idea: fake dating in modern AU over Christmas week
initial post idea
writer's month day 24 prompt: fake relationship
ao3 link
Lila had found it funny at first. Kell continually dodging the question of dates only to get backed into a corner and making up a fake girlfriend for a Christmas fundraiser? Hysterical.
It was considerably less so when he admitted he had named her as that fake girlfriend.
A girlfriend that obviously couldn't be a punk from the gutter with a criminal record.
Topping it off, Kell suggested improving her "image" via the Pretty Woman route.
-----
Kell's red car had nice leather upholstery; she considered stabbing it with her switchblade.
"He's currently our best ticket to introduce you smoothly," Kell said as he parked alongside the little corner shop. "He can be prickly so don't provoke him."
"Right, wouldn't want to upset your middle-aged crush."
"He's not-" Kell sighed. "Just try to be nice."
She followed, grumbling under her breath.
The bookstore was quaint in an understated way. Cozy, perhaps. Owned by someone who liked books more than they liked chasing a profit, which Lila was more inclined to call naïve than admirable. No wonder Kell liked him.
Minimal decorations for the holidays, only a red ribbon on the door and a small tree by the register. Speaking of, that was where Tall, Dark, and Handsome was speaking to a lingering blonde customer.
"I'm just saying this place could use a little more Christmas cheer!"
Lila cringed. She could do with less Christmas cheer, personally speaking.
"I'm Jewish." The man had a husky voice, somewhat pleasant to listen to. He'd achieved a halfway competent Customer Service Voice as well. "Christmas is not my jurisdiction, ma'am."
"Yes, dear, I understand," she said in a tone of someone who clearly didn't, patting his arm without noticing how he tensed. "But surely your customers-"
He perked up, noticing their approach. "Kell, I was just about to close up. Is there anything else I can do for you, Caroline?"
"No, that's alright," she said with more subdued politeness. "Enjoy your Christmas, Holland."
Lila stood aside, giving the irritating blonde a wide berth as she strode past. She resisted the impulse to 'investigate' that big red purse of hers, but only barely.
"Is there a reason you wanted to talk in-person right before closing?" It was fascinating just how quickly he dropped into a dry monotone. There was something eerie but striking about him, like a Slavic forest fairy crossed with an aged out Kpop idol.
Kell spoke quickly. "This is Lila, she's kind of my girlfriend. I'm going to introduce her to my parents at their Christmas party."
"Congratulations," he said. "I wish her the best of luck. Why are you here?"
Then came Kell's brilliant plan. Lila's false backstory as a proper girlfriend, one who had been quietly dating Kell for a year. They'd apparently gone on their first date after meeting at this very bookshop when Holland had introduced his younger sister to Kell. It was only now that they were comfortable approaching the rest of the Maresh family.
Holland blinked. "That's nonsensical. Why would they believe that?"
"Well, you kinda look similar..."
“Kell,” she interrupted, voice starting to rise with exasperation. “Is your plan banking on your parents not being able to tell mixed Asian people apart?”
“Yes, Kell, is that the plan?” Holland echoed dryly.
“Well…” Kell’s voice cracked, squirming under their gaze. He rushed to explain. "You always call Ojka your sister even though you're not related-"
"She is my sister."
"And it would be exactly like you to have a relative you've never mentioned," he finished confidently. "They won't pry more than usual about another sister."
Holland's gaze turned to her and glanced down at the striped pin on her jacket. "Would you be a sister?"
It made Lila perk up a little, the realization that he understood. It was a complicated question with an uncertain answer, one she wasn't particularly eager to explain to the Mareshes and their bourgeoisie friends.
"That's what the Mareshes would prefer, I'm sure," Lila scoffed. "You know how politicians are."
Kell hadn't said it outright but the implication was clear; Maxim Maresh might accept his openly bisexual son but he was still aware of the political game and what his potential voters would be turned off by, especially after Rhy's public break-up last year.
Holland didn't smile exactly but the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. "All politicians are cowards."
If this was how he usually acted, then Lila wasn't entirely opposed to this part of the plan.
"So," Kell said carefully. "How are things going with Vortalis?"
His expression closed off again. "Ros and I are not currently speaking. Now if you'll excuse me, I would rather go home than continue this conversation."
With that, he picked up a shoulder bag that had been hidden under the counter. Holland didn't spare them another glance as he went to turn off the shop lights.
"The only couple where first name use is a red flag," Kell muttered before hurrying after him.
Lila trailed behind, caught between amused and exasperated. Their plan was off to a great start.
Today's fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info) was prompted by @gwen-ever who told me once that there were not enough Dwalin fics in the world. This is my attempt to correct it.
THIS IS FOR YOU, YOU HARD-WORKING WOMAN! 💙💙💙
It’s also my first time with Dwalin as a romantic interest, so forgive me for any errors (also, I was in a hurry) - I hope he’s not too much OOC. Any constructive feedback welcome.
Today's prompt: word: night | setting: tattoo parlor AU
Fandom: The Hobbit
Relationships: Dwalin x Reader
Warnings: grumpy dwarves, 2k words (Mahal help me)
Rating: G/T
Have you ever wondered what would happen if you were a tattoo artist in Erebor (Everyone Lives AU) and Dwalin visited your shop?
As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.
* * *
Cookies
The first time that big, angry-looking Dwarf visited your little tattoo parlour, he wanted to touch up some of his tattoos that had faded over time. He had quite a few of them on his body: on his hands, his forearms, even quite a few on top of his head, and you suspected there were more in other places. Being a tattoo artist, you recognized the type easily. For many warriors, it was a way to record their greatest victories and achievements. Judging by the tattoos scattered all over his skin, this one saw many battles.
As you worked on inking the old patterns on his left hand, he sat still, not speaking much; you only managed to drag out of him that he was a warrior, and his name was Dwalin. You did your best when working on his tattoos and even improved their look a bit. After finishing your work, you asked whether he was satisfied with the outcome and were rewarded with a grunt and a nod. Oh well, you thought, perhaps he was just one of those Dwarves of few words.
The second time he visited your little tattoo parlour, he came with a friend, a cheerful Dwarf in a funny hat called Bofur who kept on amusing you with the anecdotes from their travels while you worked on Dwalin’s head tattoos. The warrior would sit still, grunting or chuckling from time to time in all the right places, but that was all he did. After you were done, Dwalin got up from the chair, stretched his impressive body, muttered a few words of thanks pointedly avoiding your eyes, and disappeared through the door as fast as he could. Bofur grinned, made a silly joke, and followed his friend. You sighed. Was Dwalin not happy with your work? Did you take too much of his time and he had a busy schedule? Mahal, have you offended him somehow? Touched his hair by mistake? No, you were sure you didn’t do anything of the sort.
The third time he came, he brought a new and complicated tattoo design that he wanted to add to his existing tattoos and cover his whole arm with the pattern. He agreed on the price at once without any haggling, surprising you completely. A Dwarf that did not haggle was an unusual sight. But perhaps he had a lot on his mind, so you simply shrugged and got on with your work. You couldn’t help but admire his tanned, muscular arm he bared for you, along with his large, calloused hand, but you scolded yourself for unprofessional thoughts. Of course he would have strong arms, a wide chest, and powerful thighs, he was a warrior! You tattooed plenty of those limbs before, but you didn’t know why seeing a piece of this particular Dwarf’s body made your cheeks burn and your heart race.
Starting a friendly conversation with him sounded like a good idea, a welcome distraction, but you completely failed in your efforts. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was a huge, hairy bear sitting in your tattoo chair, staring blankly at the wall, and not Dwalin, son of Fundin. And so you worked in silence. When you finished your work for the day, you tried to coax a few words out of him and once again asked whether he liked the results so far. Dwalin looked at you from under his furrowed brow, pulled his bushy moustache, and said:
“Mhmm.”
That was it. You sighed, and then grunted, and groaned. And then you had to stop, worried that you’d turn into a bear yourself. That Dwarf was impossible!
His fourth visit looked exactly the same. And his fifth one. And the sixth one, too. He grunted, huffed, but barely said a word. You tried to ignore the way his muscles played under his skin and worked on the pattern. And when you informed him that you were done for the day, he would nod or pull his moustache again, and leave lightning fast, as if the mountain was crumbling down around him.
His seventh visit was a literal catastrophe. Dwalin came a bit earlier than usual, in the late afternoon, while you were still working on another customer. The large warrior sat down in a chair nearby and just stared at you, his gaze bright and piercing. You welcomed him as always and offered a plate of cookies that lay on the table beside him. A nod was all you got. You returned to your work, feeling Dwalin’s heavy gaze on you.
And then he grunted. Your other customer, a red-haired miner, shifted nervously in the tattoo chair.
Dwalin growled. The customer cleared his throat and you noticed how his muscles tensed as you worked on a tattoo on his chest.
Dwalin huffed. That was enough for your other customer. He asked you to interrupt your work and informed you he had just recalled an urgent business in the merchants’ quarter that he had to attend to.
When the customer left your tattoo parlour, you met Dwalin’s intent gaze, resting your hands on your hips. You couldn’t believe your eyes. Not only were there a few cookie crumbs in his beard, but also a small smirk of triumph danced on his lips! You had enough!
“What does that supposed to mean?! How dare you scare away my other customers?! Do you think that being a big warrior gives you the right to barge in here and throw angry looks at everyone? How am I even supposed to focus on work with your constant grunting and growling?! Don’t you have better things to do?!”
Dwalin took a step towards you, folded his arms across his chest, and simply said, “No.”
Silence filled the room. You suddenly noticed that his tunic was new, his hair was freshly washed and combed, and his boots were newly polished. He smelled like some exotic spices.
You shook your head, “Is that what you have for me?! A frown and a one-syllable word?!”
When the ground shook beneath your feet, you first thought it was your anger, but then the realization came. A mountain quake. It intensified quickly, making you fall to the ground. Everything went dark while the tremors grew. You heard the low rumbling of the rock beneath you, some shouts and noises, objects crashing against each other. Something heavy pressed you to the ground, perhaps a piece of furniture, at the same moment as big chunks of the ceiling started falling to the floor. You tried to move, but you couldn’t. The only thing you could do was cough, the stone dust filling your lungs.
The tremors stopped as unexpectedly as they started. Once again you tried to move and the heavy object above you grunted. Of course. It wasn’t a table nor a chair. It was Dwalin.
“Get… off…” you muttered. “I need to breathe!”
Another grunt followed, but he lifted his weight from you. Your shop was now as dark as night, but your eyes adjusted to the surroundings quickly. You realized that he was now staring at your face, sitting beside you.
“Are you well, lass?” he asked. Four words. Impressive.
“I… I think so,” you sat up, relieved that you haven’t been injured.
“Thank Mahal,” he muttered, staring at you intently.
At that moment, you weren’t too happy that Dwarves could see quite well in the dark. From what you could observe, your tattoo parlour seemed to be ruined. There was broken furniture, your tools and inks crushed by large pieces of stone - you could only hope that your backroom with all the supplies remained intact.
You turned to Dwalin and then you realized that something glistened on his cheek.
“You are wounded!” you gasped.
“‘Tis but a scratch, lass,” he protested.
“No, it’s not! You’re bleeding!” You moved towards him anyway, tearing off a piece of fabric from your tunic.
“It is nothing,” he started, but then your hand touched his face. As you felt the softness of his beard under your hand, he stiffened, closing his eyes for a moment longer than usual.
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me! Let me help.”
You received a grunt in reply and proceeded to take care of his face. He simply sat there, unmoving, as you gently dabbed his temple.
“I saw that huge stone over there. If not for you, I...” you spoke quietly. “Thank you for saving me, Dwalin.”
“Think nothing of it, lass. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you,” he lowered his face towards yours.
Not believing your ears, you retorted, attempting to joke to mask your feelings, “It is because... I haven’t finished your tattoo yet, isn’t it?”
His eyes shone in the darkness like two diamonds when his hand covered yours and pressed it against his cheek.
“No,” he spoke huskily.
Dwalin’s nose brushed against yours, and then somehow your lips met his, or perhaps it was the other way around. His moustache was surprisingly soft against your skin and his lips gently caressed yours, sending a myriad of shivers down your spine. He tasted like molten dark chocolate and went to your head like good whiskey. Strong and intoxicating. Who would have thought there was so much tenderness hidden behind that scary warrior’s facade?
Dwalin swallowed, pressing his forehead against yours, and then words started spilling out of his mouth, like a sudden mountain avalanche.
“Lass… I need to tell ye somethin’ I wanted to tell ye for a while. When I saw that stone fallin’, I could only think of how I never told ye that…” his voice trailed off and he grunted. “Ye must think me a grump with no manners, and ye’ll be right. Ye’re so talented and quick-witted, and as pretty as a summer day! I forget my tongue every time I see ye.”
Your eyes widened. This silent warrior had just spoken not only a full sentence, but quite a few of them.
“Dwalin…?” you whispered, still dizzy from the kiss, not quite comprehending.
“Aye, ye barely know me, but I’d like to change it. Will you allow me to court you?” his hopeful gaze rested on your face.
This bear of a Dwarf was the grumpiest person you have ever known, and his grunts could scare away a rabid warg, but you’d always liked a challenge. No words were necessary; you simply kissed Dwalin, showing him how much you liked this idea.
A few moments after your lips parted, he murmured, a hint of disbelief in his voice, “So... ye’re not scared of me, are ye, lass?”
“Scared?! I’ve been annoyed with you, that’s what I was, you… You oaf!”
Dwalin opened his mouth and started laughing. As surprising as it was, you had to admit to yourself that he had a pleasant laughter.
“What’s so funny about that?!” you demanded.
“Ye’re a fiery lass. There is no one else who would dare to say it to my face.”
“Well, I do and prepare to hear more of such things in future if you ever return to communicating with me by grunts!” you warned him, stifling a giggle.
“Then I’ll be lookin’ forward to our little sparrings,” he chuckled and kissed your cheek tenderly. “But before that, I have one more question for you before we try to find our way out from here.”
“What is it?” You tilted your head.
“Are there any more of those cookies left?”
* * *
P.S. If you liked "Blame It on Cider", I have good news for you: Thorin and Yrsa are going to come back tomorrow!
Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it!
Fell like reading more?
Here is my masterlist for the Writer's Month 2021 event.
Continuing series. PART 4!! This is a short one sorry 😔😅 but there will be a 5th part 😁
Female reader
Summary: Y/n is an Archangel and is also the little sister to Michael, Lucifer, Raphael and Gabriel.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
I dunno why it took forever to write a part 4!!! But here you go!!!!
Also for those who wanted to be tagged here you go!! I remember ya'll! 😁😁 @mysticbear21 @athenalillystar @maybeitslizzy @coolninjavoid @mrsladydiana
After hearing the news about the new Angels, you couldn't handle your excitement. Knowing that you're gonna have younger siblings pretty soon. Getting to meet your aunt Amara for the first was a great experience.
The others Michael and Lucifer mainly were whatevers about it. Raphael was excited, but was too busy doing his own thing. You and Gabriel were excited. The two of you were talking about the things you'd teach the young fledglings.
"What are you gonna teach the new Angels?" you ask him.
"The stuff that I taught you" he tells you.
"Making candy appear in your hand?" you laugh.
He laughs at your response, "Exactly! They'll still be young enough to learn other stuff. Like flying and teleporting".
"How many do you think father will make? Or create?" you ask.
"Not sure, but hopefully a few more. So we won't have to fight over who gets to spend time with them".
You both laugh, and wait until you guys got any further news regarding the newer, younger angels. Several Heaven hours later, Chuck calls the 5 of you to his quarters.
"Archangels, your new siblings. Castiel, Balthazar and Uriel" Chuck tells the 5 of you.
You were so excited, they're so much more smaller than you, and you couldn't contain your happiness about your younger siblings. Their wings are so small its adorable to you. You love your brothers, even the ones you just met 5 Heaven seconds ago.
Sometime later, you're playing with your new siblings. Everything seemed to confuse Castiel but he was trying everything was new to him. Balthazar, who seemed to understand everything about Heaven and the universe despite being several hours old and finally Uriel like Castiel, confused by everything but he still understood a little more than him.
You and Gabriel always played with your new siblings. You both felt like they were intimidated by you two because of your ranks in Heaven's hierarchy, but you both loved them. The older 3, they all had mix reactions about them.
Michael did a little bit of a teaching to them on how to be a loyal warrior, soldier to father and to the kingdom of Heaven, Lucifer kept his distance from all 3 of them and Raphael didn't really bother with them. The fledglings did fear the Archangels because they know their so much more powerful than them, and know they can do them harm, but of course it won't come down to that.
"What is that??" Castiel asks Gabriel.
"Candy!" he tells him, "Want some?". Castiel nods, and takes the little red hard candy from his hand.
"Taste like molecules" he tells him, a distaste look on his face which makes Gabriel laugh.
"Sister what is??" Balthazar asks, looking at the small animal in your arms. "A squirrel!" you tell him, "Father's creation!".
Sometime later, the 3 fledglings look down from the cloud that is Heaven, looking down to Earth.
"What is that?" Uriel asks.
"A giant blue, green rock with a white, cloudy essence" Balthazar answers.
You see the 3 little angels and approach them, "That is Earth" you tell them and look back at you.
"Earth?" Castiel questions.
"Another of Father's creation" you tell them, "One of the best creations, he has ever made!. You little fledglings wanna go see it?".
They all nod their heads, and Gabriel shows up surprisingly. "I will come too!".
The 5 of you go down to Earth, the same spot Gabriel took you to. In a field near a body of water, the best spot to show the young ones about Earth and all of your fathers creations.
Writers Month (August) 2021
Day #12
Word: Time / Setting: Superheroes/Villains AU
Fandom: Pucca
Characters: Garu, Pucca...
Pairings: ...Garu x Pucca
Warnings: Fluff!!
Rating: K
It took a little longer than expected. But he was there, at last. He was there, and he could speak now… but she didn't know that.
"It took longer than expected."
He had practiced in front of a mirror, so his voice wouldn't sound so raspy and unaccustomed, when he finally said it.
He was looking at her with a determined stare, even though he couldn't help but to feel terribly nervous, and his palms were sweating. He had kept his silent vow, and she had kept hers. He couldn't make her wait any longer. After so much time away, finishing his training, outside the village that had seen them grow… He owed her at least that much. To not delay the news anymore.
He was done with his training. He was done with his vow.
Her eyes widened. A few moments of understanding flew by, before she showed him a wide, teary smile. "Took you long enough."
She couldn't have possibly practiced, so her voice was raspy, barely audible. But it was sweet and full of emotion. He didn't -he couldn't- recognise her voice. The last time he had heard it, they were kids. Young, small kids, that had not the slightest idea of how long it would actually take them, to fulfill the oath they had taken. Such innocent they were, and how innocent their feelings, Pucca chasing him around like an affectionate cat, while he ran away, pretending to hate every moment of it.
She did annoy him very much, perhaps more than anyone, including his worst enemy; but when she was sad, he felt a tug in his heart, and when she smiled, the world was exactly how it was supposed to be.
It would have been silly, to deem their blooming emotions as 'love'. However, time did wonders, and distance and letters were both a powerful help, to keep a very much needed communication; and to say the things they, literally, couldn't tell each other face to face.
So when he saw her standing there, he wasn't so scared, of the time that had passed. He had this bizarre trust, that young people seem to have, that time wouldn't hurt them more than help them.
So he smiled back at her, while she jumped straight into his arms.
And indeed they were young, and they had a lot of time.
Part of my Immortal Inquisitor and High Warlock of Alicante Series
Read on AO3
Alec’s pretty sure time is frozen. That’s the only explanation for this, there’s no way he’s still in this room, there’s no way this meeting has been going on this long. There’s no way that a room full of grown ass adults are still arguing over whether or not Warlocks should be allowed to portal into the main Clave halls freely.
The answer is simple. Yes. Yes they should be allowed to.
The insulting holding rooms and back exits that the Downworlders are forced to use and enter through are broken down relics that haven’t been fixed up let alone cleaned in Alec’s lifetime at least. It’s time they were torn down completely. It should be one of the simpler things to make right, and yet here they are three hours into an absolutely circling conversation that may never end.
Whitelaw of course is the leader of the pack, putting up the biggest fuss about this as if it’s a national security threat. Alec counts the days until he retires or maybe just drops dead. What a pleasant thought that is.
He’s heard the old awful classics from dissenters like, “What if they use it against us?” and “What if they surprise us and it causes a scene?” and he’s just so tired.
Thank the angel Aline is here, her not so subtle facial expressions at every idiotic sentence in the room are the only thing that’s keeping him from snapping.
“The old ways are in place for a reason,” Whitelaw says and by the angel if Alec had a dollar for every time he’d heard that one since he was made Inquisitor he’d be as rich as Magnus by now. He leans back in his chair banging his head against it once in frustration.
“And it’s time for the old ways to die,” Jia says rubbing her fingers across her forehead in frustration.
“But Jia we don’t know these people,” one of Whitelaw’s little toadies says. Alec can’t remember his name, but he knows his weasel like face.
“Then take the time to get to know them,” Aline practically shrieks out. If he thought he was close to snapping she seems to be getting even closer to her breaking point.
“She’s right,” Mara Crownhorn, a thousand year old woman who Alec can never quite predict says. One moment she’s completely on their side an unexpected voice of wrinkly change and the next she’s spouting off some of the most offensive and discriminatory bullshit Alec’s ever heard in his life. “They’re not all as obnoxious as,” she pauses eyeing Alec not nearly as subtly as she likely intended to. “Well, let’s just say others.”
Alec becomes incredibly alert suddenly shifting up in his chair his face schooled into what Magnus likes to call his actively about to be a bitch face. The room goes quiet, Aline and Jia smile wickedly both incredibly familiar with this look of his.
“Delegate Crownhorn I hope to the angel and you better hope to a few more that you did not just imply my husband, the High Warlock of our city I might add, is obnoxious in any way shape or form. Or you will live, not much longer based upon those frowns line, to regret it,” he says calm and brimmed with rage.
It seems today Mrs. Crownhorn has chosen violence and Alec is happy to return it in kind. She wretches, shriveling back into her seat like a frightened animal shaking her head.
“I didn’t mean,” she says and Alec cuts her off standing to his full threatening height. He slams both of his hands on the table palms down the move shaking the table fiercely. Mrs. Crownhorn shrivels back even more while everyone else, even a surprised Aline, jumps.
“You did,” Alec snaps. “And if sly comments like that continue to be thrown across this table, I will gather the votes to have your ass thrown off this council so fast your head will spin. That goes for everyone.”
He eyes the table, everyone who should be cowering is doing so just a bit, even Whitelaw has clamped his mouth shut for the first time in his seventy years of life. Aline, Jia and the others he can trust have recovered from the jump brought on from the slam of his hands against the table all looking ready to back him if he needs it.
“Now, let’s take a goddamn vote,” Alec says lifting his hands from the table. “All those opposed to the dismantling of the back door exits and holding rooms that are as broken down as some of the council members here today and allowing Warlocks, and all other Downworlders common access to major Clave buildings say I.”
A smattering of hands raise and say I most of them shaking and scared, but still stuck in their bigotry anyways. Whitelaw seems to be shaken free of his brief fear confidently raising his hands and saying a defiant I with a smirk of pure evil on his face when he looks Alec directly in the eyes. Alec looks back with a cold, hateful stare that he knows gets across just right.
“And all those with a soul in favor?”
A little over half the table raises their hands, Aline saying her I a little louder and prouder than necessary, but he appreciates the enthusiasm. Crownhorn raises a still shaking hand, evidently fearing him too much to change her vote even though he can see in her eyes she desperately wanted to.
“Fantastic, the motion passes. A team of construction workers will be dispatched within the coming days to start tearing down the holding rooms and permanently locking any unnecessary back entrances and the motion will be publicly shared so all Downworlders and Alicante residents are aware of the change,” Alec steps away from the table pushing in his chair more loudly than needed. “This meeting is adjourned.”
He steps away holding his stony face despite Aline’s triumphant wink sent his way. Somehow despite his advanced age, Whitelaw catches up with him as he reaches the door.
“Your words and behavior today will be reported on,” he spits out. “Just because you’re the free love progressive golden child doesn’t mean you can hurl insults the way of anyone who disagrees with your views.”
Alec closes his eyes collecting himself for a moment before turning to face Whitelaw an enraged look on his face. Whitelaw, who’s a good foot shorter than him, shudders.
“I can if their supposed views are blatantly discriminatory and actively hateful and cruel against an entire group of people. I can even more so when those words are directed specifically my way to insult a member of my family,” he says pushing open the door and holding out a condescending arm for Whitelaw to exit first. “Your days on this council are numbered Whitelaw, mine are just beginning, change is coming either get over it or get with it.”
Whitelaw huffs angrily but has nothing left to say it seems storming out the door. He continues holding open the door the dissenters slipping past him fast, not as brave as Whitelaw to face him head on, and his allies smiling his way. Aline slaps him on the shoulder as she passes through and he fake winces causing her to chuckle.
Once she’s out the room is emptied everyone gathering into their little cliques in the hallway, Whitelaw and his cronies looking past Alec speaking rapidly.
“What ever did I do to piss him off today without even being in the room?” Magnus says from behind him and Alec deflates turning with a smile to greet his husband.
“Fuck him, the motion passed and I said a few things that are definitely going to go into a file somewhere, but were totally worth it,” Alec says before pulling Magnus in for a kiss that’s a little more involved than it usually would be in such a professional setting. He’s feeling petty, no one can blame him.
When he pulls away he hears a disgusted huff from Whitelaw and the familiar click of his lifts he acts like he doesn’t wear to seem taller rushing in the other direction in anger.
Magnus raises an eyebrow watching as the rest of Whitelaw’s little gang of idiot’s scurry after him.
“Well, Aline looks positively delighted so whatever you said must have been particularly bitchy and I’m going to love to hear you say it and wish I had been there to see,” Magnus says reaching out and playing with the lapels of Alec’s jacket. “So, buy me lunch and tell me all about it?”
“I’m starving and I know you’re going to love it, I compared Crownhorn’s age to the state of the holding rooms,” he says twining his fingers with Magnus’.
“Oh, darling, keep talking dirty to me,” Magnus says his voice low and pleased. Alec laughs pulling him along down the hallway eager to get away from that damned room and leave this meeting behind, a win in his pocket and his husband at his side.
A Billionaire and His Butler are Sitting in a Tree...
The Wayne family had just finished a dinner of delivery pizza because both Bruce and Alfred were absent. It was getting kind of late and Cass was just about to call them when Tim turned on the tv.
“Breaking news! Bruce Wayne is stuck in a tree!”
“Actually, Jonah, we’ve been just informed that Bruce Wayne is protesting the destruction of this tree and surrounding flora to make way for more high-class housing.” the reporter on scene informed them.
Sure enough, there was Bruce in a towering tree, chatting with Alfred. Figures no one would mention the latter.
Cass made the call and put it on speakerphone.
“Hi, Cass.”
“Dad,” Tim said, “why are you in a tree?”
“We’re protesting.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Tim said.
“But it is getting late and we have prior commitments,” Damian stressed.
“Exactly,” Bruce said in a lower voice. “Can you imagine what Ivy will do when they cut down the oldest tree in the city?”
The kids all nodded in understanding. “Gotcha,” Grayson said “we’ve got you covered until the WE lawyers can get stuff handled.”
Bruce finished chatting with his kids and hung up. “Well, Alfred, do you think this might prevent some future Poison Ivy kidnappings?”
“Perhaps, Master Bruce, but for now let us enjoy a night free of children.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked kids, Alf.”
“I do, sir. But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.” the older man said with a smile.
So, I’m taking on the @writersmonth challenge with the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers crew, writing each of the Writer’s Month Challenge prompts in 50 words or less.
Marinette was cackling at the expression on Luka’s face as they discussed what foods they wanted to serve people at their wedding dinner.
“No, Marinette.” Luka sighed, shaking his head at his fiance. “As much as I love you, I refuse to serve pizza at our wedding.
