#i just want him to like licorice so i wrote it into existence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ihni · 3 years

Text

Candy baby

Exploring my headcanon that Billy likes salty licorice.

~~~

Steve opened the door to find a grinning Billy on his doorstep. Not smirking, not leering – no, a full-on grin, excitement and happiness written all over his face. A little stunned in the face of so much unfiltered joy radiating off of a usually much grumpier Billy, Steve found himself speechless until Billy raised an eyebrow and said; “You’re gonna let me in or what?”

Steve moved aside to let him pass, and not until then did he see the box under Billy’s arm. A cardboard box, covered in brown packing tape and shipping labels and foreign stamps, and with a red string tying the whole thing together, making it resemble a badly-wrapped present. Billy passed him and went into the kitchen without taking his shoes off. With a flourish, he placed the box on the kitchen table before turning, smiling, to Steve, as if waiting for him to ask about it.

And like. Steve couldn’t not ask. “What’cha got there, babe?”

Impossibly, Billy’s smile got even wider. “Candy.” Steve was just about to open his mouth to ask more when he clarified, “From Sweden.”

“What?” Steve said and walked closer, inspecting the box. “Did you rob the post office?” But no, it said right there on the box, clearly addressed to ‘William Hargrove’.

Billy still snorted. “No. It’s from my grandparents.”

That had Steve’s head shoot up and he stared at Billy with his mouth open. “You have grandparents?” When Billy gave him a flat look, he amended; “I mean, of course you have grandparents. I mean, you have grandparents in Sweden?” Billy had never mentioned any grandparents, and especially not any in Europe.

“Yeah,” Billy said while he turned to rifle through Steve’s kitchen drawers until he found a knife. “My grandparents on my mom’s side.” He continued without Steve having to urge him on, while he used the knife to cut through string and tape. “Mom was from Sweden, and when she was … about my age, actually, shit … she and grandma flew overseas to meet some distant relatives.” He struggled with the tape and the tip of his tongue was peeking out between his lips in concentration. “Grandma’s uncle emigrated to the States when he was young, and she hadn’t ever met his kids – her cousins – back then so … yeah. Anyway, grandma doesn’t know much English so mom went with her to translate and stuff. And then mom met a boy – not Neil, that was later – and she … well, she stayed. Or, she went back with grandma, but she returned to San Diego later, and even though it didn’t last with that guy, she stayed in the States. Met Neil, eventually, had me. You know.” He shrugged as he put the knife aside and opened the box, looking down in it as if he had struck gold.

Steve peeked inside as well – it was stock full of various packaged candy, none of which he recognized the names or looks of – before looking up at Billy. “You’ve never told me about that. About them.”

“I’ve only met them once,” Billy said, shrugging. “More than ten years ago, now.” A small smile appeared on his face. “Mom and Neil and I all went over there one summer, for a month. It was … it was great, actually.” Steve held his breath, as to not interrupt Billy in this memory, which obviously brought him joy. But he didn’t say anything else, opting instead to start picking things up from the parcel. “Anyway, grandpa doesn’t know any English and grandma only knows a little, and grandpa is too old to travel anyway so I’ve only met them that one time. But they write to me. We talk on the phone a couple of times a year. And they always send stuff for Christmas and birthdays.”

A thought occurred to Steve. He looked at Billy in betrayal. “Did I miss your birthday? You said your birthday was in September!”

That had Billy laughing. “It is, pretty boy, calm down. This is an Easter parcel. Eating way too much candy for Easter is a tradition back there, I’ve gotten these packages since I was a kid. And like, apparently grandpa was delighted to find that I liked licorice when we were there, so they’ve been sure to send me some every year.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Like, Red Vines?”

“Nah, real liqorice.” Billy fixed Steve with a look and licked his lips. “The black kind.”

“… that doesn’t sound good,” Steve said and made a face.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” Billy said and resumed what he’d been doing – unpacking the box and putting all its contents of the table. At the bottom of the box was a card, with a picture of chicken on top of a bouquet of daffodils. The back of the card had a couple of lines of slightly scraggly old-person handwriting on it, which Billy read in silence while smiling softly. Steve let him, and said nothing when Billy carefully tucked the card into his back pocket.

“So,” Steve said instead. “You telling me I get to try some of this?”

Billy picked up a small bag and threw it at Steve, who fumbled to catch it. “Of course, sweetheart. After all, you’re the one who hasn’t had the real licorice experience yet.”

Inspecting the packaging in his hand, Steve frowned. The picture on the plastic bag was of a screaming monkey, and the name proclaimed it to be –

“… Djang-ell-wraal?”

“Djungelvrål,” Billy corrected with a snicker. Steve would never admit how that one word in a foreign language, spoken by his boyfriend, made his mouth dry.

“You, uh …” He licked his lips. ”You know Swedish?”

“A little. Mostly lies,” Billy laughed. “Like, ‘du är ful’.”

“What does that mean?”

“’You’re ugly’.”

It was Steve’s turn to level Billy with a look. “Gee, babe, thanks.”

Billy laughed again. “I said it was a lie! I was a kid when I learned, come on! I know like, ten curses, too.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Steve said and pretended to look offended. “Just for that, I’m gonna keep this whole thing to myself.” He held the Djungelvrål out, but out of reach. Despite his words, though, he waited until Billy had nodded – eyes sparkling – before he opened the bag.

It was full of small, black candies covered in sugar, about the size of m&m’s. He poured a couple out in his hand and threw them into his mouth, as he would do with any other kind of candy, and –

“Oh my God!” he managed to splutter as he spat the Djungelvrål out again, into his hand. “Oh my god what is that??” Scraping his tongue with his finger didn’t help, he couldn’t get rid of the taste. That shit had not been sugar! “That’s so salty, what?!”

While he ran to the sink to rinse out his mouth with water and throw away the – frankly vile – candies, he listened to his boyfriend’s peals of laughter behind him. Billy laughed until he was gasping for breath.

“Stevie, your face! Phew! Oh man, that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve grimaced as he spit out more water and turned around, just in time for him to see Billy picking up the bag he had dropped and pour a couple of them straight into his mouth – and not make a face or anything! Just happily chewing it, looking content as ever.

“How can you eat those?!” Steve demanded and stalked up to him, snatching the bag out of his hand to check if it was the same kind that Steve had tried, or if Billy had switched them somehow. It was the same bag, the Djungelvrål. “They’re horrible!”

“They’re awesome!” Billy said, around a mouthful of black licorice candies, making Steve shudder.

“Is everything they sent as bad as that?” he said, peering – a bit more cautiously, this time – at the other things spread out on the table. Things with names like ‘Salt i sol’, ‘Käck’, ‘Lakrisal’, ‘Lakritssnöre’ and a truly appalling-looking bag of something called ‘Kloakslam’ which depicted what looked like a rat choking to death.

“Nah,” Billy answered and gestured to some other things on the table. “They sent me chocolate too. You’ll like those. You can leave the licorice to the professional.” He swallowed the candies in his mouth, and raised his eyebrows, licking his lips. “Me.”

“Yeah yeah,” Steve said and glared suspiciously at a strange kind of lollipop that Billy handed him. Once he’d removed the cover (‘Dumle’), it looked like something made out of chocolate – but the last one had looked like sugar and had tasted like salt, and Steve wasn’t going to be fooled again. Carefully, he stuck out his tongue and gave the thing a kitten lick.

Billy snorted at him. “It’s chocolate and caramel, you don’t have to worry.” He himself had just opened a small round container which said ‘Hockeypulver’ and stuck his finger in some kind of white powder that Steve sincerely hoped wasn’t some kind of drug.

He hadn’t had to worry about the lollipop. Turned out that it was chocolate, after all. And it was pretty good, too. No salt, and somehow chewy inside, when he tried to bite it.

“You like that, don’t you?” Billy asked knowingly.

“M-hmm,” Steve replied. “But I’m still gonna leave the rest of this –“ He gesticulated at the items on the table, “– for you. Wouldn’t wanna eat all your grandparents’ candy, after all.”

“Coward,” Billy said, but he didn’t look too upset.

“Hey, I’m being a thoughtful boyfriend, that’s all!”

That earned him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you then, sweetheart.” He smiled mischievously and added, “But I guess that if you don’t want it, I’ll have to find someone else to subject to the wonders of salty licorice …” He wagged his eyebrows. “I’m thinking Henderson.”

And like. Steve knew that he should object – he should want to protect the kids from being subjected to bad things, and the Djungelvrål was definitely a bad thing. But also …

“Only if I can watch.”

Billy’s eyes glittered, and he bit his lip around a smile. “You know, there’s one thing that I know in Swedish that’s the truth, too.”

“Oh yeah? What's that?”

“Jag fucking älskar dig.” ~~~

(Read on AO3)

#ihni writes #harringrove #harringrove fic #this is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written #i just want him to like licorice so i wrote it into existence #and well if i had to give him swedish grandparentes for it then so be it lol #a girl does what a girl has to do #means to an end

85 notes · View notes

bakugous-abs · 4 years

Text

Day 5 of Halloween 2020

~Brought to you today by Admin Bomb!

~~~

October First

Halloween. God, Bakugou couldn't tell if it was his favorite or least favorite time of the year.

No, he definitely wasn't one to wear a costume and go out trick or treating. That time was way past him and he couldn't remember why and how the hell he was able to trust getting candy from strangers. Frankly that whole aspect of Halloween seemed so hypocritical!

Every other time of the year we’re told to not take candy from strangers. Never ever once were we allowed to take candy from them. But on this specific day? Sure! Go right ahead. Infact, take candy from MULTIPLE strangers!! Nothing could go wrong with that.

The countless reports of needles being stuck in licorice and suckers already being sucked in told a different story.

And the fucking k i d s. They were so annoying. Screaming and running after each other. Throwing a fit when they didn't get the kind of candy they want or when their siblings got one extra piece. The snot and tears. It was so gross.

That part of Halloween, Bakugou said fuck off to.

However the scaring? And the terrified faces? That's something he could look forward to.

Seeing the look of horror Pikachu got when he prayed on one of his fears was so exciting. The heightened anxiety in the Yuuei hallways made for some easy targets to make scream and run away.

That, is why Bakugou liked Halloween.

“Yo Bakubro, we’re gonna head out and get our costumes. You wanna come with?” Kirishima barged into his room, flicking on the light.

“Fuck no.” Bakugou cursed. The sudden brightness was stinging his eyes, the red irises struggling to adjust to sudden change. “I already told you last week you dumbass, I don’t do trick or treating.”

Kirishima's shoulders visibly went limp, a pout occupying his lips. “Come on man, it’ll be fun. You even get to scare some little kids.”

“I can do that without the help of a costume. Now get out.”

He huffed. “If you say so, man. We’ll be back later! See ya.” And with that Bakugou's door shut with a click, the lights left on.

The blond cursed the redhead under his breath. Why was it so hard to shut off the light when they leave! He has it off every single time they open the door, so why not shut it off again when they leave!?

Bakugou got up to shut the light off, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed a letter on his neat floor. When did that get there? Did shitty-hair leave it there when he left?

It was a pretty white envelope with a splotch of red to the left of the center. As he got closer he read his name in very intricate cursive. Had it not been for the date in a nice fine print, and the fact that he didn't like anyone and fully expected no one to like him back, in the upper corner he would have assumed this was an old valentines letter.

He picked it up. What the fuck was this doing here? The handwriting was very obviously not Shittyhairs. His was too rough and sharp to ever resemble something like this.

“10-1-xxxx <3 Bakugou”

Hesitantly, he turned it around and found a wax seal on the back. A simple circle, nothing more.

The letter was ripped open, the wax seal completely forgotten. If the letter inside got ripped, that wasn’t his problem. Unfortunately, the letter went completely unscathed.

He took it out and unfolded it, careful to hold it horizontally in case this was a prank gift from one of the dunces that called him his friend, but there was no such thing. Infact, the letter seemed virtually empty except for right smack dab in the middle. A small word written in what seemed to be a font designed to replicate human writing.

“Hi”

Bakugou's eyebrows crinkled. That's it? He turned the paper over, flipped it back, then turned it over once more. Nothing.

“Such a waste of fucking paper.” He muttered, crushing the note within his palm and lit off his explosions, a caramel scent wafting through the air and black smoke trailing along with it.

He threw what was left of it into his trash, dusted it off his hands, and flicked the lights back off.

Whoever wrote that letter had a pretty terrible sense of humor

~~~~~

October Second

Bakugou woke up the next morning like usual. Stretch, pop his joints and spark a few explosions, then sit up and get ready for school. The letter from yesterday lingered in the back of his mind, still annoyed that someone thought something like that would even be considered funny.

How the hell just writes a tiny Hi on a whole sheet of paper. Its such a fucking waste! It was irritating him more than anything.

That's why when he got a second letter this morning, also slid underneath his door, he just threw it on his bed to be dealt with later. He didn’t need to get any more pissed off about something before going to school and getting pissed off even more. No, that can wait till after he got his homework done.

And it did wait. During the day he completely forgot about the existence of the letter. Going to classes, almost blowing Dekus face off in training, shouting at the group that seemed to be stuck to his thighs, going to more classes. Completely normal.

But when he got home and locked himself in his room to do homework and calm down, he saw the letter on his bed and immediately became pissed again.

He marched on over to it and picked it, opening it in the same fashion he did yesterday and again, the letter managed to come out unscathed.

He opened the paper, preparing to see another waste of paper. Unfortunately the universe was granting his wishes, but not to the extent he was thinking.

This time, there was a sentence, a sentence that made his heart stop for a second.

“You have lovely skin.”

What. The actual. Fuck.

Who the hell is this? Why are they talking about his skin? How do they know anything about his skin?

Subconsciously his eyes darted around him. Everything looked the exact same. He looked behind him, no one was there. But there was a nagging feeling in the middle of his back, like someone was staring there no matter where he turned.

Fuck this.

His eyes glided toward the balcony. The curtain were wide open. But they were facing the 1-B building. No one could be watching him…

The curtains were closed in a matter of seconds.

~~~~~

October Seventh

The letters kept coming. Every day they got creepier. Complimenting a feature about him and details this person would only know if they got close to him.

He was losing sleep. His eight hour nights shortening rapidly to only around four hours and it wasn't consecutive.

Yesterday he became so sick of it he grabbed the five letters he had received, first still burnt in his trash can, and stomped down to the lounge room, confronting them of the letters asking whoever it was that was sending them to step the fuck up.

No one had any idea what he was talking about.

He attacked all the girls first, not physically no, but yelling at them to confess who done it. No dude in their class would have this good of handwriting other than that belly button laser guy.

But he had no idea later, saying Bakugou was not exactly his type, which he got a yelling for as well.

Todays letter… wasnt any better than the last.

"This is almost as much fun as watching you sleep."

He held the latter in his hand, not noticing the grip slowly getting tighter and tighter, and suddenly the ends were crinkled and charred, the only thing left was a single word.

Fun.

~~~~~

October Fifteenth

Bakugou finally cracked and told the teachers about the letters. To say they overreacted was,,, actually just about right.

There were now teachers stationed on top of the buildings, around the perimeter, and on Bakugous floor.

He hated to admit it but having a few pro heroes there eased his edge a little. A felt safer. Safer than he had in the last two weeks.

But unfortunately, that wasnt enough.

For in the middle of the night, to his absolute horror, the rustling of paper was heard across his room.

His body went cold. Eyes wide as all hell. He used his feet to curl all his blanket away from the edges of his bed and under his legs and over his body.

'Please,' his mind pleaded. 'Please fucking tell me thats not another letter.'

And to his absolute horror, when he sat up, just a little bit… there, visible in the light shining under the crack of his door, was a letter, with the same red heart and perfect cursive handwriting that spelled out his name.

"Please dont scream, they'll hear you"

~~~~~

October Twenty-sixth

Its been a few days since hes gone out of his room. The pros thought hed feel safer in his room where they could keep an eye on him but in reality.

Bakugou didnt feel safe at all.

Everywhere he went his anxiety told him someone was there. With beady eyes that went unblinking just… staring at him. Like he was a slab of meat for a hungry starving lion.

But he wasnt allowed to complain, even though he did, and was expected to remain still.

He was expected to wait.

Wait.

And wait.

He didn't want to wait. He didn't want to be here anymore.

He was behind on his classes, but he couldn't focus long enough on the work to get it done anyway.

He had nothing else to distract him. Hes read through all his books, played all his games, watched all his movies. There was nothing else to do other than wait like a sitting duck.

So what the hell was he supposed to do?

And while he had his door shut, he finally broke down, tears streaming down his face and fear coursing through his veins as he knew, by the sound of paper sliding under his door, that he wasnt safe anywhere anymore.

"Dont struggle, I hate when they struggle"

~~~~~

October 31st. Halloween Night

Halloween...

Halloween. Bakugou hated Halloween.

He hated Halloween. He hated being scared. Scared all the time.

He couldnt handle the sound of paper anymore. Not the sound of it wrinkling, folding, unfolding, ripping, he hated paper.

All kinds of paper.

Wrappers, notebook, printer.

It was all terrible.

And now… he can't even handle unwrapping his own candy.

Bakugou hated Halloween.

And has another letter slid under his door, now in direct daylight, and got up and looked at it.

The cursive was now just scratches. The heart too dark to be artificial.

He opened it, slipping the paper out and reading the note. One word. Tiny in the middle of the paper, resembling the first ever note he got. One word.

'Bye…'

However, this time, when he turned the note over, he found something else. Another word- no, a sentence.

'Till next year… Bakugou Katsuki.'

And just like that, his body ran cold, and his vision went dark.

#boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero #boku no hero x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha blog #mha #mha blog #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #x reader insert #ask blog #bnha ask blog #mha ask

36 notes · View notes

pink-bird-30 · 4 years

Text

Mistltoe- Hournite Fic

I saw this idea on a tumblr post from @bethschapel ( and I hope it’s okay that I wrote a story about it *crosses fingers)

The idea was Beth snuck a kiss on Rick’s cheek under the mistletoe, and I absolutely love that idea.

I just thought this was the cutest idea ever and needed to write it. Well, at least some variant of the idea.

You can find the link to this story here on my FF.Net.

Well, here we go

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

Rick peers around the large grey wall trying to avoid a particular JSA member. Ever since he arrived at Courtney's to help setup for the Christmas party, he's been paranoid he’d get stuck under the mistletoe.

Well, more like mistletoes.

Mike decided to decorate half the house in mistletoe, which made things absolutely difficult for Rick if he were to stand too close to her.

Noticing the kitchen is a mistletoe free zone Rick made a quick dash for the island. He slides across the floor and settles against the dark wooded cabinets before letting out a deep breath. Rick rests his head against the cabinets and closes his eyes for a moment.

How the hell am I going to avoid Beth all night?

Don’t get him wrong, Beth is amazing and things have been going great for them. Ever since the JSA defeated the ISA, Rick and Beth spend more time together attempting to repair her broken goggles. With his new found knowledge on chemistry and a bit of alchemy, he thinks there’s a way to make them work again.

Beth enrolled in a few computer science classes in school in hopes of understanding the coding Chuck used to create the goggles. But every time they get somewhere, whether they get the lenses to read a room or Beth asks it a question and it starts to search, something goes wrong. And Rick hates those moments the most. He sees the light in Beth’s eyes dim each time, and it makes Rick frustrated because he hates seeing Beth sad.

After Chuck’s demise against Icicle’s blast, Beth felt responsible for his death. Ever since, she keeps thinking she could’ve done something to protect him. But after hours of consoling her, and letting her cry while he held her tight, she’d still be sad. But Beth’s ambition to fix the goggles is what always helped her to brush away the tears and do everything to keep Chuck’s legacy alive. Even if it means Chuck isn’t there anymore once the goggles are repaired. Rick thinks that’s the hardest part for Beth. Chuck was someone who understood her and made her not feel alone. Particularly when her parents started to work more and she wasn’t close with the other JSA members yet. He was her friend and she lost him.

Shuffling against the side of the island, Rick peaks out to glance down the doorway to the next room over, where Beth and Yolanda were decorating Christmas cookies. His ears perk at their loud giggles. Curiosity grabbing at him, he crawls across the floor and stands up against the opposite wall to hear the girls' conversation.

He dusts off his green and red knit sweater where a few dust bunnies clung to it, and shifts his head to press against the gray wall.

“So Beth,” Yolanda’s voice drawls. “Who do you think your secret Santa is?”

“I’m not too sure. Maybe Courtney? Ooo or maybe Rick!”

Rick's eyes widen.

There's no way she could’ve known…

Yolanda laughs, “I know who Courtney’s person is. And its not you. Maybe it is Rick.”

The sound of Beth’s giggle rings in the air before she said, “I wonder what he could’ve gotten me?”

The girls’ conversation continues as Rick smiles to himself knowing his gift for Beth is perfect…

Later that night, the party is in full swing and everyone is having a great time. Pat and Barbara are dancing to some upbeat version of ‘Jingle Bells’, Mike is chasing Max around the house trying to get his Christmas hat back, and the four JSA members are trying to make gingerbread houses.

Yolanda and Courtney took it upon themselves to work together on a house, leaving Rick and Beth to make their own. They all fought over gumdrops, licorice and sprinkles to make their houses the best possible. Rick finds himself smiling more and more as the gingerbread house making goes on. Beth catches him laughing at one point and it warms her heart. It’s moments like this she’s glad he can enjoy himself.

After making ginger bread houses, Rick steps outside to cool off from the heated house. He walks across the porch to take a seat on the white wooden swing. He sways back a forth for a while, enjoying the snow fall silently to the ground. From behind him, he can hear the laughter of his friends as they enjoy the party. He’s happy he can take this time and enjoy life for the first time, he wants to relish in the fact that he can be happy.

He chuckles to himself thinking how he was afraid of some mistletoe a few hours ago. Sure he was able to avoid getting caught under it with Beth, but seeing her laughing and dancing with him to Christmas music was the perfect distraction. At this point he wouldn’t care if they got caught, it’d be a great excuse to make the first move.

Rick let his eyes close, letting the brisk winter air calm down his heated body. No sound for miles except the soft hum of Christmas music in the house.

After a few minutes he hears the front door open and close. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes knowing who came looking for him.

“Hi, Beth.” He slowly opens his eyes, seeing her standing in front of him with two mugs and a plush white blanket.

She smiles brightly at him, “How’d ya know it was me?”

He smiles warmly at her, “No one else would have come looking for me.” Her cheek redden at the assumption and glances away from him bashfully. Rick reaches out to take the mugs from her hands, gaining her attention and nods his head to the empty space next to him on the swinging chair.

As Beth gets comfortable on the swing, he notices she moves close to him and drapes the white plush blanket across their laps. She reaches for the red mug in his hands and takes a small sip. She smiles joyously letting out a small ‘Mmm’.

Rick holds his mug between his hands feeling the warmth chase away the cold. He can smell the chocolaty aroma of hot cocoa but is curious by what he sees inside. “Are there sprinkles in the hot cocoa?” he asks.

Beth nods her head enthusiastically, “Sure is! It’s a Chapel family secret. My mom always adds a scoop of cool whip, a dash of cinnamon, and a drizzle of rainbow sprinkles. Isn’t it great?” Rick glances down at his cup again before taking a small sip of the warm beverage. Instantly his senses are overwhelmed by the delicious drink. The coolness of the cool whip melting against the heat of the cocoa, and the spicy sweet mixture of the cinnamon and sprinkles dance in his mouth. Needless to say, it’s Rick’s new favorite drink.

“My god…” He takes another sip and moans. “There’s no way something this good exists.”

Beth giggles besides him and shifts to rest her head against his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a family tradition.” She takes another sip of her cocoa and settles it on her lap. The dark chocolate swirls around the white cool whip in her mug, mixing together to make a light chocolate. “Usually I’d be spending Christmas Eve with my parents, but they decided to work instead…” Rick picks up on the sadness in her voice, and wishes nothing more than to make her feel happy again. He rests his head against Beth’s and wraps his arm around her to pull her closer into his side.

They stay like that for awhile; sipping their hot cocoa and watching the snow drift softly to the ground. Rick has never been more content in his life; his favorite person in his arms as they slowly swing on the porch. The warmth from each other keeping them comfortable in the frigid Alaska winter. Eventually, an hour passes and the hot cocoa is long gone. The two teens decided to head inside for some warmth when the snow starts to come down a bit heavier. Rick wraps the blanket around Beth and takes the two empty mugs from her hands.

“I could’ve held them.” Beth holds the blanket tighter around her, feeling the chilled Alaskan air rush past them.

“I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Beth smiles to herself, happy with how sweet Rick is being with her. Between the hot cocoa and cuddling while watching the snow…this night is perfect.

But Beth couldn’t help but think something is missing.

Rick opens the front door and gestures for Beth to walk through first. She thanks him and walks into the living room where everyone is exchanging Secret Santa gifts. Rick goes to the kitchen to drop off their mugs into the sink before making his way into the sitting room.

“Beth, this one has your name on it!” Mike hands her a medium sized box in bright yellow wrapping paper and a dark blue bow. Beth smiles happily and takes a seat on the couch next to Rick.

“Ricky, this one is for you.” Rick scowls at the preteen and grabs the box from his hands. He mutters a “thanks” and crosses his arms. He doesn’t like the name Ricky, it sounds extremely douchy.

“Mike,” Beth frowns. “You know he hates when you call him that!”

Mike shrugs, not really caring what they said and passes around the rest of the gifts. Everyone starts to open their gifts one by one, but before Beth could tear the wrapping on her present Rick places a hand on top of hers.

“Hey, umm…” Rick rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Can you open your gift with me in the other room?”

Beth looks at him quizzically wondering why he’s asking such a strange request. But she nods anyways seeing the hopeful look in his brown eyes, “Okay, sure.” He smiles and takes her hand in his, ignoring the glances of everyone in the room.

Pat tilts his head slightly and turns to Courtney, “Court, what’s that all about?”

“Oh, you know. Young love…” Courtney says dreamily and clasps her two hands together while fluttering her eyelashes.

Pat rolls his eyes and mutters, “Teenagers.”

Across the house, Beth and Rick take a seat on a love sofa in the den. Beth cradles her gift in her lap waiting for what Rick has to say.

“Look, I know it’s kinda weird I asked you to open this away from everyone. But I just—” He pauses trying to find the right words. Focus Rick. “I just wanted to be alone with you when you opened it.” Beth smiles softly at the gift in her lap and slowly reaches for the blue bow. She pulls at the ribbon, the coils coming undone and pulling with ease. She lets it flutter to the floor, landing against the hardwood floor without a sound.

Beth tears at the yellow paper, the crunching sound eats away at Rick’s nerves. He knows she’ll love her gift, but the tight feeling in his chest still holds as he watches her open the white box and peer down at its treasure.

Beth’s eyes widen noticing the leathery brown material anywhere, now taking on a new shade of yellow in the lenses and no longer having a strap, but two arms like a pair of sunglasses. Slowly, she reaches into the box to pull the goggles out, letting the box in her lap fall to the ground with a thud.

“Rick…” Beth looks at him expectantly. He can see her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “Will they—will they work?”

Without a word, Rick reaches out and removes Beth’s glasses from her face and gestures for her to put the new goggles on. Taking a dep breath, Beth lifts the new goggles and slides them onto her face. It was strange at first but then the goggles transformed; no longer were there arms on them but a sleek black band settling the goggles snugly against her.

“Hello, Dr. Mid-Nite. My name is Chuck, how can I be of service to you?”

Beth sniffles as she asks Chuck, “Are you-u,” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Are you my Chuck? The original Dr. Mid-Nite?”

Rick frowns realizing what Beth is asking. He touches her arm gently, knowing the reply from ‘Chuck’ won’t be what she’ll expect.

“I am sadden to tell you, but I am no longer programmed for the original owner of these goggles.” Beth’s shoulder deflate, upset her friend is gone, but she is still grateful her goggles work again. “But I do have a message from Chuck-aka the original Dr. Mid-Nite.” Beth stares at Rick as her goggles project a life size version of the original Dr. Mid-Nite.

“My dearest friend, Beth chapel. Although my end was abrupt and none of your doing. Do know my knowledge and legacy will remain with you. The new Dr. Mid-Nite.” Beth feels the tears gather at the corner of her eyes hearing Chuck speak to her again. “As long as you keep your friends close, you will never truly ever be alone again. Until we meet again, Beth. Godspeed.”

The image of Chuck fades out and Beth touches the goggles, returning them to their original form with two arms as she pulls them away from her face.

Rick stares at the space where Chuck had occupied at a loss for words. “Um…I don’t remember that feature…”

Beth wipes at her eyes, “Storage memory. Chuck must’ve added it once the basic technology of the goggles was too extensive. Smart.” Her usual enthusiasm is missing in her voice, drawing concern from Rick. He shifts closer to her on the sofa and pulls her into his arms.

“I didn’t know that would happen, I was just excited that I finally got them to work again.” He whispered into her hair. Beth rests her head against his chest and wraps her arms tightly around his torso.

“I love them. Thank you for figuring out how to fix them, It means a lot to me.”

“I’d do anything to make you happy, Beth. Merry Christmas.” He kisses her forehead before pulling away to look down at her. Beth looks up at Rick and smiles but then notices something above him that catches her eye.

Rick tilts his head wonder what she find so amusing. He follows her line of sight to see his enemy from earlier tonight.

Mistletoe.

Rick feels the heat rise to his cheek as his attention slowly drifts back to Beth. By the time his eyes meet hers, they’re already glinting with mischief.

“I do recall you mentioning you’d do anything to make me happy…” her voice is lower than Rick remembers, making him extremely nervous.

He pulls at the neck of his sweater feeling it tighten all of a sudden, “Yu- I mean,” he clears his throat, “Yes.”

Beth’s hands trail up Rick’s chest and make their way around his neck. “Does that include partaking in Christmas traditions?”

Yes, a hundred times yes.

Regaining his confidence, Rick pulls Beth into his lap while wrapping his arms around her waist. He leans in close, letting his lips hover over hers for a moment, “Wouldn’t want to be a Grinch.”

Beth brushes her nose against his and rests her hand against his cheek, “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

With his patience running thin, Rick brushes his lips against Beth’s eliciting a small gasp from her. Hearing that small sound ignited something between them and their lips collided again and again. The soft touches innocent in nature, but eager with heat. Chaste kisses that leave Beth breathless as Rick kisses down her neck and stops at that spot beneath her jawline, making her already blurry vision diminish completely.

Her hands thread through Rick’s hair and gently tugging to bring his mouth back to her for a slow kiss. It wasn’t rushed or hot but passionate and sensual. It’s pure emotion being poured out into this one moment, a moment that has been put off for far too long.

The sound of footsteps heading in their direction is what pulls them apart just in time for Pat to tell them it was time for dessert. But the obvious stern father tone is enough for them to follow him back to the dining room hand and hand. Pretending to ignore the blatant glares they’re receiving from their friends, Beth and Rick spend the rest of the night happy that Mike was adamant about the mistletoes.

Especially when he gets stuck under it with Max.

The End.

#Hournite #Dr.Mid-Nite #Hourman #Beth Chapel #Rick Tyler #Stargirl #ff

32 notes · View notes

stedes-black-bonnet · 5 years

Text

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 3

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: continuing fic, long-term, on-going &c. Am I the only one kinda loving Jim? Any desire for a separate fic starring Jim Hutton??? Let me know???

Warnings: high quality hand holding? Drinking.

Abstract: You and John Deacon exchange hands; a certain blond drummer interrupts the whole some enchanted evening thing.

You leaned into John Deacon. His skin smelled of cardamom. Unexpectedly rich and earthy all at once. More of that tricky dichotomy. You saw the texture of his button-down, cotton and clean, and you could spot the lone speck of lint on his necktie. You could see his pores, quite small--lucky him, you thought. You saw the small spot on his neck where he nicked himself shaving that morning. You could see the natural auburn color of his hair; a hair color most women would sell their first born child to have. You kept leaning in, until you saw the saw the exact color of his eyes. You weren’t sure you could even call it exact since they were chameleon eyes. They changed, you figured, with the light. One second more blue, another more teal, always undercut with a steely grey. The color of storm clouds in autumn. His smile had become serious, curious.

The distance between you became alive; it was tangible, and you swore you could feel the air between you pressing in, pulling you towards each other against your wills. No, you knew that was a lie; you both wanted this, there was nothing about this remotely resembling against anyone’s will. You were dancing without moving. If distance were measured in dreams, you’d be perpetually anchored on the precipice of your heart’s desire. This was the verge of something new. You were ready to risk big to get big. You didn’t want to merely impress him with your boldness, you wanted to catch him off guard; you found you learned more about person doing something unexpected than what they figured you’d do. You were the element of surprise. Calling his bluff you continued to lean in.

Close to his lips, you angled you neck up slightly. A fraction of a breath from touching his flushed cheek with your lips. One turn, and his lips would be on yours. You could have kissed him. You wanted to kiss him. This was the essence of power, you thought. Being able to kiss someone you wanted to kiss, who very well probably wanted desperately to kiss you too, and then finding the self-control to prolong the moment, to stretch it out to infinity, to a place that existed beyond time. To fully live in a moment, and not give into it, that must be power.

His hand was still lightly cupping your chin, he could have tilted your head, too. Tilted it to the kissing point, the point of no return, but he didn’t do that either. You guessed this had nothing to do with desire or courage; this was deliberate for you both. A deliberate choice to wait. You could feel his breath on your cheek, and with each slow rhythm, a baseline unheard before, a part of your resolve surrendered. That was when his hand dropped from your chin to find one of your hands.

Deacon’s hand rested on yours, which rested on one of your thighs. This small gesture was quite sensational. It was as if all your nerve endings, all your mind’s prowess, your heart, and everything you were was all concentrating on the sensation of this layered and delicate touch. Breathing didn’t matter anymore, your beating heart ceased to be of concern; his hand on yours, covering your hand, innocently and deliberately touching your thigh was the only experience you cared about. Music, you thought, surely could never express this event. Words had never failed you, music had never escaped your interpretation, and yet you now found yourself up against an ineffable person performing an ineffable act all within the boundaries of a matter of seconds on inches of skin.

John was impressed. He sensed you were both playing the same winning hand. He found most stalemates were useless; someone always left disappointed, unfulfilled, unsatisfied, but this was something else entirely. The woman before him had been intimidated--starstruck, even--only seconds before, too sweetly shy to look into his eyes, but now! you were on the attack, poised to kiss, and yet frozen, waiting for him to make the first move. You were shrewd, a characteristic he liked to a fault. Holding your hand, all he could contemplate was kissing you someplace private, so the moment would be only yours, where no one but you and he would have the memory of it ever happening; a beginning belonging only to you. This romanticized notion was the only barrier keeping him from kissing you immediately in this bursting room.

He tried to distract himself with finding the perfect word for the color of your hair. Licorice maybe? He thought of his leather jacket, well-worn, dependable--maybe that was the color of your hair? Onyx, perhaps? He could be buried in your hair, and count himself a happy man, he thought. These thoughts were not helping his excitement or anticipation. You were as clear to him now as any song he had written, as any memory he had. What were memories before you?

This was foolish, he reminded himself. Did he even know your name? And that’s when you said:

“You want to kiss a woman you know

nothing about?” It wasn’t a whisper, but closer to an accusation, and it was meant only for him.

“A woman I know nothing about?” He sounded suspicious, it was the soft sound of rubbing crushed velvet; a secret promise was hidden in his question. He pulled away from your closeness, keeping his hand on yours. “A woman I know nothing about?” he questioned again, a clever smile appeared on his face, and you knew he had you.

Deacon gently turned your hand over in his, and he touched your fingertips. “Calluses,” he said simply. “This tells me you’re a musician.” He sheepishly showed you the calluses on his own hands. He then looked in your eyes, “and the fact you’re wearing glasses at a party tells me you either hate contact lenses, or aren’t vain enough to want to wear them; I think it’s the latter. You blushed when we spoke initially, which means to me I either said something you didn’t like, or something you liked a little too much. And the fact that I haven’t blushed merely due to our proximity shows me I want to, more than anything, impress you.”

This last statement shocked you, “You, a rock-star, want to impress me?”

The truth of this he couldn’t deny.

And that’s when John Deacon blushed.

You squeezed his hand in yours (how long had you been touching hands, you wondered?) and snorted at the absurdity of the situation. When he continued to gaze at you, you worried he thought you were laughing at him; he studied you so closely, as if he were trying to guess your mind.

He chuckled, without pretension, to himself, “You’re right. It sounds ridiculous out loud.”

“I can’t think of a confession you could make that would be foolish, John Deacon.” You slip your hand holding into a handshake. “My name is Y/N L/N, and I can’t think of anything less ridiculous than meeting you here tonight.”

That happened to be when a chandelier, ridiculously, fell from the ceiling six rooms away and one story up; but the circumstances of that, for now, were unknown to you, and blissfully unimportant.

Though Deacon had his suspicions he knew exactly what had occurred, he chose to ignore the hullabaloo in favor of you.

Smiling at the inherent music in your name, he repeated it. “Y/N, this cannot be the last time I see you, the last time we talk.”

“Is there a danger of that?” You asked, somewhat sadly.

“If we get separated, or pulled apart by...others.”

“I can give you my phone number?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have anything I can write on?”

His body language was immediately crestfallen. A songwriter with no paper, no pen. Maybe, he feared, he was just a hack.

Jim had been watching you both. His drink, held forgotten in his hand, was untouched. You were his favorite show, a story he couldn’t get enough of. He couldn’t wait to tell Freddie, perhaps the only other person in the world who wanted to see Deacy find happiness more than Jim did. Freddie would be so obnoxiously jealous knowing Jim had maybe set this all into motion.

That’s when Jim passed you a napkin and a pen.

You and John turned to look at Jim concurrently.

“Really, if you expected me to leave and give you privacy, Deacy, you aren’t as quick-witted as I tell everyone you are.” Jim was shaking his head in mock-disappointment.

Deacy laughed, and you found yourself craving his laugh the more you heard it. It was a crackling fire, a waspish wind. You took the napkin and wrote your number on it. For good measure, you added your name, and “the girl who leaned in” just to cover your bases. You handed it to Deacy.

He studied your handwriting, all loops and hard-pressed upon the paper as if you were afraid the ink would vanish before he could read it. He put the napkin in his jeans pocket, and lifted his glass to you.

“I have an amendment to your toast, if that’s acceptable?”

“Impress me, Deacy.”

He blushed at the use of his nickname. It had never sounded so alive as when you said it; it was an endearment, he thought, in your voice from your lips. Lips he had been so close to touching. A keen ache shot through his chest, then. A longing he didn’t entirely understand yet.

“To the girl who leaned in.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Jim reached his glass out to Deacy’s so fast you couldn’t tell who was more invested in the proceedings, you or him.

You lifted your glass, too, laughing with Jim and the rock-star.

Your glasses clinked like an unspoken contract beyond “let’s drink” or “to your health.” It was a contract of kismet.

Jim’s attention shifted, and suddenly he made an exasperated sound, and the look on his face switched from enjoyment to well-humored annoyance. You followed the direction of his gaze, beyond Deacy’s shoulder.

“Oh my god!” You whispered, lifting a hand to your mouth. And that’s when a blond God came into the room and your life forever.

His black blazer had lapels spangled in rainbow sequence, and his colored sunglasses couldn’t hide the blue of his eyes. He was almost too gorgeous to be legal. He was danger personified. He rushed over to Deacy, and as he crossed the room, everyone in an expanding wave, from a ground zero starting at the one and only Roger Taylor, people lost track of their conversations, their dance steps halted mid-move. Momentarily, all action paused. It was as if he spread exceptionally temporary acute amnesia with him wherever he went. He was bewildering. In view, as he passed, all was forgotten, and then seconds later all returned to business as usual. People took up their conversions, dances resumed. Though it was as if some forgotten knowledge was omnipresent now: Roger was in this room, Roger could be won in this room.

You had never seen someone so aggressive without being angry in your life. Was this passion, perhaps? You could see what Lydia saw in him. Deacy, still looking at you, perhaps read some of this on your face, for lines creased between his eyebrows that told you he was resigned to this, used to this, expected this even--he thought you wanted Roger now. Who wouldn’t? You, more than Deacy knew yet, appreciated how hard it was having a best friend who was, through no fault of their own, naturally stunning. You chose this moment to wink at Deacy.

He winked back, and the insecurity slipped away just as fast as it had appeared.

“Let me guess…” he sighed.

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll hold you in suspense for long.” Jim rolled his eyes, sipping his drink.

“DEACY, mate--” Roger benevolently put a hand on Deacy’s shoulder and stood between the two of you. “Listen, if you had been there,” he shifted his lingering eyes to you, “instead of chatting up this lovely bird,” then back to Deacy, “I SWEAR, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“I highly doubt that.” Deacy ran a hand through his hair, which springed about in sympathy.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I just couldn’t help myself.” Roger was on his way to drunk city, population most of the people at this party. “In fact,” He slurred, his gazing shifting back to you, “I might not be able to help myself to not help myself to you.”

Deacy stood, and put a protective arm around his friend, “Rog, firstly, if you’re referring to the chandelier we heard, the only thing I could have done to alter its trajectory would be considered manslaughter in several countries. Secondly, that’s exactly what I’ll do to you if you don’t keep your grease-gun away from Y/N, here.”

You couldn’t decide if it was a threat or a joke or a bit of both. You also couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. It was the grin of early holiday presents. The grin of winning something you didn’t even know you wanted but did. The grin of waking up on the first day of summer vacation. You looked at Jim and the look on his face told you all you needed to know: he was doing everything in his power to not laugh.

“Will you ever drop the car bit?” Roger was trying hard to sound angry, though you suspected he not only loved the teasing, but would dearly miss it if it ever actually vanished from their friendship.

“Will you ever drop the car bit?” Deacy questioned.

As seriously as he could manage, Roger asked his cohort, “Well, who is she, then? Your...friend?”

“Rog, this is Y/N L/N. Y/N, this is Roger Taylor. Famous drummer, dear friend, and infamous car-adulterer.”

You and Roger shook hands, “I heard your name somewhere tonight, I’m sure of it.”

“I think you know my friend, Lydia?” You tried to prod his memory. Deacy looked at you, swallowing up every scrap of personal information you dropped.

Roger’s whole body changed at the mention of Lydia’s name. It was the feeling of heat returning to the body after a walk in the dead of winter. It was the feeling of a song you never skip. He glowed. Which was saying something as he was the type of person, you thought, who was never strictly turned off for anyone.

“You mean to tell me you came here with the Goddess in Red?”

“The scary yet fascinating thing here is that he could still be talking about his car.” Jim pondered aloud.

“She’s playing hard to get, the little minx.” Roger looked genuinely upset.

You laughed, “Yes, that’s Lydia without question. Actually, I haven’t seen her since we arrived.”

“That’s by design, I’m afraid; we’re playing a game.” Roger’s smile was a pinwheel. Let’s play, it said. “Wanna join us, love?”

#john deacon x reader #john deacon #freddie mercury #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #jim hutton #queen #bohemian rhapsody #brian may #queen x reader

102 notes · View notes

kriegzsucht · 5 years

Text

Pet Zombies // Blastfromthepast

I’ve been going through old stuff for this while perusing the new outlines and remembered this one dribble I wrote for things that isn’t canon anymore, but I’m still fond of it. Sort of

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

It came to pass one morning, right at breakfast, that Orion asked an unusual request.

The unit had risen with the sun, all together as per the usual. Evelyn had been more on top of things than she normally was at that hour, being on her feet before the rest and brewing something akin to coffee.

To be painfully honest, it wasn't coffee. Whatever it was, it woke the dead and put hair on the chest of the poor soul who ingested it. It was certainly not good for the health, but Fetil loved the stuff. Because Evelyn was the only one among the six who could actually cook (bad things happened when anyone else tried. Fetil had actually lit water on fire once, much to everyone's surprise and panic), the Russian was stuck making anything at least somewhat edible.

Including, but not limited to, Herr Kommandant's no doubt toxic coffee substitute.

"I'm surprised no one glows in the dark." Evelyn muttered, crinkling her nose at the smell of the tar-colored goop that spilled out into the carafe below the brewer. It had a tang to its scent that stuck to the back of the throat, something reminiscent of black licorice mixed with ear wax. In short, it was very unappetizing to smell. She didn't even want to imagine how it tasted.

While it was brewing, she had gone about cooking up what she could of the supplies they had left. The result was butane-fried toast and eggs. Though not the best flavor on the planet, Evelyn had discovered it was a bigger hit and produced less vomit than the standard food they had managed to procure thus far. After setting the rickety table for the presumed starving beasts she shared her life with, she turned around to fetch anything even remotely consumable in liquid form to go with the meal.

There was no surprise to find Fetil already in the kitchen, appearing as though someone had discarded a half-dressed marionette on the kitchen counter next to where the radioactive wa--coffee was brewing slowly. She was anything but active and nigh unapproachable in the morning before taking in at least one cup of her tar. Others might have been startled by the ciu sidhe's ability to appear in the room so suddenly and quietly at such an early hour. Evelyn, on the other hand, was different. Other than noticing the entrance of her commander, the Russian avoided and ignored her. It wasn't long after that the rest of the unit trudged in and took their places at the table.

At evening meal, if they were in the little structure they called home for it, there was much more order about the table with silently designated seats being taken properly. Breakfast was another matter entirely. No one seemed to care at all where they were planted, so long as there was food involved. Even killing machines were still some form of human at some point of the day. Even the sidhe, human though they weren't, were mortal in some fashion.

Oberon was trying to keep awake. The hulking geomancer kept trying to faceplant his plate, yet managed to catch himself just before impact. Abigail watched him intently as though waiting for him to finally make contact. Morning suspense was always the best way to wake up and Oberon inevitably would land in his plate and cause a roll of waking laughter across the table. Today, some fateful force decided the daily routine just would not do.

Cabren, the aviator and all around driver, took a bite of one of the pieces of toast on his plate and made a half-strangled noise of what was translated as disgust. "Butane again? This stuff can't be good for the brain cells."

Evelyn, who had taken her seat with them by this point, stared back at him with with an apathetic silver glare. "If you don't like it...," she started, giving a pause to catch his attention. Once he looked at her, she continued. "...You can throw it to the wastes for the zombies to eat."

"Maybe we'll cure the plagues." Abigail stated rather flatly. "And save what few brains Cabren has left. All with toast..."

"Maybe we'll eat our breakfast, kill a few brain cells, and go out to find out what is needed of us today." Evelyn was deadpan as she said it. There was an uneasy silence that hung over the table, broken only by the ding! of the coffee brewer and the pouring of the end result into a waiting cup.

"I want a pet zombie."

There was more silence, though all eyes at the table (that were open, at any rate) turned toward Orion. Without his facepaints and with his white hair left unbound, the necromancer could easily pass as normal. The shock of the statement didn't last long, Cabren breaking it with an almost incredulous voice.

"You ... why in the hell do you need a zombie?"

Orion looked utterly hurt that no one understood why he had stated such. "Minerva died about four hundred years ago! From what I understand, ball pythons don't exist anymore."

Cabren continued the exchange, offering his hands in a 'go on' gesture. "And...?"

"Do you have any idea what a necromancer is without a spirit guide?" The question came out almost hysterical. It took almost everyone by surprise. Almost. Oberon made a noise, but it was a melodic hum mixed with unintelligible mumbling that was more out of sleeping at the table again than it was anything conscious.

"You know they're not actually zombies, right?" Evelyn had taken the floor again, causing the discussion to once more turn to her. "Neither of your abilities can help you with these ... things. These mutants."

Orion scoffed at this, obviously much more awake. "So I kill one, bring it back to life, have my own zombie! A real zombie, befitting a real necromancer."

"That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard you say." The Russian held the bridge of her nose between her fingers in exasperation. "You are a real necromancer, do not start with me on that. Can't you just ... wait until someone not horribly mutated dies a natural death and do it that way?"

"Nein."

The interruption caused everyone to jump, the voice rather unexpected. For a moment, there was a shocked silence save for Cabren's plaintive cry of, "I dropped my toast!" The outburst even woke the snoozing geomancer with a start, who (as per routine) slammed facefirst into his eggs. It was not often the ciu sidhe graced morning conversations, if at all.

All eyes (and one egg in Oberon's case) turned to their commander, who was half-leaning on the countertop next to the coffee brewer. If one didn't know better, she would have looked perfectly normal. To the rest of her unit, those who knew her best, her eyes were half-glazed and she couldn't stand up straight. Fetil was about awake as Oberon was. Given the geomancer's sudden call to consciousness, chances are he was now more awake than she.

The cup in the sidhe's left hand was brought up, the liquid goo within the cracked porcelain sipped at. There seemed to be a rather sudden change in the way Fetil held herself after that. Her disheveled waves and coils of inky hair visibly puffed and frizzed some, a small amount of clarity returning to her eyes. With a subtle twitch that only those trained to see could catch (her companions were among that number), her posture straightened up some. She soon lowered her eyes to the necromancer across both room and table from her.

"No zombies."

Orion looked stunned for a second before he registered what was said to him. "Why?" he whined. Not having a zombie (or any sort of spirit guide, for that matter) obviously upset him.

"Zombies are unpredictable, tamed or not. What if it bites someone in this room?" Her voice had gained that piercing tone it usually had, although there was still a slight crackling of sleep and disuse on it. "What if it bites me? What then?"

Orion thought a moment. "We can all do the 'Thriller' dance, at least?" His answer was tentative, more a question than a statement.

It caused Evelyn to smack her face into her hand and shake her head as though in disbelief of the exchange. "I take it back. That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard you say..." she muttered in the Haitian's direction. He gave her a scoff, stopping what he was doing when his commander spoke again.

"I said no zombies. Final."

Orion puffed himself up in indignation. "Your boyfriend has a pet zombie!" he spat, standing up and smacking the table with the flat of his hands.

The motion caused flatware to jump on the warped surface, Abigail smacking her twin's forearm for the act. Cabren, on the other hand, picked up his plate to avoid losing any more of his breakfast, glaring reproachfully up at Orion for his disturbance.

The lack of response from Fetil was oppressive. While the rest of the table was quick about making sure no one else had lost breakfast somewhere, she stood straight and stared at Orion.

"Aleksei is not my boyfriend." The expulsion was almost spit out, as though the phrase tasted disgusting on her tongue. There was enough venom locked in every syllable that Evelyn seemed to wilt in her seat, slinking practically under the table to avoid the malice. "They are not pets. There is more than one. And no, you will not bring a zombie into this house! That! Is! Final!"

"What if one followed me home?" Orion was pushing his luck at this point, his tone back to whining. Not unlike a child wanting a new toy.

This was accentuated with Evelyn's muffled, "If you keep talking, I will eat your face."

"I will blow its ffffucking head off." was hissed out. By now, Fetil was audibly grinding her teeth together in an attempt to not leap over the table and strangle the Haitian.

"What do you have against zom--"

Orion had been stopped dead by Evelyn shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. She might not have eaten his face as she had promised, but it did get his mind on something else. The necromancer bit down on the toast, chewing with an energetic vigor.

"I don't know why you hate this stuff so much, Cabe. It tastes great."

As soon as the subject changed, the blood-curdling sensation of Fetil's malevolence seemed to ebb away. For a short moment, looks of relief were shared between Evelyn, Abigail, and Cabren. Oberon was too busy wiping what remained of one egg off his face with a piece of his toast to really pay any mind elsewhere. Then again, it seemed nothing really phased the geomancer.

The rest of the breakfast passed without much incident, Oberon finally cleaning himself up from the mess of egg across his face. Cabren had decided that there was a ten-minute rule on his dropped toast, especially since it didn't have any topping on it. It wouldn't have been so bad except he kept bragging about it, inciting Evelyn to call him out on making up rules for dropped food (the only time she actually made a blatant joke that entire morning) and Abigail threatening to put nitroglycerin in his second piece if he didn't shut up. Orion cracked a small joke about nitroglycerin's inability to make the aviator shut his mouth for more than two seconds then proceeded to shove the toast in Cabren's hand into his mouth.

Evelyn had finished first, as usual, citing Orion on plagiarism for her own tactic against him. Of course, this launched the table into a discussion on the definition of plagiarism.

"Plagiarism probably doesn't exist in this time-frame anymore. That or The Order claims the term as theirs too." Abigail snorted, causing everyone a part of the debate to accept that as a final word.

Oberon helped to clear the table once meals had been finished, offering Evelyn assistance in the kitchen in his typical stoic format. Evelyn's attention temporarily redirected off to where Fetil was still standing next to the brewer. It didn't take long to guess the ciu sidhe had centered her dog's eyes to bore into Orion, though she had not said a word since shooting down the Haitian's request.

Fetil was on her second cup of sludge when the dining room emptied out, finally diverting her gaze from the current target of her hatred to make sure she was pouring the goopy liquid into the cup and not down her front. Normally, she would be much more accurate but she was certainly not a morning person. Before the cup could reach her lips, Orion poked his head into the room again. There was a devious twinkle in his green gaze.

"...I'm getting a zombie anyway."

There was a deep-seated growl from Herr Kommandant, her hair visibly frizzing and the coils drawing tighter. Lips pulled back to show the peculiar dog's teeth in threat and apparent distaste, the mug of hot tar-coffee sent flying in her antagonist's direction. Orion made sure he was scarce, leaving behind a cackle of laughter, a shattered mug, and a large unnaturally dark stain where his head would have been. It was growing of its own volition.

#Kriegzsucht #Old shit #i dunno i might rewrite it to fit the new iteration

11 notes · View notes

anthonybrxdgerton · 5 years

Text

The Book of Life reread

Today I finished re-reading The Book of Life by Deborah Harkness. I will be doing my reactions about episodes as well (as soon as I re-watch them) and comparing the show to the first book.

My reactions, notes and everything (a.k.a. I shamelessly love Baldwin) under the cut. There are some trivia I forgot about, things i hope to see in season 3 of A Discovery of Witches, some stuff referencing the previous books (the previous only because I haven't read Time’s Convert yet) and what not.

BEWARE OF SPOILERS FOR THE BOOKS. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOKS, DON’T READ THIS POST. Enjoy!

[ a discovery of witches | shadow of night | the book of life | time’s convert ]

the book takes place in 2010 & 2011 in the span of 12 months

It’s not just Diana’s hair that has changed. Philippe’s face had a look of wonder. Diana is with child—Matthew’s child. Emily examined her niece more carefully, using the enhanced grasp of truth that death afforded. Philippe was right—in part. You mean “with children. ” Diana is having twins. Twins, Philippe said in an awed voice. - MY FEELS. I really hope we will see ghost Philippe and Em (if they decide to kill her after all) even though they didn’t show us Bishops ghosts in season 1;

Phoebe reached up and straightened his collar, her olive eyes full of concern. Marcus had taken to wearing more formal clothes than concert T-shirts around the same time he’d started to sign his letters Marcus de Clermont instead of Marcus Whitmore - and he still wears Converse! That being said, I need to see his style change in season 3 as well;

“Third, do not, under any circumstances, get within arm’s reach of my father. Agreed?” Phoebe nodded - Oh, how the tables have turned. First, Matthew didn't trust Marcus with Diana (to the point when he said he would kill him without hesitation if he thought Marcus was being a threat to Diana). Now it's Marcus who doesn't trust Matthew with his mate;

Baldwin’s favorite wine is claret and he has a cellar full of the Bordeaux. Hamish, as seen, loves the wine too;

distinctive licorice-root scent of Marcus Whitmore, and he tamped down the flicker of anger that accompanied his realization that Marcus was using Philippe’s old office - What did you expect, Matthew? Philippe was Marcus's grandfather, he has every right to use his old office. Besides you were gone for months, you have no right to be angry at Marcus. he’s a Grand Master now, he needs his space too;

Marcus, the family’s democratic idealist, had fallen for a blueblood - i just like this quote okay? it tells us a lot about them;

Without Fernando’s care, Hugh would have shown up to fight with nothing but a volume of poetry, a dull sword, and one gauntlet. - I need this comedy spinoff now;

Matthew said through gritted teeth. “I won’t take her freedom—no matter what it costs me. - nice parallel to A Discovery of Witches quote - “The king just sits there, moving one square at a time. The queen can move so freely. I suppose I’d rather lose the game than forfeit her freedom.”;

Baldwin turned to level his strange golden-brown eyes at Matthew - his eyes are not strange, they are beautiful!;

Scientist. Vampire. Warrior. Spy. Prince. Assassin. - about Matthew;

“I thought Hamish was keeping my finances.” He’d left piles of documents for me, all of them awaiting my signature. “Mr. Osborne took charge of your marriage settlement from milord. These are the funds you received from Sieur Philippe.” Alain’s attention lingered for a moment on my forehead, where Philippe had placed his blood to claim me as his daughter. - not only did Philippe made Diana his blood-sworn daughter, but he also gave her so much money!! Alain invested them so Diana would have more of them MY FEELS;

“Sieur Philippe worked on this letter for over an hour. He made me read it back to him when he finished, to be sure that it captured what he wanted to say.” “When?” Matthew asked hoarsely.“The day he died.” Alain’s expression was haunted. - BENJAMIN AND NAZIS NOT ONLY BLINDED PHILIPPE AND BROKE HIM TOO BUT PHILIPPE STILL WROTE A LETTER TO DIANA, MY HEART;

The last time I was held against my will, you were my jailer, Baldwin,” Ysabeau said in a syrupy voice. “Will you do the honors again?” “Not this time,” Baldwin said - COME ON, I NEED TO KNOW MORE;

After that drama Baldwin will soon grow bored and return to New York. - Here’s what i need to know: where the heck does Baldwin live? He came from Venice, he has houses in London too and at the end of the book it’s said he spent much time in Berlin, DO YOU LIVE IN ONE PLACE AT ALL OR ARE YOU JUST TRAVELLING EVERY FEW DAYS BECAUSE OF WORK???;

“Phoebe will not become a vampire. I forbid it.” Matthew’s voice was quiet, but it seemed to echo in the crowded room. “You don’t get a vote. This is our decision—Phoebe’s and mine,” Marcus said. Then he threw down the gauntlet. “And of course Baldwin’s. He is head of the family.” Baldwin tented his fingers in front of his face as though considering the question, while Matthew looked at his son in disbelief. Marcus returned his father’s stare with a challenging one of his own - HAHAHA SUCK IT, MATTHEW IT’S NOT YOUR DECISION, STOP CONTROLLING EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE THANKS;

Baldwin had dragged the de Clermont men and Fernando out into the night and explained in brutal and detailed terms just what would befall each and every one of them if he detected a whisper of protest or a glimmer of insurrection. Afterward, even Gallowglass had looked shaken. - something I also need to see is, if only just for my own amusement;

What you felt for Eleanor is nothing compared to what you feel for Diana. Yet all it took was a casual touch from Baldwin, a mere suggestion that Eleanor might agree with him rather than you, and you were ready to tear them both apart.” - Matthew, COME ON. is that the reason you killed her? ASNBDFGH WHY;

“We came home one night to find our house robbed and Gallowglass sleeping on the table like a Viking warrior ready to be sent out to sea.” Fernando shook his head. - HEY, GALLOWGLASS, WHAT WERE YOU DOING TO YOUR FATHER;

Now I understood why Baldwin had supplied us with new cell phones when we left Sept-Tours, changed all our phone plans, and canceled Sarah’s Internet service. - I just like those subtle moments when you can see that Baldwin cares - even though he acts like an arsehole in the majority of this book;

Matthew was horrified that I owned only a laptop. - Dude, you knew about it in the first book, your right to complain is outdated now (yeah, I realize Deb made a mistake here but it’s funny);

I ship Miriam & Chris;

“Do you wrestle?” “Weeell, I have been known to do so for sport.” Gallowglass looked down shyly, his cheeks dimpled. “Not Greco-Roman by any chance?” Chris asked. “My partner injured his knee and will be in rehab for months. I’m looking for a temporary replacement.” “It must be Greek. I’m not sure about the Roman part.” “Where did you learn?” Chris asked. “My grandfather taught me.” Gallowglass scrunched up his face as his concentration deepened. - OF COURSE, PHILIPPE ONLY TAUGHT YOU THE GREEK STYLE;

I just love that the chain Diana made to anchor her to Matthew was not ignored - in fact, she made more chains to anchor and connect her to her children, Rebecca and Philip. Pretty sure that she made one more chain for Jack as well;

Diana’s ringtone for Baldwin is Sympathy For Devil;

I am very, very happy that Jack is back. I love him so much, POOR BABY WAITED FOR MISTRESS ROYDON FOR 12 YEARS IN AZKABAN;

Philippe taught Romans about paterfamilias because he thought Roman society could benefit from a healthy dose of vampire family discipline, and a reminder of the father’s importance;

One of the ways Jack deals with Benjamin is by drawing;

They were an unlikely band, Matthew thought: three creatures related by blood, a fourth bound by loyalty, and a fifth who had joined them for no apparent reason other than that he was a good man - CHRIS, I LOVE THEE;

Marcus is not the only de Clermont who owns nightclubs - Baldwin does too;

Miriam taught Jason how to be a vampire, just like Philippe taught Matthew - is this a rule that the sire’s mate is teaching the children everything or is this just a coincidence?;

Apparently, vampires own all the major cab companies. ;

Gerbert’s only complaint about his new virtual existence was that he had been unable to secure “Pontifex Maximus” as a user name. Ysabeau told him that it was probably for the best since it might constitute a violation of the covenant in the eyes of some creatures. - I know this won’t be in season 3 but this peak comedy, I love it and I wanna see it

“Timothy?” “The same.” Timothy turned his eyes to me and cocked his fingers and thumbs so they looked like six-shooters. He was, I noticed, still wearing mismatched cowboy boots, but this time one was green and the other blue—to match his eyes, one presumed. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Told you, babe: You’re the one.” - I like him, okay?

I sure as hell hope there’s enough bourbon in this house to wash down all the bullshit,” Chris said. “‘Milord’ my ass. And I’m not bowing to anybody.” // “But if you call me ‘milord’ or bow to me one more time, I’ll put you in the bayou. And Chris will help me.” - I NEED CHRIS AND MARCUS’ FRIENDSHIP IN SEASON 3, DO NOT LET ME DOWN, SHOW

For all his talk, Baldwin STILL recognized Diana as a de Clermont and HE CARES ABOUT HIS FAMILY, I love him so much. Everyone thought it was supposed to be Verin, but nope, Baldwin did it.

And thus the Bright Born became the Children of the Night. Who will end their wandering? the unseen hand wrote. Who will carry the blood of the lion and the wolf? Seek the bearer of the tenth knot, for the last shall once more be the first - Philip and Rebecca are Bright Borns

I love the fact that Baldwin not only recognized Diana as a de Clermont, he also made her a Congregation member - and when Diana tried to give him back the key later, he was like “Nope, it’s done, you’re gonna do it beautifully and I WANT SOME PEACE FROM THOSE MORONS”

“Nine,” Baldwin replied. One of his hands was completely clean and bore a sword, the other was caked with substances I preferred not to identify. The contrast made my stomach heave. - HOW ARE YOU EVEN FIGHTING THIS IS NOT A ROMAN STYLE

“Come, Jack. On the way to Sept-Tours, I will tell you a story about the time Baldwin attempted to banish me from Jerusalem. Many men died.” WAIT, WHAT? YSABEAU I NEED TO KNOW IT TOO WHAT THE HECK

“Answer your e-mail while you’re at it. I send you messages. You don’t answer. It’s aggravating.” and “Answer your fucking e-mail!” are my favorite things Baldwin says looool i NEED this in season 3 too (we need those comedy moments here or with Gerbert loving social media, otherwise the season will be too dark)

PHILIPPE AND DIANA’S SCENE OH MY HEART HE STILL LOVES HIS DAUGHTER I CAN’T

Matthew’s birthday is in November, and his re-birth in June

Overall I like this book even though it really is a mess. There same some bits and pieces that, even though are interesting, do not move the plot forward at all and there’s no need for them here. Diana and Matthew being domestic in Madison and Bishop’s house playing Diana Fleetwood Mac is a funny story, one that would be better to be written separately (maybe Deb could write some short stories about Diana and Matthew and the gang), not necessarily in The Book of Life.

I LOVE Chris & Matthew teaching (with Miriam as their boss) and I would read the hell out of that. Give the whole book about Chris and his students, Deb, I need it.

The plot was very stretched Like Deb didn't really have any idea what to write. Shadow of Night was better, there was some tension in the air, but there was nothing like that in The Book of Life. Also, what IS The Book of Life? it was supposed to answer all those questions set in A Discovery of Witches and honesty, it didn't answer any of them. And the Benjamin plot, not only problematic, is not well done. Even when I first read the book, I didn’t feel the tension even when Matthew was kidnapped. Benjamin just doesn’t work as a villain for me and I think they will give this plot (or something completely different) to Gerbert and Knox. I hope Satu’s storyline will end differently, just like Domenico’s

All Souls Trilogy is very interesting and I’m very happy I (re)read it, even though there are some minor problems there.

#all souls #the book of life #asia rambles #baldwin montclair

45 notes · View notes

gothambatsnews · 5 years

Text

[Podcast Ep 4: Q/A 2.0]

[“Spoiler Alert Podcast” theme song plays. There’s a yawn on Stephanie’s side.]

[Stephanie:] “Good-morning students and lovely listeners. It is currently…”

[Dick:] “Around 10 am.”

[Stephanie:] “Yes. Around that. As you can tell, we sound mighty tired.”

[Dick:] “That’s because we did not sleep. At all.”

[Stephanie:] “Eehh yep. We’re still in Arkham Asylum, waiting for breakfast to heat up and well, why not do a podcast for ten minutes while we wait?”

[Dick:] “An excellent idea, absolutely.”

[Stephanie:] “So, erm, after the end of the last one, we immediately went to the solarium and-”

[Dick:] “Wait no, Steph don’t continue, there’s a question for that.”

[Stephanie:] “Oh, right right. So anyways, like Dick said earlier, we didn’t sleep at all. Weeee stayed up all night doing whatever.”

[Jason:] [In the background] “We partied like there’s no tomorrow.”

[Damian:] [Next to Dick] “That’s what you always do, Todd.”

[Jason:] “I came here for a good time, not a long time, Damian.”

[Stephanie:] “Okay. Shut up. Where was I? Right, we uhh. We stayed up, played some games too. At some point there was… booze involved?”

[Dick:] “I mean with Jason here, there’s always gonna be booze involved.”

[Jason’s victory whoop can be heard.]

[Stephanie:] “Okay but playing hide-and-clap with booze was pretty fricken hilarious.”

[Dick:] “We lost Tim three times. Three.”

[Damian:] “At least Drake can find his way back on its own, unlike Todd and you.”

[Dick:] “Don’t expose me on air, Damian!”

[Stephanie:] [Trying to do an imitation of Damian] “Too late, Grayson.”

[Tim:] [Closeby] “That was bad.”

[Stephanie:] “I know. But let’s continue. We haaave some of this week’s questions right here.” [a second of silence] “I’m wavin’ my phone, it’s in here. Dick’s got his phone too, he’s waving it-”

[Dick:] “I am.”

[Stephanie:] “He has it there. We’re ready to rock and roll. Will you do the honors, Dick?”

[Dick:] “Question one comes from an anonymous listener. ‘Is the Wayne Manor haunted?’”

[Literally everyone at the same time, but Stephanie and Dick’s voices are more prominent:] “Yes.”

[Dick:] “‘And if so, do you have any experiences you wanna tell us?’”

[Stephanie:] “What a fun question. But yes, the manor is haunted and even I don’t live there, but I have a couple experiences.”

[Dick:] “Care to tell us one?”

[Stephanie:] “I was having a sleepover with Cassandra, who’s actually here with us today. She’s just quiet. Say ‘hey’ Cass.”

[Cassandra, quietly in the back:] “Hi.”

[Stephanie:] “Heh. So yeah, sleepover. And it was like three am in the morning and I wanted to get some hot cocoa for the two of us when I was walking down the hallway and saw a figure walk out of an open room. And it was dark, so I thought it was one of you guys, but when I kept walking closer, the figure turned out to be a little girl wearing a white dress.”

[Dick:] “I don’t recall ever seeing a girl in a white dress? Much less see any of that in paintings around the manor?”

[Stephanie:] “I know, that’s what I was thinking!”

[Dick:] “So then what did you do?”

[Stephanie:] ”I kept walking.”

[Dick:] “You kept walking?”

[Stephanie:] “I mean, I wanted my hot cocoa, Dick. I kept walking and I didn’t turn around and I thought to myself ‘if this girl’s gonna follow and kill me, can she at least have the decency to make sure I don’t die in a dumb pose?’”

[Dick:] “Oh my god, Steph!”

[Stephanie:] “I don’t want the cops to take photos with my face like-” [A beat of silence. Dick snorts.] “-that, you know?”

[Dick:] “Fair enough, I suppose.” [He chuckles] “But I still don’t understand the little girl?”

[Unintelligible sound coming from Damian.]

[Stephanie:] “What?”

[Damian:] [Closer and easier to understand.] “I said, what if the little girl was just Drake coming out for another mug of his coffee.”

[Laughter coming from Jason.]

[Tim:] [To the side] “Funny, real funny.”

[Stephanie:] “What about the dress then? There was a white dress.”

[Damian:] ”Maybe he had his bathrobe. It’s a white one. Drake wears weird clothing when staying home anyway.”

[Stephanie laughs.]

[Dick:] “Did the girl say anything?”

[Stephanie:] “She was looking for ‘Mommy.’”

[Everyone else:] “That’s Tim.”

[More laughter from Stephanie. It sounds like she’s turned away from the mic.]

[Tim:] “You won’t be laughing when I’ve poisoned your coffee.”

[Jason:] “Please do.”

[Dick:] “Anyone else? Experiences?”

[Jason:] “I know there’s a cool ghost chillin in the library. I call him Carl. He says hi when I read there for more than two hours.”

[Damian:] “That’s Father’s great-uncle, Graham.”

[Jason:] “Whatever, he looks like a Carl to me.”

[Cassandra:] [Quietly next to Stephanie:] “Ghost cat.”

[Stephanie:] “Oh right.”

[Dick:] “There’s a ghost cat? How come I never saw that one?”

[Damian:] “You’re obviously always way too busy texting the Gordon girl.”

[Cassandra:] “Can feel her sometimes brush on your leg.”

[Stephanie:] “Ooh. Have you felt her?”

[Cassandra:] “Yes. I call her Minnie.”

[Damian:] “That’s great-grandmother’s. She’s actually a ‘he’ and his name’s Licorice.”

[Jason:] “What’s up with this family and food names, I swear.”

[Damian:] “I name all my pets with actual names. Blame Grayson. He’s the one who called the turtle ‘Nugget’.”

[Dick:] “Hey, no one stopped me!”

[Stephanie:] “Next question! We’re getting too off-topic, remind me never to have you all together in one episode again. We all know how this is gonna go down.”

[Damian and Jason:] “Death.”

[Dick:] “We already talked about it, and the answer is no. Now, the second question.”

[Stephanie:] “Question deux from a ‘@simphyun’. Oh my god, ya’ll are really putting your handles on the name portion?”

[Dick:] “Smart, smart.”

[Stephanie:] “‘What’s a hotspot for a spooky date? Not really haunted or anything, and not the cemetery?’”

[Jason:] “Oh, I know.”

[Dick:] “You don’t date.”

[Jason:] “Doesn’t mean I don’t know where the best spots are. So, there’s this hill next to the cemetery. It’s not in the cemetery, it’s a bit more further, but it’s like a popular make-out point spot. Complete with a spooky tree too.”

[Dick:] “That’s the best spot?”

[Jason:] “You got a better one?”

[Dick:] “The roofs?”

[Jason:] “That’s not spooky. The only one who’d get scared here is you.”

[Stephanie:] “Ok, there’s another question anyway. ‘Did you guys find anything, ghosts, spectres, while in Arkham?’ by @MucousMembrane.”

[Dick:] “Ah, as a matter of fact, we did.”

[Cassandra:] [In the background] “Tim?”

[Tim:] [Rushing closer to the mic.] “I got evidence! Audio evidence!”

[Stephanie:] “Oh boy.” [A bit of shuffling on her side.]

[Tim:] “Here! I had a spirit box session in the solarium.”

[Jason:] “He watches one season of Buzzfeed Unsolved and suddenly he’s a ghostbuster.”

[Tim:] “Sh!”

[He plays the recording. There’s just some static sound before Tim’s voice can be heard:] “Is there anyone here with us?”

[Two seconds of silence before an unintelligible sound coming from the box is heard.]

[Tim:] “See? Evidence! It said ‘the’.”

[Jason:] [Talking nearby] “It just sounds like a fart, Tim.”

[Tim:] “You’re a fart.”

[Dick:] “Jay, don’t stab him.”

[Stephanie:] “Tim. Tim, we heard literally nothing but static.”

[Tim:] “That’s not static! It’s very clear, why can’t you guys pay more attention?”

[Dick:] “We are and well… Tim that’s not very convincing.”

[Stephanie:] “Anywaaayy, for those who were with us last episode, we were excited to go into the solarium because of a secret room that may or may not exist. Aaaand it did!” [She sounds excited] “Aaaaand we found a ritual chamber! For a satanic cult! WE DID IT!” [Sudden noise, like someone got up]

[Dick:] “And she’s dancing.” [He snorts] “We had a picnic on the altar.”

[Stephanie:] “And we used the ouija board Jason got us, of course.”

[Dick:] “Nothing happened.”

[Stephanie:] “Sadly.” [Sound of someone sitting back down.] “But it was still fun!”

[Dick:] “I think breakfast is about to be done heating up soon. We have one more question. From an anonymous, ‘what’s the best/worst pick up line you’ve heard? Halloween version, if there are any.’”

[Cassandra:] [Quietly, she sounds far] “I got one.”

[Stephanie:] “You do? C’mere.” [A second or two of silence.]

[Cassandra:] “Are you a ghost, Steph?”

[Stephanie:] “Me?”

[Cassandra:] “Because you’re boo-tiful.”

[Stephanie:] “Cass!”

[Dick:] “Oh my god that was the cutest thing ever.”

[Jason:] [Far from the mic] “Cassandra, you’re as sweet as candy, I can just eat you up.”

[Stephanie:] “Hey! Find someone else to practice your pick up lines!”

[Damian:] [To the side] “Grayson, are you writing these down?”

[Dick:] “What? No? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

[Tim:] [Next to Dick] “I like you a skele-ton.”

[Stephanie:] “You’re a total zom-bae.”

[Jason:] [Closer to the mic] “Won’t you be-” [To the tune of Alicia Keys and Usher’s “My Boo”] “-my boo?”

[Stephanie:] “That was terrible.”

[Jason:] “You’re terrible.”

[Damian:] “Grayson, you ARE writing these down!”

[Dick:] “No I’m not!”

[Tim:] “Oh my god he’s gonna tell those to Babs.”

[Stephanie:] “That’s not even a question.”

[Cassandra:] “If you were a monster, you’d be Franken-fine.”

[Jason:] “Just slay me already, Cass.”

[Stephanie:] “You are! He wrote it down!”

[Dick:] “Let me live!”

[Tim:] “You know she’s probably listening to the podcast.”

[Dick:] “I…” [sigh]

[A phone chimes.]

[Stephanie:] “It’s Babs on the chat. She says you’re a dork.”

[Jason:] “You’re a dork!”

[Dick:] “Thaaaaat’s all we have for you this morning, folks. Please? Can we spare what’s left of my dignity?”

[Stephanie:] [Snorts] “You never had any to begin with.”

[Dick:] “Funny. Tune in on Thursday where we’ll cover the events that will unfold during the Wayne Halloween party the night before!”

[Stephanie:] “And keep the questions rolling!”

[Dick:] “This podcast, along with last night’s podcast, was brought to you by Gotham High’s very own Paranormal Club.”

[Stephanie:] “Again, a very very big thank you to the Paranormal Club. Thank you for letting us use your equipment and helping us with the research. As always, love and-”

[Jason:] [Screaming, he sounds far away] “Sparkles!”

[End of Episode 4.]

#spoiler alert podcast #sap #season 1 #stephanie brown #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #batfam #batkids #Q-A

60 notes · View notes

clownsgobeepbeep · 6 years

Text

Pretty Little Flower Pt. 2

Don't mind me, i just (finally) wrote the second part for Aster and Lydia meeting~

It had been days since Vincent had seen the unnamed and pretty girl, no, wait...she was not pretty, she was very beautiful. She was really something, such a human never really did exist, such a human with looks that could captivate all who laid eyes on her...well, there was his mom who was a true beauty of course! But this human...no matter what important responsibility was placed on him, or no matter how much information was put into his mind...he could not take the girl out of his head.

Vincent sighed to himself, both out of misery but also out of...who knows. He didn't understand any of this, how did he grow so attached to a mere human in just seconds? He had absolutely no idea, just how he didn't know why his siblings and father all gave him teasing smirks or kept secrets from him. Vincent hated it when they treated him like a child for being the youngest, and this was a situation in which it felt like it.

He let out another sigh, staring up ahead until he decided to close his eyes. In less than a second, the girl popped into mind. He saw her image, red hair flowing behind her like a waterfall...how nice it would have looked if it had flowers adorned in it.

A smile crept onto his face without his knowledge, just as he continued imagining the girl...what could her name have been? Flower? Lily? Rose? Daisy? All these possible flower names, so many to choose from...what in the world, perhaps her name was Star? Or Coral? Or Candy? No…

No matter how frustrated he felt, he continued smiling as he shrugged off the name, then admiring the lovely memory of his fair maiden. Such small hands compared to his, and a petite waste, and chocolate orbs as eyes, lips small and black, what a perfect color! And her legs so nice and slim, perfect for swimming or just talking a peaceful stroll, and-

"Heyo Vince, what's been eating at ya?"

Vincent immediately snapped out of his daydream, his eyes jolting open before he turned to the side and saw his brother, Lucky, standing nearby as he stared at Vincent with an ear to ear grin.

"Huh? Oh, nothing...I'm just a bit bored is all."Vincent replied as casually as possible, his elbow now propped on the counter he sat behind while he held his head up with his hand, a 'bored' expression on his features before he slicked back his hair that went back into place.

"Bored? Yeah, me too."his brother said before sighing, then sitting down next to him as they both stared at the window a few feet away from them. "You thinking 'bout anything though?"

"Not at the moment."

"Nothing at all? Not even mom and dad?"

"Well I mean, mom's in Japan trying to get the business over there and well dad...dad's just in the library like always."

"Dad's a lazy bum."

"Heeey. Don't say that, you're lazier than he is."

"I am not!" Lucky yelled out, though he had a smile plastered on his face before he playfully punched Vincent who pretended to be hurt. "You're the lazy one!"

"No! You are! You're so lazy, I bet you're gonna ditch the shop to go to the pier."Vincent replied with a grin, both men laughing before Vincent stopped. He turned his attention back to the front, his green eyes squinting at the door as his nose twitched for a moment. His head then turned to the right, then turning to the left as he sniffed the air while his brother stared at him a bit weirdly.

"What's up now?"

"I smell something...food."

"I don't smell nothin'. "

"That's because...what I smell..."Vincent stopped himself, then shutting his eyes as he took a strong sniff as a smile crept onto his features. "Are my spices."

Lucky blinked for a moment, then shrugging as he stuck out his tongue.

"Well if you're gonna go eat somethin', do me a big favor and buy me candy on the way, will ya?" he said, now reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet and then a few dollars that he handed to his brother. "You can get yourself some peanut butter fudge if ya want, just make sure to get me my mint chocolate chip fudge!"

Vincent took the money as he got off the chair he had been sitting on, then saluting to his brother as he circled the counter and walked away with a smile and nod. They waved to each other, right before Vincent exited the shop and walked out, his nose twitching once again as the scent from before came again which made his eyes flash a golden color for a moment.

The clown, still in his clown form, whistled to himself as he walked down the sidewalk and took another whiff of the air. Besides the spring like scents he was able to catch, he could also melt the salt from the nearby shore mix in with other smell. Surprisingly, it was a mesmerizing scent as they mixed, almost like vanilla, but with a small hint of salt!

Vincent smiled to himself, looking up at the sun that grinned down brightly at him as well. He then turned his attention back to the front, the scent of his favorite spices never leaving because if anything, it only grew stronger which made his smile turn into a grin. Nobody was around and whoever it was this scent was radiating from...was most likely alone~

He really was not the type to kill but sometimes, food is food and he felt embarrassed every time once of his siblings had to kill for him. This time, just this time, he was going to get his own kill without any help! His father was going to be so proud of him and his mother...she would be proud if he didn't get his costumed stained like that last time he attempted to kill his prey and unfortunately...failed.

He shook away the thoughts, then snapping his fingers to himself before he realized something: he wasn't thinking about the very beautiful girl- oh shoot. Vincent rolled his eyes, then shaking his head before he stopped walking because his red nose twitched even more this time once the scent...the amazing scent was just...to...his...left!

He turned his head with an enthusiastic expression, and the first thing he saw was a flower. It was a shade of purple, lighter than the purple of his mother's dresses, a very pretty, pastel purple that grew the longer he stared at it for most of the other flowers were of that same color. Vincent carefully crossed the street, then walking onto the other sidewalk as he saw so much green, purple, pink, blue, wowie was it pretty! Though of course, not even this was enough to keep him distracted from the scent of creativity and imagination which was just down below this medow! Down below...where he saw...her.

Vincent felt his eyes widen once they had landed on her...the girl from before, the girl he could not stop himself from daydreaming about, the girl who looked so pretty as she was clueless to the fact that he was staring at her intensely at the moment. He shook his head like a dog for a moment, then turning to the left as he held his hands up in a timid manner, then turning to the right before he looked back down at the young woman. He saw that she was quietly seated on top of a blanket over the grass, a small basket next to her as she had an umbrella covering her while she wrote or drew in a notebook.

The clown took in a small gulp, biting his lip as he debated with himself mentally. Damn, this girl...she was so pretty and she was all alone...if he went down there, would she push him away like others have? Or would she give him another one of those saccharine filled smiles that was adorned with a black licorice color? Or would he end up killing her and adding too much red on her!?

Vincent took in a deep breath before she shut his eyes and slicked back his hair. Once his hair popped back into place, he let out his breath and clenched his fists in a very determined manner, and he walked down to the center of the meadow until reaching the young woman who did not notice him at first.

"H-Hello!"he exclaimed, now catching her attention as she turned her head and shifted her umbrella to look up at him, then giving him a smile which made his heart skip a beat. Well, that would have happened if he had one.

"Oh, hello there Mr. D'Vitt."she replied. Wow, she actually remembered who he was? "How have you been?"

"V-very well! And how have y-you been? And you remember me?" Vincent said as he discreetly gulped, then hearing the girl let out a quiet chuckle as she nodded.

"Of course I remember you, such an adorably handsome face is quite hard to forget." she stated with a wink, which only made his cheeks turn a reddish hue. "And I suppose...I have been well. Not many interesting things have gone in my life....speaking of so, would you like to accompany me on this fine afternoon?"

"Me? You? Here?"he asked, trying to clear up and see if what he heard was correct, and the girl gave a nod before moving over to the side and patting the now empty space on her blanket. He hesitated for a moment,not knowing if this was the best...but he gave her a small smile before he carefully sat down her to her, then receiving a nod before the woman looked back to her notebook.

"So, what were you doing wandering around here?"she asked as she continued whatever she was doing in the book, Vincent feeling a bit of panic arise in him before he shrugged.

"I was out taking a normal little walk because it's such a nice day! And also I was headed to the candy store because my brother wanted some fudge!"

"Oh, how very nice. I wish I had a brother, or a sister."

"Haha, trust me when I say you don't!"

"Why is that?"

"Pffft, I have over twelve siblings! Everyday is such a hassle with them, especially because I'm the youngest!" Vincent said, though he was smiling the entire time which made the girl turn slightly pink as she chuckled.

"That sounds like fun."

"Well honestly, it is! Big family dinners and then, there's always one of them who is like your best friend. My best friend is my older brother Perry, he and two others were born before me."

"Two, others?"

"Yes! Excluding me, my siblings were born as triplets or twins!" he exclaimed happily while the woman looked very surprised, so surprised she had finally set down her notebook to continue listening to him. "Wanna know all their names?"

"Of course!"

"Real or clown name?"

"Oh stars, that must be several….how about their clown names? I adore clowns."

"Okay okay! Here they are from oldest to youngest: Rose, Lily, Clover-"

"Oooh! I'm sorry, but those names sound so cute! Flowers!"she interrupted, now feeling a bit embarrassed before she waved her hand a bit. "My apologies, please continue with your list of names."

"No, no, no! It's alright! I also love flowers! What's your favorite one?" Vincent said, now feeling even more bubbly on the inside as his grin grew. This girl was meeting each and every one of his standards!

"My favorite flower is the astereae! Or much simply, the aster flower! It's simple, beautiful, and comes in a variety of colors, and they don't really grow near my home."the woman said with a small giggle, only making Vincent melt a bit more as he now had red cheeks, which she noticed and so she turned away with red cheeks herself. "And, um...what is your favorite flower?"

"You..."

"What?" Vincent immediately snapped out of his daze before he shook his head, then scratching the back of his head with a nervous laugh.

"You...ursinias!" he quickly saved, mentally patting himself for it. "Ursinias are really pretty, but I also like red roses! And hey, how about no more flower talk and...uh..."

"You tell me about your siblings' names?"

"Yes, yes!"he exclaimed, then clearing his throat as he lifted up his gloved fingers which made the girl slightly giggle, seeing how each print had a swirl matching the ones on his cheeks. "Rose, Lily, Clover, Jingle, Jangle, Cups, Cake, Choco, Pumpkin, Butters, Cookie, and Lucky!"

"How nice, such wonderful names."

"Speaking of names…"Vincent said with a slight squint of his eyes and an almost sly expression. "What is yours?"

The woman squinted her eyes as well, giving him a smirk before she shrugged to herself while placing her notebook into her basket, then smoothing out her dress.

"If I tell you...will you promise to never forget it?"she asked, then leaning in closer to him as his red cheeks came back.

"Y-yes! I mean, i-is it Rachel? Mildred? Diana? Ariel maybe? B-because you-"

"Really look like her? Oh please, tell me about it." the girl huffed out, now sitting back down with a slight frown which made Vincent regret saying that.

"No! I mean, sure you do look like her, but I just thought it was a nice name! I didn't even think about the movie! I just thought-...you don't look like her."he said, then crossing his legs as he finally got her attention again. He saw that she craned her head to look at him, and so he reached into his left sleeve to pull out a light blue cloth which made her eyes widen in surprise. Vincent then turned away from his, his back facing her as she curiously tried looking over his shoulder but failed due to his height.

After a few moments, she sat down and he turned to face her again, now holding a bow in his hands as he presented it to her with a grin.

"May I?"he asking, pointing to her hair as the girl bit her lip for a moment. She hated having her hair touched, but...she nodded, then turning to have her back face him as he carefully began pulling her hair into a hairstyle resembling the character everybody said she looked like, and the bow was neatly placed onto her hair.

"Done! I mean, maybe you won't like it but...now you look like Ariel! From that one scene where she and the prince are trying to kiss each other!" he happily exclaimed while the girl turned to look at him, a smirk on her features as she leaned in once again.

"Kiss, you say?" Vincent not only had his cheeks red, but his entire expression while the girl was only a few inches away from his face somehow, and he gave her a goofy smile before she eventually sat back down with a smile, gently touching her new bow. "Well, thank you...I love this... Lydia."

"What?"he responded, not having heard too clearly which made the girl quietly laugh.

"Lydia, my name is Lydia. Lydia Crane."

"Oh...what a beautiful name! My name is Vincent D'Vitt!"

"Call me whatever you like, but I happened to already know that."the girl said with a giggle. "I've been in your shop a few times, I always hear your siblings yell at you."

"Ah...how funny..."

"But what's your other name?"

"Other...name? What do you mean?"

"Well, you are a clown and you described all your siblings' clown names. So what's yours? Or, perhaps you only go by Vincent?"

Vincent felt the same panic from before arise in him, a drop of sweat starting to slide down the side of his temple as he let out a nervous chuckle. Oh shoot...what could he say? He couldn't impress her with a simple, dumb name like Vincent, especially if this girl lied clowns! But wait…Vincent mentally snapped his fingers, now turning to look at her with a grin filled with confidence and full pride, as he finally thought of something good, something that would hopefully attract her to him.

"Aster. My name is Aster the Clown."

#aster the clown #lydia crane #this turned out longer than i expected #such smooth parents amirite #this is why their kids are the way they are

4 notes · View notes

not-just-any-fangirl · 7 years

Text

Flirting With Disaster

A/N: Happy Birthday to @constellunaa! I saw your beautiful drawing of Laxus and Cobra and thought ‘hey what if she actually ships it?’ and then wrote 6.5K of it in hopes that you actually do lmao.

If not, have some hint of nalu bcus I am so sorry

Part of my deaf!Natsu college au bcus I’m a slut for continuing universes! Also shout out to @papalogia for putting up with me yelling about this and for helping with some of the words. Natsu and Cobra are cousins, with Indian!Igneel and his unnamed brother who is Cobra’s dad.

Also praise @rivendell101 for helping me title it! Apparently I’m useless without my friends :D

College!AU

Pairing: Cobraxus, Nalu, Fairy tail

Words: 6515

Rating: M for language

Part: Oneshot

Laxus wanted to die, and not just because of his pounding headache or the fact that he was in an eight AM lab for fucking chemistry of all things. No, Laxus wanted the sweet embrace of death -or maybe to plead for manslaughter on account of insanity- because of his benchmate.

“Could you please make your stomach make disgusting noises quieter? I’m trying to measure out our chemicals, considering you’re going to be useless today.”

Laxus narrowed his eyes at his labmate, thinking of other uses for the sodium hydroxide solution that was being poured from the erlenmeyer flask to a petri dish.

“Stop looking at me like it’s my fault you decided to do jagerbombs instead of sleeping like a normal human being with an eight AM.”

Laxus scowled. The dude wasn’t even able to see his face, eye on Laxus’ side closed from a nasty looking scar. Laxus felt his own scar over his right eye twinge in sympathy, line thinner than the other boy’s. “How’d you know what I was drinking?” he asked, tongue fuzzy and thick in his mouth and voice rough with disuse. He sounded like his dad, and Laxus wished for another double jager to push back that unwelcome comparison.

“Because you reek of licorice, red bull, and regret.”

Laxus snorted, grinning as he scrawled down the fourth trial’s measurement in his lab notes. “I showered.”

“Don’t feel bad,” the boy drawled, sealing the vacuum box the petri dish now resided in before they turned on the chlorine gas, “it’s a stench that permeates engineering students.”

Laxus frowned, wanting to bite back against the generalization of his major, but flashbacks to the group of twenty somethings doing keg stands and flip cup after their last electrical midterm stopped him. His labmate wasn’t exactly wrong.

But his class had fucking earned going a little wild, especially after the hell that was the four hour midterm of Jose’s quantum nuclear midterm. Laxus was pretty sure that time length wasn’t even allowed by the school board, but seeing as how his grandfather was at a bit of a cold war with the dean, Laxus wasn’t about to say shit.

“Well I’m sure you biology kids know all about the danger of popping illegal prescription pills, don’t you?” he snarked. He had yet to meet one that wasn’t permanently shaking from a near overdose of Adderall, struggling to stay awake to finish making their four hundredth flash card.

“I'm not a biology major,” he said flicking on the highly poisonous gas with the most uncaring expression Laxus has seen on something besides his mirror.

Laxus eyed him critically. “Only biology majors are actually interested in chemistry labs,” he said finally, watching the plastic cube in front of him as the gas reacted with the solution.

“What about chem students?” he asked flatly, switching off the gas lever after the thirty seconds had passed on the stopwatch.

“Those freaks can do this shit in their sleep and try to go and set shit on fire under the fume hoods.” Laxus said just as flatly as his lab partner, focusing on writing down the chemical equations involved in their experiment. “If you aren’t biology then why the hell are you in this lab then?” Laxus asked. He knew why he was there, stupid requirement for his degree saying he need at least a 200 level in each of physics, chem, and bio. Not that Laxus fucking understood why he needed to know how bases and ions reacted to make deadly gases, considering he was going to be an electrical engineer.

Fucking reqs.

The student gave a long suffering sigh, turning his face so Laxus could see his withering look, red-so-dark-it-was-almost-brown hair falling in his face and styled on the sides and back, chin and cheekbones sharp. HIs tan skin was smooth, Laxus fairly certain it was because he could only make two facial expression: blank apathy or an unimpressed sneer. “I’m a toxicology major,” he said, opting for the latter of his whole range of two emotions.

“What the shit is that?” Laxus asked, barking out a laugh before writing the final time when salt crystals stopped forming in their solution.

“It is what it sounds like it would be,” the darker hair boy hissed, opening the cube and retrieving the crystallized solution so they could separate the salt and the bleach.

“It sounds fake,” Laxus snorted, adding a fourth row in the weight of the crystals and the PH of the solution. He must still be drunk to be egging on someone he didn't know, but Laxus really didn't give all that much of a fuck.

“And you still sound drunk,” the boy said coolly. He held out the filtered vial of lab-made bleach. “Here, drink this and it'll disinfect your stomach.”

Laxus blinked at the clear liquid behind the glass before barking a short laugh. “Alright, what's your name for the report.” Lab or human resources to be determined by if his bench mate slipped the chemical into his coffee thermos.

“Cobra,” the boy said, grin sharp in victory at Laxus’ startled expression. “It's similar to my major, don't you think?”

“Still don't know what the fuck toxicology is,” Laxus shrugged, recovering quickly. His cousin’s boyfriend’s name was Natsu and one of her best friend’s Gajeel. At least Cobra was a thing that existed and not a fucking season.

Laxus wrote down the name, frowning at the spot ‘ Freed ’ usually went. His best friend -and ex-boyfriend- unusually absent. Laxus had found out when he sat down from a text from Ever that he was delirious with a fever and needed to be restrained so he couldn't spread it to the rest of the university in his attempt to not miss class. Hence how a late Laxus had ended up with the possible-psychopath as a lab partner.

“It's the study of toxins and poisons you dumbass,” Cobra said flatly. He huffed in irritation before prattling off the volume of the fifth sample of sodium hydroxide. “How did you even pass Biology Two-hundred if you couldn't put together ‘tox-’ and ‘-cology’?”

“By studying for twelve hours and then forgetting everything about that bullshit course.” Laxus said back, defensive. He'd worked hard for that A in the course, and was proud of it.

“Only idiots forget what they've learned,” Cobra hummed, face once more a mix of cocky and blank. How he managed to look bored and superior at the same time was starting to grate on Laxus’ last nerve, though he knew he was one more incident away from academic suspension.

Laxus could really use that shot right now.

At least this was the last trial they needed before he could fuck off and never worry about dealing with Cobra again.

Laxus looked over, taking in an appreciative view. Laxus may be stoic and rough around the edges but he wasn't blind. Cobra was hot , with rich brown skin and spiky hair and two bars in his right ear. His personality might have been garbage, but that'd never stopped Laxus from being able to appreciate someone's aesthetic.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” Cobra said, corner of his mouth twitching at his own joke. Laxus remained unfazed, expecting to be caught and uncaring.

“How'd you get your scar?”

“How'd you get yours?” Cobra sneered, flicking on the gas switch and recording the pressure and flow rate of the gas as shown on the display connected to the nozzle.

“Fair,” Laxus hummed. “What's your number?”

“What the fuck? ” Cobra spat, eye large as he whipped his head to look at Laxus. He thought the boy's cheeks might have been a little darker, but he couldn't really tell. The thought made him preen in victory though, that he had gotten the upper hand.

“For the lab report? In case our data doesn't line up?”

Cobra grunted, looking back at the chamber as the reaction took place. “Whatever.”

Laxus blinked when at the end of the lab there was a torn off corner of paper shoved in his notebook, ten digits scrawled across it in sharp handwriting. He shook his head with a rueful smile, typing in the numbers to his contacts under the name ‘Snake Boi’.

Why was everyone he interacted with so fucking weird.

Laxus woke up, sitting straight up in his small single bed that came with his dorm room, staring unseeing into the dark.

“I fucking hit on him.” Laxus whispered to himself.

And Cobra gave him his number .

He jerked the cord from his phone where it had been charging on his bed side table, barely registering the time of 3:47 fucking AM as he blinds himself with the full brightness. Cursing, Laxus adjusted the screen to barely painful before typing a message to Freed. Laxus was smart with books, but interactions with other human beings was a thing Laxus liked to avoid at the best of times. And now he was texting his ex about the possibility of him hitting on some random dude. And succeeding.

Me - 3:47 AM: So uh I asked a guy for his number for a lab cus you have the fucking plague and looking back i think i flirted with him and i think i hit on him and now i have his number uhhhh what the actual fuck is this?? Was I actually hitting on him?? Did he hit back??

Me - 3:48 AM: is hit back the right term?

Me - 3:48 AM: I don’t think it is but I’m going to use it anyway bc fuck english

Laxus flopped back on his pillow, rubbing his scar. Fucking emotions. Did Laxus even want to have been hitting on Cobra? He thought about his fuller bottom lip and the twinkle of mischief in his eye when he was telling Laxus to drink bleach and the way his cologne smelt like the riverside and musk and his stupidly spiky hair that Laxus wanted to fuck up just to see that small fire light his dark eye.

Ah fuck, Laxus wanted to hit on him.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and Laxus blinked in surprise at Freed still being awake. Or maybe he had woken him up. Either way, Laxus wasn’t about to complain about getting some damned advice.

Freed (Sword Emoji) - 3:50 AM: Yes, babe. You were hitting on him. It’s okay, it took you four dates to realize we were dating.

Freed (Sword Emoji) - 3:51 AM: Two weeks to realize we broke up.

Me - 3:52 AM: I’m beginning to realize why you wanted couples therapy

Freed (Sword Emoji) - 3:55 AM: It’s okay babe, I still love you. Now go get laid please, you’re insufferable when horny and have a crush.

Laxus snorted. He wasn’t insufferable , if anyone was insufferable in their group it was Ever and at all times. Insufferable. Ha.

Wait.

Did Freed mean right now? Wouldn’t that be uncouth, as Freed would put it? Did he want a booty call? Or did Laxus want more? Laxus didn’t know what the fuck he wanted to eat most of the time how in all holy hell was he supposed to work out stupid things like feelings .

Ugh.

Me - 4:00 AM: Like... now? Cause its 4 am and idk if hes up. I mean, hes a fucking chem/posion/fuck knows major so probs but wouldn’t it be rude? To start a date with a booty call? I feel like asking for sex this early would be rude

Me - 4:00 AM: both time of day and in regards to a possible relationship

Laxus stared up at his ceiling, eyes barely able to make out the rock poster above his head from the brightness of staring at his phone screen. Him and Bixlow were supposed to be going to the Thunder Claps next saturday and Laxus was looking forward to getting stoned and zoning out to some good rock EDM for a couple hours with one of his best friends so-fucking-much. He startled out of his thoughts at the dark phone buzzing on his chest, screen lighting up with Freed’s text.

Freed (Sword Emoji) - 4:05 AM: I love you, but how you manage to keep your stupidity secret from everyone we know I’ll never comprehend.

Freed (Sword Emoji) - 4:06 AM: No do not text him for a booty call at four am.

Freed (Sword Emoji) - 4:06 AM: You animal.

Me - 4:09 AM: Ohhh, like later today okay i get you

Laxus rolls over, groaning into his pillow. He turned his head, typing another message.

Me - 4:13 AM: Can’t we just date again that was a good thing

Freed (Sword Emoji) - 4:07 AM: No darling. We tried that before and while the sex was amazing you were frankly a horrible boyfriend. But you have grown and I have full confidence in you not fucking this new one up horribly.

Laxus grinned at his phone, rolling his eyes before typing out a quick ‘gee thanks’ and clicking off his phone.

Ah fuck what the shit was he going to say to Cobra?

Laxus adjusted the strap on his shoulder as he exited the math building, three stories tall and made entirely of brick that was probably twenty years old when it was built fifty years ago. He groaned as he rubbed his neck, thankful that he was finally done his last class of the day. How Natsu had gotten into his fourth year electrical physics course Laxus had absolutely no fucking clue, and how that fuckhead had gotten a better grade than him on the last assignment was even more astounding.

Thinking of annoying chemistry majors, Laxus’s pocket burned where his phone rested and the uncontacted number that Laxus felt judging him. He could actually hear Cobra’s snarky voice calling him a pussy in his head, scowling as he continued to walk along the cracked sidewalk.

“Angel I swear to every fucking god in existence if you tell anyone -”

Oh shit, Laxus was really hearing Cobra’s voice.

He looked up, spotting Cobra standing beside a bust of some old dead dude that had helped found math or whatever, a pretty woman with long silver hair pinching his cheek with an almost cruel smile. “That our little snakey has a crush ?” she sang. Cobra’s shoulders tensed, and Laxus leaned against the bust five feet away, curious to see where the fuck this was going to go.

“I talked to the bastard once ,” Cobra snapped, swatting away Angel’s hand. The girl smirked as if Cobra had just told a joke, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers.

“Uh huh, and that’s why you’ve kept your hand on your phone all day. ‘Cus you two ‘talked’ once.” Cobra sputtered, Laxus watching the side of his face twist in a flustered sneer. “Tell me, was he tall and muscular? You always were too easy for the masc types.”

Laxus snorted, covering it with a cough but too late not to draw Angel’s attention, and by extension, Cobra’s. The girl’s face lit up like it was fucking Christmas and Cobra looked like he wished he still had that bleach.

“Awwww you two match face scars!” she cooed, clapping her hands together once in excitement.

“You say another word and I’ll put Kerberos in your fucking bed.”

Angel pouted at Cobra before huffing and flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever, spoil my fun as usual, Erik ,” Cobra -or should Laxus say Erik?- glared at her sharply but Angel carried on, paying his threat display absolutely no attention, “I’m off to make sure Midnight didn’t die in their sleep in whatever nook they’ve found now.”

Laxus returned her small nod as she passed, lifting an eyebrow at her sniff as she looked him over again. He thought it might have been a silent ‘my friend could do better than you’ and judging by the RBF she had Laxus was pretty sure he was right.

Cobra was silent as he glared at Laxus, a new expression painted on his face; pure and clear murder.

“I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing but I’m over it and-”

Laxus interrupted the rant Cobra was spitting at him, looking over his worn but polished combat boots and torn black jeans that were tight enough on his thighs to leave Laxus with no need to imagine how muscular he was, tight black tank top with a deep purple snake skull partially covered by leather jacket that had deep red accented strips of leather along the arms and two over the breasts, dark black studs on the shoulders and back of the arms from what Laxus could see, band patches thrown over the pockets and back as a visual record of all his concerts. Laxus finally eyed the thick black collar with large and shallow spikes on it before meeting Cobra’s pissed-off glare.

“I’m going to the Thunder Claps concert next weekend. Judging by the Poison Blood sticker you got on your ass there I’d say you’re in need of being taken to a concert with good music playing.”

Cobra choked on his words, staring at Laxus blankly before barking a sharp laugh. He drew his pointed gaze over Laxus’s own slides, ripped jeans, loose work out tank, and the large bright yellow headphones that hung around his neck.

“I highly doubt you’d be able to have any taste in music if you insist on dressing like a fucking gym rat, but I won’t turn down free shots and concert tickets,” Cobra smirked at him, grin sharp as he insulted him. Laxus grinned back. Flirting was fun when you got to rip into the person.

“Who said I’d pay for your drinks?”

“The way you can’t take your perverted eyes off me would be a damned good hint that all I have to do is touch your dick and have you wrapped around my little finger.”

“Aw, that’s not a very nice thing to call your dick. I’m sure it’s at least three inches.”

Cobra sneered at him, stepping closer as fire danced in his eye, obviously delighted at the challenge. “Two inches longer than yours.”

“You wanna find out or something? Laxus asked, tipping his head down as he towered over Cobra by a good four inches, stepping forward as well.

“You that desperate to get fucked?” he asked, meeting Laxus’ gaze and holding his own, unperturbed by Laxus’ height.

“ You that desperate to get your face pinned against a wall?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Cobra smirked, thumbs hooked in his belt loops and leaning further into Laxus’ space, looking up at him through thick lashes and a promise of danger and battle of wills in his dark gaze.

“Yeah, I think I fucking would,” Laxus said, unashamed. His smirk widened when Cobra’s faltered and his cheeks got distinctly darker as he blinked up at Laxus, the blond man’s confidence sure enough at this point that he hooked his pointer through one of Cobra’s unfilled belt hoops and pulled his crotch closer so that it brushed against Laxus’. “Wha'dya say, Erik?” Laxus breathed against the shorter man’s lips, noses almost touching.

“Call me that again and I’ll strangle you in your sleep, shithead,” Cobra hissed, not pulling away from him as his eye darted to Laxus’ lips and then back up. Laxus swallowed roughly at the challenge that sparked in his sharp grin as he reached up with both hands and yanked on Laxus’ headphones so that their foreheads touched. “Now why don’t you show me your tiny ass dorm. I ain’t getting my sheets fucked up for a douchebag like you.”

“Ain’t you full of romance?” Laxus snorted, brushing his nose against Cobra’s and barely speaking above a whisper.

“One of us is about to be full of something and I was never big on the flowers and chocolates crap.” Cobra said back, chin tilting up slightly to brush his top lip against Laxus’ lower one.

“Good to know,” Laxus grinned, pulling back before he could actually kiss Cobra. He readjusted the strap on his shoulder again, nodding with his head in the direction of his dorm.

Cobra looked at him like he was a lab report that wasn’t making sense - a thing that Laxus interpreted as baffled and irritated and determined to understand- before nodding and walking towards where Laxus had nodded.They walked in silence, Laxus’ hand twitching each time he almost grazed Cobra’s. It felt wrong to just walk apart considering what they had planned, or at least insinuated, but Laxus had zero fucking clue how to make the first move. Especially because Cobra apparently wasn’t into that. The minutes passed awkwardly as Laxus considered just fucking texting Freed about what to do but also not thinking that texting his ex-boyfriend would be good hook up etiquette. Was this a hook up? Was this all that was? Cobra had said yes -kind of- to the concert and oh fuck Laxus had asked him out on a date without realizing it-

And Cobra said yes again.

They were halfway to his dorm, just passing the English building his cousin Lucy was probably still in working on her seventh draft of her creative writing piece, and her stupid boyfriend probably draped over her like a god damn blanket -how was that for romantic, as if Cobra would ever let Laxus do that to him- when Cobra moved and startled Laxus from his thoughts.

“You’re useless at shit like this aren’t you?” Cobra sighed. He kept looking ahead as he grabbed Laxus’ arm and slung it over his own shoulders. “I could basically hear you thinking about holding my hand. Better?”

Laxus swallowed thickly, grunting an affirmative as his face heated at being caught. He glared at a flock of geese under a tree to their right, channeling his anger into the birds resting in the shade on the warm fall afternoon.

What the fuck had Laxus’ gotten himself into?

“What do you mean you haven’t kissed besides when you fuck ?” Lucy gaped at him, dumbfounded as she gathered her own nine dollar strawberry cooler and Natsu’s four dollar beer, Laxus both thankful and irritated that he had run into his cousin and her dumbass boyfriend at the concert. Bixlow hadn’t been the happiest to give up his ticket, but had been placated by Freed reading aloud first Laxus’ panicked four AM text messages and then his even more panicked nine PM text messages about having just gotten laid before going on an actual date.

Fuck, all of his friends were massive dicks. No wonder he was dating Cobra.

Well, kind of dating Cobra.

“Listen I don’t need to be lectured about relationships by someone who brought their deaf boyfriend to a fucking concert.” Laxus frowned, careful of the shitty vender beer cups so that he wouldn’t crush them by accident in his annoyance.

“One,” Lucy huffed, half running to keep up with him through the crowd, “ Natsu dragged me here. He likes to be part of the chaos of the crowd and to feel the bass bump through him or whatever. And two, we are still on the topic of you and your inability to have a relationship like a normal human being.”

Laxus rolled his eyes as they walked to where Natsu and Cobra were standing by one of the entrances into the stadium, hands moving quickly and in agitation as they signed to one another.

Laxus couldn’t fucking believe that Lucy was dating his maybe-boyfriend’s cousin.

“You fucking dick, you know I can’t understand ISL!” Natsu roared, throwing his hands above his head, voice loud enough to draw passing glances from a few people entering the large arena.

“Not my fault you don’t know your own heritage,” Cobra sneered, following it with something that Laxus could extrapolate was an insult by the sneer of his lips despite not understanding the other language. “ Ullu de pathe.”

“I can read Hindi on lips,” Natsu hissed. Lucy smiled as she moved the beer in front of his face, Natsu blinking at the sudden liquid blocking his view of Cobra. He smiled down at her, lip ring shifting as it was pulled. Lucy signed a quick hello, her hand flat as she did something that Laxus thought looked like a short and relaxed salute, quickly dropping her hand with her pointer and middle finger intended in a weird peace sign and flicking her lower lip with her middle finger twice.

Natsu grinned and rolled his eyes, Laxus lost at what the gesture meant. He had managed to learn a few swears and the alphabet, but otherwise relied on Natsu’s ability to read lips and speak when interacting with him. He’d offered to take better notes for Natsu in their class, but the stubborn bastard had refused and instead relied on a voice to text app on his phone as he took his own notes from the board.

Cobra signed something, the only sign Laxus caught making him grin at the end; Cobra flicking his hand from under his chin and out with his palm facing towards himself.

“I ain’t a bitch you fucking emo furry.” Natsu spat.

“Just because I respect and collect snakes doesn’t mean I want to fuck them,” Cobra snarled, “and at least I’m passionate about animals that actually exist, dragon boy .” Cobra held his hand so his fingers were splayed, wiggling the three middle fingers as he moved it from his chin outwards, palm facing down this time. “I don’t even know how we’re related, even your fucking hair is off brand! What kinda genetic fuck-up gets pink hair?”

“I like his hair,” Lucy defended. Laxus groaned loudly, throwing his arm around Cobra’s shoulders.

“We're gonna go somewhere else now,” Laxus said to Lucy, nodding at Natsu as he led Cobra away from his own cousin. They moved through the crowd, Cobra fitting nicely under Laxus’ arm as they walked. They entered the stadium, filing their way to the ground level where they would be standing for the show, Laxus letting Cobra stew as he learned the other man liked to do.

“That useless little jackass follows me everywhere,” Cobra hissed. Laxus looked at him from the corner of his eye, debating if he wanted to get into family dynamics right now. Considering how Natsu was more likely to become family than Cobra though...

Laxus swore internally before speaking against his better judgement.

“Technically they decided to come here before you,” Laxus said, not looking at Cobra. He felt him stiffen under his arm, but didn’t pull away.

“Whatever,” Cobra spat, taking a long sip of his beer. Laxus grunted, content with listening to the crowd around them mill between one of the opening acts and Thunder Claps. Two girls were standing by them, talking loudly with flower crowns in their hair and neon bras under white netted tops, one tucked into her short jean shorts and the other hanging down to her mid thigh and touching the top of her thin stockings, her own shorts barely visible under the netted fabric.

Laxus didn’t think he’d have noticed if it weren’t for Cobra tensing again under his arm and leading them away from the girls.

“I know you’re a big fan of my dick but I didn’t peg ya as needing to avoid an entire gender.” Laxus commented, taking a sip of his own drink as he waited for Cobra to speak.

“Their voices were irritating me,” Cobra said flatly, lips turned down slightly in his neutral expression. Normally when Laxus wore that look as his own neutral expression people said he looked liked he was plotting murder, when in reality he just thinking of dumb shit. Laxus was pretty sure Cobra was definitely plotting to murder someone, though. Laxus thought there might have been more to it than what Cobra was telling him but decided to drop it. Freed had been very adamant about not pissing off his date when at a social event.

Cobra took out his phone as Laxus glared at a boy that was staring a little too intently at Cobra’s biceps, revealed by his ripped sleeve tank top. The boy scurried off as Cobra slipped his phone back into the back pocket of his tight jeans. Jeans that Laxus knew for a fact Cobra was wearing because he was aware how tight they were on his ass and Laxus’ appreciation of it.

“Natsu and Lucy will down here in a second and if you say anything about it I will bite your dick off tonight.”

Laxus blinked once before nodding. He pulled Cobra closer to him when the other man downed his drink in a way that the other engineering students would cheer on, and made Laxus respect him just a little bit more.

Natsu and Lucy appeared again like Cobra said, Natsu sending a wary glance at Cobra before smiling brightly. Laxus huffed and sipped his beer as he scanned the crowd again. Natsu didn’t have a fucking single grudge-holding bone in his body when it came to abuse against himself. Laxus also wondered how the pink-haired pyro freak and Cobra were related, though for different reasons.

Laxus noticed Lucy lean towards him and Cobra, Natsu’s attention on the stage as the stagehands brought out the equipment and instruments for Thunder Claps. “If you do anything to ruin this concert for Natsu I will find out where you live and do something so horrible and scarring you’ll never be able to sleep again.” Lucy said sweetly, not bothering to lower her voice as the back of her head was to Natsu. She smiled once, lips pulled up sharply and eyes cold enough to make Laxus’ heart skip a beat like the time he thought he had missed a final. He took another sip of his drink, already half done but choosing to pretend he hadn’t just witnessed his cousin promising to maim another student in a huge crowd. His one law course taught him nothing if not plausible deniability.

He snuck a glance at Cobra’s face, somehow surprised and not at the bright grin pulling up one corner of his mouth.

“I like her.” Cobra said, looking around the crowd as well. Laxus shook his head, offering the rest of his beer to Cobra. “Well isn’t someone trying to get me drunk.”

“You’re much easier to top when you’re already a little fucked up,” Laxus grinned down at him. Cobra snorted, drinking Laxus’ beer and twisting his lips into a sneer, retort lost in his disgust.

“Thought an alcoholic like you would at least know how to drink good beer,” Cobra drawled.

“If you don’t like it I’ll definitely be needing it to deal with you all night,” Laxus said, raising an eyebrow at Cobra. He rolled his eye, taking another large sip with a grimace.

“I’m a fucking delight.”

Laxus snorted loudly, grinning at Cobra’s flat glare.

The crowd began cheering as people in ripped jeans and wearing over a dozen glow stick pieces of jewelry began filing onto the stage, the lights dimming and the crowd enveloping them so there was no place that Laxus wasn’t being touched by slightly sweaty and glitter covered bodies. Cobra glared, hiding deeper under Laxus’ arm and away from the chance of anything too sparkly and happy touching him. “Why’d you agree if concerts ain’t your thing?” Laxus purred, leaning down so his lips brushed his ear.

“I like concerts ,” Cobra hissed back, turning his head so his lips almost brushed Laxus’, “I don’t like raves.”

“This isn’t even close to rave. I’d be on way more drugs if this was a rave ,” Laxus murmured back, distracted by Lucy’s lecture in the back of his head about normal relationships. Heat from where Cobra was pressed against his side and under his arm scorched him, Laxus’ brain focusing on Cobra’s lips and how the top one was thinner than the bottom, a slight dimple under the left corner of his lip where a lip piercing might have once been. Laxus’ throat grew dry at the thought of seeing the silver against his warm-toned skin.

Laxus lifted his gaze to meet Cobra’s, a dark, unreadable expression piercing him.

“Maybe you just wanted to be here with me,” he said, leaning forward slightly so his nose brushed Cobra’s. A slight grin lifted the corner of Cobra’s mouth, a mocking glint flashing in his eye that made Laxus smirk in turn. Whatever Cobra was about to say was lost as the DJ of the band made the bass drop and the crowd went wild, jumping and thrumming around them. Cobra got jostled, shoving him towards Laxus, his forehead pressing into his lips. Laxus glared at the clearly drunk girl who had shoved Cobra and ruined whatever the fuck Laxus had been trying to do.

Laxus grinned when he heard Cobra swear under his breath, pleased that he wasn’t happy about it either. Deciding that a EDM concert probably wasn’t the best place to figure out what the shit was going on between them, Laxus turned his attention to the stage and lost himself in the performance. He sang along with the next few songs, moving with the crowd, bouncing on the balls of his feet and losing himself to the pounding that resonated with his bones and overrode his own heartbeat in his blood.

Cobra shifted slightly in front of him when Lucy and Natsu got crushed to his side, rolling his eye less sarcastically than Laxus expected at Lucy’s mouthed apology. Laxus grinned at the opportunity to both touch and embarrass him, grabbing his hips and pulling him against Laxus’ chest, dancing behind him as one song bled into another, the crowd going wild at the new mix.

Cobra stilled at first, looking over his shoulder with a sharp glare that made Laxus’ smirk grow larger as he rolled his hips against Cobra’s ass. His cheeks looked darker when a strobe light rolled over his face, bathing him in purple light and a voice in the back of Laxus’ mind compared him to what a god of contempt and poison might look like. Thoughts of how fucking whipped he was were forced out of his mind as Cobra gave him a dangerous smile before turning his head back to the stage and crushing his ass into Laxus with a lewd and rough roll. Laxus cursed through a grin, fingers digging into Cobra’s hips, thumbs slipping under the hem of his shirt and moving over the taut skin of his hip bones and stomach.

More songs passed like that, Cobra and Laxus working up a heavy sweat grinding and rutting against one another in the sweltering heat created by a crowd full of young adults doing the same. Laxus pointedly ignored his baby cousin going even harder against Natsu than Cobra was to him, Natsu’s sweaty forehead connected to her jaw as he sucked at her neck, one hand flat on her stomach as he guided her in deep rolls against him in what Laxus was almost disgusted to note was practiced movements.

He didn’t know how well Natsu would understand a ‘touch her and I’ll castrate you’ without being able to hear Laxus’ tone but he was hoping he’d be able to convey the right amount of ‘I could kill you with you hand’ in his eyes when he cornered the pink haired brat after the show.

He was thankful to see Lucy stop trying to ride Natsu’s dick through their clothes, shrieking with joy when Natsu stooped low and put her on his shoulders. She gripped his hair as he stood again, bare thighs clenching around his head and his own hands gripping into her pale skin tightly. Laxus was stopped from straight up decking Natsu for putting his face so close to parts of Lucy Laxus would rather fucking claw his eyes out with a rusty spoon than think about when he noticed Natsu looking up at Lucy. His eyes were soft, fondness almost palpable in an aura around them as they met each other's gazes. Lucy beamed as she smiled down at him, braid messed and slung over one shoulder and glitter paint smeared over her cheek and bare shoulders. Natsu’s smile was lopsided, the couple completely separated from the music and crowd around them as Lucy leaned down, sealing her lips against his sweetly. She pulled back slightly, giggling as Natsu rubbed his nose along hers and they got lost in each others eyes again.

Laxus let his gaze drift to Cobra, an unfamiliar ache in his chest making him frown at the spiked hair in front of him.

“Put me on your shoulders and I’ll create a mosh pit,” Cobra said, serious and flat as he looked over his shoulder at Laxus again. The blond smirked, nodding and forcing his attention back on the stage. He frowned down at Cobra when he stopped dancing against him. He cocked his head at Cobra’s searching scowl, unsure of what was going through his head. "Fuck it,” he grunted, confusion making Laxus knit his eyebrows at Cobra’s low grunt. He froze for a second, Cobra twisting fully in his arms and threading his fingers into the short hairs at the base of Laxus’ neck. He grunted as Cobra slammed his mouth to his, rough and a little awkward as he leaned up into Laxus.

The music dulled in his ears, arms winding around Cobra and pulling him flush against his chest. Their lips slated against one another's easily as the kiss drew on, Cobra’s short nails digging greedily into the back of Laxus’ neck and fisting at his short hair. Laxus nipped at Cobra’s lower lip, opening his mouth at Cobra’s demanding swipe of his tongue along Laxus’ lips.

His hand dropped to push into the back pocket of Cobra’s jeans, squeezing harshly and pulling his body flush to Laxus’ again. Cobra broke the kiss, grinning up at him hungrily and with lewd joy dancing in his eye. Laxus squeezed again, returning the dark smirk. Cobra chuckled under his breath before kissing Laxus softly once, returning to demanding and impatient kisses as if to cover up the almost tender action. Neither said anything, resuming dancing and losing themselves in the atmosphere of the show and trying to one-up one another.

Laxus figured Cobra liked having a boyfriend that wasn’t afraid of a little friendly competition.

His hand released Laxus’ hair, sliding between their bodies and roughly groping at the front of Laxus’ pants. Cobra smirked against his mouth when he grunted at the unexpected touch. His self-pleased grin fell when Laxus pulled his hand from Cobra’s pocket and instead ran along the center seam of his jeans, fingers pressing firmly and rubbing at him there. Laxus looked at Cobra through his lashes, pleased to see Cobra’s deep scowl and to feel his face warm in the lack of space between them.

Okay, so maybe a little less-than-friendly competition.

Not that Laxus was complaining.

204 notes · View notes

canadian-riddler · 7 years

Text

‘The Secret Lives of Parents’

Characters: Alan (Riddlerbot OC), Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane [Scriddler]

Synopsis: There comes a day when you discover that your parents have a life beyond you and relationships with people that you know nothing about.

Wordcount: [6,372]

"Alan. There you are. I sent Nikola to find you but he never returned."

I was working on the nanobombs, Alan said, having come to find his dad for the final inspection. He was in the middle of a room they had been spending a lot of time in lately, which was underneath a toy store and not the Orphanage as Alan understood it, and his dad was looking up at one of the conveyors with a cigarette between his lips. Alan followed his gaze up there to find...

Robots?

"Yes!" his dad said, straightening in a proud sort of way. "Hundreds of them. This is the culmination of months of work, Alan. At last my vision will truly be realised."

Alan stepped backward.

Dad, but... but why would you need so many?

"Because people always fail, Alan," his dad said. He tapped the end of his cigarette and replaced it in his mouth after continuing with, "People can never perform to my satisfaction. They are lazy and they cut corners. Robots will do exactly as I say, how I say it is to be done."

So you don't need me anymore, Alan realised aloud. His dad frowned.

"Don't be ridiculous. The three of you cannot be replaced. These robots - " and here he paused to wave a hand at them, "are to be mostly mindless drones. All of you have value to me, but you and the other two are not something I can have the factory construct."

He walked over to his desk and pressed the end of the cigarette into the ashtray there. "Alan, you are extremely concerned with your imminent replacement. Why is that?"

Alan took ahold of his thumb. He didn't have an answer.

When his dad had been sick with that cold and had allowed Alan more autonomy, he had thought things were going to be better. His dad had slept more, had taken Alan's advice even! and while Alan had been given more responsibility, most of it meant taking care of things on the literal other side of his dad's properties. He had wanted to spend more time with his dad, not just do more in general. And now he had built all these robots...

His dad was sitting on the edge of his desk, looking in one of the drawers for something. He removed a package of black licorice and pulled out one of the ropes.

"Son?"

He liked it when his dad called him that.

He climbed up on the desk and folded his hands together. He looked at them instead of his dad. I worry about a lot of things, he hedged.

"I know that. But I don't understand why this development upsets you. I don't have to work as much anymore. I can assign robots to finish almost everything that isn't yet complete. I have only to supervise them."

You'll find excuses to work anyway. You always do.

His dad chewed on the licorice for a long minute, then said, "If we're having this talk again I need to eat something more substantial than this. Come." And he started walking away without checking to see if Alan was following, because Alan always did.

They went back to the Orphanage, where his dad made an omelette and toast and ate about half of it before saying, "So. Back to the subject at hand. You disapprove of my work habits."

You work too much, Alan said, a little hesitantly. And when you aren't working you always find a reason to do some.

"I do," his dad said, and he drank from his water bottle before continuing. "Do you know why I do that?"

Because...

"You can say it. I already know what you think it's about."

Because if you work then you have an excuse not to do anything else.

"No." His dad finished his toast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "It's because I start to get... well, it's akin to worrying. If I don't have a project to engage in, preferably several, I begin to lose myself. It's the way my mind has always worked. I always need to be doing something: not because I'm trying to avoid anything, but because not doing so unsettles me."

You do use it as an excuse sometimes. He said it carefully; he didn't think he would upset his dad right now, but he also didn't want to provide the end to his dad's good mood. But his dad nodded.

"I do." He tapped his finger against the tabletop momentarily. "Alan, look. I'll tell you something, but it stays between us. Agreed?"

Alan nodded. Out of the two of them, only Ada might even care about whatever it was, but Alan liked their secrets too much to tell any of them. His dad finished eating and pushed his plate aside.

"If you dislike the way I do some things, I'd like you to just tell me. I'm not going to like it. But I need to break a cycle here, Alan."

What cycle?

His dad licked his lips but didn't answer the question. Alan decided to see if he would respond to a little bit of pushing. Not too much.

You didn't have a good dad, did you.

He shook his head once.

Do you want to talk about it?

His dad's laugh was short and bitter. "No. But I said I would. Once I have I don't want to discuss it again. I've spent so many years trying to... anyway. That isn't relevant.

"My father was a bartender at a chain restaurant. What that means is he spent all his time pouring intoxicating beverages to people who didn't care about his existence at the behest of a faceless corporation. In such establishments where the owners don't watch their security cameras too closely, people working behind the bar sometimes get into the liquor a bit too deep. You see, when spending ten hours a day fielding the stupidity of the general public whilst trying to avoid the sneaking suspicion you're worse off than they are, some people turn to alcohol to make the end of their days seem a little less cold. Sometimes the customers supply the shots; sometimes the bartender just pours them for himself. My father did both."

His dad took a long drink out of the water bottle, as though this conversation had reminded him to, and Alan noted a little guiltily that his dad was entirely more morose. Maybe Alan shouldn't have asked. He was about to tell his dad he could stop if he wanted when he continued,

"My father hated me. He still does. When he has the chance he continues to harass me for the mere crime of existing. He hates everything about me, but what he hates most is my intelligence. He cannot stand that I am a genius without peer while he is no better than a common thug. My father would come home at night from those late bartending shifts and he would find an excuse to take his anger and his frustration out on me. The most common reason was that I was smart, as though being born with a mind such as mine was wrong. He used to beat me because he could not accept that his son was better than he was. A father is supposed to want what's best for his son. He's supposed to want his son to achieve greater things than he ever could. My father was ashamed and resentful of me long before I ever became a criminal.

"One night my father came home, angrier and more intoxicated than ever before. He had lost his temper at work at long last and had started a fight with some other drunken idiot. There was property damage and someone's nose ended up broken, and when my father came home he blamed it on me. He said it was my fault. Somehow I had condemned him to a life he hated just by existing. He was… brutal, that night, moreso than ever, and I admit… he nearly broke me down. It was almost more than I could endure, and I should have concluded earlier he would get there eventually, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say. So I left that night as soon as I could. I had finally realised he really would kill me one day, and I had to go before it became reality. It had come to the point where being homeless was infinitely better than living under his roof any longer."

His dad was clenching his hands together so much that the pink was gone from his knuckles, and Alan felt very bad. He didn't understand everything his dad had said, but it seemed to be hurting him on the inside and that was the very last thing he ever wanted to do. Alan knew how to bandage his dad's cuts and stop his headaches and cover up the bruises when he had to go out, but this kind of pain wasn't something he could do anything about.

I'm sorry, Alan said. It didn't sound right but it was the only thing he could think of.

His dad shrugged and got up, and while he was cleaning the dishes Alan tried to think of something to do. Something that would make his dad feel better and let him know Alan hadn't meant for this. When his dad returned to the table to put the water bottle away Alan tried to offer a hug, but he stepped out of reach. "We can go work on the car, if you're up to it," his dad said.

Yes, Alan said, nodding firmly, and he followed his dad to the garage.

It didn't seem to help, though. Usually, his dad could talk for hours without really stopping, even if he wasn't actually having a conversation. Alan liked that about him. He learned a lot that way. But his dad was silent, sort of like he was there but also wasn't there at the same time, and after a long while Alan got so uncomfortable that he said, You don't have to do this.

When he looked up at Alan his eyes were tired and sad. "I have to do something." His voice was too quiet.

Alan wanted to get up and leave, he really did; he wanted to be there for his dad but he didn't understand the point of sitting here if he was just getting sad too. He remembered sometimes that was what Ada did, just sat with him and that eventually cheered him up, so he stayed. But Ada didn't worry. She didn't have to. So he thought maybe he should get up after all. He couldn't really decide.

He heard his dad's phone vibrate and he looked up to see him take it out of his pocket; when he did so his eyes widened and he smiled a little, covering his mouth with his free hand. To Alan's surprise he actually wrote out a message immediately. He had said he never did that, because if he did people would think he was always available and pester him to no end. When he put the phone back Alan asked, Who was it?

"Jonathan," his dad said, standing up. "He's coming here to see me."

Jonathan? Alan asked, confused. But he was so mean to you last time. Why was his dad so happy to hear from him?

"He's like that." His dad waved a hand dismissively. "But he wouldn't tell me he was coming if he was in a bad mood. He would just show up. Excuse me, Alan. I have a few things to take care of." And off he went, unwrapping his goggles from the back of his head as he went.

When his dad came back downstairs Alan almost didn't recognise him. He had showered and shaved and put on clean clothes, and Alan wasn't sure what he'd done with his hair but it looked different. Whoever Jonathan was, if he upset his dad after this Alan was going to do something about it no matter how happy his dad got just to hear from him.

Do you want me to go downstairs? Alan asked, hoping his dad would say no so he did not have to spy. If he said yes Alan was going to keep an eye on Jonathan anyway. Somehow. But his dad shook his head.

"You can stick around if you want. But he’s not meeting me here. At the factory." And his dad headed off in that direction.

Oh, he did want.

When Jonathan came in Alan made sure to be extra vigilant. But quietly. His dad looked so happy and he didn't want to have to ruin it. He only would if Jonathan got out of hand.

Jonathan took off his hooded coat this time, and underneath he was wearing a long sleeved, collared shirt in a pattern of parallel and perpendicular stripes of different shades of blue. There was probably a name for that, but Alan didn't know what it was. He was wearing darker blue pants, the right leg of which was pinned beneath a metal device reaching from his lower thigh all the way down to his foot. The glasses on Jonathan’s nose were very similar to his dad's, except larger, and there was something very, very wrong with his face. And he wasn't really saying that because he didn't like Jonathan, but because his facial recognition was reluctant to tag it as a face. His skin was very pale and severely scarred, and his tangled hair was the same colour as old iron, longer than his dad's but missing in places. Alan could hardly believe this man was the very same that had threatened his dad last week. He looked too weak to do such a thing; the shadows under his eyes were so much worse than his dad's.

"You look terrible," his dad said, as though he'd been reading Alan's mind, and Jonathan did not smile exactly but the corners of his eyes crinkled just a little. The eyes themselves were a very, very pale shade of blue, and they shone like glass. The righthand one was cloudy, and Alan wondered if he could even see out of it. That was something he liked about being a robot: his parts were easily replaceable for the most part. Organs were not.

"I caught your damned cold," Jonathan said, and even his voice was different from before. It was quieter, with more of a raw edge. "I've been ill near two weeks now. I had to do an unbelievable amount of lying to hide it."

"You deserved it," his dad said, folding his arms. Jonathan nodded a little and eased himself on top of his dad's desk. His legs were so long that his feet still touched the floor.

"I did. But I almost came down with pneumonia, which would have been a bit much. I thought I did have it, two nights ago. It was almost like..."

"Yeah," his dad said quietly, seating himself on the desk as well. "That would have been a bit much."

Jonathan coughed, and Alan noted how it shook his thin shoulders, and how dry it sounded. His dad had said the point of a cough during a cold was to stop the sickness from settling in the lungs, so the person who had it wouldn't die from suffocation. But a dry cough meant then that nothing was happening, only that the throat was irritated, and that meant...

Oh, but he didn't want to be nice to Jonathan!

The polite thing to do, Alan knew, was to go into the other room and get Jonathan a bottle of water. Jonathan was a guest, and doing that would make him feel better and more comfortable. He did not like Jonathan, but his dad had told him that being polite even to people you didn't like was important. You never knew if you would need their help later.

So Alan walked out into the other room and got a bottle of water and nudged his dad so he could give it to Jonathan, and he hated every second of it but it was what his dad would want.

"I..." his dad started to say, accepting the bottle, but Alan shook his head and said, looking at the floor resentfully,

For him.

His dad put a hand on his shoulder, and when Alan glanced up to see that his dad looked almost... impressed, maybe. He twisted the cap off the bottle but could not hand it to Jonathan because he was coughing again, into his arm this time. It was shaking. Despite himself, Alan felt sorry for him. This man was nowhere near as strong as his dad. It made him wonder why his dad was doing what he was told instead of the other way around.

Alan was no expert, but he was pretty sure Jonathan drank more of the water than he needed to ease his throat. He sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and puzzled over that and the rest of Jonathan when it came to him:

Jonathan didn't take care of himself either!

Jonathan on sight slept less than his dad, ate less, washed up less judging by the darkness of what should have been pale hands... looking at Jonathan was like seeing what his dad would be in the future.

He did not like the thought of that at all.

"Todd also caught it," Jonathan said, and he sounded a little better. "I think he deserved it more than I."

His dad laughed. "He did, the insufferable buffoon. I dare not hope he did get pneumonia?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Alas, he did not. He became a great deal more cranky but a great deal less able to articulate it. An entire day where I did not hear 'Crane!' followed by some imbecilic whining. It was wonderful."

"How you put up with him all day I'll never know," his dad said, shaking his head. "What an entitled little upstart that one is."

"It just does not end," Jonathan sighed. "Yes, child, I know you want to kill Batman. I am working as fast as I can and I am pushing everyone else to do the same. The only reason any of you haven't jumped ship yet is that you've all sunk all your money into it."

"Not all my money," his dad said. "I have some left over, plus some you aren't getting no matter how how much you ask."

"I'm sure I could change your mind if I asked nicely," Jonathan said, and his dad abruptly looked away with the inside of his lip between his teeth.

"You're... incognito today, then," his dad said after a moment. Jonathan nodded slowly.

"I have never... had to wear it for so long," he mused quietly. "It was beginning to stifle me. And of course, there is only one place I may go without it."

"Of course," his dad said, in just as muted a way. Jonathan folded long fingers together pensively.

"But that is not really why I am here. I am here because last we spoke I was... inconsiderate."

"That's hardly new with you."

Jonathan moved back a tangled strand of his hair in a deliberate fashion. It didn't stay where he had positioned it, leaving Alan to think that it was more of a distraction of some sort than because Jonathan was trying to fix it.

"True, but I do attempt to keep such words to times you actually deserve them. The plain fact is, you are the only one I can antagonise without consequence, and I dearly had need to antagonise."

"I see." His dad pressed his hands together now, and Alan noted that they were sitting mostly the same way, save for the fact that Jonathan was straight-backed and legs together, while his dad was slouched and his knees spread. He often sat on the desk when they had guests, back at the Orphanage anyway, but more like Jonathan was. Alan was confused as to the change in posture but did not quite have the proper connection to figure out why it was so. It was frustrating.

"I tire of this... so-called mastermind position I have found myself in. I am accosted day and night by imbeciles who cannot be bothered to think for themselves."

"You can't let them," his dad said. "That's when stupid things happen. Stupid does as stupid is, after all."

"There is no man on this earth you define as other than stupid, Edward. Regardless, I would -"

"There is one."

This gave Jonathan pause, and he regarded the man beside him with something... Alan thought it might be something sad, but he could not tell through the state of his face.

"This entire endeavour is far more your style," Jonathan continued. "I am tied down further than anyone in my employ, which seems... counter to my position in the first place."

"You always did prefer silence," his dad said. Jonathan turned and pressed a pale hand to his dad's knee.

"That is it exactly! It is constant fuss and bother, all of the time. I can sleep no longer, for it never ceases."

"I didn't know you knew the meaning of that word."

“I know it less now than I ever did.” Alan thought his hand might have tightened on his dad’s leg. “Not that you look one to talk.”

“That’s your fault, not mine.”

“Perhaps. But I have wandered. I came here that day because I was in a mood and you were about the only person I knew wherein murder would not be a consequence of our interaction.”

“Always coming to see me when you want something,” his dad said bitterly, and he stood up.

“I didn’t – “

“Oh, you did. I know that and still I let you do it anyway. So tell me, old man: what have you come for this time?”

Jonathan’s hand folded up now that it had nothing to wrap itself around. “I may have wondered in passing if you have any of those… kerchiefs with the lotion on them.”

“All of them do,” his dad said, and he rounded the desk to open one of the drawers. “Unfortunately for you, none of them coordinate with your usual attire.”

“I would expect no different.” Jonathan accepted the folded cloth and pressed it underneath his nose, but that was all he did with it. Alan was confused. His dad usually just blew his nose and put it away. Was there another use for these things?

“While you’re here, I don’t suppose you’d care to see what I’ve lost sleep for you building.” His dad had his hands in his pockets and was looking in the direction of the entrance to the factory, and he still looked resentful. He caught Alan’s eye for a moment but did not acknowledge it.

“I would,” Jonathan responded, and he stood as well, albeit more slowly than his dad had. Alan wondered just what was wrong with his leg. His dad regarded Jonathan for a long moment.

“It’s uh… it’s downstairs,” he said finally, and when the two of them moved in that direction Alan followed a little behind.

Despite his frailty and injury, Jonathan seemed more or less to walk at a normal pace; his dad brought them to the centre of the room in about the same amount of time as he did normally. Once there Jonathan looked up at the factory with a kind of… subdued awe, maybe. Alan was having an extremely hard time gauging his expressions.

“This is truly a wonder, old friend,” Jonathan said, and when he looked at the man next to him he smiled just a little. “I do believe you are the only one who could achieve such a thing as this.”

His dad sighed through his nose. “In this amount of time? Yes. You are a horrendous pain in the neck, Jonathan. But I need not spend so much time on your plans anymore. These robots will take care of all of that.”

“I am proud of you,” Jonathan said softly.

“Be careful,” his dad mumbled, which took Alan aback, “someone might think you hold me in some esteem if you keep on like this.”

Alan was becoming increasingly confused as to his dad’s behaviour around this man. Yes, his dad was working for Jonathan, but what was with his submissive markers? He wasn’t standing straight, or speaking with his normal inflections, he wasn’t even looking at Jonathan most of the time! If this was what friendship did to someone, Alan was grateful he did not have any friends. And it made him further suspicious of Jonathan who, save for his clothes, was not really acting any different than he had been last time. He was talking less aggressively perhaps, but he was clearly no less in control now than he had been previously.

“You are giving this to me, truly,” Jonathan was saying. “You don’t need me at all. You could take the city alone.”

“That was never the point. Besides. I don’t have the equipment to build more than three hundred of them, and even that’s a stretch. People don’t leave their hardware lying around like they used to.” He smiled. “But it’s the least I can do. You’re likely to keel over after all of this.”

Jonathan snorted. “I cannot say I will be surprised if I do.” He was still regarding the factory with an appraising eye, and truth be told there was plenty to look at. Alan was familiar with only the external sections, such as the conveyors and the bridge, as his dad had done the inner workings of the facility before Alan had been built. There were probably a lot of things about this place he didn’t know.

“Ah, Edward. Sometimes I imagine I could do this forever. A man’s life work is never done, after all.”

“Mm,” his dad said.

“And then I wake up,” Jonathan continued, a little wistfully Alan thought, “and remember I am old and tired and in pain.”

His dad looked up at Jonathan for a long moment, then pushed up his glasses, crossing his arms after he did so.

“Forever’s a long time,” he said.

“You will keep your promise?”

“I told you I would,” his dad answered, frowning. “When we had that private meeting. You couldn’t have forgotten already.”

“I have not.” Jonathan shifted his shoulders deliberately. “But I have always had my doubts that you ever truly intended to retire. Bluntly, you are addicted to the game, Edward, and if you must be torn from it I’m afraid I no longer have the energy to do so. It is not personal. But my taste for a fight of any kind has paled. If you change your mind I will not argue, but you will not hear from me again.”

His dad took a long breath.

“You’d be right,” he said, slowly. “But circumstances have arisen that forced me to reassess my stance. It’s less about whether I can, and more about…”

“Whether you should,” Jonathan finished. “Well, whatever your final decision turns out to be I shall respect it. You know which one I would advise.”

“As my self-appointed doctor?”

“No,” Jonathan said. “As your friend.” And he walked away, to look over the computer equipment that had yet to be defensed. His dad looked after him, and his hands were opening and closing and his face confused. If Alan had been bold enough, he would have told his dad to let this man leave and not come back as he had just said he would. He felt almost helpless. What was it that Alan wasn’t seeing? Why was this man his dad’s friend? Retire from what? What was the promise?

It was then he realised there was a great, great deal of things about his dad he did not know, and it scared him.

He was again unnerved when his dad stepped forward and, without any signs of indication whatsoever, put his arms around Jonathan’s waist! His nose was pressed into Jonathan’s neck, and Jonathan sighed and put one of his hands on one of the clasping arms. His head was bowed and slightly in the direction of his left shoulder.

“It seems your brain is not the only muscle you know how to enhance.”

His dad laughed, and his smile did not fade when he said, “I didn’t think you’d deign to notice.”

“I notice everything. But where would the fun be if I indulged you as much as you wanted, hm? If you came to expect it, the meaning would be lost.” He tapped the arm he was holding with his index finger. “It’s the withholding that makes it all the better.”

“There’s a such thing as being too stingy with your compliments,” his dad grumbled.

“Mm. Well, I’ve no doubt the rest of you is equally impressive, but unfortunately I must leave without looking.” And when Jonathan gently removed his dad’s arms he met no resistance.

“You could stay the night,” his dad said, once Jonathan faced him again. “The Orphanage has beds, and I promise no shenanigans. I will not even go near the room if you want. You can sleep in peace there.”

But before he had even finished speaking, Jonathan was already shaking his head. “I should not have come in the first place. You know that if I am found here the entire operation would be under suspicion. People with more curiosity than is needed are already wondering why you have certain privileges. There are some privileges that cannot come even close to discovery.”

“Privileges,” his dad said, and for some reason he was still smiling. “Is that what these visits are now.”

“Certainly,” Jonathan told him. “I am the only person who has been given the honour of viewing your factory, am I not?”

Alan did not understand why – all of the interactions he’d seen taken together, his dad could do much, much better than Jonathan – but his dad looked happier now than Alan had ever seen him before. And Alan wanted badly to advise him to stay away from Jonathan, that everything pointed to Jonathan being a terrible friend that his dad could do without… but how could he, having seen him so happy and having realised that he really didn’t know either of them all that well? His dad could make his own decisions, right?

He felt bad for wishing Jonathan had never come by at all. He had made things so much more complicated.

“You know, my friend, that this part of your role is such to keep you secret and safe. My being here risks your privacy. And we both know how deeply you value that.”

“Yes,” his dad said, somewhat subdued. “Of course.”

And then Jonathan put one of his hands alongside his dad’s face, cupping it and smoothing his thumb slowly along the cheekbone there, and all his dad did was look up into the glasses on the other man’s face. Jonathan was not much taller, only three inches at most, but like this his dad seemed so small, somehow.

“You have become thin, however,” Jonathan murmured, “and this concerns me. Ah – don’t say it. It is a constant in my life but not in yours. Think it over.”

His dad nodded, which Alan did not understand. Why was he not arguing about being told what to do?

They stood there like that a moment, Jonathan’s eyes softly searching his dad’s face with his thumb tracing that line with some great care, and when his dad opened his mouth Jonathan used the other hand to place one index finger against his lips. As he did so he said, “You always talk too much.”

His dad looked down and licked his lips, and Jonathan smiled as he leaned forward, pressing their mouths together. Gently at first, almost delicately; then Alan’s dad threw his arms over Jonathan’s shoulders and around his neck as Jonathan slid his hands up the jaw he had been holding and into the hair behind his head. They were holding each other with such intensity, their mouths joined with such force, that Alan thought he had finally realised just what was going on.

He did not really know what the point of this was, except that it inspired some feeling in both of them that drew them together despite their differences. Some feeling his dad could only get from Jonathan, and so caused him to put up with the disrespect and the lack of authority he had around him, and it was something Alan could never give.

His dad loved Jonathan.

And he had been right, when he had said Alan could not experience this and he was glad he never would; whatever kind of love he had for his dad was not this, and he too was glad. This was something too deep, too complex, too much. This was one ability of his dad’s that he did not want.

Jonathan ended it, gently but firmly; his dad did not want to stop but Jonathan pressed his head into his dad’s shoulder and moved his arms midway down his back. His dad’s face was buried in Jonathan’s shirt. The ensuing silence was suddenly very pressing.

“I do not sleep often anymore,” Jonathan murmured after a moment, “but in between the nightmares brought on by the stress, I dream of holding you.”

“Jon – “

“Ssh.” One of Jonathan’s hands had returned to his dad’s hair and was gently running through it. “But sadly I must confess they are worse than the ill dreams are, for then I wake to a cold bed and arms that are empty.”

He seemed to look for something across the room momentarily, but when Alan looked he could see nothing there.

“At times I lie in bed and recall the days when your arms were around my waist and your face against my back. I remember that then I would complain and push you away, and now I… I do not know why I was so irritated.”

His dad extricated himself and said, “You need to go.”

Jonathan nodded.

Once they had returned upstairs and were standing in front of the doorway, his dad took a breath and paused when Jonathan shook his head.

“Don’t say it.”

His dad crossed his arms and looked away. “I wasn’t going to.”

“I believe you may have been.”

“I wasn’t! Of course I wouldn’t. It’s not the time nor the place. I only wanted… Jonathan, I just miss you, all right? Aren’t I allowed to say that? Do you always have to make this so difficult?”

“You know that I do.” Jonathan smiled just a little, and he leaned forward to press his lips into the furrowed brow. “I will see you soon.”

His dad put three fingers to the spot on his face Jonathan had touched as he watched the man leave, but he did not move otherwise.

He kept your handkerchief, Alan said, by now believing his dad had forgotten he was there, and he did seem surprised when he looked behind him. But he only smiled and said, mostly to himself,

“Yes. I know.”

Does… does Jonathan love you back?

“Sometimes,” his dad answered. “Not all the time.” He frowned, turning to face Alan. “How… where did you get that idea from?”

You love who makes you happiest. Jonathan makes you happy. In a way no one else can. And oddly, now that he had said it, he didn’t really mind. He would be there for his dad in his own way, and that was fine, because he needed both Alan and Jonathan. Just for different reasons.

“He is… something.” His dad glanced over his shoulder. “I have yet to figure out what. But today he was here because he felt sick and tired and lonely, and I am all he has. He didn’t want to admit it. Never has and never will. And he doesn’t have to.”

Alan had one more question, which was probably going to seem a little odd and useless to answer, given that he could not experience such things, but he went ahead and asked. What did he taste like?

“What did he taste like?” his dad said incredulously. “What on earth brought such a question to mind?”

That’s what mouths are for, right? Tasting things.

“Oh.” His dad’s hands returned at long last to his pockets. “Well. Coffee and cough syrup, I suppose.” His brow creased a little, but not quite enough to make him look sad. “He always tastes like coffee.”

Alan did not know what either of those things were and felt a little silly for having asked. He wondered if his dad knew that Alan lacked this knowledge or not. He hoped he didn’t.

“Alan, I’d… like to work alone for a while. You can do as you like.”

Okay, Alan said. His dad went over and sat behind the desk, but before Alan could leave his dad called back,

“Alan. I wanted to mention.”

Yes?

“I know you don’t like Jonathan. That’s fine. I’m not asking you to. But I appreciate your getting the water for him anyway. It was the right thing to do.”

If he makes you happy I will not say anything, Alan told him, a little cowed to hear that his dislike had been so obvious. His dad nodded.

“Off you go.”

And he did as he was told, of course he did, but when he looked behind him he saw that his dad had folded his hands together in his lap and was staring in the general direction of the ceiling, and he realised maybe there was a reason for his dad to stop working after all. And maybe, even if that reason was not the nicest person in the world, maybe he was better than Alan thought he was and he just had more yet to learn.

He hoped so.

Author’s note

Lilyofthevalley, just wanted to make sure you knew I’ve been replying to all your reviews and they’ll be in your ff.net inbox. I’m not expecting you to answer any of them, but you had a couple question-esque statements in your last review that I answered for you in a PM, as I prefer not to do so in author’s notes.

A few notes on things referred to in this fic:

- This fic is part of my Arkhamverse series, lined up as such on AO3 which allows such things, and mentions a couple things from fics called We Get Along and Is it Working? Notably, Edward’s promise, which is that when they are both ready they will retire to Canada together.

- Jonathan mentions he thought he was getting pneumonia, which I have not quite written into fanfic yet but which I believe he would have gotten after Croc nearly drowned him in the game Arkham Asylum.

- Within Arkham Knight, the militia mentions a few times that they have seen Edward’s robots wandering around but are under orders to leave him and the Riddlerbots alone, which would be part of the special privileges Jonathan mentions. Riddler is also allowed to go wherever he wants, which no other villains appear to be able to do (though it is unclear whether they want to or if they’ve been told not to). Jonathan says that Edward is being kept secret and safe because the robot factory itself is not even in the main game, and all of Edward’s important equipment is kept underground, which is notable because that is specifically where the Cloudburst is unable to reach.

#so says Indy #Scriddler #Scarecrow #Riddler #Riddlerbots #Programmer Dad #Arkham Knight #fanfic #fanfic from Indy

58 notes · View notes