#He will glare at you if you suggest powdered cocoa though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nebraska-is-a-myth · 3 years

Text

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ERET

In commemoration of one of my favorite streamers birthday, I wrote this lil angst one shot of my own take on Erets de-thronement. I have added some of my own headcannons to this, and if anyone wants me to make a separate post explaining those, I would be happy to. Hope everyone is having a wonderful day on this grand January 9th, long live the king!

Eret has been staring at the message on his communicator for a while now. He fiddles with the cool metal absentmindedly in his shaking hands, he never did do well with nerves. They try to focus on the sound of the peaceful world around them. He hears birds chirping and gliding along in the wind that tussles Erets growing hair. The breeze grounds him for a moment, before past thoughts drag him back into his own desolate thoughts.

They haven't been this lost since the last l’manburg war.

Tensions are so incredibly high wherever they went, Shlatt was angry, Tubbo was stressed, and Fundy was… Fundy was too caught up in whatever secret mission that wasn't so secret to talk to Eret lately. Her stomach churns, vomiting is less than ideal right now, she doesn't want to smell of bile when she inevitably has to return to her castle.

Eret glances down at the glowing city below them, the rubble where the walls used to be reminds them of a simpler time, when they would stay up into the cool hours of the morning laying bricks with Fundy and Niki, drinking hot cocoa from steaming mugs that would fog up their glasses and make them laugh. He misses the smell of cocoa, he hasn't been able to travel to the jungle lately to get more beans, what with all the war preparations and the construction of his castle. But the thought of drinking cocoa alone makes her feel rather lonely. She remembers when Tommy had tried to make a cup of it himself, but it ended up just being a powdered marshmallowy mess. Eret had laughed as Tommy was convinced that he could make the drink himself, but Eret saw the way the teens eyes gleamed when Eret had handed him a mug filled to the brim with warm chocolate and a few too many marshmallows. Tommy came to them for hot cocoa most nights after that. (He wonders if the blond had learnt to make it by himself now?)

It makes him sad to think about the good times he had within those long forgotten walls, the comforting touches and warm whispers passed in the night, even as threats of war loomed closer. He craved so desperately to have those things again. Touch was something Eret had always found would soothe their anxieties. It never mattered what it was, a hug or a soft shoulder bump, knowing someone was there that wanted to touch him, wanted to help him feel safe, always made his heart swell.

She hadn't felt safe in quite some time.

She wipes a rogue tear from her face when she feels her communicator vibrate in her palm.

Dream wants to meet, and it sounds urgent.

Eret takes a long deep inhale and holds it for a second. They look down upon a nation that once welcomed them with open arms, and remembers the way it shunned them and shot them down time and time again. No matter how many times they tried to offer kindness and comfort after the flames of the war started to simmer, they were always confronted with fists and glares of hatred. Maybe he deserved it, maybe he deserved worse.

Eret lets out a deflated breath.

Time to go see Dream.

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

The throne room is chilled with the crisp morning air, the hairs on Erets arms stick up, and he uses his cape to secure some form of warmth while he can. Eret composes himself when Dream abruptly bursts through the castle doors and Eret moves slowly to correct his posture. Dream stalks up to the bottom of the throne and bows subtly before him. “Your highness.”

Eret holds back the urge to roll their eyes.

“What brings you and your men here dream.”

Sapnap, George and Punz stand at attention, swords latched in their holsters and shields dropped to their sides. Their nonchalant postures put Eret on edge, she tries to keep her facial expressions indifferent however.

“Tell me Eret, do you enjoy being king.”

Dreams porcelain mask stairs up at him, the way it smiles had always unnerved him, although he’d never tell the man himself.

“It has its perks.”

And really, they weren't lying. Eret enjoyed being king, it was nice to know that he was more than the little common boy he was raised as. But the hatred that came with being a monarch was definitely not something to be desired.

“Of course of course.” Dream stops his sentence to tilt his head slightly. Piss off already Eret though. “You've got this big castle, a cushy throne.-

-But what do you actually do.”

Eret keeps their mouth shut, better to lead Dream ride out this monologue than interrupt and drag out this conversation for more than was necessary.

“Nothing, you do nothing! And that okay I get it, I'm not judging. In fact that's exactly what I want you to do.”

There is a sinister tone hidden beneath that mask of his, she knows that there is a point to all of this, but what it is Eret can't quite place her finger on.

“Kings are supposed to stay neutral after all, not get involved… wouldn't you agree Eret?”

“Actually I-”

Dream cut him off, okay, no talking. Got it.

“And if you want it to stay that way- I suggest that this little war doesn't get any royal intervention.”

Eret pauses. “I don't quite understand what you're suggesting Dream.”

“What I'm suggesting is that you may be royalty in this realm, but what does it actually give you? Does it give you power? Does it give you respect? No. I do.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think you have jurisdiction here Eret when in reality, you have nothing. You hide behind these walls and that crown because you think they can protect you. Well let me be the one to remind you that the only thing protecting you is my axe, and my shield.”

Eret remains speechless for a moment.

“The respect of the people-”

“The respect of the people means nothing Eret, when it's the only thing protecting you from a knife in your back. Am I wrong?”

Is he wrong?

“I may not have strength in numbers but that does not make me helpless Dream. I am not an obedient little dog for you to order around as you like.”

“I beg to differ my lord.”

“If that is what you believe Dream, then I can assure you my bite is far worse than my bark.” Eret can almost picture the smile on Dream's face as he talks, and if it were not for the severity of the situation, Eret would have mocked him for hiding behind that white mask of his.

“Lets keep this civil shall we. All I'm suggesting is that whatever is going on between pogtopia and l’manburg, you, as a representative of Dream smp, take no part in it. And when all of this is over, hopefully there will be neither, and you can expand your kingdom further. Doesn't that sound grand?”

“So your plan is to let them kill each other and then reap the benefits?”

“My plan Eret, is that there is no manburg, there is no pogtopia. There is only Dream smp, and that's been my plan since the beginning Eret. I have been very open about that, I have never been secretive about my goals. It's why I had you betray L’manburg, and it's why I made you king.”

“-And you're not a vengeful person, are you Eret, you don't hold grudges, you're neutral and that's what I like about you. It's what makes you an excellent king. You sit there, and you look pretty and that is.”

Erets blood boiled, how dare dream come into his castle that he built and tell him that he does nothing. Nothing! Eret has done more for this kingdom than Dream has ever done, and now he is being made a mockery of. Eret wants to stain that white mask red.

“Do you remember when you first became king Eret, when we made that little crown there mean something. Do you remember when we put a chain of command in place.”

“I am aware.”

“Do you remember who we decided was secon-”

Eret uncrosses his legs abruptly, his shoes making a rather loud bang as they hit the floor.

“I've had enough of this dream.”

He leans forward on his throne and interlocks his fingers, it felt good to be able to look down on dream.

“Get to the point or I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

Dream lets out a small breath that seems to resemble a laugh and takes a step back from the throne.

“I get it you're a busy man. So I am going to give you an ultimatum. Either you remain indifferent in this little war that's going on, or Gorge here gets that pretty little crown of yours.”

George? Of all the people he could have given power to, he chose George? Sure George was easy for dream to control and manipulate, but the people would see right through that. They wouldn't respect someone like George. Especially after all Eret had done to build up a community and a kingdom the people were proud of. Sure maybe he had less allies than George does, but that won't buy him respect from the citizens. It almost made Eret laugh at such a reckless decision, Dream was so eager to manipulate and control Eret that he barely even thought about the consequences that came if Eret refused to comply. George didn't have the guts to be king, even now standing in Erets castle he looked small. He didn’t control the room like a king had to do, he blended in, tried not to stand out. George wanted to disappear and go unnoticed, a king had to be at the center of everyone's attention to be able to establish even the slightest bit of respect. But George couldn't do any of that, by the looks of it, George could barely hold his sword.

“And if I decline?”

“Did you not hear the part where George takes your place.”

“Yes I heard perfectly fine all about your brilliant idea to make George king. I meant, what if I decline both of your options.”

“I’m afraid you wouldn't want to find out your highness.”

Eret, clearly annoyed at this point, rose from her throne, making her way over to dream with quick, towering strides. She holds her hands behind her back, standing up tall and straight, a stance that came with being king. Eret leans slowly with a smile sneaking onto their face, close enough to whisper into Dreams ear.

“Try me.”

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

It all happens in a flash, but some part of Eret knows that he is letting this happen. He feels hands on him and someone forcing him to walk forward, almost dragging him. He registers that Dream is talking, but honestly, he doesn't know if he really cares enough to listen to the green man. Eret really is just dragging this out for the theatrics now. The hands dragging him stop just before the castle doors and they wait for dream to come into view and stand in front of him.

“I'm going to have to ask you to take off your crown now Eret.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that Dream.”

I mean he could, he really could. But where's the fun in that.

“It wasn't a request, Eret.”

“Shame really.”

What Eret would give to see Dreams expression right now, she can almost picture his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Eret I-”

The ground rumbles beneath them, Dream tries to ignore it but in Erets mind they know his heart skipped a beat.

“Dream I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

Dream draws his sword now, and his goons appear to mimic this action, anger clearly showing in the way his stance has changed.

“I’m afraid I can't do that Eret.”

Dream thinks he’s witty, using Erets words against her.

But two can play at that game.

“It wasn't really a request.”

There had been stories told throughout the smp as to why Eret wore his glasses, some speculated that he had embarrassing face deformities (Tommy) others though he had just spent so much time underground that direct sunlight hurt his eyes (Fundy). Someone, a long time ago, had known the truth, but that person no longer cared enough to remember why Eret was always so shy around them. Why they took the most care in making sure her glasses were pushed right up to the brim around them. Why they hesitated to talk around them. No one knew the truth, and even now, as Erets eyes glow brighter than the void, no one will really believe why Erets eyes resembled that of Herobines.

The Dream team's legs shake as the ground rumbles once again. They lower their swords and their jaws as Erets feet separate themselves from the floor, blocks detach themselves from each other and rise above their heads. Sapnap feels like he’s living in one of the old fables his mother used to tell him about monsters and evil spirits, except this wasn't a fable. This was real. Erets cape flows in the wind he’s creating, it pushes George's hair out of his face and the shiver that makes it way up his spine makes him clutch onto Dream's green sleeve without thinking. He never really was the best at subduing his emotions.

Eret lets this horrific smirk paint its way onto his face, its smug and terrifying to look at because, He could do this? All this time?

They could levitate and rip blocks from their place and make them fly just like they could. Surely this was just a hack, some broken code in the server. But Dream checked that regularly, especially after he found Tubbo tampering with it. There were no cheat codes, no secret binary that could allow Eret to do this. Dream was dumbfounded, but mostly, he was terrified. As if they were walking on a floating surface, Eret makes their way over to dream. The latter raises his sword in defense, but Erets simply grasps the blade and shatters it over his knee as if it were a twig. Purple fragments fall to the floor like splinters, years of hard work and perfection gone in a simple movement. Erets hand does not bleed, at least not from what Dream can see. The sharpness enchantments had done nothing to the man's skin except gather magic particles underneath his fingernails. Eret bent down slowly, staring at Dreams white porcelain mask with a smile. She planted a small kiss in the center of it before tilting her head to the side and bringing a hand up to make a little wave motion.

“Bye bye Dream.”

A sudden gust of wind flings the grand castle doors open and a force Dream had never felt before starts to push at his limbs for a moment, the intensity of the force almost makes his legs cripple beneath him. But before his legs give out, the feeling vanishes just as quickly as it came. George braces for the next impact, but he finds that it never comes. He lifts his arms from around his head, and glances up through his goggles and lets out a gasp as the figures before him come into view.

Erets' chest has become incredibly tight, the pressure forces them to drop to their knees, the weight of their own body becoming too much to handle. Eret coughs and splutters and he feels like he's suffocating unit… oh. There is blood dripping from his mouth onto the cool floorboards of his castle, the liquid leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He spits at the floor and is greeted with an unbearable pain in his midsection. God it hurt, so much. Erets shudders and lets a painful wheeze escape her lips, the pain was nothing like she had felt before, it made her want to cry out and scream in agony. But only muffled gasps of air came out. Oh god is she dying? Eret tucks his head into his neck and sends his golden crown clatering to the floor. It rolls into the pool of blood collecting on the newly polished wooden floor, and soon the gold is replaced with crimson red. The ringing in her ears has spiraled into muffled laughter.

“Oh how the mighty fall.” Eret feels the vibrations of Dreams footprints before they can bring themselves to strain their neck to look at the masked man. Dreams foot comes into view first, it stops just short of the blood and Eret thinks Dream is going to kick him for a second. But no, the green man raises his foot and stomps it down on the precious metal item, shattering it with a horrifying crack. It would be enough to make Eret cry on its own. Suddenly Eret feels fingers brushing through the curls on the top of his head and with a painful yank, Eret is pulled up into a half kneel, spluttering in pain as he comes face to face with dream.

“Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes.” Eret winces as dream keeps a painful hold on his hair. Whatever is causing the pain in his midsection moves violently as Eret breaths, it makes his chest burn and the blood in his throat come spluttering out. “I have to say though, I was right when I called you pretty.” Blood and tears pool at the base of Erets chin and he wants so badly to spit it out all over Dream’s pristinely polished white mask, but the thought of even moving on his own sends a ripple of pain through his body. “Pretty fucking pathetic.” Dream pulls at his hair harder and Erets legs are so close to giving out, he's only held up on his knees and the pressure of dreams hand in his hair. “You really thought you could better me, you thought you could beat me like the hero you so desperately want to prove yourself to be. You're no hero Eret. Those people out there couldn't care less whether I slit your throat here today or if I dangled your corpse in the town square for everyone to see. You're alone Eret, can't you see! And whatever that was, whatever cheats you’re using aren't going to change that. I mean I don't blame people really for leaving you here in this castle to rot. Who would ever want to be near a freak like you.”

Dream drops Eret with a thud and strides away towards the rest of the dream smp soldiers and Eret curls into himself painfully. “Congratulations on the kingship George, let's go out to celebrate. Give the maids some time to take out the trash.” He hears footsteps start to trail out of the great hall and punz’s voice echoes into the room. It's hard to make out exactly what they're saying but before Eret is left to the silence of his castle, he hears dreams muffled voice past the open gates. “Leave the sword punz, let him pull it out himself.”

#happy birthday eret #eret apreciation #the eret #eret #this took so long man #might be a part two if people want it tho #long live the king #dreamwastaken #mcyt #nebraska speaks

34 notes · View notes

solalunar-eclipse · 3 years

Text

Team Dark: A Holiday Special

Chapter Three: Rouge

One | Two

Word count: 5900 words

Warning: entomophagy again (more eating bugs)

Author’s Note: I believe it’s the winter solstice today, so happy winter solstice! I heard once that there used to be a holiday around this time called Saturnalia to celebrate this solstice (way cooler than my holiday name which definitely wasn’t borrowed from a game)

Thank you to everyone who read this fic, but in particular to @maddgirlzartz, @feliner, and @teamxdark for your wonderful comments! I always love to see what people have to say about my writing, and it was great to read what you thought of this little holiday story I wrote.

...

Rouge was the first person to wake up on the third morning, which was a surprise in and of itself. Normally, Shadow or Omega would have gotten up by now, but she figured that watching movies until late last night had made both of them need some extra time in bed (or at the outlet).

The bat crawled out of bed and flapped her wings, coming to hover silently above Shadow’s bed. She watched him sleep for a moment (and briefly entertained the notion that this might be creepy before deciding it was his fault for falling asleep in a room with her). All of the stress and worry that normally lined his expression was gone right now, making him look so much younger as he lay curled up underneath a thick quilt.

She almost felt bad about what she was going to do.

Almost.

Folding her wings tightly against her back, she crashed onto Shadow’s suddenly no-longer-asleep form and screamed, “Happy Wintersday!”

Shadow gasped and flailed under the covers for a second, before realizing that it was just Rouge and they weren’t, in fact, under attack. He struggled to catch his breath, wheezing, “Why...the heck...would you...do…”

“Because it’s a holiday, hon!” she chirped, grinning wickedly down at him.

The hybrid resigned himself to being Rouge’s new bed. “...happy Wintersday.” he muttered, looking significantly less upset than he should.

Omega had powered on in a rush when Rouge had yelled, and he was now staring at the scene in front of him with something akin to resignation. “What in the name of Chaos are you two doing.” he said flatly, in a tone that suggested that he really didn’t want to know what they were doing.

“Happy Wintersday, Omega!” Rouge said brightly, deciding not to respond.

Shadow said the same, but his statement was rapidly followed by a very loud growling noise.

Omega looked slightly confused, but Shadow just sighed. “Rouge, that was you, wasn’t it.”

“What can I say, hon? It’s wintertime- time to eat!” she said a little too loudly, ignoring the spreading pink blush on her face.

“Sure.” Now it was Shadow’s turn to smirk. “You’re hungry because it’s wintertime.”

“Shut up!” she huffed, smacking his arm. “Anyway, we’re not ready for breakfast yet. I bought something for the two of you first.”

“I thought we were exchanging our presents tomorrow before the party.” Omega said skeptically.

Rouge grinned. “I know. This is something extra.”

She enjoyed their expressions of dread following this statement immensely.

…

A minute later, Rouge had dug out the crux of Operation: Festive from her suitcase, only to be met with decidedly unappreciative stares.

Omega was the first to realize what was going on. “Oh. Oh no. No way. There is a zero percent likelihood of me wearing that ever. I will not compromise my coolness.”

“What is that?” Shadow asked, using a tone that implied that he was looking at something disgusting, not Rouge’s awesome plan.

“That is what you are going to wear.” She smirked.

His eyes widened in horror. “No.”

“Come on...won’t you please just do this one thing for me?” Rouge asked, using her warmest, gentlest voice. She knew for a fact that neither of them could resist that.

Shadow trudged forward, accepting the offending item as Omega reluctantly snatched his from her hand. The bat felt just a tiny bit guilty, but not enough to make her regret this.

Specifically, buying the three of them matching ugly sweaters.

“Matching as a team can be cool, but never like this,” Omega sulked as he put his on (it had taken a miracle to get one in his size).

“It’s clashing with my stripes…” Shadow muttered unhappily.

Then they both began to glower at her, for some reason. “And yet you still manage to look decent in it somehow.” the hybrid grumbled.

Rouge glanced in the mirror. She supposed it wasn’t unflattering, per se, but it definitely didn’t complement her body type like most of the clothing she wore did.

“Come on…” she said, honestly pleading with them. “If you really hate it I won’t make you wear it, but I was looking forward to this…”

Both of them immediately looked anywhere except at her.

“I guess it’s warm enough.” Shadow conceded reluctantly.

“I will tolerate it for one day and no longer.” Omega informed her flatly.

“Yesss!” Rouge cheered, smiling brightly at them. “I so owe you guys.”

“Don’t forget it.” the robot remarked.

…

Overall, the morning was really nice- although Rouge’s family was horrified when Shadow chose to eat his hot chocolate by alternating spoonfuls of cocoa mix and drinks of boiling water instead of out of a cup like everyone else. She loved seeing her family’s reactions to the various gifts she’d brought, since she’d spent quite a bit of time picking those out. Omega was the center of attention, as always, and every child was vying for his opinion on their specific gift.

As Rouge relaxed next to the fireplace, sipping her own steaming mug of hot chocolate (with the powder and water combined, thankyouverymuch), she felt someone tap on her shoulder.

The bat turned to see her mother sitting down next to her, looking very tentative.

“Honey?” she said softly. “I know I mentioned this yesterday, but...would you ever feel comfortable telling me about how you met your friends? I’m not asking because I’m judging them,” she added quickly, holding up her hands, “I just...want to know who they are to you. And you don’t have to do it right now, either, just maybe someday?” She’d begun to rush her words out at the end, clearly feeling at least a little nervous.

“Aw, Mom, you know I’ve been having fun telling stories this whole time!” Rouge got into a more comfortable position. “Oh, but these are some of the craziest ones I have. Promise not to freak out, okay?”

“I’ll do my best…” her mother said cautiously.

Rouge took a deep breath to get started. “Alright, so, I met Shadow when he was trying to blow up the planet with a giant cannon-”

“You what?!”

“You said you wouldn’t freak out!” Rouge protested good-naturedly.

“Yes- but- a giant cannon??” her mother gasped.

“Mom, seriously.”

“Fine…”

…

Rouge was halfway through her story about “that time with Infinite” when it happened. She was leaning extremely far forward- which didn’t happen unless she was truly invested in what she was saying- and holding her mug of cocoa off to the right to keep it out of her way.

Unfortunately, to the right was exactly where the fireplace was.

And since she was wearing a dangling sweater… the end result was a lot of shrieking from both Rouge and her mother as she swatted furiously at her sleeve in an attempt to keep the fire from burning her arm.

The younger bat frowned at the end result, though, which was a very scorched and blackened sleeve that did not match the green sweater at all.

Her mother looked rather frightened at this, but Rouge assured her that it was nothing bad, she’d been through far worse- hadn’t she just said as much?

Eventually, after some more questions along the lines of “are you sure you’re alright?”, the two calmed down enough for Rouge to resume her story.

Her mother was clearly fascinated (and slightly horrified) by her tales, although she seemed particularly sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament of “I’m the only one with a brain on this team so I’m holding everything together like ninety percent of the time”.

Once she was finished, though, Lila looked at her nervously. “You won’t be too busy with all this work to come visit us...and maybe call occasionally...will you?”

Rouge smiled warmly at her mom. “No way. I love hanging out with you guys! Just because I have Shadow and Omega now doesn’t mean I’m ditching you guys- it just means more family.”

The older bat looked relieved. “That’s good to hear...I love you, sweetie. And I’m so proud of you.”

“...thanks, Mom….” Rouge said, ignoring the tight feeling in the back of her throat.

They hugged again, of course.

…

When Rouge finally caught up with her other family, though, she found an absolutely hilarious sight.

Somehow, two of her uncles and several kids had managed to wrangle Omega into allowing himself to be decorated with tinsel and lights, so he looked less like a carefully engineered machine of destruction and more like a very expensive Wintersday decoration. Shadow was hiding in a corner, meanwhile, and growling at anyone who dared to come within ten feet of him with any decorations.

Which happened to be just about everyone.

Rouge was determined to see her friends properly decorated, however- and hopefully tease them in the process. She started the process by sticking a poinsettia plant on Omega’s head and draping a strand of lights over his shoulders. He glared at her, but refused to move, likely making sure not to drop the plant on any of the various young children swarming around him. “The pot’s plastic, but you’d better not move anyway.” she warned him, earning an even more intense and furious glower in return.

After that, she rushed upstairs to grab a couple of special items, including one for her makeup kit. She’d dismissed it as unusable and too childish before, but now? Now it was perfect.

Smearing a copious amount of both items on her hands, she walked into the living room (after stopping to grab one other thing from a box just outside the door) and made a beeline for Shadow. He hissed at her, his teeth bared.

“Stop right there.” he growled menacingly.

“Come on, hon!” she protested, fighting her ‘mischief smile’ down. “Do you see any decorations in my hands?”

“No…?” Shadow answered cautiously.

She frowned just the right amount, leaning in slightly to inspect his quills. “Hang on, Shadow, you’ve got something in your quills right there…” she said, trailing off as she began to brush at his uppermost quills.

��What? What is it?” he barked, and she struggled to keep from bursting into laughter.

“There, I think I got it.” she said. “Probably just a-”

Omega interrupted her, his eyes switching to their half-moon shape. “Shadow. You have been pranked most egregiously.”

He looked shocked. “Wh-wha-?” he stammered, reaching up to touch his quills.

The bat grinned the moment his hands came away sticky with glitter gel.

“Rouge…” he snarled, a murderous gleam appearing in his eyes.

She patted him on the head once, slipping a holly sprig out of her glove and tucking it next to his ear simultaneously. His expression morphed from furious to perplexed to- when he saw his reflection in the window- straight-up deathly angry. “There you go, all festive now!” she chirped in a manner she just knew would irritate him.

Five seconds later, a scream that was very much ultrasonic rang through the house, followed by a wild-eyed bat and a hedgehog blazing with chaos energy. A faint shriek of “not the carpets!” came not long after.

Eventually, though, Shadow settled down (after cornering Rouge on top of a bookcase and attempting to climb said bookcase for revenge). He accepted that ‘okay, maybe it doesn’t look completely terrible’, and at least allowed the bat to spread the glitter around evenly.

“None of those moronic hats.” he’d snapped at Omega, who was trying to put a pointed red hat with white trim on his head. “I don’t care if they’re historical or traditional or whatever, I have heard far too many comments regarding my quills and starfishes already in my lifetime.”

Rouge cackled. “Ahah- starfish. That’s too good!”

“Don’t you start-!”

...

Not long after, though, he seemed to have made peace with his fate, as Rouge caught him curled up like a cat in front of the offending fireplace from earlier, a blanket draped over him and his eyes closed peacefully.

She didn’t really want to disturb him, but by the time she’d walked over he was already up. “What now?”

“Lunch, then the video call.” she said.

“Oh right- I nearly forgot. You did pack the presents, right?” Shadow asked her.

“That was Omega’s job.” she said, before giggling at the flash of panic that appeared on his face. “Don’t worry, I made sure they came with us.”

“You’d better. I didn’t bring a Chaos Emerald and there’s no way I’m wearing myself out with a Chaos Control for Sonic and his sunshine crew.”

Rouge snickered again. “I’m sure Knuckles and sunshine have never ever been compared before in the history of this planet- he’ll punch you out if he ever hears that.”

Shadow rolled his eyes. “Fine. I know you’re trying to be more friendly with him, so I guess I’ll be decent so your sweet-talking doesn’t fail.”

“Good!” Rouge clapped her hands together once. “I still can’t believe Sonic was so impatient he insisted we do this a day before- we’ll all be exchanging presents at the party tomorrow anyway.”

“You can’t believe Sonic was impatient?” the hybrid scoffed. “Please. He’d fail the marshmallow test every day.”

The bat hid a grin behind her hand, before walking off. “Come on. Lunch.”

Shadow grumbled something about “but I’m warm here”, but followed her anyway.

…

Later, after some frantic rushing-upstairs and fumbling with phones after lunch ran just a little bit too long, the video finally clicked on.

“Hiiii!” Sonic called brightly once they could see each other. “Happy Wintersday!”

After the various exchangings (and re-exchangings when people got mixed up) of “Happy Wintersdays”, the blue blur got right down to business.

“So. Presents.” he said, rubbing his hands together with a broad grin.

“Oh, chaos, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through just trying to keep his hands off your gift.” Tails groaned, looking tired at the very thought.”

“He wouldn’t let me touch mine!” Sonic whined.

Knuckles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Sonic, you’re not supposed to touch them. It’ll ruin the surprise. You know, he’s spent at least an hour total staring at your present today, Shadow.”

The hybrid smirked. “Did he really.”

“No!” Sonic shrieked through the connection, his face turning slightly pink.

“Yes.” Tails said smugly, clearly wishing for some revenge after dealing with the energetic hedgehog.

“Ugh, fine, whatever, now can we just open them already?” Sonic huffed.

“Yeah...but you can open yours last.” Knuckles added, earning a horrified look from the hero.

“I’ll go first, then~!” Rouge sang, tearing into hers. The bat let her eyes burn a mocking hole straight through the camera and into Sonic’s disappointed pout.

When she pulled out the present, though, her smirk faded as she gasped happily. “Knuckles! You didn’t!” It was a small white box with golden embossed letters spelling out the name of a well-known jewelry store.

She didn’t fail to notice how Knuckles averted his eyes, looking tense and...slightly upset?

But by then, she’d opened the box and her attention shifted again to the gorgeous diamond necklace inside. It was fixed onto a fine silver chain, and the diamond itself was held in a swirl of more silver.

“I mean...I guess it’s okay…” the echidna muttered weakly.

That was when Rouge noticed the little slip of paper inside the lid: 100% Cubic Zirconia.

So it wasn’t a real diamond- why should she care? It was beautiful and shimmery and a very thoughtful gift, which all counted for plenty in her books.

“It’s wonderful, hon!” she said cheerfully, putting it on.

“Sorry about, you know…” He sighed, his pride clearly wounded. “Guarding the Master Emerald’s a full-time job...and it doesn’t exactly get you the big bucks, you know?”

Rouge smiled warmly and reassuringly at him, making the echidna blush. “It’s nothing to be sorry for. I love it.”

“That’s good, then.” His shoulders sank slightly with relief.

“Now you open yours!” she insisted, changing the conversation. “It took me some serious work to find, so I want to see your reaction.”

Knuckles tore the paper and opened up the cardboard box….

His silence spoke volumes as his eyes widened considerably.

The echidna pulled out a pair of high-tech sunglasses, all points and cool colors. Then a sort of-necklace, made mostly out of metal. Some steel covers for his spikes. A pair of gloves with more steel woven into the fibers….and a long, thin crystal.

He put on all of the gear and grinned at Rouge. “Remind you of someone?”

“As a matter of fact…” she said, watching comprehension dawn on everyone else (except for Omega, who she knew would have some questions later), “...I do recall a certain echidna who saved me from a rather fiery doom…”

“And I,” he added, smirking now, “remember getting called a creep who just wanted to hold a specific bat’s hand.”

They both burst into laughter at the memories, looking back on them now with fondness and a touch of embarrassment.

“Is it my turn yet?” Omega asked impatiently, already holding his present.

Not waiting for an answer, he ripped open the long cylinder, revealing a cardboard tube with something inside. Shaking it out, he found...

...blueprints for a giant cannon. Specifically, a cannon to be installed in his chassis.

Omega’s eyes sparkled- literally, they turned into sparkles. “Yes.” he said, sounding pleased. “Yes yes yes. This will be very good.”

“It’s all ready, too!” Tails exclaimed. “I just need to wire it into you.”

“Do it tomorrow.” he insisted.

The kitsune seemed pleased with the reception of his present, but was all too eager to get to his own gift.

Opening the box a moment later, his eyes also widened to double their usual size. “Wh- what!? An antimatter injector? Some new chaos drives? You can’t get those anymore! And- is that nanotech assembly gear?? Where did you find these?”

“Oh, you know.” Omega said nonchalantly, pretending to examine his steel fingers. “Places.”

“Very top-secret places.” Rouge said, her face hurting from grinning so much.

Sonic was the only one who looked even remotely distressed. “Isn’t...isn’t that illegal?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve become a G.U.N. sympathizer now, Sonic.” Shadow said teasingly.

The blue hedgehog scoffed. "As if! If it's G.U.N.’s stuff then it's totally fine."

His pretense of sulking completely dropped when Shadow began to carefully unwrap his own present. The hybrid, unlike his friends siblings, tugged carefully at each corner of the box, making sure not to tear any of the (slightly crumpled) paper.

Once it was finally open, his expression became softer than usual. "You remembered."

"Of course I did!" Sonic chirped. "Can't leave a friend in the lurch, now can I?" he added with a wink, smiling.

Shadow lifted the box out of the paper to reveal a small makeup kit- no, make that two, Rouge realized. One had some eye shadow in several shades of black, silver, purple, and red, as well as a black eyeliner. The other, which she noticed he was hiding slightly, had what appeared to be some jewel-tone and pastel colors in eyeliner, not eye shadow.

So that was what Shadow had meant by ‘you remembered’. Rouge remembered too- specifically, she remembered Shadow griping loudly because he wasn’t allowed to use her makeup kit when she needed it. It was hers first, after all.

Rouge smirked. "It looks great, hon! I might need to borrow that sometime…" She trailed off, her knowing grin growing to blatantly wicked proportions.

"No!!" Shadow and Sonic yelled simultaneously.

"Dude, I literally got him this so he wouldn't steal yours! Don't you dare!" Sonic gasped, looking more than a little frustrated.

"Relax, boys, it's alright." Rouge said calmly- which only served to rile Shadow up further. "I'm only teasing, you know."

The hybrid scowled and clutched the boxes possessively, making Rouge smile again. He could be such a little kid sometimes, but she preferred it infinitely to the grownup facade he liked to project.

"Alright, Sonic, now you can go." Tails sighed, with the air of someone who had almost given up trying to impose rules on a hyperactive toddler.

"Allllright!" the hero whooped, ripping into his gift with no mercy.

Once it was open, though, he frowned, seeing only a dark wooden box. "Uhhhh...what kind of present is this?"

Shadow leaned forward in anticipation. "Open it and find out."

Sonic flipped open the lid- and froze, eyes shining in shock and pure joy. "No way…" he breathed.

Tails's fur bristled. "Oh, no."

"What? What is it?" Rouge strained to see. "He didn't even tell us, what is it?"

Sonic grinned. "Candy!" he gasped, sounding like an excited little kid. "Loads of it!"

He turned the box around to reveal several rows of neatly stacked candy bars, including several 'extra large' ones.

Knuckles's eyes widened, the echidna having just gotten his first good look at the contents of the box. "Oh chaos…Shadow, he'll be bouncing off the walls!"

"Yes, but that's your problem, not mine." Shadow sounded sarcastic, but Rouge could see the happiness in his own expression- clearly Sonic's joy was infectious.

"Hold up- why's the bottom so loose?" the hero asked suddenly.

Shadow's smile became almost predatory. "Open it and find out."

Sonic lifted the tray...and his smile grew to rival that of the sun’s rays themselves. “Bro! Dude! You did not!”

“What?” Rouge shrieked, feeling irritated and left out.

“Dude, there’s, like, so much chocolate in here! Where’d you get all this??”

Shadow looked like he was physically forcing down a grin by now. “Places. Also, there’s no dark chocolate, so I’d better get a great thank-you card considering that I decided to cater to your trashy tastes.”

“Yeeeee- wait.” Sonic frowned. “Hold up, I don’t trust you just yet…” he said, glowering at the box. Apparently he was talking to the object, not the hedgehog.

He rattled the tray.

“What the heck, man?” The hero stared into the camera. “How much more is there?”

“You know what I’m going to say.” Shadow answered, raising a brow and looking pleased with himself.

Sonic lifted the tray very cautiously this time, as though there were a bomb underneath.

“Yo! Yo! Yo! You got- you got it, how’d you find this, where’d you get it? I saw it, y’know, on TV, but I thought it was a scam!! Dude! Is this real life??”

“Apparently,” Shadow said, finally giving in and smiling as proudly as he could, “foot-long candy canes are in fact a product that you can buy. Consumer culture has truly come a long way.”

“A foot long?” Omega asked, looking far too interested to have any healthy thoughts about it. “Show us.”

Sonic reached into the box, mumbling something about how his face was starting to hurt, but he didn’t look upset in the slightest. He pulled out a candy cane that was as long as his leg, letting out a little giggle as he did so.

“Look at this! Holy chaos, it’s so big!” He held it up to the light and stared, his eyes bright. “What the- it’s literally, like, the same distance round as my arm!”

Rouge cackled. “I need to get some of that, hon!”

“No.” Sonic hissed, but he was still smiling. “Mine...all mine…” He began to pet the candy cane, cradling it in his arms, and Rouge heard a soft snicker to her right, where Shadow was.

The blue hero had clearly heard it as well, his head snapping around to the camera in time with Rouge’s to see Shadow hiding a laugh behind his hand.

The bat noticed that Sonic’s jokes were more effective than Shadow let on...

As it was, though, they had to say goodbye soon. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow for the party, right?” Sonic asked hopefully.

“Of course. We would not miss it.” Omega folded his arms. “How could you ever think so low of us.”

Tails giggled.

“Well…” Knuckles said reluctantly, “I...guess we’ve gotta go for now.”

“Us too,” Rouge muttered. “People are gonna start a search party if we don’t head down soon.”

“See you tomorrow, right?” Sonic added hopefully.

“Yes.” Omega confirmed. “Tomorrow. When I will get a cannon.”

“I’ll make sure to do it ASAP!” Tails chirped.

“...happy Wintersweek.” Shadow said, far more warmly than usual.

After another round of well wishes, Rouge shut off the call.

Immediately, Shadow took his treasure and escaped into the bathroom, while Omega began to pore over his blueprints, probably processing (read: fantasizing about) how best to integrate the cannon into his fighting style.

Rouge flopped back onto the bed and sighed, a small smile remaining on her face as she played with her necklace. Shadow and Omega had both looked so happy...and she felt great, too.

Chaos, she was getting sentimental. A far cry from her early hardened days with G.U.N.

Far better than those times, too, she decided. Far better.

...

It was the Final Dinner Of The Family Reunion, and Rouge was so ready.

Everyone banded together in the kitchen throughout the afternoon, slicing, basting, cooking, and otherwise handling food to prepare a fantastic, show-stopping feast that all of the family would be talking about for weeks. Rouge had needed to fry, bake, and mash different kinds of potatoes and sweet potatoes, set up a casserole, make half the macaroni and cheese, prep some kind of gravy...and she got a light load.

The best part was when Omega was roped into helping and ended up wrist deep in a bowlful for crickets mixing them with seasoning, she had to admit.

Shadow didn’t give her any dirt at all (something she was still sulking about a little), just generally being quiet and going exactly where he was needed when he was wanted most, sometimes even showing up right before someone called for him.

Rouge groaned internally. It was some weird sort of Ultimate Lifeform stuff, she was sure. (His quiet, antisocial nature probably meant that he wanted attention to be called to himself as little as possible, too.)

But now, her mood took a sharp turn for the better, as the food was finally ready. She practically launched herself into the dining room, vaulting over the back of her chair to sit down.

This was the hardest part, though.

Now, the bat had to literally sit on her hands to keep herself from tearing into the food that was right in front of her. The smells of the various different dishes floated through the air, many of them were placed perfectly within reach, and they looked so good…

And she couldn’t touch any of it until every. Single. Person. Sat down at the table.

“Ugh…” she groaned, attempting to vocalize her discomfort to her companions.

Sadly, when your best friends/idiot brothers are a robot who doesn’t need to eat and a hedgehog who barely needs to eat, you get absolutely no sympathy from either of them. Immature and rude. She huffed quietly to herself.

Thankfully, the promise of a giant meal brought everyone together quickly, they all raised their glasses, and then-

Slamming her glass down, Rouge snatched a serving spoon millimeters from another bat’s fingers. Shadow and Omega watched, their faces morphing into something akin to an awestruck expression as the table exploded into chaos. Rouge filled her plate through sheer cunning and- in one case- a vicious staredown and tug-of-war for control of the meat knife (which she won).

“Remind me never to get between her and food, Omega.” Shadow whispered behind her back.

“Affirmative.” the robot muttered.

Several minutes later, Rouge’s plate was filled to her liking and she began to devour her food, as did the rest of her family. Some of the relatives who were significant others, not related by blood, watched with an equal mix of fascination, morbid curiosity, and horror as the bats at the table scarfed down the food as though there was no tomorrow.

Eventually, Shadow took some food, but Rouge didn’t look at what. She had more plans in mind for the other member of Team Dark.

When Omega turned his head for a couple of minutes to display the various hilarious robotic spinning motions he could perform, Rouge snagged several pieces of food and rapidly arranged them on his plate.

The robot returned to the table to discover a giggling Rouge, a smirking Shadow, and several slices of meat, some green beans, and artfully placed ketchup that, among other things, formed two circles on the top of the placement and an omega logo on the upper right part of one of the meat pieces.

Essentially, it was a food Omega.

Rouge had expected some irritation on his part, a shout of “THIS LOOKS NOTHING LIKE ME”, perhaps, but instead Omega took several pictures.

He fiddled with his phone for a few minutes (tiny phone + giant robot hands = lots of difficulty), before sliding it over to the bat.

All of his profile pictures, on every social media site and all of their group chats, were now displaying the same image as his plate.

“Yes! He appreciates art!” Rouge yelled, showing Shadow, who promptly snickered behind his hand.

“Excellent. Let’s go hang it in a museum.” he remarked dryly.

The rest of the dinner passed relatively without incident (although one of Rouge’s uncles and one of her aunts had to be pried off of the fruit platter after both refused to let go).

When dessert showed up, however...things changed.

The main creation that Rouge’s mothers had brought out was a three-layer chocolate cake made with lots of icing. Various other sweets surrounded it, and Rouge noticed several members of her family looking at it with a near-vicious gleam in their eyes.

She was definitely surprised- but pleased- to see Shadow’s reaction, though.

He stared at the cake like it was a Chaos Emerald and he’d just fired a few hundred Chaos Spears without a break. Rouge grinned as she saw him lean forward slightly in his seat, never breaking eye contact with the sweet confectionery.

“You like that, hon?”

Shadow jolted back to reality, clearly unaware that he’d just been eyeing the cake with an expression normally reserved for feral lions when they’d spotted a particularly plump zebra.

“It seems...well made.” he conceded.

“Okay, so in Shadow-speak that means ‘I want some and I want it now’.” Rouge corrected, smirking at his indignant expression even as she turned to her mom. “Hey Mom! Can Shadow have some cake over here? A big piece?”

Within seconds, a large slice of cake was handed over and Shadow was left speechless. He blinked, then picked up his fork and poked it once, as though he expected it to disappear.

“Are you going to eat it? You can’t do that with your eyes, you know.” Omega remarked from Rouge’s other side.

Shadow glowered at him and stabbed the fork into the cake, bringing up a piece and shoving it contemptuously into his mouth. The glare faded the second he tasted it, though, his eyes widening again.

“What’s in this?” he asked, the moment he’d swallowed his slice. (Rouge cursed to herself again at the loss of teasing material. Maria had really taught this guy his manners when he was young...)

“It’s nothing much, honey.” Rouge’s mom said warmly. “It’s just a lot of chocolate and cocoa.”

“It’s amazing.” he said quickly, before turning his undivided attention back to the cake and scarfing it down in a manner that made Rouge proud.

Halfway through the piece, the younger bat grinned at him. “See? You’re practically related already.”

Shadow looked like he didn’t know whether to scowl or keep eating, so he settled for a rapid glare in between bites.

Rouge laughed for a full five minutes after that.

…

Late at night, after her shower, Rouge walked back into their room only to see Shadow sitting upright, his silhouette framed by the rays of the moon. Omega was still awake, too, just two red circles of light showing and the rest of his body shrouded in darkness.

“You two okay?” she asked carefully.

“I’ve been thinking…” Shadow said quietly. “...about how much you’ve had to do for us. You single-handedly built this team up from the ground, even as Omega kept on going off to do his own thing and I dealt with...various issues. I wish there was some way I could express...how much...” He trailed off, clearly unable to find the right words.

Rouge felt a big smile grow on her face. “Awww…” she said gently. “I did this because I wanted to, don’t you know that? Sure, I wanted you two to stop fighting, and sure, I figured it just made sense at the time, but in the long run...we really work well together, you know?”

Omega spoke up next. “Regarding what you said yesterday, Rouge...I do believe that I am better off with you two than alone. Mostly because it enables me to achieve my-

“-actually, forget that. Never tell anyone else that I said what I am about to say. Or…or else. I have, for a while, had one goal: to destroy Eggman and his inferior creations. However...I have also had, for a somewhat shorter amount of time, a second goal: to...protect and...help, in whatever way they require, my...teammates, or friends, or siblings, whatever you call it.”

He had trailed off into mumbling by the end of it, clearly disliking how much his little speech had contradicted his usual ‘big bad robot’ personality.

The only noise after that was a high-pitched ‘aaaaaaaa’ from Rouge.

Shadow smirked faintly at her reaction. “Do I need to make a dramatic announcement as well?”

“Shut up.” Omega muttered petulantly. If the robot could scowl, Rouge knew he’d be doing so.

“No, hon. Only if you want to.” Rouge said to Shadow, ignoring Omega’s comment.

“Then I suppose…” He clutched one inhibitor ring for a moment. “....I will simply say that I am...happy. Here. With both of you.”

After a couple minutes of comfortable silence, Rouge and Omega both made their way over to the middle of the room, where Shadow’s bed was. Somehow, they worked it out so that all three sat on the mattress and the bat and the hybrid each leaned against one of the robot’s sides, their arms meeting around the back of his metal casing.

It would have made a strange silhouette if anyone could have seen them then, a spiky head and a bat wing the only defining features next to the bulk of a giant robot. But they didn’t give a single thought to how anyone else viewed them.

They were good for each other, even if nobody else had the sense to realize it. All their rough edges and jagged pieces from their pasts just meant that they understood what it was like to go through difficult times and come out the other side.

All three had been alone at some point.

But none of them would have to go through that again.

And Rouge decided on something as she leaned against Omega, her hand on Shadow’s arm.

The family you find is just as important, and just as real, as the one you’re born with. Many people have one but never the other, but Rouge realized that despite all the terrible things she’d been through…

...somehow she’d been lucky enough to have both.

#team dark: a holiday special #team dark #rouge the bat #shadow the hedgehog #e 123 omega #hope you enjoyed!#hopefully the ending conveyed the right amount of emotion #i'm bad at endings #thanks again to everyone who read this!#i hope that you have a happy holiday (whichever one you celebrate)#and a great winter!#*blows confetti*#sol's fanfiction

41 notes · View notes

spacebatisluvd · 4 years

Link

Content warning: More Sea Hawk. Some potential for secondhand embarrassment if you’re sensitive to things like that. Mild references to arousal. Strong references to anxiety and Hordak’s past in the cult.

Hordak looked up as a guard marched into his psuedo-office and dropped a parcel on his drafting table. Hordak eyed the box, noting first that it was addressed to him and sealed with Dryl’s sigil. Then he noticed that the wax seal was broken.

“This has been opened.”

The guard just shrugged, smirking. “Anything that comes through the port of Salineas is subject to inspection for contraband.” He turned to leave, pausing deliberately in the doorway to brush the dust from his boots and to spit on the stoop. Hordak said nothing. He’d seen the builders do the same thing early on. Strangely, fewer and fewer were holding to that habit. Perhaps they’d grown tired of such petty insults.

He set the box to the side, and Sea Hawk perked up. “Are you going to open it now?”

“No. I will open it later.” In private.

“But what if, hear me out, you were to open it now?”

Hordak looked up and sighed. Sea Hawk had draped himself over the top of the box, his eyes gone comically large. Hordak went back to his paperwork. “That does not work for Imp. It surely won’t work for you.”

“Imp?”

“My....” Hordak trailed off, realizing that he wasn’t sure how to refer to his relationship with Imp. ‘Little brother’ seemed the most fitting, yet he couldn’t bear to use such a designation. He exhaled slowly.

“Imp. He is just...Imp.”

“How delightfully nonspecific!” Hordak narrowed his eyes, searching Sea Hawk for any sign of mockery, but he seemed genuine enough. “But...this is from Entrapta, isn’t it?”

“That is her sigil.”

“You don’t want to look?”

He huffed. “My desires are unimportant. I need to finish this.”

“Not even a quick peek?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Just a teeny, tiny little peek?”

Hordak exhaled hard. “No.”

“...what if...I took a peek for you?”

He froze and glared at Sea Hawk, who was infuriatingly impervious. “I would advise against that. Strongly.”

Sea Hawk pushed the lid off the crate. “Oops! Well, since it’s already open....” He reached in, pulling out a small data chip. “Ooh! What’s this?”

Hordak lunged, snatching the chip from his hand. He growled, leaning close until he was eye-to-eye with the pirate. Sea Hawk held his hands up in surrender. “You really aren’t curious? Your beloved has sent you a gift! Perhaps in return for the gift you sent her!” Despite the intimidating glare and Hordak’s prior request not to be touched, Sea Hawk slung an arm over his shoulders and drew him close, using his free hand to frame an imaginary image before them. “Can’t you picture it? She is delighted, overcome with love, overwhelmed with feeling! In fact, she is so delighted that she has decided to reciprocate! And you don’t want to know what she sent?!” For the last question, he turned Hordak to face him, shaking him lightly.

Hordak shoved him off, still glaring. “Entrapta would not be overcome by anything,” he said dismissively. “Particularly not anything I did.” Excited? Perhaps. Elated? Enthused? Yes and yes. But overcome?

No. He could not imagine that.

In a last-ditch effort, Sea Hawk caught his hands and said, “Wouldn’t she want you to open it?”

His ears folded back, and he pulled his hands free. Nevertheless, the question gave him pause, and his words lacked their typical venom as he said, “Do not touch me.”

“Oh, right. But—you know she’d want you to open it right now, don’t you?”

“She knows that I prefer to keep my work and my personal life separate.” Still, he regarded the box uncertainly. He would not want to accidentally insult Entrapta. Was this a custom he was unaware of? Gift-giving was new to him.

Sea Hawk leaned very close, but thankfully did not touch him. “Let me tell you something I have learned about women—“

Hordak frowned. “My observations indicate that individual Etherians are too different from each other to confirm many broad generalizations. The exceptions being ‘requires oxygen’ or ‘must drink water regularly’.”

Sea Hawk blinked. “What?”

“I am questioning your expertise.”

Sea Hawk blinked again. He took a breath, and barreled on—“Women want to know that they are your highest priority. The very center of your universe. Your everything.”

Hordak’s ears folded back. “I killed my brother for her sake. I am certain she already knows that.”

Sea Hawk threw his hands up in the air. “Will you please just open the box?! I’m your wingman! How can I help you seduce your lady love if I don’t even know what she sent you?”

“That is simple—you do not. I am not seducing her. Therefore, I do not require your help.”

Sea Hawk wailed dramatically. “My friend, you are sabotaging your own happiness! You are allowing her to slip through your fingers if you ignore her overtures of—“

He continued to rave, and Hordak sighed, pressing his knuckle to his temple, where he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming. “If I open it, will you stop talking?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Do not make me regret this.”

He studied the data chip Sea Hawk had snatched from the crate. It was a modern chip of Entrapta’s own design, made to interact with his data pad. He set his data pad on the table and attached the chip to the back. His screen flickered briefly, then a stable image resolved. “Play video,” he ordered, and the image began to move.

Entrapta waved at him, smiling. “Hi, Hordak! My research has revealed that it is customary to send a care package when someone you care about is far from home, particularly if they’re away for an extended period of time.” She looked down, blushing a little. “I’d been intending to do this anyway, but your gift reminded me that it was probably overdue.”

Sea Hawk made a strange sound, his eyes big and hands scrunched tight to his mouth. Hordak barely glanced at him, and held his hands behind his back at he watched the screen, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “There’s a jar in the crate—would you please retrieve it? It requires an explanation.”

Curious, he pulled the crate closer—swatting Sea Hawk away when he tried to search out the jar first. He pulled out the jar and returned his attention to the screen. Entrapta’s image waited a few seconds more, then she said, “I spoke to Perfuma, and she has designed a topical salve that should help ease muscle pain and tension.” Hordak stiffened briefly, glancing at Sea Hawk, but he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Before applying it to a wider area, make sure to test it on a small patch of skin to make sure it doesn’t react poorly.”

Curious, he opened the jar, surprised by the scent of peppermint. He dabbed a small portion on his wrist, flexing his hand and cocking an ear when he felt a subtle tingling in that patch of skin. “I have also included some notes on my current project for your review. I would appreciate your input.” His ears perked, and she smiled coyly. “Not my secret project. You‘ll be allowed to tinker with that one after I have a working prototype.” He grunted, crossing his arms, though he couldn’t keep the fond smile from his face.

“She is taunting me,” he told Sea Hawk.

Sea Hawk smirked. “No, my friend, she is flirting with you.”

Hordak’s ears flexed, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to the screen, trying to ignore the heat spreading across his cheeks. “—send an annotated copy. Maybe when you send me your notes on my proposed procedure,” she said with a grin. Another glance at Sea Hawk reassured him that the man suspected nothing untoward, though Hordak readily recognized the suggestiveness in her gaze.

“Oh! You should know that this care package isn’t just from me.” He cocked his head. “I’ve asked the others to contribute as well, to show you how much they miss you.”

“Others?” Who could possibly miss him aside from Entrapta?

The video cut, then Kadroh appeared onscreen. “Hello, brother! I miss you and am eager for you to return. I’ve been working on my sketching—thank you for recommending I look for my data pad in the library! I found it behind one of the bookcases.” He held up the data pad, to show a sketch of some flowers. “Here’s what I’m currently working on. Oh! I think Imp was just a little jealous. I gave him a pad of paper and some markers, so he could draw too.” His ears drooped a little. “I haven’t done anything worth sending to you—“ The video feed paused briefly, and Entrapta spoke in voice-over.

“He’s being too modest. After we filmed this, we talked and I convinced him to include a printout of a piece he’s proud of.”

“—but I made sure to include Imp’s drawings. I thought you might enjoy them.” He smiled broadly, and Hordak peered inside the crate, noting a sheaf of papers, sandwiched between stiff cardboard to protect them. “We’re excited for your return and I hope you’re enjoying Salineas. I’ve never been to the ocean before; I hope you take the time to appreciate it!” Hordak blinked. He hadn’t even considered doing something like that.

The screen cut again. Crypto Castle’s Etherian servants appeared on the screen, waving timidly. Hordak’s ears folded back and he cocked his head. They definitely weren’t enthusiastic about being filmed, and he wondered if Entrapta had unintentionally threatened them again. “H-hi,” the cook said, wringing her hands. “Princess Entrapta said she was preparing a care package for you. I, um. I thought I’d send some tiny fruit tarts, but I didn’t think they’d survive the trip.” She winced. “So I-I made a premix of cocoa powder and sugar and-and a few spices. Just mix it with warm milk—um, about 60 degrees—“ She appeared to look off screen for confirmation from Entrapta. “—and you’ll have hot cocoa just like I make here.” She smiled hesitantly, her eyes just a touch too wide. “I, uh. I hope you like it.”

Again the image cut away, and Hordak was beginning to wonder how many people Entrapta had pressed into making this video. Then it focused on three former Horde soldiers. The lizardman—Rogelio—was standing behind the humans, Lonnie and Kyle. All of them seemed a touch nervous, but Kyle at least also seemed eager. The audio cut in mid-sentence. “—so much for letting us look after the little guy while you’re gone. I know Miss—“

Lonnie elbowed him. “Princess. Cripes, Kyle. Get it right.” Rogelio rumbled in agreement.

“Right! Princess! I mean, I know Princess Entrapta could totally look after him—“

Off-camera, Entrapta said, “Actually, it’s probably best that you guys take him. Imp’s pretty resourceful, but...um. I’m better with robots, you know. You don’t to remember to feed them every day.”

“Three times a day,” Lonnie said, looking a little alarmed.

“Yeah. That.”

Kyle cleared his throat. “Uh. Anyway. Just. Thanks. We really bonded while you were gone—“

Behind him, Rogelio signed, ‘Kyle has separation anxiety.’

“—and it just really means a lot—“

A few things happened at once. Lonnie jolted and Rogelio froze. The camera jostled, and Entrapta laughed, while Imp’s characteristic chatter echoed. The camera’s image was jumbled and unsteady as it toppled and, presumably, Imp ran off with it. Hordak covered his mouth, afraid to reveal his smile. Somebody called after Imp, but the camera just bounced and jostled, revealing flashes of metal and the tip of Imp’s wing, his small claws. A vent clanged open, and the screen was briefly plunged into darkness. A glowing pair of yellow eyes were the only things visible.

“[I miss him].” Entrapta’s voice echoed eerily in the vent.

Beside him, Sea Hawk cringed away from the screen. “What is that?!”

“Imp.”

Sea Hawk stared at him. “That is not an answer!”

Hordak offered a lopsided shrug. “It is difficult to define him. Imp is Imp.”

The eyes disappeared, and a moment later, they could hear the clanging of the vent. A new vent opened, and Imp glided down to the ground, setting the camera beside Emily. It was set at an odd angle, but all of Emily’s spherical body was visible. She stomped her legs and the upper part of her chassis spun—a kind of dance she often performed, though there was something mournful in her demeanor. She beeped sadly.

From behind the camera, Imp hopped onto Emily and laid down. He opened his mouth, and Kadroh’s voice said, “[—be back soon. soon. soon. soon.]

Sea Hawk blinked and leaned close. “That’s Imp?” Hordak nodded. “Oh. I can’t decide if he’s terrifying or adorable.”

“That is the typical reaction.”

The video cut, and Entrapta reappeared, giggling. “Kyle wanted to retake that last bit, but I thought you might appreciate it.” As always, she was correct. “Anyway, I hope you like your care package, and I hope to see you soon.” She waved, and the feed cut out.

He held his knuckles to his mouth, a subtle smile at the corner. When he was sure he was composed, he lowered his hand and reached for the crate, pulling the sheaf of papers from it. He unbound them, setting the stiff cardboard to the side. He leafed through the pages slowly, again holding his knuckles to his mouth. Imp’s drawings were little more than uncoordinated scribbles, yet he found himself touched to see them. He lingered over one picture in particular. Two tall stick figures, one with red eyes and one with sunny yellow eyes—himself and Kadroh?—and a short stick figure with long strands of purple hair. A green orb with four legs. And a very small, blue stick figure with sketchy wings and a tail.

Sea Hawk leaned close. “I didn’t realize you had a family.”

Instinct demanded he deny it, but instead he said, “It is...new.” He leafed through the rest of the pictures, lingering again on the last, which was clearly Kadroh’s work. Despite his brother’s obvious uncertainty, Hordak was impressed with his sketching—it was a rather good likeness of Emily, and he found himself admiring Kadroh’s sense of whimsy, present in the flowers he’d drawn to crown her.

His chest felt warm and oddly tight. He packed everything back into the crate with care, intending to look at it more closely later.

At his elbow, Sea Hawk was oddly quiet, almost pensive. Hordak was grateful for that. Later, when the tightness had eased from his chest, when he could trust himself to speak, he’d call Entrapta to thank her. For now, he set the crate aside and returned to work.

Later, in the privacy of his room, Hordak reviewed the research she’d sent him. He found himself pacing as he read, a small smile on his face. He scribbled a few notes in the margins, but he knew she didn’t really need his input—she would have eventually discovered the few bits he added on her own, but he was flattered she even asked.

At the end, he wrote, ‘I am awed by your brilliance.’

He saved the file, but hesitated to disconnect the disk. Entrapta had clearly said that he should send it with the annotated procedure she’d proposed for their Intimacy Log. Was she merely teasing—flirting?—with him? Surely it wasn’t a command. Entrapta, he reminded himself, did not issue orders. She made requests.

But if it would please her, could he consider it anything less than an order?

He stopped, clenching his hand. That...that was not true. Entrapta had reassured him every step of the way that this was as much his decision as hers. From her, he suspected that even an order should be considered a strongly-worded request.

So, really, this was his choice. Entirely.

He swallowed, hearts hammering. He recognized the anxiety that came with disobeying one of Prime’s orders—

(How many nights had he spent on Etheria, nearly doubled over with pain and panic, knowing that Prime would not approve of his actions but also knowing he had no other choice if he wanted to survive? How often had he pleaded with the memory of his maker for mercy, knowing the price of his disobedience was reconditioning or purification? How many heresies had he justified, though he knew Prime would not consider his life worth saving?)

—yet amidst the familiar anxiety, he felt something else stirring. A thread of excitement, knowing Entrapta would be pleased with him. There was spite, as well—a banked fury that came from knowing that Prime would disapprove, were he still alive to care. Hordak’s life was his own, and he was more than the sins that Prime would tally against him.

He exhaled slowly, and ignoring the tremble in the tips of his fingers, he brought up Entrapta’s proposal and set aside the data pad to prepare for bed. He paused after removing his armor, noting the strain across his shoulders. His neck ached and he reached back, squeezing the straining tendons alongside his cervical port. It did little to help. Then he remembered the salve Entrapta had sent. It had been nearly ten hours now, and there was no sign of a poor reaction at the spot he’d tested—no rash, no irritation, no itching. Perhaps he could test it further and apply some to his neck?

He dug into the crate, pulling out the jar of salve. The scent of peppermint was pleasant enough, and not too overpowering. He scooped a little on two finger and reached back, rubbing the salve into the skin at the base of his skull before dragging his fingers down the back of his neck—careful to keep it out of his port. He inhaled sharply as the skin began to tingle where he’d applied the salve, and a soft moan escaped him as the tingling sank deep into the muscle.

That worked better than anticipated. He studied the jar, wondering if Entrapta had run a chemical analysis on the salve. He’d be curious to know what was in it and if he could synthesize it himself. He wiped his fingers clean, realizing he probably should have used gloves when he felt the tingling along his cuticles and the thin skin under his claws.

He settled on the bed and arranged the pillows until he was comfortable. He leaned against the pillow at his back and surprised himself by thrumming softly. For the first time since leaving Dryl, he was very nearly content—the salve had done much to ease the pain that ran the length of his neck, and Entrapta’s care package left him feeling...well, cared for. Entrapta herself was the only thing missing. He reached for the data pad and his stylus; it was a poor substitute, but if he could not be with her, at least he could content himself with the knowledge that she desired to be with him too. Despite the anxiety coiled like a spring in the pit of his stomach, his scalp prickled with what could only be anticipation.

Swallowing, he skimmed the proposal, skipping past the parts he’d already read and the notes he’d made. Even so, the prickling along his hairline grew stronger. He swallowed and smoothed his hair back, regretting it immediately when that only caused the crest to rise. The tingling of his scalp seemed to blend into the prickling at the back of his neck, and he was glad he hadn’t applied any of the salve to his shoulders. Shaking his head to clear it, he reached the line he’d finished on last time:

*Ask subject how he feels about being bitten.*

His throat felt tight. He swallowed, free hand wrapping loosely around his neck. He tapped his stylus against his leg, wondering how to respond to that. Just thinking about it caused something within himself to clench. He swallowed again and wrote neatly, ‘Not yet. I feel being bitten would net a strong reaction, and I would like more information before experimenting with that.’

The coil of anxiety loosened, just a little, and he exhaled slowly. The next line read, *Explore pectoral muscles. Test sensitivity of nipples by—*

He blushed, looking away as embarrassment overcame him. His hairline felt sensitive, and he curled his fingers to resist the urge to smooth his hair back or to test his nipples’ sensitivity. He could barely bring himself to look at them, somewhat scandalized by her suggested means of examination. Swallowing stiffly, he wrote, ‘They are not sensitive. No testing is required.’ He hesitated. ‘I will indulge your curiosity, if you insist.’ His cheeks burned, and his ears drew back, the tips hot as his mind conjured the image of Entrapta nestled between his thighs, her hair binding his hands over his head as she bent forward to lave at—

A soft, distressed chirp escaped him, and he nearly leapt from the bed to begin pacing once more. His hair had risen to a soft peak, and the back of his neck now felt hot and sensitive. The coil of anxiety had somehow blended with his anticipation, making him feel like he was balanced rather precariously between the two. Not unpleasantly, he had to admit, even if he was no longer entirely comfortable. He took a few breaths, trying to compose himself. There were only a few lines left. Surely he could get through this without completely embarrassing himself. He bent over the data pad, crossing his legs as he continued to read—and ignoring the subtle squirming in his lower abdomen.

*Be sure to kiss the subject liberally—on the mouth and while exploring his body. Very light application of the fingernails may also be desired.*

He cocked his head, curious about that last statement. Careful of his claws, he ran the tips lightly over his inner arm. The sensation was pleasant enough, and he noted in the margins that he would be agreeable to that, thankful that it seemed like such a tame suggestion after everything else.

*If subject is comfortable with genital examination, this procedure may be expanded on.*

He froze, fingers curling. His gaze fell to his lap. The prickling along his scalp and the back of his neck suddenly didn’t feel quite so pleasant anymore. Swallowing hard, he sat up, resettling himself again. The spring in his lower abdomen had coiled tight, all hints of anticipation replaced by dread. He tapped the stylus against his thigh, trying to decide what to say.

Finally, he brought his stylus to the data pad and began to write.

A/N: As always, thank you for your comments! I love your feedback and I treasure each of your comments. I often go back and reread them if I need a little encouragement, so even if I don’t reply, know that I love hearing from you.

#intimacy log #entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #my work #my writing #work inappropriate content #cultic abuse #past abuse #anxiety #arousal #sea hawk

83 notes · View notes

asoftervirge · 4 years

Text

Of “Love” & Murder - (2/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Love (Unrequited or Not) Is Sweeter Than All the Candies Patton Could Make

RATING: PG (will change)

PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: Baking, Food Mentions, Flirting, Snarky Comments/Banter, Puns, Kissing

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Patton delivers Virgil’s chocolates and gets a special treat in return.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Friendly remind that a chapter will be posted every day until Halloween, hence as to why there’s 13 of them. lol I’m busy with work and AO3 isn’t working properly on my laptop so I may be doubling down on chapters. Like with any other fic that I post, please heed the warnings at the top! With that said, please enjoy! Also, I apologize for the first couple chapters not being interesting, but I promise it gets better next chapter! xx Virge

AO3 || Buy me a Ko-Fi!

Patton felt gay panic overwhelming him to the point that he may faint.

He spent countless hours after he closed up shop, making batches after batches of chocolates, trying to create the perfect array of thirty-two that would satisfy Virgil.

Virgil Nyx. The name sounded so…unique in his mind’s eye. It was different, but Patton liked that it was different. Yet there was also something…dark and strange about it; something that should make the confectioner fearful, but he wasn’t. It seemed cliché and he knew it, but he had become drawn to him from the moment they met.

He looked over the batches that he already made, all cooling on various racks and baking sheets: squares and other various shapes of chocolate, barks and clusters, truffles and cordials; and all of them made with dark chocolate. He didn’t know if Virgil really liked things incredibly bitter (although the moan he let out suggested otherwise), so he put some bittersweet in there to counterbalance it. As a bonus, he even put in a bit of espresso powder because Virgil stated it was his favorite.

When he believed he had a perfect set, he began to decorate them. Glazes, icings and sugars all scattered about in the air, dusting his face, hair, and fingers.

Then, when everything was done up all nice and pretty— like a box of chocolates should be— Patton placed them in the gift box. Most of the ones he sent out were either golden or white, but he also had some of varying colors. For Virgil, he managed to find a black one that was perfect. He places the chocolates in their respective places in the tin before closing the lid. Finally, he pulled out a collection of ribbons that are used for the finishing touches. He looks through the assortment of rainbow spools before pulling out a dark violet one. He cut a large length of it before wrapping it around the box and tying it in a bow.

Patton leaned back and observed his craftsmanship with a grin.

Virgil was going to love this, he knows he will!

…

It was a cold, foggy Sunday night as Patton drove to Virgil’s house. The box of chocolates were nestled comfortably in a cooler sitting in the passenger seat of his car. A gentle downpour of rain pitter-pattered against the glass, becoming a soothing presence amidst the silence.

Neon signs for bars and hotspots light up the cloudy sky; the occasional persons walking about; homeless slouched on curbs with paper bags in hand; and stray cats appearing from alleyways all flew past him along the way, showing him a darker, grittier version of his city.

Slowly, the city transformed into a giant forest that surrounded his car. The air grew colder and the rain came down harder. The smooth asphalt roads turned to bumpy gravel, causing Patton to bounce as he drove. After a few miles, the forest disappeared and the confectioner was greeted with a sight that truly astounded him.

The manor looked to be inspired by either the Victorian or Queen Anne style of architecture. It was at least two or three stories high with incredibly gorgeous details to it: complex rooflines, a tower in the left corner with a steep roof, gables and bays, a richly textured surface of patterned shingles, and applied ornamentations. For Patton, the most notable features were the single-story wrap-around porch, the black balustrades, the lavishly decorated spindle work, and Eastlake ornamentations.

Patton looked up at the manor, then down at the piece of paper he pulled out of his pocket, staring at the address written on it.

613 Rue Morgue.

It— It was the right address, judging by the silver numbers beside the door, yet Patton couldn’t believe someone like Virgil would live here!

He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the cooler to grab the chocolates, the box feeling cold under his fingertips. Laying the box on his lap, he reaches over and retrieves his umbrella from the driver’s side pocket— a pastel blue one with white polka dots— before exiting the car. He walks up the wooden porch steps and rang the doorbell (knocking to the tune of ‘shave and a haircut’ for good measure) before standing back and waiting.

Exactly thirteen minutes later, Patton stood up straighter when the door finally opened. He nearly dropped the box when he saw Virgil’s appearance.

The stormy grey eyes and faded purple fringe looked the same, but it was his clothing that changed. Instead of a purple turtleneck, it was a button-up (with the top buttons and cuffs undone), and his leather pants were that of fancy dress ones. His boots were gone and he was padding around in thick, black wooly socks.

“Patton,” His deep, low voice snapped him out of his gay lovestruck moment. “As fond— and slightly disturbed— as I am by your flattering— and totally not creepy— fawning over me…I would like to eat personalized chocolates and get to know my deliveryman.”

Said deliveryman squeaked in surprise, shaking his head and blushing madly. His panicked and embarrassed eyes met ones that held confusion, awkwardness, and amusement.

“I-‘m— I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to stare like that!”

Virgil waved a passive, nonchalant hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re just lucky that you weren’t a stranger, because if you were, I would’ve glared at you until you fell dead.”

The confectioner’s eyes grew wide and he gulped. Was…Was he supposed to take that seriously?

“Aww, relax,” Virgil snorts, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “I was joking…or was I?”

“I don’t know…are you?”

“Yeah, I am. So chill out, Patton."

Patton nodded, slightly curling up in himself at how gullible he was for falling prey to a joke like that. (Though a part of himself felt…relieved? And he didn’t really know why he did so). He suddenly remembered the reason as to why he came here in the first place.

“This house is so incredible!” He exclaims, looking up at the giant manor. “I didn’t interrupt a fancy party or something, did I?”

“Nope. Just me.”

“Have you always lived here?”

Virgil shrugged casually. “Yeah…been living here for a good while now. Got this place from…a friend of mine, I guess you can say.”

Patton failed to recognize the guarded tone in his voice. “H-Here!” The confectioner shoved the box into Virgil’s arms. “I-I made these for you!”

Blinking, Virgil raised a brow at him. “Did you forget that I made an order, or did you have a different reason for coming to see me?” he asked in a semi-teasing way. He looked down at the box handed to him (or shoved really). Black box with a purple ribbon, just as he ordered. He opens it and sees all thirty-two beautifully decorated pieces of chocolate. “Wow. These looks good. What all are they?”

A proud smile appeared on the confectioner’s face. the wealthy man liked the box; so far so good! He started listing them all, “I put four pieces of eight in there. There are cherry cordials, chocolate squares, clusters with almonds, squares filled with a cinnamon-infused ganache, two kinds of truffles also filled with ganache, rounds made with coffee, and—” He blushed a little and mumbled, “Ch-Chocolate hearts.”

Virgil chuckled. “So it’s basically chocolate, coffee, and whatever ganache is.”

“It’s like thickened chocolate that’s used as a glaze, sauce, or filling,” Patton explains. “It’s great for cakes and treats like this, which is why it’s my favorite! All the chocolate is dark, and I even added some espresso to them!”

“My favorites,” The wealthy man gave him a faint smile, causing Patton to be a lovestruck gay once more. “Thanks.” Patton mumbles out something as he took out the one that had cinnamon-infused ganache inside and popped it into his mouth. He moaned, “Damn. Won’t lie, that’s some real good chocolate you’ve made.”

“Thank you very much!” Patton beamed happily, bouncing up and down on his heels. “That’s a compliment if I ever heard one, in fact, it makes me cocoa for more!”

A huffed groan. “Oh boy. Chocolate puns,” Virgil rolled his eyes. Though he couldn’t but participate in a little bit of joking himself. “Are you trying to be as smooth as your chocolates are? Because you’re not doing a very good job.”

Patton gasped. If his eyes could, they’d be sparkling like a cartoon character’s. “Now there’s no need to be bittersweet about making puns, Virgil!”

My whole aesthetic is about being sarcastic, edgy, and bittersweet, is what Virgil wanted to say, but he didn’t out of not wanting to scare the confectioner away so soon. “Someone’s gotta balance out how sugary you are.”

“Well, if you mousse-t insist!”

Another huffed groan, then Virgil popped a cherry cordial in his mouth. Dark chocolate and cherries were always considered a classic combination, like his depression and anxiety. What?

“I guess I should pay you for delivering me these?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary!” Patton insisted. “Consider it a gift! From me to you!”

Virgil frowned a bit. Then an idea came to mind, causing him to smirk coyly. “You sure? Cause I think I know of a good payment I could give you.”

Patton titled his head in confusion, but that quickly changed when he felt Virgil’s lips press against his own. They were crazy chapped and a little cold, but they slotted perfectly against his own. Following what his heart wanted— because that’s what he does— he happily kissed back, tasting bitter chocolate and espresso.

It only lasted a few seconds (six to be exact, but what was Patton counting), but it felt like an eternity for the confectioner. Suddenly, and very sadly, he felt Virgil pulling away. He opened his eyes (which he didn’t know he closed in the first place) and subconsciously licked his lips, a mad blush appearing on his face.

Virgil hummed and licked his own lips. He pulled out a third piece, this time, a dark chocolate heart. He held it to his bottom lip, not biting into it just yet.

The confectioner gulped. “C-Can I make a confection?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Can you?”

“I-I know it seems silly, but…” He squeezed the handle of his umbrella tightly. “I really, really like you!”

“…What a coincidence,” Virgil smirked wider as he finally bit into the chocolate heart. “I just so happen to like you too.”

Patton felt an excited smile spread itself across his face. Butterflies flew all about his stomach and his heart grew more than three sizes. He couldn’t help but jump a little in excitement.

Virgil moved to the side of the door, giving Patton the faintest glimpse of the inside of his mansion. He nods his head towards the foyer. “So you, uh, wanna come inside?” He asked, the rest of the heart hanging from his mouth. “I could make some coffee or tea, maybe even some hot chocolate if you’re into that instead?”

Despite him wanting to say yes— and he really wanted to— Patton politely shook his head. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he declined. “As much as I want to, I can’t. I have to clean up my store, and since I’ll be staying there a bit longer, I can get everything prepared for tomorrow’s opening.”

This statement caused Virgil to frown. So…it appears as though this little mousey wants to play chase. Well unfortunately for him, this black cat hasn’t lost a chase before, not now or ever; and he certainly won’t lose this one, especially to a cute and gullible person like Patton Hart.

Swallowing the rest of the chocolate, he plastered on a smile that didn’t hide his passive-aggressiveness. “Ah. Gotcha.” He pointed a finger-gun at him. (Though, again like a cat, he was mentally throwing a hissy). “It’s too bad you can’t stay longer,” he closed the box and turned away from Patton. “Really would’ve liked to have known you more…”

“Would you mind if I came back again soon?” Patton asked. He twirled the umbrella in his hands, little droplets of rain flying about. Virgil flinched as some got on his face. “Sorry. I could even bring you another gift box if you want!”

And thus, the cat has gotten the mouse.

“You’d visit again?” Virgil asked with a cheeky grin. “And you bring me more chocolates?” He raised a brow at him. “You do this with all your clients, Mr. Hart?”

“Of course I do!” Patton exclaimed. “And I do! I-I mean, I do treat my clients specially, but not as specially as you— especially since I kinda have a crush on you and—”

“Relax, Patton. Seriously.” Virgil huffed with a slight eye roll. “It’s fine if you wanna visit again, in fact, I want it too. Especially since, y’know, we got a thing for each other.” He winked at him.

Patton blushed and nodded. My goodness gracious Virgil was making him melt faster than chocolate on a double boiler. He twirled his umbrella again. “I-I suppose I should be making the long way home now.” Patton smiled sadly at him. “It was nice to see you again, Virgil! And thank you again for coming into my shop!”

“You’re welcome, Patton.” As the confectioner turned and was about to walk down the porch steps, Virgil had one more trick up his sleeves. “Hang on.” Just as Patton turned back again, he pulled him in for another kiss.

Their lips met having another reunion resulted in that same chocolate and coffee aftertaste from before. The confectioner’s breath hitched and a madder blush reddened his cheeks as Virgil licked his bottom lip, resulting in him opened his mouth slightly.

Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it was broken. Virgil chuckled as he heard Patton let out the quietest, puppy-like whine that he found absolutely precious. He opened his hazy grey eyes to look at darkened blue ones, the corner of his lip tugging upward. “Have a good night, Patton.”

“Y-You too…”

With one last wink, Virgil turned and walked back inside. The heavy, wooden door closing with a gentle click.

For the longest time, Patton stood there gazing at the door, almost like it would morph back into the dark and mysterious young man. What snapped him out of his trance was a loud crack of thunder.

Quickly, he rushed back to his car, but didn’t immediately drive off. He stayed parked for another long while, sitting in the front seat with the harsh rain pounding against the glass.

Finally, his face fell into his hands and he squealed. Louder and much more giddy-sounding than he did when he got his puppy (and he really loved his puppy).

He was definitely in love with Virgil Nyx.

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides AU #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Moxiety #Of Love & Murder

16 notes · View notes

perhapsitmaybedragons · 3 years

Text

Of Gingerbread and Flies

For creativerocket-jpg - I’m your gift giver for Good Snowmans. I hope this is ok - this is what came out when I tried to write using your prompts (which I loved, by the way). Plenty of The Them, Crowley, Aziraphale and Beelzebub.

Summary:

Beelzebub would like to challenge Crowley. But the Them step in to make sure the competition is more appropriate for winter activities. And of course, no one likes games more than The Them. So who will triumph in making the best gingerbread house?

Can be read on ao3 here or read below: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534104

Crowley grumbled, unsure of what had awoken him. Whatever it was, he decided to ignore it and rolled back over, resolute in his decision to sleep in. It was a cold day and best spent, in Crowley's opinion, bundled up under the covers. Maybe he could talk Aziraphale into joining him if he offered the angel some cocoa. It wasn't Crowley's favorite but it could be all right if you punched it up with the right kind of alcohol.

“Seriously, wake up,” Came the voice that had first roused him. That wasn't Aziraphale's voice. Crowley bolted up, startled. His eyes went a little wider when he found the Them standing around his bed. “We can't get started without you,” Adam repeated.

“Get started with what, exactly?” Crowley grabbed for his sunglasses and shoved them on. The Them didn't mind his eyes, but he still preferred covering them up.

“Dear,” Aziraphale finally joined the others in the bedroom. “The Them has uh...made a bargain on your behalf, it seems.”

Crowley pulled himself out of bed and snapped his fingers to replace his sleeping outfit with his preferred tailored suits (well, if miracles can be counted as tailored). “Someone needs to start at the beginning with this,” He snapped his fingers again, this time in the direction of Wensleydale, “You. Nerdy little human. You tell me – No, Adam,” He shushed Adam before he could start in, “I want this straight and to the point. Wensley's better at that stuff and you know it.”

Adam opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. Instead he just shrugged. Excited to be the one chosen, Wensleydale launched into his explanation. “So Adam knew something bad might happen here at your cottage today so he said we should come over here and sure enough,” Normally he wouldn't speak so quickly, but he was also keenly aware that they were on a time limit. Which he really should explain to Crowley immediately, but well...first things first. “We found Beelzebub outside your window – that's what Adam said their name is, anyway, and-”

“Beelzebub?!” Crowley yelped. “Angel, Why didn't you wake me up?!”

“Because, by the time I knew about it the Them had already taken care of it. Beelzebub's waiting for us in the living room.”

“We moved all the way out here to the Downs to get away from everything. How is it you four keep showing up here?” Crowley tried to look cross. Apparently he was failing, given the way all of the Them were smirking at him. For a mad moment he thought he saw the same expression on Dog.

Wensleydale cleared his throat to get permission to continue. Crowley nodded at him and gestured for him to get on with it. “So we found Beelzebub outside your window,” he repeated, “And they said they were here to challenge you and Aziraphale because apparently you made them a laughingstock-”

“I never zzssaid that,” Beelzebub pushed the door to the bedroom open and glared at everyone. “No one zssaiid that I was ever a laughingstock.”

“You didn't have to say it,” Pepper shrugged. “It was kind of obvious by you being here in the first place.”

Beelzebub vibrated indignantly at them. Crowley wondered for a moment how they managed to do that in a humanoid form, but decided it wasn't worth it to ask. “So they asked me to join them in this ridiculous challenge.”

“I mean, maybe it is ridiculous,” Brian shrugged, “But you agreed to it. Didn't have to twist your arm or anything, either. You just said yes.”

“Demons must take on what we're challenged to,” Beelzebub insisted. Crowley made a face at them.

“I don't think that's true,” He pondered all the times the Them had challenged him to increasingly ridiculous things, wondering if he hadn't been able to say no due to some demon bylaw he wasn't aware of or whether it was his own fondness for them. He was pretty sure it was the latter, but he would probably be pretending the former was true going forward.

“So here we are,” Wensleydale continued. “We're all building gingerbread houses and who ever has the best one wins. Aziraphale is the judge.”

“Because since he's an angel he won't be biased,” Adam explained. Crowley resisted the urge to laugh at that.

“Okay. So I'm ...making a gingerbread house? Or you lot are?” he asked the Them. They all nodded. “So I'm making on or you are?” he repeated, hoping for a real answer this time.

“All of you are,” Aziraphale cut in to explain. “I judge, but everyone else makes them. If Beelzebub beats you they get to take you with them. If they beat the Them, they take me. If they don't beat either of you then they don't get anyone and owe something to the Them. Though they haven't told me what it is they want.”

“Isn't hell supposed to be leaving me alone?” Crowley demanded. “Pretty sure that was a condition for me leaving you all alone after that holy water incident.”

“I'm not all of hell, am I?” Beelzebub pointed out. “I'm not in hell, I'm here. And this is personal.”

“Of course it is,” Crowley rolled his eyes at them. “Do I miracle in the gingerbread or do we have to waste time making it first? Or are we doing one of those annoying kits?”

“You slept in quite a while, dear,” Aziraphale shrugged. “The Them and I already got all the gingerbread made. It's only fair if it's all the same kind of biscuit, after all. So I helped them with that step – did you know it's rather difficult to make a biscuit that can be used for construction but still tastes nice? But I think we succeeded. They're still gingerbread, but they're also chocolate and I put some ancho powder in there, quite lovely-”

“Can we get on with thisszzz?” Beelzebub insisted. “I don't have all day.”

“I mean, don't you?” Pepper asked innocently. “What do you do all day down in Hell, really? Just ...sit over and poke souls with a pitchfork, I imagine. This is probably way more fun.”

Beelzebub didn't answer.

“At any rate, we should probably move on. Let's stop standing around in my bedroom and get started on this whole …” Crowley wanted to call it a fiasco. He'd never baked before and never decorated any type of dessert before. And he supposed the rules probably demanded that he not use any miracles. He confirmed this with Adam, who looked indignant at the suggestion.

“What kind of competition would it be, then? Pepper, Dog, Wensley and Brian can't do miracles. Where would that leave them? I mean, yeah, I'm on their team but it still wouldn't be fair. Even though we have been practicing.”

Apparently this rule was news to Beelzebub. They stamped their foot in irritation. Crowley smirked at how childish they were being, but didn't say anything. “You mean I have to do this the ...human way?!”

“Yeah. That's what makes it fun,” Adam insisted.

The kitchen was already well prepared for the competition. Aziraphale had even thought to put some tarps down on the floor to minimize the mess, as though they weren't going to just miracle it all clean later. There were three long tables set up in different parts of the room, and Crowley made a mental note to tell Aziraphale to stop watching so much Great British Bake Off. Each table had a stove built into it, the gingerbread on the side, paper and a pencil to draw designs out with and of course tubes of frosting.

“Crowley, dear, you'll be over here,” Aziraphale gestured to the table closest to the front, directly in front of a stool that Aziraphale now perched on. Beelzebub took the table to the left behind Crowley and the Them took the one on the right.

“Aziraphale, sir?” Wensley piped up from their table. “Actually, could we have some water and sugar? I read that burned sugar holds the houses together better.”

“Are you old enough to cook?” Aziraphale asked, looking embarrassed as he was clearly trying to puzzle out the Them's ages. “I just don't want any of you to hurt yourselves.”

“I can do it,” Brian insisted. “My mom taught me how to cook. She said it's the first step in learning to look after yourself. I just have to clean up any messes I make.” Brian always tried to clean up said messes, but no matter how hard he tried his mother always found a spot later. Multiple spots, really.

Aziraphale did a complicated gesture with his right hand and a boiling pot of water appeared in front of the Them on their stove. Brian checked it carefully and confirmed the sugar was already in it.

Crowley watched them carefully, then glanced over at Beelzebub. They hadn't started any construction yet. In fact, instead of even attempting to build they'd popped a piece of gingerbread in their mouth. Crowley watched as Beelzebub closed their eyes, apparently savoring the flavor. Their eyes popped open and they grabbed another handful, scarfing it down. Crowley couldn't blame them. Aziraphale had become an excellent baker. Even Crowley could be easily tempted by Aziraphale's treats.

He took a nibble off one piece of his own gingerbread and conceded that it was definitely very tasty. But unless Beelzebub ended up eating all of theirs and had to forfeit, he still had to construct something. He took two pieces and frosted them together, wondering if he should follow the Them's example and make burned sugar. He decided against it. He didn't know how to make it and would probably just burn through one of Aziraphale's pots and make the angel grumble at him.

He stepped back, trying to admire his handiwork. All he had done was make a triangle. It slumped the moment he let go, the pieces falling over each other. He sighed and glanced over at the Them. They were remarkably good at teamwork. Brian was cooking, Pepper was assembling, Adam was the designer and Wensleydale was making adjustments on the fly when things didn't work out. And Dog ate any pieces that fell on the floor. Crowley sighed and turned back to his own gingerbread, trying to figure out what to do.

After several minutes of trying several things only to have them work out disastrously, Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who smiled back at him, then pulled out his pocket watch. “I do believe we forgot to tell Crowley about the time limit.”

“Sorry Crowley!” The Them chorused, none of them looking up from their creation.

“How long?”

“You have ..oh, ten minutes left.”

“Ten minutezz?!” Beelzebub grumbled. Crowley checked out their table and snickered. Beelzebub really had spent the whole time eating instead of working. They now had two sad little pieces of gingerbread left. Nothing someone could really make something out of.

“Nine now, since you both groused for so long,” Aziraphale corrected cheerfully. Crowley hissed at him.

Crowley took a few marshmallows from a nearby pile and started fiddling with them, then slapped some of his gingerbread together in heaps that he thought vaguely resembled what he was going for. By the time Aziraphale called that time was up Crowley figured he'd done about as well as could be expected.

“First, Beelzebub's,” Aziraphale motioned for everyone to join him at Beelzebub's table. They had a single piece of gingerbread left, which they had stuck a chocolate chip on.

“It's uh. Modern art,” Beelzebub tried.

“Excuse me. I invented modern art,” Crowley piped up, “I know modern art when I see it and this isn't it. Unless you have a pretentious way of explaining why the chocolate chip is alone – like it's meant to be a fallen and the gingerbread is the cruelty of -” Aziraphale caught him in the ribs.

“Crowley, you're not helping.” Which wasn't true. Rather, Crowley was helping the wrong one in this case.

“A lovely attempt, Beelzebub,” Aziraphale said graciously. They glowered at him. “Ah, now to Crowley's creation,” They all moved together from Beelzebub's table to Crowley's.

Crowley had haphazardly thrown what was passable for a house together, but more interesting were the two snowmen out front. Both were composed of two marshmallows shoved together. He'd melted some away from one so that the snowman looked skinny. To this one he'd added a piece of black licorice as a scarf. To the other he'd placed a yellow M&M on the top, pressed down so that it might give the appearance of a halo. “'S Me. Me and Angel,” He explained unnecessarily. Aziraphale looked touched. Adam let out a small “aww,” which the rest of the Them then echoed (Well, Dog barked it, but softly).

“Well, that's enough of mine. Let's see what Hellspawn and the others came up with, shall we?” Now it was Crowley who led everyone to the final table. He felt immediately sheepish on seeing what the Them had come up with.

The house was something to look at. A Victorian model all done up in gingerbread – as the kids had planned it was held together by burnt sugar but the frosting had been utilized to draw bricks on the sides and shingles on the roof. A dog – Dog by the look of the one inside out ear – had been carefully crafted out of modeling chocolate. There were four kids building a snowman (and here Crowley was surprised to find they'd also used marshmallows for their snowman – it made him feel he'd done something correctly). The kids looked to be made of a mixture of modeling chocolate and fondant. It wouldn't pass for professionally done – some of it was lopsided, one kid was missing an ear and they hadn't bothered to mold feet on any of them – but it was still a triumph.

“Fine, fine, they won,” Beelzebub threw up their hands. “I concede. Even Crowley's was better than mine. I'll leave now.”

“You can't!” Adam insisted. “There's too much gingerbread for all of us, and it's really cold out there.”

“You do understand they're going back to hell, right?” Crowley interrupted. “Cold is not exactly the problem there.”

“It doesn't matter. It's cold, we have all this gingerbread, we should eat it together,” Pepper argued. “You rarely ever eat, Crowley. This is too much for just us and Aziraphale. And Beelzebub really liked the gingerbread, didn't you?”

“Er uh...maybe,” Beelzebub's eyes darted away from the kids and Crowley found himself snorting at the situation. These kids could easily face down all the forces of hell, just by being their usual sweet selves, he figured.

“So?” Crowley asked. “Will you be staying?”

Aziraphale's eyebrows went up. “Crowley, are you asking Beelzebub to spend the rest of the day with us and the Them?”

“Do we have a choice? This lot already decided for us, I think. Besides, they like your gingerbread. Thought you'd be happy about that, at least.”

“It was very good,” Beelzebub admitted, their voice small. “I'd like to stay.”

“Good,” Pepper said with a nod. “I think that's what we were going to ask from you anyway, for our winning.”

“Right,” Brian agreed. “You have to stay.”

“All right. But any tricks and Angel here gets out the holy water.”

Beelzebub's eyes grew to the size of saucers. Apparently it hadn't occurred to them that Aziraphale could get holy water whenever he pleased. The truth was there was never any in the house and Aziraphale was unlikely to allow it for fear of any of it accidentally splashing on Crowley.

It was agreed that Beelzebub could spend the rest of the day with them. Crowley and Aziraphale had both learned that it was almost impossible to argue with the Them once their mind was made up and well, if they ended up with another demon who, while not on their side exactly might be ...adjacent, well, where was the harm?

So they passed the rest of the day with Aziraphale showing Beelzebub how to make the gingerbread, the Them showing them how to make snowballs (and of course, then having an ensuing snowball fight – Beelzebub had excellent aim and was delighted to find that the Them kept arguing about who got them on their team). By the time the sun was setting they were all back inside, gathered in front of the fire. Aziraphale threw a blanket around Beelzebub's shoulders, then wrapped himself and Crowley in another one.

“Your hands are always freezing, dear,” Aziraphale complained. In answer Crowley put his hands up Aziraphale's shirt. “Ughk! That's not funny!”

Beelzebub chuckled then took a long sip of their hot cocoa. “This is why you like it here, huh?”

“It's part of why I like it here,” Crowley answered, his arms wrapping protectively around Aziraphale. “There's even more good stuff. You'd be surprised... You should come up again. Let the Them show you around.”

Beelzebub took another sip, mulling it over. “I'd like that.”

“Oh look!” Adam pointed out the window, “The snow's started!” Crowley resisted the urge to point out that it was only snowing because Adam felt it should be, deciding to enjoy the view instead.

All in all, even he had to admit, snuggled up with Aziraphale like he was, surrounded by some of the people he liked most (minus Newt and Anathema and plus Beelzebub, who may be coming around but was still not someone to be trusted or liked, at least not yet). Even Crowley had to admit this was a pretty perfect day.

#@creativerocket-jpg #@good-snowmens #Good Omens fanfic #good omens fanart #Adam Young #Aziraphale #demon Crowley #beelzeb #The Them #Pepper #Brian #Wensley #Wensleydale #I think it's cute #Meant to be a very sweet story

6 notes · View notes

captain-rennie · 4 years

Text

Fair Game Week Day 2: Date/Domestic

Read it on Ao3 here!

Summary:

He wanted to spend every morning like this with his husband, and judging by the fond kiss Clover pressed to the top of his head, said husband was in agreement.

warnings: just married men bein cute (and a few suggestive flirts)

It was supposed to be date night. Their schedules were cleared, their suits pressed, and Qrow was halfway through gelling his hair back when the meteorologist's voice flooded their bedroom and connected bathroom.

"It seems the blizzard that was supposed to hit tomorrow has come early - expect snowfall within the next hour, and it will be building fast. We recommend nobody leave their homes at this time, and if you're out and about, head home immediately. Conditions are about to become hazardous and scroll service may suffer - "

"Just our luck," Qrow joked feebly, shoulders slumping, as Clover turned down the volume and joined his husband in the bathroom. Warm hands settled on his waist, then slid around his front to wrap around him, and Qrow leaned back into the embrace as Clover rested his chin on his shoulder.

"Just our luck," Clover agreed, his tone much lighter than his partner's. He turned his face into Qrow's neck, nuzzling sweetly. "Looks like I'll be getting my movie night after all. I was looking forward to seeing you in a tie, though."

Unable to help himself, Qrow quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Just the tie?"

"How very scandalous of you," Clover hummed, not sounding very scandalized at all. He pressed a kiss to his husband's shoulder, then backed away and returned to the bedroom. "It's a lovely thought, but let's backdate that to sometime when it's not subzero out there."

"It's a date," Qrow said, and Clover's answering laugh was enough to warm him for the entire season.

With their current date canceled, Qrow regrettably went to work washing the wasted product from his hair, and once done towel-drying it he changed from the nice vest and slacks he'd picked out to a large, comfortable green sweater and gray sweatpants. He clambered onto their shared king bed, nestling into Clover's warm side, and relaxed into the embrace as Clover slung an arm over his shoulder and they both watched the newscast.

After a few minutes, though, Clover slipped away and padded out of the bedroom, mentioning warm drinks, and handed Qrow the remote. Already, Qrow felt cold without his presence; it was cold enough now, but it would only grow colder in the next few days, and he was glad for his walking furnace of a husband.

Idly, he switched the screen to a streaming service, and flipped through the movies, none really catching his eye save for one or two he recognized from Clover's excited rambling. Qrow wasn't really the decision-making type. Soon enough, though, Clover returned, delicately balancing two mugs and two plates of something that smelled fantastic on a tray that he carefully set down on his nightstand.

"You are ridiculous," Qrow snorted as he accepted a mug of hot chocolate, of course topped with a tall mountain of whipped cream and sprinkled with cocoa powder to make it look pretty. Clover spared him a glance from the corner of his eye.

"You're wearing my sweater," he pointed out, amused, and Qrow frowned, effectively outed. He handed his husband the remote, who went hunting for something to watch.

"It's comfy," he grumbled, sipping his hot chocolate and licking whipped cream from his upper lip. "Point taken."

Clover sat back down next to him on the bed with a kiss to Qrow's cheek, and took the remote to browse for a good movie. As he did so, Qrow started propping up the pillows to lean back on for optimal movie night viewage, and settled back into them as his husband decided on a movie. Something with two men on the cover, back-to-back, guns blazing. Qrow was not even remotely surprised.

"Food?" he asked as the starting credits began to play, and Clover leaned over to grab a plate and fork.

"I reheated some of the cottage pie from last night." Qrow hummed in appreciation as the food was handed to him. "Careful, it's . . . hot."

Qrow's forkful was already in his mouth, and hot it was. He sucked in a breath, eyes watering, and quickly swallowed down the bite, shaking his head fiercely as his husband laughed at his misfortune. It was his own fault for not listening, but he glared at Clover nonetheless in offense.

"Ow," he complained as Clover's chuckles died down, his chest warming with fondness at that smile even as he pretended to pout.

"I tried to tell you," Clover defended himself, still grinning.

"And I burned my mouth anyway," Qrow relented with a sigh. "I know."

Clover raised his eyebrows in that goofy, flirty way Qrow loved so much, and asked, "Want me to kiss it better?"

Qrow was a fool for Clover's kisses and could never turn them down. Tonight's were tame and sweet, and yet Qrow could never get enough - but after a few Clover pushed lightly at his shoulder with a chuckle.

"Alright, movie's starting."

"Damn. I hoped I could avoid it if I could distract you well enough."

"Nothing can distract me from a good movie!"

"Is that a challenge?"

"A challenge for another night - I really want you to see this one!"

Qrow relented in the face of his husband's cute enthusiasm, and they settled back against the pillows with their food, shoulders touching, to watch the movie.

He did not burn his mouth again, and the movie was actually quite good. A bit generic in plot, but the humor was clever, with Clover lighting up in delight every time it elicited a laugh from Qrow, and to his surprise the two lead men actually wound up in a relationship by the end. The special effects were decently impressive, too. Despite Clover's dozing off two-thirds of the way through, Qrow actually watched it to the end.

Clover always fell asleep early, as the early riser, and it didn't bother Qrow in the slightest. Once the end credits were rolling, he switched to some show they'd watched before on low volume for background noise, and collected their dirty dishes to bring to the sink. He rinsed them out before returning to bed, and fixed the pillows on his side before disturbing his husband with a few light pats to the thigh.

"Time to lay down," he said when Clover gave a vague, tired grumble, and his husband obediently shifted so that Qrow could reorganize the pillows for him. By the time he was laying down, himself, Clover was fast asleep once more.

Qrow leaned over to his nightstand and turned out the lamp, flooding the room in darkness, before nestling under the covers and curling up against his husband in an effort to keep the cold out. As if by instinct, Clover shifted, turning toward Qrow and draping a huge arm over his husband. Clover's breathing was gentle and easy, and Qrow listened to it and matched it with his own until he was sinking into sleep's welcoming embrace, feeling fuzzy and comfortable and content.

Qrow awoke to the sun shining in his eyes and a notably empty bed. He groaned, squirming away from the invasive light and cracking an eye open to see its source.

The curtains were closed, as was the norm, but a small gap left between them allowed just the thinnest ray of light through to harass Qrow and steal his final few beloved hours of sleep. And Clover was out of bed, so he couldn't even complain about it or ask him to fix it. Sighing, Qrow shoved his face into his pillow and inwardly begged for sleep to take him again.

Unfortunately, his rising awareness made way for his senses to awaken one by one, and he registered the lovely smell wafting into the bedroom from, presumably, the kitchen. Seconds after, he caught the sound of Clover singing, quiet enough it wouldn't have awoken Qrow but loud enough for him to pick up on the song. It was something cheerful, some new tune popular at the moment and right up Clover's alley, and with fondness growing in his heart Qrow thought he could lie there and listen to his husband sing forever.

But all good things must be interrupted sometime, and after smell and hearing came touch, reminding Qrow it was freezing. Reluctantly, he started to drag himself out of bed; it was colder away from the covers, but Clover would be warm, and he never minded Qrow clinging to him to leech his heat. The cooking probably made the kitchen nice and toasty, too.

Slipping on some ridiculous pink slippers his nieces had given him the past holiday, he shuffled out into the hall, then the living room. Ever perceptive, Clover's singing stopped, replaced with a cheery call of, "Morning, sunshine!"

Qrow had not yet retained his ability to speak, so he only gave an incoherent, albeit generally friendly, grumble back. He approached the thermostat near the door, upping it a few degrees before heading toward the kitchen. Clover's back was turned to him, but he glanced over his shoulder long enough to greet his husband with a bright smile. Several things were sizzling satisfyingly on the stove.

"Did you touch the thermostat?" Clover asked by way of greeting as Qrow's arms slid around his waist, head thudding softly against his shoulder.

"You sound like Tai," Qrow replied, then yawned. "You're not even a dad."

"Yet," Clover said, and Qrow huffed in quiet amusement.

"Yet," he agreed. "Still too cold."

"I think it's lovely!"

"Easy for you to say. You're hotter than the sun."

"Why, thank you - "

"Oh, shut up."

Clover laughed, that lovely, deep sound that melted Qrow's heart no matter how often he heard it, and Clover turned his head to press a kiss to Qrow's temple. "Plates?"

Obediently (though reluctantly) Qrow stepped away from his personal heater to collect a few plates and forks, and Clover scooped a ridiculous variety of food - sausage, bacon, eggs, hash browns, and even pancakes - onto them. It smelled heavenly, and Qrow's stomach growled loudly, earning a laugh from Clover.

"Why don't you take the food to the couch, and I'll make us some coffee?"

"Please," Qrow sighed, the promise of caffeine one that spoke to his heart, and headed to the living room after a brief, sweet kiss.

He turned on the television after setting the plates on the table, curling up on the couch in wait, and switched over to the news. Most people seemed to be snowed in, including their building. Qrow remembered the thermometer and realized with some satisfaction it had already become much more habitable in their apartment. That was a relief - as much as he loved cuddling his husband, he preferred it to remain recreational, not out of necessity.

Clover joined him soon with a steaming mug, and Qrow took a grateful sip, humming pleasantly at the bitter taste and spreading warmth. Just the right amount of cream and sugar, as always. Clover made a good cup of coffee.

As his husband produced his scroll to call his boss and let him know they'd likely be snowed in for a few days, Qrow nestled comfortably against his side with his food. He didn't mind being stuck inside for a few more days. As important as he felt their work was, this was a totally viable and well-deserved way to spend an impromptu vacation.

He wanted to spend every morning like this with his husband, and judging by the fond kiss Clover pressed to the top of his head, said husband was in agreement.

#fairgameweek2020 #fair game #rwby #clover ebi #qrow branwen

61 notes · View notes

binkysteebnpewter · 4 years

Note

Bucky x Fem-R? "Somehow you dont even have to open your mouth to make my head hurt" "any shorter and youd probably fade out of existence." "i fixed you breakfast. i know its just a bowl of cereal but its the only thing that i cant burn."

A Lucky Charm Truce

A/N: I hope you enjoy! This was pretty fun to write!

Warnings: Cursing, a little angst, ends in fluff though

Drabble Taglist: @softpeachbarnes

Everyone knew the bickering between the teams resident Short-Stack and Ex-Assassin was just that, bickering. No real hard feelings, sort of like him and Sam. His and her bickering was non-stop however, and everyone hoped it would soon come to an end. While occasionally it was amusing to listen to or watch, other times it tended to be annoying and repetitive. Don’t be fooled, the two were definitely friends but their friendship had been founded on the fact that neither took any crap from others. They were both blunt and honest, telling each other off when one was wrong.

They went back and forth at times like cat and dog. Insults hitting like claws, their bickering played out like hisses and growls— interrupting one or the other, sometimes ignoring until a paw or set of claws struck out. Scratches and paw marks were left on each other, white or red with remnant irritation— a hint of something underneath that no one could see yet.

Today was one of those days where the bickering wasn’t bickering but instead arguing, today it wasn’t repetitive not annoying— it was concerning. It stemmed from a mission, reckless decisions had been made from both parties in the argument.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I think you do, Bucky. What you did was reckless and stupid! It could’ve gotten more than just you and I hurt!”

“Shut up.”

“No, Bucky. I won’t because despite the bickering I care about you, I’m making it my job to keep you alive!”

“I don’t care.”

“I do, Bucky! Are you even listening—”

“No! Oh my god, I don’t care! You ruin everything okay?! Leave! Can you not just fuck off already!? It’s a wonderful how you’re still on the team as much as you bitch!”

A heavy silence froze over everyone, a chilling shock that numbed everyone to their spot. It was a shot to the chest to hear Bucky yell, especially so angrily. No one really knew what to say.

“Are you going to cry now?”

“No. I won’t do this anymore, I won’t care about you anymore if that’s how little you think of me.”

The sentence hit everyone like a knife, even though she wasn’t even talking about them directly. Bucky seemed to freeze and stayed stand still in his spot as she walked off, down the hall and out of sight. He huffed and headed off away from the others, leaving no one any room to speak to him about what he’d just done.

It had been three days since Bucky had said those things to her, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He didn’t mean those things he’d said. He really didn’t want her to “fuck off”, she didn’t really “ruin everything”, and he cares about her. The problem he faced now was that the next morning she never came to breakfast, nor lunch, nor dinner. She had left the compound without a word, no one knew where she went. She was as sneaky as Romanoff when she wanted to be, now was one of those times it seemed.

Anger worked in funny ways, it made people say things they didn’t mean at all— it made people say things that leaves burns on the other individuals mind. Anger is like fire, flicks of flames that lick at skin. Little red licks left in its wake, warm and burning— a warmth unwelcome at that degree.

The longer she was gone, the more Bucky realized as his mind obsessed over a way to apologize. He couldn’t stop thinking of what he could do for her to show that he did in fact care, that he didn’t want her to fuck off, and that she didn’t ruin everything. He couldn’t really cook anymore, the stoves weren’t the same as back then. Just before the mission, he’d managed to burn a can of beef stew. So what on earth could he do for her? He wasn’t good with words, clearly, and cooking was what Maximoff had suggested— but he’s sure he could burn pasta even if he tried his best to make it correctly.

He didn’t expect to see her walking into the compound at 2:30am after he’d had a nightmare and came out to make himself tea, but he took the opportunity and wuickly made the only thing he could think of. Cereal, Lucky Charms. She likes the marshmallows, he remembered that from a random conversation they shared at one point some time ago—during a time of sleepy civil talk they’d had.

“Somehow, you don’t even have to open your mouth to make my head hurt.”

The statement came out bland and exasperated when she entered, it had cut him off when he went to speak to her. He couldn’t find himself caring about that either, he had hurt her more three days ago that that could ever hurt him now. He found himself smirking when she tried to reach for a mug and fell short of reaching it.

“Any shorter shorter and you’d probably fade out of existence.”

The jest came with the motion of Bucky handing her the mug she always used, she called it Queen’s Mug™️. She gave him a half hearted glare at the jest and said nothing as she began to collect what her knew she used for hot cocoa. Snatching the mug from her hands, she groans.

“I fixed you breakfast. I know it’s just a bowl of cereal but it’s the only thing I can’t burn.”

She smiles a little at the bowl of cereal and thanks him, he didn’t say anything as he nodded— but he was certain he couldn’t mess up hot cocoa. He warmed up the milk in the microwave and mixed in the powder, putting in the marshmallows she’d gotten out and dashing it with the cinnamon she’d set down.

“One hell of a breakfast combo, wouldn’t you say?”

#marvel #reader insert #avengers #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes drabble #drabble

49 notes · View notes

thebrotherswholoved · 5 years

Text

dreaming a festive little dream

summary: You always look back on the bad times when you're standing in front of everything you've always wanted. Perhaps Santa brought him that astronomy book he wanted as a kid, or maybe his gift already arrived and he'll be reminded of how lucky he truly is.

content: dadchesters, parent!wincest, family bonding, only fluff/a bit of saddening nostalgia I guess, kiddos causing trouble, domestic bants

read on Ao3

Sam would be lying if he said he'd always adored Christmas.

For the longest time, it was the complete opposite. He abhorred the holiday and those stupid ornaments, tacky trees, and annoying carolers that would come to the motel door every year without fail, even though they never spent any two Christmases in the same place. Class parties were upsetting and made seven-year-old Sam run to the bathroom with tears rolling down his pudgy little cheeks at the sight of all the parents surprising their children at school. The teachers would forget about him and continue pouring green and red Kool Aid into cheap Dixie cups while he plucked at the strings of his short-sleeve, too-thin-for-winter shirt in a dingy restroom to make the tears stop. In fact, the only reason he'd return to class at all is because those candy apples, mince pies, and dollar store chocolates would make up the only meal he'd had in two days. Dean would try to feed him at the room after school but he'd say that he had lunch there so his older brother would feed himself at last in lieu of sacrificing yet another meal for his chubby little sibling.

Sam would ignore the rumbling in his stomach when he woke up on Christmas Day to find stolen presents under the dining table and an air freshener tree taped to the side before rushing to hug and kiss Dean's eleven-year-old cheeks and watching as he tried to hide his frost-nipped fingers from view, which happened without a doubt the night prior when he stole gifts from the neighbors. He wasn't as oblivious as Dean had hoped, after all.

John would call them for four and a half minutes tops and tell them to clean the guns and pack their things to leave in a few hours when he'd return, but not after a trip to a dive bar decked out with tinsel and Nat King Cole playing on the radio, which would be the only thing to remind him that he missed another Christmas with his sons—not that he cared. The blood of some ghoul or monster would stain his hands when he handed over a twenty dollar bill to pay off his tab, which is twice as much money that he gave to his boys for a few days. He beat the monster and to him, that's all that mattered.

Twenty-eight-year-old Sam Winchester wakes up with a start from his nightmare and shudders at the lingering feeling of cold numbness in his nose from the blizzard his mind had flung him into for the night. He sits up and expects the familiar chilly air and lack of insulation in another podunk motel room and to feel the abrasiveness of scratchy ninety-nine cent sheets on a Dateline oh-god-I-hope-that's-paint mattress, but finds nothing of the sort. Thirty dollar flannel sheets layer over him and shield him from the thermostat-regulated seventy-six degree room, which is painted a nice grey instead of the peeling wallpaper he saw in his dream.

The clock on his bedside table reads just before ten o'clock, a time which is verified by the gentle sweeping of sunshine bleeding into the room through the curtains. The room is splashed a golden yellow by the rays of light and this bright intrusion prompts him to stand up onto his feet and begin walking through his house. His dream created a film inside his mind and he feels foreign in this beautiful home—no empty beer bottles or pizza boxes, no flickering lights or broken taps, no neighbors going at it like animals in heat or pipes squeaking under the pressure of water coursing through their copper interiors. The chair rail is painted white and matches the molding strips; there are pictures framed on the walls of children—their children—taken professionally for birthdays and Christmases and anniversaries; and there’s a clanging sound coming from what’s presumably the kitchen given the open layout, followed by a gruff voice laughing and shushing the source of the sound.

Sam looks down at what he’s wearing and it all starts coming back to him: his red and white striped pyjamas were pointed out to him as a joke by Dean in a Pottery Barn catalogue but were bought anyway, the smell of pine needles and spice are coming from the tree in the corner of the living room, and the noises are indeed resonating from the kitchen. Something is dropped onto the floor with a bang which makes him jump, and he concludes that it’s not just him who’s startled by the sound of the shrill screech and gruff ejaculation that follows.

“Son of a—a gun!” Dean places a hand on his chest and catches his breath after the scare. He then looks at his and Sam’s children with an incredulous glare. “Which of you little monsters just took twenty years off my life?”

Sam leans against the entryway wall and watches as their oldest, Caden, smiles with maniacal eyes and raises his hand, making his Dad roll his eyes.

“Of course!” He swings the four-year-old into his arms as they both laugh, Caden letting out helpless giggles as Dean tickles him. “You are a little rascal.”

His eyes then shift to his and Dean’s youngest child, Paisley, who shrieks and claps her hands when she sees him, climbing out of her chair and waddling with bowed little legs over to him. She calls for “Daddy” and he meets her in the middle of the room where he scoops her up in his arms and sees her bright green eyes light up with glee when he pokes her chubby middle. Paisley’s tiny hands grasp at Sam’s hair which prompts him to push it back behind his ears and kiss his daughter’s tiny freckled nose. Whenever he has the chance to get a good look at Caden’s and Paisley’s features, it hits him for the umpteenth time how much they resemble their fathers.

Dean frowns when he sees his husband with their daughter, but not for the reason one may think. Caden pats his Dad’s cheeks with hands coated in powdered sugar and hoists himself onto his back to piggyback ride him and he pouts.

“You’re supposed to be asleep, Sasquatch.”

Sam hums when Paisley starts to bite at her little chewy bracelet they have her wear for oral stimulation, per suggestion of her pediatrician. “You guys aren’t exactly quiet, are you?”

Caden shakes his head and lets wavy hazelnut hair fall into his eyes. “Dada’s letting us cook.”

“We decided to make you breakfast before opening what Santa brought last night,” Dean explains and rubs his neck when their son drops down off his back.

He claims it’s because he has “cervical spine issues” that just decided to surface at age thirty-two but he gets just as flustered and nervous around Sam as he did as a teen and as a young adult when they first started “dating.” Admitting that to his husband, however, would be like admitting to murder—murder of his masculinity, that is, which is already fragile since the season of PETA adverts began. Sam still curls the longer pieces of his hair around his fingers whenever he finds himself more vulnerable than usual to Dean’s cuteness and susceptible to seduction after the kids are in bed. Nothing’s changed since their first date—with the exception of a house, marriage certificate, and two kids, of course.

“Aw,” Sam puts Paisley down on the floor and she runs as fast as her stubby, bowed legs will carry her to whatever her brother is doing in front of the TV. “I am loved after all.”

Dean lets out a huff and snakes his arms around his husband’s waist. “We have suspiciously fluffy pancakes, some extra crispy toast, scrambled eggs with a bit too much milk, and some actually decent hot cocoa.”

“I’ll take whatever’s edible, “ he knocks their foreheads together, “if you give me a kiss.”

“Ugh, I guess I can comply,” Dean rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss the love of his life, sleepy eyes fluttering shut in the safety of each other’s arms and in the security of the life they’ve built together.

Sam pulls back with some blue frosting on his nose and gives his brother a questioning eyebrow raise. He exhales with a soft laugh in reply. “We also baked cookies. Blue trees and green snowflakes like Pais wanted.”

“You’re such a great dad, De,” he rubs the other man’s shoulders with a grin. “I love you.”

“I know. You got lucky, Sammy,” Dean kisses him again. When they part, he whispers against his lips and runs his pointer finger over his chin. “Now the kids might actually kill us if we don’t let them open their presents, so can you go distract them while I get breakfast ready?”

Sam can’t help but laugh at his comment yet nods nonetheless. “I’ll keep you safe from our four and one year old children, I promise.”

“You’d better!” He calls over his shoulder as he walks back into the kitchen to clean up the mess and plate the viable food. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Jerk,” Sam shouts, walking to the family room to watch the Scooby Doo Christmas special with a kid under each arm, all four of them wearing those hideous matching pyjamas.

After all, he’s got the best gift ever already. That said, he still wants those matching flasks they saw at the store to take to the more boring little league games. Oh shit, he’s not supposed to mention that.

Merry Christmas from the Winchester family—the most dysfunctional clan on earth.

#wincest #sam x dean #sam/dean #fanfic #parent!wincest #domestic boys #family matters #otp: and they were soulmates #merry christmas #happy holidays #i hope you like your gift #im not a lazy oaf see #my fanfiction #read on ao3

19 notes · View notes

lovelylogans · 6 years

Text

patton's chocolate brownie birthday cupcakes!!!

ships: platonic lamp, gen

warnings: food mentions, ridiculous amounts of fluff

words: 1,184

continued from the same universe as this fic. read both on ao3.

happy birthday to the dadliest boi! i love him!

Patton's Chocolate Brownie Birthday Cupcakes!!!

Ingredients:

for cupcakes:

1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled

1 1/4 cups sugar

2 large eggs

1/2 cup milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 cup dutch-pressed cocoa powder

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flower

3/4 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

for frosting:

3/4 cup unsalted butter, room temperature

3/4 cup cocoa powder

1/4 cup milk

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon salt

rainbow sprinkles

Equipment:

1 electric mixer

Large bowl

12 cupcake liners

Muffin tin

A well-stocked kitchen

Egg timer

Piping bag with large star tip

3 aprons of varying designs

Fire Safety: The Basics of Ensuring the Mindscape Does Not Burn Down

Step 1:

Ensure that Patton is in deep REM sleep before going to wake the other two sides. Dodge projectile Roman has aimed at the door, and scold Roman for constructing a functioning polybolos to harm anyone who interrupts his "beauty sleep." Explain idea. Regret it in approximately three seconds.

Step 2:

Follow Roman to Virgil's room. Attempt to dissaude Roman from bouncing on Virgil's bed to wake him. Fail. Try not to laugh at Roman from where he has landed on the floor, complaining about his bruised everything. Inform Roman you warned him. Ignore glare. Explain idea to Virgil. Wait for Virgil to wake fully. Realize that caffeine is probably necessary.

Step 3:

Brew pot of coffee. Stop Virgil from drinking directly from the pitcher. Pour him a sizable mug. Shush Roman when he starts chanting for Virgil to "chug it." Monitor Virgil with resignation to ensure that he does not choke while chugging his coffee.

Step 4:

Consult online recipe. Attempt to gather all ingredients and supplies. Quietly curse Patton's nonsensical kitchen arrangement. Break for fifteen minutes as he researches the difference between "dutch-pressed" cocoa powder and normal cocoa powder, as Virgil reads the fire safety packet, and as Roman dramatically drapes himself across the counter.

Step 5:

Watch Virgil push Roman off the counter. Listen to Roman complain about being bruised everywhere, again.

Step 6:

Tolerate various aprons Roman conjures for them. Break up argument on which of the sides are the closest to Belle, Logan or Roman, even though Virgil is clearly correct. Preheat oven.

Step 7:

Plug in mixer and pour in sugar and butter, as directed. Attempt to waylay Roman from dumping in the eggs, milk, and vanilla extract before everything is fully mixed together. Fail. Sigh and oversee bowl as Virgil and Roman argue over which cupcake liners to use.

Step 8:

Turn speed to low and add in cocoa powder, flour, baking powder, and salt. Examine sludgy mixture and hope that it will even out with more mixing. Resist urge to put speed back on high. Listen to Virgil worry about forgetting an ingredient. Intercede before Roman can dump in even more baking powder. Direct them back towards the cupcake liners argument.

Step 9:

Decide each will select four cupcake liners. Select plain black liners. Carefully place Virgil's purple plaid liners in a line between his and Roman's rainbow ones. Scoop cupcake batter into liners. Place muffin tin into oven. Set timer.

Step 10:

Suggest start making the frosting. Ask Virgil to bring over the cocoa powder. Watch as Virgil grabs it and moves to hand it to Roman. Notice when it's too late that the top is open. Watch the cocoa powder vacate the bag, fly through the air, and land on Roman's apron. Watch Roman start to look very offended. Watch Virgil press his lips together. Attempt to suppress laughter. Fail.

Step 11:

War.

"Um," Patton announces from the doorway, and Virgil freezes from where he's about to smash the remnants of a banana into Logan's back.

Logan's not nearly so lucky. He can't hold back his momentum, and as Roman turns to face Patton, innocently holding up a rolling pin, Logan slams a handful of chocolate pudding over Roman's head.

Roman yelps, readying the rolling pin, and Patton says loudly, "Okay!"

At that moment, the timer goes off.

"The cupcakes!" Virgil yelps, and Roman flicks his wrists, oven mitts encompassing his hands as he marches for the oven, pulling them out.

"Cup... cakes?" Patton says, looking even more confused. He rubs his eyes. He's wearing blue fluffy socks, soft, pink flannel pants, and an old, too-tight t-shirt declaring don't stop retrievin', hold onto that feline, the lettering and images cracked and faded.

"It's the anniversary the first day you appeared in one of Thomas' videos," Logan says, removing his flour-caked glasses so he could see Patton, albeit rather fuzzy and soft-edged now. "Your birthday."

Patton starts to smile.

"We thought you could bring you breakfast in bed," Roman says, "Breakfast being dessert, of course, because birthdays are meant for sugar—"

Patton's grinning wider, now, unnoticed by the others, who are all staring at the gross kitchen floor in consternation.

"Because you bake for us all the time," Virgil says. "So Logan came up with the idea of us trying to bake something. For once."

"Aw, you guys," Patton squeals, hands reaching for Virgil, remembering his dirtiness, and going to his cheeks instead as he bounces happily on his feet. "I would totally call for a group hug right now but all of you are kinda gross!"

Virgil looks up, then Roman and Logan. Virgil clears his throat, rubbing at his nose with his thumb, trying to look more chill. "You're not... mad?"

"Oh, you're all absolutely going to clean the kitchen," Patton says, still grinning. "And you guys have to go take a shower, like, right now. And you're going to replace all the stuff you wasted. But no, of course not! You guys were trying to surprise me! I mean, it was really—"

"No, wait, don't," Logan says desperately, as he catches the look on Patton's face.

"—sweet of all of you!"

Roman and Virgil snicker as Logan groans.

"You have to let me pun today, Logan, it's my birthday," Patton says, beaming. "Now all of you go clean up, we can ice all the cupcakes after that."

Step 12:

Shower, get dressed in new clothes, and clean off glasses.

Step 13:

Patton tactfully takes over the icing, which is good, as none of them know what "cream the butter" means. He distributes the icing into four piping bags, distributes a cupcake per type of liner to each person, and they all start to ice. Sprinkle liberally with rainbow sprinkles.

Step 14:

Stick a candle in the top of one of Patton's cupcakes. Stick a cheap cardboard cone hat on top of Patton's head. Attempt to sing the song, which consists of Logan going monotone, Roman doing riffs on every note, and Virgil mumbling along. Patton claps along anyways, and leans forwards to blow out the candle.

Step 15:

Eat cupcakes for breakfast. Accept Patton's kisses on each of their cheeks, and do not notice until they all look at each other that Patton has left a chocolatey lip print on each of them.

Step 16:

Gather cleaning supplies.

Virgil's apron, Logan's apron, Roman's apron, and Patton's birthday hat. Adapted from this recipe.

taglist: @somewhatsanders @tommysandypantsisasolarnymph @erlenmeyertrash @lindesensate @toreencapsicle

#text #my fanfic #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #lamp #patton #logan #virgil #roman #fluff #my fic

98 notes · View notes

iamarosegarden · 6 years

Text

Social Media

yo! it’s day two of the countdown, i did a youtube au, even though i’m sure a lot of other people did. i felt like it, also i couldn’t really think of anything else. so, here it is.

ao3

PLAY

The screen filled with black, than a snowball rolled across the screen, spelling out “SimonSn☃️w”.

Then the screen was filled by a boy, with curly (curly) bronze hair and blue (blue) eyes (Aleister Crowley, he’s hot). Wearing a pale green sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, and jeans. He was standing behind a kitchen island, with his hands on his hips, looking off-screen.

“Penny, I am not making german chocolate cake again. The video’s not even a year old!” the boy (presumably Simon) says, taking a hand off his hip to drag it through his hair. Only, it gets caught partway through and he has to untangle his fingers.

“But Simoooon,” says a girl’s voice off screen (probably Penny), “I really want some,”

“Nope.” Simon says, glancing at the camera, “we don’t have the ingredients anyway”.

“I’m about to go to the store, I’ll get them!” Penny said, appearing on screen, an indian girl with deep indigo hair (a lot of indigo hair, wow) and a pair of cat-eyed glasses. She ducks behind Simon grabs a pair of keys off a bowel on the counter.

“I- Penny! I’m not making it!” yells Simon after Penny as she disappears off screen again, shaking his head as he hears the door slam shut (Baz can’t help but snicker at the look of fond exasperation on Simon’s face). He sighed before turning to the camera, “In case any of you are wondering, she has the ingredients list memorized.”

It cuts to Penny appearing on screen, with Simon facing her, leaning against the counter. She has at least ten bags looped over her arms quickly rushed to the island to set them down. “Sooooo,” she began, looking up at Simon hopefully, “these are all the ingredients you need.”

“Fine, but you have to help with this and the scones, and I’m posting this on my side channel,” Simon said, and started pulling ingredients out of the bags. Penny beamed at him and then turned to the camera.

“I knew he’d cave,”

“Shut up Penny,”

“Looooove you,”

It cuts to Simon standing facing the camera again, with Penny next to him. His shoulder are slumped in defeat and Penny’s grinning like a madwoman. (Baz feels like Penny’s always grinning like a madwoman.)

“Hi guys! It’s Simon Snow, and today I’ve been wrestled into making another german chocolate cake by my friend and flatmate Penny, or as you guys might know her, PennyofyourThoughts. Thanks for watching, and I hope your desserts tastes great!”

It cuts to a fast montage of them measuring all the ingredients out, text popping up in the corner of the screen to tell you what the measurements were. (It seemed like Simon had just spliced together all the funniest moments, and while Baz didn’t want to admit it, he may have giggled a few times.)

Two cups all-purpose flour: Penelope emerging from the pantry with the bag of flour held over her head triumphantly, Simon laughing in the background.

One and a half cups granulated sugar: they’ve both somehow gotten flour on their faces, and a cup of it sits neatly on the island counter as Simon pours some sugar back into the bag, glaring at Penelope. “You know it only taste good if you follow the recipe, right? Because this much sugar would have been disgusting.” Penny’s moan of frustration is cut off as the next clip plays.

Three/fourths cup of cocoa powder: Simon pulls something out of the shopping bag, then turns to Penny with a look of horror. “This- this is Nisquick Mix, Penny! This is… this won’t work.” Penny just stares at him. “You’ve seen me make this before, right? You watched the video? You have the recipe memorized?” Penny nodds. “THEN WHY DID YOU GET CHOCOLATE MILK MIX, PENELOPE?”

“There’s a difference?”

“I- Yes! There’s a difference.”

“Oh, I see,”

“You see,”

“I’ll be right back”

Simon just shakes his head at her as she leaves.

One teaspoon salt, One teaspoon baking powder, Two teaspoons baking soda: all three of these went into a small bowl, Simon hovering over Penny to make sure she used the right spoons.

One cup buttermilk: Simon pours the milk into the cup from high enough up that it splashes on the island counter, and then it cuts to him sadly wiping it up.

One half a cup vegetable oil: this time Penny pours it, and Simon watches intently from where he’s crouched behind the island his eyes level with the cup.

Two eggs: Simon cracked them both, one in each hand, and Penny gasped.

One cup hot coffee: Penny and Simon both downed a mug in silence while staring at the camera.

Then it cuts to Simon and Penny standing behind the island, staring gravely at the ingredients that were neatly laid out in bowls and cups. Then they looked at each other and started laughing.

“So, I don’t really want to go into detail with how you make it and stuff because, there’s already a video on that…”

“You could do a Q&A?” Penny suggests, already pulling her phone out of her pocket to tweet about it.

“Yeah okay that works,”

“Okay so, we tweeted out for questions, and I’m gonna finish making this cake while Penny reads them,” Simon shoves up his sleeves from where they’ve slipped down, and Penny nods from where she’s sitting on the counter behind him. “I mean, this is pretty easy to make anyway. Um, link to the recipe on my blog in the description,”

“@snowsiman asks ‘are you in a relationship?’” Penny reads off, wiping her head up to look up at Simon’s reaction.

Simon’s ears are going red, and he ducks down to focus on where he’s stirring the dry ingredients together. “Uh, no,”

Penny snickers at his answer “you’re blushing an awful lot there, Simon,” she says, which just makes him blush harder.

“Penny…” he groans, dropping the spoon to cover his cheeks with his hands. (god, he’s so cute.)

Penny shoves her hair out of her face before reading off the next the next one. “@SnowBaz asks, ‘will you ever do another blind baking video?’”

Before Penny has even fully finished talking Simon’s rushing to answer, “Noooooo! Never again,” (Baz had watched that video, it was hysterical) he turned around to glare at Penny, who just cackled and read off the next question.

“@DappleDesserts asks ‘how did you start baking?’”

Simon blew a curl off his face and shoved the bowl under the stand mixer before grabbing another one for the wet ingredients.

“Well, you know I’m an Orphantm.” Simon started (he flahsed the ™ on the screen as he said it, and even though Baz felt kind of sorry about it, he laughed), his eyes now pinned to the new bowl as he slowly stirred (slowly stirred). “One of the foster homes I got placed in never really had enough food for all the kids they had taken on so I stepped up. I was maybe 12? I just started with like microwave mac and cheese and then real pasta and then stuff like homemade pizza and stir fry and eventually the older kids would bring me ingredients with requests for stuff and the like.” he laughed a little at that. “I liked it cuz none of the other kids would bother me when I was measuring stuff out because they wanted it to taste good but then one of the new girls gave me three dollars and asked me if i could make her something sweet because she missed her mother’s angel cake and of fucking course I did because…” he trailed off and sniffed, staring at the bowl in silence for a few seconds before continuing, “uh anyway I made it and I already liked cooking, but the way it made me feel when she thanked me was just- it was something. And I’ve always loved food and that was where the dream started. I still kinda want to open a bakery but,” Simon shrugged “sometimes dreams only come halfway true and that's better than nothing”

Penny she was wiping her eyes. “Uh” She coughed into her arm, “@snowball4life asks ‘what’s your favorite dessert/pastry,’”

Simon laughed, (transforming back into the golden boy that he was) looking back at the camera, “This is waaay more serious than my tragic backstory. Penny already knows, but I just wanna clarify before I answer, just because this is my favorite pastry, that doesn’t mean it’s the only thing I ever eat, so don’t pull that shit where it’s the only thing you bring to conventions, I do not want another repeat of the Roast Beef Incident,” he poured the wet ingrediants into the dry and then turned on the mixer, “it’s Sour Cherry Scones,”

Penny started laughing again. “Oh my god, I’d almost forgotten about that,” she leaned toward the camera from her perch, “basically, someone asked him what his favorite food was during a livestream, and then at that year’s vidcon, all people brought were different variants of roast beef, and their versions of his desserts, of course. But mostly roast beef. And because Simon’s such a fuckin’ sap, he didn’t want to throw any of it away, so for the longest time our fridge and freezer were just, full of roast beef shit. It was great… but Simon couldn’t eat roast beef for like a year after that,” she snickers again (Baz along with her, he remembers that con, it was before he’d known anything about Simon Snow (ah, the blissful ignorance he’d had) and had been very confused about the smell) “Anyway, @🌈Mordelia🌈 asks ‘are you one of us gays?’” (goddamn it Baz was going to have a talk with his sister, because he knew that’s her handle)

Simon frowned for a second as he grabbed the coffee and started pouring it in the mix, “I don’t really like labels, but when pressed for one I usually say I’m bi. But yeah, I don’t like labels. But I mean, it’s fine if you like labels, for some people it helps them feel more secure and stuff. I’m totally chill with other people using them, just don’t force one on me, ya know?” (Baz mentally rejoiced at the confirmation that Simon liked both genders, and then had to remind himself that he’d never met Simon so it wasn’t like he really had a chance)

Simon ducked under the island as Penny read off the next question “@PrincessPriya, hey, shoutout to my sister, follow her on twitter, asks ‘Simon are you you afraid of the dark ? 😈’”

Simon popped up from behind the island and whirled around and pointed at Penny, who was grinning evilly, “Fuck you, Bunce,” he spun around and faced the camera, pointing at it, “and fuck you, Bunce,” he finished, setting three cake pans down on counter. “I am afraid of the dark, you can’t see in it,” he flicked off the mixer and flipped up the spatula to let the batter drip off, “Next question,”

“@pitchsviolin,” Penny pauses, “that’s another Grimm-Pitch watcher. There’s a weirdly big overlap between your subscribers. @pitchsviolin asks ‘will you and Grimm-Pitch ever do a collab?’”

(Baz didn’t know if he should be frustrated or grateful that his and Simon's followers seemed so determined to get a collab.)

Simon detached the spatula and quickly tossed it in the sink, going off screen for a second to do so. He started pouring out the batter as he answered, “Um, I don’t know… I mean, he doesn’t seem to like me that much? (Baz mentally smacked himself, he could see how Simon had gotten that impression. Back when he’d been in intense denial of his crush he may have answered a few questions about Simon a bit too aggressively) And what would we even do? I make baking videos and vlogs, and he does violin, dancing, and Q&As. But I don’t know, maybe at next vidcon or something he and I can meet up and talk about it,” (Baz paused the video for a couple seconds to let that sink in. He couldn’t decide if he loved or hated the idea.)

Simon turned around and stuck the pans in the oven. “I think that’s gonna be the end of this video. Making the icing is kinda loud, and I also don’t feel like doing fancy icing or decorations, which would be kinda boring to watch so, yeah. Also I think this is a good stopping point.”

Penny hopped of the counter and walked offscreen, Simon’s eyes following her as she moved behind the camera.

“Thanks for watching, don’t forget to do all the youtube things, and check out my other videos at the links on screen. Byeeeeeeeeeeeeee,”

There was a fast zoom to his face on the ‘bye’ and then the screen changed to Simon’s endcard, a snowy mountain with links to his channels on either side, some generic music playing in the background.

End of Video

#simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #carry on #carry on countdown #coc 2017 #carry on fanfic #co fanfic #co #iamarosegarden #iamarosegarden fanfic

16 notes · View notes

eightpoundsofhair · 7 years

Text

Lapidot Week Day 6

Lapidot week day 6 yay!

You can read it below or here on AO3

@lapidot-week

Lapis and Peridot were not great cooks. They had learned enough to get by and take care of themselves, but it was undeniable that they had their mishaps. Like the time Lapis had burnt a plate of cookies and the house smelt of smoke for days. Or the time that Peridot forgot about the pasta she was cooking and the water boiled over the pot, and a fire nearly started.

The mistakes got worse as they attempted to cook together, the distractions too high, and a quite few times they ended up in the bedroom before they could finish the dish, leaving the half made food out to rot or get eaten by their dog over night.

So Peridot was reluctant to agree to them making brownies from scratch together. She supposed she had no choice though, as Lapis had already bought all the ingredients and was insisting.

When Lapis pulled Peridot down the stairs of their small home, their dog barked loudly, following them into the kitchen. Lapis shooed him away when he tried to jump onto the counter. Peridot stared in awe at the mass amount of supplies on their kitchen counter.

"Do we really need all this stuff?" Peridot asked, picking up a whisk in her hand and staring at it.

Lapis shrugged, grabbing a large bowl from the cabinet, "I guess,"

She placed the bowl in front of Peridot and turned around, preheating the oven.

Peridot watched as Lapis pulled out her phone and placed it on the counter. Peridot leaned over to skim the recipe over her shoulder.

"Okay," Lapis declared, moving away from her phone to let Peridot look, "First we gotta combine butter, oil, and sugar!" Lapis exclaimed, pulling out each item she listed as she said them and dropping them down on the counter with a large bang. Peridot jumped at the noise, but chuckled at Lapis enthusiasm, happy to see her happy, even if the energy and enthusiasm was a bit unusual.

Lapis plopped the butter down into the bowl after Peridot carefully mess aired them, and she pushed the bowl over to Peridot. "Help me kill the butter?" She asked, sweetly. Peridot chuckled at her diction, but nodded.

Peridot grabbed a large spoon and dinner best at squishing the blob of butter down so it could be mixed well into the other ingredients. It was a struggle, that Peridot grumbled thoroughly about. Lapis carefully measured out the correct amount of oil while Peridot struggled.

Lapis briefly lifted Peridot's hands from the bowl and poured the butter until the mixing bowl, before turning away again to measure out sugar, leaving Peridot to suffer once more, muttering to herself, and feeling frustration bubble up indie of her.

When Lapis had also finished measuring the sugar, she took the bowl from Peridot, squashing down the rest if the butter herself before dumping in the sugar.

As she did so Peridot rolled her eyes, annoyed that she couldn't succeed in properly mushing the confection down. She took the time however to tease her partner.

"Are you sure you measured correctly?" She asked with a smirk.

Lapis muttered her agreement as she began to mix the concoction with a large, wooden spoon.

"You know what happened the last time you tried to tweak a recipe, right?" Peridot said, smugly, remembering with a smug face the time Lapis added far too much sugar to a cookie recipe, making them quite literally sickly sweet. She remembered, somewhat less fondly, the pair throwing up said cookies later that day.

Lapis stopped mixing to glare over at Peridot. She flung a piece of butter at the shorter woman before turning back to her mixing.

Peridot laughed as she ducked, before hopping over to lean her head on Lapis's shoulder while she mixed the thick batter. Lapis finished after a minute or two, and she pushed the bowl forwards.

She took Peridot's head in her hands and slowly leaned in. Peridot's heart fluttered as Lapis's warm breath landed on her face, and a dumb smile soon found its way on to her face in response. Peridot slowly got onto her tip toes, closing the gap between them. Lapis pulled Peridot closer, grabbing her waist with strong hands and bringing Peridot's torso right into Lapis's. Peridot hummed in contentment, lifting her arms up to wrap around Lapis's neck. The two swayed slowly as they continued to kiss, and Peridot felt a comforting fire in her gut.

Lapis pulled away slowly, and the two breathed heavily into each other's faces. Peridot got off of tip toes to place her head in the crook between Lapis's shoulder and neck. Lapis rocked the two back and forth, around their tiny kitchen, before pulling back from Peridot.

Peridot pouted at the loss of contact, and tried to complain as Lapis went back over to their cooking. Lapis shook her head, "I want to actually make something good this time,"

Peridot continued to complain, but walked back over to Lapis, who had begun cracking eggs and pouring their contents into a small cup. She then scooped out any shells that landed in the cup with a spoon, before plopping the eggs into the bowl as well.

She handed Peridot a small bottle of vanilla extract when she was done and grabbed herself a salt shaker. The two girls measured out their respective ingredients and put them into the bowl, before Lapis slid the bowl over to Peridot.

She handed Peridot their whisk before grabbing herself a glass of water.

"You gotta mix it for like a straight minute," she said before taking a sip of water.

After the time was up Lapis took the bowl back, and Peridot rubbed at her upper arm, which was now somewhat tired.

Lapis muttered to herself as she glared at her bowl.

"What?" Peridot asked.

"We're supposed to sift the flour and cocoa powder but I don't know how to do that," Lapis ran a hand through her hair as she continued to mumble to herself. Peridot tried to help, but also didn't know what the needed to do. She suggested looking it up but Lapis simply shrugged, "I'm sure it's not important,"

After a bit of mild argument about the important of sifting and folding, the batter was, debatably, done and ready for the oven. Peridot shook her head as Lapis poured the batter into a pan, convinced their sloppy work at the end would result in some less than wonderful brownies.

Lapis disagreed, however, and she placed the brownies into the oven, tossing them slightly so as to not burn her hand, which she refused to put an oven mitt on while putting things in the oven.

She pulled Peridot out of the kitchen after the setting the timer, and they ran into the living room, Peridot laughing behind Lapis. Pumpkin ran behind them, barking excitedly at the perceived game.

Peridot was pushed onto the couch as they entered the living room, and Pumpkin barked loudly as Lapis jumped on top of her. She herself laughed when Peridot pushed her off of her so she could sit up.

They spent the next half hour cuddling and teasing each other, with a few sloppy make outs thrown in between.

The last particular instance, Lapis was on top Peridot as they kissed, straddling her waist, but she jumped up and off the couch, running away as the timer went off. Peridot was left feeling awkward, but she laughed as she followed Lapis into the kitchen, following the sweet smell.

She laughed more as she watched Lapis burn herself as she ate the corner of the tray of brownies.

"How are they?' Peridot asked as she grabbed Lapis a new glass of water.

Lapis shrugged, "You were probably right about the folding thing,"

#lapidot #lapidot halloween week

11 notes · View notes

furvilla · 7 years

Text

Furvilla January Writing Contest

And now we have the writing contest winners for January, listed in order:

Bandycam #59954 Emeraldheart #76349 Angeleina #29111 IkeWolfe #77815 Frogluv123 #40461

I do apologize for yesturday this being posted wrong! It’s fixed now!

~~~~~~~~~~

Bandycam #59954 The snow was rather biting; nipping at noses and chilling the tips of ears just enough to cause a hat to be a necessary commodity. It had fallen fresh that evening blanketing everything around the icy peeks of Tigereye in a soft white folds that muffled the sounds of nature with the hush that only winter can bring. It just so happened that on said day the five mayors of the five villages had gathered together under the ever watchful eye of the old polar bear who watched over the snowclad village. While there was rarely anything exciting going on it made it a relatively safe location for them to gather and discuss the more important aspects of leading their villages and keeping the relative peace between them. The morning had seen them with flared tempers and hours of long conversations about borders and trade promises that had – or hadn’t – been followed through with. Little sleep and long travel left many less then tactful responses and before it could come to blows for real (Polaria bless her had tried to smooth things over with offers of fresh baked cookies but was met only with an angry silence and glaring eyes) the mayor of Dragonsmaw simply grinned his huge Cheshire grin and got to his feet mid-conversation with the mayor of Quetzal Palace (which naturally ticked off Ana; she hated being ignored and the constant struggle between peace treaties of her lofty cloud and his twisted forest was enough to drive anyone mad) and walked out. Doctor Chester – an actual doctor not just some assumed title though most dared not to ask just what he was a doctor of – paid no attention the angry cussing that accompanied his simple vanishing through the front door and out into the snowy world beyond. If he paused at all it was only to toss another one of his famous grins over his shoulder, red eyes twinkling with merriment (or sinister intentions; no one could really tell the difference with him) and flicked his spliced and nature-defying tail at those inside as a suggestion – or perhaps order. One minute passed. Two minutes. Three. Those gathered inside couldn’t take it anymore and in moments Ana stormed out full of ever growing furry… only to be greeted with a snowball to the face and a loudly snickering gray tabby standing a few years off with a pile of arsenal at his feet. To say that the mayor of Quetzal Palace didn’t shriek as cold met warm nose would be an understatement and the sound brought Minstrel of Olde Foxbury and Octavia of Oceandome rushing to her assistance only to each be pelted with another hurling ball of frozen powdered liquid in quick succession. The few moments of stunned silence that followed were broken only by a loud raspy cackling from Chester, paws resting against his belly before a hard thwack could be heard and the cat went down due to a face shot from a very angry Ana. Sputtering Chester struggled to his feet, narrowly managing to avoid the next large snowball aimed at him. Another grin, followed by a sweeping bow as he removed his hat and faced the three of them. “I suggest,” his voice was all but a purr; that of a cat that ate the canary while simultaneously getting all the cream from the saucer. “That we call a truce for the moment.” The tip of his tail twitched lazily as he gestured to the pile of snow before them all. “The house was getting a little overheated for my tastes and I think we all need to cool down. Don’t you agree Ana?” Here Ana huffed, muttering something indistinctly as her wing feathered ruffled against the cold air. “Rather than fight with words – or actual weapons,” Chester cast Ana another hard stare. “Why don’t we use what Polaria has so kindly given us? Solidified water is by far more effective as a tool of warfare than steel after all.” He took a step to the side, gaze landing on the smallest member of their group, barely licking his lips without really thinking about it. “Shall we team up, or do you suggest a free for all?” Minstrel let out a very meek squeak, quickly busing xemself with xir tail and avoiding eye contact with the deranged doctor. The actions only caused the cat’s grin to grow stretching well past the normal boundaries of his face. “I suggest a free for all,” Ana growled slightly. “But don’t worry dear Doctor, I’ll be sure to pay you particular attention.” He could only laugh at that, holding up his hands and cane (which had mysteriously appeared in his grip once more, though he had most definitely left it behind in the house before coming outside.) “Please Ana, I think a fair game is only appropriate. Focusing on just one lowly cat such as myself isn’t wise. After all, we have nine lives… or do we? I can never remember.” “I think,” Octavia spoke up now, jellyfish like tendrils guiding the dragoness over the snow so she could stand beside Chester. “That teams would be a better idea. Free for all leaves much to be said about the… outcome.” She glanced over at the Dragonsmaw mayor as she said that. “It would end up an utter bloodbath and tempers would flare up worse than before.” She reached to place a hand on Chester’s shoulder only to find that he’d somehow moved to stand next to Minstrel already tugging at Xir scarf as xe trembled in fear. Chester easily towered over Minstrel and loved to prove it to the small mouse. “I call dibs on-“ “I think Ana and Minstrel should pair up,” the Oceandome woman refused to allow him to finish his sentence. “Which leaves you and me, kitty-cat. Fair is fair, Ana can easily take on the two of us…” “Oh all right,” he stepped away from his favorite toy, though the look on his face was a silent promise that he’d be back to torment xir later. “But I have to warn you, I hate getting my fur wet…” Ana for her part didn’t hesitate to pull Minstrel aside, huddling in to begin preparing a battle strategy with her newfound partner for the battle in that icy arena. “First things first, we need to build ourselves a fortress… Think you can handle keeping up with the constant supply of ammo for me? Because I’m going to need a lot of it if I’m going to teach that uppity cat a lesson…”

Emeraldheart #76349 Polaria sat in front of her fireplace, listening to the crackle of the flames as they consumed the dry pine wood. In the background, the distant cries of the other mayors made their way down the hill to her cottage. From what it sounded like, a snowball fight had started up after Polaria had returned to her house to make some hot cocoa for them. She looked out the window wistfully. Snow was slowly piling up on the windowsill, and the green branches of the spruces outside were becoming heavy. It always amazed her how full of life the others were. She was the last of her generation of mayors, and she had personally welcomed each newcomer to office. Even Dr. Chester was much younger than she was, and the age gap was startling. It pained her how old she was becoming. She stood up, and her joints popped like the wood in front of her. She feared that she would be unable to care for her citizens much longer if she was unable to function like she used to. Polaria made her way over to where the hot chocolate was finished heating and carefully loaded the cups onto a tray, ignoring the way her paw shook with each movement. What she would give to have a snowball fight again! Now, she was scared she’d throw her hip out or something similarly awful that came with age. She carefully took off her glasses, fogged with steam from the cocoa, and wiped them on her coat. Pulling on her heavy gloves, she made sure that the ends were tucked into the sleeves of her coat. The cold got to her more than it used to. Sighing, Polaria started out into the frosty landscape that was her home. Tigereye Peak wasn’t the most welcoming of places, but for those who understood it, it was paradise. She smiled as she caught sight of a snowfox moving among the brush. Though it seemed empty and frozen, the Peak was actually full of life – and more so than usual. Starting to climb the small hill, Polaria could hear the squabbling of the other mayors more clearly than ever. She could even pick out their individual voices – Ana, crowing in victory, and Octavia, a cry of indignation. A small squeak from Minstrel, a menacing chuckle from Dr. Chester. They had all become so familiar to her, though she couldn’t help thinking of the previous mayors whenever she looked at them. The way they interacted with each other couldn’t help but remind her of her old friends. And yet, as time went on, these four took on a life of their own, separating themselves from their predecessors in her mind. She now loved them just as much as she had loved those who had come before. Polaria let out a puff as she reached the top of the incline, and a warm feeling grew in her chest as she saw the antics in front of her. Ana had constructed a small fort and was locked in battle with Octavia, while Minstrel ducked to avoid Dr. Chester’s unsettling smile. Though sometimes she grew self-conscious, Polaria knew that they cared for her just as much as she cared for them. She felt proud when she looked at them. They were all such great leaders for their villages, and they would never know how much she appreciated them and their respect for her. As they noticed that she had returned, they came over to her, excitedly chattering and thanking her for the hot chocolate. Yes, they were her family. And she couldn’t ask for anything more.

Angeleina #29111 A flurry of snow was falling gently down as Polaria hummed softly to herself, walking down the path to the clearing where she figured her friends would be. Octavia had told her they were going to be there, waiting for her to arrive to discuss the upcoming events. Although she supposed it would be full of snow and Snowpets now. A small sigh escaped her lips at the thought of Snowpets. They had nearly been an infestation… She had taken care of a few over populations during the last few days, but she hoped it wouldn't get any worse than it already had. Holding a tray of cups full of hot cocoa in her paws, she smiled to herself, thinking about the past event and what a success it had been for her Town. Perhaps there were a few things they could have done better, but you learn as you go they say. Continuing along the path while humming her soft tune, she came upon the clearing and stopped dead in her tracks. At first glance, everything looked like a disaster. It took a while for her to gain her bearings and really understand what was going on. It was those darn Snowpets again!! Snow Foxes and Snow Bunnies were EVERYWHERE! Poor Minstrel had to be held up by Dr. Chester as he attempted to climb a tree and failed as the foxes jumped onto him and Minstrel both. Poor Ana was already buried and only a mere glimpse of her wings could be seen underneath the devastation of Snowpets. Octavia seemed to be the only one who was apart from the mayhem, looking over the mess with a worried expression, unsure of what to do while the Snowpets caused chaos. When the Oceandome mayor spotted Polaria, she hurriedly came over to her. “Oh! Polaria! Thank Goodness you’re here! You have to help, please, I have no idea what to do! The Snowpets have taken over! They seem to have listened to you at first, maybe you can do something.” The ice mayor stood motionless for a few seconds before smiling grimly and handing the tray of hot cocoa to her Oceandome friend. “Hold this dear, I’ll do what I can.” Rolling up her sleeves, the mama polar bear drew in a long breath and roared. The Snowpets got instantly spooked and stopped what they were doing to freeze. Literally. They froze and turned into snow. Smiling slightly, Polaria moved forward to knock over the pile of frozen Snowpets that had once covered Ana. The Quetzal Palace Guardian Angel looked amazed. “How did you do that my friend? I thought we were goners for sure!” Flapping her wings to get the excess snow off, she looked indignant. “Drat! Those little snow rascals ruined my snow fort!” Chuckling slightly as she helped Dr. Chester find his missing appendages, Polaria shook her head. “It’s just a little trick I learned back in the days, dearie.” “Still, you did us a great favor milady! Thank you!” Squeaked Minstrel. Polaria smiled. “You’re quite welcome friend, I agree those Snowpets can be quite a handful at times.” Dr. Chester huffed as he let his last piece fall back into place on his body. “I do not like it. I DO wish there were more beastly figures around rather than.. this … purity. All this white is making my eyes hurt.” “Oh hush, Chester. You always desire things to be dark and dank, why don't you just taint everything and be done wit it!” Scowled Ana. Dr. Chester sneered at the winged canine. “I would.. If I had the power.” “Now now,” Polaria smiled and took the tray back from Octavia, thanking her softly. “Why don't we just enjoy the peace and quiet now that the pets are gone?” Octavia jumped up and down for a second. “Ana! Why don't we have a snowball fight?! We have so much snow around us now and I'll help you build your fort again!” For a split second, you could see an ambitious smirk on the Guardian Angel’s face at the thought of building a fort - but then it was gone; replaced with a sweet smile. “That sounds absolutely delightful. We shall build the strongest snow fort ever!” Minstrel sighed slightly and joined Dr. Chester at his side. “I don't suppose you know some good haunting tunes, do you ol' chap? I could use some inspiration for my new song!” The cat looked at the mouse with a playfully frightening expression. “Perhaps I do. Hm…” While the chaos that had been was no longer, Polaria smiled to herself and sets down the tray to join her friends in the fun. She just hopped that the Snowpets wouldn't make a bigger comeback than what they had just seen.

IkeWolfe #77815 Every year after the Snow Festival, the five mayors of Furvilla would gather at their lodge at Tigereye Peak to discuss important matters of state for the upcoming year. At least, that's what they claimed. In truth, it was a chance to relax and get away from the pressures of leading an entire village. They loved their dear residents, but even they needed a break, especially with the recent snowpet overpopulation problem. Dr. Chester had been glad to get away from the crowds petitioning and fighting at his door demanding everything from a snowpet sanctuary to the wholesale slaughter of the little creatures. He'd reached the point where he'd honestly considered removing his own ears and tucking them inside a thick pillow. Now, though, he was bored. He was laying back on a large pile of snow and observing his fellow mayors through half-lidded eyes. Ana and Minstrel were building a snowfort and snowfox, respectively, Octavia was examining several plants behind him with far too much fascination, and Polaria had gone back to the lodge to get some hot cocoa. That left him to simply sit around and be bored, and trouble always followed when cats got bored. He watched Minstrel finish xyr snowfox and go chasing after a snowbunny. He sneered. The wretched little lapines had been nothing but trouble for the past week. He scooped up a large pawful of snow and packed it into a rough ball before lazily tossing it at the animal. It was just pure chance that the snowball sailed right over and struck Ana right in the head. The angelic wolf 's wings flared in surprise and she shook the snow off her head. She looked around for the perpetrator and settled on the feline with a glare. "Sweet serpents, Chester, what was that for?" He silently considered his options and then lobbed another snowball that hit Ana in the muzzle with a soft ploomph. The other mayors had turned to look at the commotion and struggled to contain their mirth while Ana sputtered in shock. "What's the matter Ana; can't take a little snow?" he teased as a smirk spread across his face. "I thought Guardian Angels were supposed to be tougher than that." "Oh, I'll show you just how tough we are!" She hurled several snowballs in quick succession that the feline gracefully dodged. "Tsk, tsk, it looks like we'll need to work on your aim!" The wolf beat her wings rapidly in response, creating a large cloud of snow that sailed towards the trouble-making cat. Chester's eyes widened and he barely managed to scramble out of the way with only a light dusting of snow on his coat. The unsuspecting dragon who'd been standing behind him was less fortunate. She got coated in a thick blanket of snow that left her looking like one of Minstrel's snow sculptures. "Oh no, Octavia! I'm so sorry!" That was all Ana manged to get out before being forced to duck behind her fort to avoid the salvo of snowballs being slung her way. Laughing, she peeked over the edge of the fort with a snowball in paw to return fire. Meanwhile, Minstrel was off to the side secretly preparing a perfect little white snowball. The mouse chuckled to xemself. "Ol' Chester won't know what him!" "Care to repeat that?" Minstrel froze and slowly looked up to see Chester looming over them with a predatory grin on his face. "Uh... hi?" Fortunately, they were saved by the timely arrival of Polaria. "Sorry it took me so long! I hope you weren't getting to bored waiting for me."

Frogluv123 #40461 The wonderful Ms. Polaria simply adored the winter months. It meant hot chocolate, white snow, and of course, more visitors to her village. In the town of Tiger Eye Peak, there was always snow, but winter just brought about it the air that made it feel proper and festive, filling her heart to the brim with joy. As the holidays passed, Polaria had a brilliant idea; invite the other mayors over! Aside from meetings, they rarely got to spend time together, and she missed them: they were practically family to her. She bustled inside with a grin, handwriting invitations for the twentieth of January. She slipped outside to place them in her mailbox with a smile, for surely the day would be great fun. Soon, the day had arrived, and Polaria sat on her porch, humming a tune and waiting for her guests to arrive. One by one, they came. First was Minstrel, donned in a scarf far too long. Before Polaria could even welcome him, however, he was ambushed by a pair of mischievous animals; a dirty snowbunny and a white ferret. He toppled over, laughing, and Ms. Polaria helped him up with a grin. Next to arrive was Ana, using her wings to shield her head from the light snow that had started to fall. Soon after arrived Dr. Chester, attempting to wipe dog fur off his jacket and mumbling about an invasion. Lastly was Octavia, tripping over herself as she apologized for being late, as she had had last-minute business to attend to. Polaria gave them a final greeting before beckoning them into her yard, inches deep in perfect packing snow. While he others were looking around in wonder,-- it didn't snow in the other villages, she was told (truly a pity)-- she slyly scooped up handfuls of snow and rolled them into balls, chuckling softly to herself. Before the others knew what had hit them, literally, Polaria was already halfway through her door and they were coated in snow. And thus lead to an all-out war. Ana had scooped up snow into a wall, carving out patterns of bricks and laughing, occasionally side-stepping as Octavia continued to hurl snowballs. Soon, Ana retaliated, and the girls were immersed in a heated and lighthearted fight. Chester, however, had thought that Minstrel had thrown the snowball at him rather than Polaria, and was leering down at the mouse. Minstrel was holding a snowball he had just made, and so feigned guilt, before jumping up and smashing the snow into his face, sprinting away as puffs of white drifted off Chester's face. That is, before he retaliated. The four were desperately throwing snowballs, laughing and having a good time. That is, before Minstrel spoke up. "Wait-- where's Polaria?" The others froze, glancing around. Ms. Polaria stood partially behind the protection of a pine tree, laughing and holding a tray of hot chocolate; what she had went inside to make. The other mayors breathed a sigh of relief, taking cups for themselves. This was a truly happy holiday for them all, and their hearts filled to the brim with happiness. Even if it wasn't, technically, a holiday.

#furvilla #furvilla contest

3 notes · View notes