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askgentlemanonceler · 12 years

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Bitter's headx Entre, Entre's stealing Bitter's decapitated head and pretending that he is still alive with it.

Dave had not seen Entre ever since "the incident". The Once-ler was always cooped up in his office or at least what remained of it.

He knew, as a secretary, he had no right to infiltrate his boss's headquarters. But as a friend, he had the right to be concerned.

So Dave walked up the broken stairs to The Once-ler's office.

It was pitch black. Too dark to work, so what has the young entrepreneur been up to this whole time. In the corner of the darkness, something glowed. Was it the moss? Had it reached Entre? Was he-

What Dave saw was even more disturbing. A preserved head. He felt faint, nauseous. A vivid memory of what had happened a few days back... "Dave?"

His body jerked immediately behind him. It was the Once-ler.

Entre's face seemed age, his eyes were empty. He had an ax in hand. "Oh hey- Bro, sorry I didn't mean to come uninvited. I just want to chec-" Entre grabbed Dave by the neck and pinned his body up to the wall.

The Once-ler stared at his face, then let him down. Dave fell to the floor gasping for air. Entre dragged the ax toward the decapitated head. His face lit up, "Hey Bitter, how are you today?"

#Asktheyoungentreprenuer #daveoftheguy #Bitteronceler

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darkalgrimer · 12 years

Text

Sunlight

Pairing: Seventre

Summary: Small drabble based on their vacation

His first thought is what happened to that alarm?

There’s the heat of sunlight on his face as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, chest rising through a deep inhale before releasing with a short whoosh past his lips. Entre’s arms flop to the sides as he smiles at the ceiling, rested and refreshed and sunk beneath a mountain of white pillows and down comforter.

His smile dips a little as he peeks at the window, sun spilling between green hotel curtains. If it were six in the morning –appointed wake-up time– it would definitely not be that bright outside. He scrunches up his nose and allows a languid stretch to roll through his body, fingers entwined and sliding up the headboard as his back arches and feet curl over the end of the bed. With a satisfied sigh, Entre rolls over to the clock on the nightstand, expecting to have lost an hour or two only to read the digital numbers and nearly fall off the bed in a scramble of limbs.

“O-ONE?!”

Immediately, his hands slap over his mouth, fingertips digging into his cheeks as blue eyes flicker over to the still-snoozing man in the bed across from his own.

When he doesn't stir, Entre’s fingers slowly slide away in relief. “Sorry,” he whispers and snags his bottom lip between his teeth, knowing the man can’t hear him but still feeling the need to say it. For a moment, he simply bounces on his knees on the bed, indecisive. He doesn't really want to wake up 72 when he looks so comfortable but at the same time he knows the man would want to get their day started – or what was left of it anyway.

His lip slips out so he can gnaw on the inside of his cheek instead and nervously tug at his bunny pajamas. Untangling himself from the sheets, Entre pushes off the bed, padding the few steps across until his weight makes a dip at the edge of 72’s. Honestly, he isn't surprised he had slept in. Entre had always been an early riser by nature but the stress of booming business had smothered that a bit so he was quick to take any chance at rest he could get.

But 72?

Entre reaches over, his toes pushing and curling into the carpet as his fingertips graze the dusting of hair over the man’s chest, just above the bedsheet. There’s a physical jolt from the skin-on-skin contact that reminds Entre he’s not wearing his gloves, and 72’s here not-wearing much less. As if the situation’s not intimate enough, the knowledge of that makes him squirm a little in his spot.

It’s really weird to see him like this – not bad! Definitely not bad, just…weird. He was all business: schedules, control, paperwork and all the knowledge, all the answers, all the time. It’s weird to see him relaxed. It’s weird to see him enjoying a break.

His fingers climb higher, and he has to swallow around a lump in his throat when they trace the smooth line of a collarbone.

He jumps when a hand snaps around his wrist.

“What are you doing, kid?” 72 keeps firm hold on him, voice gruff with the dregs of sleep.

“SORRY! SIR! Sorry, I’m sorry,” Entre babbles, flustered and looking everywhere and anywhere but his mentor’s face, which is obscured by shadow. The bar of sunlight only highlights his jaw and the upper part of his chest but Entre doesn’t need to see the rest to know what kind of look he must be getting.

The man releases his wrist and pats his hand reassuringly, covering a loud yawn with his own. “You startled me, that’s all.”

“Ehe…sorry,” Entre smiles and pulls his hand back, cheeks still flushed as he wrings them into his shirt. “But, y’see, we uh-“

But 72 is already aware, having reached over and turned the clock to face him. “No, no, look at the hour,” he laments, shaking his head and bringing a hand up beneath the shadows, over his eyes. “So much for our plans, our breakfast, a morning shower.”

“No, it’s fine! Don’t worry!” The boy waves his hands frantically, climbing further up on the bed. “It’s only day one! We can just stay in and order movies and stuff for today, no problem!”

For a moment, 72 looks unsure. But then he picks his head up a bit from the pillow, sheet slipping a little lower as a soft chuckle rumbles up the column of this throat. “If that’s what you’d like.”

Entre’s smile is so brightfully infectious it’s almost nauseating. “I like,” he chirps, grabbing at and squeezing the man’s fingers in his own, “whatever I get to do with you.”

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Here have this too. Old seventre thing I wrote to try and cheer a friend up.

#seventre #onceler #lorax #asktheyoungentreprenuer #ask72

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