum swinging just above it. It swooshes and creaks with every literal second that passes by, filling the strangely eerie room with its sound.

Twila stares up and down between the high ceiling, and the low drop beneath them, taking in each metallic whir with a sigh. “So, this is our night?” She asks rhetorically, looking around with already bored growing eyes as the two of them stand in the tower shaped grandfather clock.

Draco’s eyes try their best to make out their surroundings in the darkness of the tower, looking for nothing in particular. “I suppose it is.” He says just as dull as he is feeling. With a sigh, he makes his way to a nearby wall and leans against it lazily. “Can’t get much worse than this.” He mutters.

Though, Twila already finds herself too busy with something to hear him. Her feet step down to the next level, walking over to the clock face. Patterns of blues and yellow reflect down onto her face, the moon’s light overtoning her and the room with a pale coloring. She stands on the stone frame, coming close enough to run her fingers along the thick, cold glass.

He watches her from across the platform with narrowed, but just as curious of eyes, feeling almost annoyed that she isn’t paying attention to him.

She walks slowly across the wooden planks, hands behind her back, but her head high as she searches the tower for something she’s never seen before. The night will feel slow, that’s for sure, but she is persistent on entertaining herself however possible, even if it means finding joy in the little things. She also can’t help but notice how dead, yet private this part of the castle is. She’ll have to remember this for another time.

Draco taps his foot, twiddling with his fingers as each creaking sound of her footsteps against the floorboards only pushes him further into his irritation. As Twila returns to their original level, she passes by him once more, still allowing silence to fill the space between them and continues exploring the castle with a light hum of a song. Draco lets out a deep breath, watching her in the corner of his eyes. Suddenly, she stops short in front of a new hallway, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to look down it. Draco pushes himself off the wall and takes a small and quick peek down the hall as well, but returns to his previous bored stance before she can notice. But before Draco can even get comfortable again, Twila is carelessly making her way down the hall, leaving him and the designated patrol area behind.

Naturally, this earns a groan from the blond, making him get back up again and follow her annoyedly. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?” He confronts angrily, only a few steps behind her.

However, he quickly finds that Twila’s curious nature makes her completely unfazed by his attitude and that she is too unapologetic to care. “What’s that room?” A large wooden door at the end of the hall stares back at the girl, its frame marbled with intricate designs.

“Are you always this damn nosey? For god’s sake, you’re like a cat.” He huffs as he now stands beside her before his face twists with a mocking grimace as he recognizes the door in front of them. “It’s a bathroom.”

“Why is it so fancy?”

“It’s for prefects.”

“So… we get our own special bathroom…?”

“Yes, you get to share your own personal bathroom with the other 20 prefects. Now are you done fantasizing about the toilets?”

She stares at the door for a moment again. It can’t just look like any old bathroom if it has to be locked away from the other hundreds of students. There has to be something different. “Well, hell, I wanna see what’s in there!”

“It’s a toilet! Can we please go back to doing our job?”

He watches in disbelief as she silently crosses her arms. With a sigh and shake of his head, he looks away, ready to guide them back into the clock tower.

“No.”

Then, she’s racing down the hall, her school robes fanning out behind her as she paces towards the door.

Draco has half a second of amazement before he’s chasing right after her. She pushes open the door, not bothering to wait for the boy behind her, and letting it nearly slam in his face before he catches it with the palms of his hands just before. She’s met with the unexpected, looking around in awe at the giant, pool-like bathtub in the center of the room, lined with about a hundred gold faucets. The walls stand with plenty of paintings and golden panel moulding and trims, but the pool is the real eye catcher here. Definitely not any old bathroom.

“Are you done obsessively haunting the bathroom now?”

Twila is certain she’ll turn into a mermaid in here. “Just a bathroom, Draco? This is insane!” Her jaw hangs open as she, obviously, has to touch every single golden and shiny faucet in sight, leaving tiny finger prints on each one. “I’m going to spend every night here.”

“You’re absolutely mad, you know that, right?”

She’s now on her knees, swishing her hands back and forth across the warm water’s surface, watching as ripples trail behind her fingertips. However, she cautiously retreats her hand as she realizes the depth of the water. Would something be underneath? This is a wizarding school afterall. She half expects a dragon to pop out from underneath the bath water. She eyes down into the dark water with squinted eyes, awaiting something magical.

He rolls his eyes at her odd fascination, fighting off the very, very small part of him that almost wants to join her. However, he decides that enough is enough and speaks up one last time before he’s going to decide to leave her behind. “Can we be done now? Have you seen enough toilets to be satisfied until tomorrow?”

“Fine.” She huffs as she shakes the water from her hands, standing from her place off the floor. They exit the room together and make their way back down the portrait lined hall, at least 50 or so paintings moving to watch them as they approach the clock tower once more, but instead of its usual hums and ticks, they hear a clamoring coming from the stairs above.

“Will you just listen to me!”

“That’s enough! I know what I’m doing.”

Draco immediately recognizes both of the voices, but Twila can only pick up Mattheo’s. Soon enough, two boys come stomping down the stairs, still heated from their argument when they spot Draco and Twila standing together. Twila suddenly makes direct eye contact with Tom as his eyes fill with surprise then determination as he marches up to the two of them. “And just what are the two of you doing out?” He says menacingly.

Draco scoffs quietly under his breath. “We’re partoling.” He answers simply.

However, before another word can be said, they hear two more voices come from beneath their wooden platform.

“Sebastian, this is a bad idea.”

“Come on, Ominis. Not even just one round? I know you know how to duel, despite how often you deny it.” The second boy says with a laugh as he looks around at all the Crosswands dueling equipment.

Tom’s head spins as he glares down beneath them into the courtyard. He lets out a hum, murmuring something quietly. Then, in an instant, he’s making his way down the stairs, ready to scold the two boys below. The other three stare at one another before following only feet behind him, curious how the scene will play out. Tom stands before Ominis and Sebastian, who both are equally as frightened as they are confused to see the room suddenly as full as it is. And just before Tom can speak, he is yet again interrupted by even more company. The group continues to grow as one blonde, one red head, and one brunette pile in through the door, laughing while carrying a familiar, but forbidden object.

The three girls freeze in place as they see the room as already more than occupied, eyes wide and alert, especially noting that Tom is in the room. Nervously, Penelope swishes the object behind her back with a stressed laugh. “Hey, girl.” She greets Twila with a stiff wave.

The boys turn to look between her and the American in either confusion or annoyance, causing Twila’s pores to start to sweat with nerves. “Hey.” She greets back quietly, unsure if she should dare move a muscle right now or not. Regardless of fear or not, Tom is Head Boy and therefore in charge of everyone in the room, including Twila and Draco even as Prefects, and something tells Twila that Tom is more than willing and able to use that power.

But then, a wide and confident smile appears on Jewel’s face. She steps forward, the clacking of her kitten heels making heads turn back towards her. “Damn,” She starts, having the bravery to waltz to the center of the circle. “You said you were patrolling the clocktower. I didn’t expect… all of this.” Jewel seems to be the only one unfazed and unintimidated by the situation at hand, not caring one bit that Tom is present. She immediately walks to Twila, standing between her and the boys as a shield. “So, what’s going on here?” She asks no one in particular, staring down the familiar men.

“You’re all out past curfew, is what.” Tom spits out, but his eyes seem to be directed at Jewel more than anyone, glaring at her with what Twila could almost sense as hatred, which only flourishes the questions in her head. Penelope shifts in her spot, making an echoed scrape sound with her shoes and drawing Tom’s attention once more. “What do you have?” He demands, peering down at the large leather object that peeks around her legs.

“Nothing.”

“How dumb do you truly think I am, Gryfindor? I could go straight to Dumbledor with this.” He threatens with his face ever so serious.

Penelope crosses her arms in annoyance. “Well, can you do it in about 10 minutes? I went through hell to get this.” And just like that, she unveils the stolen Sorting Hat and places it upon her head, caring less if the room sees it now. While completely ignoring the Slytherin’s, Penelope smiles widely as she looks up at the brim of the hat. The Sorting Hat’s face scrunches to life, its rim moving in a wave-like manner as it makes its assessment. “Miss Cassoway, you must be tired of this by now.” It speaks out loud to her. “You are still a Gryfindor and just as much of a nuisance as you were the first time you stole me.”

She disappointedly removes the hat with a visible pout, before looking around for the next victim.

“‘Nelope, you really should put that back.” Jewel warns but with a laugh in her voice, still watching as she passes it on to Celia now.

“Yeah, you should really listen to your leader.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

The hat relaxes as it’s placed on Celia's head. “Miss Mulberry, you are just as bright as I remember and your kindness is ever growing, but not all deserve your patience, remember this.” Celia’s face drops in contemplation at the object's unexpectedly deep words. She has an idea what this can mean, but she is quiet to reveal it to the group, choosing instead to remain silent and let her friends do as they will.

Sebastian and Ominis stand with their jaws slightly hanging open, beyond overwhelmed at the amount of things that have taken place in the last minute or so. They are unfamiliar with most of the people in the room and debate sneaking away while everyone’s distracted, but they both know it is likely Tom will notice.

Penelope is still just as ecstatic and skips over to bring the hat to Twila now. The ravenclaw feels a huge rush of embarrassment from the whole ordeal, seeing as the boys are less than amused as they watch the red head carelessly throw around the stolen object. “Penelope, please,” her voice at a whisper.

“Oh, it’ll just be quick, then I’ll go return it or whatever.”

The large hat is surprisingly light on her head, she hardly recalls her first meeting with the object even if it was only a few months ago.

“Ah, Twila DeLuna. I remember you.” The hat sounds as if it were smiling as it speaks this to her. Twila holds her arms insecurely as everyone’s eyes watch her and the hat’s interaction. “The intelligence and creativity of a Ravenclaw, the charm and ambition of a Slytherin; a dangerous and confusing combination indeed. You are a powerful witch, Miss DeLuna. People will either respect or fear you; it is your choice to make.”

Twila’s eyes widen at the hat’s words and quickly reaches up to remove it from her head. “What a silly little thing.” She laughs it off and hands the sentient object back to Penelope with her cheeks bright red with fluster and insecurity.

“Are you done playing dress up now?” Draco suddenly speaks up to the girls, but keeps Twila in the corner of his eye, giving her a once over from the hat’s statement.

Penelope rolls her eyes, exiting the room with the hat in hand while Celia follows quickly behind. Jewel takes a slow look at some of the boys, before linking arms with Twila and leading her forward and out without another word, only a small smirk on her face.

The boys stand silently and awkward in the slightly less crowded room, when Tom then clears his throat. He takes one glare around the room, then just like that, he’s gone as well.

༺ ☆ ༻

Twila tries her best to shake off the hats’ words from last night, but deep down she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. They’re not new words for her, she had been told similar ones when it first assessed her before coming to Hogwarts, but they still have her just as troubled.

She pulls on a dark blue, long sleeve shirt, popping her black robes over it as she paces out the door to D.A.D.A. She plops in her usual seat with a short sigh, allowing herself to catch her breath after descending the many, many stairs of her common room’s tower.

“You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” Draco studies her face with a fake look of disgust.

She turns to him unamused, before letting out a quiet groan, continuing to remove her books from her bag. But before they can speak any further, Snape calls for the students' attention, briefing them with a small history lesson before he prepares them with a spell.

“Wands. Up.” He demands, looking down upon the sitting students.

Draco grabs his wand as instructed with a huff, lazily and boredly leaning back against his chair as he awaits for the professor's next word.

“Twila.” Snape suddenly says. She raises her head to meet her professor’s eyes, everyone else's now on her as well. Snape tilts his head towards the back of the room. With a small gulp, Twila embarrassingly stands, taking a seat in an empty desk near the back with her book, where she then begins writing, trying hard to ignore the judgemental and assuming gazes she can practically feel on her.

Twila’s heart beats quickly but she attempts to tune it out through her writing, but her shaky pen proves difficult. She knows she’ll get an earful of this after class and she needs to think of an excuse as soon as possible. Of course this would happen now. She saw this coming, she made a deal after all. But for Snape himself to embarrass her like this after everything she’s told him. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel completely humiliated right now, especially with Malfoy watching.

Draco watches her with curious and confused eyes. Professor Snape raises his wand, the other students following. Draco does so cautiously, but his head never turns to face away from Twila. He squints, as if to try and question her with his eyes. He is the last person Twila wanted to have to see this, let alone explain it to. Twila attempts to warn him away, but she is too late, Professor Snape loudly slaps his hand on Draco’s book to snap his attention forward once more. Snape’s eyes flicker over to Twila for a brief second, almost threatening her with something, before turning back to his class.

Nearing the end, Snape, for once, lets the class pack up early, but only because he has reason to. “Two rows on my desk by the beginning of next week, all of you.” The class leaves with moans and groans of protest, but Snape thinks little of it. He picks something from his desk, walking it over to Twila in silence. She takes the envelope in his hand cautiously as he walks away, his long cloak making him appear as if he’s gliding across the floor.

She reads it quickly, making sure to shield it from any lookers, then walks out into the hall, of course, a certain boy already waiting for her just outside the door, ready to walk her to Potions. “What was that all about?” Draco questions.

“It’s just new student things.” She says with a sigh, tucking away the letter.

He rolls his eyes. “About? Have you opened the envelope? What is it?”

Twila groans in exhaust. It’s just like when they first met all over again. “It’s a love letter from your father.” She responds sarcastically.

He lets out an annoyed chuckle. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“It’s nothing, Draco.” She says, her tone growing slightly impatient now. She has enough going on, she doesn’t need his prying on top of it.

Twila’s eyes squint, noticing traffic outside the Potions’ door. She peeks over the shoulder of one of her classmates, eyeing what Professor Slughorn has in store. Each student that walks through the Potions’ door is handed a tray assorted with different ingredients.

“Ah, here you go. You two will work together. And same for you two.”

Professor Slughorn hands Twila a tray, pointing her and Draco together as they enter the room. Draco responds with a quick ‘ugh’ before picking out a table for them near the window. “Come on, DeLuna. This way.”

He reads the instructions, purposefully only giving her a handful of tasks he thinks she’ll be able to handle while he does the rest. He pours in a vile of a purple liquid, mixing the pot while he reads the next step again. In the corner of his eyes, he notices Twila struggling with something. She’s carefully assessing the best way to hold the spine of lionfish, poking her fingers through its small and sharp bones. Once she has a clean grasp on it, she snaps it in half. Draco cringes at the sound, immediately putting down the parchment he’s holding in irritation. “I told you to powder the spine, not crack it!”

“I thought you said to powder the other stuff!” She exclaims, putting down the broken spine.

He narrows his brows at her vague words. “It’s called dittany and you can’t powder leaves, you idiot.”

“I mean… if it’s dried-”

“Powder the spine!”

He pushes forward with the potion, but keeps her in the corner of his eye. She’s acting odd today. Normally, she’s on top of her game. If anything, the Ravenclaw’s usually looking for excuses to show off to anything and anyone. Is it something to do with the Sorting Hat, or something more? “Did you and the girls have fun with your little dress up, slumber party last night?” He jokes.

“I had nothing to do with that.” She claims, pressing her pestle against the finely crushed bones in her bowl, cheeks turning rosy in remembrance.

“Right, of course.” He chuckles to himself, dipping in the ladle to mix the ingredients. He eyes her for a moment again, his sarcastic attitude slightly slipping away. “Are you sure you’re alright today?”

She quickly composes herself as she realizes he’s taken notice, letting out a soft sigh and still keeping her eyes on the mortar in her hands. “Yeah, I was just thinking about taking a bath later.”

Draco pauses, off guard for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “I’m being serious. I know you’re not actually thinking about taking a bath.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m going to bathe in that tub, Draco.” She says in all seriousness, placing down the bowl to look up at the boy.

He looks her up and down, face slowly contorting in confusion. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s a magical bubble bath! Sorry, not all of us have pool sized baths in our homes.” She exclaims.

“Ah, the poor.” He says with a smirk.

“Ah, the normal.” She corrects.

He rolls his eyes once more, making room for Professor Slughorn to come and check their work. He leans over the cauldron, clapping his hands together with a smile as he sees the foamy bubbles he mentioned as a necessary component to the finished potion. “Ah, excellent as usual. You’re both dismissed.”

Draco grabs his bag with a smirk, catching up with Twila on their way to the Great Hall for lunch. “So, tell me, is this bubble bath before or after the date with my father?”

༺ ☆ ༻

That night, Twila finds herself in the library. She quietly weaves through the desks and chairs, up to the librarian's desk. She discreetly shows her the pass and gets escorted to the section of the library secured and gated with thick iron bars.

“You have five minutes. No touching. I will know.” Madam Pince warns, opening the gates for the Ravenclaw.

Twila steps inside, descending down the stairs to the main level. There were plenty of interesting looking books; some with faces, ones with chains, others with intricate, glowing designs, but she is forced to walk past them and pretend to not be the slightest bit intrigued. She pulls out the note Snape gave her earlier. Heinous Healing: How to Heal the Broken. Quite the name. She searches the shelves for the familiar title, seeing nothing of the sort just yet. “Damn.” She curses under her breath. How is she supposed to find the book in under five minutes when this place is ginormous?

She glances at the note once more, spinning on her toes to next check the shelf behind her, but when she looks up, she comes face to face with Tom Riddle himself,

alone with her in the Restricted Section.

Twila gasps loudly, whole body tensing in shock as she sees him towering above her, his face completely unreadable.

He glances down at the letter in her hand. He recognizes the book title, even while reading it upside down. He also eyes the inked lines of what would be a signature at the bottom of the paper, but, to his dissatisfaction, her thumb is covering the name of the teacher who signed it, though he has a guess. Tom turns and walks up to one of the tall shelves against the wall. He scans it boredly, before his eyes land on a yellowish brown book, picking it off the shelf and handing it to her in silence.

She cautiously takes it from his hands before glancing back up at him. “Thank you.” She barely whispers and quickly paces back up towards the entrance without muttering another word, leaving him there now alone.

Madam Pince sits at her desk, making eye contact with Twila as she takes a mental note that she has now left the Restricted Section.

#hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #harry potter #draco malfoy #mattheo riddle #tom riddle #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #slytherin #ravenclaw

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superbsaturn · 1 year

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Like Real People Do [Ineffable Bureaucracy] (1/2)

Summary: Gabriel and Beelzebub had run into one another a handful of times over the last 6,000 years that they had been the lead representative of their respective domains. However, when they begin to meet outside of the usual context of-- well --war, an interesting development in their relationship begins to take place that they attempt to understand and navigate together. In other words: 5 + 1: 5 times Gabriel and Beelzebub meet in canon (extended), and 1 time they meet away from the viewers' eyes. The title of this fic and its chapters come from the song "Like Real People Do" by Hozier (honestly, my favorite Hozier song). AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49196800

Link to Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/superbsaturn/726061659061420032/like-real-people-do-ineffable-bureaucracy-22

3/6: We Should Just Kiss

4 Years Ago; Tadfield Air Base - Armageddon

Despite the clear sky a bolt of lightning crashed to Earth causing the attention of everyone at the Tadfield Air Base to turn their head to witness as the Supreme Archangel Gabriel appeared behind the smoke and lightning. Beside him, the ground sizzled, cracked, and split open as Lord Beelzebub emerged from the pits of Hell, scoffing at the unpleasant glance Gabriel cast towards them. Both the Chiefs of their respective Forces disregarded each other and stepped forward, taking in the disaster before them.

Gabriel and Beelzebub walked past Aziraphale and Crowley as the angel and demon glanced at each other in bewilderment before Crowley was the first to speak as the powerful duo turned around. “Lord Beelzebub, what an honor,” he said with an air of sarcasm as he bowed down.

“Crowley, the traitor,” they stated matter-of-factly, only for Crowley to lean back up from his bow and sigh.

“That’s not a nice word,” he said.

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “All the other words I have for you are worse.” They paused for a second before declaring an answer, “Where’sss the boy?” Their speech reflecting that of a fly as their irritation with the incompetent demon grew larger.

Crowley answered by nodding to the soon-to-be former Antichrist, Adam, which Gabriel was the first to notice.

As he pointed his finger to Adam and began his approach he offered a faux grin while he proclaimed, “That one. Adam Young.” Beelzebub trailed right behind him as he leaned closer to the young boy, almost looming over him. “Hi. Young man… Armageddon must… restart. Right now,” Gabriel condescendingly explained, using his hands to exemplify the importance behind his words. “A temporary inconvenience cannot get in the way of the greater good,” Gabriel said.

Beelzebub soon follows up Gabriel’s statements with one of their own and the already annoyed Archangel could only roll his eyes at the interruption. He clenched his fist to ground his annoyance before standing straight as Beelzebub spoke.

“As to what it stands in the way of, that has yet to be decided,” they said. Everyone that surrounded them- well, minus Sargent Shadwell -was stunned at the insolence at the Prince of Hell’s statement, and their following declaration did not help their case. “But the battle must be decided now, boy. That isss…,” they paused, their eyes closing in frustration for only a moment, “your destiny. It is written. Now start the war.” Their final sentence was annunciated, as though they were speaking to an incompetent child and not the current Antichrist.

Some back and forth went on between them all, Aziraphale and Crowley now getting involved in the conversation. Both Beelzebub and Gabriel were gradually getting more frustrated, though Beelzebub always seems to be so, and lately so has Gabriel.

In a final act of desperation, Gabriel taps Beelzebub on the shoulder. “Can I just–?” he asks while turning his back to Adam and the others, motioning for Beelzebub to follow behind him. The two of them step away from the group, gaining some privacy in the open space of the Air Base while Gabriel leans forward so that he is face-to-face with Beelzebub. “Um… I’m going to need to talk to… Head Office,” he says while pointing to the sky. He pauses for a moment, “How I am supposed to get 10 million angels to stand down from their war footing is– It doesn’t bear thinking about.” The annoyance and, perhaps even a bit of horror at the thought of having to return to heaven and tell his angels that no war was happening, was palpable.

“You should try to get 10 million demons to put down their weapons and get back to work,” Beelzebub said, looking back at Gabriel with a look of both equal understanding and a plea for non-existent help, though it didn't last longer than a fraction of a second if that.

Still, with a shared look of understanding between the two of them, they came to a sort of agreement. They ended to get away from here and fast before things worsened.

After scolding the failed Antichrist once more, and a threat to tell Satan himself, the Archangel and Grand Duke vanished into thin air, and while everyone around them had assumed they returned to their home base- so to say -the two had actually reappeared just outside the gates St. James Park where Gabriel frequently visited to jog.

“What a bloody disaster!” Beelzebub exclaimed, groaning a sigh of frustration.

Both of the ethereal beings walked into the park, finding a nearby bench to sit at, the opposing demon and angel leaning as far from each other as the bench physically allowed. There was nothing more to be said about this utter failure of a Great Plan. Instead, the two allowed themselves to sit in a peaceful- albeit, negatively charged -silence. They knew that they were only attempting to draw out the inevitable hell that awaited them both (for Beelzebub both literally and figuratively).

It was hard enough to manage the conundrum the two were facing internally, forget about the fact that they’d have to return and manage the conundrum of thoughts- millions! -of angels and demons who were bloodthirsty and ready for battle. The Commander-in-Chiefs didn’t even want to take the time to think about it.

Instead, Gabriel observed the mortal humans who were roaming the park, watching as some fed the ducks bread. ‘They should really be feeding them frozen peas instead,’ he thought to himself. It wasn’t until a fly flew past his field of view that he turned his attention to the demon beside him, who was currently very focused on observing their flies as a form of distraction.

Gabriel watched Beelzebub intently, taking in their features and memorizing as much as he can. He’d done this a thousand times to thousands of both ethereal and mortal beings, but Beelzebub’s appearance was… different, it was unique in his eyes. This wasn’t nearly the first time the demon and angel had crossed paths. They’d both been the respective representatives of Heaven and Hell individually, they were bound to cross paths throughout the years. However, this was the first time Gabriel had ever been given the opportunity to observe their appearance up close. Sure, he’d seen them many times, he’d even examined them from head to toe on multiple occasions, but this meeting was different.

This was more intimate, more personal. It was the first time that the Prince of Hell and the Supreme Archangel actually chose to be in the presence of one another’s company with no strings attached. No threats of war, no scheming, no sly agreements, nothing of the sort. Just silence before the storm. And Gabriel could do nothing but appreciate the Grand Duke’s style. From their uniquely designed hat to the sash that crossed over their body. Everything they wore seemed meticulously chosen and perfectly matched with everything else, and Gabriel was a stickler for tailored and pristine clothing.

It wasn’t until over an hour had passed before they finally decided that enough was enough and they’d have to head back. No words besides Beelzebub’s frustrated buzzing and silent curses were spoken between the angel and demon, but none had to be. Enough was said in the shared silence that not even words could do justice to the emotions that the angel and demon had bottled up inside. It was all said through stolen glances and hidden quirks (such as Gabriel’s needless fidgeting with the lapel of his suit or the flap of the fly on Beelzebub’s hat that only seemed to happen when their frustration would reach a boiling point).

It was as if they knew time was up. They looked at each other simultaneously with a look of acknowledgment before both dissipated into smokes of purple and green. With a brief look of agitation that lasted only a second, their expressions turned to the stone-cold appearance that the Commander-in-Cheifs carried when preparing for battle. In the darkest pit of Hell and the brightest peak of Heaven, angels and demons alike roared in anger at the knowledge that no war was to happen just yet.

3 Years Ago; Kафе in Russia - 1 ½ Years After Armagedidn’t

Gabriel had arrived at the agreed meeting spot as soon as the clock struck 8:05, the agreed meeting time between him and the Grand Duke of Hell. He waited somewhat patiently, occupying his hands by cleaning the nonexistent dirt from beneath his fingernails. He only looked up as he saw an unfamiliar figure take the seat across from him.

“You can’t sit there,” he said with a tone of voice that could only be described as surprise at the audacity of this stranger. He pointed his finger vaguely at the seat that the stranger had just occupied. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“You’re waiting for me,” the stranger replied with a tilt of their head and a self-assured attitude.

Gabriel furrowed his brows and replied, “I don’t think so,” as if it was the most obvious reply in the world- and for him it was.

The stranger, annoyed with the back and forth at this point, shook their head before explaining, “New face. I had the old one for 6,000 years. I just thought it was time for a change.” As they continued their explanation Gabriel only began to get more and more confused. He didn’t know who this was, and for Heaven’s sake why was Beelzebub so damn late. This meeting was their decision in the first place.

“I don’t know who you are.” At this point, Gabriel’s patience was running thin and if this stranger didn’t leave the table within the next two minutes he was close to striking them down with lightning.

“Come on, it’s me!” They exclaimed, but still, Gabriel was not taking the hint despite the very obvious hat and clothing that should have given them away. “Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies,” they finally admitted, and instead of simply offering Gabriel that as enough explanation, they went a step further. “Watch.” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he observed them, watching as a fly left their mouth and flew just past him, buzzing along the way. “There you go.”

Gabriel shook his head a bit, as if clearing his thoughts, before asking, “Why did you want to meet me here?”

Beelzebub was quick to answer. “Well, if we’re gonna have background talks, they can’t be in either of our home territories.”

“And what do we need to discuss?” Gabriel asked in return, a look of skepticism spread across his face, as though he didn’t want to be here- and while that was partially true, it was not because he didn’t enjoy Beelzebub’s company.

“Arma-bloody-geddon. That was a complete and utter pain in the ass,” they said. Gabriel could only roll his eyes at the painful reminder of it.

“I know, but we are ready for round two,” he was quick to inform the Prince of Hell.

“As are we,” Beelzebub replied, though that was certainly far from the truth. “Utterly ready. Armageddon, here we come.”

“Arma-bloody-geddon,” Gabriel said, mimicking Beelzebub’s earlier phrase. “Arma-bloody-geddon.” It didn’t sound quite right coming out of Gabriel, he gave a half-hearted smile, shaking his head and sticking his tongue out. “Blah.” He chuckled softly and Beelzebub couldn’t help but crack a smile. That was until Gabriel said, “Well, you lost.”

“So did you,” they replied factually.

“No, we didn’t.”

“Well, you didn’t win.”

Gabriel couldn’t deny that. “Tell me about it,” he said, leaning forward, “Everyone in Heaven is all like, ‘Well, your the commander-in-chief, can’t you just make the war happen anyways?’ Like, I make the rules,” he said, an air of annoyance laced in his tone.

Beelzebub scoffed in disbelief, leaning forward onto the table. “That’s exactly what my lot is said.”

“Well, it’s good to know there is someone who understands. Thank you,” he said genuinely, giving them a small smile and a nod. Beelzebub returned his nod with one of their own. “It’s a pity we’ll never speak again,” he finished, standing up as the words left his mouth.

He only got about a step away from the table before Beelzebub reached out and grabbed his sleeve. They cleared their throat, a twinge of embarrassment passing over them. “Uh, actually… um,” they groaned, frustrated with themselves. Gabriel gave them a look of bewilderment. They sighed, taking a non-existent deep breath. “Can you actually, um. Damnit, can you stay for just a bit longer?”

Gabriel’s eyebrows were quick to jump up in surprise.

Beelzebub cleared their throat, letting go of Gabriel’s sleeve and looking away. “Nevermind. Ignore me, that was stupid.” They were just about to make themselves disappear, not caring if any mortal being saw when Gabriel was quick to interject.

“No no, I don’t mind staying at all. Truthfully it’s nice to get out of Heaven once in a while, their constant nagging can be utterly infuriating at times,” Gabriel said, sitting back at the table across from Beelzebub.

“Oh, you’ve got no idea. The demons in Hell can never shut up, always coming to me for the most trivial things, as if I have all the answers in the world. I’m the bloody Prince of Hell, not the Almighty Herself.” Beelzebub huffed a sigh before meeting eyes with Gabriel. They’d known the Supreme Archangel had vibrant eyes, but they’d never seen it this up close before- or perhaps they just never previously paid attention during their prior interactions.

Gabriel’s chuckle was the only thing to draw them back into the moment. “Fair enough, as much as the angels in Heaven can get under my skin with their nagging, I suppose it must be worse in Hell.” Though it hadn’t been said directly it was clear that Hell wasn’t as orderly as Heaven had been, at least when the nagging occurred to Gabriel it was one at a time, he didn’t think Beelzebub got that same luxury. They most certainly did not.

“Do you ever wish someone would just tell you that you’re doing a good job?” Beelzebub asked suddenly, breaking Gabriel’s train of thought at the abrupt question. He hadn’t been prepared for a Beelzebub to admit something so vulnerable, and while it wasn’t a direct admission to wanting that to be said, the desire was evidently present.

Gabriel took his time processing Beelzebub’s question, formulating a genuine answer. If they were comfortable being this vulnerable with him it was only right for him to offer an answer in the same vain. He leaned forward, his elbows holding himself up on the table as he folded his hands and rested his chin upon it. Beelzebub watched him attentively, observing as his violet eyes fluttered around the table as he tapped his foot. Though they hadn’t realized it a genuine smile spread across their face as they looked at him. The minute they realized that a smile crossed their face they wondered how often that had happened during their interactions without them having realized. They couldn’t help but internally cringe at their own embarrassment. This was not something they were used to, and yet it felt so natural.

The second Gabriel began to speak Beelzbub snapped out of their trance-like rapture. “Hmm, well, I have to admit that I’ve never thought of it before, but I also can’t say that now the idea of hearing it doesn’t make me desire the appreciation that is offered. I don’t know, I suppose now that I think of it I’ve never truly been acknowledged for my efforts by my subordinates. Rather, things are rather robotic in Heaven. I’m given a command by the Almighty, I perform it, and the routine continues. Truthfully, I think if I were told that I did a good job I’d probably worry something was wrong.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sad truth behind that statement, but now that he thought about it being told any form of affirmation would probably be rather gratifying for him.

Beelzebub continued to look at him with a brief expression of sadness. “I understand what you mean. I suppose it certainly would be strange, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t crave the acknowledgment every now and then. However, it is in a demons nature to lie so if anyone asks you didn’t hear it from me, Angel,” they said, playfully winking at Gabriel which made him offer a hearty laugh that Beelzebub couldn’t help but smile at, engraving the angelic sound of his laughter into their memory to remember forever.

These were certainly not emotions that the Lord of Flies had ever experienced before– they don’t believe they ever experienced any positive emotion before. This was certainly going to take them some time to get used to, but perhaps that was a dangerous game they were willing to play. Then again, after this meeting with Gabriel, they never intended to meet each other again so perhaps this truly was a one-time thing. They weren’t sure why exactly but they couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the thought alone.

Never seeing the Supreme Archangel was supposed to be a blessing, but for Beelzebub, the idea was beginning to feel like a horrid nightmare.

2 Years Ago; Bar in America - 2 ⅔ Years After Armagedidn’t

Despite Gabriel having been the one to set up this particular meeting in a bar located in the States, Beelzebub had been the first to arrive. They were ten minutes early, though they knew Gabriel would be punctual as always and arrive exactly on the discussed time, but for Beelzebub waiting a bit in silence was no problem for them rather it was a sort of blessing after all the chaos in Hell. They sat at a high-top table, their pinky raised in the air as one of their flies meandered around it. If the Prince of Hell could feel emotions they would claim that watching the fly around their finger made them feel a bit calm. Although this corporal body that they take the form of when on Earth seems to make the demon experience a lot more human-like ‘features’ than they had predicted.

Just as the thought crossed their mind, it vanished as Gabriel arrived at the arranged meeting time. “I have a proposal to make,” he declared as he took the seat opposite them, his hand pressed against his lower chest so that his tailored suit didn’t get caught on the table. “Instead of Armageddon, what about… no Armageddon?”

The idea made Beelzebub’s eyes widen ever so slightly as they took their hands off the table, sat up straight, and intertwined their fingers as they leaned forward, preparing their next words carefully. “An interesting proposal.” They watched as Gabriel gave a curt nod. “No Armaggedon,” they said, almost as if to confirm Gabriel’s words, to which he, yet again, gave another nod with a tight-lipped smile. Beelzebub contemplated for a second longer before shaking their head ever so slightly. “They won’t like that, though. Most of my demons live for Armageddon if you can call that living,” they explained, with a bit of an eye roll at their last statement.

Gabriel was quick to follow up. “Well, my angels too. But you can’t always get what you…” His eyes darted around the room for a second as he contemplated what to say next, “live for.”

Beelzebub thought seriously of the proposal, leaning closer to Gabriel on the table as they asked, “Advantages to no Armageddon?”

“We keep the status quo, static and, uh,” he hesitated, looking to the right before continuing, “quoey.”

Beelzebub looked around as if scoping out the bar to ensure there were no other demons or angels around, inching even closer to Gabriel to practically whisper their next words to him. “No one could ever know, of course.”

“Of course,” was Gabriel’s answer, spoken in a matter-of-fact tone. He was confident in his decision. “A deal?” He all but concluded, puffing his chest out a bit and leaning closer to Beelzebub, almost urging them to agree.

“Mm,” was Beelzebub’s reply, a nod of agreement that Gabriel returned.

For a moment the two sat in silence, save for the music that played throughout the bar in which Beelzebub was the first to recognize it. “I like this song,” they stated, relaxing their shoulders and leaning back a bit with a hint of a smile.

“Song?” Gabriel questioned, his knowledge of earthly matter being less than sub-par. He was glancing around the room, trying to determine what it was that Beelzebub had spotted as if there was a physical form of the ‘song’ that Beelzebub claimed to enjoy.

Beelzebub looked back at Gabriel as they explained, “The music that’s playing now.”

That only added to Gabriel’s confusion. “What music?”

Beelzebub tilted their head to the side, a bit shocked at Gabriel’s ignorance of his surroundings. “The noise.”

“That’s music?” he asked rhetorically, though he wouldn’t complain if they offered clarification. Instead, they only chuckled with an ever-growing smile.

The two paused for a bit until Beelzebub broke the silence once more. “I like it. Contains information in a tuneful way,” they said. Their next words were shared with Gabriel with a softer smile, their eyes glancing carefully at Gabriel’s face. “Everyday something is getting closer.”

Gabriel looked at them tentatively. He glanced off to the corner of the table, preparing his next words carefully. When he was ready to speak again he looked up at Beelzebub and declared, “Then, um… Then I also like it.” The genuine smile that he offered them made their non-existent breath hitch in their throat– although with their corporal body maybe it wasn’t so non-existent.

As the song continued to play both the Supreme Archangel and the Prince of Hell allowed themselves to indulge in mortal pleasures, bopping their heads back to the beat. Gabriel was tapping his leg to the song as Beelzebub fiddled with their thumbs. This continued until the song was finished, to which Beelzebub looked back at Gabriel and offered a small, soft chuckle that was quick to change to a contemplative look.

“So… agreement concluded,” they said which led Gabriel to adjust his posture and sit up straight. “No need to ever meet again, is there?” they asked, a hint of a smirk on their face. Despite their best interests a part of them knew that this would not be their last meeting. Gabriel felt the same, though he played along with their conclusion.

“None whatsoever.”

Despite meeting a conclusive conclusion, neither of them stood from the table. Instead, they continued to enjoy the music as it shifted songs, enjoying each other’s company in contemplative silence. Minutes passed by with only shared glances and slight smiles spoken between them, well, until Beelzebub’s curiosity got the better of them. They knew neither of them wanted to leave just yet, returning to their respective corners was less than desired at the moment.

So, Beelzebub spoke, glancing just above their shoulder to the table beside them. “Hmm, this is my first time at a bar with one of these green tables in the middle with the balls lined up in a triangle. What do you think it is? Want to give it a go?” Beelzebub asked.

Gabriel peered over at the table beside them, tilting his head as he examined it. “Ah, I believe it’s called a ‘pool table’, at least that’s what I’ve heard the humans refer to it as, but then again I’ve also heard it called something like a ‘billiards table’ so I’m not quite sure. But yes, I would love to learn how to utilize the table as well,” Gabriel answered, pushing the stool back to stand and offering his hand to Beelzebub.

“Angel, I think the proper phrase is ‘learn how to play’. It’s a game of some sort.”

Beelzebub took his hand, standing and joining him beside the table. As they did so they watched as Gabriel glanced around the room before walking over to a rack on the wall and pulling two sticks from it, as well as grabbing a blue box-like object. Gabriel had observed humans throughout their stay at the bar using the table and repeated their motion, rubbing the blue ‘stuff’-- chalk, he believes it was called --over the tip of the sticks– a cue, he thought --before handing one over to Beelzebub.

“Hmm, I see, well, let’s play then!”

Within a few minutes of the game, it became very obvious to Beelzebub that Gabriel was abnormally good at this game. He had made at least one of the solid-colored balls in during each round he played. “You must be cheating,” they declared, “You aren’t using miracles are you, Angel?”

Gabriel scoffed. “I wouldn’t dare waste the use of a miracle on something as trivial as this. I’m sorry to tell you this, Beelzebub, but you’re simply bad at this game,” Gabriel announced a shit-eating grin on his face.

A whole round had gone by and Beelzebub only managed to get a singular ball in a pocket.

Beelzebub huffed in defeat. “One more round, that was just beginners luck,” they said.

Gabriel let out a genuine laugh, rolling his eyes at Beelzebub’s insistence. “Whatever you say Beelzebub,” he replied, a chuckle in his tone.

Beelzebub missed two more shots with Gabriel haven’t missed a single one. The Prince of Hell huffed in annoyance and frustration, the cocky Archangel getting under their skin ever so slightly.

“Heh, you really should let me help you with this, Little Bee,” Gabriel offered with a slight chuckle. He leaned his back onto the table in which they had initially sat, crossing one leg over the other while he shoved his hands into his pockets.

‘This prick,’ Beelzebub thought as they heard Gabriel’s patronizing chuckle. They turned to him and froze for only a fraction of a second as they took in his posture and appearance, a slight heat rising to the palm of their hands. Finally, they asked, “Oh? How exactly do you intend to help me, Angel?” They crossed their arms with their cue held in their right hand, with the butt end of the cue planted firmly in the ground. Beelzebub’s eyes examined Gabriel as he leaned his own cue against the table he lounged on and approached them.

Gabriel says nothing in response to their question. Instead, he approaches Beelzebub and places his hand on their waist, turning them so that they faced the pool table. He moved so that his chest was right up against their back while he took their hands into his. Gabriel adjusts them on the pool cue so that they line up to where they’re supposed to be (at least, to where he’s had them placed). He looks down at Beelzebub as they look up and him with the initial heat they experienced flooding the rest of their body that left Gabriel unsure why they felt so warmed (although he chalked it up to the fact that they reside in Hell). As he finished aligning them he took a small step back, but not too far, his hand still against their waist.

“Now, aim the white ball at the yellow-striped one and gently but firmly let the stick glide against your fingers, and then bam you’ll be golden. Shouldn’t be too hard for you, oh Prince of Hell,” Gabriel instructs.

Beelzebub rolled their eyes at Gabriel’s stupid little nicknames for them. First his condescending ‘Little Bee’ that they knew he was only saying to get a rise out of them (and they were gonna be damned if they were going to reveal that to him). They do as Gabriel instructed and strikes the white ball. As the white ball rolls on the table and collides with the yellow striped ball, the yellow one rolls rapidly into the center-left pocket, making Beelzebub’s eyes go wide, shocked that they actually managed to get it in. They don’t, and never will know, that Gabriel performed an ever so slight miracle to ensure that the shot was made, despite his earlier statement about performing miracles on trivial matters.

After finishing this game, with the win going to Beelzebub, they agreed to play one more as a tie-breaker. Though it was much closer than the first game, Gabriel had won and Beelzebub was ever so slightly sulking at their loss. Gabriel found it amusing, poking fun at them for being a sore loser, but before they could even counter with an even snarkier comment they groaned as they were called back to Hell by Dagon. What a way to damper their mood.

“Excuse me, it seems I’m needed back in Hell,” Beelzebub explained to Gabriel, who glanced at the time. It had been just over two hours since he arrived.

Gabriel waved his hand, passively dismissing their pardon. “I should be getting back to Heaven now anyways, no need to worry. So long, Prince of Hell.”

Before Beelzebub could even process the words leaving their mouth, they said, “Until next time.” Walking out of the bar before vanishing instantly.

Gabriel chuckled, “Next time indeed,” he whispered to himself. He was prepared to follow after them before a thought crossed his mind and he approached the bartender. “Can I ask you a question, Sir?” Gabriel asked.

“Of course, what can I help you with?”

“Ah, um… The song that goes something like ‘Every day, it’s a-getting closer / Going faster than a rollercoaster’. What’s its name?” he asked, not even bothering to sing the lyrics that he remembered.

“Ahh, ‘Everyday’ by Buddy Holly is its name, Sir,” the bartender replied with a soft smile. “I saw you and your partner bopping along to it earlier. I’m glad you enjoy the music.”

“My partner?” Gabriel asked with a bewildered look.

The bartender panicked, “Ah, my apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed. Your friend, I meant.”

“Ah, I see. Anyways, thank you for the song name. I’ll be on my way, here, take this for your kindness,” Gabriel said, offering the bartender two crisp twenty-dollar bills as he walked out of the bar and vanished back into Heaven.

The bartender stared at the space Gabriel had occupied, shocked at Gabriel’s sudden disappearance, but they said nothing else and simply shoved the forty dollars into their pocket.

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