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from-a-reckless-writer · 3 years

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dove down my rabbit hole of wips and one of my wips isnt a wip anymore! so here, have some gay shit....

“Kelly wants to get married in the woods, I want to get married in Midvale. So, apparently, our wedding will just happen via Zoom. Her in the woods, me at the beach. Ain’t that just fucking grand?”

Alex comes through the door like a hurricane covered in leather. Her helmet lands on Kara’s counter loudly. Her keys haphazardly thrown somewhere in the general direction of the bowl by the door.

“Then have two weddings.”

Alex follows the voice and her eyes zero in on her sister’s best friend.

Lena is sitting on the floor of Kara’s apartment, wearing an oversized sweater. Her dark hair spilling down her shoulders softly. A hand wrapping around a wine glass, the other typing on her laptop, not even jumping in the slightest at the commotion that is Alex’s entrance.

Alex plops down on the couch sighing loudly, not even batting an eye at this utterly domestic scene that is her sister washing the dishes with Lena Luthor on the floor of her apartment.

Lena doesn’t comment at the Danvers’ Sisters antics and Alex doesn’t call them out on the ridiculousness that Lena and Kara are still keen on keeping up.

The three of them already well desensitized to one another’s preferred brand of bullshitery.

“You know, sometimes I forget you're a rich-ass bitch and then you say shit like that and suddenly, I remember,” Alex says, smoothly snatching the wine from Lena’s hand.

She finishes the entire glass in one gulp and Lena rolls her eyes. Alex had finally proposed to Kelly the other week and well, that meant this week all of them had fallen victim to the Olsen-Danvers wedding debacle. It seems today isn’t the day that that whole dilemma is going to stop.

The wedding, of course, was still a few months away, but both parties were stressing about it as if it was going to happen immediately the next day.

Kara swoops in then, mussing up Alex’s hair, earning her an annoyed Hey stop it! before putting down another wine glass and pouring for Lena. Her arms are still wet from washing the dishes.

Lena murmurs her thanks and continues what she was saying, “Well, since you’ve finally remembered that I’m a billionaire. Let me pay for two weddings.”

Alex chokes on the wine.

“What? You’re kidding me, right?”

Lena continues typing, ignoring Alex’s shock, you’d think she didn’t just offer to pay for a wedding.

“Well, I mean, I’m never gonna get married,” Lena explains, “but if you let me do this, I can brag around that I’ve paid for two weddings. Not to mention I’m gonna make two brides very, very happy.”

“Or,” Kara interjects, lowering herself on the opposite side of the couch, perfect for Lena to lean back between Kara’s legs and lay her head on the side of her thigh. “You can just wait for Kelly to get here,” Kara says, pointedly. “Talk it out like normal adults and reach a compromise.”

Kara’s hands start to snake their way from Lena’s hair to Lena’s shoulders, massaging, all too aware that Lena won’t stop whatever it is she’s working on on her laptop till everybody gets here.

Lena lets herself melt and closes her eyes, sighing as Kara’s fingers dip at the junction of her neck and shoulder with just the right amount of pressure.

“I don’t wanna get married in the woods, Kara.”

Lena opens one eye to take a peek at Alex, who looks exasperated, her eyes pleading, gulping down another glass of wine.

“Don’t tell me,” Kara replies. “Tell Kelly.”

“The bugs, Kara,” Alex moans. “Imagine the bugs, and the moss and the ughhh.”

She dramatically thumps the back of her head on the couch.

“Imagine the soil. Clumpy wet soil. Eurgh. Ew. What if I fall face first in that? What if I trip over a stupid tree root in my heels? In my wedding dress?!”

“Alex, you don’t even have a dress yet,” Kara deadpans.

“I thought you were gonna wear a suit,” Lena adds.

“You two suck.” Alex pouts.

****

The rest of their friends arrive and Kara finally succeeds in prying Lena’s work laptop away from her. Alex was already teasing the line from tipsy to drunk by the time Kelly comes through the door.

“Let’s get married in Vegas!!!!” Is how Alex decides to greet her fiance.

Kelly laughs, gives her a peck then answers, “As much as that sounds like a very convenient wedding, I don’t think Eliza would appreciate that, baby.”

Alex frowns at being rejected, sags against the couch and crosses her arms. Why does Kelly always have to be right?

“How much has she had to drink?” Kelly turns to Kara.

“Uhh ask Lena. She made her switch to whiskey.”

Lena—who Kelly thinks was way too busy nuzzling against Kara’s neck to even answer her question—mumbles something that sounds like “S’was just two glasses.”

Kelly just shakes her head, makes Alex drink a glass of water. Her ring making a clink against the glass.

“Alright, what if,” Nia sing-songs, eyes sparkling with mischief, “we just settle this whole wedding thing with Charades?”

Nia claps her hands together like some gameshow host and Kelly takes a deep breath through the nose.

She’s been to enough Game Nights to know where this is headed.

Everybody else was intoxicated enough to accept the suggestion as a grand idea, not at all even thinking that: Hey, isn’t this something we should all take seriously?? Maybe ask the brides what they want, maybe???

Kara nods enthusiastically, agreeing immediately, “Oh!! That’s a great idea! Fun and fair at the same time!”

“Olsen vs. Danvers. Brides get to pick their teams.”

Nia pulls a white board out of nowhere, uncaps a marker and writes “Team Danvers”, “Team Olsen” separated by a neat line in the middle.

“Are we really letting Nia take charge of our wedding venue?" She hears Alex whisper from where she has her tucked at the crook of her neck.

Kelly sneaks a glance at the chaos happening before their eyes; Brainy already claiming to be on Kelly’s team, J’onn shaking his head opting to be the game scorer instead and refusing to participate, somebody’s shouting about: NIA, DREAM PROJECTIONS AT CHARADES IS CHEATING!!!!

Guess this is their life now.

Kelly smirks, boops Alex on the nose and says, “Scared you’ll lose, Danvers?”

****

Alex loses by three points.

“How was I supposed to know you were gesturing 'Transformers'!?!” She barks at Kara, throwing her hands in exasperation.

“I pointed at Nia!” Kara huffs, incredulous at the fact that her sister is blaming her.

Nia lost them a point too!

“What does Nia even have to do with it???” Alex’s voice grows higher in pitch. Her brows furrow in a mix of confusion and frustration.

“Trans, Alex. Trans.”

“Oh my God,” Alex groans. “How are you this dumb?”

And that was the story of how Kelly got her dream wedding.

****

The frenzy finally dies down, some time between Nia making up another drinking game and J’onn making her sit back down. A movie that none of them were watching provides a background noise to the almost lazy atmosphere. Kelly and Alex were pressed close on the far end of the couch, enjoying the temporary quiet.

“Guess we’re getting married in the woods, huh?” Alex murmurs.

“I guess we are,” Kelly whispers back. Alex beams at her, grinning dopily at the thought of finally getting the ending they deserve. It would be the perfect day, she has no doubt about that. No matter where they are. It would be perfect because they got there together.

Alex can’t wait.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.”

Alex continues to smile stupidly, nudges her nose to Kelly’s.

“Just— I don’t really care where we get married, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” Kelly raises an amused brow at her.

“Mm-hm. So long as you’re the one walking down the aisle.”

Alex presses their lips together, breathes Kelly in deep and for the first time that night, she feels that the future isn’t so scary, even though there is still a very large possibility that she might trip over a tree root on her wedding day.

Somebody interrupts their kiss.

“She’s only saying that ‘cos she lost.”

“Shut up, Luthor.”

****

“Text me when you get home!”

Lena hears Kara call loudly after her sister, before closing the door. Game Night has officially ended and as usual she’s still here. She’ll always be here, she thinks for a brief moment. The thought holding more depth than it should.

Kara didn’t even question her when everybody began filing out and Lena just started picking up the discarded dirty plates and walking them to the sink. They’re well past the point of asking each other if the other would stay over.

It was already some unspoken rule.

Already well past the point of Lena wanting to ask Kara what the hell it is they’re doing.

She’s bent over the sink, scrubbing—Kara doesn’t own a dishwasher for the sole reason that she finds doing the dishes therapeutic—when Lena takes a glance over her shoulder.

Kara is sitting on a high stool near the counter, casually flicking through her phone. It was Lena’s turn to do the dishes tonight. Once upon a time her doing the dishes would have resulted in a fight. “I can superspeed the dishes. Why would you even want to do them?” A statement that would be met with an eye roll.

Kara has learned not to fight her on it again, after around the 7th time that Lena had stubbornly insisted and Supergirl got doused with dishwashing liquid.

And now, it’s become some sort of routine, Kara does the dishes after lunch and Lena does the dishes after dinner. Oh, how the paparazzi would kill for this—Lena Luthor Knows What A Sponge Is?

“Is it true when you told Alex you’re never going to get married?”

Kara decides to break their quiet.

“Yeah, pretty certain about that one, why?” Lena turns around, cocks a curious brow. If she’s being honest she’s beyond certain that she’s not going to get married. She always jokes about how she’s married to L-Corp but it isn’t till now that she realizes how true that is, and...how lonely.

“I don’t know,” Kara murmurs, not meeting Lena’s eyes. “I just like the idea of you getting married, I guess.”

“What?” Lena chuckles at that; genuinely confused but still curious.

“Well, I mean—” Kara wobbles through her words.

“I guess, I just— I like the idea of you walking down the aisle...in a white dress,” Kara muses.

Then, “Or a suit!!” she quickly amends. “If you wanna wear a suit, that is. That can totally be arranged, you know?” Kara waves her hand around and it’s like now that she’s started, she can’t stop.

And Lena’s just standing there, water still dripping from her elbow, unsure of how to feel about Kara imagining her getting married. Quite an incredulous scene isn’t it? Her getting married? What a crazy thing to say, an even crazier scenario to imagine!

She snaps out of it, realizing Kara’s still rambling.

“I have no objections whatsoever with that, if you wanna wear a suit. And yeah, you know? I just— I like that idea. I like the idea of you dancing to your wedding song. The idea of you exchanging your vows, the idea of you-”

“Kara,” Lena decides to put a stop to it, since it’s clearly evident Kara won’t be stopping any time soon. And Lena's feeling way too many things that she doesn’t want to feel at the moment. She’s sure that she’s going to feel more, if she doesn’t put a stop to it herself.

“I’m well aware that it’s the best friend’s job to help with the bride’s wedding,” She says, “but, darling don’t you think you’re putting just a bit too much effort into this? Certainly seems like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

At that, Kara’s cheeks turn a light pink, squirming sheepishly under Lena’s questioning gaze.

Shouldn’t Kara be thinking about her own wedding? How beautiful she would look walking down the aisle. How her blonde hair would look so nicely with her dress. How happy she would finally be after finding someone she could share her life with. Not that Lena's been thinking about those kinds of things. No, of course not. That’d be hypocritical of her at this point. Why would she even— Why were they even talking about this again???

Lena tries to rein in it, tries to focus on Kara again; hands finally finding a dry towel, hesitantly walking into Kara’s space to hear the blonde more clearly.

“Well, I mean- Like I said, I do really like the idea of you getting married,” Kara repeats herself slowly.

And before Lena can come any closer, “Like the idea of you getting married…to me. More specifically,” Kara adds more quietly.

“What?”

Lena stands frozen.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard y- Kara, did you just?”

Lena’s heart is pounding away in her chest. Did she hear her right? Did Kara really just—

Lena’s a step away from her and Kara uses this to her advantage. She pulls Lena closer, tugging at her wrist, the towel dropping from Lena’s hands. Kara summons enough willpower to stare into Lena’s eyes.

“I like the idea of you getting married to me, Lena Luthor.”

“Kara, I’m sorry- What?” Lena jerks away from her, the words finally landing.

“Is that a no?”

Kara lets her go. She can’t focus on Lena’s heartbeat to assess the situation more. Kara’s own heart is betraying her, drumming so loudly in her ears.

“Uh- no, that's definitely not a no?” says Lena hesitantly, eyes wide, breathing nervously. She turns away from Kara for a minute to take a breath, hands fidgeting about.

She whirls around again to face, mutters, “You do realize marriages are for people who are—”

She pauses.

How do you exactly phrase that wedding proposals are for people who are actually in some kind of romantic relationship? And not for people who casually stay over every goddamn Thursday without fail?And okay, maybe sometimes, in a much different reality, would willingly commit fratricide to save the other? And in an also much different reality, willingly expose a secret identity to save the other?

Lena can’t find the right words.

“Oh, I don’t know, Kara,” Lena scoffs, shaking her head disbelievingly. “Marriage is for people who are actually dating each other.”

Kara takes her sarcasm as a good sign and pulls her in again.

“Well,” Kara begins. She can hear Lena’s heart thumping erratically, now that Kara’s gotten her bearings.

“We can always have our first date after the wedding, right?”

Aren’t they well past the point of dating anyway?

She’s got Lena standing between her legs now, her hands wrapping around her waist.

“First date and honeymoon all in one. That sounds great, doesn’t it? I can fly you wherever you want, Paris, Maldives, hell I even have a Fortress in the Arctic, if you’re into that.”

Lena stares at her, blinks once, twice; shakes her head and lets out a noise between a laugh and a scoff.

“Kara Zor-El, you are one ridiculous woman,” She breathes, putting a hand on Kara’s cheek. Because what else is there to say? This whole conversation really is ridiculous. But at the same time Lena feels like she’s floating? Like this may be the best moment of her life, and of course, it’s going to be ridiculous. This is Kara she’s dealing with, after all.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do if Kara reveals this to be just some sort of joke.

But the way her blue eyes are piercing through Lena’s, so earnest and so warm, argues otherwise.

“So, what do you say? Wanna get married?”

“Are you serious right now?” Lena asks, still unbelieving. This is beyond crazy. They’ve fought aliens and monsters and traveled through time but this? This is just beyond crazy.

“Lena, do I look like I’m joking? And besides, you’d already offered to pay for two weddings, why not pay for our two weddings, instead?”

She shakes her head again, let’s herself fall closer to Kara, lets out a laugh against her neck.

“Mm. You want a Kryptonian ceremony too?”

“Yeah.” Kara’s voice turns shy. “If that’s alright by you.”

“Of course, that’s alright by me. I’d be honored.”

Her heart feels more than full at the thought of Kara wanting to share that part of her with Lena. She’s always had some doubts whenever the topic of Kara’s Kryptonian heritage arises, always half-afraid she’s overstepped on something that isn’t hers.

But looks like there was nothing to fear all along.

“So, we’re getting married, huh?” Kara wiggles her brows, her face breaking into a wide grin.

“Yes. Mm-hm,” Lena hums against her. “I do. I’d marry you. Let’s get married.”

“Seal it with a kiss?"

****

“Hi.”

Lena blearily opens her eyes, follows the soft voice, her bare back being caressed by the sun filtering through Kara’s curtains.

“Hi,” She whispers back. All this feels much too like a fever dream. She’s half-tempted to pinch herself just to check. She’s woken up beside Kara a million times before but she’ll never get used to the sight of soft golden hair and sleepy blue eyes.

Kara gives her a soft peck and the feel of her lips sends Lena reeling.

The previous night was a whirlwind in her mind’s eye. The moment Lena murmured her 'Yes, please.', Kara kissed her passionately. Once they broke away, Kara had zipped around the apartment, Lena too dazed to even ask what it was Kara was looking for.

She watched as Kara tore off a keychain from one of her bags, curled the keyring to fit Lena’s finger and whispered, “This’ll do. For now.”

Kara had kissed her knuckles reverently, her lips making Lena’s blood sing in her veins. The feel of mangled metal fitted just for her left hand is an imprint on her soul. A promise of more to come.

They didn’t make it out of the kitchen the first time. Kara had lifted her by the waist and set her down on the kitchen counter. Which was a good thing, because Lena couldn’t feel her legs after.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom the second time either. She had tackled Kara onto the couch, pinning her wrists together, licking at the shell of Kara’s ear. “My turn now,” Lena had whispered. The way Kara shivered underneath her was enough of a reward. How long had they been waiting for this?

Flashes of last night had her hips bucking slightly unto Kara’s leg sandwiched between her own, but before it could escalate further...

“I have exciting news to share,” Kara tells her.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Kara hums, now nosing at Lena’s hair.

“What is it?” Lena asks.

“I’m getting married.”

“Oh you are?” Lena plays along.

“Yes. I’m getting married to my best friend,” whispers Kara, almost conspiratorially. “How cool is that?”

Kara looks giddy with excitement and Lena knows she’s mirroring that exact same expression right now.

“Mm. Very cool, darling.”

Kara giggles and they trade more lazy kisses before Lena breaks away to breathe.

“Quite a coincidence though,” Lena husks out against Kara’s lips.

“Oh really? Why?” Kara asks, tries to keep a serious neutral face despite her nose scrunching up in that cute smile that Lena can’t resist

“I’m also getting married,” Lena confides, “To my best friend," she adds, eyes flashing. "Isn’t that great?”

“Very great.” Kara nods slowly, blonde hair falling into her face, a hand running through dark tresses.

“I love you,” Lena whispers, her lips brushing Kara’s softly.

“I love you, too.” Kara kisses her harder then, her hands lazily wandering along Lena’s skin.

They lie there quietly for a few moments, basking in the morning glow and then, “Alex will kill us.”

Lena snorts, twists in the sheets and says, “I think your sister is too busy planning her wedding to even think about plotting our murder.”

read follow-up here.

#im praying we get a dansen wedding u guys #anyways yeah this is something they would totally do right?#get married on a whim #if u see a typo no u didnt #oh and also im still working on the prompts u guys sent me so there's that #thats the majority of my wips cos im one slow writer #happy supercorp sunday lovely people #supercorp ficlet of sorts #the reckless writer writes #supercorp #rcklss writes

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mochegato · 4 years

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Pixie Spy

Chapter 6

Chapter 1 Chapter 5

“What the fuck is this bullshit! Are you sure?” Chat Noir exclaimed loudly from his perch across the street from the hotel.

“Just telling you what I see, dude. There’s no Nightwing in that room.” Carapace reported with very little sympathy from his position across the street from the hotel on the other side from Ladybug and Chat Noir. “And I’m only seeing four heat signatures so I don’t think I’m just missing him. It looks like the big Bat, the little bat, and the middle bats. Basically, all the bats that were in town except Nightwing.”

“Wow! That is totally like a fuck you directly to Chat.” Rena Rouge laughed, turning to face toward Chat despite not having a direct line of sight to him.

“That matches with what the front desk staff said.” Bee confirmed as she examined her nails. The roof she was on, a few blocks from the hotel in a different direction, had very little light to help with the examination, but she was determined not to let such little details prevent her from making sure she looked immaculate. She had standards damn it. “They only saw four men checking in.”

“And you’re just telling us this now why?” Rena Rouge inquired exasperated. Even with the distance between her position a few blocks away in a separate direction from everyone else, the roll of her eyes could be felt by everyone.

“Uh, because they just reported it? Plus, there is no way to know if that was accurate. They could have been trying to sneak the other one in to surprise us.” Bee responded as though anyone who didn’t understand that without her saying it was an utter idiot.

“Sorry, Chaton. Guess there’s no kissing tonight for you.” Ladybug smirked at him.

Chat looked at her with a pout trying to hide the amused glint in his eyes. “And what about your man? How are you planning on kissing him anyway? Even once you get past that atrocity of a mask, he’s like two of you on top of each other.”

“I am not that much shorter than him!” Ladybug declared indignantly, pouting her lips at him.

“He’s not too far off. That man is huge and you are… compact.” Rena tried to offer kindly but the sardonic grin on her face was evident in her voice.

“Sounds like that puts her at the perfect height to make him really happy.” Bee smirked wickedly.

“Bee!! That is absolutely not something I want to discuss right now… or ever. We are never having that conversation.” Ladybug exclaimed trying to cool down her burning cheeks. She had a hard enough time focusing when just thinking about caressing his face or running her fingers through his hair or… or kissing his perfect, luscious, inviting lips… Where were they again? “Can we please focus on the issue at hand before they scatter and announce their presence to Hawkmoth?” She wasn’t sure if she was talking more to the team or to herself.

“Just trying to help,” Bee shrugged as though everyone listening didn’t know that was a complete lie.

“Right… so the first order of business before we attack them is you reacting to that mask, right?” Chat asked with a wide childlike grin, already anticipating the carnage.

“We’re not going to attack them. We are going to politely inform them that their services are not required and kindly return to their own territory.” Ladybug corrected him, trying to get the team to focus on the mission.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘fuck off’ in the politest terms possible.” Chat dismissed her comment.

“No need to be polite about it,” Bee cut in.

“But, first order of business, right?” Chat continued barely restraining himself from bouncing back and forth on his toes.

“Can we focus on the task at hand, please?” Ladybug muttered. “I want to be ready to stop them before Hawkmoth sees the Batfamily are in Paris and sends akumas for all of them.”

“So how are you planning on handling this? Good cop, bad cop?” Rena asked.

“How about strict but polite cops?” Ladybug offered instead.

“Boo,” Carapace said over the coms.

“No,” Chat responded quickly and a bit louder than necessary. “I want to be bad cop. They left Nightwing at home. They deserve it.”

“You just want an excuse to be a vindictive dick to someone.” Ladybug rolled her eyes at him.

“And?” Chat asked flatly.

“And we are fucking professionals and we will act like it.” She said. Chat gave her kitty eyes. She grunted and rolled her eyes, “Damn it. Fine. Bad cop, disappointed in your life choices cop. But they haven’t done anything to deserve us being assholes to them yet so reign it in unless things get hostile.”

“No, don’t reign it in. They need to know they are not welcome here.” Bee advised sharply.

“We can make that clear without creating enemies. If we push too hard, they won’t back off, they’ll push back and although we can take them, I really do not want to deal with the international fallout of permanently injuring the bats.”

“You know, you wouldn’t have to permanently injure them.” Carapace pointed out.

“No, no, I’m going to permanently injure them.” Ladybug said overdramatically. She turned toward the hotel and let out a sigh. “I’m trying to be strategic with this. So far, what they know of us is we worked with Constantine and we didn’t call them in to help. That and breaking into their Batcave are the only things they know about us. That’s it. It is natural to want more information. I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt. They might be assholes but I try not to be.”

“Since when?” Rena snarked.

“Fuck you,” Ladybug quipped back.

“Ugh, fine, but they are going to disguise their intentions behind innocuous questions and innuendos. Don’t hold back once they go there. Call that shit out. They are trying to get enough information so they can take over and we are well aware. They’re not that smart and we’re not that dumb. Just because we’re pretty doesn’t mean we’re stupid. They need to know it is in Paris’ best interests if they leave and quickly.” Bee stated flatly.

“Aww. You think we’re pretty?” Rena responded batting her eyes unseen.

“No, but I’m pretty enough to bring up the average,” Bee responded with a smirk.

Before a snark war could start, Ladybug interceded. “I’m aware Bee. I won’t say anything more than is available on the Ladyblog.”

“Oh damn!” Carapace swore over the coms. They could hear the wince in his voice. “That had to hurt.”

“What happened?” Ladybug demanded settling into a defensive posture.

“Your man just proved Edna Mode right using Robin as an example.” Carapace chuckled.

“Trust issues.” Bee said like a gameshow host introducing a prize.

Ladybug grimaced thinking about Robin’s costume. “Speaking of flashy and attention seeking, Rena, have you figured out what your distraction is going to be?”

“I have a few ideas. Any requests? You want big and flashy or subtle? Maybe mess with their heads and make them paranoid?”

“I want flashy. You wouldn’t do it with that last akuma. Give me this. Plus Batman is known for his dramatic entrances, but he’s on our turf now and I want to show them what dramatic really means.” Chat pouted at Ladybug’s unimpressed look.

“You were saying something about professionalism, Bug?” Bee’s voice came back.

“Are you suggesting petty grudges aren’t professional?” Carapace responded. “Because, I’m pretty sure that is the business model for most major companies.”

Ladybug lowered her head and shook it letting out a long, strained breath before she reacted, “You heard the man, Rena.”

“Flashy with a hint of fuck you, it is.” Rena confirmed with a nod.

“Movement in the room. It looks like they’re making their move.” Carapace reported.

Ladybug straightened immediately. The news rippled through the team like a flipped switch. Their relaxed postures and jovial comments were left behind in favor of vigilance. “Okay team, it’s starting. Carapace get into position. Rena, you got the distraction ready?”

“Know exactly what to do, Ladybug.” Rena confirmed.

“Perfect. Everybody in position?” Ladybug asked.

Affirmatives rang out from the three. “And remember LB, this isn’t about them, it’s about Paris. They don’t need to be happy with the results, they just need to leave.” Chat reminded her.

“Right. Understood.” She looked down and took a deep breath bracing herself for what was about to come. She rolled her shoulders back and stretched her head from side to side. She knew she could make them leave easily but she needed to do more than that. She needed to make them understand why they needed to stay away and agree to do so. Barring understanding, she needed to make them fear coming back, which was not a direction she wanted to go, which meant she really needed to make them listen. All while Jason was there, looking at her.

She was not looking forward to seeing him again. No, that was a lie. She was very much looking forward to seeing him again, just not today, not like this. She didn’t want to have to manipulate him. She didn’t want to lie to him. That’s how they got in this situation in the first place, because she had the stupid, overwhelming urge to be honest with him, to let him in. But she wasn’t in a place where she got to do that. Letting people in meant making them a part of the fight. It made them vulnerable and wrecked their lives. She tried to contain the damage to mainly her and a bit to Adrien, but everyone who joined suffered. And the thought of causing him that much pain or having to fight an akumatized Jason…

Ladybug looked back up toward the roof across the street with a renewed determination, her gaze steely and her lips set. She waited until the last of the Bats had arrived on the roof before whispering into the coms, “Rena, you’re on.”

<><><><><>

Red Hood landed on the roof last, bringing up the rear for the group. He looked out over the city willing himself to feel which direction he should go to find his Pixie Pop. He was focused intently on nothing in particular when he felt someone slap his arm. He whipped his head around to see Red Robin staring across the roof dumbfounded. He followed his line of sight and saw an odd looking fox sitting next to some pots on the other side of the roof. After a few moments Red Robin finally got his voice back and decided to use it to make a brilliantly insightful observation. “There’s a fox… on the roof.”

“How did a fox get up here? What kind of irresponsible hotel is this?” Robin demanded.

The fox hissed at him like she was personally insulted and ran toward them, rounding the edge of the pool so closely, she just barely missed falling in. Robin’s breath caught and he automatically reached in the direction of the fox, ready to rescue her should she fall into the pool. The fox continued on as though she hadn’t almost fallen in the water, increasing her speed as she ran between Robin and Red Robin toward the edge of the roof. Robin whirled around and jutted forward to grab the fox before she got hurt or fell off the roof. But the fox seemed to have other ideas, speeding up even faster and racing toward the edge of the roof before jumping off.

Robin ran to the edge to see if the fox might have landed on a balcony, but fell back, landing hard on the ground when a cloud of bats flew up into the sky at a breakneck speed from the same spot the fox had jumped. Red Robin flinched back from the bats’ sudden appearance but Batman just narrowed his eyes at them. Red Hood cocked his head to the side watching the bat-like things flying around above them before taking off away from the hotel. “What the actual fucking fuck was that!” Red Hood exclaimed.

Ladybug and Chat landed on the roof behind the bats and watched them for a few moments. They turned to each other with smug smiles. No matter what else happened that night, they were always going to remember the chaos they had caused the bats. They were counting that as their first win. They turned back toward the bats and schooled their expressions. Ladybug gave them a few moments to notice them before she stage whispered to Chat, “How long do you think it will take them to notice us?”

“Super unimpressed right now.” Chat shook his head in disappointment, leaning casually on his baton.

The bats whipped around in unison. Batman and Robin refused to show the shock they felt. Instead, Batman stared intently at them while Robin glared at them. Red Robin looked back and forth between the Parisian heroes and the space where the bats had been flying, his face scrunching in confusion as if trying to figure something out. Red Hood however focused entirely on Ladybug, squinting at her as if trying to piece something together that refused to fit, not that anyone could see it under the mask.

Ladybug and Chat jumped down off the ledge but stayed on their side of the roof, allowing the pool to mark the division between the two groups, acting as a buffer between them, easy enough to get around should they need to, but demarcating the sides. Ladybug looked between the vigilantes, her gaze lingering a bit longer than it should on Red Hood. That hurt more than she expected, to see him but not talk to him, not really, not be able to acknowledge him or see what he was thinking. Because he couldn’t know it was her and even if he did, he couldn’t stay. She moved her gaze back to Batman with a strained smile, trying to calm her erratic heart. “Hello. Welcome to Paris. My name is Ladybug. This is Chat Noir.” Ladybug introduced them politely but with an edge to her voice.

“Is there anything we can help you with before you leave?” Chat asked innocently. Ladybug pressed her lips together in annoyance but kept her eyes on the bats. Not as bad as it could be.

“Good evening Ladybug, Chat Noir. I’m Batman. This is Robin, Red Robin, and Red Hood. We would like to discuss the situation here in Paris with you.”

“You’re missing your whole team. Where’s the other one?” Chat asked nonchalantly. Ladybug fought rolling her eyes. To be fair, Chat had warned her he was going to be a petty dick, she just was expecting a bit more of a focused dickishness. They were going up against Batman. They needed to focus, to project confidence and control.

“Really, dude?” Carapace asked through the coms.

“Where’s your other one? Where is the one that makes portals?” Red Hood asked not even attempting to mask the interest in his voice, and that hurt even more.

“And breaks into secret bases?” Red Robin grumbled loudly.

“She has been exposed thanks to you, Redwood. And the rule of the miraculous is once your identity is exposed you can no longer wield a miraculous.” Ladybug responded. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. It was longstanding rule. It was heavily ignored, but it was still the rule. It was the jaywalking of the miraculous rules; there but nobody ever acknowledged it unless the situation was really dangerous. She lowered her eyes in guilt. He hadn’t made her tell him. She had done that. It wasn’t his fault she had divulged their secret. She weighed letting him believe it was his fault so he would back off versus the guilt he would carry with him. She couldn’t let him carry that with him because of her. “She made her choice.”

“So you just, what? Kicked her to the curb?” Red Hood demanded indignant on behalf of the woman whose name he didn’t even know. How dare they use her and throw her away like that! She had risked going into a potential enemy’s base for them and they just throw her out like she was nothing. She lifted her eyes to him and studied him closer. His face was obscured tragically but his body was tense, angry. Not a good condition for Paris.

“Forget about the scapegrace.” Robin growled breaking their link. “Let’s get this over with.”

Red Hood glared at him but Ladybug cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes in concentration, studying Robin, looking for something in his face. When she didn’t see what she was looking for, she spoke up, “Chat, you speak English better than I do, was that an insult? That sounded like an insult, but I can’t tell.” Chat shrugged and gave her a non-committal grunt. She hummed in response and flashed an overly wide model smile Adrien used on the red carpet with overly pushy reporters, “I’m going to take that a compliment. Thank you for your kind words. I will let her know you send your well wishes and admiration.”

Robin growled at her. Red Robin looked down to hide the smirk that tried to push through and break his serious expression. Looking back up at the heroes, he started firing off his questions to hide his smile, “So she was using a miraculous. Which one was she using? Are you using a miraculous? Is that what your villain is using as well? How many miraculous are in play right now? How many do you have? How did you know we were here?”

“That’s a lot of questions for people who aren’t welcome here and won’t be here much longer.” Chat answered sharply.

“Chat…” Ladybug said warningly. “Polite, remember?”

“That was polite.” Chat objected. She gave him a warning look. “This is our territory they invaded and our villain they were just about to offer their services to.”

“Now you guys are concerned about boundaries?” Red Robin deadpanned.

“We came here to find out more about the situation here.” Batman stated loudly bringing the attention back to him. “We were only recently made aware there was a situation and we would like to learn more about what is going on.”

“I’m sure you would, gothboy,” Bee growled over the coms.

Ladybug looked down to hide her smile. Getting her focus back, she asked, “And you needed almost your entire team to ask a few questions?”

“We weren’t sure of your receptiveness to visitors. We wanted to be able to protect ourselves in case you attacked.” Batman stated logically.

“Reasonable.” She nodded absentmindedly. “Better to be prepared than caught unaware. Although, it’s cute that you think you would stand a chance even with your whole team.” Ladybug said confidently. She wasn’t inviting a discussion on this and she wasn’t threatening them. She was stating a fact, one they should be aware of. Okay, maybe she was a bit more condescending than she had to be. But the bats had to know, they were not the power players in this group. The miraculous team were.

“You presumptuous, little feist. You have no idea what we are capable of, what we’ve done.” Robin growled. Batman’s hand on his shoulder cut his lecture short.

“Oh Sweetie, we are well aware of what you are capable, of what you have done.” She responded lowly, fixing him with a dark glare that had Robin faltering and Red Robin gulping. “It’s why we’ve made a point of keeping you away from this situation. You are the ones who don’t know of what we are capable.” A thunderclap sounded in the sky as though to accentuate her point.

Chat pursed his lips so hard to keep himself from laughing that the pink could no longer be seen. He was going to buy a drink for Alya after that.

A tense silence fell over the rooftop until Batman finally broke the tension. “You are correct, we do not know what you are capable of or what the nature of the situation here is. Could you give us a bit more information? We just want to see if there is anything we could do to help.”

“And not to take over because you think you can do better?” Ladybug asked with a raised brow.

“Clearly we could do better. You’ve been fighting the same villain for 5 years.” Robin scoffed at them.

“Robin!” Batman admonished him.

“Ignore him. He’s being a jealous little prick. He is physically incapable of being anything else.” Red Hood implored.

“When’s the last time you fought half a million enemies at the same time, little one? And defeated all of them?” Ladybug asked throwing out the comment on his age and size knowing he would take it as a slight. “Because that was last week for us. One million was the week before. Not particularly impressive, I know, but it’s been a slow month.”

“Also, how’s the Penguin doing? You’ve been fighting him for over a decade now, right? You can’t even stop a fucking flightless, cold water bird.” Chat scoffed.

“You realize he isn’t an actual bird, right?” Red Robin asked wryly.

“Wait, What!? I have been sorely misinformed.” Chat gasped dramatically and brought his hand to his chest. “I completely take it back. It’s much less unimpressive that you’ve been fighting with billions of dollars of support and technology against a single person with no super powers for a decade.” He said dryly.

“Honestly would have been more impressive if it had been an actual bird. Significantly cooler too.” Carapace over the coms.

“We’re not here to fight.” Batman said calmly.

“Could have fooled me,” Chat grumbled.

“Probably, doesn’t seem like it’s too hard to do.” Robin scoffed.

“Oh, that little… next time I’m coming too. Give me just 5 minutes with that little gremlin.” Bee growled through the coms.

Ladybug crooked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, “Yeah, non-hostile is definitely the vibe we’re getting from you.”

Red Hood held out his hands trying to placate them, “We found out about the situation from the other woman and we want to help. She said things were bad. She said you needed help.”

“That seems highly unlikely,” Carapace scoffed.

“What the hell did you say back there?” Rena asked skeptically.

“She told you we needed help? She said she wanted you to intervene, Redwood?” Ladybug questioned him incredulity in her voice.

Red Hood furrowed his brows and huffed, “Red Hood.”

“What?”

“It’s Red Hood, not Red Wood.”

She furrowed her brows in confusion, “I meant Redwood like the tree? You know, the… the tree…” she motioned indicating something tall. “Is that not the word for those really big trees in America? Redwoods?” She asked Chat uncertain.

Chat looked at her wide-eyed, “Did you… did you make his name into a pun?”

She looked back at him horrified, “No! Why would you… oh, yeah, I see it now. Shit.” She looked over to Chat with desperation in her eyes. “That nickname never happened. We all forget that happened and we never mention it again.”

“No, no. That’s the only way we are referring to him from now on. I’m spreading the word.” Chat grinned at her.

“Word is spread, dude.” Carapace responded back. “He is now dubbed Red Wood the Dancer.”

“How’s that professionalism looking right about now, Bug?” Bee asked with amusement clear in her voice.

“I hate you,” the ‘all’ went unspoken but everyone on her team heard it.

“You know I’m still here, right?” Red Hood spoke up.

“Yeah, but your opinion of what we call you doesn’t matter.” Chat shrugged.

Ladybug let out a long suffering sigh, looking back to Red Hood to continue the conversation. She immediately squeezed her eyes shut, “And could you not wear that thing while you are talking. It’s extremely distracting. Who designed that for you and what dishonor did you inflict upon them and their ancestors to cause them to punish you with it, and thereby the rest of us?”

“I… this helmet serves a purpose.” Red Hood defended himself.

“To terrorize your opponents?” She asked skeptically.

“That’s part of it.” Red Hood confirmed.

“Mission accomplished, but not the way you intended, I think.” She said narrowing her eyes at him. “Seriously, it’s like looking at an elementary school play about Hellboy.”

Red Hood was left gaping, grasping for words. “Disappointed. You could have done better, Dudette.” Carapace said through the coms.

“I expect a follow up to that next time you see him,” Rena added.

“I changed my mind. I think I’m warming up to them.” Red Robin grinned.

Red Hood glared at Red Robin, “Back to the original question, no. She said Constantine was helping. She said people were suffering, children were suffering. I want to help end that. We just want to help.”

Robin shot a condescending grin at them, “Of course if you want to keep allowing the people of Paris to suffer because you’re too proud to accept help you so desperately need, yet too incompetent to end it on your own…”

“Excuse me? What! Oh no, I was totally wrong about him. Go for it. Take him down, Dudette.” Carapace growled.

“So to be clear, she said she was already getting help and you heard her tell Constantine you weren’t supposed to know about the situation let alone welcome in Paris and you came anyway.” She stared them down, letting her words sink in. “You need to leave now. You can’t be here. Leave in the morning or we will force you.” Ladybug says grimly.

Robin glowering at her. “As if someone like you could”

“Without breaking a sweat, Sweetie. The warning is purely an attempt to keep things friendly. And with all due respect…”

“Which isn’t much,” rang out from all four members of team at the same time.

“…I assure you, if we have to remove you, things will be considerably less friendly and you won’t even know what hit you.” Ladybug stated coldly.

“You contemptible, duplicitous, mendacious, cretinous, Jezebel!” Robin raged.

“Robin, if you do not shut your fucking mouth right now,” Red Hood growled as he stalked toward him only held back by Red Robin, “I will personally toss you right the fuck after that fucking fox without your grappling hook.”

“You might want to apologize, Robin, or my arm might give out and not be able to hold him back anymore.” Red Robin hissed.

“Boys!” Batman thundered. “We are on a mission.”

Ladybug crooked her head to the side again, “I know you haven’t been doing this very long so a piece of advice for you; I understood very little of what you said. As a result, I am not nearly as offended as you wanted me to be. Look, I understand that Pompous Asshole is the only language you speak, but it may enhance your effectiveness if you were to work on bettering yourself in the communications area. It’s hard to intimidate someone if they have no idea what you are saying.”

Robin turned red at the suggestion he was inferior in any area, especially intimidation. He was to be feared not belittled. He had been trained as such since he was born. “See, I turned you redder than my suit solely using words you understood.”

Red Robin turned slightly toward Red hood with a huge grin and said quietly, “I’m definitely warming up to them.”

“Not to mention you are letting your anger undermine your stated purpose for being here. To make it clearer to you, you are messing it up for your team because you are incapable of controlling your emotions, so interested in making us feel like failures that you are causing your entire team to become one.” Ladybug broke it down sternly but softly, like she was speaking to a child, which she was. Despite what he thought of himself, he was a child.

Robin tensed to jump at them, reaching for his sword but stopped when Batman placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard giving him a hard stare. “We are not suggesting you haven’t been doing a good job.” Batman stated. Robin scoffed. “We did not come to fight, I promise.”

“Wise move, but I think not everyone on your team got the memo.” Ladybug said coolly.

“It’s a shame he doesn’t have parents to teach him manners.” Chat stated casually as though he was thinking out loud. “Or maybe they’re more like mine, too invested in their own interests to actually invest in parenting their kids.” He turned a sharp gaze back to Batman, “Anyway, I digress, you were saying something?”

Red Robin grinned at the ground again as Red Hood interceded, attempting to change the topic. “We are all here to get more information and if you aren’t willing to give that then… then that’s fine. Can I just speak with the other woman, please?”

“Hood…” Batman warned.

“Ooo, LB. He’s got it bad.” Rena smiled.

“I assure you, you won’t get a different answer from her.” Ladybug responded plainly, forcing her eyes to stay sharp instead of softening like they wanted to do. He was not playing fair and he didn’t even know it. He was messing with her heart making it speed up and stop and skip beats all at the same time. It wasn’t fair.

“That’s fine. I just want to talk with her.” Red Hood asked, a touch of desperation leaking through his words.

“I think she has said quite enough talking already. She won’t be doing any more, not with you, not anytime soon.” Ladybug responded harshly. She still felt guilty for letting herself expose them to him like she had and needed to remind herself.

“What did you do to her?” Red Hood asked warily.

“She’s fine. We don’t harm our allies.” Ladybug said pointedly throwing a glare over toward Batman. “She does not want you here right now either.”

“You don’t speak for her,” Red Hood growled at her.

“Right now I do. She agrees the situation is too dangerous to have the Justice League here. It’s too dangerous for her and for you to be here until we have ended the threat.”

Red Hood desperately looking for some way to recover this. He couldn’t go back without getting some clue about her, without getting closer. He needed a chance, just one chance to get closer. “Cat guy, you going to let her speak for you?” Red Hood tried instead.

“Oooh, that was the wrong move.” Rena winced.

“Dude’s desperate give him a break. He’s looking for anyone who’ll give him a different answer.” Carapace offered weakly. He was rooting for him and willing to give him a break on one desperate, stupid attempt.

“Me? Yeah, that’s the way it works. She does the talking, I do the destroying.” Chat glared back at him then whispered “Black Storm” causing a black ball of condensed misfortune to appear between his hands. “Unless you’d really like me to take over…” he said rolling the ball between his hands like a magician’s floating ball.

“We are trying to help you dolt. We have experience and training, which you are sorely in need of.” Robin shouted at them.

“And excellent control over your emotions clearly. Tell me class why is that combination, NOT a benefit in this instance? Anyone? Anyone at all? Bueller? Bueller?” Chat taunted him.

“Listen here, you and your entire team, including that cat thieving hussy…” before Robin could finish the sentence Red Hood yelled, “Can you shut your trap for 3 seconds so we can have a conversation. We have a mission here and you are blowing it.”

A realization suddenly hit Chat, he pointed at Robin and looked at Ladybug wide eyed, “Oh it was his cat.” He turned back to Robin, “it was your cat. That explains the…” motions towards him and the hostility rolling off him in waves.

“You stole a cat?” Rena asked.

“Can’t wait to hear that story.” Carapace grinned.

“Interesting,” Bee said thoughtfully.

“That’s it. Taking the com out now. If there is anything important, announce it.” Ladybug said quietly pulling out her com.

“Sorry about that. Cats just really, really like her.” Chat motioned toward Ladybug, “I can attest. But we returned him to you little man, so… all good, right?” Robin glared at him and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

“Why don’t you tell us why it is a bad idea?” Batman interceded, attempting to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand. It had not escaped his notice that they had been speaking for a while now and had yet to get any information on the situation in Paris. “We would appreciate more information on the situation.”

Chat was done with this conversation, with the false promises, the hostilities, and the disrespect. “Huh, where did all that confidence and bravado go? Just a second ago I swear I heard something about knowing how to handle the situation better than us because we were so utterly, helplessly incompetent and yet here you are asking us what the situation is and for advice on how to handle it. Well here’s the advice; Get Out. Your interference will make Bialya look like a success.” Chat growled. Ladybug put a hand on his arm again warning him to back down on the hostility.

“Bialya was… an unfortunate event.” Batman conceded.

“That is putting it mildly. But the Justice League always knows better, right?” Chat hissed.

“Chat! Robin insinuated the incompetence not Batman. Batman is asking why we think it is a bad idea for them to stay and we want them to understand that, remember?” Ladybug offered attempting to bring down the hostility and suspicion on both sides. She was still well aware of Batman’s true intentions and he needed to be called on it, but they were edging to pushing too hard.”

“We just came to find out what is going on. Offer assistance if you needed it. NOT take over.” Red Robin repeated, looking directly at Ladybug. Chat was looking for a fight, but Ladybug appeared willing to talk. She was willing to work with them, at least a little. She was the one they needed to focus on.

Chat scoffed but Ladybug tightened her grip on his arm stopping him from continuing, “We appreciate the offer but we will kindly have to decline it. We have considered the options, researched the players, and we have decided at this point in time having members of the Justice League, or affiliated organizations, in Paris is too dangerous for us and for Paris.” Ladybug stated diplomatically, ignoring what she was sure were angry cries coming over the com in Chat’s ear about her being too nice.

“We would like to see if there is room for us to offer assistance. We would be negligent if we just took your word for it.” Batman said sternly not giving an inch.

“Already doubting our word and trying to force your way into the situation I see.” Ladybug quirked a brow but kept her voice light. “You can get the information you seek from any of the many online resources available.”

“Those aren’t available outside of Paris.” Red Robin pointed out.

“Well then I suggest you download the contents of the sites before you leave in the morning. You could also call up business people here to discuss the situation under the guise of investigating whether adding a Paris branch to… a company,” she just stopped herself from exposing their identities. Even if she was confident there were no cameras up here, it was still good practice. “…would be dangerous. Not to mention the files in your possession that we copied. They contain more than enough information to give you the insight you desire.” She suggested well aware of the fact that even with decryption software working full force, they would not be able to decipher the Grimoire texts. “There are options other than being here and exposing yourself to our villain.

“The abridged version is we have a villain that takes advantage of people’s negative emotions to possess them. It allows him to use that person’s knowledge, combined with his own against us. As a result, having people in Paris who are experts in combat or people who would go to any length to find out our identities is extremely dangerous to us and could tip the balance in Hawkmoth’s favor. That’s a double strike for you.”

“We don’t need to know your identities. We can help you without knowing them.” Red Robin assured them.

Ladybug cocked her head to the side, her voice dripping in skepticism. “Can you honestly say none of you would try to figure out our identities and how to defeat us? That you don’t have files on everyone you work with, on how to take them down, their weaknesses, where to hit to have the strongest impact, including discovering their identities with or without their permission?” Thank you to Constantine for that little tidbit. “Our identities are secret by necessity. We don’t even know each other’s identities,” a small lie, but a necessary one. It still made her uncomfortable to say it, she curled her fingers and straightened them back out in response to the uncomfortable feeling. “Imagine that information in the hands of Hawkmoth.”

“Like we would let someone take it.” Robin sneered at them.

“Like you could control it.” Chat sneered right back at him.

“Regardless of intent or actual physical possession of the files, as I mentioned before, our villain takes advantage of people’s emotions to turn them into supervillains with their own superpowers. He takes over their minds. Any negative emotion makes you susceptible. Have you ever felt sad? Mad? Frustrated? Guilty? Desperate? Then you’re susceptible. Tell me who in the Justice League would be immune to that?” Ladybug looked them in the eyes, refusing to back down or soften this blow.

“I’ve seen the moon destroyed and the world annihilated. We’ve seen the city flooded and a super volcano half the size of the city bubbling away instead of our suburbs. We’ve seen the very air turned into sulfer dioxide. Have you ever heard children screeching in more pain than any human should ever have to experience? Have you heard hundreds at the same time? Have you had to listen to the inhuman sounds they make? We have and we relive it every single night. Have you had to dig through your partners’ blood to find their miraculous after watching them die in front of you, get beheaded next to you, in order to finish the fight? He has.” She said gesturing toward Chat. “Those were people with newly acquired powers but no training. Imagine what would happen if one of the Justice League became akumatized, familiarity with how to wield powers and strategic training with new and unlimited power… It was not a risk we were willing to take.”

Red Hood stared in horror. That was why his Pixie Pop was so angry at the gala when she thought Constantine was messing around and wasting time, because that is what she had to deal with and any delay meant the people of Paris had to deal with more of it. That was what she was so desperate to stop, Hell on Earth, constant agony. And every additional second they had to bear it was torture.

Red Robin stared dazed at her for a few moments but then narrowed his eyes realizing an inconsistency in her story, “The city looks amazingly unharmed, considering all you claim to have seen.”

“That’s my power. I fix miraculous related damage.” Ladybug responded tiredly.

“Convenient” Robin quipped.

“Not nearly as convenient as preventing it from happening in the first place, I assure you. The cure fixes the physical damage but it doesn’t fix the psychological damage done. It doesn’t take away the memories. Everyone remembers what happened to them and to the ones they love.” She turned to Batman with soft eyes, “I understand that you want to get as much information as humanly possible so you can feel like you have some control over this situation but you don’t. You won’t. You can’t. The help that would be most valuable to the city of Paris is if you could convince Bruce Wayne to send fleets of therapists. I understand you have a unique relationship with him.”

Batman stared silently, letting the description settle in. If what they were saying was true, then the situation was worse than he had anticipated. They were handling it but heroes had died. She was right that therapists would also be advantageous, not only for the citizens of Paris but for the heroes as well. It was a miracle they hadn’t had anyone break from the stress yet. If anything, it solidified his resolve to get to know everything he could about the situation so they could step in when one of the heroes inevitably did succumb to the pressure.

“We could help in other ways. We could offer support from a distance. We could help, we just need to know more about the miraculous and how they work, what their strengths and weaknesses are. We can work together.” Red Robin offered.

“Is that what you would do? Made a deal with a group that has a history of betrayal and violence towards allies? We know Batman would and has. Would you? And trust them to keep their word? Give them all the secrets and insights on how to undermine us or neutralize us? Trust them to stay out of Paris and not ‘know better than us how to handle it’? Not get us to trust you so you could find out more about the miraculous and take it so you could keep it better protected?” Ladybug asked in a dubious tone.

Batman stayed silent in response to the obvious suggestion. Not denying it. Red Hood and Red Robin shot Batman glares from the corner of their eyes, not wanting to make it completely obvious that she had deduced the plan they had been arguing over earlier.

Ladybug took note of their silence and hummed in response. “I thought so. It sounds like we made the correct choice after all.”

“No, please. It sounds like you have a lot of issues with B here. That’s fine, I understand. I do too. Let me stay and help.” Red Hood took off his mask revealing his face, no domino mask to preserve any semblance of secrecy. He wanted to lay everything out in the open. He moved closer to Ladybug and Chat until he was halfway between them and his family. He needed them to see how earnestly he meant his words. Ladybug’s breath hitched looking into his eyes shining with sincerity as he plead with them. She wanted to look over to his family to see how they were reacting but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Red Hood’s.

“I can act as intermediary, support, nothing more. B and his team stay out of the city. Justice League stays out of the city. And I help train you and help you track down your villain. I’m a damn good detective. I can help.” Red Robin stared at him incredulously and Robin glared at him. Batman’s look was indecipherable.

He started to say something but is interrupted by sound of “Akumas incoming, multiple” coming from the areas of Chat’s baton and Ladybug’s cord around her waist.

“Dammit,” Ladybug yelled. “5 minutes! 5 fucking minutes! And honestly it could probably be any of them.” She pulled a familiar set of glasses out of her yoyo and threw them to Chat. “It's time for you to leave. Longg, Tikki, Unify.” She commanded as the necklace she was wearing glowed and she was washed in a golden light causing her suit, mask, and hair to change transforming into Dragon Bug.

Chat grabbed the glasses out of the air without looking, keeping his glare settled on the Batfamily. “Looks like you managed to endanger all of Paris in all of 5 minutes. Congratulations, you’ve surpassed our already low expectations for you.” Chat sneered at them putting the glasses on and yelling “Plaag, Kaalki, Unify!” allowing a teal light to wash over him and change his suit, mask, and hair as well transforming him into Cheval Noir.

“Wait, what is an akuma?” Red Robin asked in defensive stance ready to attack whatever it was coming at them.

“It’s what turns you into unstoppable monsters. It’s why we didn’t want you here.” Ladybug snapped. “How long do we have?” Ladybug yelled searching the sky around them. The sound of “Maybe two minutes, if you’re lucky.” came from her waist. She nodded and focused on the pool.

There are many advantages to becoming an adult. Suddenly a person can participate in the government, vote, drink, buy a house, get married… But for Marinette and Adrien, the most significant advantage was they could expand their existing powers and unlock new powers. The moment they turned eighteen they were able to do new and exciting things with their miraculous. Their time limit was now nonexistent, they could call on their powers multiple times without recharging, and they could access new powers, powers like Black Storm and Tidal Wave, assuming they had been trained on how to call on them, or had access to and knowledge on how to read the sacred texts that described them, which they now had thanks to the files they had pilfered from the bats.

“Tidal wave!” Dragon Bug yelled moving her arms slowly. Everyone on the roof stared at Dragon Bug wondering what that command did. Their eyes were drawn to the pool when they noticed the water begin to move, slowly at first, swirling like a lazy current under the surface. The movement became faster as the water started to swirl around and rise above the edges of the pool. The bat family and Chat watched in disbelieving awe as the water rose out of the pool in one solid mass, swirling and twirling around and back into itself, and heading straight toward the bat family.

The bats on the other side of the pool moved back a few steps but didn’t move fast enough in their stupor to escape the water. “What the hell?” Red Robin exclaimed quietly as he and Robin were swept up into the vortex that was now moving too fast for them to fight the current. Batman had managed to fight against the water for a few moments, but Robin and Red Robin, whose bodies were much lither were swept up immediately. The water carried them around again at a faster and faster velocity, on their second trip around the vortex, they collided with Batman, knocking him off his feet and forcing him to be at the mercy of the current.

Chat was so mesmerized by the water show he forgot he was supposed to create a portal. Staring instead in wonder at the new power Ladybug had somehow mastered in a few hours. He found out about Black Storm yesterday and still could only roll it around a bit. He still had no idea what it would actually do if he used it. “Chat! Portal to the Batcave now” Dragon Bug screamed at him.

“Right! On it!” Chat exclaimed waking up from his stupor. “Voyage!” he called out motioning toward the water, creating a portal behind it. Ladybug pushed the water through the portal. She flicked her eyes over to Red Hood and hesitated.

“Got about 20 seconds at most, Bug. If you’re going to do something, do it now!” Carapace yelled.

“Are you leaving on your own or do I need to make you?” She asked with pleading eyes. She did not want to make him. She needed him to understand and believe in her enough to do what she asked, even if he didn’t know it was her.

Red Hood looked between her and the portal. He turned back to her, “Please just let me help.”

Dragon Bug looked at him with a conflicted look in her eyes. “It isn’t safe right now and we can’t deal with the akumas if I’m worrying about you too. We just don’t have time to prepare. I need you to go.”

Red Hood stared at her uncertain. “Please, we don’t have time.” Dragon Bug begged him again. He relented and walked backward toward the portal. She let out a grateful breath turned her attention toward the incoming akumas.

“There’s the first one,” Chat yelled. Red Hood whipped his head to where Chat was looking just barely seeing a butterfly over his shoulder as he picked up his pace and started running toward the portal, jumping through just as it closed behind him.

Chapter 7

Tags:

@loveswifi @mystery-5-5 @dreamykitty25 @ira-sairain @wannajointhecrabcult @susiej1118 @our-preciousss @casual-darkness @ertyzeta @mandy984 @darkthunder1589 @chez-pezeater @emilytopaz @elements1999 @nik-nak-3 @mermaidreject @dramatic-squirrel @thenillabean @alysrose-starchild @phoenixperegrinebitch @nickristus-dreamer @goblinwhoships @no-username2544 @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @valeks-princess @2confused-2doanything @redscarlet95 @icebluedolphin2365 @inarachi02 @unrepentantgeek @maybe-nonsense @theymakeupfairies @smolplantmum @moongoddesskiana @thehufflepuffranger-blog @fusser90 @spyofthenightcourt @jayverca @animegirlweeb @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @consumeconstantly @lozzybowe @novicevoice @random-fandoms7 @acoolspacegirl @laurcad123 @dast218 @frieddonutsweets @maribat-is-lifeblood @g-arya @fantasiame @lilkymilky @corabeth11 @fc-studios @roselynfey @babylovebug18 @pepelachanel @atramentias @jalaluvsu @nathleigh @iloontjeboontje @spicybelladonna @kokotaru @zalladane @zebrabaker @bee-wrecker @too0bsessedformyowngood

Full Disclosure: I came up with the Redwood nickname WEEKS before I realized it could be a pun. I was just looking for names indicating very large things. Chat has a much better ability to spot a pun than I do.

And it is my personal headcanon for this story is that Adrien is a bit like Dick. He likes to keep things light and jokey but if you want to go there, Bitch, he’ll go there with you. His lightness is a self-defense mechanism. Without it, he will go to a dark and scary place and he will take you there with him.

And also, I’m pretty sure this is before Duke was brought into the Batfamily. I think Damian was older than he is in the story when Duke appeared. Otherwise, clearly Duke would be the most rational person to send to Paris.

#Pixie Spy #jasonette #maribat

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Text

The One With The Princess Leia Bikini

~Notes: This gets sorta smutty.... :S

Send Me A Friends Episode/Storyline? | Rebogs Ar Love, Reblog Are Life!

Sirius tosses a glare at an indignant James sitting across the counter from him, affronted on everything he has ever stood for.

“Brooklyn Nine Nine is way better than some stupid, ruddy drama about doctors.”

“Take that back you prick!”

“’S true!”

”Gray’s Anatomy paints the manic highs and lows of their jobs with dignity and realism.” James argues with an imperious tilt of his head. “The storylines don’t even compare!”

“There was a bomb at their wedding!”

“There was a bomb lodged in someone’s arsehole!”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort, but stutters on his words when one of their ducks steps out of his room, spitting up something green before he begins to peck at the sofa cushion.

“Good morning Pronsie,” James crows, walking over to cradle him into his arms and kisses the top of his head.

“Mate, you have to stop feeding him the peanut butter, ’s making them crazed,” Sirius tells him sagely before taking a spoonful out of the jar for himself.

“They’re just demanding,” James sniffs, perking up once Lily walks into their apartment. “You agree, love, don’t you?”

“What?” She asks, single brow kinked as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, still dressed in her athletic wear from her run. “That your ducks are demonic.”

“See!” Sirius shouts.

“They’re just a wee bit ill, poor things,” James says with a cluck of his tongue, gingerly petting Prongs’s feathers and wandering over to Lily for a quick peck to her sweaty forehead.

“Ill in the heads,” Sirius retorts lowly, grabbing for his discarded Guinness.

James casts him a heated glower, never halting his gentle caresses to Prongs’s feathered back. “Maybe I should call Mum, she’d know how to help.”

“Oi, right, because your veterinarian mother has nothing better to do.”

“She likes the marauders wanker!”

“Okay, did not come here to interrupt one of your lover’s quarrels,” Lily sighs, forever suffering, as she loosens and regathers her hair anxiously, tying the red main into a messy topknot.

“Rude,” Sirius and James chorus with the same peeved inflection.

“I’m exhausted you berks! Dorcas has been staying at our place ever since Marlene went on that tour around the continent to find new athletes for the firm to sign.”

“Oof, is it nasty?” James asks, gently placing Prongs the duck to the ground and straightening back up.

“She’s in a real strop over it, yeah. Re’s with her now.”

“Lils, you underestimate Cas,,” Sirius snorts, bending down and giving into Prongs’s silent plea for a snack, holding out a chunk of peanut butter for him to nibble at. “She’s not gonna let something so temporary fuck her up. They’ve been going out for over a year now.” Sirius studiously ignores the little nagging voice in his own head— one that frighteningly sounds like Mrs Potter of all people— Tooting at him that he’d certainly not be this nonchalant if Remus had to go on some research sabbatical in Rome or Athens for half as long as Marlene’s three month stint.

“You are so full of it Black,” Lily sneers, and he really wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somehow secretly found out how to read minds on her downtime from the restaurant.

“Dorcas is a diamond,” James says cheerfully. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain soon enough.” As if right on queue they hear a booming crash coming from across the hall in Lily and Remus’s apartment. “Or erm— Maybe she won’t?”

"Prats,” Lily mutters lowly before pivoting on her heels leading the way for the three sum to frantically scramble and follow suit.

Sirius is all levels of confused once they walk in only to findDorcas starfished flat on the ground with her curls still soaked from what must’ve been a shower and grasping tight to a pink hairbrush. Remus’s standing over her with his hands on his hips, and lips pinched ever so slightly, the face he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to solve a particularly difficult dilemma. And it might be smarmy of him, but Sirius can’t help feeling a little parched when he sees the way Remus’s drenched T-shirt clings to his perfect form— near see-through.

“Is everything okay?” Lily asks as she steps closer, frowning bewilderedly.

“We just had a bit of an incident when Dorcas saw a clunk of blonde hair in the brush that Marlene shares with her.”Remus explains, excepting the kiss Sirius offers him in hello. “And well, ahem then she found a garment that Marlene had left behind… And well things escalated.”

“I’m going to be alone for forever,” Dorcas moans, making his point for him.

“I love it when you’re the dramatic one, Cas,” Sirius crows, narrowly dodging the aforementioned brush that Dorcas launches at his head. “Nice aim!”

“Leave me so I can whither away!”

“Nonsense, love, you two will be fine.” James interjects good naturedly.

“Let’s get some frozen yogurt, yeah? Get your mind off of everything,” Lily suggests lightly, helping pull her up by the hands with Remus, Sirius’s own never leaving Remus’s back pocket.

“Can we go to the place with the jellybean toppings,” Dorcas asks with a pout, head resting on Lily’s shoulder— dark tresses falling into strawberry blonde.

“Course, sweetheart,” she assures with a glowing smile.

Breathing in deep, Dorcas nods slowly, stretching her neck just slightly so to kiss Remus’s cheek in thanks before she lets Lily cart her off into her room to get changed.

“I better put the marauders into their crate if we’re going to be out long,” James announces, effectively leaving Remus and Sirius finally, blissfully, alone.

“Is this the part where I tell you that I thought you only get wet when I’m around?” Sirius asks cheekily, rounding on his boyfriend with a smirk already painted over his face.

“You can,” Remus relents with a one armed shrug. “But only if you want to not speak with me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius lets out an endeared huff, head shaking slightly before he dips down to greet him properly. “Morning gorgeous,” he beams, cupping his hands around Remus’s face before kissing him nice and thorough.

“I missed you last night,” Remus says, foreheads pressed up against each other as his hands wander up and down Sirius’s back muscles appreciatively, landing on his forearms with a small squeeze.

“I had to concentrate on that proposal for the new tube stop that Moody wanted by today.” Sirius tips back his head, toes curling ever so slightly at the way Remus is mouthing along the column of his neck, nipping at the hinge of Sirius’s jaw with particular focus. “And believe it or not Messr Lupin, but you prove a formidable distraction."

“Is that right?” Remus smiles against his skin, pressing him even closer. “And did you finish all that paperwork, architect Black?”

“Hmm, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you?” Sirius can’t help but laugh, especially when Remus pulls back, blinking up owlishly at him. “Oh don’t give me the innocent act, gorgeous. I’ve been able to see through that since the first night we met.”

Remus’s face turns a fetching pink, snickering slightly as he presses back up against him. “Can’t. Help. It.” Remus says between another round of peppered kisses on the lobe of Sirius’s ear, the hallow of his cheek and corner of his mouth too. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re touched in the head, just a ball of hornyness.” Sirius accuses, tugs him close once more and slants their lips together while one hand slings around Remus’s narrow waste and the other begins to knead into his ass muscle. “Shall we take this back to your room? Do this properly without any clothing?”

Remus flushes, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt as he swallows down, hard.”Could you— Erm, could you maybe wear those glasses you use sometimes for when you’re reading those long contracts?”

Absolutely preening,, Sirius cards a hand through Remus’s caramel curls, scraping his nails gently against his scalp. “And the professorial kink makes another appearance in the bed ladies and gents.” He announces to the empty room, as if he’s a twentieth century gameshow host.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a kink, per se.” Remus argues haughtily, cheeks infused red, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“‘S okay gorgeous, I think your swottyness is rather cute.” Sirius goads, pecks Remus’s mouth lightly before dragging him off to his room to finally get at some bare skin.

“It’s not because I’m a swot that I like seeing you like that,” Remus harrumphs, watching as Sirius sheds off his top before sitting leisurely on the bed, feeling bloody incandescent when Remus mounts his lap, nuzzling his nose against Sirius’s neck with his arms resting against his broad shoulders.

“I’d wager you have dirty librarian fantasies too,” Sirius laughs through the kisses, thrusting upwards so that Remus’s bum bounces slightly against his hardness, fucking miraculous.

“Hah— Hmm,” Remus breathes a bit more laboredly as he settles back down. “And what if I do,” he asks primly, unwittingly making it so a thrill runs down Sirius’s spine with the thought of his boyfriend— the bloke who is most certainly the love of his god forsaken life— picturing the different ways he wants Sirius— above him and under him, all around him and deep inside of him. And Christ, what a beautiful thought.

“’S not a problem with me goldilocks,” Sirius tells him with a slight catch to his voice, not having expected that the idea would effect him so thoroughly. “Tell me do you like me stern? Maybe you turned in some late books and I had to teach you a lesson.”

“If I’m being honest, love, you don’t talk much in the fantasy,” Remus laughs when Sirius bolts upwards, flipping him so that he’s beneath Sirius and his hair is fanned on the pillow like a gilded halo.

“Fucking lies,” Sirius slips a hand through the hem of Remus’s sweats, unsurprised to find that he’s not wearing any boxer briefs, knowing full and well how Remus prefers to sleep in the nude.” “You love it when I’m waxing poetic about you, and when I’m harsh at you. When I tell you about how your mouth is meant to suck my cock, how I want to put you over my lap and spank that perfect little arse of yours.” Sirius wraps his hand around Remus’s length, twisting it slightly before starting to pump, absolutely beaming at how he’s already begun to get Remus to get that oh so beautiful glazed look over his eyes, turning him undone with a few strategic touches and perfectly crafted, perfectly illicit mutterings. “When I call you gorgeous and a filthy little slag and when I fuck into you even after you’re already spent.”

Remus’s hips rock up, eyes squint shut when Sirius uses his free hand to thumb at one of his delightfully pink nipples and pinches it for good measure while he quickens the pace of his hand sliding up and down Remus’s shaft. “Tell me how much you crave that, love. How much you love being good for me, how much you love it when I show you how.”

“Sirius— Hold on,” Remus begs, voice coming out in an almost whine— haggard and breathy and high pitched— while both his hands knot into Sirius’s dark hair, quaking so hard that Sirius knows he’s got him on the edge.

Tenderly, he dips down his head, lips pressed against Remus’s ear and hot tendrils of breath skirting against his skin. Shh, ‘s fine, baby,” he promises him, stroking him through the climax. “’S okay, just let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck— Sirius!” Remus chokes out, hips thrusting rapidly as he chases that relief and slumping back once his orgasm quite literally pulses out, coating Sirius’s hand and abs and some on Remus’s jumper too.

“You really are gorgeous,” Sirius tells him with a smile, gingerly kissing the lids of his still shut eyes before grappling for the little baggie of wet wipes they’ve begun keeping in Remus’s night stand drawer for moments like these.

“I hate how you could do that to me,” Remus tells him with heavy breaths as Sirius cleans up, taps his side lightly so Remus rises up his hips and Sirius tosses his pants to the corner, followed by Remus’s now spoiled jumper. He really couldn’t wait to get his hands off of him after a day apart.

“Oi! ‘S not my fault that the thought of me as some stodgy librarian is what gets you going, Moonbeam.” Sirius rebukes, pulls up the comforter so that it pools around their hips, while he lies back leisurely with Remus’s head propped up on his chest.

“We’re breaking up,” Remus tells him flatly, tracing small circles against Sirius’s tanned skin, interrupted by intermittent pecks.

“Cruel,” Sirius pouts, still carding a hair through Remus’s mussed curls, can’t imagine ever living without this, not after so many years of never ending yearning and countless almosts and taking one step forwards before being pushed two back so many times that it made them bloody barmy.

But they’re here now. Sirius has Remus in ways he never thought he’d ever want to claim a person— and lets himself be claimed in the same ways right back. Sirius knows Remus and all of Remus’s little quirks— loves him all the more for it. He knows the way Remus likes his tea when he wakes up at three in the morning and can’t go back to bed, how it’s different from the tea he prefers to drink in the afternoons. Knows the way Remus licks the lip of the mug before every sip. Sirius knows Remus’s favorite book for each of his various moods, and knows that on those quiet days— the ones when Remus doesn’t like talking much at all— that Remus only needs time, needs to know that Sirius’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning with sunlit smiles and kisses that taste like violet skies and cinnamon scones and promises meant to be kept.

And of course Sirius will be there, of course he’d have Remus in any and all ways that he’d let him— He knows it in his bones that Remus feels that same crippling sort of devotion for him right back, knows that it’s a once in a life time sort of ordeal. He knows that he’s grateful for every breath they share with one another.

“”A man could take only so much smugness from his boyfriend,” Remus tells Sirius petulantly, the words belied by how he tenderly kisses his chest.

“No but Remus, darling, tel me. Who makes more of an appearance in the sexy thought time? Librarian me or the image of me in the rugby kit.”

Remus moves to flip him the bird while he nips at the patch of skin he was just lapping at with quiet reverence.

“Ouch!”

“I hate that I told you that.” Remus fumes, actually embarrassed looking as he pulls away from him.

Sirius is frantic when he circles his arms around Remus’s torso and brings his body back to lie over his own. “Nah, no, gorgeous, I like it. Gets me going. The idea that you’re so lost on me that you picture me in those different outfits.” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss of apology to the temple of his head.

“’S not weird Sirius!”

“Course it’s not baby,” Sirius soothes, hand caressing his side meaningfully.

“You’re bloody fit— you know that! ’s totally normal that I’d wanna wank off to my beautiful damn boyfriend.”

“Completely, no one’s arguing against you, baby.”

“Hmm,” Remus huffs before springing up suddenly, pinning Sirius with a suspicious glower. “So what, you don’t ever picture me like that? In your favorite sorts of fantasies.”

Sirius throws back his head, laughing at how distressed he looks. God he’s in love with such a bellend. “Cor! Remus, me calling you Prince Ponce all those years before we finally just shagged wasn’t simply because you had a royal scepter up your arse that I wanted to replace with my prii—“ Remus shoves Sirius hard enough so he won’t finish that line, and honestly? Valid.

“So what? That’s all?” Remus fumes, settling away from him once more. “You’ve only ever imagined me as some sorta golden boy you wanted to get your grubby hands on?”

“Course not, love, there’s like hundreds I think of.”

“Like what?” Remus needles, and Sirius feels his cheeks burn scarlet as he has to avert his gaze, knowing precisely what his top fantasy is and too nervous to actually say it out loud.

“Oh c’mon Sirius,” Remus sighs, obviously having read the doubt blotched all over his face. “I’ve seen you piss while eating an ice cream cone in a public beach, and that was before we began even dating.”

“’S not my fault that Marlene got stung by that bloody jellyfish!”

“We’ve crossed the possibility of being embarrassed in front of the other long ago,” Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted.

“Ugh fine,” Sirius grouses, tossing himself back on the mattress. “But you swear not to poke fun?”

“You have my word,” Remus says evenly, and gestures at him to continue.

“Okay— Well you don’t know this because we met so much later. But when Jem and I were younger— back in secondary school, maybe.” He coughs only slightly, gaze razor focussed on where he’s tugging on a stray strand of string hanging off the comforter, feeling suddenly very hot under Remus’s appraising gaze. “We, erm. Ahem. We were really bloody bored this one weekend so we watched the Star Wards prequels, you know. Just because everyone’s seen them and all.”

“Mmm, right. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”

“I’m getting there tosser,” Sirius harrumphs, still doesn’t meet his hazel eyes, even if he’s a bit brassed off.

“All right, well don’t let me stop you.”

“Right, well— Hah. You know the Empire Strikes Back,” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Course I do,” Remus nods, faltering just slightly once he pieces it together. “Oh.”

“’S just a thing I’ve thought about since I was like thirteen—“ Sirius explains lamely.

“And you’d— You’d like to see me in that get up?” Remus asks, voice betraying his inhibition.

Sirius has a mild heart attack thinking of Remus— his Remus— in that golden bikini and doing it just for Sirius and Jesus fuck he can’t even breathe. “Yeah— Yes, ahem, I would really like that.”

“All right,” Remus says with a nod and Sirius’s not really sure what he means by that. Whether it’s a thank you for sharing or a you have my permission to think of it or what, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask when there’s the sound of something else crashing in the background followed by the muffled curse of a voice that is so painfully Peter that it hurts.

“Right, well let’s see if he’s broken anything, shall we?”

A week goes by.

Sirius never really thinks of the conversation they had, supposes it was merely a passing fancy for Remus to be validated that Sirius has those same heated thoughts about him. (Which of fucking course he does. Remus’s the epitome of what it means to be beautiful. A God damn angel— Of bloody course Sirius is completely lost on him. But hey, it might’ve been just one of those insecurities of his, a hurtle that needed to be past over for them to proceed in their relationship. So yeah, whatever.) Sirius doesn’t think of it again.

Though the refrain from that is thrown out the God forsaken window on a typical Wednesday morning in the office, when Sirius gets the Snapchat notification that quite literally turns his brain into a stew of slush.

There’s a meeting with Benedict Carro who’s asked the firm to build his newest golf club in Devon, and Sirius is just collecting some of the charts and preliminary sketches from his desk for the impending meeting with the old git. So he really doesn’t think much of it when he sees his phone light up with a message from Remus, is expecting it to be a picture of his adorably scrunched up face or of a new addition to his ridiculous collection of candles, or maybe even of the ducks wandering across the hall like they’re occasionally want to do.

What Sirius most certainly does not expect to see is a fucking photograph of two distinct costumes lying on his bed, and the line “Look what came today,” written on the black bar.

“Mother of God,” Sirius thinks that he might be in the midst of an actual fucking seizure, feels his heart palpitating irregularly and his breaths catching and his insides fucking imploding all at once.

He can’t believe that this is a thing that is happening. That Remus went out and bought them just to surprise Sirius with and now he’s teasing him mercilessly because Sirius’s in love with a wicked fucking mastermind. And just, holy fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Mr Black, Mr Carro and his associates are here,” Sirius’s newest assistant— Benjy Fenwick, says in a tone that makes it obvious that he’s been trying to get Sirius’s attention for quite a while now and is about fed up. Sirius is really tempted to flip his phone around and show him a photograph of how insanely sexy Remus is, then he’ll surely understand the reason why Sirius’s been dissolved into a puddle of pure longing for the day to be over. But he ultimately reasons that wouldn’t be exactly appropriate, technically being Benjy’s boss and all, even though they’re nearly the same age.

But yeah— not a good look.

So he hurriedly texts back that Remus is the absolute devil incarnate before shutting off his phone and following Benjy into one of the meeting rooms in the back— trying to muster an air of nonchalance even if the image of Remus in that God damn Princess Leia bikini, is permanently scorched into his every thought.

“Sirius spent the rest of that afternoon sending admittedly explicit texts to Remus about all the things he wants to do to him that night, and practically sores back to their building when he leaves work.

Thankfully Remus had taken care of getting the place to their selves that night, so all Sirius has to do now is jump around from foot to foot in his room, beyond jittery in anticipation of Remus finally coming out the closet dressed in Sirius’s greatest fantasy of all time.

“Is the music absolutely necessary?” Remus calls out through the closed door.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a tone that’s about two octaves higher than his usual speaking voice, so beyond flustered. “’S for the ambiance Lupin!”

“Oy, if I had known this was such a thing for you, I would’ve done it earlier,” Remus snorts, walking out in a white bathrobe that gives nothing away as he eyes Sirius in the Han Solo outfit he got— complete with a fake blaster pistol and its holster. “You look so cute.”

“You’re a God,” Sirius tells him in aw, reaching a gentle hand over to run through his dark, tawny curls.

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius catches the smirk he’s wrestling down on his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sirius breathes, padding up closer to him and kissing Remus slow and thorough, a tender hand caressing his cheek.

“God save the queen, that reference actually did something for me,” Remus chuckles, but Sirius can’t respond, has permanently lost all ability to function or piece together words once he spots how Remus loosens the knot on his robe and slinks it off to reveal miles and miles of bare skin, only slightly concealed by the golden bikini of his fantasies, even complete with purple little frills that dangle off the hips.

Sirius realizes that he must’ve been gaping by the way Remus waves a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Sirius? Is this not how you pictured it? Did I get the wrong model or—“ Sirius shuts him up with a heated and desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time they separate.

“Remus, please, for the love of God, get on that bed and wait for me to decide what I want to do with you."

With a small grin turning up the corner of his lips, Remus nods eagerly, perching up on the edge of Sirius’s bed and blinking up at him— practically imploring for Sirius to finally just have his wicked way with him already.

Sirius mildly thinks that he doesn’t deserve such a gift, but gets distracted when Remus separates his legs a little further and he can spot the way his dick is poking out the metallic colored panties, throbbing with anticipation.

“Budge up, I want your back against the headboard,” Sirius demands lowly, and Remus is quick to comply.

On his knees, Sirius shuffles up close enough to clamp his hands on Remus’s inner thighs, pulls them further apart as he smacks a hard kiss to Remus’s mouth, slowly moving to nose at the edge of his cheek and ear as he tells him in a very quiet, very deliberate tone to keep his hands above his head. “You’re a good boy, baby, so I won’t tie them, but you’re gonna keep them up there and you’re not gonna move them, okay?”

Remus, already completely flushed, nods vigorously. He prefers staying quiet when they get like this— Sirius would ordinarily prod at him a little to get some words out, but he’s far too distracted right now.

He kisses across Remus’s protruding collarbone, thinks of how swan like and gentle his features are. How Remus’s a work of art and how he wants Sirius more than breathing, how that’s splayed all over his face, especially now. And God, how heady of a thrill.

Sirius kisses down the line of his chest and stomach muscles with slow precision, nuzzles against the material of the bikini before he nearly breaks the left strap trying to get at Remus’s left nipple, teeth grinding and playing with the ball— biting a little harder when Remus whimpers, trying to cant his hips upwards.

Sirius pulls back, pinching his side lightly. “Stay still,” he reproves, excepts it wen Remus quietly apologizes, ducking his head down to the other nipple now, his hands tenderly petting against Remus’s sides as he sucks on it with the same ferocity.

“Sir—Sirius, please,” Remus begs from above him, head tossed back to show off the long trail of his beautiful neck.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby,” Sirius tells him in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, beginning to mouth against the light feathering of pale hair that runs down Remus’s torso, leading to his dick.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you,” Sirius kisses the point right beneath his naval, and he ducks down to what he was trying to get at in the first place

“Turn around,” he tells him, words clipped. “ON all fours.”

Remus looks relieved to finally be able and do something as he tells him “Yes,” and flips over, already rigid with anticipation.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Sirius tells him, places a hand on the small of Remus’s back for leverage as he kisses the smattering of freckles that dance over Remus’s thighs. God he has such amazing thighs, strong and elegant and Sirius’s favorite thing is when he gets to kiss them like this, to nip at them and hear the little, abrupt inhale that Remus sucks in at the touch. “Stay good for me, okay,” Sirius tells him as he takes his hands and he spreads open Remus’s asscheeks, revealing the little, dark hole Sirius has spent many a night moaning exaltations towards.

Softly, and with hot breaths Sirius pulls to the side the weak material of the thong, peppers kisses all around Remus’s ass before dipping down deeper and lapping a tongue against the tiny, fluttering ring of wrinkled skin.

“Sirius, please,” Remus moans pushing closer to the hot sensation.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Sirius tells him, lips pressed against him as Sirius kisses the entrance adoringly—tongue plunging inside deeper, harder, slower. And he loves this, the sensation of it, of Remus coming undone in his very hands.

Sirius is about to wrap a hand around the length of him, to stroke in tandem with his worshiping with his mouth, but suddenly there little moment of bliss is cut by the sound of insistent and boisterous knocking.

“Ignore it,”

“It could be important,” Remus argues weakly, obviously all levels of regretful as he peers over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, who cares, ’s my flat and they can sod off!”

Remus presses his lips together, looking like he might agree, but then comes a new round of rapping, and Sirius sees the resolve in his face.

“Oh bloody hell! Fine!” Sirius fumes, scrambling up. “But if it’s someone trying to sell me shit, I’ve got the legal obligation to punch them in the face!”

“Of course darling,” Remus smiles at him, and it’s the only thing that gives Sirius enough strength to swagger towards the front and open the door without already being in mid shout. Though, what he doesn’t expect to happen is to find his adoptive mother of all fucking people on the other side.

“Mum?”

“Sirius? Love?” Dr Potter greets, eyeing him worriedly with a tsk, bringing a small, brown hand to his forehead as if to take his temperature and making it so Sirius flinches back. “Why do you look all red, and honey it’s not October yet, what’s with the outfit?”

“Mum!, why are you here!” Sirius asks instead, avoiding the question all together, voice completely strangled.

“Oh, well James called me to check up on the ducks this Friday, but I was in town with an old girlfriend, so I reckoned I’d just pop over, see if you guys needed anything for me to bring you.” She explains blithely, still looking up at him with concern. “Your taking care of yourself, aren’t you dearest? You’re not working too hard?”

Sirius panics, tries to think of a perfectly plausible excuse besides the obvious— So but of course that’s right when Remus decides to shout from the bed. “Sirius who’s at the door?” And no! Jesus no!

“Remus? Lovey?” his mum calls back.

“Oh— Erm. Dr Potter.” Remus has stepped out of his room now, mercifully already back in his robe. “I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he says with a pale color tinting his pillar, like he’s about to be sick.

Okay, yup, Sirius’s erection has died forever now after hearing Remus speaking to Sirius’s bloody mother dressed like that.

Fuck his life.

“Are you boys okay? Did I— Did I interrupt something?”

“Mum! James is just out to dinner with Lily! We’re fine, honest! And erm, we can’t wait to see you Friday night!”

“Oh dearest, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you guys— ah dressed up—“ Dr Potter flushes, but there is definite amusement glittering in her eyes, and that’s right when Sirius slams his hand against his face and retreats back to the bedroom, barely hearing it when she bids farewell to Remus and tells Sirius to call her tomorrow.

“I reckon we won’t be continuing?” Remus asks, a total giggle to his words. Holy fucking shite! Everyone in his life are such pricks!

“I’m jumping off the balcony!” Sirius screams back in response, plunging his head into the pillows and contemplating everything that’s brought him to this point.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #Marauders #harry potter series #spilt ink #this is trash tbh #plz clown me #I also edited it from an old Firstprince one shot but I'm not writing Friends AU for them anymore #or like never really started lol #so I fixed it #for My OTP #FIC: Friends AU

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orange-waterfalls · 4 years

Text

Can We Talk?

Bim Trimmer x m!reader

ty @just-bts-trash-00 for the request!

A/N: WHOOOOOOO BOY HOWDY, GUESS WHO'S BACK. It's been uh. A while. I'm sorry? School has been hectic and my mental health is SHIT, but i fucking finished it holy god. Anywaaaays, angst. Y'all remember Bim's crush on Matthias? Yeah that's the plot. It's pretty long and I think it's pretty shit but uh here I guess.

Word count: 2.9k

You hummed quietly as you fixed dinner for you and your boyfriend in the kitchen. Normally, you didn’t cook. Neither did Bim. Therefore, one of you had to be the cook in the relationship, and you supposed it had to be you. You couldn’t just get takeout until the end of time.

Well… maybe if you really wanted to.

But you didn’t. You wanted to cook for your boyfriend. He’d said something about “Jewish burgers” one day, and you didn’t know what that meant. At this point, you were too scared to ask. You’d found a recipe for shawarma, and he’d liked that shawarma place you went to the other day, so you were making shawarma. At least… you did your best.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes, quickly hissing because you somehow forgot there was a bunch of shit on your hands. You quickly turned the faucet on and put your eye under the stream to clean it out.

As you dried your face, you heard a car pull up to the driveway, along with three short honks. You smiled. Finally. You wiped your hands on a rag and turned around to greet your gameshow host.

“Honey, I’m home!” He said in a sing-songy voice as he looked around for you. He saw you leaning on the kitchen counter and smiled. He shrugged off his suit jacket and sat his bag down. He walked towards you with his arms open. You pushed yourself off of the counter and fell into him.

“Hi…” you whispered. He chuckled and held you tight.

“What’s up?” He sniffed the air. “And what’s cooking?”

“Shawarma…” you said, your voice muffled in his neck.

“And uh… what’s wrong?” You brought your head up and squinted at him. “Ah, of course. The process of making the shawarma. What else would it be?” You shoved your face back in his neck with a grunt of affirmation. He snorted and patted your back. He directed you towards the couch, where you plopped down on your back with a groan.

“Dinner…” you whined. He sat his phone on the coffee table and took his shoes off.

“I’ll finish it up.” He patted your stomach.

“Thank you…” He kissed your forehead and walked away, letting you have your rest. You felt kinda bad, he’d been working all day, and it must be tiring having to sound so happy all the time. Then again, YOU worked all day too, AND you tried to make dinner. Your small rest was earned.

You closed your eyes and sighed, relaxing into the sofa. You startled a bit at the notification sound coming from his phone.

“Bim, your phone… binged…” You called. Binged? Was that the word?

“I’ll be done in a minute.” He responded.

Dinged! That was it.

You glanced at the phone. It didn’t sound like his usual texting sound, and he didn’t have any games as far as you knew. Maybe it was an email.

Your curiosity got the better of you and you checked the lockscreen.

Yup! Email. From someone named… M? Who was that?

You shrugged and put it back down. None of your business.

Bim walked back into the living room holding two plates.

“Dinner is served!” He said in a bad English accent.

“Woo…” You cheered weakly and sat up. He put the plates on the table and went back towards the kitchen. “Oh, I bought wine earlier. The good shit, that Dark gets sometimes.”

“Damn, really? How much did that cost you?” He asked in disbelief.

“It was on sale.”

“Why would the good shit be on sale?”

“Some people just don’t have taste.” You smiled when you heard him laugh. He walked back in with two wine glasses and the bottle. “Oh, you have an email from someone named ‘M’.” He tensed up when he heard the name.

That’s… weird…

“O-Oh, uh… thanks…” He scrambled to grab his phone and shoved it in his pocket. You quirked an eyebrow at him. Suspicious…

“Uh… no problem…” He looked nervous as he poured wine for you two. You squinted at him a bit, wondering why he was so anxious. You trusted him, of course you did, but this was… weird.

You two sat and ate your dinner in silence. You kept trying to look at him but he avoided your eyes. When you finished your food, you poured more wine into your glass and downed it.

This was gonna be one of those days.

Yes, okay, you were drunk. Not blackout drunk, but drunk enough to not exactly know what was going on. You knew that Bim was a bit drunk as well and you two were laughing at… something… but other than that, you got nothing.

“I’m ju-I’m jus-I’m…” You paused and blinked a couple times to process your own words. “I’m just saying that Twilight coulda been sssssoooo much better… if the portag… protagonist… fuck’s her name again?”

“Bella?” Bim chuckled.

“That’s the bitch!” You slammed your hand down on the table. Bim wheezed. “If she’d just had… a little-a little more e-mo-tion, a little more person… personality… then Twilight coulda been better! But noooooo, she had ta be… the most person-boring person in cinematic history. Bull. shhhhhit.”

“Well, she’s… she needs to… young girls have to… relate to her!”

“Okay, but like… she’s a got-damn plank o’ wood.”

“Tha-hahahaha! That’s not fair!”

“She is! She never-she’s not-she-oh god, I’m drunk…” You squeezed your eyes shut and leaned forward, face angled at the floor in case you got nauseous.

“Yeah… me too…” He sighed.

“Hey, hey Bim?” You opened an eye and turned to him. He hummed in response. “Who’s ‘M’?” He tensed up again and you frowned.

“Uh, nobody. Nobody! D-Don’t worry about it!” He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

“Suspicious…” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“Nothin’.”

You tilted your head at him, half trying to figure out who it could be(which was very difficult in your drunken state) and half trying to read his mind. You supposed he got kind of uncomfortable because he said:

“I’m gonna… go into my office… and check some things…” He stood up and shuffled into a small room that he’d claimed as his office. You sighed and sunk back into the couch, thinking about your options.

First step was communication. You tried to talk to him, but he was being evasive and didn’t honestly answer the question. Suspicious.

Second step was… looking around the house for clues as to who it was like you were Sherlock Holmes? Absolutely.

You brought yourself to your feet, only stumbling a little, and tiptoed to your shared bedroom. You closed the door behind you as softly as you could before walking over to the closet. You opened it and looked for a moment before deciding it wasn’t worth to actually move things around. You shut the door and moved to the drawers. If anything was gonna be anywhere, it would be in the sock drawer, right? You reached out and put your hand on the handle. You tugged a bit, cracking it open, just a little. Your brain kept telling you that you were already there, just get it over with.

But your heart(well… still your brain, but whatever) was telling you that you needed to trust your boyfriend if this relationship was going to work.

You sighed and shut the drawer, flopping face-first onto the bed.

Bim wasn’t the type to cheat. Well… you didn’t think so, anyways. You loved him and… well, you hoped he loved you. You were going to have faith in your boyfriend. No matter how curious you were.

You shifted around in the bed so you were laying in the correct direction. You were still on your stomach, and you closed your eyes, facing the wall opposite of the door.

After a few minutes, you heard the door quietly creak open. The lights turned off and you heard footsteps make their way towards the bed. You smiled a bit and turned your head to look at Bim. Your smile fell as you saw him open the sock drawer and pull a napkin out.

“Hi Bim.” you said. He screamed and shoved the napkin back in the drawer, slamming it shut. You blinked at him.

“H-Hi, darling, I-I didn’t know you were awake…” He stuttered.

“I was.” You raised your eyebrows.

“Well… I can see that…” He laughed nervously. You looked at his hand on the drawer.

“What were you looking at?” You asked.

Please tell me the truth, you begged in your head.

“Oh, uh… n-nothing important, haha…”

Dammit, Bim.

“Okay, well… come to bed?” You suggested. You smiled at him as best you could.

“Uh… I’m kinda busy…” He scratched his head. You frowned.

“Please?” You begged and held your arms out. He opened his mouth to oppose, but he decided to make eye contact for the first time tonight since dinner. He visibly relaxed and smiled at you, and you smiled back. He sighed and took his glasses off. You scooted over so he could climb in next to you. You wrapped your arms around him and snuggled into his chest.

“I love you…” you whispered. He didn’t say anything for a moment before he chuckled.

“I love you, too. Night, darling.”

“Good night.”

You woke up feeling cold. You reached out to your boyfriend, but he wasn’t there. You rolled over and looked at the time. 3:00 am. Jesus, what was Bim doing? You slowly stood up and got out of bed, still feeling very tired. You walked around for a bit, searching for your partner, before pausing.

Was he… talking to someone? At this hour?

You walked towards the bathroom, where Bim’s voice was coming from. You put an ear against the door, trying to listen.

“Why can’t he just leave me alone, why can’t he just let me live my life?!” He whisper-yelled. “I’m perfectly content with how I am now. He didn’t want me when I was available, and now I’m unavailable, and suddenly he loves me?! What kind of bullshit is that?!” You frowned, not knowing who he was talking to. You were worried because of how upset he sounded. You softly knocked on the door.

“Bim? You alright?” You asked quietly. You heard a small thump from inside and flinched.

“Y-Yeah! Just… Just give me a minute!” He yelled. You walked away from the door and looked into the office. You saw your jacket on the floor and scoffed. How’d that get there?

You walked to the other side of the room and grabbed it. As you were walking back, something caught your eye. Bim hadn’t turned the computer off. You figured you’d do it for him. As you went to click out of the open tab, you saw messages on the screen. From ‘M’.

Do you love me?

Sure

So, you’ll get me on your gameshow again?

I’ll try.

Oh. I see.

I’ll try my best. I’ll do anything for you.

Anything?

Yes

Leave your boyfriend

Hello?

Trimmer? You there?

Your vision started to blur and you were confused until you felt the tears start down your face. You were still drunk, right? That’s why you were so emotional.

Yep. That’s it. That’s the only reason.

You wiped your face and went back to the bathroom door. He was still talking, but more quietly so you didn’t really hear him. After a minute or two, he sighed and unlocked the bathroom door. You stepped away and leaned on the wall opposite the door. Bim walked out and yelped.

“Oh my God! Hi!” He laughed. “I-I didn’t know you were still out here, uh…” He looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows. “Your… eyes are kinda red… are you ok?” He reached out to touch your face but you avoided his hand.

“No, no. I’m fine. Just… need to use the… bathroom…” You said, managing to not have any voice cracks or slur any words. Nice.

“I… ok…” He dropped his hand and walked towards your bedroom. You went into the bathroom, shutting and locking it behind you. You hiccuped a bit before tears started streaming down your face. You leaned your forehead on the door, just letting it all out. You hadn’t cried in a while, that’s all.

That is the only reason.

You stood there and cried for a bit before walking over to the sink and looking at yourself in the mirror.

God, you were a mess.

Your eyes were all red and puffy, there were tear marks on your cheeks, you kept sniffling like a goddamn third grader.

And it… hurt.

Not just your eyes stinging from the tears. Although that hurt too.

The fact that he was hiding from you, that he wouldn’t talk to you, that he didn’t trust you.

You sighed and shut your eyes. You turned the faucet on, splashing water on your face, wiping all the evidence away.

You turned the water off and stared at your face, dripping wet, looking a bit shit.

“I’ll talk to him in the morning…” you promised yourself. You went back into your bedroom, finding Bim already asleep. You climbed in next to him, but didn’t hold him like you usually did. You curled up and turned away.

You’d talk to him in the morning.

You went to the living room after waking up and getting ready. You were supposed to go into work, but you told your boss you were having “family problems” and might come in later. You sat on the couch and watched a bit of tv while you waited for Bim to wake up. He had the day off, so he didn’t have to worry about anything. He was

You sat with your knees tucked in. You lifted your head a bit when you heard th shower turn on. You sighed and thought about what you were supposed to say.

Hi, Bim. I’m worried about you. Is there anything you want to tell me?

Hi, Bim. You’ve been acting weird recently. Everything ok?

Hi, Bim. I went through your messages. Are you cheating on me?

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. Why was this happening? Was he not happy? Were you doing something wrong?

As you were overthinking, the shower turned off. You uncovered your face and turned the TV off. You sat and waited for Bim to enter the living room.

Okay, just… tell him what happened.

Bim walked in wearing a T-Shirt and sweatpants. He went to the door and grabbed a jacket.

“We need more chicken, I’ll head to the store and-”

“Can we talk? Can you sit down for a second?” You interrupted. He froze halfway through putting his jacket on and stared at you.

“Um… okay…” He said slowly. He put the jacket on the back of his chair and sat. You sighed and put your legs down.

“Last night, when you were in the bathroom, I went into your office,” you explained. His eyes widened. Not a good sign.

“Why-Why did you do that?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I saw my jacket on the floor.” His face twitched into a scowl for a millisecond.

“Okay… and?”

“And… I figured I’d turn your computer off for you.” You avoided looking at him. “I s-saw some messages, and I wanted to ask-”

“I’m not cheating on you!” He claimed loudly. You blinked and looked at him. He looked scared. Kinda panicked.

“Okay…”

“I-I don’t like him anymore! That was like a joke message! I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to know if he actually felt anything for me, or if I was just being used by him! It was from a while ago! I-I know I shouldn’t have messaged him, I know a-and I’m sorry, but I don’t know why he’s messaging me again now! I want nothing to do with him I promise!” You hummed and looked away. You heard a shuffle before Bim appeared on his knees on the floor in front of you.

“Wha-Bim?” You flushed.

“Please, please, please believe me! I never wanted anyone but you! I just… It wasn’t recent, it was a while ago! I wanted to know if he ever actually liked me, and… I had you! There wasn't any reason to go back to him! And I don’t want to lose you! I-I can be better, I promise!”

“Okay, h-how ‘bout we calm down-”

“I do love you, I-I do! But… if you don’t trust me anymore, that’s fine! I-I just want you to be happy and-”

“BIM!” You yelled. He looked up at you with misty eyes and a quivering lip. You shook your head with a small laugh.

“Wh-What’s so funny?” He sniffled.

“I’m not gonna leave you! I understand! You wanted to know if there was anything ever there, if he ever felt anything for you instead of just being a manipulative bastard.” You smirked.

“Yes! Exactly!” He nodded his head hard.

“You could’ve… said that. I would’ve understood…”

“You… You would have?”

“Bim, you’re an adult. Do you not know how to communicate?”

“Uh… not… really?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Okay, we’re gonna have to work on that, and I think you might have trust issues too… ” You shook your head.

“Do I need therapy?”

“Yeah, therapy’s good for this sort of thing.”

You moved forward and kissed his forehead. He wiped his eyes and kissed you gently.

“Are we gonna be okay?” He asked after pulling back. You leaned your forehead against his.

“Yeah… we’ll be okay?”

#markiplier egos #markiplier #markiplier egos x reader #x male reader #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x male!reader #bim trimmer #bim trimmer x male!reader #bim trimmer x m!reader #bim trimmer x male reader #x m!reader

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deery-fiction · 3 years

Note

Hi! Saw your post about wanting some company and ego talk, so here’s a question for you!! Which three egos do you think are underrated, and why should they get more attention? I’m curious :D (hope this isn’t weird, I’ve never done this before lmao)

Aw!!! Thank you!! And that's a very interesting question, let me think about it 🤔 (also this isn’t weird at all and I really appreciate you stepping out of your comfort zone to send this because I’ve been checking tumblr frequently like a goon X,D)

I’m putting my thoughts under a read more because this answer got longer then I was anticipating and also I technically did more then three? I wasn’t sure if you wanted just Mark Egos or Jack Egos or what and so I just did my best to think about all of them and then ended doing bonus parts because I’m excited and it got hard to pick after the first two I did sdgjfg I hope I answered your question in a satisfactory way and that I didn’t go overboard!!! I’m just long winded and excited about my first ask,,, Here’s to hoping it’s not too much!

Overall across all the different batches/groups of egos (Yes, I call them Batches sometimes dhdhe) I think:

1. Silver Surfer - I'm a sucker for Superheros in general, I'm a Marvel and DC fan so seeing Superhero Egos makes me happy. I also read the Silver Surfer centric stories from the Ego Manor series and I loved them... I went looking for more stories about Silver, couldn't find much and was sad :( I also think there's a lot of potential with Silver Shepard and Jackieboy man interactions! Either as crime fighting partners, rivals, or their civilian identities are buddies but they're unaware of the other's hero identity! I don't know, it might just be my hero bias showing but I'd genuinely love to see more stuff with both of the hero egos 💜 They both just offer opportunities for both goofy silliness and serious, somber moments. You can make them witty and goofy but also explore the genuine, sincere desire to help people. You can talk about guilt complexes about how close they were to saving someone but just missing the mark, while still making them powerful and strong. I like seeing powerful characters who aren't infallible, because under those masks and powers, they're still human above everything else. That and they're just badass fhsjs

2. Bim Trimmer - He just seems really fun! I'm imagining Wilford taking him under his wing and I think people could have fun with their dynamic! Or you could spin it and have them as rivals! There's also a lot of potential for horror story telling with Bim, in my opinion. Seriously, a GameShow host that kills the losers to feed them to the other contestants? A possibly cannibalistic gameshow host with a show broadcast on the dark web? I wanna see people play with this character! Though I can understand why people may not be comfortable with those and if I do write stuff exploring that, I'll be sure to tag it appropriately so I don't make people uncomfortable.

3. Shawn Flynn - Look, I know Shawn Flynn is less ego and more voice over cameo/Bendy Character, but I think he and Jameson Jackson could be good ol timey friends together and I think it would be really cute!!! Shawn making little toys for his friends/people he cares about because he's a toy maker and enjoys making toys and wants the people he cares about to know that he's thinking about them! Shawn would also be able to get any era specific/dated references that JJ might make because they're from the same/similar era! He'd probably be a hit with Chase's kids too! I can totally imagine him sitting with Chase's kids and or Schneep's child and telling them about toy making processes and demonstrating! I love Shawn Flynn if you couldn't tell lmao

Bonus stuff:

I think most of the Markiplier Egos aside from Dark and Wilford are probably comparatively underrated. I love Dark and Wilford, don't get me wrong! But they do get the most attention and I just want to say that I would love to see Dr. Iplier, The Googles, Bing, The Jim, The Host, ect. get more love but I also understand that the sheer number of egos, both official and unofficial, can be very overwhelming and I don't want to push people to write for a larger number of characters then the feel comfortable and capable of writing.

Also! I know Ethan said he wasn't going to be doing ego stuff seriously and I totally respect that but we do have characters like Blank and Mad Mike and I just think they're neat and would like more work including them! Especially Blank interacting with Dark and Anti. I think Blank especially has potential for both funny and serious stuff depending on how he's written. He could either be cute and funny, pouting that he's just an April goof to Ethan, or he be written more seriously as an actual antagonist like Dark and Anti, desiring to step forward and be acknowledged like them. There's also the sad boi Blank take which I think is also valid!

Also Also! I've seen stuff for Unus and Annus, but I think I would love to see stuff about characters from the channel like The Gongoozler, Melon Man, MerMer, SCP Amy, Norbert Moses, and other UA Cryptids! I know they were just bits for a now dead channel, but I just love the idea of them meeting the other, non UA Egos and the chaos that could ensue from there!! There's also sad stuff that could be written about them because like, I don't know, maybe when the channel was deleted, Unus and Annus vanished because even with the fan support, they were destined to die with the channel, the others like Norbert, Gongoozler, Melon man, ect, all persisted due to fan support and not being tied to the channel the same way Unus and Annus were. Unus and Annus were the channel, the figure heads and mascots, the others were just spawned off the videos and live on through saved clips. The thing is, maybe they still consider Unus and Annus their "creators"/dads and now have to grieve the two because they out lived them?

#Markiplier egos #Jackspeticeye Egos #JSE egos #Silver Shepard #Bim Trimmer #Shawn Flynn #Unus Annus #Blankgameplays #The Gongoozler #Melon Man #Ask #7spaceace7 #Jackieboy man

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antiquechampagne · 4 years

Text

Antique Champagne - Ch42 - Pack Your Bags

Hancock was as good as on his word. He tried drinking again the next night, but this time with a half a Mentat. To his delight, he kept it down the whole night. By the end of the week, he had worked up to a whole tablet, well on his way to working his tolerance back up to pre-assassination attempt levels.

Everyone settled back into their daily routines, even with the mystery still hanging in the air. One afternoon while eating her breakfast at the bar, a familiar face sat down on the bar stool next to her. Kent smiled at her as he ordered a sandwich for himself.

“Glad you could make it!” Payne really meant it. With all that had happened lately, they hadn’t had much time to meet up. After chatting for a while, Payne started to notice something odd about Kent. The edges of his mouth kept curling when she started to talk, especially if the subject turned to her employer.

“Okay, Kent, what is it?”

“Huh?”

She playfully pointed a finger at him. “Come on. Are you trying to hide something?”

Kent shrugged shyly. “I’m just happy to see you.” Payne gave him a side-eyed glance as she bit into her lunch. “Really…”

“I don’t believe you. You’re a terrible liar.”

Charley had been slowly getting closer to the pair while cleaning a chipped glass with two of his three mechanical arms. Out of the corner of her eye, Payne noticed the bartender try to hush Kent with his free claw.

She turned; her finger now aimed at the robot. “Now you, too? You’re in on this?! Spill it!”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, love. Nothing to see here.” Charley whirred back around, floating back down to the other end of the bar.

Kent looked even more guilty, his hand sheepishly covering his mouth. “Really, it’s nothing. Nothing bad, anyway… but I can’t say anything more about it. “

Try as she could, Payne couldn’t get any more out of Kent on the subject. She had to give him credit, he was a lot tougher a target than she had given him credit for. Defeated, and done with her meal, she wandered up into the State House. With every step, the mystery ate at her.

Entering Hancock’s office, she barely noticed Fahrenheit as she left, grumbling under her breath.

“And there she is! How is my little dream girl doing today?” He seemed awfully chipper, given how Fahr stormed out.

“Don’t you look like the cat that ate the canary.” She crossed her arms and smiled. “What did you get up to while I was sleeping?”

He gave a very unimpressive “Nothing. Scouts honor.” Hancock stifled a chuckle when Payne’s eyebrow popped up, unconvinced. “Seriously!”

“First Kent, then Chuck… and now you! What is with everyone today?” Payne was trying not to let her frustration show, but this whole morning was starting to get on her nerves.

Hancock shrugged and started half-heartedly flipping through a paper. He tried to hide it, but his half-cocked smile refused to leave his face. Payne ignore it for as long as she could, but eventually gave in to her baser urges.

“Spill it! You are driving me insane! Just tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“Oh, but it’ll ruin the surprise!” Payne launched stained pillow at his head. “FINE!” he put his hands up in surrender. “Honestly, I’m surprised Kent didn’t let the cat out of the bag already. I was sure he would run off and blab to you as soon as he figured out why I was needling him with questions.”

Payne waited, but Hancock seemed pleased to leave it at that.

“AND?” she prompted.

“Go pack a bag! I’m taking you on a bit of a vacation. Think of it like a little payback for keeping this walking corpse out of the grave.” Payne’s jaw dropped a bit, but before she could recover, he added, “And that’s all I’m going to say until we’re on the road.”

An hour later, the pair finally stepped into the deserted street, bags and weapons in hand.

“Okay, now where are we going?” Payne demanded.

Hancock waved a finger. “Not yet. We have to meet up with a few people first.”

They walked on. Try as she might, she couldn’t wheedle any more information out of him. Eventually she fell in step with him, stewing in the silence.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Hancock stopped. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just lighten up a bit. This is supposed to be fun!”

Seeing his earnest face, most of the sourness Payne felt melted away.

“Okay… but remember the last ‘trip’ you took me on. It ended with a pile of spoiled mirelurk meat, Brotherhood goons and Fahrenheit hating my guts.”

“Fair enough. This time, I’m bringing along someone a bit more amicable.”

They continued to hike until they got to what looked like a small single-story warehouse. Rows of orderly mutfruit trees sat to one side, tended by a handful of Mr. Handy robots. As they got closer, Payne realized that the warehouse was actually a greenhouse, the inside bursting with greenery. A ramshackle home stood to one side of the building. Payne guessed it was a recent addition.

A smarmy voiced Handy with a green painted chassis greeted them. “Well, this is just super! We love to have visitors! Are you ready to bargain in the garden?”

“Hey there, brother. Is the General around?” Hancock asked casually.

“Come right this way!” The robot floated off in the direction of the shack. “Take a peek behind door number one!”

“Thanks.”

Hancock walked up to the door and gave it a knock. Nate opened the door, dressed only in a pair of jeans and a sweat stained undershirt.

“Hancock? Welcome to Graygarden! The best robot run farm in the Commonwealth.” Something caught his eye. Nate leaned out of the door and yelled around the building. “Hey, Strong! Could you put that over there with the others? Thanks, pal!”

From behind the greenhouse, the muscular super mutant nodded an acknowledgement as he lugged a rusty truck frame to a pile of scrap nearby.

“Why don’t you come in.” He quickly wiped his hands off on his pants before welcoming the pair into the small home’s only room. The room housed a small loveseat, a slapdash kitchenette and a single bed tucked in a corner. “I wasn’t expecting you to get here until tomorrow morning.”

“Well, someone tipped off the guest of honor, but why wait? Besides, don’t you agree that it would be much more impressive to see the place all lit up?”

Nate smirked. “Who let the cat out of the bag?” He added sarcastically, “Let me guess. Fahrenheit?”

Hancock snorted. “Almost let the cat out of the bag… so don’t say anything. And it was Kent, apparently.”

“I’m right here guys!” Payne gave Hancock a playful shove.

“Well, if you really want to leave tonight, I have some stuff around here I need to take care of. Feel free to relax in here, if you want. I’ve got some goodies in the cooler over there.”

With that, Nate ducked out of the shack, leaving the pair alone.

“Good to know that you don’t consider a robot farm a hot vacation spot.” Payne plunked down on the worn couch.

“What? Don’t you find the place charming?” Hancock stretched an arm over her shoulders after lighting a cigarette. “And what’s that old saying? Don’t look a limp horse in the mouth?”

“Charming, yeah, I suppose… the gameshow host bot was a nice touch. And it’s gift horse, not limp horse.”

“You excited yet?”

Payne thought about it for a moment. “Given I haven’t the slightest clue where the fuck you’re dragging me off to in the middle of the night… yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Perfect.” He leaned over and gave her a little peck on her cheek. “I can’t wait to see your face when you figure it out.”

After an hour of vegging on the couch, Nate returned with Strong in tow. Soon they were on the road, picking their way across the back roads of the Commonwealth wasteland. They kept away from any trouble, avoiding any of the sparse habitations they came across, both friendly and hostile. The terrain grew rocky as they followed an old highway. Out of the predawn mist, strange red spires dotted the horizon before them, some lit by hidden spotlights at their base. It took a moment for the familiar shape to register in Payne’s head. Why were there 15-foot-tall Nuka-Cola bottles out here in the middle of nowhere? Then it dawned on her. She stopped in her tracks.

The rest of the group turned to look at her.

“Are you kidding me?” Payne asked, gob smacked. She looked down from the monuments at Hancock’s grinning face. “We’re going to NUKA-WORLD?!”

“Happy now?”

“OH, FUCK YEAH!” Payne could barely keep her delight from forcing her to running ahead. She was beaming when they walked under the giant Nuka-World sign that spanned the wide road between two crumbling parking structures. This was going to be amazing!

At the end of the road stood an old transit center, complete with a fleet of derelict buses.

Nate chatted with Hancock as they walked. “This whole place was filled with Gunners the first time I came here. They were dug in pretty good, but between me, Codsworth and a handful of frag grenades… we made short work of them.”

Payne looked around, picking out the small prewar details left behind by long dead… what were they called… beverageers? Plenty of tourism industry trade magazines had followed the beverage tycoon John-Caleb Bradberton’s attempt to open his Nuka-Cola themed amusement part. The big wigs in Las Vegas drooled over each leaked photo and anonymous interview, while the rank and file worker worried about how much business would be sucked away from the East Coast. Bottle shaped trash cans, crown wearing mascots pointing the way on signs… even just the kitschy red and white theming. All of it was over the top and campy, and it thrilled her each time she saw some new and gaudy detail.

Into the bowels of the station they went. At the base of the stairs sat a bright red monorail train. A cheerful recording touted a percentage of each admission fee being donated to the long forgotten armed forces. It was a bit of a trial fitting Strong into the cabin, but soon they were flying through the air, suspended above the glowing bones of the once magnificent park. Looking out over vast lands, Payne’s giddy smile faded. She felt something well up inside, something that was a stinging, painful kind of sweet. The announcers voice faded away from her ears.

Feeling a warm arm around her waist, she let Hancock pull her aside.

“You okay there?” he whispered.

“Yeah… it’s just…” she floundered before found the words. “This place… it feels so much like home.”

#antique champagne #ao3 #fallout 4 #hancock #kent #strong #sole survivor #nuka world #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Olly Olly Oxenfree (part three)

TW: Suicide

———————

do you wanna play a game?

Something about abandoned building lying around made Fort Milner ten times more creepy than the woods. Sure, the forest could hide so many things, but anyone could be peering out of those stained, murky windows.

The sudden sound of the loudspeakers cracking to life didn’t help the tense mood, either.

“Hello? Can anybody hear me?” Catalina’s voice spoke. “If- if anyone can hear me I’m at Fort Milner in the— I think the gym?”

“She sounds...scared.” Joan said.

“Yeah.” Cathy agreed. “I mean, I would be, too. I am, but at least I’m not alone.”

Joan nodded as they got to the door leading to the next area of the fort, only to find it locked. She sighed and walked to the other buildings as Cathy went on about their theory over the whole thing: It was a government experiment.

As she was explaining this, Joan noticed a red light flickering at the top as a gazebo-like structure.

It was the same shade of red that the lamp in the forest cabin was.

She climbed the ladder leading up to the platform. The higher she went, the louder a buzzing sound became, and it nearly overwhelmed her so much that she almost fell down onto Cathy.

Once at the top, Joan takes out her radio and began to tune in.

102.3

The red light overhead shatters into thousands of tiny pieces, sprinkling Joan and Cathy in shards. At the same time, the sky splits with a jagged bolt of white and rain came pouring down.

“𝔻𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖!” Chimed a gameshow host-like voice from the radio. “𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕥! ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖—” It cuts off abruptly.

“What the hell is this?” Cathy muttered.

“𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕒 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖?”

The locked door nearby swings open.

Inside in the fort’s facilities- dorms and whatnot. The storm rages outside.

“So... Maria and Catalina...they dated?” Cathy asked.

“Annoyingly, yes.” Joan grumbled.

“You don’t seem too happy about that.”

“Of course I wasn’t! I mean- I want Maria to be happy but- Catalina? She could do so much better!”

Cathy laughed slightly, then noticed a fleeting figure up a small set of stairs.

“Hey, that’s- that’s Catalina!”

If she noticed the way Catalina’s eyes glowed red, she didn’t think much of it as she chased the older girl into a side room.

The door slams shut behind her.

“Cathy!” Joan cried. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Cathy, what happened? Are you alright?”

No answer.

“Shit- shit, shit!” Joan turned around and passed by a large, rectangular mirror mounted on the wall to get to a staircase leading up to the kitchen area.

As she was walking up the steps, she tried not to look at the black figure staring at her from the windows.

She steps into the kitchen.

The figure was there again.

Its body was a mere outline of iridescent static, but its eyes remained a blistering shade of crimson.

Joan didn’t see it this time.

She walks to the end of the room, finding a light switch on the far wall. She flips in. The lights burst to life throughout the entire facility.

“Testing, testing-” Cathy’s voice come from the speakers. “Okay, I can’t hear anything outside, but there’s this radio thing so- Listen, Catalina’s not in here, it’s just a room, so riddle me that, first of all, and second- I can’t get out.”

“Hold on, I’ll figure something out.” Joan called out.

She walks down the staircase again. This time, the figure is not watching her.

However, when she passes the mirror, her reflection doesn’t move with her.

Joan froze.

“H-hello?” She squeaked out.

The reflection shudders and twitches before opening its mouth.

“When the time comes, let Cathy talk to her mum.”

“Her...her mum’s dead- I know her mum’s dead! How does...”

Static fills Joan’s mind. She screwed her eyes shut for a moment and when they open again, her reflection is moving with her.

“-and, you saw Catalina, too, right? I’m not crazy?”

Joan hurries over to the door.

She opens it on one try.

“Oh.” Cathy said from inside. “One way lock?”

“Maybe.”

“Anyway, thanks.” Cathy sidles past Joan while Joan went inside and checked out the room. There, she finds a padlock code for a door downstairs.

“Huh,” She said aloud. “They called codes ‘cookies’. Weird.”

“Hey-” Cathy said from outside. “Did you see that? In the mirror?”

Ice shot through Joan’s veins. She hurried over to Cathy, who is holding her phone out to the mirror. She takes the photo. They don’t inspect it for long.

They both saw the figure standing right behind them.

And this time it was starting to look a little red.

“I’m gonna really hate going out in that.” Cathy mumbled as they climbed through a window after unlocking the locked door. They both were now standing- in the pouring rain, mind you- on a platform with a ladder leading down to the gym facility.

And, below them, there was Catalina.

“Catalina!” Cathy and Joan shout as the older girl ran into the gym building.

“What is she-?!” Cathy sputtered.

“Damnit, Catalina! Come back!” Joan cried.

They, very clumsily, make their way down the slippery ladder. Joan ends up slipping and falling into the muddy gravel, completely ruining the back of her grey jacket. She groans.

“You okay?” Cathy asked while helping her up.

“Peachy.” Joan sighed.

The sisters step into the gym building. The only thing inside is a chalkboard, some old desks, and large, triangle shaped window on the wall.

No Catalina.

This time, they both groan.

“This door is locked,” Cathy said after she tried the knob on a door opposite of the entrance ones. She sighed as she took of her soggy beanie and wrung it out.

Joan looks around before realizing the dim glow illumination the room is coming from a hanging light.

A hanging light with a red bulb.

Joan looks at Cathy. Cathy nods. Joan takes out the radio and tuned in.

95.5

Static returned, filling the air with its horrendous buzzing. The bulb shatters, but the red glow still remains. The light now swings slowly back and forth.

“Joan...” Cathy said softly.

“ℍ𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔼𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕’𝕤 ��𝕒𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕠 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣!” The gameshow host-like voice from before began to say energetically. “𝕀𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕤 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕒 𝕞𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕!” Buzzing overcomes it for a moment. “ℍ𝕖𝕪 𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕤! 𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕒 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖?”

A hangman pole is drawn on the chalkboard by an unseen hand.

“What is it doing...?” Joan muttered.

“Hangman?” Cathy whispered.

“𝔹𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕡 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕟, 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤!” Said the radio. “𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔹𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒 𝕝𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕓𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖. ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖?”

“This isn’t how you play Hangman.” Joan said uneasily.

“ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖’𝕤 𝕒 𝕤𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥. 𝕊𝕠 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙.”

On the second chalkboard, three names are written. Fort Milner, School For Armed Services, and UK Army Radio Communications School.

“𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟?”

The radio began to count down from ten.

“School?” Cathy said. “This is a school?” She looks at Joan, who is shocked.

“Umm- uhh- F-Fort Milner?” Joan tried weakly.

A buzzer noise emits from the radio.

A head is drawn on the chalkboard.

“𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙!”

Blurriness and static hazes distorted Joan’s vision for a moment. She grunts and hears Cathy utter a pained noise at her side. Her sister clutches tightly at her skull.

“Ðð ¥ðµ †hïñk. Ú§. Çrµêl.”

It was the cave voices.

“Ðð ¥ðµ †hïñk. Ú§. Çållðµ§.”

“I don’t care!” Joan said. “Just don’t hurt-”

A buzz of static through her mind silences her.

“Wê Ððñ’† hµr† þlå¥må†ê§.”

The whole room twists together into one big, messy blob. Joan stumbles, feeling like she’s upside down and that’s she’s about to fall. She paws for something for grounding and finds Cathy. She grips tightly to her sister’s hunched shoulder.

“Ughh...” Cathy groaned. She’s hugging her stomach with one arm.

“I think I’m gonna be sick...” Joan moaned miserably.

“𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕟.” The radio pipes back up. “ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕨𝕠!”

Three more words are drawn on the chalkboard- sɹǝɥdıƆ 'sǝpoƆ 'sǝıʞooƆ- but they’re upside down. Or maybe Joan is upside down- she doesn’t know.

“𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕄𝕚𝕝𝕟𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕤?”

A lightbulb went off in Joan’s mind. That she knew.

“Cookies,” She said with as much confidence as she could muster. “They called codes...cookies.”

The radio dings.

“𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖! ℕ𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘!” It praised. “ℂ𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕠 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕛𝕠𝕓. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕕.”

“Why- why would I? What does this have to do-?”

Her vision bugs out again and twin hammers beat down against both temples. She feels Cathy slip from her grasp and appear in front of her. But...

But it isn’t Cathy.

It looks like Cathy, and it sounds like Cathy, but it isn’t Cathy.

Cathy doesn’t have glowing red eyes.

“We are an island race...” Not-Cathy says. Her voice is wrong. It’s hers, sort of, but has a distorted tone to it, like dozens of other voices are whispering the words along with her. It’s too dark. Too edged with razor sharp barbs. “And through all our times the sea has ruled our breaks. Be wary, young ones.”

“No!” Joan cried. “Leave Cathy out of this!”

They- the things- don’t listen. In fact, they seem to tease her by making Cathy’s body shudder in a way that looks absolutely painful.

“𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕞!” Chimed in the radio. Its chipper voice doesn’t go right with this horrifying situation that will be sure to haunt both girl’s dreams for years to come. If Cathy even remembers her body being piloted by some unseen force, that is. “ℙ𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕝𝕤 𝕦𝕡!”

This time, numbers are scrawled on the board with chalk that isn’t there- 12, 53, and 85. Joan can barely see them. Not because of her messy vision, but because of the haze of tears forming in her eyes.

Cathy’s shoulders are heaving up and down like she was breathing heavily, but Joan couldn’t even hear the inhale and exhale of oxygen. She may not even be breathing at all.

“ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕂𝕊 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒?” Asked the radio.

“Nnng... Fifty-three?” Joan squeaked out.

The radio makes a buzzer sound.

Cathy groans softly.

“𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕘, 𝔹𝕠𝕓!” The radio said. “ℕ𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕥𝕪-𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕂 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒. 𝔼𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪-𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕤.”

A body for the hangman scratches loudly down the chalkboard.

“𝕀𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕤 𝕦𝕡 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔹𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕! 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕥. 𝔸𝕞ðñ𝕘 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪.”

The radio cuts to white noise. Cathy hunched over in a position that looked very uncomfortable, even for someone that may be flexible. She’s mumbling incoherently.

Just like Anne had.

“Cathy?” Joan whispered. “Cathy, come on, talk to me!”

Cathy does not.

Joan knows what she has to do.

She began to tune in with that blasted radio.

106.2

Cathy falls to her knees.

92.1

Cathy is dragged into the air and begins to spasm.

104

The triangle is complete.

This time, instead of green, then interior is dark, bubbling blue.

Like the bottom of the ocean.

Cathy is dropped to the floor, limp.

“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕕𝕠𝕞 𝕊𝕦𝕓𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟 ℙ𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕪.” Crackles the radio. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥’𝕤 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤...𝕕𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔. “𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕡𝕖, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕤 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖— 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕕𝕒𝕪— 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕥— 𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕒— 𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕣—”

“Is this...” Joan finds her voice and it’s a mere squeak of noise. “Is this the dead officers who sunk on the Kanaloa?”

“Wê. Ärê. †hê §µñkêñ.”

Chills ripple up Joan’s spine. She steps back, but she knows there is nowhere to run.

“What...what do you want?”

“𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖... 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖... 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖...”

Bubbles rise up from the triangle window on the wall. The entire building seems to rock backs and forth. The churning of water fills Joan’s ears.

“†ïmê. Jµ§† †ïmê.”

White handprints splatter against the chalkboards.

The lights flicker and come back to life.

The once-locked door swings open.

Cathy groaned.

“What... I...” She struggled to push herself up, but managed to get to her feet. “I...”

“Just take it slow and easy.” Joan said, hurrying over to her. She steadies her sister gently. “You had an...experience.”

“Yes, yes... Great.” Cathy sighed. She rubbed her aching head. “Let’s- let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Joan asked worriedly. “You don’t want to sit down for a moment?”

“No, no, I’m sure.” Cathy said. “Come on.”

They both walk through the door and up the rest of the way to communication booth. As they do so, the speaker Catalina had talked on before turns back on.

“Catalina’s asleep right now. Be still as to not wake her.”

Cathy and Joan both paused for a moment.

They say nothing about it.

“Cross your fingers.” Cathy said.

They both step inside the radio room.

“Oh my god! You guys came!” Catalina jumped up from where she was standing over the control panel. “Wait- how did you even know I was here in the first place? Are you just...aimlessly wandering around or, like...”

“Anne told us.” Joan cut her off. “Are you alright?”

Catalina tilts her head a little. “Yeah, I’m alright. Why? Do I not look alright? I guess, sure, my hair might be a little weird, but...”

“You just sounded...distressed. That’s all.” Joan said.

“Well, I mean-” Catalina does look distressed. It’s unlike her to be this way. To see her without her pompous, hawk-like features was strange, to say the least. Even a little unnerving. “I dunno. I’m fine now, so...”

“Alright,” Cathy cut in. “Where’s this famous radio?”

“There.” Catalina nodded at the control panel. “I can’t get it to do anything.”

Joan walks over to the machinery and began to tinker with the buttons and switches. She gave up after a moment, swallowing thickly, but doesn’t look at the other two. She doesn’t want to see their scared expressions.

“Yeah, no, it... It’s like a low frequency thing? It’s just for the fort. I don’t think-“ She sighed, “I don’t think it can beam out.”

“No. No no no no no!” Catalina ruffles up. “Isn’t there a way to—”

“†hê ð££ï¢êr§ whð kñðw ¥ðµr þrðßlêm§ £µll åñÐ wêll wïll gïvê ¥ðµ å £rïêñÐl¥ åñÐ §¥mþå†hê†ï¢ hêårïñg...”

“Who is that?”

“Oh god no—”

.. ..-. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. . . .-.. / ... --- -- . --- -. . / --. .-. .- -... / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .... .- -. -.. --..-- / -.. --- -. - / .-.. --- --- -.- / --- ...- . .-. / .- - / - .... . --

“Cross your fingers.” Cathy said.

“Aaagh!!” Joan cried, “Not now! We’re looping again!!”

“Oh crap.” Cathy’s eyes widen. “Well...keep me posted.”

Joan sighed.

“Will do.”

They both step inside the radio room.

And Catalina is hanging from the ceiling.

There’s a noose around her neck.

“CATALINA!!” Cathy shrieked.

Joan can’t even speak. Tears are filling her eyes and running down her cheeks in an instant.

Catalina was dead.

Catalina was dead—

She couldn’t be. She and Joan still had to make amends! They still had to go through their emotional bonding moments that would make them friends for life! There were still things Joan wanted to say to her- albeit some were a bit snarky- and things she wished she hadn’t said.

But it doesn’t matter now because Catalina was d—

-.. --- -. - / - .- .-.. -.- / - --- / - .... . / -... --- -. . ... .-.-.- / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / - .... . -.-- .-. . / . -. - .. -.-. .. -. --.

“Cross your fingers.” Cathy said.

Air stings in Joan’s lungs as she inhaled sharply.

“Holy crap...” She mumbled.

“What?” Cathy asked. “What is it?”

“Brace yourself.” Joan whispered.

They both step inside the radio room.

But Catalina was nowhere to be seen.

A tape player was the only thing in her place.

“What the-? I could have sworn I heard her in here.” Cathy said.

“Better gone than dead...” Joan muttered. She turned to the tape player. “Great. One of these things again.”

Cathy gestured for it. Joan gives her a look.

“What? It seems to be your job! Go on!”

Sighing heavily, Joan began to crank the handle around and around.

Reality and awareness distorts like so many times before. Joan winces at the familiar rap against her skull.

“Catalina?”

She turned quickly at Cathy’s awed mumbled.

Catalina is in there with them.

But she’s standing on the sill of the open window, peering out.

“Catalina!” Joan said. “Oh, thank god! We saw you— I saw you—”

“Joan. Don’t worry.”

There’s an edge to her voice...

“She’s like- she’s like how Anne was!” Cathy said.

“Catalina, wake up!”

Catalina chuckles. She doesn’t turn to face them.

“There will be other ships...and other souls to sail them.”

Then, she teeters forward-

“NO!!!”

-and falls out back.

Joan ran to the window, nearly flipping out of it herself before she fell to her knees, leaning out of the sill, one hand outstretched as if she thought it would do something. The resounding crack and snap of shattering bones will stick with both her and Cathy for the rest of their lives.

“Oh my g— why would she do that?!” Cathy cried.

Cathy rushed to the window and peered down into the blackness below, mouth hanging open. It was too dark to see anything and she could hear no signs of life.

“We’re— we’re— it’s not like—” Cathy babbled. Her hands are at her head, fingers tangled in her hair.

“She killed herself.” Joan muttered. “Oh my god, she just killed herself! They made her—” The image of Catalina going down replayed in her mind. “I just— this is— Cathy, this is so horrible!”

Her sister looks equally as stunned and sickened.

“I don’t... I don’t even know what...” She murmured, standing up shakily and backing away. “I didn’t know if things were— Was she upset— Oh my god. Why?”

She has her hand over her mouth, eyes wider than saucers. She looks to be in more of disbelief than grief.

They both hurried for the staircase.

“I can’t...I can’t believe this. I-I know I haven’t known her long, but this— What are we going to tell the others?” Cathy said in a rush.

“The others?” Joan yelped, “How am I going to tell her mum? I mean, she knows me, she— and, god, the fact that I was here— God.”

Any kind of reassurance to that was left unspoken when they got to the outside of the gym. The dull light from the lampposts shined onto the large dark red splotch that the rain was washing away, but no body.

“She’s...alive?!”

She glanced at her sister, who was biting her nails.

“She’s alive!” Joan said in relief. “Maybe she just twisted her— twisted—”

“Joan-” Cathy cut off her babble of false hope. “Even if she had fallen feet-first she still would have broken every bone in her body!”

“Okay, maybe!” Joan said, “But still!”

“Right, yeah... Good news?”

Joan snapped her head to her sister.

“Yes, Cathy, it is good news that Catalina isn’t dead. Christ.”

“That isn’t why I hesitated!!”

#olly olly oxenfree #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #joan on the keys #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #tw: suicide

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prepare4trouble · 5 years

Text

“You like the world, don’t you Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale hesitated, unsure how to answer. He had made it abundantly clear in his reports back to Heaven since the very beginning, and in his actions over the past eleven years or so that yes, he liked the world a great deal. After all, if he hadn’t, he would hardly have risked everything in an attempt to save it.

He just wasn’t sure whether admitting that now, tied to an office chair in Heaven’s conference room, while Gabriel and two other Archangels stood over him, was the best course of action. Maybe feigned indifference would work better.

Or perhaps it would be better to say nothing at all, and simply wait for Gabriel to continue.

He looked at the Archangel, standing over him with a smug expression on his face and realised that no, that wouldn’t work at all. Gabriel was looking down at him expectantly, waiting for a reply. Clearly the question hadn’t been a rhetorical one.

Aziraphale shrugged internally. There was no right answer here; whatever he said was bound to be a mistake. He straightened himself up as best he could while tied to an uncomfortable wheeled chair, tried to square his shoulders, then looked Gabriel directly in the eye. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

The grin that spread instantly across Gabriel’s face sent a cold spike of terror right to the centre of Aziraphale’s being, and he knew with absolute certainty that whatever happened next was going to be bad.

He hoped that he hadn’t just doomed the planet again.

“Yes?” Gabriel asked, still smiling as though he was getting everything he had ever wanted. “And you like your demonic boyfriend too, I’m sure. Your books. Your… gross matter.”

Aziraphale nodded. It was too late to take it back now, and Gabriel wouldn't have believed him even if he had. He got the distinct impression that this entire conversation had already been planned out in Gabriel’s mind and that it wouldn’t matter what he did, or did not say, the outcome was going to be the same.

“I do,” he said, a little stiffly.

If it were possible, Gabriel’s grin grew wider still. He glanced excitedly at Sandalphon, at his side. It was clear that everything was going exactly according to plan. He turned back to Aziraphale.

“Imagine what it would be like,” he said, “if you could never see any of them again.”

“You can’t keep me apart from Crowley,” Aziraphale told him. “Not unless you plan to kill me.”

That wasn’t true, of course. It was completely within Gabriel’s power to keep the two of them apart. All he would need to do, would be to hold Aziraphale there, in Heaven, where Crowley couldn’t reach him. The demon had been snatched by the forces of Hell at the same moment that Aziraphale had been taken, and was presumably undergoing some similar treatment in Hell. If he were to be kept there too, it would be next to impossible for the two of them to find each other again.

But then, eternity, as Crowley had impressed upon him once upon a time, was a very long time. He genuinely did doubt that Gabriel would be able to keep them apart forever.

Gabriel shrugged dismissively, as though he was accepting Aziraphale’s point. “I mean, I wouldn't have to kill you. I could just kill him instead. But you’re right, I’m not going to do that. I’m an angel; we don’t go around killing people.” He hesitated. “Well, present company excepted, I suppose. I hear you were completely on board with killing that kid. I mean, I know he was the antichrist, but come on, Aziraphale. Murder? Really?”

It hadn’t been one of his prouder moments, and he realised now that if he had managed to go through with it — if he hadn’t been sharing a body with someone who had disagreed with the course of action, and he had been able to pull the trigger unimpeded — it wouldn’t have actually helped matters at all. In fact, it probably would have made them significantly worse.

He remained silent. He couldn’t think of an answer to give, and even if he could, he had already established that it wouldn’t make any difference.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued. “Killing you would be too easy, and not as much fun. See, I was talking to Lord Beelzebub about it, and they had some… alternative suggestions. Demons have a knack for that kind of thing that angels just don’t have, you know? I mean, I know they say they don’t have any imagination, but let me tell you…”

Now that was worrying. Aziraphale shifted as well as he was able on the uncomfortable chair, and tried not to imagine the kinds of torment that Hell might have dreamt up for him. The human imagination described Hell as a place filled with fire and pitchforks, but he already knew that the reality was much, much worse.

“You’re working with demons?” he asked. It seemed… improbable, but he knew that it must be true. Gabriel wouldn’t lie about something like that.

The Archangel frowned. “That’s not disapproval I hear, is it? You’re one to talk, my friend. You do not get to judge me, you pathetic excuse for an angel.”

His voice grew more powerful as he spoke; not louder, but more forceful, and Aziraphale tried not to tremble at the holy power behind it. He stared straight ahead, his expression blank. Terror curled in the stomach and chest of the human body that he was wearing, but he refused to let it show. He refused to give Gabriel the satisfaction.

“So,” Gabriel continued, back to his usual tone, “Beelzebub suggested we make you Fall. It’s been a while since an angel Fell, you know. Turns out the punishment department down there is eager to get a new recruit to pressure into service. And on a personal note, I’d be fascinated to see what you’d look like as a demon.” He turned to Sandalphon. “What do you think? Fangs? Horns? Some of them actually have horns, you know.”

Sandalphon shrugged. “Maybe he’d be all snakey too. They could match.”

“Snake eyes! Yes!” Gabriel laughed gleefully. “Well, whatever he got, it’d make it difficult for him to keep on running that bookshop, passing for human. I can’t imagine I believed it was just a cover. He loves it. Just as much as he loves the demon.” He shuddered. “Gross.”

Aziraphale wondered how fast he could get the wheels of the office chair to move if he tried to propel it across the floor by moving his feet. Not fast enough, probably. “Well, Angels are beings of love,” he reminded them. Although, to look around this room it was very difficult to believe that.

“Love of the Almighty,” Sandalphon corrected. “Not of demons, and human artefacts, and food.”

Gabriel nodded. “Well said. Now that I think about it, maybe we should change the plan. How do you think he’d like it if he couldn’t taste anymore either? Is that something we could do?”

Sandalphon folded his arms and looked thoughtful. “Trickier,” he said. “It’s a mortal body thing, so all he’d need to do would be to change the body. There’s even a chance he or the demon would be able to heal him.”

Gabriel looked supremely disappointed at that. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll just stick to the plan, then.”

Aziraphale couldn’t stand this any longer. He knew it was exactly what Gabriel wanted, but he found himself asking before he could stop himself. “And the plan is what, exactly?”

The Archangel smiled down at him condescendingly and continued with his spiel. “Well, we decided you wouldn’t Fall, because that would only serve to bring you and the demon closer together,” he told him. “Don’t worry, we’re going to keep it in reserve though, in case you step out of line again. Do you know the difference between demons and angels, Aziraphale?”

He let the question hang in the air for only a fraction of a second, not long enough for Aziraphale to come up with an answer, before he continued.

“Demons can’t sense the Almighty. They can’t feel her love. Have you ever thought about what that would be like, Aziraphale? Or maybe you don’t have to, you could just ask… what’s his name? Crawly. It’s going to be very dark in your world soon; can you imagine what it would be like if it were cold and empty too?”

He knew that Gabriel was only drawing this out to torture him; to make the whole thing so much worse. It was probably a tip from Hell. He refused to give in to the urge to beg for clarification. If his arms were free, he would have folded them, as it was, he glared up at the Archangel and tried not to look afraid. “I’m quite sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“No,” Gabriel told him. “No, I know you don’t.” He was smiling in a way that Aziraphale really didn’t like. “So, we were brainstorming how to do this. I mean, if the human body you’re in gets damaged, you suffer the effects, but like Sandalphon here said, that can be healed. Even if we fix it so you can’t do it yourself, maybe your boyfriend in the shades can pull some… hamster… out of his hat.”

“Rabbit,” Aziraphale corrected. He didn’t particularly want to participate in this conversation anymore, but he couldn’t sit by as Gabriel got such a basic aspect of magic wrong.

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. “Rabbit, right. Anyway, damaging the vessel won’t help in the long-run, so I thought… damage the celestial body instead.” He turned to his right. “That sound good to you, Sandalphon?” He turned back to Aziraphale, “Smiting’s his department, as you know.”

“Erm…” Aziraphale said. He didn’t like the way this was going. Not that he had expected to like the way this conversation went, but he really didn’t like it. “Damage?” he asked. “You’re going to damage me?”

“Yup. You’re going to like this… well, no. You’re going to hate it, but I’m going to like it. “Now, wounding the celestial body is a little trickier, but we came up with something. Well, Beez did. Hellfire!” he smiled like a gameshow host introducing the top prize. “If it gets bright enough, I think we can burn out every one of those eyes of yours.”

A chill passed through him; a coldness so deep within him that it felt as though his very soul was turning to ice.

“I wonder if you’ll keep the bookshop.” Gabriel mused as he turned to leave. “I mean, once you can’t read the books, will there really be any point?”

As he and the other angels walked away, a demon entered the room. He glared menacingly at the three retreating angels. Eventually, his gaze fell on Aziraphale, still tied to the chair in the middle of the room. Aziraphale wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have detected a flash of sympathy in the demon’s eyes. It was gone as soon as he noticed it. Probably his imagination.

“We’ll be outside,” Gabriel said to the demon, who, with a wave of his hand, lit a fire in the centre of the room. “Give us a shout when it’s safe for us to come in and collect him.”

Aziraphale wanted to shout after them; to beg and plead for them to reconsider. The words died in his throat; he knew that it would do no good. Their minds were made up, and had been made up long before they had brought him here. There was no hope for mercy. Not from Gabriel.

The only thing that he could do now, was to try not to let them see his fear.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #aziraphale #gabriel #gabriel is awful #alternatives #this one is particularly cruel #I'm sorry

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strawberryamanita · 5 years

Text

Sympathy for the Devil

I'm aware this ficlet might be a little preachy, and it might run the risk of making some think I'm ruining the fun of what's going on now, but gdi I need to get this off my chest. Here we go:

The projection was turned off after Wilford gave his little spiel, and by the look on his face he was the only one amused by any of it. One giddy, smiling man wasn't really enough to bring any joy to the stoic, tired or even bored expressions on the other seven faces in the room. It was exceptionally early in the morning, but inspiration often struck Wilford spontaneously, and if he couldn't make some sort of plan or presentation before the motivation left him that idea was as good as gone. So, naturally, the seven most recent contacts on his phone got repeatedly messaged until they begrudgingly joined him in the boardroom.

Such was the way things were when you worked for Warfstache.

So, there they were, in their pajamas, exchanging looks to eachother, asking eachother in silence if they could believe this nonsense. Jim was barely bothering to keep himself awake, and had a tape recorder taking notes for him. Ed was rushed too quickly to the room to even get his glasses, and was uncomfortably squinting at the screen throughout the presentation. Google Green was in the process of sleepily plugging his body-charger into the wall, while Dr. Iplier did what he could to assist him with a half-awake helping hand. The Host was in his place, narrating as usual, but even his words were slurred and almost unintelligible with how tired he was. Bim appeared to be the crankiest of the bunch this morning, which certainly was saying something considering who was sitting at the head of the table…

Yes, though the motley crew that flanked the sides of the conference table were shuffled around at random, Dark always managed to find their way back to the head. They were the most awake, which didn't help any of the Egos’ gossiping theories that they didn't sleep. They sat with perfect posture, hands folded, completely still, as they always did. They were even wearing a clean-pressed suit, admittedly making some of the other employees a little self-conscious; Hell, even Wilford was wearing a nightrobe and slippers. Always attentive, always critical, always involved in what Wil had to say, even when they didn't agree with his doolally ideas.

They took everything so seriously. It was kind of laughable.

“So!” Wilford began, eyes alight with pride as he took his seat at the table. “Whaddya think? What impressions come knocking at the backdoor of your minds? What are your questions? Comments? Concerns? CRIES of outrage? Don't be shy, now…!”

Various, scattered groans of reluctance and hesitation floated around the room. What were they even supposed to say? Wil was always looking to improve on his ideas, bless his heart, but they were so odd and intangible that it was difficult figuring out where to begin. The Sun wasn't even fully out, how did he expect them to be awake enough for any of this?

Wilford's eyes were wide and lively as he excitedly scanned the room, looking for someone to speak up. “Nnnnnnnnnnoooobody?” he rang, the smile on his face unshakable.

I'd like to make a comment.

Even more groans came from the rest of the company when the deep, two-toned voice echoed from their other boss. Of course Dark had something to say. They always did. They always had to find a way to take up their time, and though the group's complaints rang clear, both Dark and Wil were unfazed. When Dark spoke, Wil listened, and he was always excited to.

“Darkiplier! You have the floor,” he trilled. “Please, stake your claim!”

The infallible enthusiasm in his voice almost brought a smile to the demon's stone-colored, stone-still face.

To begin with, they droned in their raspy monotone, you had a strong starting point; I have to admit, however, that you lost me somewhere down the line. Referring to the notes I've taken, you began your presentation talking about investing the extraneous income from your talkshow and television channel into other projects, but by the end of it, we were discussing, and I quote, “how much bubble soap would someone have to ingest for it to kill them”. Have I...missed something?

“My God, are you serious?”

Six pairs of eyes flew to the sneering gameshow host. Bim had been making scathing comments all morning: since it was unlike his usually chipper and quick-witted self, the others had laughed it off. At this time, however, it was starting to make the others uncomfortable.

“What's the problem, Mr. Trimmer?” asked Wilford, eager to settle any confusion as best he could.

“What's the problem? The problem is, these conferences are getting ridiculous.” He glared at Dark, who again appeared unaffected by his sudden desire to go on a tangent.

“What are you doing, Dark? Why are you entertaining this bullshit? We all know you have better things to do.”

...Because that's the reason for the meeting? Dark responded, confused at the younger Ego's confusion.

“Oh, come on, man, don't try and pretend you're following along. You're just as aware as anyone else here that this shouldn't be taken seriously.”

Wilford pouted. “Well, hey, now…”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Warfstache, this actually isn't really even about the meeting. You say whatever stupid shit you want --”

“Hey!”

The others in the group began to speak up, their protests overlapping, but Bim's voice still cut through the air to get to Dark, and they could hear every word.

“--I'm talking about you. What game are you playing here, huh?”

...I'm...not--

“Don't say you're not. Don't act like any of us are still blind to this. What part of your scheme is this for? We all know you don't actually care about any of this --”

“Bim, you need to stop--”

“-- so what're you even here for? Why are you not locked up in your room, like you always are, brooding and plotting your rampage of revenge? Isn't this getting in the way of all that? What kind of trick are you tryna pull?”

When Bim was finished with his outburst, all that could be heard was The Host's muttering and the soft ringing surrounding the accused's form. Wil was alert and angry, his eyes flickering between the two, getting ready to break them up if things got ugly. Everybody else more or less braced for impact. Did Bim have a death wish? What did he think he was doing? Nobody badmouthed Dark, no matter how much they hated them; anyone who did faced dire consequences.

Dark coughed out a laugh. They were clearly surprised at Trimmer's little tantrum, but they looked far from ready to beat his ass.

Is that honestly all you think I think about? they questioned with a small smile.

“Is it not?”

Of course not.

The smile fell away slightly. If anyone had untensed even the slightest amount, they were as braced as ever for what was to come.

If I really only wanted to do away with...him... Dark challenged, don't you think I would have finished the job decades ago?

Everyone's eyes snapped back to Bim, whose face softened when he thought about their question.

Don't you think I've had every opportunity to snap his neck and be done with it?

“...I…”

I'm not here for revenge, Mr. Trimmer. There's more to my being here than that. There's more to me than spending every waking moment of my deathless quasi-existence scowling and shaking my fist. And, frankly, I'm a bit insulted that you would assume that little of me.

A few dirty looks were tossed Bim's way, and he shrank back in his seat under Dark's harmless but intimidating stare.

Have you never considered that coming to these meetings could simply be...relaxing for me? Have you never asked yourself if I ever wanted to get away from the ceaselessness of it all and just have a little fun every so often?

The shock, that had been until now just creeping onto Bim's face, hit him like a brick. What an idiotic thing to assume. What a moron he felt like.

There is more to me than who I was, they explained calmly, turning to the rest of the table. Like it or not, I am not those people. And, like it or not, I want to be seen as someone separate from them. What I've been framed as doesn't even scratch the surface to the rest of me. I am my own person, and I've learned to feel more than just pain and rage. I've grown accustomed to enjoying quite a bit of what Mr. Warfstache has exposed me to -- I wouldn't be able to get used to having any fun if it wasn't for him.

They flashed Wilford a small, lopsided small. The sickly-sweet reporter in return practically lit up like a Christmas tree, both touched that they were being this emotionally vulnerable and relieved they didn't explode over Bim's insensitivity.

So...no, Mr. Trimmer, they concluded, their expression dimming again. I'm not here with any malicious intent, and I'll thank you to not ask me that again. I am not as broken as I've been painted to be.

“Dark…?”

Their eyes floated back over to their equal. So did everyone else's.

“Thank you for your input,” Wil beamed. “Why don'cha go inside and wind down?”

Gladly.

In a flash of black static, Dark was gone as quickly as they had arrived. Wil's attention swung back around to his presentation like a boomerang.

“Alright, anyone else wanna give it a go? I wanna hear what you think how much soap is too much soap…!”

#darkiplier #my writing #markiplier #darkstache #bim trimmer #wilford warfstache #markiplier egos #the ipliers

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tired-college-student-writing · 6 years

Text

Pardon this Interuption

I ship Bim with basically every character in this fandom. I love my boi too much, he deserves a happy ever after.

Enjoy this Fluffy tooth-rotting fic~

It was quiet as the Host narrated into the microphone in front of him, the world around him fading as he painted scene after scene for his lovely audience. He was just about to wrap up his performance for the night when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck from behind, a familiar weight of a head settling on his shoulder.

He chuckled, leaning into the touch of his boyfriend, “If My amazing boyfriend was trying to scare me, he should really try harder.”

“Nah not trying to scare you, Just thought I’d come shower some affection on my favorite host~” Bim laughed lightly, speaking clearly for the mic to pick up before noisily kissing Host’s cheek. The pair was well aware of the fact that the fans loved when Bim popped in for a minute or two every once in awhile. Host had wanted to strangle his boyfriend of two months the first time he accidentally interrupted a live airing until later that night the younger man read some of the posts in the Podcasts tag. The fans had said that they thought whoever Host’s mysterious boyfriend was sounded sweet, and how happy they were that their favorite podcast host had found someone special.

Grudgingly the Host had to admit if the fans enjoyed the little interruption, he couldn’t be mad at the energetic man, especially when his heart had fluttered when he held the flowers Bim had been too enthused about to notice the lit ON AIR sign. Now at three years of dating, he didn’t even bat an eye at the sudden interruption.

Host shoved his boyfriend off him with a tiny chuckle, “Say hello to the audience, I was about to say goodbye for the day as it would be.”

With a grin, Bim leaned closer to the mic, “Hello pretty audience! I hope you enjoyed my darling’s stories as much I do! Though I doubt that’s possible…”

“Stop being cheesy,” Host teased, checks dusting a light pink.

“You love it,”

“I do but I need to send my audience off on their days,”

“Can I do something really quick before that?” Bim’s voice was so bright and cheery the Host couldn’t say no. His face must have revealed this fact as with a snap Bim magically cut off his hearing explaining soothingly he was explaining to the fans about the game and giving them a hint the Host wasn’t allowed to know. Host smirked wondering what twist the gameshow host was planning.

“Hello, my darling’s audience. I made the Host put on noise-canceling headphones so he can’t hear me explain this to you~” Bim explained, “As most of you long-time viewers are aware, Host is blind which is why his stories are filled with so much detail that appeals to all the senses. What not all of you are aware Of is he always sees the world like his stories. It’s simply amazing and so cute! I mean he gets so focused and his voice is so soothing as he’s talking about the most simple of objects. Like his tea this morning, I don’t even like tea but the way he was detailing it-“

Bim cut himself off with a cough, “I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Sorry. Anyways, there’s game I like to play with him is I give him objects and ask him to narrate about them. This time all three objects ones that have to do with our relationship. We’ll see if he puts that together, shall we?”

The bubble disappeared and host turned his head towards Bim with a sly grin, “You were rambling again weren’t you?”

“You have no proof,”

“I’m sure some of my loyal fans will love to tell me about how precious your descriptions were… again,”

Bim pouted but placed the first object in Host’s hands.

Host hummed running his fingers along the heavy object.

“A pot is presented to the host,” He began, “The dusty feel of terracotta covers his fingers as he traces them up the small pot. As he reaches the edge his fingers brush against leaves, soft but waxy, they slide under his fingertips, as he moves to caress the sweet aromatic petals in the center. It was like touching Velvet as he lovingly brushes the petals enjoying the smell of the flower,” His face lifted up towards Bim with a small smile, “He had been told by his boyfriend that the petals were as white as snow and that the flower, a Gardenia, means secret love. His boyfriend had gifted this flower to him the day he asked to court him.”

Bim laughed, already picturing how the fandom was probably already dead and he wasn’t anywhere close to done, “Correcto my darling,” He said kissing Host’s forehead as he took the pot and replaced it with a mug, “Easy with this one it’s almost as hot as you are.”

“Well, you just told me exactly what this is,” Host mocked, “You can’t give me this without using that cheesy line.”

“Oh hush and tell the audience what it is then,”

“As you wish,” Host laughed before slipping back into his narrating voice, “the hefty ceramic mug sat snuggly in the Host’s hands as he enjoyed the warmth seeping through. Slowly he lifts the mug to his lips knowing exactly what’s inside,” there was a pause as he sipped the drink, “A simple sip of the drink made him sigh with bliss. Between the warmth of the drink, the deep rich hot chocolate mixed with the chill of peppermint always soothing after a long day of recording. Usually served to him by his lovely boyfriend before they curl up to read or watch their favorite shows,”

“Once again correct,” Bim said, going to take the mug from Host only for him to dodge the reaching hands, “Darling I have one more item, I need to take the coco for a minute,”

“No,”

“Host,”

“You can’t just give me hot chocolate and not let me finish it,”

“I promise you can have it in a minute, but we need to finish my game and send the audience off,”

“We can finish your game next time,”

“Please Host? I promise you’ll like it,”

Host scowled and finally held the mug out, “I’ll hold you to that.”

Bim grinned softly removing the mug and setting it to the side before pulling a small box from his pocket, “Alright… Last one and then we can give the audience their well-deserved goodbyes,”

Host took the box and his brow wrinkled eyebrow, weighing the cardboard in his hand for a moment.

“Host feels confusion grip his being as he turns the small smooth cardboard box over in his hands, thumb running along the lip of the box, turning to Bim to ask if he was supposed to open the box to get another hint as the surface of the box and weight weren’t telling him much of anything.”

“Go ahead,” Bim said slowly, wringing his hands out slowly.

“With confirmation from his oddly nervous boyfriend,” Host commented slowly face fixed directed at Bim with suspicion, “as he pried the top of the cardboard, tipping it over into his palm. He…. stopped…” His narrations feel away as the velvet box fell into his hand making him stiffen, “Bim, is this…”

“Keep going Host,” the whisper was strained, making the older man gulp as he tightened his grip on the box.

“With…” He cleared his throat as it came out two octaves too high, “With his boyfriend’s encouragement he opened his fist to run his fingers along the edge of the velvet box that had landed in his palm. Tracing the curved corners box, he wonders of the color,”

“Black, it’s black,” Bim said softly, scooting closer to the host.

“Host feels his heart pick up, hands trembling as he slowly opens the jewelry box, feeling as bim… knelt…”

“Host,” Bim broke in hand reaching up to clasp around the blind man’s hands to cradle the ring box, “Will you marry me?”

For a long second Host just ran his finger over the smooth band within the box, steely silver if he had to guess.

“As if you had to ask,” Host finally said softly, a single bloody tear running down his cheek as his face split into a grin. Bim whooped before capturing his lips in a kiss, arms wrapping around his waist as Host’s hands found his way to his hair.

Finally, Host pulled back, panting softly, turning back to the microphone.

“I apologize for the long session today lovely audience… but I’m sure none of you guys are upset by the fact that my amazing fiance decided to share this moment with you all,”

“I figured you’d enjoy not having the whole Office stare at us after I asked,” Bim laughed.

“If you asked me in front of the whole Office I’d say no just on principle.”

“Exactly why I didn’t ask you in front of them,”

“Either way,” Host said, “It’s time to sign off before the rest of our office, that I knew are listening in, burst in here with their congratulations, goodbye and have an imagination filled evening.”

Bim clicked the microphone off, ending the stream as the door crashed open, Wilford and the Jims pouring in with wide smiles. Host sighed in exasperation, but the bright grin didn’t fall from his lips.

#markiplier #Bim Trimmer #The Host #Fluff #secretmarkiplier

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cinnamonrollpatton · 5 years

Text

Aftermath- Chapter One

Chapter 1: Virgil Makes a Friend?

Also On AO3

Virgil tugs his hood further down to cover his face as he wanders endlessly down the road. It’s more for comfort than anything else; the harsh wind is blowing through the chill night, but surprisingly he can’t feel a thing through his purple hoodie and jeans.

He’s not sure how long he’s been walking. The sky is still as dark and ominous as it was when he first woke up on this vaguely familiar street. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t recall much of what happened before waking up; there was darkness, a burning sensation in his chest, and then he woke up here.

He’s not even sure where “here” is; even with the multiple streetlights, it’s too dark to make out any of the writings on the various buildings’ signs.

Footsteps echo behind him, and he spins around. A figure in a winter coat far in the distance is walking in his direction. Virgil feels ecstatic; it’s the first person he’s seen since he’s woken up in who-knows-where.

He jogs to meet the figure. As he gets closer, the man’s grey coat and red hat becomes visible. Virgil waves to get his attention, but the man seems focused on a spot behind Virgil.

“Hey!” Virgil yells, then frowns. His voice doesn’t sound like him, all weird and distorted. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Hey!”

Distracted with his voice, he isn’t aware of the man continuing to approach him until the man has passed him. He scrambles to catch up. “Hey, wait!”

Virgil matches his pace with the stranger. “Hey dude, I’m super lost; can you tell me where I am? Please?”

The man pulls his phone out of his pocket, seemingly to check the time, and quickens his pace. “ Wait, hold on!” He reaches for the man’s shoulder.

His hand glides straight through the coat, and he freezes. What the heck? The man walks on, unaware of the distressed soul behind him.

He brings his hand close to his face; it appears solid and normal. He then pushes his hand against a nearby streetlight, his eyes widening when his hand phrases straight through.

His head spinning, Virgil tries to gain back control of his suddenly erratic breathing. There has to be some explanation to this nightmare. Maybes this is just a vivid dream?

But he hasn't dreamt in nearly a decade.

It hits him, hard, and he wishes he didn't understand: he's alone, again. And now he’s stuck here.

His knees buckle and he falls on his knees on the hard, cold ground that he should be able to feel but can't.

He can't feel anything, and he’s all alone.

No one can hear or see him.

He closes his eyes and screams in agony anyway.

He loses time.

The sun is in the sky now; it must be morning, or possibly afternoon. Virgil doesn’t really know, nor does he care. In the daylight, Virgil recognizes the street he’s taken position in as one of the main street of the city, which was only two blocks away from his campus. The familiarity does nothing to comfort him.

He hasn’t moved from where he fell, although now he's sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and buries his head in his arms. He’s barely conscious of the people briskly walking around and through him and the cars driving in the road.

He has long given up on trying to be seen or heard.

“Hey,” suddenly there’s a young female voice in front of him; he flinches, thinking someone is talking to him, before he remembers that’s impossible. “Hey! You look familiar,” the voice continues. “...Virgil, right?”

Startled, Virgil’s head flies up to see a girl about his age with short, curly brown hair, and a red sweater crouching in front of him. Numbly, Virgil nods.

The girl grins. “Yay, I got your name right! I’m usually horrible with names, haha. You were a student at the university two blocks down from here, right?”

Virgil nods again, confused on the past tense.

“I was too.”

“ Was?” Virgil asks.

The girl flinches. Before Virgil can ask, she recovers quickly and shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, yeah. It’s kind of hard to attend classes when you’re dead.”

“ Dead?”

“Yes, dead. Deceased. In the grave. It’s a slight prerequisite to becoming a ghost last time I checked.”

“ Ghost?”

She frowns and rolls her eyes impatiently. “What are you, a parrot? Yes, ghost. We’re ghosts. You’ve been dead for a while now, if you haven’t noticed.”

Virgil’s eyes widen, his gut lurches, and the girl’s expression softens.

“Oh, you didn’t know,” she says, her voice softening. “Well, welcome to the afterlife!” she says, gesturing to the surroundings.

Virgil shifts his eyes to the people shuffling around or through the duo. “ So that’s why no one can see or hear us.”

“10 points to the dude in the hoodie!” She says in a manner not unlike a gameshow host. “It’s also why your voice sounds like that.” She frowns, eyes shifting to the side before looking at Virgil again. “Speaking of voices, you best keep that distinct voice of yours as silent as you can.”

Virgil frowns. “ Why?”

Moving her hand through her hair, she sighs. “I’m assuming you’re not consciously doubling it.”

Virgil nods.

She winces. “Yeah, I figured. Darn, that means you have a bit of a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s barely concealed pity in her eyes. “There's a general rule in the local ghost community to keep on the down low as much as possible; it's keeps us from getting on hunters’ radar. And there's certain-”

“Wait, hunters? Like people who track down deer and stuff?”

“Kinda. Except we're the deer. And we're always in season.” She laughs, like possible death is humorous. “Hunters are convinced that all ghosts are like evil, corrupted monsters or something. I'll be honest, I’m not very monstrous. And I don't think you are either, and you've been dead longer than I have.”

“Wait, how long have I've been dead? And how do you know so much about me? I don't know you at all.”

She squints into the distance. “I think it’s been...three weeks? Pretty sure it’s been three weeks. Time is a little hard to keep track of time sometimes.”

“ How long have you been dead?”

“About a week less than that.”

“ So how do you know when I died when I don’t know you?”

Her eyes drop from Virgil's, and her hands start fiddling with the drawstrings from her sweatshirt. “Um, about that, we didn't really hang out when we were alive. When you died, the university made uh, quite the public announcement about it, since you died on campus. And they, uh,” she looks up at Virgil. “Wait, do you remember how you died yet?”

Images flash in Virgil’s mind: a college dorm cast in darkness, hands shaking in apprehension. Virgil shakes his head to clear it. “Not really, no.”

There’s pity in her smile. “That’s ok. Memories leading up to death take a while to come back sometimes.”

“ Do you remember how you died yet? Or your life? I don’t remember much.”

“I remember enough,” she says, a fire flashing in her eyes momentarily. Virgil blinks at the sudden and complete 180 in her composure. She smiles a little too brightly. “Welp, that’s enough for ghost orientation today,” she says, standing up and walking away. “See ya, Virgil. Do remember to hide that unique voice of yours silent if you want to stick around here; not everyone likes a Banshee.”

“Wait,” Virgil stands up as well. “What’s a Banshee?”

She turns back to Virgil with a crooked grin. “Remember that angel statue like two buildings from here?”

Virgil nods.

“Have you taken a look at it since you’ve died?”

Virgil shakes his head.

Her eyes light up, and Virgil’s uneasiness grows. “Well, let’s go on a field trip then!” Grabbing Virgil’s arm, she makes her way to the statue, Virgil dragging behind.

“ What’s so important about a sta-” Virgil’s voice trails off when they arrive at the statue. Or more accurately, where the statue should be.

Only the statue’s base remains in its entirety. The angel’s limbs are sprinkled across the ground below it. Short wings protrude from the torso, becoming stumps after a foot or two, a mere echo of the great wingspan it used to have.

The angel Virgil has always seen as a constant landmark has been reduced to ruins.

“This, my friend,” she says. “Is why rarely any ghosts like Banshees.”

“ How did this happen?”

“Do you remember yelling or screaming at all since you died?”

Virgil pauses. “No? Wait, I think I did some my first night. Why?”

She points to the statue. “That’s the result.”

“You're saying I did this?”

“Yup,” she says. “A Banshee’s scream can and usually will cause physical damage, among other things.”

Virgil stares at the chaotic mess of the statue in horror.

“That’s why you need to keep that voice as quiet as you can. Because stuff like this,” she gestures to the ruin. “- gets the attention of hunters and temperamental ghosts, and unfortunately none of them are as nice as I am.”

“ I don’t understand,” Virgil says. “ Why help me out? Why even give me a warning?”

Her crooked grin appears again. “That’s for me to know, and you to ponder on. See ya around, Virge.” She closes her eyes, and her form starts fading to nothing.

“ Wait, you never told me your name!”

“Morgan,” she says with a grin, disappearing completely.

Hunter’s Guide to the Supernatural: Fast Facts on Ghosts and Ghouls

#1. Immediately after their death, ghosts are typically disorientated. Their memory of the events leading up to their death may be shaky until hours, days, or even weeks afterward. In some cases, the disorientation is so extreme the ghost does not initially realize they’re dead.

#2. After people die, their ghost typically first appear in close distance to where they died.

Tag List:

@thelogicalloganipus

@vigilantvirgil

@rileyfirstname

@kawaiinekogirl27

@the-straight-as-a-circle-girl

#sander sides #Virgil Sanders #thatsthat24 #storm writes #I posted this on AO3 an eon ago but I forgot to post it here lol

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2bstudioblog · 5 years

Text

Ed The Boxer - My entrance

2 years ago, I was on a dry spell. Not many things were coming for me despite I had a lot of experience writing music for some of the most major AAA-developers in Japan like Konami, Bandai Namco, Sega, Suda 51′s Grasshopper Manufacture and CAPCOM. I was hoping 2017 would be the year I would finally see some changes to my life.

I received a phone-call at the end of 2016, asking me if I wanted to work and write music for the introduction movie for Tekken 7 and I was so happy to hear that they would consider me. I did let them know about my holiday schedule and what days I would be outside Japan and I was promised that it would start once I got back home. But right before I left for my holidays as usual to Bali, a last minute cancellations happened and that my schedule conflicted with theirs.

I thought I’ve missed one of my biggest dreams of all time, to be one of the first Swedes to write music for a Tekken game of all time. (However, there was another Swedish band on the soundtrack who wrote and performed a song called “Vrede” (Wrath in english) for Lars Alexandersson’s character theme-song. But I didn’t know this until I heard the Swedish Radio P3 gameshow “P3 SPEL” with host Angelica Norgren, do an interview segment about the Swedes who ended up in writing music in Tekken 7. I don’t really go out looking for interviews, but I know I’ve been on nobody’s radar since working in Japan makes me and all the people I worked with a little bit paranoid due to all the NDA’s we have to sign once we start working on a project. That’s why I haven’t posted anything due to the process of that once I’m done producing a piece of music, it is no longer mine. It is the property of the client.

So I wasn’t sure how I would go about it since my major release of Resident Evil 6 and one of the most popular tunes from that game was Mercenaries, it went viral on YouTube. I didn’t feel I needed to pursue and tell them who wrote that song, because I’m so obviously hoping people were doing the re-search and credit the right people. But when I found out that they credited the wrong people, that’s when I thought: - “Somewhere, there got to be a limit, and when people are wrong about the sources and I have the original material to prove it, I should be able to call out for corrections of the YouTube material. I’m not doing it to boast myself, right should be right.”

It’s fun when people talk about music, but when the composer/producer doesn’t receive recognition, that’s where I say ENOUGH. It should be easy as breathing. That PERSON wrote THAT song.

It took 4 years to get my next biggest project since I finished Resident Evil 6. I missed the opportunity to write for Tekken 7. I felt I was down and out. 3 weeks earlier before I left for Bali, I receive a phonecall from a guy from an agency who’d like to talk to me, Mr. Ho. He wanted to ask me some stuff about how I do virtual orchestrations and what you should think about when you are doing those, he took notes and I thought it was a nice little chat. We didn’t talk much about any projects, but it was interesting. But little did I know it would bear fruit to something completely different.

Back in Japan after the missed opportunity to write the opening cinematic for Tekken 7, 2 weeks later I got another phone-call beginning with the words: -”Hey, it’s Mr. Ho. By the way, are you familiar with Street Fighter?” My eyebrows lifted up in a Roger Moore surprise look: -”Yeah, I played it all the way up to Street Fighter IV. How come?” -”The thing is, they are going to include a brand new character for the game. Are you interested, do you have time to have a look at it?” -”Sure, I really have NOTHING going on at the moment.” -”Great. They are actually look for some hip-hop music for this character. Do you have any songs of that nature that we can show them?” -”Well, actually no. But I can have something down within the next 3 hours. What do they have in mind?” The conversation kept going and then I was ready to just do the beat. Hip-hop is one of the most simplistic music styles out there. All you really need to care about are the instrument choices, the samples and how to make it sound heavy and snappy if required.

Within 3 hours I had a demo-ready hip-hop song. Team Street Fighter were actually very shocked about my quick result and said: -”This is the right direction. We like the initial approach, but it’s too close to the song you are listening too. Can you change it a little bit so we don’t get sued?” -”No problem. I’ll see what I can do to make the track really stand out.”

So they sent out the documents, some concept art about the character and a video. This was Ed. The Boxer. The experimental lab-rat from Balrog’s ending in SFIV.

How do you make a hip-hop track stand out? But how? Hip-hop is such a monotone music style, that dynamics doesn’t really exists in its loopable context. I needed to figure out a way to make this track sound more dynamic.

I kept looking for clues in the concept art, but I really had nothing more than the guy in red shoes, black-sports pants and a white shortsleeved hoodie to go on, but then it struck me. Hip-hop has always used orchestral samples. But nobody has done a hip-hop track that actually has a narrative orchestra going throughout the song to really make it dynamic. It was my time to shine. But I still needed to find a way to dirty down a few instruments. I felt that having an old-sounding gramophone piano would be the easiest way to fake an old-sample, but it was actually me performing the piano with an EQ’d in a RADIO/Telephone configuration. Then I added crackles from a vinyl bank from the Stylus RMX library and that pretty much sealed the effect for me. The rest was easy. I needed to make the orchestra sound as good as Don Davis’ one from The Matrix, if I could find the perfect blend between Hip-hop, orchestral and electronica, I felt I would hit the spot.

This was a gamble on my part, but it was the only logical way for me to make the track to stand out. I also changed the bass-line from that 8th beat rock-bass to a solid octave-sweeping synth-bass, reminiscent from my childhood. I remember Digital Underground and The Humpty Dance.(Remember, I was not a hip-hopper) The craziest thing though is that I think they did the right choice. Choosing someone who doesn’t do Hip-hop to create a hip-hop track, will ALWAYS sound UNIQUE. It’s the concept and I thank CAPCOM for their gamble and trust in me.

Now, I was 80% done with the track when I received the next request. -”We’re going to have vocals on this track.” My heart sank a little, because I’ve never really written a rap my entire life. :-”So if I understand you correctly, you want me, a Swedish countryside boy, to write a RAP to one of the most aggressive characters in the game....?”

There was a slight silence on the line but the voice came back on: -”Don’t worry about it. We got a guy who’s on the writing and the rapping. But just keep it in mind when you’re doing the background, ok?” -”Ok, no problem.”

The last 20% turns out that once I get the vocalist tracks into my project, I’ll be done. That was what I was missing. So I just waited. Just a day later I got 2 versions sent to me. But I told myself, if I hear the word FIST in there, it’s going to be a HIT. I was finally thinking like a Music Producer. I dropped the lines in at it’s correct starting points. Version A was playing. The word FIST comes out of my speakers and I was jumping up and down, thinking that IT was EXACTLY what THIS TRACK NEEDED. Did I dare listening to version B? I did another mix and I felt B was a little bit more laidback. As a final request before I was stemming down the final files I urged Capcom to go with Version A, because it was more aggressive and it felt more honest to the character. They agreed on my choice, told me to tell me to prep the files.

And there it was. My first and last song for SFV I thought. But 2 weeks later, I received another phone-call...

#SFV Ed ED Balrog SFIV P3SPEL #AngelicaNorgren #Behindthescenes #In the studio #Music Production #Computergames #Street Fighter V #Music

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gravitymirage · 7 years

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Taking Back Control - Part 7

@intplier

Amy sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. She couldn’t sleep. It had been hours. Her body was weak and desperate for rest and her eyelids were heavy. Yet every time they slid shut, the feeling of his lips on hers made her seize up, eyes wide open once more. It was like he was always there. Like he was slithering in the shadows, out of sight, mocking her. She shivered. Amy had no idea how she was getting out of this mess. She doubted she would find a way out before Mark arrived, and that would give Dark exactly what he wanted. So, she was stuck, wearing the same clothes, eating the same food, waiting for something to happen. She had only one plan. Talk to another alter.

At the dinner, it seemed clear most of the other characters didn’t know Dark’s plan, not even Wilford. She could try to convince one of the more ‘gullible’ ones to let her out, or one of the ones that doesn’t agree with Darks methods - maybe Dr. Iplier? She’d have to be careful not to leave any evidence that the alter had aided her escape, she didn’t want Dark to hurt any of them.

Amy had sat there pulling at her hair, her mind going in tired loops of thought, when someone knocked on the door. Immediately she leapt to her feet, bracing for whatever Dark had planned for now. Her movements were sluggish, and Amy attempted to shake off her exhaustion. She paused. Why had they knocked? Normally they just let themselves in. Amy froze in place, staring down the doorway, waiting for some noise or movement to identify her visitor. There was a second knock, followed by significant silence. Was Dr. Iplier checking up on her?

“Am I allowed in? I mean, if you’re getting changed or something…” They trailed off, “Though, you have no clothes to change into. Unless you’re in the bathroom! Maybe having a shower? Or maybe you’re still asleep, I wouldn’t know…” The voice babbled. It wasn’t the doctor, he was more concise. Was it some form of trick? Some ploy by Dark to break her further? “I can come back later if you’re busy! Well, busy isn’t the right term since you’re locked in a bedroom, but…” Amy tried to let her body relax, sucking in a deep breath. What she was about to do was idiotic, but she couldn’t pass up talking to an alter beside the Googles, or Dark. She walked up to the doorway.

“Come in.” Her voiced wavered slightly, and her head throbbed with fatigue. Instantly the door was unlocked and swung inward, narrowly missing her face.

“Amy!” There stood Bim Trimmer, wearing his signature suit and glasses, “You look…” He squinted sightly, raising his eyebrows, before pulling up a smile. “I mean you always look wonderful! But, well, did you sleep? Like, at all, last night?” Amy let her shoulders slump.

“No.”

“Well, that isn’t good at all! What happened to beauty sleep!” He gestured wildly, concern clear on his face. Amy didn’t get a chance to answer when his gaze flicked to his watch and his eyes widened. “Well, we don’t have time to delay unfortunately! We’ve got a busy day ahead of us!” Amy looked him over cautiously.

“What are we doing?” She hated how tired she sounded, and how it made it hard to think, especially compared to ball of energy in front of her.

“Well…” He paused for effect, his voice taking on its announcer nature, “We’re going clothes shopping!” Amy was taken aback, unable to answer. “You’ve been staying here with only the clothes you’ve arrived in and that gorgeous dress from last night! But I’ve been informed you should have more clothes, and I’m happy to have been assigned take you!” Amy decided in her drained state of mind to try and get Bim’s help.

“Bim, I’m not staying here, I’ve been kidnapped.” She said it carefully, gauging his reaction. The game show host winced.

“Yes, well, I feared that might’ve been the case.” He wringed his hands together, furrowing his brows and biting his lip. “I c-can’t help you Amy.” He cringed. “S-sorry for t-the s-stutter.” He flinched at his voice, trying and failing to compose himself with increasing desperation. His eyes glanced at hers, almost fearfully. He cursed, his eyes watering. She reached an arm out, concerned.

“Bim, it’s alright-“He recoiled, shaking his head.

“No. It’s not! I’m supposed to be confident! If I’m not…” He shuddered, taking a few moments to compose himself, and Amy let him in silence. The character she knew was confident, if not self-centred. What had changed that? Bim continued like nothing had occurred. “You still need new clothes! Come on, we’re going for a trip!” He dragged her out of the room, closing the door behind her. He pulled her down the hall and towards the main entrance, before heading for the right wing. It was different from when Google had escorted her, he seemed ignorant to how forceful he was being. Though more excitable than anything more threatening.

The first-floor right wing opened into a large garage. It was massive, there had to be at least six different cars. She goggled at it, and Bim noticed her sudden pause, spinning to face her. “What is it?”

“Are we driving? As in, leaving?” He looked confused.

“Of course? Where else would we get clothes? We’re going out!” he blushed. “Not like, a date of course! Shopping! Going out…shopping.” He offered a nervous smile. Maybe this was her chance to escape. But what would happen to Bim if she did? She decided to go along with it, nodding. “Excellent! Come one, this blue car here!” He waved to it eagerly, and Amy slipped into the passenger seat. She couldn’t believe it, this could be it. She was leaving the mansion. Her heart sunk slightly. If she left on Bim’s watch, how badly would Dark punish him? She shook her head slightly. It didn’t matter, it was her safety over a theoretically fictional character. Guilt seeped through her. She didn’t believe that. A hand waved in front of her face. She turned to see Bim frowning and felt a pang in her heart.

“What?” She tried. He held up his hands in surrender

“Just wondering if you’re okay? I know you’re tired, but you look sad?” He froze, before slapping himself lightly on the head. “Of course you look sad! You’ve been kidnapped! Stupid…” He sighed, but started up the car and opened the garage. Amy marvelled at the mansion from the outside. It was more of a castle, with tall pointed towers and parapets along the balcony walls. A large fountain stood in the centre of the entrance. The land was surround by dense forest, and a small road winded into it. Bim didn’t make any comments about the mansion, clearly having enough social awareness to decide it wasn’t a good idea to comment on the building you’ve been trapped in.

As they drove off into the woods, Amy started to question exactly how long it would take to get to a mall from wherever the hell they were. That is, until the woods suddenly opened out into twisting side streets. She gawked at the revision mirror. The woods were gone, she was back in LA.

“How?” Bim grinned.

“Our dimension leaks into yours! It was opened out into the streets so we could get through to the mall! Anyone who’s invited or knows it exists can enter at any time, if they keep walking and no one can see them! Unfortunately, same goes for leaving the dimension, had to dump us out on a street where no one would see us leave. Might take a bit of manoeuvring to get us to the shops.” He looked pleased at Amy’s awed expression. She wondered what he meant by it had been ‘opened out’ for them. “Us alters have many tricks up our sleeves! Why do you think I was asked to take you?” he asked, pride clear in his voice. She glanced over at him. His eyes were on the road, turning out onto the main road towards the shopping centre. People bustled along the streets and cars honked loudly at the traffic.

“Why were you asked to take me?” She questioned, hoping to get answers out of the enthusiastic gameshow host.

“Well, a lot of us have special ‘gifts’. I just so happen to specialize in illusions! How do you think I get my gameshows so interesting? The power of deception!”

“Does that mean you’ve never killed a contestant?” Bim looked taken aback.

“What? No! That’s Wilford’s thing.” He glanced at her, before returning his eyes to the road, where he was parking, “You thought I was a murderer this whole time? I’m surprised you got into this car next to me!” he chuckled awkwardly as he stopped the car. “Only a little way to the shops from here. But, illusions! That’s why I’m accompanying you, it means no one will be able to see you! I can do all sorts of things! I could make you invisible, or just simple draw attention away from you…sorry about that.” Amy’s heart sank. Bim felt through his pants pockets, before swearing.

“What is it?”

“Forgot my wallet, we’re going to have to go back!” He smiled sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Can’t you just illusion the money?” Bim looked mortified.

“I’m not a criminal! I thought I just explained that! Again, we’re going to have to go back for the wallet, and I’m sorry.” He apologizes too much. Amy shook her head, smiling.

“It’s fine Bim, it’s not going to take long!” She said sweetly, internally realising this could be a chance at escape. The worst part was that Bim lapped it up like a puppy looking for affirmation.

“Right! Of course! Just a quick trip back. No one else needs to know.” The car turned back down into the twisting side streets, turning into the woods and back out front the mansion, not bothering with the garage. The trip was in silence, as Bim made hasty turns, several times being on the brink of an accident. “Okay Amy! Just stay in the car, I’ll grab the wallet.” He slipped out of the car, before dashing down towards the mansion, frequently tripping over himself due to his tight suit. A sly grin made its way across Amy’s lips. Bim didn’t think that he couldn’t lock the car behind him. She could open it from the inside.

Amy waited till Bim had disappeared through the mansion doors before sliding out the car door. She paused for a second to check she couldn’t be seen before sprinting into the woods. The adrenaline cleared out the weariness in her bones like some sort of drug. She turned away from the road – it would be the obvious place to check. Amy dodged and weaved through the tightly packed trees, shoes crunching against the underbrush. She ducked under a particularly low branch, quickly gaining her balance and continuing her mad dash. She ducked under a branch, and over a rock. Under a branch, over a rock. That rock looked suspiciously like the last one. So did the branch she was coming up to now.

“I don’t think all that sprinting’s going to get you anywhere…” A loud, almost nasally voice piped up, causing Amy to flinch and fall onto the undergrowth. She flipped herself over, staring at two figures behind her. Alters. One sat up in the branches, looking down at her quizzically. A substance dripped from his clean-shaven face, which Amy identified as peanut butter. The King of the Squirrels, he wore his cape and crown – a squirrel laying happily atop of it. The other alter, the one whom had spoken, she didn’t recognize. He stood at the base of the tree, rocking back and forward on his heels. He still had Mark’s scruffy beard and hair, and wore a uniform that read – Amy squinted – ‘Sterbox Coffee’. She wondered if the two characters had been there the whole time or if they’d snuck up on her purposely.

“Why not?” She breathed out shakily, looking between the two alters.

“I’m King of the Squirrels!” they chirped happily, causing the other one to sigh. From her distance and position, she still couldn’t read their nametag.

“Mr. Edge-lord locked the place up!” he exclaimed, his voice much louder than what would be considered acceptable. “Not that that’s anything new!” His voice cracked slightly. Amy looked him over cautiously. She went to ask his name, but he was one step ahead of her. He bounded over and, despite the fact she was one the floor, took her hand and shook it wildly. “The name’s Mr. Mesolonley! It rhymes with baloney! That also works as a nickname, or you can call me Mesolonely! Baloney Mesolonely! It rhymes! Think I already mentioned that but it’s good to reiterate!” She nodded frantically, he was still shaking her hand vigorously. When he let go, she sat up, wiping down her jeans. She vaguely remembered this character from a let’s play. Never expected they’d be real too.

“What do you mean ‘locked the place up’?” They furrowed their brow

“Don’t you know? The forest is on loop! No one leaves without permission!” he shouted. “You wanna date me?” Amy took a few steps back.

“What? No, sorry, I’m taken.” She stuttered out. Mesolonely shrugged.

“Alright, if you insist! I know I’m pretty irresistible so if you reconsider!” he yelled. Amy cleared her throat.

“Why are you out here then? I understand King,” she glanced up, watching the alter play with his squirrels. “But why you? Aren’t you a barista? Isn’t there a place for you in the mansion?” They bellowed out a laugh, before looking over Amy’s expression.

“You’re serious? Why would I be out there with all those bigshots? No one remembers me! It’s a miracle King here spends time with me! I was a one off! An accidental! Plus, I don’t wanna deal with Mr. Edgy.” Amy was horrified.

“So you live in the woods?” Mesolonely rolled his eyes.

“You really don’t know anything do you? I work at Sterbox! I’m on leave at the moment! Of course, I can only repeat the same three days on loop but it gives me something to do!” Amy considered the connotations of that. Was every character Mark ever made living out their entire existence on loop in some forgotten dimension? She didn’t get a chance to quiz further when the sound of footsteps crushing through underbrush startled her. A very disgruntled Bim stood in the clearing. His suit was untucked and his tie was loose. His glasses sat askew and his hair stuck in clumps to the sweat on his forehead. The wallet was held firmly in hand. His face exploded with relief.

“Oh t-thank god! Oh g-god. I th-thought I was g-going to be m-murdered.” He was shaking and stuttering, his eyes watering. “Th-they already think I’m use-useless without m-me stuffing up e-everything.” Amy officially felt like the worst person on earth. Mesolonely stood in a confused and unusual silence.

“I’m king of the squirrels.” Informed King, seriously. Bim stared at the barista with pure gratitude in his eyes.

“Y-you found h-her. Thank y-you! D-Dear god thank you!” He ran up to them, pulling them into a hug before spinning to face Amy. “I don’t b-blame you. I r-really don’t! It was m-my fault! Oh g-god If I’d lost y-you.” Amy sighed. There was no use running, she couldn’t get Bim caught now.

“It’s fine Bim. Take a deep breath. No one needs to know this happened. You can take me back to the mansion, forget the clothes…” His eyes widened.

“N-no! We’re still getting the clothes!” His stutter died down. “I have my wallet, I won’t stuff up this time, we can still do it!” He pocketed the wallet and started fixing himself up, tucking in his shirt and running a hand through his hair. He pointed off into the distance. “The car is that way!”

They wandered back in silence, leaving a startled Mr. Mesolonely alone once more. The irony wasn’t lost on Amy. Bim had calmed his breathing a returned his smile. He took her to a variety of shops with great enthusiasm. His act seemed real, yet at this point, Amy was sure it was forced. She bought as little clothing as possible, mostly out of disbelief she was going to trapped much longer.

When they got back to the mansion, it seemed like no one was any wiser to their adventures. Amy was sure, however, that Dark knew. He always knew. It was probably fitting into whatever plan he’d designed. Amy didn’t like being negative, but it was getting harder and harder to be positive. Bim led her back to her room, sadly locking the door behind him. She had a quick shower, changing out of her dirtied clothes into a fresh jumper and jeans. She’d picked longer clothes, feeling uncomfortable in anything else. She flopped down onto the bed and at last her exhaustion pulled her into a restless sleep.

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#taking back control #part 7 #bim trimmer #amy nelson #markiplier #markiplier alter egos #king of the squirrels #mesolonely

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goddamnedamericanjedi · 7 years

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Classic Rock Magazine Interview With Sebastian Bach

It wasn’t the greeting that worried me. During the 13 years that I’ve been interviewing Sebastian Bach, there have been a variety of headlocks and bear hugs. Fortunately, today it’s just a super-firm handshake. Although in the past he’s spat huge globules of phlegm across the room to express disgust at certain subjects, and once even called to talk on a mobile phone whilst taking a piss, neither was I overly concerned about the former Skid Row frontman’s behavior during our encounter.

My biggest reservation was how this particular conversation might conclude. Last time we spoke face-to-face, during a press tour for Skid Row’s 1995 album ‘Subhuman Race’, matters concluded prematurely after I stated the journalistic consensus that the album was considerably below par. “We’ll see who’s still doing this in ten years time,” raged Seb with a face like thunder, before booting the back of my chair, storming from the room and cancelling the rest of his interviews for the day.

That decade he referred to isn’t yet up, but thankfully we’re both still here. “What you said back then hurt so much because I considered a writer like you, who’d written a lot of our early press, to represent the British media,” confides Bach while preparing for Classic Rock’s photo session. “It was hard to take, dude.”

The Canadian had joined Skid Row after being spotted jamming at the wedding of photographer Mark Weiss, and a support spot on Bon Jovi’s ‘New Jersey’ tour gave the fledgling quintet their breakthrough.

Unfortunately, Bach’s dark side was soon revealed and he claimed to have “punched the shit out of Jon, decked him on his fat little ass” when a dispute about a contract Skid Row had signed with Bon Jovi’s Underground publishing company was leaked to the press.

Seb’s wild man credentials were further emphasized by a string of antics, some amusing and some irresponsible. He wiped his derriere on a copy of the Daily Star at Docklands Arena (his tackle flying free in the process) and incurred a lifetime ban at Wembley through playing the song ‘Get The Fuck Out’ when warned not to. Even more regrettably, however, he also wore a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan ‘Aids Kills Faggots’, and in front of MTV’s cameras threw a glass bottle back into a Massachusetts crowd after it had hit him on the head. A female 14-year-old required 125 stitches.

Finally, Skid Row’s patience snapped, and the relative failure of ‘Subhuman Race’ enabled them to dismiss Bach at the end of 1996. The last time he spoke to Classic Rock, in Issue 13, Sebastian claimed to have no idea why he’d been ‘let go’, adding ruefully: “I’ll never understand why we dropped the ball.” Now a solo artist, his 1999 album ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’ has just been reissued, and Bach has a variety of projects on the go.

DL. You’re here for an appearance on the Never Mind The Buzzcocks, the BBC1 game show. Do you know much about British pop music? SB. Ha ha… no. Well, Iron Maiden had a No 1 record, so that’s pop music, right?

DL. So how will you act when they inevitably take the piss, as they did to Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine and Bruce Dickinson from Iron Maiden? SB. I’ve been on that show twice in America, but the American version flopped - hopefully that wasn’t my fault. I don’t know how a host on British game show could go after me… they’re the retarded ones for paying me $1,800 to come over for 45 minutes work. Dude, everyone says he’s gonna be horrible, but I’ll show him fuckin’ horrible! I can rewrite the fuckin’ level of horrible. I’ll give him a taste of horror.

DL. You recently posted an extremely touching tribute to your father, David Bierk, at your website. Which characteristics good or bad did you inherit from your parents? SB. My dad was a painter who had shows all over the biggest galleries in New York. Elton John, Bon Jovi, Axl Rose and Gene Simmons all bought his paintings. He just let me know that nothing was impossible. My intensity, the way I talk, he made me realize that singing wasn’t a vocational choice, it was a life choice. My only regret is that I’ve been on the road from the age of 13 to now, aged 34, and I missed out on so much family life. I never just got a bowl of popcorn, sat down with my dad and watched the TV. He told me on his deathbed, ‘Everybody in this world is too busy’. I’d say to readers of this magazine, if you’ve got somebody - whether it’s your brother, your mom or sister - just enjoy life with them for just a fuckin’ second, because I look back and God… [trails off].

DL. Since being kicked out of Skid Row in 1996 you’ve spread your wings into TV presenting and appearing in the Broadway versions of Jekyll & Hyde and The Rocky Horror Show. SB. One of my idols, Geoff Tate [of Queensrÿche], keeps calling and asking how I got onto Broadway. The honest truth is that Broadway came to me. I never in a million years thought I’d have the braincells left to memorise the Jekyll & Hyde script. I shit you not, it’s like War And Peace. How it happened was that Jason Flom at Atlantic signed Skid Row in 1987, and Atlantic also has a theatre division. Jason called and said I had the meanest voice and the personality to do it, and believe me when I was Edward Hyde I became Edward Hyde. It was cool music, I swear, some of it’s like ‘Sad Wings Of Destiny’ [the 1976 Judas Priest album].

DL. When a woman in the first row handed you a rose, you bit the head off. Why did you do that? SB. It was my way of saying, ‘I’m on Broadway, but I’m still Sebastian Bach’.

DL. By the time this article is printed, you will be on a year-long US tour playing the lead character in Jesus Christ Superstar. SB. Andrew Lloyd Webber requested a stack of Skid Row CDs, and all my pictures, I swear to God. And he came back and said, ‘Hello, is Jesus Christ there?’, so he made the decision.

DL. Some might say that this is a role you’ve spent your life rehearsing for. SB. [Sounding slightly hurt]: I must be a fucking moron. I never thought you would’ve said that, dude. Sometimes I’m so confused by other people’s perception of me.

DL. Well, they say that you’re an egomaniac. SB. Dude, you have to be on of those to go on stage. What do you want to see, some fucking guy singing [in nerdy, apologetic voice]: ‘We are the youth gone wild’? If I didn’t have my ego I wouldn’t be doing it. I don’t think it’s misplaced though, I hope not. I wake up every day and hope I’m gonna have a great day, be the nicest guy ever. But if someone’s a dick to me, I’m gonna be a fuckin’ dick back to them.

DL. You’re an ass-kicking rock dude from the 80s that’s now playing Jesus. Could you imagine Axl or Vince Neil doing the same thing? SB. Absolutely not, and that’s not a slight against them, Axl has already proved he can’t be on time. I love Axl Rose, but let me get this through everybody’s head: we’re talking eight shows a week for 42 weeks. That’s tough work.

DL. Would you someday like to follow your old rival Jon Bon Jovi into the movies? SB. I don’t differentiate ‘movies’ or ‘Broadway’, what I care about is presenting my fans with something that entertains. And if I’m entertained by it my fans will be, too. So if I got a great film role, yeah, cool.

DL. What do you think of Jon’s acting abilities? And would he work you him in an acting role if the part demanded it? SB. I’ve never seen him really act. There was one movie where he was a pot dealer, and I saw a little bit of that, but he’s a very good actor because he doesn’t smoke pot! I did have acrimony towards Jon for years, but on my Forever Wild TV show I interviewed Tico Torres [Bon Jovi drummer], we played ‘Lay Your Hands On Me’, had a brew at the bar and talked about the old days. All I was ever mad at Jon for was to let me have my own life. That was it. Please, I don’t need someone to hold my fucking hand.

DL. We didn’t get to see your VH1 rock show Forever Wild before it was cancelled back in April. Care to tell us about it? SB. It was kinda obscure, I got to go through the VH1 vaults and pick the videos. We had ‘You Really Got Me’ by Van Halen on the first show, and W.A.S.P.’s ‘I Wanna Be Somebody’… but it was my show!

DL. That explains why it ran for just five months. SB. Yeah, but it was fun. I got to go to Ted Nugent’s 200-acre farm and shoot wild boar, and eat it, of course. I went car racing with Vince Neil and golfing with Tommy Lee. I was in the studio with Rob Halford while he was recording the song ‘Crucible’… waaaaaah! It was 16 episodes, which was twice as long as the [first series of] The Osbournes. Maybe a fifth of the people watched it, but it was a midnight rock show. They offered me another show, at four in the afternoon, but they would be picking the videos and it was cheesy things like Quiet Riot, stuff to laugh at. I will not make fun of heavy metal, or patronize people.

DL. You then resurfaced on - of all things - the Learning Channel’s The New Sideshow, which was described as “a not-for-the-weak-of-heart documentary on today’s more outrageous carnival acts” that included human pincushion The Impaler. Do you do these unusual things to keep you in the public eye, or because you enjoy them? Of course because I enjoy them… doh! Let me offer this piece of advice, I’ve not changed my home phone number since 1989. Never make yourself too inaccessible, it’s good for business when people know where you are. I wake up, press play and it’s, ‘Hey Sebastian, do you want to do this?”… next message, ‘Hey Sebastian, how about this?’ You just have to play the cards that are dealt you, it’s a very different world than it was. I’m in this to sing, so if I can get my voice heard in whatever fashion then that’s what I’ll do. Ozzy is the most famous he’s ever been, not because of his music but because of a fucking TV show. I’m not being flown over to England to sing, I’m being flown over to go on a gameshow. That is fucked. What you also have to consider is that the venues I’ll be playing Jesus Christ in are the same ones that Skid Row headlined for ‘Slave To The Grind’ tour… the Paramount in Seattle, the Fox in Atlanta. But instead of doing one show, I’m now doing eight shows in the same venue. So I’ve finally topped what I did in the past.

DL. C’mon, you must admit you’d rather be coming here to play rock music? SB. I’ve just saw in your magazine that Alex Lifeson says no British promoter wants Rush. Hey, I’ve been asking British promoters since 1996 to come over and they just laugh! I’ve done two full American tours, 104 shows on the first tour, 90 shows on the second, a sold-out tour of Japan. I’m dying to play here, man, but the offers they give me are like… restaurants! Don’t you have to suck first? I’ve never played England and flopped - not fucking once! Thank God for the USA.

DL. You just mentioned The Osbournes. Can you imagine the footage MTV would have got if they’d followed you around in 1992? SB. Ha ha ha, there wouldn’t have been a TV show made out of it. You couldn’t air it. But there seems to be a perception that as soon as we woke up and did drugs and drank, and that’s not true. I never did a show drunk - ever.

DL. Am I right in thinking you’ve cut out most of those antics? SB. I hate that shit, I’ve not done a line [of coke] since 1993. I have no desire to. A part of me still has that personality when I get too sad, when my dad died I was drinking way too much, but just beer. Back in those days everybody was fucking doing it, you were the weirdo if you weren’t.

DL. You were recently involved in what was dramatically reported as “making terroristic threats” to a New Jersey bartender who refused to let you take your drink outside his club, then for having marijuana and rolling papers on you when you were arrested. SB. I’d been shooting an episode of Forever Wild with Vince Neil, who’s always a bad influence on me; they talk about the bad boys of rock, I’m like Queen Elizabeth compared to Vince. But there’s a side of me that can get down and dirty. I was with Vince for a week down on south beach in Miami, waking up each morning and just getting ripped. When I got back to New Jersey, my chick was giving me shit on the phone because she wanted to party with Mötley Crüe. And I was like, ‘Babe, it’s my job, I get paid to party with the Crüe. This is how I feed our kids, so let me party with the Crüe, you stay home and everything’ll be fine’. And she was like, ‘Grrrrrrrrr’. So I go, ‘Fuck you, I’m not coming home’ and tell the limo driver to turn around because we’re going to Broadway. I get a hotel suite and get VH1 to pay for it, order up fucking booze and some other things, and all my friends come over to party. I stayed there for like two days, until she called and was nice to me. It’s a two hour limo drive home and by then I’m so fuckin’ drunk, my chick gives me a little bit of shit. So I take a bunch of Molsons [beers] and walk to this bar, I never drive while drunk. I’ve been going to this bar for 12 years and all these chicks, dudes and businessmen are excited to see me, so then I’m holding court. This guy suggests we go outside and bust a joint, but the bartender says he’s gonna call the police if I take my beer - I told him to go ahead. He fucking rails me, punches me right in the fucking head and I freaked out, so I tackled him around the waist brought him into the one wall, stood on his neck and said, ‘I’ll fucking kill you, mutherfucker’. The whole bar was freaked out, but he threw the first punch. I had a couple of joints in my pocket, so I got busted for marijuana. And the next day’s headline was, ‘Sebastian Bach Busted For Drugs And Terroristic Threats’. Dionne Warwick was arrested for having seven marijuana cigarettes, and I had a joint… someday maybe I can be as wild as Dionne fuckin’ Warwick. What fuckin’ bullshit.

DL. If Skid Row came back to you - and I stress those four words - would you someday agree to rejoin them? SB. It’d all depend on the music, that’s the only reason I joined them in the first place. But Rachel [Bolan, bass] and Snake [guitar] were the best fucking songwriters I ever fuckin’ met, and they just don’t do it anymore. Anyone can go on the internet and find out what happened between me and the guys, just download the Ozone Monday record [make with singer Sawn McCabe]. That was supposed to be the fourth Skid Row record. The reason I’m not singing on it is that it fucking sucks! I mean, Andrew Lloyd Webber or Ozone Monday? Well [chuckles maliciously]…

“Kids think that music is free. My 14-year-old son downloads Arch Enemy and Cradle of Filth songs and I’m the asshole dad who says, ‘Bands worked really hard on those’”

DL. Do you even have any interest in hearing ‘Thick Is The Skin’, the album they’ve made with your replacement, Johnny Sollinger? SB. No. But what fucking year will it come out. Those guys have been saying, ‘We got a whole album done’. Well, let’s fuckin’ hear it. I’m giving you two fucking albums, I’m giving you three fucking musicals, five tours. I’ve got nothing to hide, dude. You may not even like ‘…Bach Alive’, but at least I’m delivering product.

DL. Why do you feel that the band made such a phenomenal early impact, from the Marquee to Hammersmith Odeon in a matter of months? SB. Just the songs and the way we attacked our music. Revolver magazine recently said Skid Row was one of the best metal albums of all time because they played a song like ‘Youth Gone Wild’ like they were playing ‘Angel Of Death’ by Slayer. Would they be so successful now? In the year 2002 kids think that music is free. My 14-year-old son spends all day downloading Arch Enemy and Cradle of Filth and I’m the asshole dad who has to say, ‘You shouldn’t be making those CDs, those bands worked really hard on those’. He looks at me like, ‘What the fuck is your problem?’ I get like emails that say, ‘Sebastian, I went to five shops looking for ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’ and couldn’t find it, but I downloaded it and it fucking rocks, dude’. One the one hand I wanna go, ‘Thanks man’, and on the other hand I wanna hold my head in my hands, but everybody’s in that same situation.

DL. So you were in agreement with Lars Ulrich on the Napster issue? SB. Oh, definitely. I even did this CD called ‘Bach To Basics’ because somebody told me to go onto Napster and when I saw what Sebastian Bach stuff was available I almost fuckin’ committed suicide. The whole The Last Hard Men CD was there, before I even fuckin’ played it for my friends. So I ripped my own CD off Napster and now I sell it on the web.

DL. The last time we were in a room together you lost your temper in a row over ‘Subhuman Race’. Can you now stand back a bit and understand why fans felt it wasn’t as good as the first two? SB. Yeah, but how can a writer say what a record should sound like when they’re not even in the band? What I find humorous is that nobody liked that record, but 12 years later we’re still talking about that fucking record. When I hear ‘Subhuman Race’ now I hear more Bob Rock [producer], because he did the same thing as he did on Metallica’s ‘Load’. He changed things. I remember him saying, ‘Everybody knows you can scream, Sebastian’, and suggesting I sing like Scott Weiland [of Stone Temple Pilots]. Why don’t you just take a thoroughbred racehorse and hit him on the fuckin’ kneecap with a baseball bat? I do like that album, but it’s not a fun record. ‘Youth Gone Wild’ was fun.

DL. Let’s imagine you can go back in time and change three events in your life. If you don’t mind, I’d like to guess that they would be: a) signing away such a large percentage of your royalties to Jon Bon Jovi, b) the bottle-throwing incident and c), not having hit Jon harder. Am I right? SB. Awww, I have more good memories of Bon Jovi than bad ones now. I’ve bashed Jon relentlessly in the past, but I don’t feel that way any more. When I think of those times when I was touring with Bon Jovi and living at his house for two weeks… okay, maybe the deal we signed wasn’t the most equitable of all time, but it’s possible that if we hadn’t, you might never have heard of me. And I respect his tenacity in an industry that devours its young and old alike. So to answer your question… I did wear a really ridiculous T-shirt, and I can’t believe I’m bringing it up again, but it was really rotten, really stupid. And the bottle throwing thing, yeah, I’d change that. Then again, if somebody cracks you in the head with a bottle, what do you do? You ain’t thinking rationally. If somebody hit me with a bottle in the head again I’d probably knock the fuck right out of them.

DL. You even turned down Playgirl? SB. Twice. I already get known for things other than my voice, like my hair or going to jail or whatever, and I want to be known as a singer. That means more to me than anything.

Apart from your Broadway activities, what’s the delay in following up ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’? Atlantic Records signed me in 1987 and they still have first right of refusal [on my work]. ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’ has the Atlantic logo and the Spitfire logo because Atlantic technically owns Sebastian Bach, and they license to certain territories where Atlantic didn’t put it out - including Britain, because Mary Hooton, my great friend, fucking rejected the fucking record.The next record will be done when it’s done. I want to deliver a product that’ll get the proper exposure; I don’t want it coming out three years later in one country than another. I’m doing it, but the fans have to realise how the internet has taken the wind out of the sails of the music industry. There’s always trepidation and anticipation about delivering a CD in this climate.

DL. How do you think you’ll feel aged 65 with 'Youth Gone Wild' tattooed on your arm? SB. I’ll just get “I was the” tattooed on my bicep. Right up here, dude. I got that space reserved.

P.S. Dave says...

Larger than life and twice as unpredictable, Sebastian Bach has now been out of Skid Row since 23rd December, 1996, the day that co-founding guitarist Dave ‘Snake’ Sabo sacked him after receiving a torrent of hate in answerphone form. The parting of ways between singer and the New Jersey band had been a long time coming. Notorious for short-fuse temper as for chiseled cheekbones and multi-octave voice, Bach drove the group’s instrumentalists mental but was accommodated by the rest of Skid Row for as long as their patience would stand. Post-Skids, Bach hasn’t exactly stuck to the traditional route. He acted in the musical versions of Jekyll & Hyde and Jesus Christ Superstar and went on to appear in various TV shows, though age and luvviedom have failed to mellow him. Sebastian recently completed a whirlwind tour of the UK and a new album – his first set of all-new solo material – is due next year. (17th December, 2004)

#Sebastian Bach #Skid Row #The Bazmanian Devil #interview

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stardustinyoureyes · 7 years

Text

Defying Sanity

Bakura and Marik are all ready to travel to Egypt to get their revenge against the Pharaoh, but a minor hiccup in their plans forces them to make some money. Luckily for them, a new reality show is looking for people to audition, and the prize is $250,000. Based off of their personalities in YGOTAS. Thiefshipping. The song I used is ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’, and as you can probably infer, it’s a comedy. Sorta fluffy, though, because I can never write stories with sad endings.

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10430289

“IT’S TIME TO TRYYYY DEFYING GRAVITY! I THINK I’LL TRYYYY DEFYING GRAVITY!” Marik’s off-key warbling filters through the door of the hotel bathroom, along with the ‘pitter-patter’ of a shower running.

“Marik, for the love of Ra, shut up!” Bakura shouts, exasperated.

“I’M THROUGH ACCEPTING LIMITS, CAUSE SOMEONE SAYS THEY’RE SO!” Marik’s singing continues.

Bakura groans and covers his head with a thin hotel pillow. For the past 12 hours, he had been subjected to this torture. Ever since they had left Domino for Egypt to kill the Pharaoh, Marik had been screaming in Bakura’s ear. Not even stopping at a hotel for a night could silence him.

“’Kura, do you like my new top?!” Bakura removes the pillow from his face, realizing the ‘pitter-patter’ of the shower has stopped. Marik stands before him, gesturing towards his purple top. Bakura can’t help but notice it’s the exact same shade as his eyes.

“Yes, it’s very nice.” Bakura responds in a tone usually reserved for talking to 5-year-olds.

“Did you hear that, Rodrick?” Marik says to the Millennium Rod in his hand. “’Kura said I look pretty!”

“I didn’t say that!” Bakura snaps.

“You implied it!” Marik snaps back, then flounces off to comb his sopping wet hair in front of the smudged mirror in the bathroom.

Bakura sighs, partly at Marik’s childishness, but mainly at himself for putting up with it. For some reason, no matter what foolish thing Marik did, Bakura always stuck with him. He couldn’t count the number of times he had been injured or almost killed or driven to insanity by irritation, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Maybe because he knew that, if he left, Marik couldn’t possibly survive. It’d be like abandoning a week-old puppy.

Marik comes back into the room. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“No you didn’t, Bakura! Don’t lie to me!”

“Marik, shut up and go to bed.”

“Mouth health is a very serious matter!”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s what you say to everything!”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re always so mean to me!”

“Guess what?

“You don’t care?”

“Good job, now you’re starting to get it.” Bakura lies down and pulls the covers over himself, turning away. Marik stomps his foot in frustration and whines. Seeing that Bakura isn’t going to give him any more attention, he walks across the room, turns off the lights, and gets into the other twin bed. Bakura can hear the covers rustling as Marik gets comfortable. After a few minutes, the rustling is replaced by snoring.

Bakura rolls onto his back and looks up at the stained ceiling. He’d never admit it, but he felt some comfort knowing Marik was only a few feet away. Bakura wasn’t scared of the dark- he was a thief, after all- but sometimes he got lonely.

No. Not lonely. Bakura thinks sharply. ‘Lonely’ is for losers like that midget Yugi Moto, or Bakura’s wimpy host whose name he couldn’t remember. No, Bakura didn’t get lonely. Bored, that’s the word. Not lonely. Sometimes it was nice to have someone to keep you from getting bored. And whatever word you used to describe Marik, (and Bakura could think of a few choice ones) he certainly wasn’t boring.

* * *

The next morning, Bakura awakes to a note from Marik on the counter of the room’s kitchenette:

“Kitty-

Gone to get breakfast

-Supreme ruler and overlord of the world, Marik Sebastian Ishtar”

Bakura scowls at his hated nickname, crumpling up the note. He throws it away and walks over to his suitcase. Today they were flying out to Egypt from the airport in Tokyo, and Bakura wanted to doublecheck what time the flight left. After all, villains always have to be punctual.

Bakura sifts through his clothes (5 pairs of the exact same outfit) and chip bags Marik snuck into his suitcase. Where are the tickets? He picks up the suitcase and dumps its contents onto the ground. No tickets. Maybe they’re in Marik’s suitcase. He opens up the pink Hello Kitty suitcase laying on Marik’s bed. Purple tops, Millennium Rod polish (available at a store near you), pictures of the Pharaoh with drawn-on devil horns, and 5 cans of hairspray. No tickets.

“Where the devil are they?” Bakura mutters to himself. He starts opening the nightstand drawers, hoping that he put them in there and just forgot about it.

“OH. EM. GEE. YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE LINE AT MICKY D’S!” Marik loudly declares, walking into the room with a grease-covered McDonald’s bag. “THERE WERE LIKE 6 PEOPLE AHEAD OF ME AND THIS LITTLE OLD LADY INSISTED ON PAYING IN EXACT CHANGE AND THIS OTHER GUY-”

“Marik, where are our plane tickets?” Bakura interrupts.

“-TOOK LIKE 25 FRIGGIN YEARS TO MAKE UP HIS MIND, AND- what was that?”

“Where. Are. Our. Tickets?” Bakura says slowly, his patience wearing thin.

“What tickets?” Marik asks unconcernedly, pulling a hash brown out of the bag.

“The tickets we need to get on the plane for Egypt!”

“Oh, you mean the rectangles with a bunch of numbers on them made from the fancy paper?”

Bakura rolls his eyes. “Yes, the fancy paper rectangles. Where are they?”

“I ate them.” Marik answers casually.

Bakura is stunned into silence for a moment. “You…ate…them?”

“Yeah.”

“Marik, why the bloody hell would you do that?!”

“I was hungry!” Marik says defensively.

“So let me get this straight,” Bakura says slowly. “You went into my suitcase, got out the tickets we need in order to fly to Egypt, and ate them.”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“Completely disregarding,” Bakura continues. “The 15 different chips bags that you insisted on putting into my suitcase so you could eat them in case you got hungry.”

“Aren’t you British? Why did you say ‘chips’ instead of ‘crisps’?”

“MARIK, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?”

“Yeah, it means that any sort of consistent characterization has already gone out the window.”

“WE ARE STUCK HERE. IN THIS MANGY HOTEL. WE CAN’T GO TO EGYPT. OUR PLAN IS GOING TO FAIL. ALL BECAUSE YOU DECIDED TO ACT LIKE A BLOODY MORON AND EAT OUR TICKETS.”

“Well, it wasn’t really a conscious decision,” Marik clarifies. “After all, you’re not you when you’re hungry.”

“THIS IS NOT A BLOODY SNICKERS COMMERCIAL! THIS IS REAL LIFE!”

“Oh, you worry too much,” Marik waves a hand, disregarding Bakura’s totally justified concern. “Here, have an Egg McMuffin.”

Bakura grabs Marik’s proffered McMuffin and flings it across the room. “Those tickets were over $1000 each! We don’t have the money to buy more!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just use Rodrick to brainwash a Steve into giving us money.” Marik waves his Rod.

“And how many Steves have you seen around here?”

Marik thinks for a minute. “Ten?”

“No.”

“Twenty?”

“You’re getting colder.”

“Fifty?”

“None, Marik. We haven’t seen a single Steve since we left Domino.”

“Well, there are other ways of getting money. We could sell our blood.”

“4Kids can’t show blood! They would just censor it!”

“Oh, yeah.” Marik strokes his chin, thinking. “What if we start a GoFundMe? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would donate their hard-earned money to help 2 psychopathic strangers murder someone who already died thousands of years ago.”

“Marik, you are an absolute fool.”

“But am I a pretty fool?” Marik asks, batting his eyelashes. Bakura responds by yanking open the door to the room, stomping out, and slamming it shut. “Jeez, jealous much?” Marik picks up the TV remote laying on the stand.

He’s never coming back, a dark voice whispers in the back of Marik’s mind. It’s a voice he’s very familiar with. He tries to shut it out the way he always does, by distracting himself with some superficial diversion. “Ooh! Golden Girls! I love me some Betty White!”

Halfway through his third episode, an ad comes on the TV that catches his eye.

“Are you the most interesting person you know?”

“I so totally am!” Marik shouts at the screen.

“Do you want everyone to see how great you are?”

“You know it!”

“Do you want to win $250,000 dollars?”

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of purple tops!”

“Then come audition for Applause, the newest reality show that’s sweeping the nation! Every team gets 5 minutes to do whatever they want, and whoever gets the least amount of applause is eliminated. Whoever’s left after 8 weeks wins $250,000, bragging rights, and the adoration of millions!”

“I WANT THAT!” Marik jumps up in excitement.

“If all that sounds good to you, come to 124 Conch Street this Friday to see if you’ve got what it takes!”

“AAAAHHHHH!” Marik starts hopping around the room, screeching like a banshee.

The door to the room opens and Bakura comes back in. “Marik, I-” he pauses as he sees Marik jumping up and down on the bed. “Um, what is happening?”

Marik stops jumping and lands on his butt, bouncing slightly from the impact. “’Kura! I’ve found a solution to our problem!”

Bakura looks at him warily. “What is it?”

“There’s this gameshow that’s having auditions, and the winners get $250,000! That would cover the cost of tickets.”

“But I…” Bakura hesitates. He looks at Marik, who’s almost wiggling, eyes shining with eagerness. He sighs. I’m going to regret this. “All right, Marik. Let’s win some money.”

* * *

A couple days later, Bakura sits on an uncomfortable plastic seat in a darkened auditorium. 3 judges are sitting at a table in front of him, watching Marik, who is singing on the stage.

“Don’t worry, you don’t even have to come on stage! My singing is so amazing it’ll be good enough to get both of us on the show!” Marik had said the day before.

Singing? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays? Bakura had thought snidely, but he didn’t argue. He had no desire to perform in front of anyone, now or ever, and if he could get out of this audition, he wasn’t going to say anything.

So now he was sitting in this pathetic excuse for a seat, drumming his fingers impatiently on the armrest and suffering through what he had already endured for hours.

“HELLO, MY NAME IS MARIK ISHTAR, AND I WOULD LIKE TO SHARE WITH YOU THE MOST AMAZING BOOK!” Marik flings his arms out passionately, accidentally letting go of the Rod. It flies up and hits a spotlight, shattering its glass and causing shards to cascade onto the stage.

Marik doesn’t notice.

“YOU SIMPLY WON’T BELIEVE HOW MUCH THIS-”

One of the judges waves his hand, cutting Marik off. “Um, you can stop now. We’ve heard enough.”

“That’s for damn sure.” The judge next to him mutters.

“Goody!” Marik claps. “So when does filming start?”

The judges exchange a look. “Oh, uh, we still have some people who have to audition. We’ll be giving information to the people we chose tomorrow. So you can go.”

“See you all on set!” Marik walks off the stage, oblivious to the judges giving each other another look. “Come on, Kitty, let’s go get lunch.”

“Oh, I’ll be out in a moment. I dropped one of my contacts.” Bakura lies smoothly.

“Hmm, I didn’t know you wore contacts.” Marik pauses. “Or is Ryou the one who wears contacts? For that matter, are you in Ryou’s body, or do you have your own? Because if this story takes place after the show’s canon, you should be dead. But if-”

“Marik, stop breaking the fourth wall and go find someplace to eat.” Bakura cuts in. He waits for Marik to leave the auditorium, then walks over and stands in front of the judges.

The judge on the left looks up. “Can we help you?”

“Actually, you can.” Bakura pulls out the Millennium Ring from under his shirt. “Now, first I’m going to ask you a question, on the off-chance that you all are completely deaf: Are you going to let Marik and me on the show?”

“Fuck, no!” The judge on the right exclaims vehemently.

Bakura aims the Ring at the judge’s face. “Wrong answer.”

“What do you-” Flames erupt from the prongs of the Ring and start scorching the judge’s face. “AAHHHH! OH MY GOD, IT BURNS! IT BURNS! THIS HURTS EVEN MORE THAN WHEN THEY KILLED OFF DOBY IN HARRY POTTER!”

Bakura lowers the Ring and the flames vanish, leaving the judge sobbing with a scarlet-red face. “I’ll ask again. Are you going to let us on the show?”

The other 2 judges look at each other in horror. “Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

“Excellent.” Bakura walks out of the auditorium, pausing at the door. “Oh, and if you think listening to Marik for 2 minutes is bad, try doing it for 12. Bloody. Hours.” With that, he walks out, the door clanging shut behind him.

“Well, I was going to say that his burning you face off wasn’t justified, but now I can see it totally was.” The judge on the left remarks.

The judge in the middle nods. “Yeah, I think that British guy is the real victim here.”

* * *

The next morning, Bakura is awoken by the sound of Marik shrieking loudly.

“EEEEEEEE! Kura, look, we got in!” Bakura opens his eyes and sees Marik standing in front of him, already dressed, waving a stapled packet in his face. “They sent this to the hotel an hour ago!”

Bakura can’t help but smile a little at Marik’s ecstasy. “How unexpected.”

“What are you talking about, my singing was awesome!” Marik responds. “I totally expected to be chosen!” He flounces off to the kitchenette and starts making a ‘Marik special’ (yogurt slathered onto a piece of toast with French fries on top) “Oh, and we need to practice for next week, Bakura. I picked a great song for us to do!”

Bakura groans and pulls his pillow over his face.

* * *

The next week, Bakura trails behind Marik, who is marching around the set of Applause like he owns the place. Groups of people are scattered about, practicing for their time on-screen.

“This is going to be so friggin’ great!” Marik exclaims.

“Except for the fact that we don’t even know what we’re going to do yet, and we’re on in half an hour.”

“Kura, we’re doing that gymnastics routine, remember?”

“We most certainly are not-”

“But the routine is so good!”

“I don’t bloody care, I am not going to-”

Their bickering is stopped as they both come to a halt in front of an interviewer who is talking to another contestant- one who looks very familiar…

“So, Mr. Necrophades, would you like to give us a hint about what you’ll be doing with your 5 minutes?” the interviewer asks.

“Gladly! I’ll be DESTROYING THE WORLD!” the contestant replies.

“ZORC?!” Bakura blurts out.

Zorc turns and sees Bakura staring at him in shock. “Hi, Bakura!” Zorc replies, giving him a cheerful wave. Then he sees Marik and his face clouds over. “Oh, is this the villain you replaced me with?”

Bakura tries to reassure him by saying “Zorc, no one could replace you!” but he’s cut off by Marik.

“DAMN STRAIGHT I’m the villain he replaced you with! And now we’re going to beat your lame-ass ‘destroying the world’ thing with our friggin’ AWESOME gymnastics routine!”

“We’ll just see about that!” Zorc says, but his attempt at being macho falls apart when his voice cracks.

“Zorc, are…are you okay?” Bakura asks.

“I’m fine!” Zorc answers. He wipes his eyes discreetly. “Um, my allergies are acting up. I must go!” He runs away, sniffling.

“Wow, and you think I’m ridiculous!” Marik remarks.

Bakura sighs. “Marik, I used to be very close to Zorc. I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to antagonize him.”

Marik doesn’t hear him. “Ooh! Look! There’s a giant starfish!” He runs over to the starfish, only to find that it’s Yugi Moto. “Wait, this isn’t a giant starfish, it’s a midget anime protagonist!”

“Wait, is that Marik Ishtar?” Yugi asks a blond guy with a vacant expression standing next to him.

“Marik? Bakura? Wha are youse doin heah?” Joey Wheeler asks with an excessively Brooklyn accent.

“We’re competing, duh! What are you two doing for your routine?” Marik answers.

“We’re going to play a children’s card game!” Yugi says.

Bakura raises his eyebrows. “You do realize you only have five minutes, right?”

“Shit! I thought we had five hours!”

“Yuge, wha are we gonna do?” Joey asks.

“Lose to us, that’s what you’re going to do!” Marik says gleefully.

Just then, a crew member appears. “Yugi Moto and Joey Wheeler? It’s your turn.”

“Aw man!” Joey and Yugi follow the cast member onto the stage.

“Well, that’s one less group to worry about.” Bakura remarks. “Everyone knows children’s card games are the least interesting thing in the world.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” Marik agrees. “Who would ever want to watch a TV show about card games?”

* * *

Bakura leans against the wall impatiently, arms crossed, as yet another group goes on stage. “Marik, are we seriously going to do the routine?”

“Uh, heck yeah!” Marik says, clicking his heels together in excitement. Bakura silently admires the side view of Marik’s profile. He’s quite attractive when he isn’t spouting his regular gibberish, Bakura thinks to himself. Then he realizes what he just thought and shakes his head to drive the thought away.

The crew member from before walks into the room. “Marik Ishtar and…Kitty?” she calls out.

Any affection Bakura had felt a moment ago completely vanishes. “Marik! I cannot believe you told them my name is-”

“EEEEEEEE!” Marik shrieks drown out Bakura’s protests. “Let’s go, Kura!”

The two of them follow the crew member onto the stage. The curtains are drawn and it is so dark Bakura can barely make out Marik’s outline. “Good luck!” the crew member whispers to them before disappearing into the wings. Marik and Bakura stand side-by-side, waiting for the curtains to open.

The first notes of “Never Gonna Give You Up” ring out through the loudspeakers. Bakura takes a deep breath and mentally prepares himself. To his surprise, Marik reaches over and gives his hand a short squeeze right as the curtains fly open. Bakura looks down in shock and opens his mouth to say something, but Marik has already started moonwalking to the funky 80’s beat. Bakura clumsily follows suit.

“IIIIIIIII, just wanna tell you how I’m feeling!” What AM I feeling? Bakura wonders. What even ARE feelings? Why am I thinking about this? “NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP! NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN!” Bakura and Marik do side-by-side somersaults. Even after he’s right-side up again, Bakura’s head still feels like it’s spinning.

“NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND, DESERT YOU!” Marik and Bakura start leapfrogging across the stage. Bakura knows that they must look like total idiots, but he’s too distracted to care about that.

“Your heart’s been aching, but, you’re too shyyyy to say it!” When they came up with the routine, this was the part where Marik lifted Bakura up to do a spin with him. But Bakura’s mind was still reeling from the hand squeeze, so when Marik grabbed him around the waist, Bakura automatically jumps back and ends up falling off the stage.

“Damn it!” Bakura yells as he bangs his head on the thin carpeting that provides no cushion against the cement floor beneath.

“No!” Marik looks around frantically, trying to figure out what to do. “Erm, this is part of the routine!” he says to the audience. He thinks for a second, then strikes a pose like an Olympic diver.

Bakura sits up, his head throbbing. “What are you-” his question is answered when Marik dives off the stage and lands on top of Bakura, knocking the air out of both of them. “GET OFF!” Bakura shoves Marik off, and Marik rolls over. “What the bloody hell was that for?!”

“I didn’t mean to land on you!” Marik says defensively as Rick Astley continues pledging his undying love in an iconic 80’s anthem. “I panicked and couldn’t aim right!”

“Why did you dive off the stage to begin with?”

“I don’t know! It seemed like a good idea at the time!”

“How could that possibly seem like a good idea?!” Bakura hisses as he rubs the back of his aching head.

“I wanted to make it look like it all was part of the routine!”

“Yes, because me falling off the stage definitely looked like part of the routine!”

“Well, I needed to do something!”

“And you thought jumping off the stage and landing on top of me was the best course of action?”

“I’m sorry, okay! It’s hard for me to think straight around you!”

Bakura pauses, taken aback. “…What?”

Just then, the buzzer goes off, signaling that their time has ended. They both look up in surprise, having almost forgotten that they were in a competition. The audience erupts into laughter and cheers, surprising them even more.

“Are they…cheering for us?” Bakura asks as the two of them awkwardly get up off the floor.

The announcer walks on stage, clapping his hands. “That was Marik Ishtar and Kitty with their amazing comedy routine! Let’s see what the next group has planned for us!” The audience cheers some more as a pair of crew members guide Bakura and Marik out into the hall.

“Wow, the audience really liked you two!” One of the crew members remark as they push open a set of double doors.

“We’ll see who’s eliminated in about half an hour, but I have a feeling you guys won’t have to worry about that for this week.” The other crew member says. They lead Marik and Bakura to the exit, then walk back to the set.

Bakura turns to Marik, speechless. I don’t know whether to laugh my ass off or punch him in the face. “That was…the absolute worst…shit show…I have ever seen.”

Marik grins, completely oblivious to what Bakura just said. “See, I told you it would be friggin’ awesome!”

* * *

A couple hours later, Marik sits on the edge of his bed, reading a copy of the National Enquirer, except this story is in Japan so it’s whatever trashy tabloid they have there. Bakura is sleeping in the other bed. As soon as they got back to their hotel room, Bakura had claimed that he needed a nap to recover from the day’s events.

Marik felt a pang of guilt as he remembered that he had probably hurt Bakura when he dived off the stage. He hadn’t planned on doing that, he just…. well, actually, he never really planned on doing anything. He was the exact opposite of Bakura, who insisted on always having a plan. He was even willing to wait thousands of years to get his revenge on the Pharaoh in order to ensure his plan was perfect. Unlike Marik, who was 16 and couldn’t imagine another month without bringing justice to the Pharaoh.

Marik throws his tabloid to the side and sighs. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Bakura chose to stay with him. Granted, he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, but that was because he was sure that there was no reason. In the deep, dark recesses of his mind he was certain that Bakura was only putting up with him for entertainment purposes, and as soon as he started getting bored he would hit the highway.

Bakura rolls over in his sleep and nestles his head into his pillow. Marik watches him for a few minutes. Without his usual scowl, Bakura looks a lot nicer, even peaceful. He really does look like a kitten now, Marik can’t help but think. He feels an urge to reach out and tousle Bakura’s hair, but he restrains himself. If only he had restrained himself earlier today. Why did I squeeze his hand? Marik thinks, mentally kicking himself. I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t want to make things weird. I can’t ruin this relationship.

Tapping Rodrick against his thigh, Marik decides to get his act together. Maybe if I start acting serious, Bakura won’t get sick of me, and he won’t leave. Picking his tabloid back up, he makes a resolution: No more impulsivity. No more singing. And no more eating plane tickets.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Bakura can’t help but notice a difference in Marik. Instead of being his usual excitable, bubbly, annoying self, he seems more reserved. Almost…sad.

Did I hurt his feelings? Bakura wonders as they wait for their turn on the week’s episode of Applause. But I didn’t do anything! He glances at Marik out of the corner of his eye. Maybe that’s the problem, a voice in his head says.

Bakura shakes his head and exhales sharply. You know what, who cares? Not me. I have better things to do than worry about Marik’s delicate little feelings getting hurt.

“Are you ready?” Marik asks, interrupting Bakura’s thought.

“Yes.” He replies.

“Good.” An awkward silence ensues. Bakura almost misses Marik’s endless chatter. Ask him what’s wrong, the voice in the back of his head says.

Shut up, Bakura responds, then realizes that he’s telling himself to shut up. I’m going mad, that’s it. That’s why I’m actually caring about Marik. That’s the only reason.

* * *

Their magic show goes off without a hitch, Marik using Rodrick and Bakura using the Ring to hypnotize people. Just like their past few acts, it lacks the personality of their gymnastics routine, but still gets them enough applause to make it to the next week.

Once again, two crew members escort them outside. “Congrats! You guys have almost made it to the finals!” one of them says.

“Thanks.” Marik replies simply.

“Can’t wait to see the acts next week,” the other one says. “I think you guys have a real shot.”

Bakura and Marik wait in the hallway to hear the results. Bakura simultaneously feels like he needs to say something and like saying anything would just make it more awkward. So instead, he compromises by opening his mouth every few minutes, hesitating, and shutting it again.

Marik seems unbothered by the silence, not noticing Bakura’s extreme discomfort. Finally, the TV screen on the wall flickers to life and the announce appears on stage.

“You’re watching Applause, and it’s down to the wire! Three groups remain. $250,000 up for grabs. And one question-”

The audience chants along with him. “WHO! WILL! WIN!”

“The results are in, and the groups going on to the finals are…” he pauses from drama, then shouts “THE KAIBA BROTHERS AND MARIK ISHTAR AND KITTY!” the audience goes wild as Bakura sighs with relief, not even caring about being called Kitty. “This means that Zorc Necrophades, you are going home!”

“NOOOO!” A shout is heard from down the hall. Bakura looks over and sees Zorc running out of the building, sobbing.

“Well, we made it to the finals.” Marik remarks emotionlessly.

“Yeah,” Bakura says, feeling a pang for Zorc. He seems really upset, he thinks, then scolds himself for being such a sap. First Marik, now Zorc. Next thing you know, you’re going to start caring about Ryou! (jk no one cares about Ryou)

Marik turns toward the door. “I guess we should head back to the hotel.”

“Okay.” Bakura follows dutifully behind Marik as he opens the door and steps outside. Zorc sits on the ground next to a trashcan, sniffling. Marik walks towards their obligatory anime motorcycles, completely ignoring Zorc, but Bakura pauses. “Um, Marik? I think maybe I should talk to Zorc. You know, to try and cheer him up a little.”

Marik stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “Sure, whatever.” Bakura starts heading towards Zorc, but before he’s out of earshot he hears Marik mutter “Might as well just go and stay with Zorc.”

Bakura turns back around and glares at Marik’s back. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Bakura glowers, finally feeling fed-up with Marik’s recent passive-aggressiveness. “Well, it must mean something, that’s why you said it.”

Marik spins around, a scowl on his face. “Fine! It’s just that obviously, you care more about Zorc than you do about me, so you might as well stay with him!”

That’s not true! Bakura thinks, but the words get jumbled up on their way from his brain to his mouth so he ends up saying “Marik, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that clear.” With his face contorted in anger, Marik looks older, more mature. Just a few weeks ago, Bakura would’ve given anything for Marik to stop being so immature, but now he just wants to go back to how things were before.

But it’s too late for that.

“Well, we wouldn’t even be here right now if you hadn’t eaten our tickets!” Bakura snarls.

“At least I care enough to try and fix things when I mess up! At least I give half a shit about other people!”

“Do you want a bloody medal?” Bakura asks sarcastically.

The old Marik would’ve probably thought he was being serious and said yes, but this new Marik just clenches his hand into a fist and explodes. “No, I don’t! What I want is for you to admit that you don’t care about anyone but yourself. That you use people and throw them aside when you’re done. I would’ve followed you to the ends of the Earth, but you wouldn’t even follow me down the street if you thought there was half a chance of a better option.”

Bakura stands there, mouth hanging open, too shocked at this show of emotion to respond. Marik doesn’t wait for his answer. He jabs his thumb in the direction of Zorc. “Go ahead, prove me right. Go with Zorc.” He says, almost daring Bakura.

“I-” Bakura starts to say, but Marik has his jaw set the way he always does when he makes up his mind.

“I said go,” he insists. “You’re going to leave sooner or later, so you might as well do it now.”

Bakura stands there for a moment, wanting to say something but also bristling at what Marik said. Marik stares at him, his chest rising and sinking rapidly from his barely-controlled anger. Bakura’s mind races, trying to decide what he do. He wants to say something to make things go back to how they were before, but he also wants to never see Marik again, but he also doesn’t want to prove Marik right.

In the end, his pride wins out. Bakura grits his teeth and walks over to Zorc.

“Bakura?” Zorc says in confusion, lifting his head.

“Hey, Zorc,” Bakura resists the urge to turn around and see Marik’s reaction. “Sorry you got kicked off the show.”

“I can’t believe I lost!” Zorc starts crying again. Bakura sighs mentally.

“Listen, I was thinking. How would you like to help me destroy the Pharaoh? It could be just like old times.” Bakura offers.

Zorc’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I thought you found a new villain!”

Bakura’s face is stone-like, showing no emotion. “It didn’t work out. So is your answer a yes or a no?”

Zorc wipes his eyes. “Yes!”

“Great.” Bakura thinks a moment, realizing something. “Wait, you’re a dragon, right?”

“Actually, I’m an evil demon with horns and bat wings and-”

“Okay, yeah, so you’re another one of the Godforsaken, nightmarish creatures from a children’s card game,” Bakura interrupts. “But you have wings, so you can fly, right?” Zorc nods. “Could you fly me to Egypt so we can destroy the Pharaoh?”

“Yay!” Zorc jumps up and claps his hands in excitement. “I love destroying things!”

“I know you do,” Bakura mutters. Zorc kneels as Bakura climbs onto his back. With a mighty roar, Zorc takes off. Bakura looks down as the distance between him and the ground grows. He catches a glimpse of Marik looking up at him without any emotion before he can no longer make out anything on the ground. Bakura squares his shoulder and looks forward, determined to not waste any more time thinking about Marik.

As the wind rushes by his ears, blowing his hair back, one last memory of Marik comes back. It’s of him singing a line from that song in the shower, way back before everything went to shit.

And if I’m flying solo,

At least I’m flying free.

* * *

Zorc crash lands a few hours later in the middle of Egypt, causing Bakura to roll off his back and faceplant into a pile of sand. He lifts his head up, coughing up silt, and takes in his surroundings. Thanks to the heart of the cards and extremely lazy plot writing, they had managed to go back in time to either 3,000 years ago or 5,000 years ago, depending on whether you believe 4Kids’ lies or not.

Bakura stands up, brushing the sand off his knees. He looks straight ahead and sees a giant palace. “There it is, Zorc.”

“Denny’s? Are we getting pancakes?” Zorc asks.

“No! The Pharaoh’s palace.” Bakura feels a pang as he thinks about how Marik probably would’ve asked a stupid question like that. He grits his teeth and sets off toward the palace. Zorc follows him, making little idiotic comments about their surroundings.

“Look, there are some oranges for sale! I love oranges! Ooh, a cat! Hey, that person’s lying on the ground. Aww, they’re giving him a blanket! Wait, why are they covering his face with it?”

“Because he’s dead,” Bakura answers, trying not to think about how Zorc’s childlike ignorance is exactly like someone else’s.

You really have a type, he thinks to himself. People who are stupid and act half their age. He sees Zorc’s strange character design and corrects himself. Okay, maybe ‘people’ is the wrong word. Things that are stupid and act half their age.

They tramp through the sand for a while, walking past all the poverty and disease. Finally, they reach the entrance to the palace.

“Halt!” a guard standing to the left of the entrance declares. “Who goes th-”

“Zorc!” Bakura calls. Zorc opens his mouth and lets loose a jet of fire that burns the guard into a pile of ashes. The guard on the right stares in horror. “This is bloody convenient,” Bakura remarks.

They walk into through the palace, Zorc blasting anyone who even looks at them. Reaching the throne room, Bakura flings the door open. Everyone in the room turns and stares at them.

Atem lets out a heavy sigh. “Greaaaaat, this guy again!”

Bakura steps forward. “I have come to bring you to justice, Pharaoh!”

“You say that, like, every day, but you never do.” Atem points out.

“Well, this time is different!” Bakura shoots back.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Are you at least going to tell me what the hell I did?” Atem asks. “I mean, besides being ten times more handsome than you. That I will take full blame for.”

“You are most certainly not-” Bakura shakes his head. Stay focused, you’re so close! “You know what you did!

“No, I don’t.

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yes, you do!”

“Dude, it took me thousands of years to remember my damn name, I don’t remember what I did to some random guy who somehow has a British accent despite being born in Ancient Egypt.”

“You destroyed my village to make the Millennium Items!”

Atem blinks. “No, that was my father.”

“Yeah, right!”

“It really was.” Mahad chimes in.

“Yeah, he’s telling the truth.” Shada confirms.

“Oh.” Bakura sucks his teeth. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Yeah, it is.” Atem agrees.

Bakura thinks for a second. “Well, you’re his son, so I might as well kill you. I mean, I came all the way to Ancient Egypt, I deserve to kill someone.”

“Uh, Seto’s right here, he’ll be glad to sacrifice himself for his pharaoh.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Seto, don’t be a little bitch. I’m too beautiful to die.”

“You already died!”

Bakura cuts in. “It wasn’t his father who massacred everyone I love!”

“It actually was.” Atem says. The court nods and murmur in assent.

“Okay, fine, I’ll just kill everyone here!” Bakura raises the Ring, preparing to finally, finally get his revenge.

“WAIT!” Atem raises his hand dramatically. “Sure, he destroyed your town. BUT! He didn’t destroy everyone you love.”

“Whatchu talking ‘bout, Pharoah?” Bakura asks, still holding the Ring aloft.

“I’m talking about Marik.”

Bakura looks like Atem just slapped him. “What? You- No- I don’t love Marik!”

“Don’t you?” Atem asks knowingly.

“Urgh…This has nothing to do with you or your father!” Bakura yells.

“Oh, I think it does. You see, if he had never made the Millennium Items, your soul would’ve never been put in the Ring. You never would’ve lived 5,000 years from now-”

“3,000, your majesty.” Shimon corrects.

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you never would’ve met Marik. And you never would’ve fallen in love.”

Bakura stands there, stunned. It almost like he’s flying again, as he can practically hear the air whooshing by his ears as his world turns upside down. He stares at Atem, an easy target, but…he doesn’t want to kill him. For the first time in forever, he doesn’t want revenge. And if something as crazy as him forgiving the Pharaoh can happen, then is it really that much of a stretch to believe that he could fall in love with Marik?

“I…” Bakura starts. He takes a deep breath and says something he never thought he would ever say. “Thank you, Atem. For helping me realize the truth.”

Atem smiles and nods. “Go to him, Bakura.”

Bakura’s heart starts pounding as he realizes what he must do. “Zorc! We need to go back!” He turns and runs out of the palace, Zorc following him, confused.

“Ha! Can you believe that loser fell for that bullshit?” Atem snorts. “He’s probably going to start using Kuriboh and giving speeches about friendship.”

* * *

Due to complications from traveling through time and for the sake of drama, Bakura and Zorc make it back to modern times the same day as the Applause finals.

“Zorc, I’m sorry, but I have to go to Marik.” Bakura says, sliding off of Zorc’s back.

“Are we still going to destroy the world later?” Zorc asks hopefully.

“I don’t-” Bakura pauses and decides to throw Zorc a bone. “Sure, Zorc.”

“Goody!” Zorc claps as Bakura sprints into the building. He can hear the announcer as he races through the hall.

“Today’s the day everyone’s been waiting for: the Applause finals! It all comes down to this- The Kaiba brothers versus Marik Ishtar and Kit-” the announcer pauses as a crew member whispers something in his ear. “Er, just Marik Ishtar.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, without further ado, let’s get started!”

The audience roars as Bakura bursts into the room. He spots a serious-looking Marik walking onstage, holding a microphone. Bakura looks around as the opening notes of a song starts. Seeing some steps leading to backstage, Bakura heads towards them. Marik starts singing.

“Don’t breathe too deep, don’t think all day…”

Backstage, Bakura impatiently waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Looking around frantically, he finally spots a microphone. He grabs it just as he hears Marik launch into the chorus. Marik has sung this song so often that Bakura unintentionally memorized it. He waits right behind the curtain for a moment, heart pounding, as he waits for the second verse to start.

“…You’re what you own!”

Bakura flings open the curtain and raises the microphone to his mouth. “The filmmaker cannot see!”

Marik looks over, eyes widening in shock, but he manages to continue with the next line. “And the songwriter cannot hear…”

Bakura walks towards him, singing the next part. Marik turns and faces him as they perform a clichéd romantic duet. “For once, the shadows gave way to liiiight…for once, I didn’t disengaaaage!”

Marik faces the audience during the last chorus, arms flung open wide as he sings with his old passion. Bakura smiles and turns toward the audience too. “You’re not aloooone… I’m not alooooone!”

The song finishes, but there still is a little bit of time before their five minutes are up. Bakura takes a deep breath and lifts the microphone back up to his mouth. His palms are so sweaty that he has to grip the microphone with both hands, lest he drop it. “Marik…there’s something I need to tell you.”

Marik turns and looks at him, wary. The audience all lean forward in their chairs, eager to hear whatever it is. Bakura closes his eyes for a second, gathers his courage, then opens them. “Marik…I love you.”

A collective gasp is heard just as the buzzer goes off. The crowd reaches a frenzy, people shouting and hugging each other and dabbing at their eyes from the beauty of it all. Marik stares at Bakura in shock for a moment, and then a smile slowly spreads its way across his face. He engulfs Bakura in a great bear hug. Bakura, heart still racing, lifts his arms and hugs Marik back. Even though he had never hugged Marik before, it felt…right. It felt like home. And not home like the village that had been destroyed. It felt like a home that would last forever.

* * *

An hour later, Bakura and Marik are at a club for the show’s afterparty.

“I can’t believe we fucking lost,” Marik says, taking a swig from his drink.

“Yeah, apparently Seto Kaiba flinging fistfuls of cash to the audience is a bigger crowd-pleaser than a heartfelt confession of love.” Bakura remarks.

Marik looks down. “Bakura…did you say what you said just because you thought it would make us win?”

Bakura touches his arm. “No, I meant it. I didn’t care about winning.”

Marik looks up again. “But what about the money? What about getting our revenge?”

Bakura swirls his drink around. “Yeah, about that…maybe we should hold off on our whole revenge plan. Besides, the money isn’t an issue. Remember when you first told me you ate our tickets, and I left for a couple of hours?”

“Yeah.” Marik nods.

“Well, I went and mugged a couple people and got a few thousand then. They call me the Thief King for a reason.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me then? Why did you agree to go on the show?”

Now Bakura looks down, embarrassed. “You seemed so excited about it. I couldn’t tell you no.”

Marik grins widely. “Bakura! You’re such a softy!”

Bakura’s head snaps up. “I am not!” he protests, offended. He opens his mouth to tell Marik how he is the exact opposite of a softy, thankyouverymuch, when he hears the start of yet another song that’s on regular rotation in Marik’s repertoire. “Marik. Did you go to a club and request a bloody Broadway song?”

“Yep!” Marik smiles.

“You are…”

“A bloody idiot?”

“Yes. But at least you’re my bloody idiot.”

Marik laughs. “Bakura, I love you.” He says simply, catching Bakura off-guard.

“Oh, uh, well, thanks…”

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say it back.”

“I already said it!”

“You can say it again.”

“Why don’t you say it again?”

“I just said it!”

“Well, so did I.”

“Well, at least I’m not British!”

“Well, at least I didn’t eat our tickets!”

“Well, at least I’m not a softy!

“Hey!” Bakura opens his mouth to argue, but Marik holds out his hand.

“Come on, let’s dance!”

Bakura smiles, takes his hand, and they start dancing to Marik’s song.

And a strange thing, your life could end up changing,

While you’re dancing through!

#datacow'scontest #tbh this was a ton of fun #kinda had to rush bc i have a terrible addiction to procrastination #but i got it done #idk why but i put some broadway references in here #marik strikes me as a broadway person #i'm starting to doubt that i will ever be able to write a serious story #oh well #yugioh #thiefshipping

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