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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Til Forever Falls Apart, 1/2 (Gottrosenali) - Pinkgrapefruit

Denali frowns, eyebrows crinkling with confusion. “Baby, that was yesterday,” he tells her, conviction clear in his voice.

“Nuh-uh,” she replies, shaking her head as she shovels a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“I swear it was.”

Kahmora looks at him, a little concern in her eyes as she shakes her head again, softer this time. “Unless you’ve suddenly found a soulmate or something, you probably dreamt it,” she tells him, and he concedes, pushing his bacon around his plate, suddenly not hungry.

A/N: hi!!!! i really hope you enjoy this because i’m a little in love with it! I’m not going to explain the premise too much because I’m pretty sure you’ll pick it up! thanks to emerald for proofreading and frey for betaing and thank you so much to ella my love for helping my vague ideas all come together!!!

please let me know if you like it!!!

Out on our own

Dreaming in a world that we both know

Is out of our control

But if shit hits the fan we’re not alone

He feels like he’s living in a dream - coming off the main stage of RuPaul’s Drag Race, and he won? After the week he’s had, all the twists and turns of the Porkchop Loading Dock, the runways, and ‘Phenomenon’, it’s like a breath of fresh air to be able to relax. Even if it’s just for a little while.

He slips off his heels, padding through the lot without care that he might rip his tights because, god, it feels good to be able to move his toes. Taking them in one hand - heel hooked over his finger, he takes Rosé’s hand in his other - swinging it between them with a contented sigh.

“Good job, Baby,” he whispers, head tilting so the plastic hairs of his wig graze Denali’s face.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” he replies, blinking a couple of times because the early evening sun is threatening to make his eyeliner trail down his cheeks. “Bestie vibes.” It’s a high pitched coo that makes Rosé snort, leaning forward to rock on his toes. He tightens his grip on Denali’s hand to make sure he doesn’t fall over, and Denali feels a warmth in his chest.

“Fuck, that voice,” Rosé coughs out, smiling from ear to ear. “Such a muscley little man making such a white girl noise.”

Denali rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the smirk playing on his lips, dropping Rosé’s hand to flip of Kahmora, who’s turned back from chatting to Joey just to raise an eyebrow at the two of them.

He turns back to Rosé and then gestures towards the sound stage. “What do you think we’re walking into?”

“Fuck if I know,” he responds, rustling his plastic sleeves for added effect, sending them both back into peals of laughter that make the PAs scowl at them as they enter the soundstage.

“HARD ICE,” they all scream, forcing Denali to stifle his laughter with the back of his hand before remembering how dark his lipstick is. He turns to Rosé and pouts, letting Rosé fix up the outline of his lips with the pad of his thumb - squinting in the dim lighting.

“All good,” he whispers, and Denali swallows hard at the feeling of his fingers on his face. He shakes his head slightly and switches his focus, putting his white pumps on so he has something to do.

They wait for around half an hour, rotating in their little circle so they each get time under the aircon. When they’re eventually called to move towards the werkroom, he sighs and hauls himself up from the crouch he’s been sat in (tugging on Joey’s arm), feeling his knees pop as they decompress.

When they enter it, faking smiles to cover their apprehension as if they don’t know what’s about to happen, Denali’s eyes scan the room. She takes them all in, red hair, tiny cowboy hat, pigtails, white face - all the usual, staring down at them like they’re less than.

“Ohhh, that’s what’s up,” he hears himself say - chuckling at Rosé’s button to his comment. He feels his shoulders relax when Joey’s scream crosses the room, a collective sigh of relief blanketing the room as they all ease their intimidations. They crowd around the table as if half of them aren’t in wigs bigger than their heads, and Denali feels a stabilising palm on his lower back.

He breathes in through the nose and out through the mouth before turning back into the conversation. He’s exhausted, the adrenaline high from winning long worn off, and he’s grateful Rosé noticed.

They manage to move through the rest of the pleasantries quickly enough, and he’s out of drag, into the van and into his bed quicker than you can say ‘B squad’.

When his head hits the pillow, he lets his weary mind wander to tomorrow. He can’t wait to see what happens.

‘Cause you’ve got me and you know

That I’ve got you and I know

If the tide takes California

I’m so glad I got to hold ya

Denali’s jolted awake by the tinny tones of the hotel alarm clock, pushing his fists into his eyes and rubbing them a little too hard to try and get himself in the mood for people before ducking into the shower. He does his cursory shaving, his armpits, chest, and chin before starting to brush his teeth, only remembering afterwards that the hotel is doing squeeze your own orange juice this morning. He scowls in the mirror but shrugs, throwing on his clothes (and hoping no one notices they’re the same as yesterday). He’s just in time, and he slips out of the door as the PA calls his name.

He spends the walk down to breakfast trying to remember what he knows about the other queens. He’s heard about Tina from Rosé, and so far she seems to be just as much of a shit-stirrer. Kandy is a well-known name among RuGirl hopefuls, so he’s not shocked to see her, and Symone is linked to Gigi from last season so she’s not a surprise either. He’s surprised Elliott is still here, but it makes sense…

His train of thought is cut off as Kahmora taps his shoulder with a beaming smile, a glass of apple juice in hand. “You excited for Phenomenon today?” She asks, wiping a droplet of the juice off her chin before picking up a plate full of scrambled eggs and following Denali over to their table.

Denali frowns, eyebrows crinkling with confusion. “Baby, that was yesterday,” he tells her, conviction clear in his voice.

“Nuh-uh,” she replies, shaking her head as she shovels a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“I swear it was.”

“Okay,” he admits and he tries to forget about it. Admittedly, he does a very poor job - there’s no way in hell he dreamt it - all of the memories feel too tangible. And that doesn’t even account for the way his legs seem to know the choreography before they come up with it. And he’s not the only one because he notices how Rosé keeps getting this dazed look in his eyes and how he marks his entire solo without hesitation. That didn’t happen last time.

Then again, everything seems a little different from last time. He and Rosé don’t bicker over the choreography, instead, working together smoothly which seems to confuse them both.

He realised very quickly that he could ignore the situation or lean into it, so he delights in doing little things that seem to quirk Rosé’s eyebrows until the brunette pulls him aside after rehearsal. He places a firm hand on his hip and holds him in place, using the other to scratch at his scalp in frustration until Denali bats at it.

“Stop it,” he scolds before twisting his body to lean his head on the cold concrete wall. He sighs. “You feel it too, huh?” he asks, trying to be vague in case the hunch he’s got is wrong.

Rosé falls back against the wall next to him before sinking to a squat. “What?” he asks, a little sardonic. “Feel like I’ve already lived this day, but no one else seems to have noticed?”

He sounds exhausted, and Denali realises that he probably hasn’t even asked someone, he’s just going through the motions and hoping he’s not insane.

“You’re not going crazy,” he tries to console - thinking it’s probably what he would want to hear. At Rosé’s small exhale of relief, he reckons he was correct. “I feel it too.”

“Then we’re both crazy, great.”

Denali sits down next to him, letting his legs fall out in front of him and smiles to himself when Rosé’s head falls onto his shoulder.

“Kam told me it was either a dream or I’d met my soulmate,” he chuckles, meaning it as a joke, but trailing off when Rosé tenses next to him.

“What’s the chance we shared the same dream?” Rosé asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’d like to find out.”

And if the sky falls from heaven above

Oh, I know I had the best time falling into love

We’ve been living on a fault line

And for a while, you were all mine

Mik brushes sleep out of his eyes with an absent-minded motion, calling out to the PA banging on his door that he’ll just order room service for breakfast. He hears their call time is four o’clock, but brushes it off in his hazy state until he sits bolt upright. The covers fall onto his lap, pooling on his thighs like fluffy clouds, and he’s half-convinced he needs to fall back into them and just go to sleep. He pulls on a pair of basketball shorts and a beanie, and pads to the door, poking his head around it with a furrowed brow.

“I missed the call time, remind me Mel?” he asks his PA who’s sat in an armchair with an amused expression.

“It’s four,” she tells him, “but please try to stick to the sequester.”

He chuckles, waving a hand in apology before shutting his door and falling onto his bed with a shaky breath.

Something’s not quite right.

He stands up again, anxiety seeping into his limbs and he walks over to the wardrobe - opening it to find a wig head with a long turquoise wig.

“Fuck.”

Next to it is his makeup, set out on the shelf under the mirror in a meticulous fashion - one he can’t remember doing before he went to bed.

He pulls out his small journal and tries to play detective, feeling like a little kid again, scrounging for clues.

There’s his wig - the one he’s pretty sure he wore yesterday and left in the werkroom. There’s his call time - a good nine hours later than he thought it was going to be - and then there’s the weird feeling of deja vu.

It’s crackling through him - blazing up like a wildfire, and he can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is going on.

Yesterday feels so vivid and real. He remembers how Symone smelt when she hugged him, and the timbre of Denali’s voice even though he’d never met him before.

Deciding he’ll figure it out once he’s had some food, he flicks the TV on and pulls the room service menu out of the drawer next to his bed. He’s ordering when he hears the news.

June seventh.

Again.

I’ve spent a lifetime giving you my heart

I swear that I’ll be yours forever

'Til forever falls apart

Rosé rolls out of bed and hits the floor with a sigh. It’s the third time this has happened and while he’s pretty sure the universe could have chosen a better way to wake him up - it’s a pretty good indicator of what day he’s living. He winces as he scrunches up his nose, but knows there’s no lasting damage, so he stands back up with a frown and flicks on the TV for some background noise. Hotels are always a little too silent for him, and he can’t trust his inner monologue not to uncover something he doesn’t want to think about right now.

“June seventh,” he mutters under his breath, “perfect.”

He goes through the motions of getting ready without really thinking about it, pulling on his heather grey sweatshirt and joggers before sliding out of the door. He and Joey share a PA, and so he asks a perfunctory question about Joey’s dance school before tuning out the other man on their way down to breakfast.

He grabs his apple juice quickly and pulls Denali down to sit at a table.

“Ugh, apple juice again?” Denali moans with a pout, placing down a plate of watermelon slices and toast in front of him.

Rosé frowns, looking down at his eggs. “Didn’t you have bacon yesterday?” he asks, and Denali catches on quick enough with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, but I think it’s going to get dull pretty quick if I don’t switch some things up here and there.” He tilts his head in thought before placing an entire wedge of watermelon in his mouth - the rind covering his teeth, so he ends up with a green smile.

Rosé chuckles, wiping a droplet of apple juice from his chin that threatens to dampen his toast.

“I can’t argue there,” he responds, switching his usual ketchup for sriracha on impulse. He takes a bite of eggs and mimes fanning himself, sticking his tongue out to the sound of Denali’s giggles.

“God, you’re so white,” he teases, and Rosé flicks his middle finger up, unable to hide his own smile.

When they finish, they wait quietly for the van to take them to the set, and Denali stretches his arms above his head, twisting from side to side in a way that makes his shirt rise just above the band of his joggers. The trail of hair peeking out in the gap makes Rosé want to run his finger down it, and he has to turn away to keep himself from doing just that.

“Guess this isn’t a dream then,” Denali says, and he hopes his blush is gone when he turns back around to respond.

“I guess not,” he replies lamely and then watches as the brunette chews on his tongue for a second before he seems to remember what he was looking for.

“I spoke to Kam,” he says, and Rosé goes to speak until Denali places a firm hand over his mouth. He makes a face when Rosé licks a stripe up his palm but doesn’t remove it. “I spoke to Kam,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, “and apparently the soulmate thing happens when two soulmates meet for the first time and get stuck in some sort of time loop until they make a connection.” He removes his hand, wiping Rosé’s saliva across his own stubble, making the Scot wince.

“Didn’t want a face covered in my own saliva, but werk, I guess,” he starts, and Denali shrugs as if to say ‘shouldn’t have licked me’, gesturing for him to go on. He lowers his voice but the worry increases. “You did not just walk up to Kam, though, and tell her what’s happening?” He sounds almost frantic, eyes wide, and Denali has to place a cool hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down.

“Chill,” he says as if the whole situation is completely normal. “It was totally natural. I just mentioned I was reading a book.”

“You, reading?” Rosé jokes, seeming to have regained some of his cool. He brushes his hoodie as if trying to remove some stray crumbs and stands up a little straighter.

“Oh, shove off it,” Denali retorts. “You’re allowed to be scared,” he adds, voice softening slightly, “but we do need to actually talk about it.”

He steps a little closer, tilting his head curiously.

“We are talking about it?”

“Sure, love.”

They’re called to the van and the conversation is left alone.

Rosé’s not sure if that’s for the best.

So this is it, that’s how it ends

I guess there’s nothing more romantic than dying with your friends

And I’m not sorry for myself

I wouldn’t wanna spend a minute loving anybody else

He’s about ready to jump off the balcony, he decides, as he falls flat on his face for the fourth time. He rolls onto his back with a huff and looks up at the wood-chipped ceiling. He wonders if there’s a god up there - if his Nan had been right and the lord really was going to punish him for being gay. Maybe this is it.

He inhaled slowly and lets it out through gritted teeth before rolling back onto his front. Placing his hands on either side of him, he pushes up into a plank before dropping into some push-ups just to prove to himself he can.

And maybe because he’s going to see Denali in twenty minutes or so.

Maybe that’s why he pulls on a teal shirt that clings a little tighter than usual. Or maybe not.

He might as well look nice if God is deciding to smite him - that’s his reasoning, and he says as much to Denali who splutters on his apple juice, spraying it across the table in a way that makes the rest of the cast look at them funny. They’re quite a sight.

“Nice to know you think I’m a punishment,” Denali jokes, mirth in his tone, but just a tiny bit of hurt glittering in his eyes. It’s something Rosé wishes he didn’t see because it sends a slice of guilt through him wider than the San Andreas faultline.

“Baby,” he says, reaching across the table so he can take Denali’s hand, and not even wincing when his arm falls into a puddle of sticky apple juice, “Fuck, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Denali’s eyes flick down at the table before meeting Rosé’s, too hesitant for his liking. “We need to have that talk,” he says. “I need you to acknowledge what this means.”

Rosé nods, resigned. “Okay,” he agrees, “after the lipsync.”

They fall into their positions backstage, sunk against the wall, a little ways from the others with the air-con providing just enough noise for their conversation to be muffled from others.

Rosé takes Denali’s hand again, rubbing his thumb slowly against the back of it.

“You’re my soulmate,” he says slowly, feeling the words form in his mouth. “Soulmate,” he repeats again - its shape feeling a little too round and a little too rough on his tongue.

“Soulmates,” Denali agrees, and somehow it sounds perfect coming from him.

They sit in silence, listening to the rumble of the air con and the bustle of the crew.

“Surely this is a connection though?” Denali points out after a few moments, and Rosé has to shake his head to allow his thoughts to catch up. He’d gotten stuck on soulmates, and his brain had just stopped. “Like, surely this is something.”

Rosé shrugs, squeezing their intertwined fingers and letting his head fall onto Denali’s shoulder - reminiscent of the first conversation they had like this. “Maybe you need to kiss me,” he suggests, half joking, but Denali places two fingers under his chin.

A sly smile crosses his face, and he presses their lips together before Rosé can blink.

It’s over in seconds, and yet it lasted long enough for Rosé to remember that Denali’s lipstick tastes of vanilla.

He’s not sure he’ll ever forget it.

Denali looks at him in the backstage lights, using the fingers under his chin to manoeuvre his face, and then the pad of his thumb to gently blend any purple into the nude of his lipstick.

“Six out of ten,” he quips, unable to do anything much, except relish in the electricity that seems to be flowing through him from where their lips touched.

“Shut up,” Denali replies with a small smile, standing up and reaching out a hand to tug Rosé up next to him. “I’ll kiss you properly when I know these bitches will remember it,” he points to Kahmora, who’s watching them both with a raised eyebrow - the rest of them seem oblivious.

Rosé smirks.

“Deal.”

#rpdr fanfiction #til forever falls apart #pinkgrapefruit #s13 #rosé #gottmik #denali foxx #denali x gottmik x rosé #kahmora hall #canon compliant #soulmate au #fluff #poly #time loop #denali really wants orange juice and its an ongoing plot point #a comedy of idiots #dumb bitch energy #concrit welcome i guess #we stan v

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lupienne · 4 years

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The Reality - Negan and Lucille

Hey guys, here’s a little Halloween fic of Negan and Lucille. I started it like two years ago and never felt motivated to finish it. So I finally sat down today on Halloween and wrote the end of it, and while I’m not really happy with it... whatever. Here it is anyway! I think it’s kind of bittersweet, but that’s just me.

The Reality

Gourds were on porches, leaves on the ground, and the stores were filled with pumpkin-flavored everything. The crisp air was a slap to the lungs, in a good way.

I'd always loved Fall, and I'd always looked forward to Halloween. That night when reality wavered on the edge. When you could be dark or light, the opposite of yourself – when you could be anything for just a few hours.

I hadn't been a fan of the days passing by lately. Dread sat like a tumor in my stomach.

The reality was... that reality fucking sucked.

I watched my breath puff out white as I came home on Thursday. Maybe it wouldn't fucking rain this Halloween. We might get snow instead.

After dinner, I polished off a few apple cider donuts, then settled on the couch to watch TV with Lucille. She was quiet and sleepy-eyed as the clock ticked towards my bedtime. The holiday was days away, falling right splat on a Saturday.

“Tony said he found some fuckin' booze flavored like Candy Corn. I hope that's not all he's gonna have, because that's gross as fuck.” I yawned. “What do you think I should dress as? Fuck, I shouldn't have waited until the last minute.”

We always attended Tony Synder's party down the block. I wasn't really crazy about the guy, but I'm not gonna pass up free food or secretly laughing at the neighbor's costumes. (I always looked fucking amazing.) I liked to switch up my style, but Lucille usually dressed as a witch. And not some sloppy, warty green hag...but a hot fucking witch. Her slim figure in a black corset, her tits pushed up, her cascade of black curls falling over one eye. In years past, we'd come home from that party partly drunk and ripping each other's costumes off as we stumbled through the door. God damn. I was almost getting hard thinking of it.

Almost. The past few years, Lucille had me at arm's reach and I couldn't blame her. I was shit, I was an unfaithful piece of shit, but she-

That shit didn't matter anymore.

“He-Man,” she said with a chuckle. “I want to see you rocking that little leather harness.”

“Goddamn, that's right on the edge of indecent exposure. Isn't he practically naked?”

“Why do you think I suggested it?”

“I would make a hot blond.” I slid closer to her, and she nestled against my side. “You gonna be my Bewitching Beauty as always?”

She was quiet for so long I thought she'd fallen asleep.

“...think I'm gonna sit this one out.”

“But why?”

“I don't know. Just not up to it, I guess. But you go, have fun. Maybe you'll find a hot date.”

I swallowed hard. After everything....I couldn't laugh at those types of jokes.

“...Stop that shit. You're the only hot date I want. I don't wanna go alone. We don't have to stay long.”

“Look, Negan, they won't want me there.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Tony adores you, which is why I ain't his biggest fan, cause I know he's always wanted to stick his dick in you-”

She let out a laugh that was more of a scoff. “Doubt he feels that way now. Nobody wants a dying woman at their party, making things awkward.”

I felt like I'd been punched in the goddamn balls. My stomach went to my throat and I roiled with sudden nausea. Eyes burning with acid. I fought it, I fought it motherfuckin' hard . My jaw clenched like I was in rigor mortis, my body shuddering.

“Don't...don't say fucking shit like that.”

She nudged my ribs. “God, calm down, Negan. What about this, huh? I don't have any hair.”

“It's Hallo-fucking-ween. Everyone is wearing a motherfuckin' wig right now. You'll fit right in.”

She leaned her head on my arm. “I'm tired. I'll think about it. Ok?”

That meant no. But it wasn't official yet, so I was gonna stop at the party store and buy that fucking He-Man getup and the best witch wig I could find. She'd change her mind right quick once she saw me in that loincloth.

As she went to bed, I stared out the window at the orange light of our Jack-o-lantern. The nausea had settled back into my bones. A constant undercurrent, moving through my veins like poisoned blood.

Too many tricks, life. Not enough treats.

---

Friday night. I stopped at the party store. The cashier rung up my purchases, then looked me over with a twinkle in her eye. I refused to be flattered – ok, I was kind of fucking flattered. The wig for Lucille was the most expensive they had. If you squinted, it looked nearly like her natural spill of curls.

At home, I put my hand on the package, and felt a rush of fucking darkness come over me. I had to fucking sit there, like so many nights, fighting the thoughts that stung like needles. If I let them keep stinging, the tears would come – the fucking breakdown would follow.

So I fought it. I shut it down. I fucking locked it up, because Lucille doesn't like it when I fall apart – and why should she? I'm the man. I'm supposed to be her rock. She hates it when I cry. I hate it when I cry.

So I fucking smiled when I walked in the door. I smelled Chinese food. Lucille was already piling mine onto a plate – the sweet n' sour chicken I love. All she ordered was a tub of Wonton soup. I frowned, but said nothing. At least she's eating.

She looked at the bag in my hand, and she too, said nothing. “Dinner's ready. And I rented some Halloween movies.”

We ate and watched Child's Play and Micheal Myers and a leprechaun who makes bad jokes. I didn't mention the costume or the party, but I knew I'd be going alone. I spend the last movie wondering how I'll excuse my wife's absence, and how the fuck I'm gonna endure the pity in their eyes. It fucking pissed me off. That they're putting her in the ground already. That she's putting herself there.

“Honey,” she rubbed my tense arm. “You ok?”

“Yeah, babe. Just...indigestion.”

And damn this woman, she got up to make me a cup of peppermint tea. I sat there numb, wondering what the fuck I'm going to do without her.

----

“By the POWER OF GRAYSCALE, behold my glorious sword! ...and by sword, I mean dick.” I adjusted He-Man's fake-fur loincloth. Played with it, flipped it around. I wore some black boxers under it, but I was still worried about...slippage. I looked so fucking ridiculous.

I slid on the blond bob wig, examining the hot mess in the mirror. “Haha, oh yeah! What a fine motherfucker. Jesus H Christ. I am a glutton for punishment. Ok, babe. I'm decent! Come check me out before I head over there!”

“It's Grayskull, not Grayscale. Get it right, Negan.”

The bedroom door swung open and my mouth dropped. My Lucille stood there, the black wig cascading over her shoulders. Her body, slimmer than ever, hugged by a slinky black dress and purple corset. Glitter dusted her chest and cheeks.

“Goddamn, woman.”

“I couldn't miss out on that Candy Corn booze.”

I smiled, but we both knew she wouldn't be drinking that. She'd be spending the night over the toilet. I had to banish that thought fuckin' quick. She already spends too many nights over the toilet.

“I'll taste test it for you first. Let you know exactly how fucking disgusting it is.”

We headed down the block, passing early Trick-or-Treaters. The rain had come after all, but merely presented as a pathetic drizzle. The mist in the air diffused the street lamps into yellow balls of light. I wish I'd brought my coat to drape over Lucille's bare shoulders. Spooky music played from our elderly neighbor's house and he waved at us. Lucille waved back.

Tony's yard had become a graveyard of cardboard tombstones and dry ice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lucy shiver.

“Want me to go back and grab a coat?”

“Don't be dumb. We're almost there.”

On the porch, Tony's tween kid sat in a lawn chair with a bowl of candy. No costume, how quaintly rebellious. She looked bored as fuck until we rolled up, and then she snickered openly. Dear fucking God. I hoped my loincloth was in place. My nipples were like fucking pebbles on either side of the plastic harness. I quickly banged on the door.

Tony opened it. “Negan! And Lucille! Very nice, very nice. Love the costume, although I'd never call you a witch. Or anything rhyming with it.”

We did an obligatory laugh. The tween rolled her eyes.

“You look cold, Negan. Better step inside. I got the lager ready to go.” Tony had the same damn smirk as his kid.

“Why did you pick this costume for me again?” I muttered. We passed through the entryway strung with a beaded curtain of bats and spiders. The living room was bathed in red light and Monster Mash blasted from the stereo. Tony's wife always went all-out with this shit. A skeleton sat in the armchair and fake cobwebs were every-fucking-where. I hoped the dry ice didn't affect Lucy's breathing.

Wifey Tanya came over, hugging Lucille and complimenting our costumes. I glanced down, wondering how they saw her. Did they know the shadowed eyes and gaunt cheeks weren't make-up? Did they notice the weight she'd lost?

I still saw beauty. The cut flower, vibrant and blooming –just don't think of the future, the withering-

Freeze that shit in time. I closed my ears to nothing but the soundtrack of screams and creaking doors, back-lit with the wailing of ghosts. Party guest voices blabbered over it all. We melted into the past. It was another party like the parties of years before. Slightly pathetic in that 'thirty-something's hanging out' kind of way. Laughing too loud. Secretly sizing each other up.

At least the lime green jello shots were good.

So yeah, it was just another lame party, and because of that, it wasn't. Because for a while...we were normal. Lucille laughed. I saw her smiling. Within her costume, she wasn't the Sick One. She was the mischievous witch, mingling with devils and cowboys and kitty cats.

Mrs Tillerman from school was there. She drank too much of that nasty Candy Corn atrocity. I caught her checking me out and I felt – for maybe the first time ever – ashamed. Other women looked at me too, making slightly-tipsy comments in my direction. I was glad Lucille was across the room, no doubt bored out of her mind listening to Ms Crouch talk about her fucking kids. And by kids, I mean her cats.

“Mmm, hello, He-Man. Nice sword. Remember that time after school?” Mrs Tillerman, winking and nudging.

“Sorry, He-Man has no fucking recollection of that.”

She'd sucked my dick once. Just once. That was really enough for me. I think I'd only allowed it because I could. Now, I saw what a fucking piece of trash I was. Hopefully, when she sobered up, she would too.

“You don't?” She took another swig from her solo cup and let out a burp. I quickly turned her in the direction of the bathroom. Just in time, because Lucille was drifting my way.

“Motherfuckin' crowd is getting drunk. There's probably going to be barf in the apple-bobbin' water. As if bobbing for apples isn't fucking gross enough.” I had to yell as The Addam's Family theme blasted from the speakers.

“Yeah.” She looked pale under the glitter.

“You had enough?”

I knew she had. We'd done it, we'd made our appearance, we'd given proof of life. I squeezed her hand, then found our host. I was tired, had papers to grade, been a great party...you know the bullshit, Tony.

We walked home silently. I wanted to ask how she was feeling. It was a lump in my throat. She'd probably just be annoyed. Say I was worrying too much. Say she was fine.

The warm glow of our porch washed over us. It sparkled the glitter on her cheeks, flushed pink from the cold. I wanted badly to kiss her. Instead, I fumbled in my He-Man boot for the house key.

Kids screamed and laughed on the street, swinging their bags of candy. It was just another Halloween in a long line of them, stretching out into our future. Maybe ten years from now, our kid would join the others.

Tomorrow, I wouldn't think like this. But tonight – fucking dammit, I was going to pretend we had years ahead of us.

I got the door open, got us in, shut it against the chill.

“Fuck. Don't know if that was worth going to. You have fun?”

The orange glow filtered in through the glass panel of our front door. Moonlight through the windows, silvering the interior. Everything was dark, but sharply edged with white. Lucille turned to face me. She discarded her witch's hat, the wig – no...her hair, looking real and soft and luscious, spilling onto her shoulders. She slowly drew one hand up my naked stomach and my skin shivered under the touch.

“He-Man,” she rasped. “I've put you under my spell.”

“Lucille...?”

“It's Lucianna. Maiden of the Night. And I've cast my spell upon you.”

I imagined she'd gotten that crap from those dumb novels she liked to read. The ones with guys who wished they were as hot as me on the cover. “Oh yeah? What spell is that?”

Her hand drifted under my loincloth. I let out a breath. Shit. I hadn't felt her touch me there for weeks.

“The spell of Lust. I'm irresistible to you.”

She didn't need a spell for that.

She rose to her tiptoes, her cold arms against my chest. “...Negan. Make love to me. “

“...but...Lucille...”

It's too strenuous for you. You'll be tired. I'm afraid I'll hurt you -

She didn't look tired. Her eyes were dark and wide, her skin sparkling. The chilled hands sliding under the plastic harness were strong and sure. Her lips hungrily pressed to my chin. “...Don't resist me, He-Man. Give me this night – a Halloween like we used to have.”

I fucking melted like the half-frozen rain under the burning Halloween moon. What could I do?

“By the power of Grayscale, I pull forth my sword, Lucianna!”

“That's Grayskull, He-man!” She laughed as I backed her to the couch, my hands fumbling at her corset. “Ooh, that's such a big sword you have. You sure you can lift that thing up?”

“Witch, I'm gonna impale you so fuckin' deep with my hard steel. You just fuckin' wait.”

“Oh, I'm waiting, but you still have your clothes on.”

Heh. Good thing He-Man was half-fucking-naked already. The witch was helpless to my brute strength as I lifted her and carried her into the bedroom.

To be honest, there wasn't anything rough or hard about it. Even on devil's night, I had to maintain some sense of restraint. My hands gently stroked ribs under frail skin, planted kisses onto delicate shoulders and licked along a ridge of collarbone. Lucianna, my withering flower, her beauty stretched across bones.

Her hands, digging hard into my shoulders, her legs, wrapping me like squeezing pythons – well, they felt anything but weak.

After, we lay breathing and nestled together. The light outside came and went, broken up by drifting clouds. Lucille's sharpened features were softened. Her wig was still on and still looked real as fuck – money well spent. Her eyes, half-lidded, were tired, but tired in a good fucking way.

“Not a bad fucking Halloween, huh, Lucy?”

“Pretty damn good fucking Halloween,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes, and I watched her, drowsing there in the dark. Her spell was slowly melting away; her magic could only veil the truth so long.

But for a few hours, reality shifted and wavered on the edge. She was alive, she was here, and we would spend our nights beside each other, just like this.

For just the brief span of our last Halloween night, I could have it. It was my reality.

And the reality was... that reality was fucking great.

#negan #comic negan #lucille #fanfic #fic #lup's writing #thanks for reading :)

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cheshiremadd · 5 years

Text

until she falls in love with me

AO3 Inspiration

Interlude: The Ladyblog

Here it is, folks! Last month’s non-akuma video submissions: The Convention Compilation!You guys sent in so much footage; so I’ll be posting a second compilation later in the week. Thanks for your support! - Alya Cesaire, Ladyblogger Extraordinaire

A group of people are down the street from the camera. They are all wearing black and all have blonde hair. The view turns 180 degrees to show Chat Noir. A cheshire grin and a wink, and he turns it back to the group. The camera bobs as he walks towards them. As he gets closer, it becomes clear that every person in the group is in a Chat Noir costume. They range from I-found-this-in-my-closet to well tailored, used-every-reference-image-the-Ladyblog-had-to-offer imitation. One cosplayer turns his head and catches sight of Chat. He waves and calls out, “Hey man, looks like your going to the con, too! Wanna join us?”

Everyone else turns and most wave or call out greetings. “Sure! Mind if I record?”

They all look at each other, shaking heads. The first one responds as he holds out a clawed hand. “I think we’re all okay with that. I’m Bertrand.”

“I’m Chat Noir!” The group laughs.

“Yeah, so are we!” One of the girls says, still laughing. She’s wearing a simple jeans and t-shirt, both black, and a cat ear headband in blond hair that looks more real than wig. “Woah, wicked costume! Are those the ears off Amazon? It’s great to know they actually work.”

The group starts walking again, and Chat follows with his camera. They chatter about which panels to see (Marvel vs Miraculous: What Comics Can Tell Us About Real Life Superheroes and Protagonist? Villain? Goofy Side-Kick? How to Recognize Your Role in Life and What You Can Do About It seem to be two favorites), make bets on what cosplays they’ll see the most of (“I’m telling ya, Bertie, there’s gonna be more Ladybugs!” “Chat’s costume is easier!”), and eventually moves to celebrity sightings.

“Guys, did you see?! Adrien Agreste is coming! He confirmed on Twitter this morning. Says he’s got his costume ready to go and everything!” He hops up and down in his excitement. “Do you think he’ll dress up as Chat Noir? I loved his work on the Ladybug and Chat Noir movie. His portrayal of Chat Noir was spot on! Do you think he’ll take a picture with me?”

“Don’t you mean ‘his portrayal was purrfect’?” Chat interrupted.

The teen smacks his palm to his forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”

Amid giggles, Black Jeans and a T-shirt speaks up again. “Okay, but is he a guest? Or a pleb like us? I’m sure that he isn’t going so he can be mobbed by fans, Matthieu.”

“It’s general knowledge that if you go to a convention in costume, people will want to take pictures.”

“It’s general courtesy to ask before you take pictures, and back off if he says ‘no’.”

“Of course!” Matthieu raises his hands in defense. “Of course I’d back off.”

A curious sound, almost like a heavy-duty fishing reel being released and drawn back in, comes over the video. Chat’s slightly awed muttering can barely be heard, “This is one of the best parts of my day..”, and then Ladybug is dropping gracefully on the other side of the multiple Chat Noirs.

“Hi everyone.” She gives a brief warm smile and then turns her attention to the person behind the camera. Her blue eyes are vivid and piercing. “Are you coming or what?” She waits for a moment, expecting an answer. The group trade confused looks. “Look, I know you hate overscheduled days, but I have a lot to do today, and if I don’t follow mine, I will end up disappointing someone.”

The silence continues. Black Jeans and a T-Shirt shifts from foot to foot. Tuxedo Chat wipes her hands on her pants. Professional Cosplayer Chat looks like he’s about to melt from Ladybug’s mere presence. The camera shifts and picks up a muffled snerk that the cosplayers don’t register.

“Uh, ma’am?” Bertrand starts, then cuts off as she looks at him. “...we’re, uh….None of us are actually Chat Noir.” He pauses a moment. “We’re.. cosplayers?”

She stares at him with an amused eyebrow and a barely-there smile. “I know my partner when I see him.” She glances back at Chat, and mischief dances in her eyes. “Alright, fine, but I’m enacting a penalty game.”

Ladybug shifts her weight into a more relaxed position. Brings her fingers to her chin as if stroking an invisible beard. “Hm...I’ll just have to find your Number 1 Fan and see if I can sway her my way.”

There’s a loud gasp. Chat and his camera begin moving to the front of the group.

“Nope! No! Not happening! Sorry, guys, it was fun, but there is NO WAY in HELL that I am letting that happen.”

“I’m sure it’d be so easy, too. She’s a fashion designer, isn’t she? All I’d have to do is show her how fantastic she’d look in red.”

Chat practically chokes. Ladybug looks smug.

“Bug. You have the Ladyblogger. You have Adrien Agreste, and Chloé Bourgeois. Jagged Stone. You can keep your 90% of Paris. But Marinette Dupain-Cheng is mine. You may not have her.”

“Hey! Jagged loves us equally. And it’s probably more like…” She seesaws her hand in approximation. “..78% of Paris.”

“Um…” The camera turns back to the cosplayers, who are wearing a variety of facial expressions. Mouth-gapingly dumbfounded. Disbelief. Confusion. Stars in the eyes excitement.

The feed cuts as they all ask for autographs.

"Mommy, look! It's Chat Noir!"

A small girl runs up and hugs him. She has a navy dress, red hair bow, and an orange bag.

“Élodie! You need to ask before you touch.” Élodie’s mom sounds both like she’s said this a hundred times today and like she thinks the scene is adorable. She steps around part of the crowd and into the camera view. Élodie immediately lets go

“Can..can I ha-have a hug?”

Chat Noir looks delighted. His eyes shine and his grin is threatening to overtake his face. He drops to his knees to better accommodate the four year old. “Absolutely!”

She’s squeezing him for all she’s worth, and he’s holding her as if she’s the most precious child in the world. Her mom quietly produces a phone and snaps a picture. She glances at the screen with a small smile. Chat only pulls back when Élodie does.

“You are the cutest Kiki!” Chat tilts his head. He’s still on his knees, at her eye level. “But where is your Jiji?”

Élodie lights up even more and paws for her bag. The black cat plush is proudly presented. Chat takes it, gingerly, and says, “Did you know that cats can talk to one another?”

The little girl nods enthusiastically, hanging on his every word. He lifts Jiji to his cat ears and closes his eyes. Tilts his head. ‘Listens’ for a moment. She squirms, doing a kind of butt wiggle like she can’t possibly contain her excitement.

Finally, Chat nods. “Mm-hm. I’ll be sure to pass the message on.”

She jumps once, twice, three times. Her little hands are clenched fists not quite hiding her mouth. “What’d he say? What’d he say?!”

“He says that he loves you. And also please stop hogging the blankets at night.” His smile turns teasing. “Are you a blanket hog?”

They talk for a few more minutes. She asks him every question under the sun (“Ca-can you really see when the sun goes down? Do you eat cookies? Could you tie up a dinosaur and a tiger?”). She touches his ears and tries to stop his tail from moving. Her last question has him tapping his chest and beckoning Ladybug closer with his other hand. Élodie looks to her mom, who nods and smiles, and lays her head where he indicated. Ladybug slips a hand into his hair and, with what is clearly practiced ease, begins scratching. His eyes droop and close. They stay paused for a moment, until Élodie shrieks with laughter, pulls away to tell her mom giddily, “He purrs, Mommy! Like Jiji!”, then goes back to hear again.

When the little girl and her mom finally go on their way, the cameraperson has scooted close enough to the heroes to catch one final exchange.

Ladybug, who hasn’t taken her eyes off her partner and his tiny fan the whole time, says “Chat, if you ever decide to have kids, you’re going to make the most incredible father.”

The previous scene ended with a red faced Chat Noir. And this scene starts with one.

The view zooms out to bring a full view of the dark haired Chat. Her costume is perfect, down to the honeycomb pattern on the fabric. Hair unbound and rockstar teased, blue cat eye contacts, clawed hands nervously twirling her belt-tail. She’s in a convention hall, surrounded by crowds of people. Some are in costumes like her, some in regular clothes.

“Are you livestreaming this?” Marinette says.

“Nope! But you can bet I’m putting it in this month’s submission compilation post. Your work deserves to be shown off!”

“Alyaaa, you’re making me blush!”

Alya laughs, then gasps as a giant space marine moves and reveals the real Chat Noir. “Chat! Chat Noir! Care to share a few words with the Ladyblog?"

He waves and works his way to them. He’s smiling brightly until Marinette turns to greet him, and he stops dead. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open. His face is now very, very red. He waves his hands like he’s trying to get something out and is having trouble, but then reigns them in, covering his mouth with one and putting the other to the opposite elbow.

“That’s, um,” His voice comes out high and squeaky. He clears his throat and tries again. “Wow. That’s wow. How, uh, how did you get the fabric to do that?”

She seems too stunned to answer for a moment. “L-lots of experiments. And practice. I had to do so much research on how fabrics are made.”

“Wow,” Chat says again. His eyes are roaming all over her form, taking in every detail.

“Hey, M, turn around. I want to get a good shot of you two!” The two jump a bit, but do as she asks and line up facing the camera. Standing next to him only exemplifies how exact her creation is.

Alya leads her impromptu interview with: “How long did it take you to make your outfit?”

“Mmm...six months or so, about when the presale tickets went live.”

“So long?” the superhero asks. He’s mystified.

Marinette just shrugs. “I knew that I’d have to work around school and commissions and other stuff, and I wanted to give the project the consideration it deserved.”

“What was the hardest part to recreate?” Alya asks.

Marinette laughs. “Definitely the fabric! I went through so many different types, trying to figure out the best way to get the pattern on right, because it’s just not something you’ll find in a store. I ended up contacting someone that I’d met at a design competition, and they were able to point me in the direction of a company that will print your pattern for you.”

Chat’s eyes widen once more and he pulls out his baton and starts tapping on it. Nino walks up, in a store-bought Chat Noir costume, also holding his phone out.

“Babe! No Adrien?”

Nino glances at Alya, then back down. “He says he’s here, but there’s so many people, it’s impossible to find anybody. Oh, hey, you found Nettie and Chat Noir. HOLY SHIT MARINETTE. That costume is wicked!”

He circles her, putting his phone up, then holds his fist out. She bumps it with a grin.

Chat harumphs and replaces his weapon. “Looks like LB’s already detransformed. I wanted to show off Marinette’s amazing skills!”

Alya laughs. “Ladybug’s right, though. M does look fantastic in red.”

Chat stares at her, decidedly grumpy. The girl in question snorts out surprised laughter. A tall Mad Hatter in the background notices the camera and sticks up crooked bunny ears over Chat’s head. Alya cackles in delight.

“As I told my lady,” he wraps a possessive arm around Marinette’s shoulder, “my Number 1 Fan. Not hers.”

He looks directly at the camera. “Oh, and to anyone still arguing over the position: Look at this” he gestures to her costume “and don’t even bother trying to convince me otherwise.”

Dorothée Beranger Yeah, that’s fair... She wore that costume to school the next day and it’s *chef’s kiss*. Also she’s, like, Chat Noir’s biggest defender. Word of advice: do not insinuate that he’s a sidekick anywhere this girl might hear.

Antonin Lamarre I've seen her Chat rants on the Ladyblog! She really knows her stuff!

LuminousPollywog Seeing Chat with that little girl cleared my face, watered my crops, and gave my grades the boost they needed.

miraculousluckycharm13 THAT SOFT LOOK! #LADYNOIR IS REAL --Paradiddle --are we just going to ignore the marichat? chatinette? in the room?

#miraculous ladybug #chat noir #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #day _ until she loves me #Days

573 notes · View notes

dearchikkie · 4 years

Text

Blue Knight

MARICHAT MAY 2020

Day 7: Disguise

A/N: SORRY!! This is a day late, I know. But my wifi went out yesterday and only went back online, well, now! I'm so sorry about this: I will be posting a day late now, which will probably annoy most of you, but I hope you forgive me, enjoy :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Princess look! It's finally out!" on a warm Saturday morning, Marinette's peaceful routine of eating breakfast atop her rooftop was abruptly interrupted but Paris' own superhero, Chat Noir.

"Chat, I'm eating breakfast!"

"Just look!"

Marinette grumbled and placed her plate beside her. When she focused on the poster, she realized just why he was so excited, "Blue Knight is out? Are you sure?"

Chat nodded eagerly, "They have three showings today: one in an hour; another at 3 and a midnight showing!"

"We have to go!"

Chat nodded profusely, his eyes practically star-shaped as he grinned at Marinette. "I can get us good seats!"

"And then you can come back after and we'll read all the theories about it!"

"And you could bake snacks for us after!"

"And drinks!"

"Yes! This is perfect!"

The duo collapsed onto Marinette's beanbag, grinning at seemingly just the sky. Suddenly, Marinette stood up with a solemn look on her face. It seemed quite strange for a girl practically bursting with excitement five seconds ago was now suddenly looking so glum, "But we can't."

"What?" Chat stood up now, his smile replaced with on of concern, "What do you mean?"

"We can't go together,"

"Why not?"

"Because you're you!" Marinette waved her hands, gesturing towards Chat.

"I don't understand, me being a superhero never bothered you before,"

"It doesn't! I'm fine with it, but..." Marinette led Chat back to the beanbag, running her hands through his blonde waves, "Imagine what would happen if they saw Chat Noir watching a movie with a civilian? We'd get mobbed! My family would be put under scrutiny by the media and everyone I know would start asking about you. Alya doesn't even know how close we are!"

He didn't wanna admit it, but Marinette was right. When they went to the movies in his civilian form girls still flocked him. Adrien Agreste was a celebrity, reporters would swarm him for questioning, then leave if he didn't have any gossip to share.

With Chat Noir, ANYTHING was enough for them. He was a superhero! A protector! The only time he was out [to their knowledge] was when everyone was in danger, so there was barely any time to talk to him before he dipped.

If anyone got wind that Chat Noir was watching a movie with a civilian, the media would go wild. Marinette's family would be harassed daily, Chat couldn't do that to them.

"...I guess you're right,"

The pair sat back to back, weight pushing against each other. "Maybe I could go with you in my civilian form?"

"And reveal your identity?"

"Point taken."

The once exhilarating air surrounding them had turned sour. Chat wished he could just ask Marinette as Adrien to go, but he doubted she'd agree. She was so carefree with Chat or Alya, even with Nino!

But with Adrien, she always seemed on edge; stuttering, tripping over herself, sometimes she wouldn't even look him in the eye. She seemed more comfortable with him now, but still wasn't as close as he wished they were.

"You should just go with, Alya. I can watch it detransformed with someone else,"

"I know, but I don't think Alya likes this series, and I really wanted to watch it with y-" Marinette quieted. Her head now turned away as she covered her face, "It just makes more sense for us to watch it together."

"Then we should!"

"Chat!"

"There has to be a way for us to go! I don't want to go with anyone besides you!"

Marinette blushed at the revelation, but smiled none the less, "I want to go with you too, but how?"

Her words hung in the air as Chat mauled over them, his mind traced back to a similar scenario, "We could disguises!"

"Disguises?"

"Yeah! Thick glasses, heavy coats, face masks..."

"That could work..." Marinette paused in thought, then sighed, "It'll take the attention away from you as a person, but only attract attention to us both. If I saw two heavily dressed people going to the movies I'd pay more attention to them than some random teens walking around,"

Again, Marinette was right. As she always was. "There has to be some form of disguise we can use. Think back to the last Blue Knight opening, was there anyone dressed weirdly? Some kind of "Royal-League" jacket we could wear?"

The noirette thought back to the last opening; it was in winter so everyone was decked out in thicker clothing, a few girls in matching Royal-League dresses, one with a wig, normal attire, normal attire, normal attire... oh.

"There is something we can wear, but I don't know how you'll feel about it,"

"Really? What? I'll wear anything!"

"I made them a while ago, but mine still fits me and I can tailor the other to fit you-"

"I'm sure they're amazing, Princess. Now tell me what I'll be wearing tonight!"

"You promise not to think it's dumb?"

"Trust me, It's impossible to look dumb in anything you make,"

✧✬✧

"We look dumb."

"What?" Chat spun around and glared at Marinette, "No we don't. We look amazing!"

Marinette had been reluctant to tell Chat her plan, but it was the only thing she could think off. Now, standing in the middle of Paris' centre movie theatre was Chat Noir and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Only, they weren't. Marinette was dressed in an Egyptian blue medieval gown with faded white ruffles splitting down the middle. In a dress this beautiful, you'd assume the wearer would be overjoyed at the honour of wearing it. Marinette took to instead keeping her flushed face shoved into her hands as she scowled at Chat from his side.

Chat, on the other hand, was dressed in a linen black shirt with thick matching pants tucked into his navy boots. Marinette made sure to include the signature weapons belt, a matching cloak with its hood hanging over Chat's head and a black bandana that covered his nose and mouth, as well as his identity.

Now that Marinette saw him wearing it, he truly did look like a rogue thief, perfectly in line with his character.

Cosplay was something neither Marinette nor Chat [despite prancing around in a leather cat suit] had done before, but Chat had seemed delighted at the thought of it. He'd pulled the cloak and shirt on with no hesitation and didn't blink an eye when he was forced to tuck his pants into his boots.

No more was Chat Noir and Marinette. Today, they were Ash 'Shade' Carter; an on-the-run thief accidentally mixed up in royal business; and Cecilia North; a girl forced to marry royalty on her mother's wishes.

"We should go pick up our tickets, you got the link?" Marinette was pulled out of her trance at the sound of Chat's voice. When she looked up, it took a few seconds for her to realize that it was really Chat in front of her and not some friendly akuma.

"Yup! Let me get out my phone," the pair approached the front counter as Marinette fiddled around in her purse. Finally, she took out her phone and pulled up the online booking page.

The woman at the counter smiled warmly at the two, scanning the screens QR-code, "That'll be 24 euros. Want any snacks or drinks?"

"We'll have two soda's and one jumbo popcorn,"

"Gotcha, butter or caramel?"

"Uh..." Marinette looked back at Chat, "Which do you prefer?"

"Is Caramel ok?"

Marinette turned back towards the woman, who nodded and started shovelling popcorn into a large container. "You both look pretty great, Blue Knight I'm guessing?"

"Yes, we're Cecilia and Shade!" Chat excitedly answered, once again forming his star-shaped eyes, "Mari made these herself!"

"Chat!" hissed Marinette, eyes narrowing at the energized superhero. The woman stared at the to with a knowing look in her eyes, mouth upturned almost to say 'Ah. I understand completely!'

"She did an amazing job then, they look professional! And what affectionate nicknames you both have. 'Chat', got anything to do with the Chat Noir?"

The pair stilled at her words, Chat gulped rather loudly as he looked to Marinette for help, "No! No, no. It's related to, to uh..."

"His name is Chatwyn! Yes, that's it! His mother is English, very proper you know?"

If the woman was suspicious, she didn't show it, merely handing over their drinks and popcorn along with two tickets. "Your total is 42.60 euros,"

Chat reached into his pockets but Marinette pushed him aside, handing over an orange bill, "Here you go,"

"Marinette! I'm told you I'd pay for this,"

"No way am I letting you pay, I'm the one forcing you into a costume!"

"But I like being in this costume! I look good-- We both do! Now let me pay," Chat shoved another orange bill onto the counter while the woman grinned at them both. Marinette tried to push her bill forward, but the woman had already grabbed Chat's money and rung it up. Chat gave a smug grin, to which Marinette only scowled.

"You two go enjoy your movie, now."

The teens nodded in thanks then left towards their cinema, "I don't know how I'm going to last. My arms are so itchy," complained Marinette, extending her arms to show off the long velvet sleeves, "I should have added a softer inner material,"

"Princess, look at me," bandaged arms wiggled in front of Marinette's face as Chat pointed towards the many straps crossed over his chest, "You wrapped me up like a mummy, I can barely walk without feeling a strap pull me back!"

"I thought you liked your costume."

"Of course I do! But when I take them off and my skins turned red, you're the one that's gonna have to heal me back to health,"

Marinette laughed, "Whatever you say, Chaton."

✧✬✧

"Oh my god." Marinette stumbled out of the theatre, hazard rocking back and forth, a dazed expression coating her face.

Chat followed behind her, tripping over himself in a similar manner, "That was..."

"That was..."

"That was INCREDIBLE!" no longer was Chat alone in his star-struck grins. The pair smiled wider than anyone had ever seen before, cheeks flushed as they babbled on and on, "I can't believe they did that! Cecilia looked so amazing in the Red Knight armour!"

"I know!" gushed Chat, "her and Shade's fight scene is probably the best thing I've ever seen!"

"The cliffhanger though! What's gonna happen in the next movie?"

"They have to make Cecilia dump Matthew. I didn't think the wedding would actually go through!"

"Me neither!" giggled Marinette. The pair's heated conversation came to a halt when a boy their age blocked their path. Chat tried not to stare at the poorly died purple hair, but he could only resist so much, "Sorry, could you move over?"

"Ah! Of course, but do you mind if I as you a few questions first?"

A picture? Why would he- Oh! Marinette stared down at her and Chat's costumes, she had been so enthralled with the movie she had forgotten the over-the-top disguises they'd used to even get in.

"I'm fine with that, but it's really up to Mari," Chat glanced over at Marinette, unease settling over his face.

Thankfully, the noirette painted a small smile over her face, "Sure! We can answer a question or two,"

"Great!" the boy handed his camera to a girl behind them. She angled herself a few feet away then did a thumbs-up, "This is all live on my twitch, by the way, so don't answer anything... inappropriate."

They both tinged pink, "O-Of course not."

"Ok! So, I love your cosplays, where did you buy them?"

"Mari made them herself!"

"Really? That's really impressive, do you have any social media for my viewers to see you on?"

"Ah! I..." Marinette tried to think back to all accounts, but none of them were for her fashion, "Not at the moment, but maybe in the future!"

The boy seemed unsure, but soon after reapplied his smile and winked at Marinette, "I hope to see it when it's launched! Speaking of your cosplays, do you mind pulling down your hood? Why don't we see Shade without his entire face covered?"

The colour drained from Chat's face as he automatically moved back, "I, uh, would prefer to keep the hood on, if that's alright?" the boy stilled, his smile straightening out into a thing tense line.

"Ah." silence surrounded the trio, Marinette and Chat staring unsurely at each other as the boy narrowed his eyes at the blue hood. Eventually, the girl behind the camera snapped her fingers, gaining the boy's attention,

"Ok! We've gotta run soon, so get in tight for a picture with you all!" a sinister smile reappeared on the boys face as he threw his arms over Chat and Marinette's shoulders.

"Ok, Carrie! Make sure you get us all in," Chat and Marinette plastered wavy smiles across their face, then stared into the camera.

"Say cheese!"

"Cheese!"

Just as the words left Chat's lips, he could feel his hood ve ripped off the top of his head. Marinette turned just as Chat's ears were revealed and instantly clung to the fabric. Unfortunately, she grabbed too low and ripped off his bandana.

People around them gasped, Chat could feel his eyes widening as he wordlessly begged Marinette for help. She tried covering his face, but it was too late.

"Oh sh-"

"CHAT NOIR!" instantly, Marinette and Chat turned to each other mouths wording the same thing:

"Run!" Chat grabbed her hand and leapt into action, sprinting towards the nearest exit. A group of fans ran in front of them, phones out as they recorded the scene. Marinette pushed Chat to the side, side-stepping the group and reuniting with Chat on the other side.

When they escaped outside, they were greeted with an even bigger crowd of fans, all searching the area for them,

"There's nowhere to go- they're everywhere!" Marinette glanced down at her purse, where Tikki stared back up, her panicked face matching Marinette's own.

"Ok. You're not gonna like it, but there's only one way we can escape,"

"Chat, where would that be?"

"Trust me."

"What do you mean trust yo-" Chat grabbed Marinette and swung her legs up, holding her bridal position, "Chat?"

"Hold on tight!" Chat grabbed his baton and extended them both up. Marinette screamed as the ground rapidly got further and further. She'd been at heights much more dangerous than this as Ladybug of course, but without the safety of the suit and her yoyo, this suddenly become increasingly terrifying.

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, arms gripping Chat's neck as tight as she could manage, "Princess, it's ok. Open your eyes,"

She desperately didn't want to. But she was Ladybug; a superhero who feared nothing, she could manage to muster up some bravery without the suit.

When she opened her eyes, she was met with thousands of lights all glowing in the night air. Windows shone with warm light, reflecting in the et streets. Chat led them towards the Seine river, the water glimmering under all the bright lights. Marinette reprimanded herself internally for not going out as Ladybug enough.

"Chat, it's beautiful,"

Chat glanced down at Marinette, eyes focusing in on her deep blue, then at the small smile now formed on her lips, "Beautiful is an understatement."

BONUS:

Alya sat alone in bed scrolling through Tumblr, occasionally reposting ladynoir fan art. Suddenly, a flash of blue caught her attention:

CHAT NOIR SPOTTED COSPLAYING AT BLUE KNIGHT PREMIER [LIVE]!

Wait, didn't Marinette like that series? If this movie is such a big deal she'll hopefully have gone today. Alya reminded herself to text Marinette about it later.

Despite her excitement, Alya knew clickbait when she saw it. There was no way Chat Noir was just casually hanging around a theatre in costume. Most likely, Chat Noir probably would be seen dropping from out a window, and maybe with all the blue around him, it would look like he was dressed up.

Alya clicked the link and was brought to a reupload of a Twitch streamer's latest stream. It started with a purple boy walking around the theatre, asking people questions about the movie.

Alya scanned the footage with reporter-trained eyes; if she was going to see Chat Noir she had to be focusing on the background. A flash of blonde outside a window, or even just shiny black leather somewhere.

The young reporter started skipping over the interview segments and nearer to the end where [approximately] Chat Noir would have been 'spotted'. But a flash of blue stopped her in her tracks.

Oh. My. God.

It was Marinette. No, it wasn't just Marinette. It was Marinette cosplaying! Cosplaying with some other guy! Who was he? It wasn't Nino, they'd been together all day. So who was this mystery man? Why hadn't Marinette told her about this?

Alya was thrilled Marinette was stepping out of her comfort zone; dressing up in her designs in a public place was something Alya never expected the noirette capable of, but she should have known better than to underestimate her best friend.

After bookmarking the page, Alya was about to skip forward again, when suddenly the masked figures hood was pulled down.

Two leather cat ears peeked out. A matching mask covering the male's face. Emerald eyes with slits instead of pupils.

"Holy sh-"

Alya was again silenced as she watched Chat grab MARINETTE'S ARM AND RUN AWAY TOGETHER.

What was going on? Marinette knew Chat Noir? Since when? Why didn't she tell Alya? And they were close enough to cosplay together?

Her mind buzzed as all the thoughts and confusions spiraled. She definitely was going to make Marinette tell her everything.

She clicked the 'Cosplay Noir' tag and scrolled down the feed. Most of it was just the same live video, clipped to show the exact part Chat was revealed, but then a certain picture showed up; Marinette being held bridal style as Chat leapt over Paris' rooftops, her dress billowing in the wind.

She looked just like a real princess.

She was going to kill Marinette.

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skelebonecentral · 3 years

Text

Hothouse Rose chapter 4

your first day at your new home comes to a close and your new life begins!

(words under cut)

Charm just nodded as his brother explained what had happened when he’d visited with the human, and what he’d heard Spice do. “Well, I did tell you that humans are much more reserved than we’d assumed, brother.”

“but that much? I mean, I knew they wouldn’t be thrilled with my work but that kind of shock and disgust? I know you like them but they seem way too judgmental to me,” Sugar was worried. It was one thing for his cousins who lived here to be confused by his work, they’d still let him stay and they liked him already. But this human was an unknown factor and even if Papyrus loved them, they were still possibly bad for the rest of them…well, except Sans. Sans was clearly mooning after them already.

“Sugar, dear brother,” Charm smiled, “they already love Papyrus. And Papyrus has made it very clear that while we’re confusing to him, he cares for us. Sans cares for us. And the human, while very reserved, is reasonable and can be eased into acceptance of how we do things. We just need to take it slow, as hard as that can be for you.” He was almost laughing. His brother was just so impatient sometimes.

Huffing, Sugar sprawled out on Charm’s bed, “but it’s going to be so awkward. It was bad enough that first little while with our cousins and now we have to do it again? with a human with all kinds of hang ups? You know what they told boa?”

“I do. They’re entirely correct, too, but they also said they don’t understand the mindsets of those people who would hate us for what we are. Their whole energy is in flux right now, after all, because of that trauma of losing their home. Give them time, Sugar. They’ll learn to love us, I just know it.” Charm let himself lay over the bed, ending up with his head on his brother’s chest. “and remember, even if no one else loves you, I do.”

“I know, bro,” Sugar took a deep breath, then sighed, “yeah. okay. we’ll try to do this slow and steady, like you like it.”

“Right.”

Boa stood outside his brother’s door, “Please? The party isn’t until eight, so you have two whole hours where it’s just us and the human. You can even just meet them then take your dinner back, but they’re very fun.”

There’s silence behind the door, then it cracks open a bit, “and they’re my age?”

“Yes,” Boa smiles, “Almost exactly! They’re two years younger than Papyrus, he told me so. Also, they really like some of those 80’s movies you do. The one with the…the fellow in tights with the big blond wig? They bought a shirt of that!”

“Labyrinth?” the door opens more, a skull peering out with soft orange lights in the sockets, “That’s…promising. Um….and you’ll be there, right?”

That made Boa’s smile fall, “No, I have to work on a commission. But Whip and Papyrus will be there, and Sans. Maybe Spice, too, if he’s not too upset about botching his introduction.”

Analyzing movements of the eye lights, then he spoke, “okay. I’ll meet them as long as Papyrus is there.”

“Oh thank you, Sweet-pea!” Boa clapped happily, “They’re so nice, they yelled at someone who yelled at me! And he was a big scary man, too!”

A small laugh, “oh? well…that does boost them up in the list of people I’d be okay talking to.”

“Good.” Boa’s expression softens, “Because I really want you to find a friend. You deserve to have someone to count on besides me.”

“HELLO, DEAR DATEMATE!”

You look up and jump to your feet, flinging your arms open to hug Papyrus as he strides into your room. “Papyrus! Welcome back!”

Feet off the ground, you are swung lightly back and forth as he hugs back, then set right and beamed at, “AND I SEE YOU TOOK THE INITIATIVE TO FIND MY TEXTBOOKS TO STUDY! I’M VERY PROUD OF YOU FOR THAT! DID YOU MEET ALL THE OTHERS YET?”

“No,” you sigh, “and I don’t think my meeting with Sugar or Spice went well. I messed up with Sugar and I got too flustered and upset Spice so…”

“OH.” Papyrus frowns, but pats your head, “IT’S ALRIGHT. SPICE IS ALWAYS ON EGGSHELLS AROUND NEW PEOPLE, SO HE PROBABLY OVERREACTED. I KNOW IT IS A BIT WORRYSOME IF YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOUR CRYING WHEN FLUSTERED, SO IT MIGHT HAVE SPOOKED HIM!”

“Yeah…sorry.”

“DON’T BE! NOW WE MUST GO DOWNSTAIRS FOR DINNER AND YOU CAN MEET THE OTHER TWO. MAYBE. SWEET-PEA TENDS TO EAT IN HIS ROOM A LOT SO I DON’T KNOW.”

Taking his arm, you let him lead you down the stairs and smiled as you saw Sans waiting for you by a door to the right of the stairs. “oh, heya. we got the other two you haven’t met yet here. and spice. But uh…he’s in a mood so he probably won’t talk.”

“That’s my fault. I got flustered and…well…”

“oh. gotcha. He’s not used to humans leaking,” Sans grinned as Papyrus glared at him. He could feel that this would lead to many plumbing based puns later.

The door was opened, and you went in with Papyrus, being directed to the seat between him and Sans. It was a pretty long table, long enough for nine people easily, probably ten if you stretched it, and made of some dark stained wood with curling curved feet on the table itself and the chairs that matched it.

Although, the table was only so interesting when there was someone dressed like a dominatrix with a white scarf sitting at it.

He was tall, as tall as Papyrus if not taller, and sitting next to Spice near one end of the table. On seeing you, he stood up and stalked over. “I SEE. SO YOU ARE THE ONE PAPYRUS GUSHES OVER AND WHO’S GOT SANS ALL FLUTTERY.”

Sans chokes and coughs, turning blue as you give him a raised eyebrow. You’d talk about this later, but for now you just nod.

“WELL, I AM WHIP, THE INDOMINABLE AND TERRIFYING, AND I DO HOPE YOU LIVE UP TO THE HYPE. I TELL YOU,” he leaned over, the black leather of his outfit hugging his bright red ectobody closely and showing every taught movement of false muscle, “IF YOU TRY ANYTHING-“

“nope.” Sans got up and stood next to your seat, “whip, I did that already. threatening people isn’t allowed in this house. Nobody is doing anything wrong, and there’s no need for that. I get you’re used to being in charge, but this isn’t your house. It’s mine.”

His hand on your shoulder was warm and steady, and you were surprised when Whip backed off instantly. Wow, how many cut outs were in the side of that weird one-piece suit? It had no arms, and ended in shorts, but his boots and gloves matched.

“UGH. FINE. BESIDES, I DON’T NEED YOU AND ALL THE BLEEDING SOULS AROUND HERE ON MY CASE IF I UPSET THEM.” He sat back down, “BUT I STAND BY MY OBJECTION TO THEIR PRESENCE!”

Ah. So he was the one who didn’t want you here.

But that meant..

You look at Spice, and decide to do something, “I’m sorry if I worried you earlier, Spice. I just cry when I get really flustered; I wasn’t actually mad or anything.”

Spice sat up ramrod straight where he’d been leaned over the table grumbling to himself. “O-oh? so ya were just all flustered?”

“Yeah,” you nod and smile to make sure you reassure him, “so are we good now? I wanted to make sure you knew you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He seems very relieved, his grimace turning into a real smile, “oh yeah. yeah, baby doll, we’re good. thanks for clearin’ the air.”

Whip is glaring at you, but he elbows Spice, who winces and glares back at him.

The only other person at the table is across from you, and he’s been quiet. He’s wearing what looks like a hoodie with the hood up, but it’s cut off just before the end of his ribcage. Papyrus has started serving the dinner (it’s some kind of spicy chicken pasta, and you’re quite excited about it) and answers the question you weren’t prepared to ask yet, “SWEET-PEA, DO YOU WANT ME TO PUT A WRAP OVER YOUR PLATE SO YOU CAN GO UPSTAIRS?”

“n-nah, pap. Thanks,” his voice was soft, nervous, but had a small laugh in it. A tenor, this one, like Papyrus, Boa, Charm, and Whip. “I uh…kind of promised my bro I’d try to talk with the human, since we’re the same age.”

“Oh?” you perked up, and it also made Spice and Whip take notice. “It’s nice to meet you, Sweet-pea. Your brother really helped me out today.”

He looked up, and you saw a shy smile in the slight light of his blushing orange magic, “ehehe, the way he put it, it sounded like you helped him more. thank you, for keeping my big brother safe.”

Nodding, you set into your dinner. Papyrus and Sans were bantering as usual, and after a moment or two you got in on it as well. Spice and Whip would talk occasionally, but only amongst themselves, and Sweet-pea just observed.

After a while, you were done eating, but you didn’t want to just get up and leave. “Hey, Sweet-pea?”

He jumped, but looked your way, “yeah?”

“What do you like to do? Since we’re in the same house, I want to know how to have fun with all my housemates.”

Spice snickered, but got elbowed by his brother again, and Sweet-pea seemed relieved, “mostly I draw. I um…I design clothes, th-the ones my bro wears and me, too. uh…bro asked you for your measurements, right?”

“Oh, yeah he did. That was so you could work with them?”

He nodded, “never had to design for a human before. Neat challenge…nyehehe…”

Oh stars, he was so cute. That quiet laugh, the reluctance to talk, creative and shy, oh it was beyond endearing.

“Well, knowing that, I’ll be happy to let him or you measure me tomorrow. I’ll probably spend the majority of the day trying to just get used to the house but whenever you two are ready, I’ll cooperate.” Boa had already won your trust, and knowing this reclusive darling was his brother made you drop all your guards.

Papyrus seemed curious, and asked, “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’LL MAKE FOR THEM, SWEET-PEA? THEY ARE A MORE CONSERVATIVE PERSON THAN YOUR USUAL DESIGNS GO FOR.”

He waved a hand, “o-oh I get that. uh….i kind of wanted to see if I could do that? make a more…more human friendly design. Maybe something dignified? Or a, um, a fancy gown? Suit? I’m not sure yet.”

He was done with his food, too, and as he got more nervous, he stood, “and that’s all the spoons I’ve got. See ya.” And he vanished like Sans did.

“Oh! He can shortcut, too!” You realize you sound stupid, but it just surprised you.

“so can me’n sugar,” Spice said, smirking a bit. “Can’t wait ta see what ya think when I just show up.”

“Probably that you’re showing off,” you answer honestly, “but that’s okay. I’m probably going to try and show off, too, since we’re just getting to know each other.”

He got thrown off, you could tell the way his smile faultered, but it came back softer, “fine by me, baby doll.”

“SPICE, I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOUR NICKNAME FOR THEM,” Papyrus was struggling, and you let him finish his question. “WHAT ABOUT THEM IS LIKE EITHER A BABY OR A DOLL? THEY ARE AN ADULT REAL HUMAN?”

“oh, easy. They’re cute, an’ young, an’ pretty. term of endearment, paps,” Spice handled it smoothly, giving a much nicer smile than he had all night, “sorry for confusin’ ya.”

“OH, NO, YOU ARE QUITE ACCURATE ON ALL THOSE COUNTS!” Papyrus beamed at you, and you shot a grateful look to Spice before squeezing Papy’s hand. “ALSO, FOR ME AND YOUR BROTHER, THEY ARE VERY SMALL AND THUS EVEN MORE ADORABLE!”

“not that small,” Sans says, playing at a pout before snickering. “but it’s true, compared to you, everybody is doll sized.”

Whip got up and walked to the doorway, “YOU’RE ALL INFURIATING! BROTHER, COME TALK TO ME WHEN YOU’VE WISED UP TO THIS INVADER!” He then stalked away, letting you see the spikes on the backs of his boots and gloves.

Spice groaned and got up, “sorry ‘bout him. he’s…well, gettin’ used ta other folks is gonna take him some time. barely got comfy with just us bone heads before you got here, baby doll. It’s okay.”

“Alright, if you say so,” you murmur, still worried. You hadn’t wanted to upset anybody.

Spice took a shortcut and left, and that meant it was just you and the two brothers you knew best.

“welp, I’m gonna- hck!”

Sans had tried to leave but gotten caught by his shirt collar by Papyrus. “OH NO, YOU’RE STAYING AND TALKING ABOUT THAT.”

“talking about what?” he asked meekly, and you leveled him with your stare.

“About Whip saying you were all fluttery about me.”

Sans’ skull turned blue as he was set back in his seat, “I’m working with Dr. Kevin about it, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to start crushing…” He was curled in on himself, blue magic beading on his skull.

“SANS, WHY ARE YOU SORRY?” Papyrus blinked at him, “Y/N IS AMAZING, IT’S NOT SURPRISING YOU’D FIND THEM AS WORTHY OF YOUR LOVE AND ADORATION. YOU COULD HAVE JUST TOLD US AND WE’D TALK ABOUT IT.”

You look at Papyrus, very surprised. Most men you’d known in the past would be outraged if their brother admitted to having a crush on their date. But Papyrus’ next words dig you in even deeper in confusion. “AFTER ALL, IT’S NOT LIKE WE CAN’T COME TO SOME SORT OF AGREEMENT ON SCHEDULING IF THEY LIKE YOU BACK.”

“uh…that might be how it would work underground, pap,” Sans is looking pretty dejected and lost, “but I did the research, polyamory isn’t exactly encouraged up here. humans like monogamy.”

Oh. OH. This was a culture thing and Sans was trying to push his own feelings away because of it. Hell no.

“Sans, I…well, I’ve never tried a polyamory situation before, but I’m not opposed to it? I’m not sure I can address this fully right now, with everything going on, but we can certainly talk about it more when…when I’m not freshly moved in?” You smile, even though you know you probably look kind of dazed. You are dazed, a bit, so that’s okay.

Both the boys look at you, surprised, then they both smile. Papyrus is all brightness as always, and Sans looks so relieved, “that’s fine. that’s more than fine, it’s better than I ever expected. Thank you.”

“SEE? I TOLD YOU, THEY’RE THE BEST!” Papyrus hugs you, but whispers in your ear, “thank you for being open to this. I know it’s not the human norm.”

You just nod and hug back, and Sans gets up. “okay. I used like….all my energy for the night. I’m going to bed.” He waves, then shortcuts away.

“Do you want me to stay and help you clean up?” you ask, and Papyrus lets you go and shakes his head.

“NOPE! GO TO YOUR ROOM AND I’LL COME BY AT EIGHT TO HAVE SOME FUN BEFORE YOU GO TO SLEEP.”

You nod and get up, kissing his head, “And you do know I love you and that won’t change? Ever?”

“YES! AND THE SAME GOES FOR ME, BUT ABOUT YOU!”

Reassured, you go upstairs and settle in your room. Good grief, what a night. What a day, in fact, but at least it can’t get any bigger.

You are entirely wrong about it not getting bigger.

Papyrus suggests you come with him to the living room at eight for movies, and you agree, but end up finding a lot of your family and several of your monster friends there. Streamers are all over, there’s balloon inflated with gravity magic so they float, and a banner that says “WELCOME HOME!” on it.

Sans, looking very tired, waves at you from one of the sofas after everyone yells ‘surprise!’ at you when you come in. “I really am tired, but this was already planned so…”

You sit by him and kind of look around. Frisk runs up and signs at you, “It’s about time you moved in with them! How are you supposed to be lovey-dovey with Papyrus if you’re in different houses?!”

“Frisk,” you groan, hiding in Sans’ shoulder since Papyrus is busy chatting with Charm (he and Boa seem to have been in on it) “Please. You’re being too cute again.”

They grin, then sign to Sans, “And you, you should hug them more. I promise humans are really soft to hug!”

He chuckles and gives you a small squeeze, making you smile, “fine. don’t need to tell me twice.” Bother Frisk and their matchmaking prowess!

Satisfied, they skip off, and Undyne comes over. Her red ponytail is tied lower than normal and she’s actually just in a normal white t-shirt and jeans tonight. You’re surprised the denim goes so well with her blue skin. “Yo! So you burned your house down, too! Haha, I knew you’d get enough passion in there eventually.”

“It wasn’t passion, Undyne. Papy and I weren’t even home when it happened,” you say, and she scoffs.

“You guys are so lame! Alphys and I-“

“tmi, undyne,” Sans says, letting you go. “and don’t let my cousins hear you or they’ll give you lessons. I’m serious.”

“Fufufufufu, your cousins. Those guys are a riot. I love them,” Undyne grins, “But anyway, I’m glad you and Papyrus are safe, punk. And now Alphys and I can bet over when you’re getting married instead of just moving in!”

“Noooo,” you blush and cover your face. “You’re a terrible friend! Horrible! Bad! Why do I like you?”

“Cause I’m awesome, duh.”

Thankfully, Undyne’s wife comes over and tugs on her sleeve, “L-leave them alone, Undyne. It’s supposed to be a party for them to feel b-better, not worse.” She was a sweet little yellow lizard monster, reminding you of a dinosaur sometimes, with glasses and wearing a black dress with white polka dots. Her name was Alphys. “Sorry, Y/n, a-also, um, Papyrus gave me your computer for restoration. Don’t worry. I’ve had a lot of practice getting smoke residue out of electronic. Haha…mostly my own.”

“Thank you so much, Alphys,” you smile at her, so grateful for ANY reassurance your life might go back to normal sooner rather than later. “I know you’ll do a great job. Anybody who deals with MTT on a regular basis has to have a lot of patience for electronic nonsense.”

She giggles and nods, “Well, h-he is my bestie, but you’re right.”

Papyrus finally comes back and plops next to you on the couch, handing you a cup of punch and one of your favorite cookies, hand made by your mom. “YOUR PARENTS ARE THRILLED THAT WE ARE BOTH SAFE AND HAPPY. THEY’RE STAYING AT A HOTEL, BUT THEN THEY’RE HELPING YOU REPLACE MORE STUFF TOMORROW.”

“And they didn’t tell me this themselves because?”

“THEY WANT YOU TO NOT GET TOO EMOTIONAL SINCE YOU’RE RECOVERING FROM A TRAUMA AND FEEL LIKE THEM CODDLING YOU WOULD DO THAT.”

“Well, when you’re right, you’re right. I’d be crying as soon as I saw them.”

Sans is snoring, leaning against you, and you just feel good about that. When you first met, you’re pretty sure he would have been as awake and alert as possible around you, but now he’s loosely got hold of your arm and is snoozing away on your shoulder. And he apparently had feelings for you, too. Huh. Well, you can’t say he isn’t cute, because he is.

“YOU KNOW,” Papyrus looks around and you spot your parents trying to keep their distance, “EVERYONE HERE WAS VERY CONCERNED ABOUT YOU. SANS TOLD OUR UNDERGROUND FRIENDS AND I TOLD YOUR FAMILY SINCE YOU WERE TOO UPSET TO. THIS ROOM IS FULL OF PEOPLE WHO LOVE YOU.”

You nod, taking his hand. He leans over and nuzzles into your hair. “AND ISN’T THAT WONDERFUL?”

It’s overwhelmingly wonderful.

It wasn’t a long party, since it was late, but everyone except your parents and housemates had left to go home by eleven. Still, you’d ended up with gifts that made you embarrassed. New copies of your favorite books, used copies of games you liked that had been melted in the living room, a few pairs of shoes (you’d forgotten to buy those at the store so you liked these), and a box from your parents that contained a package of your favorite candies, a new weighted blanket, and your favorite childhood plush.

You’d thanked them, getting big hugs before they left, and sighed. The boys were cleaning up (except Sans, he was still sleeping on the sofa) and Charm came over as you held up your old friend.

“Well, that is an adorable plushie.” He smiled at you and looked them over, “And well loved, obviously. I’m guessing that’s from your family?”

“Yep. This little fella was my best friend as a child. I still love them very much,” you cuddled the toy close and took a deep breath. Having it did help you feel more grounded and secure, as did the weighted blanket. You’d be sleeping with that on tonight.

“Good, then you have a tangible signal that you are loved and supported.” He gestured, “Shall I walk you to your room, dear housemate?”

You pick up your package, even if Papyrus notices and takes the heavy blanket for you, and let Charm lead you up. Boa brings up the rear, carrying the rest of your presents either in his arms or with his magic.

Opening your door makes the exhaustion hit you, and you quickly go to the wardrobe after dropping your fluffy buddy off on the bed. Your various gifts are placed around the room, and Papyrus shoos everyone else out after they’re done. You do get a goodnight from each of them, though, and you like the injection of happiness that gives you.

“AND YOU KNOW WHERE THE BATHROOM IS?” Papyrus asks as you before he leaves.

“I found it earlier, thanks for asking, though,” you blow him a kiss and he giggles.

“ALRIGHT THEN. SLEEP WELL, LOVE, AND I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU IN THE MORNING.”

The door shuts softly, and you change into your pj’s. The house is quiet, and you manage to do your routine in the bathroom before coming back and going to sleep. It’s not easy, of course, but you manage it after a while of lying in bed and letting your thoughts run in circles.

Living in the skeleton’s house was…interesting to say the least.

During the weekdays, of course, you were out most of the time. Classes, work, various appointments, all of it took up time. But the evenings and weekends were quite hectic.

As soon as you got home at six, everybody was sitting down for dinner, if they were home. You could never really pin down any of the cousins’ schedules, but Spice was always home, as was Sweet-pea.

You and Spice had gotten to the point of ‘uneasy truce’ in your interactions because you were both awkward and nervous, trying not to step on each other’s toes, and not sure how to interact. That was okay, it was much better than when you ran into Whip and he made angry huffing sounds and rushed off in the opposite direction.

Sweet-pea was in his room almost all the time, except meals. You saw very little of him but made sure to say hello and be happy to see him when he did come out. That seemed to do well, as you’d noticed he came out for more meals than just dinner now.

Boa was also usually home but would go out to pick up more fabric or do grocery runs with Papyrus and Charm. Sans was out about the same as you, as was Charm, and Papyrus was out less frequently simply because, as he put it, “WHY DO I WANT TO STAY OUT IF YOU’RE AT HOME?”

You can’t say that doesn’t flatter you. You also can’t say the little hand touches and shy smiles you were getting from Sans didn’t make you blush and beam for several minutes afterward. It was one thing for your darling Papyrus to do it, that gave you a rush of excitement and affection, but for quiet, self-contained Sans to be making that effort to remind you that he cared…well, you enjoyed it immensely.

Papyrus and you had been asked to come in and discuss this relationship business by Sans’ therapist, and you…honestly had been a bit floored.

“Are you absolutely certain this is your choice?” Dr. Kevin had asked you, a forty something year old man with greying red hair. His brown eyes were concerned, “He’s told me about you. You’re a kind, selfless sort of person. I just don’t want you to overwhelm yourself, taking on a significant other with depression on top of one with autism.”

“Wait, Papyrus is autistic?” you hadn’t known that. “If that’s what your concern is, I don’t think we’ll have a problem. I kind of already assumed Sans would still be living with us forever anyway? I can’t imagine separating them.”

“Oh, so he hadn’t told you that. Sans told me and I thought it was common knowledge.”

“No, Papyrus never mentioned it, but looking back I can see some signs. But he’s just…Papyrus. I like him, whatever that includes, and it’s much the same for Sans. That first hurdle was a doozy, but he’s more than shown he’s not only improving himself, but that he cares about me. He’s helped me more times than I care to count on homework, on safety tips, on all kinds of little things, and then this fire event? Paying for the hotel the first night and letting me into his home…he didn’t even want to tell me yet, his cousin outted him and…” You look up and the doctor is trying to cover up a smile.

“Okay, I get it. He was right about you being very powerful in your opinions, too. I just want what’s best for everyone in this, and it seems like you feel the same as Sans does. That trying this out is the way forward. I just had to make sure for his sake and yours,” Dr. Kevin (you can’t pronounce his last name and he told you not to bother with it) gets up and gestures to the door, “Now I’ll talk with Papyrus and that’ll be that. Thank you so much for coming in, and for being there to support Sans. He’s a very fun person to talk to, even in my position.”

You nod, feeling good, and leave the room.

When it was all said and done, the three of you were called in together and Dr. Kevin seemed very pleased, “Well, considering everything, I’m really proud of what’s going on here. Mutual love and respect, open mindedness, and a healthy dose of communication. Even if it was forced,” He raises an eyebrow at Sans, who blushes. “Nah, I wouldn’t have recommended the timing either, but it worked out well and that’s because you three care about each other deeply and genuinely. Yes, the relationships are morphing a bit, but the foundations are solid, so I say go build on it.”

A glowing review, you think, and Sans asked as the three of you drove home in Papyrus’ new car, “so uh…d-does that mean we’re officially a polycule?”

Papyrus breathes hard through his nose, “SINCE THAT’S SOMEWHAT OFFCIAL TERMINOLOGY, I’LL LET THE PUN PASS, BUT YES, I THINK IT DOES.”

You nod and look around at where Sans is in the back seat, holding your hand out for him. “Wow, how come Dr. Kevin lets me have two boyfriends?”

Sans laughs and Papyrus groans in amused exasperation, but you’re happy and you know he and Sans are, too. Especially as Sans grips your hand with his pink mittens and squeezes with a lovestruck haze to his eye lights.

“Color me surprised, okay.” Sugar held up his hands, grinning happily.

“why? You lose your hue?” Sans chuckled as he was cleaning the soot off part of the machine.

“no, it’s just that I never expected you to express your feelings plainly enough to get anywhere with y/n. they’re not the most open person in the world when it comes to romance.”

Tilting his head, Sans put down his work, “what’s that mean?”

“I’m saying they’ve been with your brother for over a year and I haven’t heard a peep about anything other than dating. Not even adult dating, like, little kid crush dating,” Sugar lifted a brow bone, “sans, you realize they aren’t even banging, right?”

“I do, but it’s not like I wanna think about that,” the blush on his cheekbones was tempered by the irritated quirk of his smile, “why does that matter? More to life than sex, y’know.”

Sugar sighed, “look, I just don’t want you or papyrus to get heartbroken if they end up not sticking around. as far as I’ve known, getting intimate is a bonding thing. if they aren’t willing to bond with you, they aren’t gonna stay. This might be some kind of self-discovery fling for them or something.”

Sans is quiet for a minute, looking Sugar over before going back to his cleaning, “sugar, if it was a fling, they wouldn’t be so careful with us. They wouldn’t have gone to that meeting with my therapist and if they did, he wouldn’t have liked what he heard. I trust dr. kevin with everything; he knows about this machine, and us, and everything I’ve been through. Gaster included. He wouldn’t see someone pretending to love me and give his blessing.”

“but he’s human, and they are, too, it could be-“

“sugar,” Sans sighed, “look, I get where you’re coming from. I was there, for a long long time,” he looked up and smiled a little more genuinely, “but trying to avoid every possible bad scenario leads to you standing in one place, never moving, forever.”

Sugar held his own arms and looked conflicted.

“and, y’know, for all we know, y/n might be ace. Did ya consider that?”

“no,” Sugar let his skull droop, “but I sure hope not. Boa’s getting really attached to them, and my brother isn’t far off. They’d be pretty crushed if the only way they know to really show everything they feel is off the table.”

“oh…” that didn’t sound like a pleased response.

“you do know friends with benefits is a big thing in our universes, right? how else would my brother know half the things he needed to for the guard?” Sugar laughed humorlessly. “seriously, though, sans, that’s something we need to know sooner rather than later. the only ones who could ask are you and pap. Think about it.”

He walked out, and Sans groaned before thunking his skull onto the workbench. Welp, there went all those fluttery ‘new relationship’ feelings.

Telling Charm you didn’t have an exercise routine had been a mistake, especially with Papyrus and Boa in the room.

“You…don’t want to take care of your body?” he asked.

“What? Of course I do, I just….” You sigh, “Sweating is so disgusting, and my back hurts pretty bad if I try because of how stressed it makes me.”

“WORKING OUT IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN, NOT STRESSFUL,” Papyrus put down the dishes he was drying, “THAT’S WHY IT’S BEEN SO HARD FOR ME TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO FOR THEM. I’VE BEEN WRACKING MY SKULL ABOUT IT SINCE WE MET PRACTICALLY.”

“Are there any activites you like, pumpkin?” Boa asked. He’d been calling you pumpkin since the welcome party, when your mom had been showing the boys your baby pictures, like when you dressed as a pumpkin for your first Halloween.

“I…like swimming? You don’t get hot, you don’t sweat, and it doesn’t stress me about how much…” you blushed. You hated feeling your fat move when you exercised. The jiggle and bounce just made you nauseous to think about. Even exercising alone didn’t decrease the revulsion.

Papyrus hugged you and made a small grunt. He knew you hated parts of yourself and did his best to stop those thoughts as soon as possible.

“Well, have you tried Yoga? Like, seriously tried it, not just taken a look,” Charm’s browbones were lowered and he was looking intently at you with his skull in his hands.

“No. I can’t exactly afford classes, especially with my freaking house dying in a fire.”

Boa snorted and Charm grinned, “Well, who said you’d have to pay me? I only take money for things while at work. Yoga is what I do for fun. Well, that and gymnastics, but you need equipment for that.”

He hopped up and clapped his hands, “Im going to get my mats and I want all four of us in the backyard in sportswear in ten minutes!” With that, he rushed away up the stairs.

“THIS IS EXCITING!” Papyrus squeezed you a bit, “I’M GOING TO GET DRESSED! OR RE-DRESSED!”

Boa just flung his shirt over his head, revealing a halter top underneath and mussing his carefully arranged purple scarf, “I’m already dressed!”

Well, he was wearing tights today, so you supposed you were the only one not running in glee from the dining room. You trudged upward, getting out the tight-fitting crop top and leggings you had bought for such a purpose. You’d expected to maybe wear these in secret as you tried, and failed, once again to get in better shape.

Well, at least Papyrus would be there. And Boa and Charm always called you lovely and beautiful, so you were pretty confident they wouldn’t laugh at your rolls. Even if your mind was hissing at you otherwise.

But you made your way out with a deep sigh. Spice was in the hall, but he blushed and hid back in his room quickly. Yep, still dancing around each other. Okay.

Heading down the stairs and through the kitchen, you open the door leading to the back yard to a comfy fall afternoon, the currently empty pool covered by a grey tarp foremost in your vision while the boys have taken places on the deck portion of the backyard, having various colorful mats on the ground in a formation with Charm at the front, and Boa and Papyrus on either side of an empty mat.

Charm is very excited, wearing a black top that connected around his neck and hand no other straps, as well as bright blue leggings. “Okay! We’re all here, so I’m going to start at the beginning. We’ll spend the first five minutes on breathing. It’s important to get your breath even and steady, even for us skeletons, because the regular rhythm is calming and helps your muscles relax. Or your magic, in our case.”

He sat down, and you followed along with Papyrus and Boa. “Sitting like this is one of the most simple poses, look at how my feet are under my knees? Do that.” You rearranged yourself, feeling a little unbalanced. “Now pull your back up straight and tall, as much as you can comfortably.” Ooh, you felt some popping in your spine. “And we will breathe with a count of four in, hold seven, out eight.”

He started the count, going through it about three times before starting to just talk to you all like an instructor, “Now, close your eyes and focus on nothing but my voice and your own breathing. How it gathers low inside you, then pushes out the tension you’re holding. Your muscles will respond as this tension eases, slowly relaxing into their natural resting state. Isn’t that nice? It feels so much better to relax.”

Sure, he was right, it did feel good, but you also had a lot on your mind. You didn’t know if your underwear was visible through your leggings, you didn’t know if there were bugs around, and your brain kept up a negative dialogue about how stupid you looked and how you weren’t going to stick with this even with the help of the boys.

“Reader?” Charm’s voice drew you out of your spiral, “You had a strange expression just now. Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, just…I feel silly and it’s not helping my inner monologue,” you feel embarrassed but better that someone noticed than you suffering in silence, you suppose.

“OH. WELL, YOU DON’T LOOK SILLY TO ME,” Papyrus says, “IN FACT, YOU LOOK QUITE FETCHING IN YOUR EXERCISE GEAR. THEY’RE VERY COLORFUL.” You’d specifically picked the most appealing and bright colors and patterns when you chose this outfit. You wanted to at least like what you were wearing if you were going to hate what you were doing wearing it.

Boa looked over and nodded, “It could be better fitted, but your personality is really on display and that’s a wonderful thing! You look ready to have fun and care for yourself at the same time.”

Charm agreed heartily, “As your friend and instructor, I have to say you look wonderful in your outfit, and you look perfectly normal as someone who is starting out. And as for your inner voice,” he makes a cartoonishly annoyed face, “it needs to stop badmouthing my friend or I’ll give it my two g about manners!”

You laughed, loving the enthusiasm, and that seemed to please all three. “Okay. I look normal then. Let’s keep going.”

“Right,” Charm shook himself a bit then closed his sockets, “Now we are going to try and do the breathing, but this time, we’ll focus on the balance in our backs.”

You spent the next half hour on the deck, listening to Charm lead all three of you through some simple poses. Honestly, it was the calmest you’ve ever felt when trying to exercise, simply because you had your sweetheart nearby and your two housemates who were quickly climbing the ranks in friendship with you. The yoga itself was not strenuous on your body like walking, or aerobics, or any other exercise regime you’d tried, and that combined with the calmer atmosphere of being with the people who genuinely liked and cared about you made it so much easier to not hate doing it.

It wasn’t your first choice in activity, no, and you weren’t exactly having ‘fun’ but you were neutral to it, and that was a huge improvement.

#reader x papyrus #undertale fic #underlust #lustswap #lustfell

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nancywheelxr · 4 years

Text

heaven help the fool who falls in love

( read on AO3 )

They stay there, sitting around the table until all conversations fade out and the only sound is the flickering of the flames. It feels very important to be there, somehow, like something was starting, something big. It feels a little like being at the Dawn of Time, watching the universe being born.

The flames flicker and Black Lightning is the first one to leave, heading back to Freeland with the promise of returning whenever he was needed, with backup, too, a faint smell of ozone lingering in his wake.

After that, everyone seems to filter out quietly, going back to their lives, to try and figure out what’s changed and what’s the same, a shared trepidation of finding something’s too irrevocably different, but they’ll all be fine– they’ve got each other’s backs, and honestly, Kara can’t think of anything worse than having Lex Luthor as her boss.

“Need a lift?” Kate asks, smirking a little, and she’s got her mask back on, wig and all, and Kara can’t help a small smile from blooming.

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that,” she counters, watching the sun setting behind her, washing Kate in orange light. It should not be so flattering, considering all the red she's got going. “Gotham’s a long way to walk.”

Kate raises her eyebrows, head tilting to the side, nodding at a monster of a bike parked nearby. “Who says I’m walking?”

“Okay, that does not look safe,” Kara says, noting the distinct lack of a helmet, “I think I’ll stick to flying, thank you very much.”

It earns her a huff of a snicker and for some reason, she feels the urge to do a victory dance. “So, I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Until the next time the world’s ending,” Kate gives her a two-finger salute, readying herself to drive away on her upgraded bike, key dangling from her fingers.

“Or before,” Kara ends up blurting out, hands flailing more than she wished they would. Rao, Kate is always so precise, every movement with a destination, with a meaning, with a goal; why can’t Kara be just a bit more graceful? “You know,hopefully.”

“Ha!” Kate snorts, shaking her head, amused, and adds before walking away, “I think I’ll leave the hoping to you.”

Her bike’s engine roars above the low buzzing of the city and Kara watches her drive out onto the road, back to Gotham and whatever waits for her there. Something in her chest constricts and she has the strange feeling she should probably leave the bravery thing to Kate too.

Things in National City aren’t exactly normal, but there’s something comforting in having Nia and Alex and J’onn and Brainy knowing Lex’s farce, in not being the only one living in an upside-down world and still being so freaking grateful for it. Now, she can trade a look with Alex over the computers and see the same resigned despair reflected on her eyes.

It’s only a miracle and very, very careful avoidance that Kara hasn’t run into Lena or Lex yet. She’s not sure she could stomach that, doesn’t want to know what Lex turned Lena into– a puppet? The obedient, starry-eyed sister he wanted? A villain, like him? Kara can’t face that, not yet.

So yeah, maybe she’s just a tiny bit glad when the alarms start ringing. “Where?” She demands, hiding her relief beneath a mask of professionalism.

“The park,” Brainy calls behind his shoulder, fingers flying over the keys, and he’s frowning, “it seems to be a meta-human, he’s freezing the trees.”

“Okay,” she nods sharply, preparing to take off, “ice powers, got it. It’s time to teach him some chill!”

As she leaves the DEO behind, Kara hears Alex’s groan and just for a little minute, just while she’s flying, everything feels normal, fine.

Not that it stays that way for much longer, of course. The guy with a weird-ass bowl on his head is a pretty good wake-up call.

“Okay, okay– hey, ice guy,” she glares, dodging what she supposes is some sort of freeze ray. Behind his goggles, the guy seems to focus on her and away from unsuspecting trees, “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but winter is definitely not coming here, pal.”

“I am Mr. Freeze,” ice guy booms, spreading his arms and encasing a terrified duck in a block of ice as he does it, “and no one will stand in my way!”

“So, another megalomaniac, yeah, that tracks,” she shrugs, heat pooling behind her eyes, and the world is already tinting red when a blur flies past her, black and red and as fast as a bat. Kara blinks, huffs. “Oh, come on! Again?”

“Sorry, blondie,” Kate throws her a smirk as she stabs Mr. Freeze with a syringe in the neck where his armor and helmet meet. He crumples in a white-and-blue heap, tied up and ice gun disabled. Never let it be said Batwoman isn’t scarily efficient. “This one’s one of mine.”

Rolling her eyes, Kara lands in front of her, arms crossed and the best grumpy expression she can manage. “I had it covered, you know.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it,” she says, pocketing her Batarang in her belt, and okay, it’s been only a week since the Crisis, but Kara had forgotten how it felt to be at the end of Kate’s whole laser-focus. Is this how people feel when she uses her laser vision? She hopes not, it’s very odd to feel like this– like she’s lighting up from the inside out, a whole forest fire sparking somewhere in her chest.

Truthfully, it might just be the turkey sandwich she had earlier, the mayo had tasted a bit off, after all.

“But Freeze's my problem,” she continues, shrugging, “but you're welcome to handle the cleanup if you want?”

Kara glances around. Half the lake is frozen and there are at least half a dozen trees melting. “Nah, I think I'll leave that to the DEO, thank you very much.”

“Right,” Kate grimaces, and now they're slowly moving towards the shade, to one of the benches in the park that isn't wet with melting ice, “and how is that going?”

“Not very good?” Kara sighs, slumping on her seat, drags a hand across her face, “I mean, Lex is still just– parading around as, as! I don't know! A good person that's not a psychopathic evil genius!”

A hand falls on her shoulder and Kara looks up, something loosening in her chest. Kate doesn't offer her a smile but her eyes are sympathetic and surprisingly open like she truly doesn't mind being here, away from Gotham, in National City, sitting in a park bench and listening to Kara's stupid problems. Her hand is warm through the gloves, solid and real.

“Hey,” says Kate, fingers squeezing her shoulder once, and Kara has to glance away, swallowing thickly, “do you want me to punch him for you?”

Startled, Kara laughs, picturing Batwoman flying to Luthor’s penthouse and decking him in his stupid smug face. “Thanks, but no,” she shakes her head, “I think– we’ll figure something out, it’ll be fine.”

“There she is,” Kate grins, leaning back on the bench, apparently very self-satisfied, “that sounds more like our Paragon of Hope.”

“Maybe I just needed, you know,” she looks up at the sky, stretching indefinitely in all directions, cloudlessly blue, and Kara feels suddenly oddly unmoored. Turning, she catches Kate’s eyes. “A bit of courage.”

It’s Kate’s turn to look away, red hair falling in a curtain as she turns, and her hand retreats back to her lap. “No,” she stands up, brushing dirt and snowflakes from her uniform, and when she looks back at Kara, there’s something shuttered in her eyes, even as she smiles carefully, “I’m pretty sure you’ve got it covered.”

Another month goes by and the Lex problem is far from solved but at least the Brainy problem is. It was honestly so weird to have more than one Brainy, she's kinda glad they're down to just their Brainy again.

Anyway, successfully solving one thing makes her feel better about the rest; maybe slow truly does it, maybe she can do this one day at a time, bit by bit.

Maybe Kate was right, maybe she does have this covered.

Maybe she'll even tell Kate that the next time one of her rogues end up in National City– something that, by the way, happened more than she would have expected? Seriously, she ran into Kate at least five other times in this month alone, either fighting someone or following a lead.

Not that she’s complaining, she appreciates the company.

“So,” she says, sitting down with her latte and passing Kate her coffee, “I’m sorry your lead went cold, I can keep an eye out for any shady business going on if you want?”

Kate waves her off, picking up one of the donuts. “No need, Black Mask will turn up soon,” she pauses, moaning around her donut, eyes closing, “shit, you were right, this is the best donut I’ve ever had!”

Pride swells in her chest and satisfaction brings warmth to her cheeks. “Told you,” she makes the executive decision of leaving the sprinkled one for Kate, “but seriously, are you sure? Because it must’ve been urgent for you to come all the way here.”

“Maybe I wanted to see you,” Kate winks, playful like she only ever is out of the uniform, and it’s nice to see her like this, no wig and no mask– just Kate. Once again, something shifts inside Kara. “No, but I mean it, let me handle Black Mask.”

Right, sometimes she forgets how touchy the Bats are about their city. “Okay, your call,” she says mildly, taking a sip of her latte, “but for the record, I am glad you’re here.”

Kate ducks, smiles, then shakes her head as if dispelling a fog. “Tough morning?”

“More like, tough week,” Kara huffs, thinking back at the peacocking Lex has been doing all month, rubbing his success on her face, at Lena’s fond eyes, clear of the anger and betrayal that had been swimming there before the world was reset. Shame rises to her throat at how traitorously happy she still feels sometimes at having Lena on her side again, half-wishing things could stay like this– it makes her nauseous, feeling dirty, almost as bad as Lex.

“I could still punch him for you?” Kate’s suggestion brings another snort out of her, just like the first time, and also like the first time, Kara’s no doubt she fully means it. It’s nice, she thinks, to have someone in your corner like this.

“Thanks,” she exhales, hoping to push her worries away along with the air in her lungs, “how about you handle Black Mask and I’ll handle Lex?”

“Damn, that’s a shame. I was kinda hoping to get to punch his smug face,” Kate grins, then grows serious, uncharacteristically soft, reaches for Kara’s hands where they’re resting on the table. Her fingers curl around Kara’s wrist, delicate and precise, and Kara wonders why her heart is stuttering like that, wonders if Kate can feel it through the skin, if she can tell why that’s happening. “Hey, you’ll be okay, you’ll beat him. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but you’re gonna win this shit.”

Throat tightening oddly, Kara swallows, licks her lips. “Thanks, I– thank you.”

Kate pulls back, thumb brushing one last circle over on the underside of her wrist. “Don’t thank me yet,” she runs a hand through her hair, tattoos catching Kara’s gaze like always, “I’ve still got a favor to ask.”

“A favor? What’s is it?” She straightens up, slipping into a more professional mask, “come on, hit me up.”

Hesitancy crosses Kate’s eyes, but it’s gone in a flash, dismissed as quickly as it materialized, and Kate nods sharply. “I want to come out.”

Kara chokes a little on her latte. “Excuse me? But I thought–”

“No, yeah, I’m already out,” Kate snickers, waiting for her to recover before sobering up, “I had some– look, some reporters got in their heads Batwoman is straight and I just can’t stand for that, not when I could be helping people, you know? So, I think it’s past time Batwoman gives an interview.”

“Oh,” Kara blinks, processing, “that’s– I’m sorry, people do like to just assume stuff.”

“So you’ll do it? The interview?”

“Oh,” she says again, “you want me to interview, er, Batwoman?”

“There’s no one else I’d trust with this,” Kate shrugs, indifferent, and Kara wants to do her victory dance again because, from all she’s learned about the Bats and Gotham and Kate, trust is not something so easily given, but this is not the first time Kate showed her the extent of hers in Kara. It’s– a strange tangle of emotions knots themselves in her ribcage.

“Then, of course, I’ll do it,” Kara smiles. This she can do.

“Thank you,” she says, a grin finally breaking on her face, “I’ll call you later to schedule it?”

Kara has a feeling Andrea won’t be too mad if she delays a few articles in favor of an exclusive with freaking Batwoman. “Sounds great, whenever you want.”

Her latte is getting cold but Kara can’t quite bring herself to hurry– if anything, she takes her time eating the donuts, sipping her beverage; the sun is shining especially bright today, reflecting off Kate’s hair and blinding Kara to anything else around the world.

Gotham is still dark, and grim, and oppressively rude, and Kara, superpowers and all, feels the need to clutch her bag a little tighter and keep her head down as she makes her way to the Kane penthouse– because Kate has a penthouse, that’s a thing, because Kate is rich. How is it that Kara keeps befriending millionaires?

“Oh, hello,” says the girl who opens the door and is definitely not Kate. She has a friendly smile and very sad eyes, and she reminds Kara a little of Lena, if only a little softer, kinder, friendlier. “I’m Mary, can I help you?”

Right, Mary Hamilton, Kate’s stepsister. “Hi, I’m Kara Danvers– the reporter? Kate said to just come here instead of Wayne Tower? I’m sorry, I know how this sounds but I swear I’m not just some tabloid–”

“You’re Kara?” Mary’s whole face lights up and Kara is faintly happy for Kate, she remembers how miserable she had been talking about when her step-sister had been at odds with her. Now, Mary waves her in, grinning wide, “come in, come in, Kate’s talked so much about you! It’s so nice to finally meet you, seriously, I feel like I already know you–”

This is all happening rather fast, but Kara tries to keep up with Mary’s words, following her to a large, open-concept living room, talking a mile a minute. “Thanks, I– she talked about me? I mean! She talked a lot about you too!”

“Really? Because I swear, it’s like pulling teeth with her when it comes to this stuff–”

“Kara!” It’s Kate, rounding a corner and looking sorta alarmed at her sister, eyes going between them as if she’s assessing the situation, and for the first time, Kara thinks she might be a little wrong-footed, even if it’s only for a second. “Thank you for agreeing to this,” she pauses in front of Kara with a small smile and Kara hesitates– should they hug? Shake hands? What’s the protocol here now that there’s no villain to serve as a buffer? She waits too long and the moment passes, Kate turning her focus to Mary and leaving Kara feeling slightly disappointed, bereft. “Don’t start– she’s here for an interview.”

Mary’s smile becomes sly. “Sure, see you later Kate, it was very nice to meet you Kara, come by anytime. Have fun!”

She takes her leave like a hurricane, the dull sound of the door closing behind her almost jarring in the silence that stays after her.

“Sorry about that,” Kate grimaces, half-apologetic, “we're still– she resents Sophie, I think, and she thinks I should have more friends, that's all.”

Again, Kara tries to match the name with a face, coming up with very little information– ex-girlfriend, married, works in security, messy breakup. Though, messy isn't exactly the word she'd use, not when she clearly hurt Kate then and is most likely hurting her again now. Whoever Sophie is, Kara would very much like to have a few words with her.

Yeah, after all, Kara knows a little about messy breakups.

It’s not the same, though, she reminds herself; her situation with Lena isn’t complicated like Kate’s with Sophie is, like hers with Mon-El had been. If she had more time, if she were alone, perhaps Kara would examine why she’s holding them all to the same level, or why her chest is aching bitterly for no good reason at all.

Everything is so complicated these days.

“It's okay, I know how sisters can be,” she smiles, forcing herself to be very still when Kate sits down beside her in the couch, knees touching hers, “so, how do you want to do this?”

Kate sighs, not quite a scowl on her face but none of the playfulness from before either. “Here is as secure as it can be,” she says, glancing out the large windows, and Kara wants to ask about the Batcave, a few fragmented memories of Oliver mentioning the secrecy around Batman and his dislike of meta-humans in general the only things keeping her away from the topic. She’s not about to pry into someone else’s secret, not when Kate is already going against what her cousin would have liked for their city just by inviting Kara there.

Something about Kate– it gives Kara pause, recorder dropping to her lap. There’s a tiredness clinging to the corner of her eyes, taking up space where laughter lines should be, and while she’s going through the motions of this conversation as natural as ever, it’s clear she’s not wholly there. Wherever she is, Kate’s mind must be worrying and unhappy if the way her eyebrows keep knitting minutely, a crinkle in her forehead that Kara is itching to smooth over with her fingers. She wonders if Kate will feel cool to the touch against Kara’s sun-charged skin, Kryptonians always do run a little hotter than most humans.

A blink. Jesus, where’s this coming from?

In any case. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” She hovers a little before deciding to place her hand on Kate’s knee, just an inch above the rip on her jeans. It’s more tempting than it has any right to be. “We don’t have to do this today, you look tired.”

Kate shakes her head, seeming to dispel a stormy cloud of thoughts, and looks warily at Kara, eyes seizing her like she’s still unsure how genuine the question is, how much is out of politeness. It’s almost offensive, really, Kate should know better by now.

She really, really should know better by now, considering how long they spent in the Vanishing Point, before the timeline reset, before things hit the fan and then more or less fixed themselves.

Then, Kate sighs again, not deflating but maybe unsteeling. “Alice has gone underground,” she admits, running a hand through her hair, “and there’s only so much I can do until she resurfaces again.”

So she’s probably running herself ragged the whole night. Kara frowns. “I’m sorry,” she says, biting her lip, “it never gets easy, having to stop people you love, family.”

“She killed Mary’s mother,” the words leave her lips through gritted teeth, and Kate is now glaring at the tiled floor like it’s personally responsible for every bad thing that’s going on. The faraway look in her eyes returns, fogging over, “you know, when I took Bruce’s place I didn’t think– it wasn’t supposed to be Beth.”

Today is a bad day, Kara recognizes with terrible clarity, one of those where everything weighs a little heavier on your shoulders. There’s not much to be done in those times, she knows from experience. Saying I’m sorry again feels awfully inadequate. Instead, she shuffles a little closer, subtly trying to telegraph I’m here, it doesn’t have to be lonelier than it already is. “Once,” Kara clears her throat, “my aunt and uncle tried to take over the world in the worst way possible and I had to stop them. They’re dead now. My point is– Beth isn’t. There’s still hope. She’ll appear again and you’ll stop her, get her the help she needs.”

“How can you be so sure?” Kate looks up at her with clear eyes, greenish-blue like a bottomless ocean, tides warring over each other with tall waves of emotion. Kara likes to think this is better than the fog, than the tar-like glaze. You can’t see through fog, but every storm clears eventually. “There’s not many places for hope in Gotham.”

“That’s okay,” Kara says decidedly, meeting her gaze steadily, head-on, “I can do the hoping for you.”

Kate smiles, a small, weak, sad thing, brittle, and it’s not a smirk and it’s not the malleable plastic she gives the media. It’s just that, a smile, and Kara commits it to memory like a treasure map.

Her computer screen gives off blue light, illuminating her face in the rapidly darkening room, but Kara’s fingers still hover unsurely over the keys, the blank page mocking her just like it’s been doing for the past hour.

Beside her laptop, her recorder sits, red light blinking, and Kara is tempted to run it again, listen to the whole interview one more time to try and find the right words for this. The article is important for Kate, for Batwoman, and for so many people– it could be huge, it could be a great thing, inspiring. But only if Kara gets it right; there’ll be no do-over for this.

Sure, the main purpose of the interview is for Kate to come out, but they didn’t just talk about that. The lines got blurred. Kate told her about West Point and Sophie, about waiting in her bike for Sophie to come out of the building, a thousand plans for the future already bubbling in her mind, never once thinking about Sophie’s side of things. I was being selfish, she had told Kara, I’m still being selfish, I think. Her voice had been horribly sad and Kara thinks complicated had been both an understatement and exaggeration on the state of things.

In turn, Kara had thought it was only fair for her to tell her about Lena and all the snowball of tragedies that brought on, her own voice stilted and cracking at the edges. About Myriad and Andrea and how confusing everything had become at the end.

Halfway through, though, Luke had texted, calling Kate away to deal with someone they had called Killer Croc over the phone. Kate had been apologetic and guilty, but– here’s the thing, Kara truly gets it. She had told her so, too. Supergirl had had to exit stage left many times over the years.

It’s nice, she thinks, not to have to lie about that.

And now, here Kara is, fretting over how to even start the article, how to be truthful to Kate’s story, live up to the trust she’s placing on her.

She wonders what it means that she’s worrying so much.

Thank you, Kate texts her while Kara is still reeling from the outpouring of reactions the article has sparked, and she can’t help grinning madly at her phone, heart running a marathon around her ribs.

“You look happy,” Nia tells her much later when they’re patrolling together to avoid the DEO and Lex and his lies, “do you want to know what I dreamt about last night?”

“Shoot,” says Kara, unbothered by her remark.

“There was a field of wildflowers,” she pauses at the edge of the roof, frowning in concentration, “and a bat was flying high even though the sun was shining very bright in the sky. Do you know what it means?”

Her chest aches hopefully. Kara thinks she’s beginning to understand now. “I might have an idea.”

“The sun usually has to do with you,” Nia shrugs, “but I was thinking the bat might have to do with that friend of yours from Gotham. That’s all I got though, sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Kara smiles, knocking her shoulders with Nia’s in comfort, letting her know it’s alright not to know everything, she’s still learning how to interpret her dreams, after all. “I like a little mystery.”

Nia blinks. “You really do look happy,” grins, “I’m glad.”

The months spent in the Vanishing Point are both sharp and fuzzy in her memory. Some days they feel like minutes spent in someplace far away, in suspended animation, a blink compared to the enormity of their task. In others, though, lingering grief turns them into years of stretched out nothingness, a lifetime of blank repetitions.

Somehow, it always feels like a world of its own– nearly enough to make Kara wonder if it hadn't all been a dreadful nightmare, a delusion from the anti-matter wave.

But then, she looks at Kate now and it's so painfully familiar, those terrible months have to be real. She remembers Kate training endlessly in the shadows, tiring herself out for days on end, working until she would collapse in a corner somewhere to sleep fitfully, and she remembers curling at her side and feeling a little less alone, red cape still clutched tightly in her fingers.

When she closes her eyes, she can still hear their whispered conversations, half plans and half rants, too desperate and sad to be anywhere useful. Mostly, it was only to keep the silence at bay.

To be reminded there was at least one other person in the whole universe.

Anyway.

Somedays the Vanishing Point feels very far away, but Kate is always close, sharp in focus, a streak of red in the dull grey landscape.

Kara resolutely does not think about those months, accepting the shifts in dynamic as only natural, a fast forward of more pleasant times.

“Alex,” Kara says quietly, huddling closer to her pillow, phone pressed to her ear and a hundred and two thoughts swimming in her head. No, that’s not right, it’s just one, just the one thought about just the one person.

Across the line, she hears her sister yawn. “Yeah? Everything alright?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” she closes her eyes, trying to keep everything contained, all the cards laid orderly on the table. Facts, questions, answers– if she goes over it like one of her stories, then it’s easier to figure it out, to see the bigger picture from the puzzle. Or maybe it’s not that Kara can’t finish the puzzle, it’s just that she owes it to Kate to make sure it really fits the image on the box. She exhales and in the same breath, asks, “how do you know you’re in love?”

“What?” Alex’s frown it’s clear even through the phone, the sounds of the rustling of covers probably meaning she’s sitting up in bed. A low murmur, muffled; Kelly is there, too, then. A door opening and closing. “What’s going on?”

“How do I know it’s love?” Kara rephrases her question, tries to shift the pieces so it’s easier to make anything out, “I liked James and Carter and Ioved Mon-El, and I think I could’ve fallen in love with Lena– but I didn’t– it’s easier to realize how I felt later, after things were already sorted out. I need to know– how do I know it’s love now?”

Before I go and say something I don’t mean, before I make a mess of things, before I risk the best thing that’s happened all year, before I hurt someone who’s been hurt too much already.

Alex pauses. “Did you just say you were in love with Lena?”

“I said I could have fallen in love with Lena,” she corrects, biting the inside of her cheek, “things– changed. The moment passed, the timing isn’t right anymore.”

I met someone else, she doesn't add.

“Yeah, it’s probably– sorry,” Alex sounds rattled, and Kara supposes that’s fair; this is all a lot to dump on someone without warning. “I’m just– is this you coming out?”

Kara smiles, not necessarily nervous, but still a bit anxious. Did she wait too long to do this? Things were different in Krypton and by the time Kara realized she actually needed to come out and say something, it never felt like the right time. And then Alex came out and it felt– she doesn’t know. Maybe she is nervous after all. “In part, yes. Sorry, I should probably have done this in person.”

“So you are…” Alex trails off, probably not wanting to assume anything. She’s considerate like that.

“Bisexual,” Kara says, testing out the word. Yeah, it feels right, saying it out loud. As if that makes it properly real– no, official. Kara Danvers is bisexual. Supergirl is bisexual. “I’m sorry I never said anything sooner, maybe if I had, it would’ve been easier for you, but–”

“Don’t– there’s nothing to apologize for,” Alex says softly, gently, “everyone has their own time. Thank you for trusting me with this.”

Kara wonders if this is what Alex had wanted to hear when she first came out. Yeah, Kara really could have handled that one better. “Thank you," she swallows, breathes, “you're the best sister in the world, did you know?”

There's a quiet huff that Kara recognizes as Alex breathing out a laugh. “I love you too,” she pauses for a second, “so now that we got that out of the way, what's really going on? Is this about Kate?”

Something cold weights on her gut and Kara chokes on nothing. “Is it that obvious?”

Am I that obvious?

“Relax,” now there’s definitely the sound of Alex snickering, “I just know you, I don’t think she’s noticed it yet.”

Boldened by the rush of relief talking about it brings her, Kara takes a deep breath. “I have feelings for her, I just don’t know if it’s love,” then, she adds quieter, hesitant as if this was the real secret all along, “I really want it to be love.”

“You know,” Alex begins, “mom used to say you like someone because and love them despite of.”

“That sounds like she was quoting something,” Kara replies, almost sullenly, “what does it even mean?”

“She probably was, yeah, but it’s not wrong– it’s easy to like someone because of their qualities, but loving someone means staying despite their flaws. It means knowing all the stuff that annoys you about them, that you don’t necessarily like, and choosing to be there anyway. I like Kelly because she’s beautiful and ridiculously smart, and I love her despite her being a bit of a know-it-all.”

“Kate’s so beautiful, and smart, and so, so brave,” Kara says, rolling on her bed so she feels less like she’s reciting a prayer, “I like that about her. I like that she’s trying to keep her city safe and still save her sister. I even like how she’s always smirking like she knows something no one does. I like how she cares and how determined she is. I like how she never gives up.”

Alex sounds like she’s still smiling. “And?”

“And I don’t know,” Kara whines, plainly whines, covering her face with her arm.

“I think you do,” Alex counters, mild and steady, “but for the record, you seem a hell of a lot happier now that she’s around.”

Her conversation with Nia on the roof claws its way to the forefront of her mind and Kara blushes even though no one is there. Nonsensically, she feels sort of guilty about it. As if she shouldn’t get to be this happy when so much is still going on, half-afraid the universe will come collect its due later– so far, her happiness has always been more or less on borrowed time.

“I have– I need to think about this,” she finally settles, “thanks for listening.”

“I hope I’ve helped a little,” says Alex, yawning, “will you be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” glancing out her window, Kara can see the stars, too bright to be swallowed by the city lights, “go back to sleep. And tell Kelly I say hi.”

Alex is probably rolling her eyes. “See you tomorrow, try and get some sleep too, alright?”

Sleep does claim her sooner rather than later, and Kara drifts off to dream about a field of wildflowers, two hands reaching for each other, the sun shining warmly over their skin, and Kate’s smile softer than the grass under their feet.

Movie night is a fairly regular occurrence, especially after the Crisis, and there’s honestly no telling who might show up.

Tonight, besides Alex, Brainy, Nia, and Kelly, a lot more people are crowded inside Kara’s living room. Barry, Cisco, Sara, and Ray are all spread out on the couches and armchairs, swapping tales of their latest adventures and bitching about their hurdles.

It’s– nice. More than nice. Better.

And now, of course–

“Hey, I come bearing gifts,” Kate grins, holding up a six-pack of beers in each hand, and Kara is taken aback by how unfairly good she looks under the fluorescent lights of her building’s hallway, sharp and bold in her leather jacket, and for a second, Kara stays there, rooted to the spot while her brain reboots.

Sara and Cisco push her out of the way first. “Thank you,” Cisco mouths happily as they run off with the booze, disappearing back into the living room.

“Hi, sorry,” Kara shakes herself into moving, waving Kate in with a smile, “come in, we’re watching The Wizard of Oz tonight. It was Barry’s turn to pick, so. I lucked out, I guess.”

“That’s your favorite movie, right?” Kate follows her into the fray, throwing a half-hearted greeting to the room before sitting on the floor beside Kara in the conveniently only open seat left. Well, not only, she could have chosen anywhere else in the carpet to seat, after all, but it would be sort of impolite– okay, yeah, this is probably what Alex means about Kara overthinking things.

“Yup,” Kara nods, passing Barry the remote, “I know all the songs by heart at this point, really. And the dialogues. Maybe. I might have been in my high school rendition of the musical too.”

Kate’s eyebrows rise and she stretches her legs, crossing them at the ankle, and Kara forces herself not to track the movement with her eyes. “I would’ve paid a lot of money to see that, please tell me someone recorded the whole thing.”

“Don’t laugh!” She hits her arm lightly, earning said a huff of said laughter, and hugs the popcorn bowl closer, “you can’t make fun of me, I’m holding the popcorn hostage now.”

“I’m not! I think it’s cute– actually, it’s adorable,” Kate is grinning, eyes glittering with humor, with mischief, with something, “so will you release the popcorn or is this going to escalate to a hostage negotiation?”

“I haven’t heard any negotiating yet,” Kara says haughtily, holding the bowl out of reach.

If possible, Kate’s grin grows wider, sharper. Prettier. Deadlier. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder to convince you.”

It knocks the breath out of her lungs, something hungry brewing somewhere down her chest, and Kara needs to say something soon before it gets awkward, needs to get her shit together and stop melting every time Kate maybe-flirts with her. This doesn’t have to mean anything. This is just how Kate is. She smirks and teases and, and whatever, but it doesn’t have any deeper meaning. There’s no need for Kara or Alex for that matter, to read anything into it.

And she really, really needs to stop having a meltdown over it.

As it is, she is accidentally saved by Sara, who throws popcorn at them with a half-hearted shush.

Barry, on the other hand, is not helpful at all when he adds, “yeah, quit flirting so loud, the movie’s starting.”

Now Kara is frigging blushing, she knows she must be because her cheeks feel hot and heat is crawling up her neck, but Kate only laughs, leaning over her to rescue the popcorn bowl from Kara’s numb fingers with a, a playful wink.

Rao, tonight is going to be the death of her.

Because now that Kara is aware of her feelings, it’s like she’s opened a door she doesn’t know how to close again. Someone has turned off the lights and Kara sneaks a look at Kate, and she is so close, Kara can’t bring herself to look away, too busy tracing her profile, following the lines of her tattoos down her collarbone, disappearing under her shirt, and something is shifting on her chest like her ribcage is cracking open and all these emotions are pouring out– she looks at Kate and she wants and wants and wants, and it all feels rooted down to her bones, so deep down inside her being that it would bleed her dry to try and pluck them out like wildflowers.

It feels so much it hurts.

Can you be addicted to something you never tasted?

Is this how love aches?

I shall take the heart, the Tin Woodsman is saying on the screen, and Kara forces herself to look away. It doesn’t matter, anyway, Kate’s image is burned in the back of her eyelids, filling the dark with leather jackets and dangerous smiles.

“You should tell her,” Alex says, “you really should tell her how you feel.”

It’s a very rehearsed argument at this point and Kara is tired of explaining there’s little room in Kate’s life, in Kate’s heart, that isn’t Gotham, or Beth, or Sophie. She doesn’t want to be another Reagan. She’d rather wait in silence and, well, hope, than rush in and ruin everything.

Things are fine now, they’re friends, and Kara genuinely loves being her friend, why should she put that in jeopardy? Friendship isn’t less than a romance. It can be enough; she can be content.

“It’s not the same as happy, though, is it?” Alex always replies, mouth in a thin line. “Won’t you trust me on this? I’ve seen how she looks at you.”

Sometimes, she wishes Alex wouldn’t say things like that.

“You won’t ever be one hundred percent sure, Kara,” she adds, “it’s a leap of faith– you gotta jump and trust she’s going to catch you.”

Maybe that’s the problem, Kara is too used to be the one doing the catching.

She’s fine, this is fine, it’s all fine.

“You’re pining,” Barry tells her, “it’s a little sad to watch– not that I’m one to talk, but. Yeah, it’s kinda sad, you should tell her how you feel.”

Oliver’s memorial has nothing to say on this matter.

Not that Oliver would know what to say– he’d probably tell her to talk to Barry about it.

“Tell her how you feel, oh my god,” Barry groans, draining the last of his milkshake, “seriously, please, just go over to Gotham and confess your undying love, Kate’s been grumpier than usual– she growled at me to get out of her city, Kara. Growled. And I didn’t even want to be there. Just tell her how you feel so I don’t have to fear for my life every time the Trickster decides to wander out of Central City.”

Somehow Kate owning a gay club comes as less of a surprise than one would think. Sure, she’s got the vigilante gig at night and keeping Wayne Tower in one piece seems to be trouble enough, but Kara can’t think of anything Kate can’t do if she puts her mind to it.

Especially if it’s out of spite.

“I could punch that guy for you,” Kara offers after Kate finishes the story, anger simmering under the surface only mitigated by Kate’s own petty vengeance, “seriously, one hit and he’d be out like a light.”

Kate laughs. The music is loud here but it still somehow rings clearer than anything. “Thanks, but I need him awake to see this place.”

“Pity, I’m pretty sure punching bigots is in my job description by now,” she shrugs, not-so-fake disappointed. They’re in one of the booths, secluded away from most of the crowd, alone after the others left for the dancefloor; it might have been an excuse, although there’s not enough information for her to be totally sure. “So,” she says, sipping her drink unconcernedly, “Barry said you were in a bad mood last week.”

To be fair, Kate does look regretful at the reminder, pouring herself another shot. “Yeah, I should probably apologize to him later,” they both look at the crowd, searching for Barry and sharing a laugh at his uncoordinated moves. “Man, you’d think he’d be better at dancing, all things considered.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing nazis from another dimension crashed his wedding– can you imagine him trying to waltz?”

“That,” Kate keeps laughing, head tilting back, and Kara watches the curve of her neck, wishes to cover it with kisses until she’s shivering under her lips. “Sounds like a story I want to hear later.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not a very fun story, really, I shouldn’t have joked,” she hurries to add, “but I did have time to sing before the shoot-out!”

“Of course you can sing,” Kate huffs, leaning back on her seat, shakes her head, and the way she’s looking at Kara, it’s all a bit too much, it leaves her unsteady, drunk like the alcohol didn’t. It barely registers what an odd thing that is to fixate on. When she continues, it’s just a murmur, probably not meant for Kara to hear, “why wouldn’t you? You’re perfect.”

Perhaps she should have taken it as a compliment or nothing at all since she wasn’t meant to hear anyway, but Kara still feels vaguely betrayed. Thinking someone is perfect only means you don’t know them at all and she had thought– being hopelessly hopeful, she thought Kate knew her deeper than that, more honest than that, past Supergirl and Kara Danvers down to whatever is left under both.

“I’m not perfect,” the need to point out is greater than the disappointment swirling in her gut.

“Oh, no, I know that,” Kate waves her off, leaning back in on her elbows, glass half-empty on her fingers, glinting in the colorful lights, and she just looks so, so painfully beautiful, “you can be self-righteous sometimes and you trust way too easily. You’re too optimistic and also, when you nap, you drool. I know you’re not perfectly perfect, you’re just…” she gestures in her vague direction, making a face and downing the rest of her drink.

And Kara. She lets the words sink in and thinks oh.

She thinks oh and she hears Alex’s words on her head, voice wavering into Eliza’s even though she never heard Eliza say that, and she knows with blinding clarity that this cannot be a dream because Kara’s never been more awake in her whole life.

If anything, it’s as if she’s finally, finally, awake.

“You brood a lot,” she hears herself saying, “and you can be a little self-centered, and you can be a little arrogant, too.”

Kate has set her glass down and she’s now staring at Kara like she’s trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle, “ouch,” she fakes a wince distractedly, “harsh, but you’re not denying the drooling, I see.”

“Kate,” Kara says, heart trembling in her chest, and maybe this is why Kate is the Paragon of Courage– she feels a lot braver when she’s with her; it’s easy to fall and trust she’ll catch her. “Kate, I could give you infinite reasons why I like you, and I love you despite all I said. I think I could love you despite anything, really, and I’ve been loving you despite that, too.”

For one terrifying second, Kate says nothing, frozen into perfect stillness, but then she’s rounding the table to stop in front of Kara, looking down at her as if she’s watching the whole universe unfold, openly vulnerable, as if she can’t quite believe this is real, and Kara wants and wants and wants.

And when Kate finally leans down, she’s already meeting her halfway.

Her lips are soft and her hands are in Kara’s hair, and Kara was right, Kate’s skin is blessedly cool against her own feverish touch, and the world ends and begins in the inches between them they steal with each new kiss.

It’s terrifyingly addicting.

People are all made of stardust, Kara even more so, maybe that’s why for her, Kate feels an awful lot like coming home.

“Kara,” Kate whispers her name against her lips like a prayer, and her eyes are still shut even as she presses her forehead against Kara’s, “I love you, I do, but I really need you to be sure. Are you sure?”

Are you sure you can love me, she hears, unsaid.

“I’m sure,” Kara answers, kissing her softly, a fleeting press of lips, just because she can, and then another, just because prayers are never recited only once, and one more because neither should promises, not if you intend to keep them, “I love you, that’s all.”

Kate smiles.

It’s more beautiful than any sun.

“That’s all,” she echoes, and it’s as simple as that, “I love you,” she says and holds Kara like she’s a delicate thing, even as her fingers dig wonderfully into her hips.

In the end, Kara thinks she’ll take the heart too, and with Kate pressing yet another kiss, her mind clears, and she thinks nothing at all.

#kanvers #superbat #kara x kate #kara danvers #kate kane #supergirl #batwoman #femslash #post crisis #wlw #bisexual kara danvers #kanvers tag #batwoman tag #supergirl tag

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unwillingadventurer · 4 years

Text

Today’s fic is Thirteen and fam and Jo Grant. Thanks @ilwinsgarden and also @human-nxture for the suggestions of 13 meeting past companions.

...

In the warmth of the late afternoon sun, a tandem bike travelled speedily along a country lane with the Doctor and Yaz peddling quickly as they passed the scenery by. With the Doctor in front, a helmet on her head, she peered back and smiled, her hair pasted to her face with the wind so she could barely see.

“You keeping up there, Yaz?”

“Keeping up, we’re on the same bloody bike!”

“There’s a stationary vehicle by the road up ahead, let’s go and see if we can help.”

“But what about the boys?” Yaz shouted.

“We’ve still got time to beat them. Come on.”

As they slowed down, the Doctor glanced at the yellow car that seemed to have broken down by the side of the road. A young woman was beside it, sitting on the edge of the car, and seemed to be in a state of meditation.

“I don’t believe this,” the Doctor said as she threw herself off the bike and removed her helmet before Yaz even had time to think and stop properly. “It’s Bessie!”

“Bessie? That woman?”

Yaz took off her helmet and looked over at the blonde woman dressed in an oversized fluffy coat in pale blue, teamed with a matching blue dress and knee-high boots. She loved that the 70’s was an experimental decade, she’d even dressed for the occasion in bell bottoms, a woollen tank top and platform boots that were much too high. She’d been very pleased when the Doctor had complimented her retro headscarf.

“Bessie isn’t a woman!” The Doctor sounded annoyed. “Bessie is the car. The woman is none other than the rather wonderful Jo Grant!”

“And you knew this Jo in the 70’s?”

“Certainly did. She was my assistant at UNIT.”

“You had a job and an assistant?”

“Well she was my friend mostly. And yeah did a bit of work in the 70’s…possibly the 80’s as well. It was all rather strange, timelines got a bit mixed up somehow, or quite possibly everyone was just high on drugs.”

“So, what’s the car got to do with anything? Just looks like some old banger.”

The Doctor gasped. “An old banger! Gold star deducted Miss Khan. Bessie happens to be a feat of engineering in a retro yellow package. Rather like me.”

“Yoo hoo!” Jo called from the side of the road. “I don’t suppose you could keep me company.”

The Doctor smiled and strutted over. “Of course we can, Jo Grant. We can’t have Jo Grant getting lonely, can we, Jo Grant?”

Yaz followed on behind and watched as the Doctor shook Jo’s hand.

“Have we met?” Jo asked, wondering why the woman knew her full name.

“Yeah you could say that. Where’s…the Doctor?”

“Gone to get some tools to fix Bessie. Do you know him then?”

“Well, yeah, you see, actually…”

“She is the Doctor,” Yaz said helpfully and to the point.

Jo gasped. “Not my Doctor?”

“Same one, different face.”

“I’m astonished. I’ve seen other versions of you but not a woman,” Jo said, “but I must say well done. I’m all for women’s lib and all that. I do rather adore my Doctor though, so cuddly and well dressed.”

The Doctor looked down at her clothes, disappointed that her previous companion hadn’t complimented her own fashion. “Well I’m him or I was once.”

“And blonde too, no more dumb blonde jokes eh?”

“Gold star Jo Grant!” the Doctor said with praise.

Yaz bowed her head and kicked the dirt with her platforms, having only just had one of her gold stars deducted for being rude. “So, I’m Yaz, seeing as she didn’t bother to introduce me.”

“I was getting to that. Jo Grant this is the wonderful Yaz, my current companion, or one third of my fam.”

“Current?” Yaz said.

Jo smiled warmly. “Lovely to meet you, Yaz. What a great surprise this is. You wait ‘til I tell Mike Yates about this, he is not gonna believe it.”

The Doctor’s smile widened. “Mike! How is the old devil?”

“Same old Mike.”

“And how’s Benton and the Brigadier?”

“Oh, they’re well, smashing fellas.”

The Doctor turned excitedly to Yaz. “They’re the best of the Earth, Yaz, saving lives and protecting the shores and no one knows they exist.”

“Thanks Doctor,” Jo said and giggled. “Oh, I do feel naughty saying that, like I’m having an affair with another…well woman I suppose!” She playfully slapped Yaz on the arm to which Yaz laughed.

Already the Doctor was making her way to the front of Bessie, lifting up the bonnet and peering inside. “I can fix this, no problem. Where’s the other me?”

“Needed to fetch his tools.”

The Doctor reached into her pocket and whipped out her goggles which she then placed on, and then pulled out her sonic screwdriver. “This does everything.”

Jo and Yaz watched on fascinated as the Doctor got to working on the machine, her tongue peeking out the side of her mouth as sparks flew around her. She was so immersed in her task that she hardly heard the roar of a motor pulling up beside them.

The car window rolled down and out popped Ryan’s head from the passenger window. “Ha, we’re so gonna beat ya!”

“How did you get that car?” Yaz said, folding her arms.

Graham leaned over Ryan from the driver’s seat. “Stop yakking, son, we’ve got a ‘north to south don’t use the TARDIS race’ to win. They’re stuck helping some old banger.”

Leaning up from underneath the bonnet, the Doctor scrunched her face. “That’s no way to talk about Jo Grant.”

“I meant the car, blimey Doc, I don’t make a habit of calling young ladies ‘old bangers’.”

“Ignore Graham’s eagerness at winning, he’s just so hyped to be back in his own era,” Ryan said.

“And don’t you be dissing it, son. I look like a right blinder in this tashe.”

And suddenly the car drove away at high speed and Yaz sighed as they were left behind with a trail of dust covering them. “They’re going to win! And I still can’t get used to Ryan in that afro wig.”

“You’ve got to hand it to them,” the Doctor said, rolling up her sleeves. “They really went all out.”

“You know those men in that orange Cortina?” Jo asked. “Had a boyfriend with a car like that, got up to a few things, ooh I shouldn’t say that should I?”

“Never mind that, Jo Grant, Bessie is road ready.” The Doctor grabbed Yaz’s hand, transferring oil onto her clean skin. “Yaz, we’ve got two egos to smash.”

“You mean we’re gonna nick this car from Jo?”

“We’re gonna commandeer it. Do you fancy an adventure, Jo?” The Doctor held out her hand.

“I’d love to. Ooh how exciting, a proper gals road trip.” She took the Doctor’s hand and grasped firmly.

Yaz and Jo climbed into the car and scrunched up close together next to the Doctor who was already in the driver’s seat. She lifted up her goggles. “You ready fam?”

“We’re so ready,” Yaz said, “as long as we don’t do a Thelma and Louise.”

“Ah spoil sport, Yaz. I’ve always wanted to do a Thelma and Louise with you one day.”

“Preferably without the cliff part, ta very much!”

Jo laughed. “I don’t mean to sound a bit daft but who are Thelma and Louise?”

...

Very close to the finish line of their long race across the entire country having to use a multitude of vehicles, Ryan and Graham stopped for a quick bite to eat, knowing they were ahead of the women and had time to spare.

“I needed that sarnie,” Graham said, wiping the mustard from his mouth. “You might wanna check that hairdo for crumbs,” he said pointing at Ryan’s afro.

“You might wanna check the tashe, Grandad.”

“We are so going to rub this in to the Doc later. The race, not the mustard.” Graham rubbed his hands together cheekily.

“Cool yeah but shouldn’t we get back on the road? We’re so close to the end.”

“Yeah you’re probably right son, don’t want to be too cocky.”

They were just about to climb back into the car when a yellow blur whizzed past them, so fast they had no idea what it was and they stood feeling rather dizzy at the sight.

“Blimey, what was that?” Graham said. “Think the mustard just blurred my eyes.”

“We don’t get tornadoes in England, do we?”

“Don’t know, son, but let’s get cracking.”

“Yeah you’re right, I’ve got a weird feeling.”

…

As the Cortina pulled into the finish line, Graham and Ryan were shocked as they parked, climbed out and realised that the Doctor and Yaz, along with new passenger Jo Grant, were already standing at the finish line, beside the bright yellow car, smiling and doing some kind of 70’s themed victory dance.

“How on earth did you get here so fast?” Graham said.

“You was that big yellow blur weren’t ya?” Ryan said and then slapped Graham on the arm. “I told you not to stop to eat that sarnie!”

“I can’t drive on an empty stomach. Hang about, how comes you can travel at the speed of light all of a sudden? I call foul play.”

Yaz started to shimmy from side to side. “Don’t be a sore loser, Graham, we won fair and square and we got to meet Jo. She’s really cool.”

Jo hugged Yaz from the side. “Pleasure is all mine, darling. Lovely to meet all of you and have a race against the boys, shame my UNIT boys weren’t here.” She looked at Ryan. “I have a feeling Mike might really be sad he missed meeting you.” She pinched his arm playfully.

“So, you’re allowed to use all your what-not and jiggery-pokery on that old car and win the race?” Graham asked.

Yaz prodded him. “Serves you right for stealing our scooters in phase 1.”

Jo grabbed Yaz and the Doctor’s hands. “I declare the winners, Yaz and the Doctor!” She then kissed them both on the cheeks and hugged the losers

…

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jo said as they sat alone on the sand dunes, looking out to sea, the breeze tickling their cheeks. “I had a fabulous day.”

“Glad to hear it, Jo Grant.” The Doctor sifted some sand between her fingers.

“You’re taking care of yourself then?”

“You know me, as long as I’ve got someone to lend a hand then I’m usually alright.”

“Looks like you have some fun times with those three?”

“Yes. They’re not so bad.”

“And we had fun times too. You remember those, don’t you, Doctor?”

“Of course I do. You and me with Bessie and the open road. We had it all!”

“I don’t know how I’ll leave you Doctor and I don’t need you to tell me but one thing, was I happy?”

“You’re Jo Grant, you’re always happy. And the world is better for it.”

They smiled at one another and said nothing for a few moments, just appreciating the moment to enjoy one another’s company.

“Wait a minute,” Jo suddenly said, breaking the silence. “If we’re here with Bessie then where’s my Doctor?”

The Doctor scrunched up her face. “Oh, forgot about that.”

…

“Jo? Where are you? Jo?” The Doctor stood in the middle of the empty road, holding a tool kit and peering around in bewilderment. He took off his green velvet jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and rubbing his chin with his gloved hand. “Oh well, suppose the walk won’t do me any harm. Hope she hasn’t driven the old girl off a cliff.”

#fic #doctor who #classic who #13 and fam #jo grant

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moveslikebuckywrites · 5 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ellen Degeneres Additional Tags: Crack, Memes, I have no excuses, shenanigans with the "fuck shit up jacket", because of course it is, never thought I'd tag Ellen in a fic Summary:

What happens when a demon decides to use old memes from 2010 and his "fuck shit up jacket" to cause a ruckus in Soho?

This, apparently.

~~~

I have no excuses this is a crackfic that came about from a conversation in the Ineffable Outliers Discord with myself, @apple-duty, and @cassandrasummer xD

~~~

An undetermined Friday, post Armageddon. Mayfair, London

Anyone walking down the street in Mayfair that night would hear shouting. Or at least they would, but the walls of the flat knew better than to let any sound out without permission. If one were to look through the window, one would see an iPhone slam against a concrete wall1.

Crowley had been trying to get a hold of Aziraphale for well past two days, with no answer. He’d driven by the shop, but the angel had been out both times. He, of course, did not want to appear like he cared so scoping out the shop more than necessary was completely out of the question2.

He sat in his ostentatious throne seething; how dare Aziraphale avoid him like this. Two could play it this game, and he could play very demonically if he wanted to.

Crowley stood and went to the closet in his bedroom and pulled out two very specific items. A black jacket with reflective orange tape and a large, oddly shaped black case.

Yes, two could play at this game. And if the angel wanted to ignore him, he’d make that task impossible.

---

6:00 AM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co. Soho, London

“C’mon, Linda, just pop on back to mine for a bit, yer mum ain’t gonna know!”

“Danny ya absolute toss, I’ll do no such thing!”

The young couple swayed through the near empty streets of Soho, drunk on wine and each other’s company.

“But Linda-“

“Don’t ‘But Linda’ me Danny Williams,” Linda says, pointing a shaky finger in his face with no real bite behind her words, “We ain’t been dating but a fortnight and you ain’t gettin’ me in the bed that easily!”

“But Linda, when I’m with you I can…I can…” Danny grasped for something, anything to say, “I can hear music!”

“Cheek!” she said but looped her arm back in his anyway and leaned against him as they started back down the street.

“Really can, ya know?” Danny said with more than a little bounce in his step, “Really snazzy saxophone music!”

“Danny,” Linda pointed towards a tall ginger man in a utilities uniform, “I think it’s that man in front of old Mr. Fell’s.”

Sure enough, as they got closer, the man was playing on a saxophone. At six am outside of a bookshop. This would seem to have no discernable reason, but the great thing about the human brain in the way She made it is that when there is no reason, that’s reason enough.

“Well I dunno why he’s doing it, but for a telephone worker he sure is great at those few bars of whatever that is.”

“Sounds familiar though, don’t it?” Linda said quizzically, “Wonder where I’ve heard it before?”

“Either way, it’s Soho on a weekend, he’s probably just a sloshed as we are.”

“Probably so, now walk me home you old buffoon.”

Danny and Linda strolled off arm in arm and the obvious utility worker kept playing on.

---

8:00 AM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co. Soho, London

Bill Waters was a patient man. An upstanding member of the community. A lawyer. He dressed in smart suits and was never seen without his pork pie hat. He had an image.

They had scoffed when he’d opened his practice in Soho. They’d laughed. But now? Oh, now, he was one of the most respected litigators in London.

He prided himself on his work ethic, his attention to detail, and his meticulous methods. He prided himself on his patience with his clients, with his family, and with anyone who he met. The community loved him, his neighbors loved him, his family adored him.

Which is why several people milling around the early morning streets were shocked to see him jumping up and down and yelling at a street performer.

“Sir, I demand in the name of common decency that you stop this at once!” Bill shouted, face turning a rather embarrassing shade one could liken to a tomato plant, “It’s been two bloody hours!3”

If the man from the utilities paid any mind to him, he didn’t let it show. Just kept playing the same four bars over and over again.

“I will call your superiors! What are you even supposed to be doing?!”

The man just continued with his smooth beats and rhythmic dancing. Was it dancing? Could barely call it that in the first place. Like something out of a bad 1970’s instructional video.

Bill continued to yell; the man continued to ignore it.

This just wouldn’t do, Bill resolved to phone the utilities company at once. He threw his hat down in frustration and stormed back across the street to his offices.

---

10:00 AM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co. Soho, London

“D’you think he lost some kind of bet?”

“Dunno…sounds familiar though, doesn’t it?”

“Ain’t this that shit from Eurovision like ten years ago? The saxophone guy?”

Nathan, Alice, and Jude were gathered around the strange man with the saxophone. They’d already tossed some money in his hat and were waiting for him to get around to taking requests. They were also by far not the only ones in the crowd.

“It is!” Alice said pulling up YouTube on her phone, “It’s the Epic Sax Guy music!”

“Christ that meme is older than dirt,” Jude said grimacing, “Why you reckon he’s doing this?”

“Maybe Mr. Fell pissed him off,” Nathan said, laughing, “He’s pissed off enough people around here with those weird hours.”

“Dad said he’s been at it since six this morning,” Alice (last name of Waters) said, “That’s four hours ago! That’s insane!”

“We oughta put it up somewhere, do a live stream or something. See how long he goes!”

“You know, Nathan, maybe we should,” Jude said, pulling out his cell phone, “Hell, I don’t have anywhere to be.”

The saxophone man played on.

---

11:00 AM Saturday morning; the news offices of the BBC

“Christ, William, it must be a slow day if this is what you’re giving me.” Margaret, producer for the BBC Weekend News said angrily into the phone receiver, “You really expect me to send reporters out to video a street performer in Soho? As if they aren’t a dime a dozen?”

She listened to the murmuring on the other end of the line, “Five hours? The whole time? And he’s dressed like what? A utilities worker? What do you mean Twitter?”

Margaret pulled out her phone and opened the app, clicking through to the trending page. Sure enough, there at number one: #UtilitySaxMan.

“Well, it is a slow day. Fine, send someone, just try to find me something real to put on the air by tonight, yes? I can’t just be putting Twitter fluff on the air!”

Margret slammed the phone back on the receiver and shook her head. What was the news world coming to these days? She blamed the millennials.

---

11:30 AM London time (3:30 AM California time). The Montecito home of Ellen DeGeneres

“I’m just saying we need this guy on the show. You know how much the audience loves an internet celebrity. Yes, that’s why I called you, because you’re in London.”

To the dismay of her wife who just wanted to sleep, Ellen was on the phone at 3:30 in the morning with one of the show’s associates in England. Once she got the idea to have someone on her show, there really wasn’t much anyone could do to stop her.

“So, no one knows who this guy is? He just showed up with a saxophone and started playing? Well that won’t stop us. Just go down there and talk to him when he stops playing. I just need him on my show, he’s trending like crazy, the memes are ridiculous!”

“I should probably go, but don’t let me down! This guy is insane, he should be a star!”

She hung up as Portia throws a pillow at her.

---

1:00 PM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co. Soho, London

“Play Single Ladies!” A voice from the gathered crowd shouted.

“Shut up, he’s not taking requests!” Jude shouted back at them.

“What are you, his agent?”

“I might be after this is over, you don’t know that!” Jude hissed from behind his phone, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

The livestream was an immediate hit. He’s been inundated with new followers and reaction memes4. Even the BBC was here, along with several people in strange getups. He’d gotten three direct tweets from Ellen DeGeneres already, though he couldn’t answer. Not while the livestream was going.

This dude was insane. He never stopped; he was like a damn machine. Just kept playing and dancing (badly) and playing. He ignored everyone around him, ignored that his hat was now full past capacity of spare change and 1£ notes.

It was like he was on a mission, though what that mission could be was anyone’s guess.

“Young man, have you any idea who this fellow is?” one of the men, this one wearing a monocle, asked him.

“Nah, can’t say that I do,” said Jude, “I mean, he hangs out at Mr. Fell’s shop a lot, seems to know him. Dunno why he’s doing this though.”

“Did you hear that?” the man in the suit said to another, this one with a two-tone wig, “He knows the bookshop owner! That’s our in!”

---

3:00 PM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co. Soho, London

“It is clearly a performance showing the prevalence of man over the subjugation of the corporate world! He celebrates his union job by playing this jubilant music!” said the man in the two-tone wig.

“I beg to differ; it is quite certainly a cry at the unjust conditions faced by workers!” said the man with a monocle.

These two had exactly three things in common: They were art critics, they were insufferable, and they had been arguing about this for the better part of two hours.

“How can you be so daft? The rawness and realness and power of this performance can only be described as euphoric!”

“Ah but you fail to take into account the monotony and the repetitive action! This man is in a prison of his own creation! A brilliant metaphor for the world under capitalism!”

The two men continued arguing and were approached by a man in a tan coat that was about one hundred and fifty years out of date.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” the man said, “But could you possibly tell me what all of the commotion is outside of my bookshop?”

“Oh, my goodness, you must be Mr. Fell! And you haven’t heard?!” shouted the first critic, acting as though he might faint, “The art world is completely a buzz!”

“It would seem, my friend, that the next great performance artist of our times has taken up residence outside your bookshop! Please, please introduce us to him!”

Mr. Fell looked confused as he tore away from the art critics and through the crowd. Past the young man with the camera, past the BBC News van, and past some Americans speaking very loudly into their cell phones.

“Crowley, what on Earth are you doing?”

The saxophone music stops abruptly. All eyes turn and focus on Mr. Fell.

“Oh, hello Angel…” the saxophone man stammers, “Just..uh…”

Before anyone can say anything, Mr. Fell storms forward and grabs the saxophone man by the arm, ushering him into the bookshop, behind a sign that clearly says “CLOSED”.

The crowd disperses, first the news van, then the passerby, then the art critics and the Americans. Jude stands there for a moment wondering what just happened.

He soon forgets why he was there in the first place, and if Twitter held any clues for him, they’re long gone now. Later, he'd look in his book-bag and find it full of loose change and 1£ notes.

Just an ordinary Saturday in Soho.

---

3:15 PM Saturday afternoon; inside A.Z. Fell and Co. Soho, London

“Would you care to explain, dear,” Aziraphale says as he unpacks his leather satchel, “just why you’re playing saxophone on my front stoop? And the news vans? And the art critics. You know how much I hate art critics!”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone,” Crowley says sulking on his favorite couch, “Got mad.”

“And did you conveniently forget dinner last week when I told you I’d be in Munich for a book auction for a few days?” Aziraphale shoots him a pointed look, “or were you just not listening in the first place?”

“Ngk.”

“I see,” the angel says, turning back to his books in a huff, “and how long were you out there?”

Crowley mumbled.

"Didn't quite catch that."

"I said ten hours," Crowley snapped, "Doing very demonic things, ruining everyone's weekend. Can take the demon out of hell but not hell out of the demon and all that." He crossed his arms over his chest and sulked lower into the couch than should be possible.

Aziraphale smiled to himself as he put away his new books, “Yes of course, my dear. Is that why you brought out the 'mess stuff up' jacket?Brightening everyone’s day with a bit of music, giving the BBC something to talk about? Such a demonic level of happiness out in the street today.”

“I-well-well,you-I-“ Crowley stammered, jumping up to stalk behind the angel to prove his point, “I made an old bloke with a pork pie hat have a fit, right in the middle of the street!”

Aziraphale sighed, Crowley was never quite as smooth as he pretended to be, and the angel saw right through him.

“My dear you are quite ridiculous, next time just come with me then you won’t feel the need for this nonsense.”

Crowley shoved his hands back in his pockets, trying to look aloof and failing, “I mean…I guess. Could use a vacation. Plenty of demonic wiles to get up to outside the country. Gotta keep you out of trouble...of course.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, clasping his hands together, “There we go then, problem solved!”

If the angel knew it was an excuse on the demon’s part to spend more time with him, he didn’t say. Nor did he mind in the slightest.

-----

1 – The iPhone, of course, knew better than to break. Just who’s apartment do you think we’re dealing with here, hmm?

2 – Least of all because he was scared of a certain angel picking up on a certain demon’s propensity to be what the kids referred to as a stage five clinger.

3 – In Bill Waters’ defense, he’d been late at the office the previous night working on a particularly challenging case. He’d been so exhausted, when the saxophone started up at around 6 am he’d thought himself hallucinating.

4 – Some choice memes that were shared on twitter:

#link #good omens #my fic #aziraphale #crowley #epic sax guy #special guest appearance of the 'fuck shit up jacket'#this is ridiculous y'all can blame the discord xD #sorry not sorry #I made memes for this #I went on meme generators and made MEMES for this

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atypical60 · 5 years

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Far be it to not take advantage of Oona’s pre-wedding events to not make it about me. OK?

Remember. It’s all about MOI!!!!

Anyway, last weekend I flew to Cincinnati for Oona’s Bridal Shower. You saw a sneak peak at my last blog post but I’m gonna elaborate more on the weekend.

And boy was this a fantastic Bridal Brunch!!

As the Mother-of-the-Bride naturally.

Number 4 is the only one Oona has stressed. I did that at her shower when we all introduced ourselves. My sense of humor got the best of me as I introduced myself as “…..as Oona exited my Origin of the World…” immediately, I was pulled aside and warned in a kind way to NOT say anything like that at the wedding. (shhhh–don’t tell but I don’t follow rules!)

I took Friday off from work because I wanted a true three-day weekend. That’s the thing about working in a low-level clerical position—you need permission to get a day off. In my other places of employment, it was much easier to finagle time off as a freebie—trust me. I also worked my schedule out to accommodate leaving early on Thursday afternoon so I could fly from Philly to Cincy and enjoy a few extra hours of fun time.

I also took Friday casual to Thursday! I travel in comfort, but not like a slob! J. Crew and Gabor wigs assisted me! Mother-of-the Bride travel attire!

It’s not how it started out though.

For some reason, either I hit horrific weather or I have a displeasure of a delayed flight whenever I travel. I kid you not. And about 45 minutes before we were to board the plane, an announcement was made that the flight to Cincinnati would be delayed.

Welcome to my jet-sit world. I spend more time waiting than flying! I have to say though, that Delta made every effort and boarded us very quickly when the plane arrived!

Besides having an inner hissy-fit, I dealt with this issue by stress eating not one pretzel, but an additional bucket of pretzel nuggets. Fresh and hot off the press. The carbs were murder on my gut but felt so good going down. I also ate a giant bag of peanut M & M’s. And read trashy magazines.

And an added surprise was that these nuggets of carbs were also drenched in greasy melted butter. I wonder why the scale isn’t giving me nicer numbers!!

The plane finally arrived and this Mother-of-the-Bride landed after ten in the evening to rain! I was two for two. A delay and rain. It was shocking that a snow storm hadn’t hit!

Cincinnati here I come…

To rain and a delayed flight….

Now…upon departing the flight, one would think I ran to the airport exit to see Oona and Sam. No. CVG is a GREAT airport. It’s so clean and spacious so I couldn’t resist dawdling (now we know where my son, Roman, acquired the gift of dawdle…). I came across a cosmetics vending machine! But I didn’t buy anything!

Why couldn’t I find this at Philly airport during the delay?

Then I came across my favorite part of the airport! Them bones!

Some stop to smell the roses. I stop to take photos at airports of skeletal treasure!

But it was great to be back at Oona and Sam’s and playing around with my grand puppy, Gracie.

My boo, Gracie. OMG. She’s so well-behaved..

Oona and Sam are such great doggie parents…I KNOW they will be fantastic human parents!

Friday brought sun and clouds and brisk weather but it didn’t matter. There’s something comforting in knowing that your daughter and her future husband can brew a great cuppa coffee. They make it strong—just the way I love it. And we sat around gabbing before getting ready and heading out to run errands.

The Mr. Coffee is far better than the grandpa Mr. Coffee we have at home.

Even little Gracie was beggin’ for some!

Ahhhhhhhhh…cawfee!!!

Oona had a nail appointment, and since my nails were looking fine, I passed but kept her company while we discussed family and the wedding preparations.

This freakin’ nail salon! It went on for days! I was jealous–but then Oona told me the price of a mani-pedi and I was glad to be living in the Northeast where nail salons are plentiful….and far less expensive!

Next stop was Marshalls –Oona picked some workout clothing (I didn’t –I’m lazy). And I headed for the cosmetics. Glory be to Gawd—I found two great eyeshadow palettes!

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More on these palettes for my next blog post but boy….at $7.99 each, these palettes were a steal!

We did some food shopping—Sam’s birthday was Friday and his family was coming over for dinner. Oona looked pensive as she realized time was of the essence—she had to head back to the airport to pick up her best friend and maid-of-honor, Lauren.

Did I say food shopping? I sent this pic to Bonaparte to validate that Pennsylvania is the worst state in the USA because of the State-run, Mob-type Liquor stores! You can by this at Trader Joes in Cincy!

And that’s where mom comes in—I assured her I could take care of the cake and she could head to the airport for alone time with her bestie!

BTW, this cake is gluten-free, chemical and preservative-free, sugar free, and lower-fat! Oona added Sam’s favorite candy–Reeses Pieces which are NOT lower fat nor sugar free! But it was a tasty Birthday cake!

Friday evening, Sam’s family came over for a birthday celebration. Being with Sam’s family is like being with……………. family!! We all had a great time and I was introduced to a spectacular aperitif/cocktail: The Aperol Spritz! This concoction of Aperol, Prosecco, and Seltzer with a slice of orange is the most refreshing drink I’ve ever downed!

You read it first. Moving forward, the Aperol Spritz will now be called “Mother-of-the-Bride”. There will be an open bar at the wedding but I may smuggle my private makings! There’s only 148 calories in one of these!

I drank a lot of them during the weekend. In fact, as I write this now, I informed the Frenchman that I’ll be stopping at the store for Aperol, Prosecco and seltzer! He is a bit upset that I am forgoing the beloved Kir Royal but the Aperol Spritz has less calories and with the wedding countdown, every calorie counts!

Saturday was a full day!

Let me tell you something. Oona and Lauren spent a long time getting their hair perfectly coifed. Lauren is great with styling and she styled Oona’s hair in perfect beach waves.

I plopped my Jamison wig on—and had extra time to loll around in bed! Oh, the beauty of wigs!

Jamison and Lilly Pulitzer. You can’t go wrong!

The shower/bruncheon was at LouVino, a Southern-inspired restaurant and wine bar downtown Cincinnati. What a great place! The celebration was downstairs in a private room and Oona’s friends, coworkers, future sisters-in-law, mother-in-law and relatives were in attendance.

The upstairs wine bar at LouVino’s. I’m recommending this place to out-of-town guests for Oona’s wedding!

The downstairs room where the brunch was held…

Thanks to Sam’s sisters, the table settings were beautiful..

Mimosas kept us refreshed and hydrated!

Oh yeah, and water (in the background) also kept us hydrated. The food was so great that I never took a pic–I was too busy shoveling the Warm Brussels Salad into my mouth!

We played girlie games. I won Scattergories. But the best game was where Oona had to guess answers to questions that Sam answered in advance. For ever wrong answer, a wad of bubble gum was placed in Oona’s mouth! It was a riot!

It was only natural that I took myself out of the “Guess the Age” game. I’m no cheater!

Miss Oona getting ready for more bubble gum! She actually did a great job. Out of 30 questions, she got 2/3’s correct!

The prize for the Scattergories win..a cute mug and a Starbucks card!!!!!!!!!!!

Some of the gifts. Crate & Barrel is very popular–eh???

Happy little wine glasses…

Happy little Oona!

The baking girl was thrilled to receive mixing bowls. Did I mention I gifted her with a Stainless Kitchen Aid Mixer…just like mine? I swear the baking is genetic!

This. This was on Oona’s wish list and she was so happy to receive this! (Hmmmm maybe she’ll give me her Mr. Coffee machine…)

BFF’s. They’ve been friends since middle-school. Two beauties!

This photo of us was taken after I was crying…

..and this is why. Lauren, Oona’s BFF and Maid of Honor, gifted Sam’s mom and me with embroidered hankies. Both moms were crying because it was just a touching and generous gift! I’m crying again!

I was very happy to be in attendance. Oona didn’t want a shower in Philly simply because she felt that asking my side of the family and her Northeast friends, was asking them to spend too much money—what with the travel to Ohio and the hotel, she wanted to keep expenses down for everyone. You know—I was very proud of her decision. I think I raised a very conscientious young woman!

And the fact Sam’s family has welcomed Oona really made me feel warm and fuzzy inside!

May I present the future Mrs. Butts. Coming from a very competitive family, it pleases me to have my daughter’s future last name be greatness such as this. When/if they have children and their children are in competitive activities, they can hashtag: #MyButtsgonnakickyours or… #Buttsbekickin’

Some after-brunch fun. Isn’t that dress adorable? It’s a Lilly Pulitzer..and those shoes! The daughter has great taste..and she’s gorgeous!

By the time we got back to the house, the rain came and it was time to head to Sam’s mom’s home for a casual, laid back and fun dinner!

And more Aperol Spritzes!

The recipe? Three parts Prosecco, Two parts Aperol, One part (a splash) Seltzer and an orange slice to make it nice!

Sunday morning brought forth a bit of a hangover and the flight back to Philly. Isn’t it funny how when you wish for a delay, the flight is on time?

Gracie was sad to see me go. I was sad to see me go!

Minimal dawdling on the return. There was no delay. WAIT! Does that say Air France? Yeah…but it’s the plane back to Philly…

And despite the timeliness of the flight home, I did manage to get this sweatshirt as a reminder of a great weekend!

I arrived back home Sunday afternoon. When Bonaparte picked me up, I’m not too sure he was happy to see me because he kept mentioning how tired I looked. He was right. I had a bad hangover FOODover, because of all the food I ate.

Yeah. I pretty-much crashed when I arrived home. Funny how I still think I’m in my twenties sometimes!

Do you ever get sad when you leave someplace and someone? I was incredibly sad to leave but after I arrived home and unpacked and got to telling the Frenchman about the weekend, the sadness lifted and I felt really happy. Happy that I was able to enjoy the weekend with my daughter and her future family! And happy to be back sitting next to my husband on the sofa!

And she’s the reason the weekend was a stellar one! My baby is getting married!

More Mother-of-the-Bride Fun! Far be it to not take advantage of Oona’s pre-wedding events to not make it about me.

#Bridal Showers #Cincinnati #LouVino OTR #Weddings

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creativebeast18 · 6 years

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Robstar Week day 2: Cosplay

Don’t Hide It

The only reason I put “Robstar Week” on the tittle, is so that people know that’s my entry. But it’s nice having a word that must be the center theme of the story, else, I would’ve never thought of writing this.

I’m sorry I’m taking so long. I have a few proyects going on and I must supervise all of them. You know how in every group of friends, there’s the “Mom” friend, because they’re the responsible ones? Well, I’m the mom, and I have to help my children not to fuck up

Enjoy!

——————————————————

Summary: Starfire doesn’t think she is the right person to cosplay. Who else can make her change her mind but the boy wonder himself?

——————————————————

Starfire stared at her reflection with a frown. This was the third time she changed clothes and hair style, and still not one outfit had convinced her. She took off her black wig and let her hair down from it’s updo. She placed the fake hair contraption on her bed, along with all of her failed attempts.

“Let’s see: Not The Wasp, not Hinata, and definitely not Sailor Mars...Ugh!!!” Kori plopped down into her bed and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do at this time. She tried to think of a plan that could save her from not going. She could pretend to be sick...but that would make some of her friends worry and take care of her, and Robin and her would also miss the convention. What about saying that she had to go to a special and urgent mission that The Batman had encomended her and her only? No, Robin would immediately contact him, explaining that this was the Titans day off, and that was something NO-ONE messed with (after Tokyo, Robin took vacations seriously).

Starfire sat up and begun to gather all the costumes to hide them under her bed. What was she thinking when she said yes to cosplay?! She had never done this before, she only could do so much with the time that she had been given, and, most troublesome of all, she had ORANGE SKIN. No amount of makeup in the world would cover it up to look like the characters she liked from comics, books or anime. She would never be able to cosplay without looking ridiculous. But her thoughts were interrupted when there was a knock on her door.

“Star? Can I come in for a sec?”. It was her three month boyfriend, Richard Grayson. She remembered when he talked to her about the Con of the Comic. How marvelled he had seemed at the hundreds of entertainments and how his eyes had glimmered when he spoke about the cosplay. His exact words lingered on her head: “I’ve always wanted to do it, but it felt dumb to do it alone”. Well, she being his girlfriend, and not wanting to disappoint him, what other thing could she do but say yes?

“Y-yes, of course, boyfriend Robin.” She threw the garments on her hands to one corner of the room in an attempt to ignore them and not worry her lover. Richard came into the room and closed the door. He turned around and noticed the worried grin on her favourite alien’s face, almost like a fake smile, as if she was trying to hide something. He placed a quick peck on her left cheek, making her blush slightly. He took a step back and extended his arms, grabbing her wrists gently.

“Why the long face, Kori? Something I can help you with?”. Koriand’r looked to one side, then the other, avoiding his gaze. Finally, she closed her eyes and directed her head to the floor. Robin used one hand and placed it on her chin, lifting up her eyes so that they met his. She slowly moved her lips, barely making a whisper. Dick tried to close the space between them, so that he and only he could hear whatever she had to say. “Sorry, what did you say?”. Yet it didn’t work, as Starfire turned around and hugged herself. Richard, oblivious to what was happening, pleaded. “Please, don’t hide what’s wrong. I want to help”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for how I look, and for not knowing so much of the shows as you, and for promising something that is simply impossible for me, and for disappointing you and...!”. She was cut of by a passionate kiss on her lips. Robin had placed his hands on her waist and gone for it. Star was so surprised, she didn’t close her eyes at first, but relaxed into it when the tears couldn’t let her see anymore. The small drops fell through her cheeks and into her mouth, allowing both to taste the saltiness. One of his hands trailed its way up to her face, cupping it and stroking the back of her ear with his fingertips. After a couple of minutes, Dick pulled apart their lips, but kept their faces close, making their foreheads touch to stay connected.

“There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry about. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, the way you are, ever. Because you are the most amazing person I have aver and could’ve ever encountered in my life, okay?” Kori didn’t say anything, only nodded. “Okay, so in summary, and from what I gathered, you can’t find a costume, right?”. Richard stepped back and looked around. A couple of clothes were laying messily in the corner of the room, and a wig had hooked itself on the edge of an open drawer.

“No, you would be correct on that. My skin is too orange, while all of the characters have a paler complexion. Also, there are not many redheads that I like and can do the cosplay of them, at least, not without being too revealing”. Both of them blushed at the thought of her revealing too much. “Not for others eyes but mine” , Robin thought, although he knew it would be a long time until that moment came. “I cannot help but think that I will look ridiculous, no matter what costume I wear”.

“Star, that’s exactly what cosplay is about” Kori looked confused. “Sorry, let me explain. Cosplay is about feeling like the character you are portraying, and taking pictures with the people that admire them just as much as you do. It’s about getting into those clothes and feeling invincible, and everyone appreciating all the details put into the hole ensemble. Yeah, you can look amazing, but sometimes you can look ridiculous, especially if you are an amateur like us. But all the people on the convention don’t care, because they know they are dorky too. That’s the best about the convention, we can all be dorks together! And look ridiculous together!”. Richard took a step back and flung his arms in the air, making Starfire giggle a little. He then realized he was getting carried away, and took a deep breath. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that, yeah, we will probably look ridiculous, but we´ll do it together! And the people at Comic-con can’t judge us because there was a time in which they looked ridiculous too. It takes a lot of bravery to cosplay, and that someone shows up dressed up like a character is already something to applaud, even if they look weird and have a lot of things from the character missing. So, don’t ever think you could look ridiculous, okay?”

Kori blushed and rose a hand to her cheek, delighted by the words that her soul mate had spoken. It was one of the reasons they were both attracted to the other: they always knew the right words to say when the other was in distress. She smiled cutesely and closed her eyes, radiating happiness all over the bedroom. Dick secretly loved that smile from her, and she knew it. He stretched his arms out and grabbed both her hands. “So, do you still wanna cosplay? Or do you want us to go in our civilian clothes?"

Star softly smiled and asked "What would you suggest, Robin?". She looked at the stash of discarded clothes, still very unsure of them, as she kept thinking she hadn’t found the right one. The thoughts of not going crawled to her mind again, and Richard probably felt it too, as he replied.

"It makes no difference to me. I think you always look gorgeous. But if I had to choose, there’s someone that you can go as without having to put a second hand wig, and you are just as, if not more of a badass than her”. He went into her closet and got out a simple pale yellow t-shirt. He turned on his steps and headed through the door. “Be right back, I gotta go get something for you”.

——————————————————-

As the pair holded hands, they headed into the building, and both marveled on the wonders inside. Starfire could not believe such creations could come into live so realistically. Robin stared at his girlfriend up and down: A dark green dress, a pale yellow shirt and a blue bracelet, combined with her red mane, made the perfect Kushina Uzumaki.

“Oh, Richard, such a display of joyful people was not something I could have ever thinked of. You spoke incredible things about the Con of the Comic, but this is simply...spectacular!! And you had the best idea too!” She eyed him carefully, analyzing his ensemble: the white robe with the painted red flames, navy blue shirt and pants, a simple green vest, and a blue headband with a metal rectangle, engraved with a leaf, attached to it. “I must admit, you make a great Minato, although we didn’t manage to find the wig”.

“Nor the right vest either, but it really doesn’t matter, I’m glad that we came here like this. See that everyone likes it?”. Dick nudged his head to the side, signaling a couple of fans that were pointing at them in awe and taking pictures from afar.

“You were absolutely right. I did not know there was a thing such as a couples costume. It is the best idea”. She also hadn’t told him, but Minato Namikaze was one of her favourite characters from Naruto. Plus, having the day with Richard, dressed as one of her favourite characters, without him covering his cerulean eyes for her to explore? Starfire was having a blast, and she had all day to enjoy. What did it matter if their costumes were not the best? Or if they looked a bit ridiculous compared to others? She was having the time of her life, taking pictures with fans and others that were doing cosplay of her favourite characters. It didn’t matter that her skin was orange, or that her eyes were green and Kushina’s were blue. Fans appreciated courage, and creativity. But above all, they loved self expression, especially because events like this were designed to express themselves. Being on this embracing community, how could she ever have thought that she would embarrass Robin? So she embraced her weirdness just like she had before, and never hid her insecurities from him, or anyone, ever again.

#robstar #robstar week 2018 #robstarweek #robstar week #day 2 #cosplay #starfire #robin #koriand'r #nightwing #richard grayson #kori anders #dick grayson #teen titans #dc comics

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count-demonlord-of-decadence · 5 years

Text

A WEEK OF CHANGE

Tuesday; I started my new shift at the job and already miss the eye candy that made employment worthwhile. There seems to be very few trollops on this shift, though I did find a specimen of nigh physical perfection. I’d like to begin stalking her but I have to move this week, look for that Korean restaurant and return some DVDs (Ernest Goes To Jail, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Tokyo Gore Police & Larry The Cable Guy).

Wednesday; My new boss is okay (nice tits) but they doubled my workload. I’m getting on with my new coworkers but them seem rather… “meat and potatoes”. Ironically Amir Kussein left a message inquiring as to when another party would be held. There hasn’t been one since “Perfectly Natural Human Behavior” I believe. While there are no such plans what with the move, I send him a text informing him I put him on the VIP list for the next one.

Thursday; Upon reaching my British racing green Mercedes Benz E55, after exiting a local supermarket, I find myself confronted by four men in black suits. The first is noticeably shorter than the other three. he has long hair and is armed with a pair of Chinese butterfly knives. To his left was the largest of the four. His head is shaved and he’s armed with what appears to be an iron bar half a meter in length. Next was a guy who styles his hair like he’s in a boy band despite being clearly in his mid to late thirties. He’s armed with a meter of chain. Last is a man with his long hair in a ponytail. He’s armed with a Zatoichi style dagger 14 inches in length overall. They announce they’re from the Purple Dragon Triad; there’s negotiating with them. The funny thing is, they stand a reasonable chance of defeating me if they keep their wits about them. I throw my pocket knife at the big guy, positive he’ll deflect it. Chain rushes in, as predicted thus reducing their chance for victory. He swings downward, striking the asphalt where I am no longer. My shin hits him on the back of the head as ponytail rushes in with the dagger. But he’s failed to notice I’ve grabbed the chain. The chain lands just to the left of his nose, just missing his eye. The last two links did hit his ear and he falls atop the guy who had the chain. Butterfly knives comes at me but the chain blocks all four of his attacks before he narrowly avoids a chin to groin strike from the chain. His face betrays his frustration. he clearly didn’t expect this level of resistance, but has clearly resolved not to withdraw. The big guy attacks, his aim to pincer me between him and butterfly knives. I spin to avoid the iron bar, spin again into a leg sweep, once more to whack him in the back of the head with the chain and a final time to make a stylish pose with the chain that blocks butterfly knives next attack. He takes a knee to the urethra and I drop the chain to get dual wrist control on him. I make a pez dispenser out of him with his own knives. Ponytail has cleared his head and regained his feet; I allow him to take in the scene. One friend laying in a pool of his own blood, one friend writhing on the asphalt making noises indicating brain damage and one friend not moving at all. He opts to flee, but only makes a football move before the chain trips him up. I parked far enough from the entrance so this altercation isn’t noticed by any one of consequence; so I put ponytail in the trunk of my car. I call Risa and schedule a party.

Friday; I spent the morning making arrangements for the move and the party on Monday. I go out of my way to invite Aamir Kussein. After work Meghan Schmidt takes Nelson Marquez, Sunako Kakihara and I to see her niece perform the lead in a local production of Swan Lake. After we went to a club called DMP. The following morning I found a dent in the hood of my British racing green E55 under a brown wig. I don’t recall driving that night though.

Saturday; After work and dinner at this terrible Tibetan restaurant I head to the airport, where I board a chopper piloted by Lavar Wintergreen. Nina and Cammie are waiting for me on the tarmac. They inform me Viktor’s team is ready and will be on station in 16 minutes. It’s a 20 minute flight to Ling-Li Chang’s villa. She is head of the Purple Dragon triad and ordered the hit against me because of what I did to her sister 27 months ago in Macao. That incident is so minor and trivial it’s hardly worth mentioning here. Needless to say between the aerial advantage provided by the chopper and the ferocity of Viktor’s team, their defense though substantial, is decidedly futile. Ling-Li is captured alive despite her efforts not to be. Any of her bodyguards that survive the assault are disemboweled and left in the night. Ling-Li is taken to await the party.

Sunday; My friends, I’m afraid I’ll have to omit the details of that evening. A bacchanalia of such lubricity and decadence occurred the exacting details of which would make this entry far too long and far too colorful. Some would no doubt delight in hearing such details and far be it for me to deny them. But I shall assume that the reader is among the most timid and innocent of souls, chaste in their virtue, and not spell out the details of such an event here & now. For those of you among the former, further details can be found in an entry titled “Impromptu” to be published at some uncertain date in the future. Suffice to say the move is complete, the party is held, Ling-Li is witness though not participant and a grand time was had by most.

Monday; I was having lunch with a woman named Veronica Muniz, a marine biologist I’d been on two prior dates with, when the entire Starbucks took on a dark orange hue. At first I didn’t react to it because no one else did but when the sound devolved into a continuous open D flat on a faux 1958 Fender Stratocaster with Maple Fretboard Sunburst tuned by a angsty male teenager who wished he didn’t have to conform to society’s binary gender labels except whenever it was advantageous for him (or is it her at this point…?) while trying to master

Kirk Hammett’s guitar solo from Master Of Puppets; but can’t get it right because the notes in his/her (their…?) head are in fact from Megadeth’s Holy Wars... The Punishment Due; that I thought to ask Veronica, “What the hell is going on?” but I couldn’t utter the words as Veronica, along with everyone else in what I assumed was a Starbucks but no longer am so sure, became dark and distorted as if depicted by H.R. Giger; terrifying me to a fault. I hit the floor, which was pink and soft and undulating like a stomach in the process of digesting something difficult to process, and crab walk to the nearest corner. I must have toppled a table for I remember some profanity in either Latin or Hindi followed by what I assumed to be a kick to the ribcage in my right leg. I laugh in pain, slur the line, “Listen to the box man.” and stab the first man I can grab with what appeared to be a green plastic fork I found on the ground three times around the belly button. I know it was a man because around the second stab I noticed he had an erection and it was clearly bigger than mine. I’m smashed into the ceiling by what can only be some sort of telekinetic attack that causes me to void my bowels and utter an unpardonable blasphemy. I wish to flee but the terrain has to consistency and smell of half chewed strawberry starburst covered in stallion semen and suddenly my only concern is to avoid getting the concoction in my mouth as I fight to avoid the inevitability of my sinking into such a mixture screaming the most vulgar and foul obscenities possible in the short time and breath until completely enveloped...then darkness...no feeling of pain just a voice, a meek and simple voice that reminds me it’s not my time yet and I awaken to a Double Ristretto Venti Half-Soy Nonfat Decaf Organic Chocolate Brownie Iced Vanilla Double-Shot Gingerbread Frappuccino Extra Hot With Foam Whipped Cream Upside Down Double Blended, One Sweet'N Low and One Nutrasweet, and Ice being thrown in my face before Veronica storms out a sickly normal, and all too real Starbucks. I consider burning down the establishment when I see how much her drink cost. But I don’t because I’m too busy weeping as I pay with my ATM card. I immediately go home and sleep naked in the bathtub afraid of both everything and nothing.

#Evilcorey's pointless fiction #pointless fiction #fiction

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tumultuoustuna · 6 years

Note

shiro x allura celebrity and fan?

Shallura ain’t my otp by any standards, but I still think I went insane with this one. Enjoy, dear anon.

Local gems are hard to come by sometimes in the consumerist world we live in today. Sure, Starbucks is a good substitute for a neighborhood coffee shop or tea house. But when it came to Garrison’s very own mustached connoisseur and his brews at Nectar of the Gods, Starbucks had nothing. Allura couldn’t agree more. And sure, she was a big actress now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t sneak out of her house in Daibazaal every so often to visit Garrison and its resident master barista, and the neighboring city of Altea, her home sweet home.

Even if her “best” possible disguise could get her caught easily.

“Allura, I can still tell it’s you,” Coran whispered across the counter, smiling as he cupped his hand around his mouth to keep the words from going too far. “I’m pretty sure anyone with a brain in their skull and good eyes can, too.”

“The sun hat covers my hair, I’m good,” she protested, adjusting said hat.

“A wig is much more effective, Princess.”

“They never work, Coran; my hair’s too poofy.” She sighed and put a hand on her chin to think. “So what’s on the menu? Any seasonal drinks?”

“Indeed; peppermint bark and caramel gingerbread.”

“Those sound amazing.”

“They are indeed; two of my employees came up with them. Amazing, really,” Coran said, smiling with pride and twirling his mustache.

“Truly. I think I’ll try both?”

“Macchiato?”

“You know me too well.” Coran got to work on the first one as Allura continued the conversation. “Are you the only one on staff today?”

“Well, seeing that it’s only, uh, 6:38 am, and Pidge and Shiro don’t come into work till 6:55, 7ish, no. I am not the only one.” Coran poured the coffee into a cup. “And seeing as you like to get up at the crack of dawn like a farmer, I feel like I should be asking you to work here instead.”

Allura shrugged. Her body merely forces her out of bed in the morning now. Her hectic schedule through the years had trained her fast that being up at five in the morning was a healthy thing. And maybe it was; it forced her to bed pretty early too, save she didn’t have a busy night ahead of her. “I guess it’s just instinct?”

“Ah, yes. Instinct. Seeing as most people's’ instinct is to sleep in like a sloth on Sunday, you can see why I ask.”

“Have a job and I love it; I’m good.”

“A job indeed; one you’ve been cultivating from birth.”

Allura chuckled. “My father would agree. He was always impressed with what I could get away with. When I tried, that is.”

Coran handed her the coffee and smiled. “He would always wonder and ask how to deal with you. I distinctly remember him asking how to raise a hell-raiser.”

“Sounds like my dad.”

Coran jumped at the new voice. Behind him was a young woman with short, puffy hair and amber eyes. Round, Harry Potter-like glasses were perched on her nose.

“Pidge, where the quiznak did you come from?!”

“Backdoor. Decided to park in the alley.”

“How did I not hear that?” Coran muttered to himself.

“Maybe because you were too busy talking to notice.”

He chuckled nervously. “Possibly.”

“So, who’s this?”

“Oh! I am glad you asked. Pidge, this is the daughter of an old friend of mine- do you mind if I tell?” Allura shook her head. “This is Ms. Allura; who is my adopted niece and now daughter.”

Pidge’s brow raised. “She can’t be both your niece and daughter, Coran.”

“Well, I was his niece before I was his daughter; he just calls me both,” Allura clarified.

“Okay Pidge, time to get to it!” Coran clapped his hands in vigor. “There’s a caramel gingerbread macchiato to be made.”

“I’ve been waiting to concoct this one,” Pidge said enthusiastically as she rubbed her hands together and cracked her knuckles. After washing her hands and tying the burnt orange apron around her waist, she got to work.

“Does she not recognize me?” Allura whispered to Coran as she took a sip of the peppermint and chocolate flavored coffee. It was hot, but she enjoyed its strong taste.

“Pidge is more of a cult movie addict; she hasn’t watched any of your new ones… or anything from this past decade. Hmm.” Coran scratched his head. “I’ll have to recommend a few newer classics to her, now that I think about.”

“Not mine, please? She seems so cool,” Allura asked, taking another sip of her drink.

“Was thinking more Iron Man.”

“Not a bad choice.” She tapped at her fake glasses.

“‘Tis not. Pidge, how’s it looking?”

“Pretty good; Shiro’s recipe is amazing. It smells spectacular.”

The door to the building opened, setting off a soft chime that Allura had heard when she entered. In walked… well, Allura could only describe the young man as perfect. Even in a loose black sweater, you could tell he had the body of a demigod. A horizontal scar ran across his nose but did nothing to mask his beauty.

And quiznak, if Allura wasn’t having a good morning already, she was now.

“Speak of the devil; hey, nerd! Your caramel gingerbread thing smells great. What did you do to come up with this thing, witchcraft?”

“No, Pidge,” Shiro smiled. He quietly lifted the counter piece and placed it back down. “I signed a deal with the devil.”

“And in only the finest of inks I had,” Coran said, casually twirling his mustache.

“I knew you were Satan,” Pidge hooted. Shiro rolled his eyes and swept Pidge into a hug. “Hey! Watch it, I don’t wanna start over!”

“Yeah, yeah. Coran, who’s this young lady?” Allura jumped when he looked at her. His grey eyes were soft.

“Shiro, this is my niece/daughter, Allura,” Coran introduced.

A strange metamorphosis happened in the span of two seconds; Shiro’s expression shifted from neutral to confused to complete elation and the smile on his face widened almost comically.

“Wait, Allura Alten? The Allura Alten?!” Shiro freaks. The two other people in the seating area of the shop glance over at Shiro before going back to their business.

Pidge looks at him strangely. “Wait, what?

Coran sighed. “I knew it was a bad idea to tell you.”

“No, it wasn’t! Um, hi! Hello!” Shiro’s cool demeanor fell even more as he fidgeted with his own apron. “It’s an honor to meet you!”

Allura had dealt with many fanboys in the past. But, compared to them, Shiro’s innocent, fanboying nature was so refreshing. She couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s going on? Why are you freaking out?” Pidge asked again, placing the coffee on the counter. Her face was the epitome of confused.

“It’s nothing, really,” Allura tittered, grabbing the cup.

“Nothing!? It’s not; where do I start, you’re amazing! Your acting is mind-blowing; you can play the damsel in distress as well as you can play the hardened badass soldier!” The theatrics he put into his hands as he talked almost hit Pidge as she attempted to back away, eyes still wide. “Spider was a brilliant movie! You were made to play Coleen! Eh,” Shiro stuck out his hand, revealing its mechanical appearance. “My name is Takashi, but call me Shiro.”

Allura placed one cup down to take his hand. “Nice to meet you, Shiro. And thank you; Spider is my favorite so far, too.” (Which wasn’t a lie, but the new production she was starting held so much potential and she couldn’t talk about it anytime soon).

“Wait, she’s an actress? Is she that one you kept gushing about junior year?”

Coran nodded for Shiro as he ignored her question.

“Gosh, it’s so amazing to see you in real life; you look so different with your hair hidden I didn’t recognize you!” Shiro babbled on. “I’ve been following your work since high school and you’ve inspired me so much in my college career!”

Allura’s interest piqued. “What do you major in?”

“Game design! Well, game concept art and such, so technically conceptual artwork, not game design.”

The actresses’ eyes widened. “Really? That’s so cool! I love concept art; it’s usually so much detailed and thought out than the final product.”

“Right!? Like, when Fallout 4’s art book came out, did you see that was in there?”

“Mama Murphy and her wheelchair looked so amazing!”

This went on for… a while. Coran finally shooed Shiro out to go geek out with Allura over gaming once more people started showing up. Pidge wanted too as well but decided it was a good thing to be a responsible employee rather than a crazed fanboy. Coran agreed.

Shiro got back to work soon, much to Pidge’s nagging requests. At their lunch break though, the two sat with Allura and Coran to talk nerd as well.

“Okay, so the Overwatch art book; opinion?” Pidge asked.

“Overwatch has an art book?” Coran whispered to her.

“Yes; I’ll bring it in one day.”

“It’s pretty quiznacking cool; the Mercy one is my fav just because of how different she was before. Like, Mercy as a dude? Yes please,” Allura gushed.

“Mercy was a guy?” Coran asked Pidge again.

“Yep.”

“Right?” Shiro blurted. “Or how about Hanzo?”

“I laugh every time I see it.”

“Why?” Pidge asked.

“It’s just hilarious? I don’t know. The thought of having Hanzo having been that overpowered and crazy is just… Eh? As a Mercy main it would’ve been ten times scarier.”

“Gotta protect your healer though.”

“Tell that to the casual noobs.”

“Who hasn’t?” Shiro sighed.

“My friend Hunk, that’s who.”

“Who does he main?”

“Usually Rein, D.va, or Mercy. Occasionally Lucio.”

“Waaaait. Is his username HunkyMonk? Or something like that?” Pidge chirped in question.

“Yeah! Have you played him before?”

“Yes, he was so sweet; the entire time in-game he apologized if he killed us, but was ruthless to those who were assholes on my team. We traded info and now co-op with another guy; LegglyLance I think?”

Allura sputtered. “Lance plays?”

Pidge shrugged. “I guess so?”

“That little liar,” Allura muttered, tone turning snide.

Coran’s phone buzzed and he frowned. “Ah, I’m afraid we’re back on the clock in two. Sorry, Allura.”

“Oh, it’s no problem! I love hanging out with you three.”

“Care to come back tomorrow?” Shiro asked.

Allura beamed and nodded.

With laptop in hand and coffee soon after, Allura continued coming to the Nectar of the Gods for the next two days, managing to avoid being caught by any fans and her manager (who had called her fifty times already). Shiro had become her new best friend in a matter of days; they would talk for the entirety of his lunch break about art, games, science, you name it. Pidge and Coran, of course, would join in too, commenting on their own knowledge on gaming (although Coran’s was limited to mostly Animal Crossing, Pokemon, and DOOM).

Shiro’s fanboy nature had calmed down to his usual self, but Allura still couldn’t help but love the goofy side of him. It would pop-up whenever they talked and Allura loved to be around that enthusiasm.

Now the question was, did this carry over into actual affection? I mean, anyone who had eyes and a brain could confirm he definitely was attractive and he had a personality to boot. But Allura had noticed how close he was to Pidge (who she found out was actually named Katie) and their bond was very strong. If she didn’t know any better she’d think they were dating. That still didn’t stop Allura’s own potential feelings though, now did it?

But not to digress, the third day was pretty much the same (save for the introduction of weekday worker and fellow gamer, Keith Kogane). Keith joined into the discussions at lunch and, surprisingly, was very observant the entire time. Allura found this out when he pulled her aside later.

“You like Shiro, don’t you?” He asked nonchalantly. He even had the audacity to cross his arms and raise his brows in expectation. The sly bastard.

“What? Why would you think that?” Allura started. She could feel her cheeks flaring with heat.

“The entire time we were talking, you had your attention focused on him.”

“Because we were talking strategy!”

Keith gave a look of disbelief but shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

After that, it got Allura thinking more. More about if this was an actual crush. She hoped it wasn’t; she had too much on her plate as it was (at least it felt like it).

She came back the next day, laptop still in hand and mission on the brain. You see, the other reason to come to Garrison was to finish writing a biography about her father, Alfor Alten. It had been a struggle though. Between the amount of information and accomplishments Alfor had gained over the years to Allura’s schedule, she hadn’t had to really write. His friend and colleague, Zarkon, was working on another part of the biography that dealt with their relationship and work. Allura soon hoped to talk with him again about finalizing it.

She was still receiving panicked messages from her manager (“It’s okay, I’m with Coran. No need to worry.” “That doesn’t help, Allura. For Pete’s sake you can’t just up and disappear; everything’s gone pear-shaped!”), but other than that, Allura’s morning had been peaceful. She strolled casually up to the register, sunhat long forgotten in favor of doing her hair into two buns. Glasses still adorned her face and colored contacts hid her unusual blue eyes.

“Anything different today?” Keith asked when Allura came up.

“Why not, Keith; any suggestions?”

Keith smirked. “Our mock unicorn frappuccino.”

“No!”

“Yeah; Coran managed to snag the recipe and lo and behold, it’s ten times better than Starbucks. And-” He looked left and right before peering behind Allura. “-It’s going to become a permanent item on the menu.”

“I am so going to have to drag Lance here.”

Keith rang the order up and Coran started up on it when Pidge and Shiro walked in together. Pidge’s tiny helmet was tucked beneath her arms as she talked non-stop to Shiro, who also held his helmet in a similar manner.

“-but he totally cheated, no doubt. He hacked his Junkrat’s skills and now I’m pissed.”

Shiro shrugged. “That’s Matt for ya.”

“I grew up with the butthead. I know.”

“Good morning you two,” Allura greeted. “What’s this I hear about cheating?”

“My brother has a habit of hacking things he doesn’t need to.”

“Ah.”

Shiro chuckled. “Well, seeing as he’s still really good at Overwatch and just chooses to hack is just ironic.”

“Is Junkrat his main?”

“Him and Genji.”

“You nerds,” Keith laughed. He was handed the drink and topped off the frappuccino with whipped cream and sprinkles.

“You main Genji and Hanzo, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I’m just a casual; and a pretty good one at that.”

“How does that not make you a nerd?” Coran asked, taking the frappe back before Keith used it as a projectile (he’d done it before; the customer deserved it, granted, since he was messing with Pidge, but still).

Allura was handed the drink and sat down in her spot before she could really get into the conversation. A new email from her manager popped up instantly. It read since he knew she was in Garrison now, he was coming for her. I’m so scared. Her father’s biography was more important at the moment.

There was so much material he covered in his years up to his death. It was getting harder to sort things out the more she delved in. She texted Zarkon a few times, hoping to send her half to him for some advice. He answered soon, saying he would after a meeting. Allura groaned.

“Having trouble?” Shiro asked from behind the counter.

Allura’s arms removed themselves from her face. “Exuberant amounts.”

“I feel ya. The last assignment I had wasn’t even for my midterms and I’m more than certain my professor counted it for half our grade anyway.”

“That much? Must have been important,” Allura smirked.

Shiro shrugged, face neutral. “Professor Slav is… obnoxious, with this sort of stuff. Like yeah, I was very proud of it, but at the same time I’m very done with everything by the end.”

“Same; certain productions or parts of them just drag on and on, until I can feel my soul leaving my body.”

“Poetic.”

“Thank you.”

Her phone chimed. A familiar name popped up.

You’re at Nectar right?

Allura sighed. Yes.

A few seconds passed before the door opened again, the little bell chiming, and Allura regretted looking up.

“Found you, bitch.”

In the doorway was her manager, Alejandro “Lance” McClain; and, judging from his expression, he was pissed. “I… can explain.”

“You better.” He strolled in casually, but his stance was stiff with anger. “You’ve been gone for three days too many, barely texted me, and you came to Coran’s without me!”

“I did.”

“The last thing was just personal. For the record, I am offended.”

Keith snorted.

“Well, would you forgive me if I got you a unicorn frap?”

“… maybe.”

With Lance sedated, Allura explained her reasoning was one of relaxation before the craziness of the new movie set in. “If you had just told me, we could’ve avoided all of this, Allura. Do you have any idea how worried Hunk was?” Lance asked, hands waving in agitation.

“I can guess,” she shrugged. “But last time I told you where I was going, you sent Hunk with me. I love him, truly I do, but I did not appreciate the gesture as much as you think I did.”

“I figured and I didn’t care.” He sighed, looking out the window in thought. “Allura, I care about you so much. You’re my best friend and now that your name is such a staple in the world of acting, I don’t know what I’d do if something bad were to happen to you.”

“Lance,” she started as she took his hands in hers. “I know. But you have to remember: I’m not some helpless little girl anymore. I can fight for myself.”

“You can, and that’s the problem. You still act like you’re unrecognizable to most of the public. Spoiler, you’re in two major films that have broken records with the last two years.” He inhaled deeply. “You aren’t nobody anymore.”

“I was never nobody.”

“You know what I mean.”

Allura smirked. “I do. So, hey, while we’re here, do you want to just hang out? The employees here are fantastic people. Great conversationalists.” She paused. “Save for Keith.”

“Hey!” Protested said bad conversationalist.

Lance nodded yes. The day moved on, with Pidge and Shiro right on time as usual. Shiro’s warm smile greeted her and she flushed red. At their lunch breaks, the five gathered to chat. Revelations were made; mostly Overwatch focused ones that prompted Lance to video call Hunk and explain how he’d found Gun-N’-Son and KnifeToMeetYou. In the same place, no less. Hunk was thrilled at all this, suggesting they create a team.

“We’re so calling it Voltron,” Hunk suggested giddily.

“Ah, Voltron! Yes, I remember watching that as a child. The sub was much better than the dub though,” Coran added on, muttering to Pidge, who smiled and nodded.

“I second that!” Lance agreed. “Both statements, actually.”

“Don’t see why not,” Keith shrugged. “Pidgeon?”

“Oh hell yes! I’ll text Matt; knowing him he’s not doing anything important. His user is He-He-Helium, by the way.”

Shiro looked amused at his friends. After fiddling with his hands for a moment he looked to Allura. “I feel like we should join in. It would be nice to finally have a Mercy on the team.”

“Well, I have been trying to get into Symmetra lately. I really like her abilities,” Allura babbled. “B-but yes, definitely. What’s your info?”

And so, they traded info.

Two Weeks Later

“Cut!”

Allura lowered her arms and stretched. Lance ran to her and handed her a towel.

“Nice! That was impeccable,” he complimented. “Although I’m more than positive that last part was improvised, wasn’t it?”

“Very; when Liza mentioned the portals I blanked.”

Lance laughed.

Filming was done for the day, the last scene an absolute success. It had been two weeks, but things had gone by fast (thankfully). A few things had helped with the process though.

“Princess is back online,” Allura said into her headset.

“You so need a better name,” Lance replied. “The Legs are back as well.”

“And you think she needs a better name,” came Keith’s voice. “I’m online.”

“I’m in.”

“Pidge, no.”

Shiro laughed. “It was cute, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Do not encourage her!”

Allura laughed now. “She’s our Sombra though; it only makes sense.”

“Wait, what did I miss?” Hunk’s voice said from across the trailer and in the headsets.

“Hacker Pidge,” Matt informed.

“Ah, so not much?”

“No, no. Alright, time to moderate and kick ass!” Coran cried.

The match started. Shiro’s Genji stuck close to Allura’s Mercy, defending the healer to the death (three times at the least).

“Allura! Help!” Pidge called out.

“Coming, hold on! Shiro, is it clear?”

Shiro hummed in concentration (Lance screeched in the background before Keith’s Hanzo shot the enemy down). “Yeee-es, now it is.”

The two characters raced across the screen, finding Pidge’s Sombra quickly.

“No dying,” Shiro said once Pidge was healed.

“No promises!”

The match ended with Team Voltron in victory and its members went off to play separate matches. Allura stuck with Shiro (much to Coran and Keith’s amusement) and went for three for rounds. After that, hours and hours of talking.

“How’s production going?” Shiro asked a while in.

“Fairly decent; all I can say so far is Spider will not be the peak of my career.” She paused and frowned. “Which sounds really conceded now that I say that out loud.”

The young man laughed. “Not really; if it’s something to be proud of, it’s something to be proud of.”

“It is, but I hate sounding like a stereotype, you know?”

“The Kardashian type?”

“Eh, yeah.”

“If it helps, you’re nothing like them, ever.”

“Thank God.”

There was a pause before Allura sighed. “How’s life?”

“Slow; I’m pretty sure Keith is dating someone, but I don’t know who. They seem sweet though.”

“Odd, I’m pretty sure Lance has too…”

“You don’t-”

“We’re calling it now.”

“We treat ourselves if we’re right.”

“Hell yes!”

Shiro giggled. “You’re so much fun, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Allura laughed, blushing mad.

Shiro logged off, having to get up for classes the next day. Allura played another round as Symmetra then logged off herself. She dragged her hands down her face, sighing long and hard. With every interaction, Allura could feel her heart falling more and more for Shiro. Did she mind? Of course not, Shiro was amazing. Truly a magnificent human. And just, ya know, hot.

Lance and Hunk even noticed it finally (or Keith blabbed to them). They often would give her subtle advice in and out of chat. But the flirting tips were never needed. Conversation just came so… naturally.

So would that mean her little crush was not so much of a crush as it was her actually taking a liking to Shiro, right?

Yes, a voice in her head said, as if it was obvious. The actress sighed again. Looks like her efforts in wooing were going to have to improve then.

Hope you enjoyed!

#voltron #voltron ledgendary defender #vld #shallura #shiro x allura #allura x shiro #fanfiction #voltron fanfic #tuna writes #this was surprisingly nice to write #also forgive mylack of knowledge on video games i'm more into the lore

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justinehudock · 4 years

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When You Finish This Story, Just Remember: The Cat’s Name is Molly Sarlé

I wanted to make his first name Ammo, exactly like “what comes out of a gun” ammo. I really thought it sounded cool. As the child’s mother, that would make me The Gun—a nickname I knew would suit me to the ground, and that I could live up to, I knew—having a handle like that on him. Seeing as how, my little son, baby would-be Ammo, barreled through me as ammunition does its steely, swaddling “mother”. Dark and cold her interior may be, notwithstanding. It’s not important; a mother’s a mother’s a mother.

But, my partner, and the other half of the sireage—they don’t like any term more intimate, isn’t that gross?—to would-be Ammo, hated the whole suggestion “'fiercely”. They said to me, “From Point A, all the way to Point O.” In fact, when I tossed up the idea, my partner responded, "I mean, holy shit, that should be illegal." And looked it up, too. To see if it was! Boy, they’d’ve been a real smug shit if it had been.

It isn’t, obviously. Why should it be illegal to name a baby Ammo, especially a baby human, which’s got all those rights? Of course, it can’t be. Unlike license plates, we could have named him FUK, or B00B, or anything else that agreed with us. We could have given him your name, too, if we wanted, but we didn’t like it. No, Ammo’s no violation of the law, not just for the fact of having that name and the little sucker living with it, shooting through life and all of life’s unique barrels with that tacked to its bib. It’s just that a lot about the situation would hazard the illegal, apparently. I’ve been unfairly coerced to concede that — that there are a “number of issues” with it. Life as an Ammo’d be a “house of law waiting to collapse”, so my partner analogized, in the terrible, hammy way they have that I really — I almost can’t stomach it after a day at work.

This is their own logic (I don’t buy a bit of it, for the record): you’d be like someone, I don’t have names, with a credit card number and chip frequency duplicator on hand; lying around the house. You may snort, the thing’s just a reader! or so my partner began, even doing the snort for effect, though it came out more like a snuffle. To be totally honest, I barely heard this speech, hardly even glanced up from my puzzle to watch their theatrics, which my partner was only doing to stomp all over my most favorite name. I was slurping up coffee like a pig to tune out whatever they were building to. But my partner went on, and I had only made a small cup.

It only recognizes numbers, too, they said. So you couldn’t even call it a good reader. I’ve got a young nephew on my brother’s side that can read back the alphabet in burps. And his younger sister, a niece of mine, can sing it back. Her elocution? Touchable like silk. With whole words thrown in, too! wonderful, delicious, like those dried bits of red in a fruit cake. But the credit card reader, it's just a mediumish, blackish box, sitting on the side table we use for desk stuff overflow, and sometimes the cat sleeps on it. You know the thing I’m talking about.

Like with Ammo, as a name, you can’t make a box illegal, if you’re just keeping it more like a fish, like we planned to, remember? Planned to feed it expired Coldstone Creamery gift cards and, for a snack, little slips of paper scrawled with different sections of pi? Not harnessing the box for its intended purpose, I mean. Never for anything immoral!

It’s the inevitability issue, though, with your friends’ credit cards, the visiting work guys’ credit cards, our moms’, their boyfriends’, more cards, plastic cards, thin plastic cards: they all start falling into the machine’s reader sleeve, mysteriously -- don’t look at me! Buttons get pushed, you’re being really Bond about it and only when they flush the toilet or wash their hands do you even start fiddling with the stupid slow piece of shit, so it’s all utterly inaudible. The whole maneuver is as silent as falling snow, I’m telling you. Quiet, I’m always quiet.

But, see, did you catch that? The cards would end up in the reader, despite your good intentions. All I’m saying is, illegality would always be on the sidelines, like, uh, the devil’s hands. Like using a permanent marker on flimsy-everyday writing paper, the mundane bleeds into disaster. The machine isn’t bad but bad things happen when it’s around. Was it Washington who said “anything that can go wrong will go wrong”? It was him, or some other guy with a wig. Any guy with a wig would know. And this, it’s just your basic black box, hardly more interesting than a shoe box, in my view. Any son of mine’d be a whole lot smarter, and more disposed to white-collar troublemaking, than that box, too. So, there’s the entire issue in a nutshell.

I really did want to name my little son Ammo, though. The craving shot through me in rounds: wake up, wham, Ammo. On the supermarket’s produce floor, squeezing Asian pears, sniffing Spanish oranges, picking Chilean peppers, kabloom! Ammo, mi amore. More bad than I wanted any idea original to my hormone-fermented brain, at that point; badder even than my incontrovertible but “really unfeminine” desire for a pregnancy body that resembled 2009 Chris Pratt’s. His thick physique that looked so warm, the perfect ward for growing a brawny Ammo, more evenly than all the other little boys in the world. But, me and my partner also knew our son should get the chance to see an airport sometime, as well as other, crowded public places important to anyone’s formative years. Dog parks, and fairgrounds. Ball places. That’s something my partner and I agreed on, that it was important to the rearing of any well-adjusted boy that he visit all kinds of environments, bustling ones and snoring ones, too, but to sniff around, learn the meaning of “horizons”, bang and bounce all the important germs so they don’t come sniffing around his immune system anymore. Tousle with the other kids and poke fun at the ones on leashes. But not choke them with their own collars, when their parents looked away. We’d tell him no-no-no.

Listen, though: if the boy ever got lost, and that can happen in crowds, you’d see how shouting his name—with alarm in your voice, because it’s not unalarming to lose a baby. It’s a parental thing.—wouldn’t please the immediate society too well. Wouldn’t please society in earshot, or the powers that be, too well at all. And we factored in letting him get lost a couple times as a child. It was important to us. No self-respecting adult I know was in constant parental purview as a kid. I know some people, and this is true, who, as children, were always near their parents in public spaces, and they’re in jail now. And, trust me, you don’t want to know the shocking sort of stuff they stole to get there. Adult prison! They don’t send you there for burgling righteous items, or for working under the thumb of right-minded Johns. There is no “wholesome” in organized crime. They share fewer than three letters, in fact. So, it’s all pretty disgusting.

Yeah, the name idea was, as I said, eighty-sixed. My second and third choices, too, but I wasn't as attached to Bullet and Bomb anyhow. Once we crossed Ammo off the list, though, officially and everything and all that, black ink spilled & etcetera, etcetera, my partner picked up on my disappointment. They saw the little furrows—dents—developing in my disposition, like spooky UFO photos in a red room. I had begun to walk through the condo with my shoes on; and, when I made tea, I’d steep for four minutes, rather than the three that had always been my signature. My partner knew, now, just how much I wanted a little Ammo, barreling through the house, barreling through his school years, barreling through his SATs, barreling, barreling, barreling. Starting gymnastics, tumbling through that. Meeting the president, ultimately.

My partner, they aren’t the shiniest penny in the bank—they don’t hear euphemisms like you or I do, just regular sentences and snickering—but they are careful to notice these sorts of things. The little shifts of emotion in their other half. And that’s worth more in a partner than one hundred of the shiniest pennies! So, we decided on a compromise. Compromised on a decision. Turned back the odometer from a red-hot eighty-six to a chill, alright-everyone-take-it-easy forty-three, and the baby was given Ammo as a middle name.

To keep the whole thing totally and definitely not a flag-raiser, we even made his first name Luigi. So Ammo’s tucked in there like any creatively bullshit, Italianate honorific. Sometimes people ask us about the spelling, and we tell them (and you’re just gonna scream over this) that it means “extra love” — because of the extra M. They believe it. So many people believed it, in fact, I started to doubt that it was a lie, after all. So I looked it up.

Of course, you couldn’t fool the real Italians with that, because they know the pronunciation differences as a pretty basic requirement, but most people, they’re not Italians. And the ones who are, anyway, are so turned on by talking about their own families, and their own jobs as high school psychiatrists, and their own trouble finding this or that something-or-other from the old country, States-produced mozzarella that doesn’t taste like placenta—and oversalted, oh, Dio—or whatever, that they never say a thing about Ammo or his extra M. Never even heard a word we said to begin with. Fucking Italians.

So we’ve got a little Luigi in the family. But everyone who loves him calls him “Ammo”. Except, you’ve got it now, when we’re in public. In public, he’s Luigi. To his acquaintances, and, it’s what he taps into the bowling alley’s keypad to track his climbing score. And what he told the butcher to call him, who saves the calf giblets we treat to our cat, Molly Sarlé. It all works pretty smoothly that way. Like “buffed marble,” my partner says (I got an attack of sneezes from that). But I have my Ammo. And, if he gets lost in any of those public spaces we’re always in, we have this system where we’ll shout “Middle name! Middle name!” to the nebula. And he’ll shout back, “It’s kind of illegal! It’s debatably illegal! It’s risky! It could induce a panic!” like our own family game of Marco/Polo. (You should hear him: Ammo’s cute baby voice, shouting those long, older-boy sentences so beautifully and articulately.)

In that way, we find our way back to each other, with a big smile on my and my partner’s faces when we see our precious son in the crowd: his wonderful chubby cheeks shining like lead alloy; his bright eyes, gleaming and glowier than coppermines. God love that wonderful son of a gun.

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