bingo; 5 excerpts
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origfic_bingoYou can probably guess by the speed of this fill that I have nothing to do. Also, I have continued my tradition of writing extremely stupid things for this community. I apologize. Once again, no warnings, cotton candy. Also, I'd be interested in knowing if anyone catches all the references in the Cupid stories.
title: my boy builds coffins
prompt: ghosts/haunting/afterlife
rating: pg-13
universe: space dragon au 'verse
word count: 656
Nicholas certainly had not meant to haunt Peter - in point of fact, he meant to haunt no one, at all, had not even considered he possessed the ability to do so, being as he had previously thought the idea of life after death ludicrous at best, the sort of fairy tale people told each other so that the world’s many horrors would not weigh so heavily upon them. If he had meant to haunt anyone, he likely would have chosen the man who had shot him and not the man who had built his coffin.
“Oh, yeah, this happens a lot,” Peter said, while Nicholas tried to rearrange his entire word view to include things like ghosts, which pained him even though he now had proof of their existence. That being: he was a ghost, and he was surrounded by other ghosts who bore the mark of their deaths clearly upon them.
Tess left wet footprints behind as she passed them, her hair floating about her face, water weeds tangled around her legs - Nicholas hardly need ask what had killed her. Chelo left him very glad they were beyond the point of bleeding, given the steel rebar that pierced her body, even now. Claudia’s death had been something more of a puzzle, but his medical knowledge eventually led him to believe - correctly, as it was - that she had been poisoned; the scent of bitter almonds trailed her wherever she went, and her skin had taken on the blue tinge of one who’d inhaled gold arsenic. She’d gone in the night, in sleep, a jealous but extremely clever lover the cause.
“Yeah, uh,” she said, “I guess I really know how to pick them? My girlfriend before her totally skipped town. She attacked her room mate, and… yeah, I guess she didn’t want to face charges.”
“Apparently,” Nicholas said. “And the next one?”
“The next one what?” Claudia said, blankly.
“Your next lover,” Nicholas said because surely there were limits to a person’s stupidity. “The one who poisoned you. Was she convicted?”
“Oh! Oh. Yeah, she was. She, uh, got the death sentence. I’m just really glad she didn’t show up here.”
“I would imagine.”
“Don’t be mean to her,” Peter said, later, “Claudia’s really nice. She’s just, like, a little slow.”
“So I take it,” Nicholas said.
“She was the first one of you guys to show up, actually,” Peter said, while running his fingers over the carvings along one side of his most recent coffin. They were intricate; if Nicholas were sentimental - or perhaps morbid - enough to refer to such a thing as beautiful, then he would have referred to this coffin as such. “After that it was, like, a whole lot of people. Most people go to… um, I hope heaven, after a while. But Claudia’s been here for a long time. I don’t know, I guess she likes it here.”
Nicholas had a feeling Claudia’s continued residence in Peter’s home had more to do with Tess’ presence than anything else, but even he knew that to say such a thing about someone who could not touch another person, even if they wished - not even, apparently, another ghost, which made little in the way of sense - would be cruel. Had he not already thought so, before, he would now suspect that whatever Powers dwelt at the center of creation were extremely perverse.
title: cupid and aphrodite walk into a bar - stop me if you've heard this one, before
prompt: date (first).
rating: pg
universe: cupid's chokehold
word count: 751
“Fuck,” Cupid said, looking down into his mug - this was fucking disgusting beer and - “Fuck, I hate first dates.”
“Didn’t go well?” Aphrodite asked, her legs primly crossed but her dress hanging low over her breasts. Slut, Cupid thought and was instantly relieved that Aphrodite couldn’t read his mind. Nobody needed a repeat of the Fresno disaster.
“No,” Cupid said, mournfully, “First dates fucking suck. Everybody feels awkward. Every body acts awkward. The whole things just fucking awkward.”
“Blind date?” Aphrodite asked.
“Those are even worse.” Cupid said, and Aphrodite gave him a look like he hadn’t answered the question right. Cupid tried to think back. “Oh, uh, no, not a blind date. They’re friends. Friends should never date. It’s like dating your boss. You’re like switching boxes. Trying to switch boxes. Why do people do that?”
“Probably because you shoot them,” Aphrodite said.
“Fuck,” Cupid said, “I hate my job. And Paris keeps hitting on me.”
“Paris is an ass,” Aphrodite said, and suddenly he like her 100% more.
“Paris is an ass,” Cupid said. “Sorry about that apple thing. I mean, Hera. That sucked.”
“Water under the bridge,” Aphrodite said, shrugging and sipping from her extremely purple drink, which probably meant she was going to smite Paris before the night was through. At least then he wouldn’t be able to grab Cupid’s ass. “Oh, shit, Jello shots. Hey!” She waved her arm to get the attention of the girl with the tray. Cupid was pretty sure she’d been a swan that afternoon. The girl. Zeus was a fucking weirdo.
She also had delicious, extremely alcoholic shots on her tray, which made her Cupid’s new favorite person.
“Here,” Aphrodite said, handing one of them over to Cupid. “Good for what ails you.”
“You are awesome.” Cupid said, fervently. “You are my new favorite person,” because Aphrodite was paying for extremely alcoholic for him, forget the girl, Aphrodite was clearly a million times better. “I’d shoot you. But that would be, uh… buddies.”
“You’ve got to stop hanging around with Canadians.” Aphrodite said. “They’re starting to rub off on you.”
“Epic romance,” Cupid said, sinking down on his barstool, to rest his chin on his arm. “Fucking epic. They’re going to find hands.”
“Wow,” Aphrodite said, “That’s your idea of romance?”
“Better than heads in the fridge,” Cupid muttered. He was never going to get his arm unstuck from the bar. Fucking gross. Like putting heads in fridges. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with people.
“… Wow,” Aphrodite said, “I can’t argue with you there. Which one did that?”
“Detective,” Cupid said, “He’s not a sociopath.”
“Could have fooled me. Heads in the fridge.” Aphrodite shook her head. “Man, I’m glad I don’t have your job.”
“Love goddess,” Cupid said. “Just as bad.”
“Hey, I got to cause a war that one time,” she said. “Now that was an epic romance.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Cupid said. “Ugh. This is shitty beer.”
“That’s what you get for drinking tap.” Aphrodite said. “Everything on tap is shitty here. Plus you ordered Natty Boh. That’s shitty everywhere.”
“My job pays for shit.” Cupid said. “I am destined to drink cheap beer forever.” Cupid lifted his glass to her. “Fucking cheers.” Something was beeping, something was… fuck, that was his phone. He managed to work it out of his pocket without lifting his head.
From: Big Man
To: Cupid
JS on pier. Lock and load! :)
“He’s got to stop using smiley faces.” Cupid said. “He’s really fucking un-cheerful. That’s misrepresentation.”
“Big words for somebody who can’t stand up.” Aphrodite said. “Also, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be flying drunk.”
“Jet packs are in.” Cupid said.
“You definitely shouldn’t be flying drunk.” Aphrodite said. She took the phone out of his hand. “How about I take care of this one for you.” She peered down at the phone. “JS?”
“On the pier.” Cupid said, nodding wisely. His chin dug into his arm. He was so drunk, shit.
“Right.” Aphrodite said. “I’ll just follow the cartoon hearts. Gimme your arrows.”
Cupid tried to lift his head, but it dropped back on his arm without permission. “Can’t get up,” he said.
“Right.” Aphrodite said. “I’ll just take the one.” She plucked a single arrow out of his quiver and picked his bow up from where it was leaning against the bar.
“Not your job.” Cupid said.
“Oh, come on, I’m a love goddess.” Aphrodite said, “We’re one pantheon away from being family. What’s the worst that can happen?”
title: no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity
prompt: crackfic. which applies to basically all of these but whatever.
rating: pg
universe: cupid's chokehold
word count: 560
Cupid found Aphrodite in one of the dressing stalls at Rue 21. If he wasn’t so desperate for her help, he would have given her so much shit about her taste in clothing - of course then she’d give him shit about his diaper, and things would devolve from there, so his distraction was probably for the best.
“Uh,” he said, when she stepped out of the stall.
“Hey,” she said, then turned to the mirror and tugged at the end of the sweater she was trying on. Cupid had never seen a sweater that showed off that much cleavage. She’d probably altered it herself. “I don’t know, does this say, ‘I’m easy?’” She frowned at herself in the mirror. “Red’s probably not a good idea.”
“No, you look fine,” Cupid said, “Uh, I kind of have a problem.”
“Shoot the wrong person, again?” Aphrodite asked, and Cupid winced.
“No,” he said, “No, it was the right person, but the wrong, uh… “
“What, did you make someone fall in love with the wrong person, again?” Aphrodite asked. She hadn’t even looked at him yet. Cupid felt like she wasn’t approaching this with the appropriate level of gravity.
“A little,” Cupid said, miserably.
Aphrodite turned to regard him. “Wait, really?”
“Yes,” Cupid said.
“Seriously, how long have you been doing this?” Aphrodite asked.
“Hey, JS,” Cupid said.
“Oh, come on, I said I was sorry about that,” Aphrodite said. “Anyways, it’s not even my job. I was just covering for you.” She settled her hands on her hips. “So. Mortal?”
“Yes,” Cupid said, “With, uh… not a mortal.”
Aphrodite stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a handful of seconds, before she seemed to get. “Oh, shit,” she said, and then started laughing like she was going to be sick. “You made someone fall in love with you!”
“Keep it down!” Cupid said. “It’s not funny!”
Aphrodite kept laughing.
“You suck.” Cupid said.
“So,” Aphrodite said, petering off into giggles. “Who’s the lucky mortal?”
Cupid looked over his shoulder and then pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right picture. He turned the phone around to show Aphrodite.
“Oh, fuck,” she said and started laughing hysterically, again, “You made a rock star fall in love with you!”
“Shut up!” Cupid said. “Look, any body could have made the mistake - “
“Of making a male rock star fall in love with them,” she finished for him, wiping tears from her eyes. “What does Psyche think?”
“I’m not going to tell her!” Cupid said, “You can’t tell her, either.”
“No, you’re right,” she said, mouth wobbling, “that’d be the world’s worst threesome.” She peered down at the picture, again, doing the world’s worst impression of a straight face. “Wait, doesn’t he already have a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” he said and then, when she cracked up, again, “Stop laughing at me!” which was the exact moment his phone chose to beep at him. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.
From: Big Man
To: Cupid
AL, how goes? :)
“Fuck,” Cupid said, tugging at the ends of his hair like he was going to pull it out. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
“You really are,” Aphrodite said, reading the message. She patted him on he shoulder and added, cheerfully, “Good luck with that!”
title: bend sinister
prompt: au: affiliation switch
rating: pg
universe: eGad
word count: 130
“I’m thinking about growing a mustache,” Gad said, from where his chin was resting on Reagan’s chest - Reagan really had to stop using his familiar name, even if it was only one letter off from his super villain name.
“Why would you ever grow a mustache?” Reagan said. “You’d look stupid.” Or like a really terrible porn star, he thought, and then thought about phasing through the bed. At least Gad wasn’t psychic.
“Mustaches are sinister,” Gad said. “Seed says I don’t look sinister enough.”
“Seed wears panty hose on his head,” Reagan said. “Nobody looks less sinister than him. Seriously, don’t listen.”
“I told him the panty hose was a bad idea,” Gad said, “But he never listens to me.”
“Yeah,” Reagan said, “he’s kind of a dick. Sorry.”
title: courting ms. pippi
prompt: flowers
rating: pg
universe: space dragon au 'verse
word count: 2,085
I will admit that I found myself in something of a quandary on the day that Peter sat down at our usual table in the Trembling Cup - although really, he seemed more to pour himself into the seat than anything else, so languid he was practically limp - and said, “Oh my gosh, that was completely awesome,” while Claudia gave him a bafflingly wide-eyed look and Tess glared at him with more than just her usually pre-coffee bad temper behind it.
“You just had sex in the bathroom of a coffee shop,” Tess said. “It’s not even a fucking club. Do you have any idea how skanky that is?” Then she shot a look at me that… well, I couldn’t begin to parse, which was unusual given that Tess never tended to show much more than blindingly obvious emotions.
“Uh,” Claudia said, because she had always been one to add deep and meaningful insights to a conversation, by which I mean she was hardly better than mute, most days. She, too, gave me a look, though this one was a good deal simpler, a sort of can you believe what he just did? Which, yes, I could, though I couldn’t say I was particularly pleased by it. I had known Peter for three years, now, and had seem him slip off to… be intimate with whatever boy or girl had caught his attention for the moment no less than four times at this coffee shop alone. He was, as Tess so colorfully put it, “A total ho-bag.”
“Whatever,” Peter said, “You’re totally just jealous.” He turned to me and batted his eyelashes in that ridiculous, over-exaggerated manner he had. Honestly, there were times when I wondered why anyone consented to sleeping with him, at all, particularly strangers who had no knowledge of his redeeming qualities. Perhaps it was because he was so insufferably good-looking. “You’re happy for me, aren’t you, Nicholas?”
“I think,” I said, “that when you inevitably catch something, you’re going to have to find a doctor that hasn’t warned you not to do that, before. I’m going to refuse to treat you.”
Peter giggled and leaned over to lay a smacking kiss on my cheek. “You’re funny,” he said, not, apparently, realizing just how serious I was. As a matter of fact, I planned to refer him to Catherine, who always sent patients out of her office with so many pamphlets and such a traumatized expression that I suspected her of breaking her Hippocratic Oath for just that purpose. I will admit, I was actually looking forward to the possibility.
Taking advantage of my momentary distraction, Peter snatched my coffee cup and took a long drink from it. He grimaced immediately and said, “Oh my gosh, black coffee?”
“
If you don’t like it,” I said, taking the cup back with my good hand and sipping at it, leisurely, “then you’re more than capable of getting your own.”
Peter made a face, then stuck out his tongue. “I take back all the nice things I’ve said about you. You’re mean,” he said, then levered himself to his feet - somewhat unsteadily, I noted - and made for the front counter, where the line was unfortunately four deep. Which meant yet another four people for Peter to flirt with, unashamedly, not including the barista, who had been involved two of the four times I had seen Peter slip off to the coffee shops bathroom or back room or anywhere really with a door that locked to… well.
I sighed and turned back to Claudia and Tess to find Tess still glaring after Peter and Claudia giving me the sort of sympathetic, knowing look that boded well for no one. I grimaced, briefly, and then, deciding I might as well find out now what that look meant, said, “What?”
“Just,” Claudia said, “You. You could do so much better than that. Not that Pippi’s a bad catch or anything, but he’s, uh…” and Tess cut her off with a, “He’s a cheating skank. Seriously, I’d have broken his nose.”
I stared at them, at a loss for words, and then said, again – I have always so hated redundancy – “What?”
“Jesus Christ,” Tess said, “He’s fucking around on you. Seriously, he just had sex with someone in the bathroom, while you were out here waiting for him. That is the definition of cheating skank.”
“Peter’s not cheating on me,” I said, slowly, and watched them make matching expressions of did you honestly see what just happened, here?, although Tess’s included a bit of you complete moron for completeness’ sake.
“No,” I said, just to wipe those expressions off of their faces, “Peter’s no cheating on me because there’s nothing to cheat on. We’re not in any sort of relationship. He’s just being…”
“Pippi,” Claudia said, sounding baffled, at the same time that Tess said, “a trash bag ho,” then, “Seriously?”
“Yes,” I said, “Seriously. Now could we,” I added, as I caught sight of Peter coming back to the table, an over-large coffee cup in hand, “please stop talking about this.”
Before they had a chance to say anything else - though by the look Tess gave me, I knew the conversation was far from over - Peter was dropping back down into his seat and holding out his cup to me. “I got hot chocolate,” he said, sing-songingly, “I know you want some.”
I sighed, then leaned forward, obligingly, and took a sip from his cup. He giggled, took a sip for himself, and held the cup out again. I glared, and he grinned, unrepentantly, but took the cup back and didn’t hold it out again.
I looked up to find Claudia mouthing seriously? at me behind Peter’s back. I glared at her, too, then nearly fell out of my chair in surprise when when Peter squealed, suddenly and girlishly, and jumped to his feet, calling, “Channary!” and waving to a girl on the other side of the coffee shop’s window. She waved back, smiling, and Peter said, “Oh my gosh, I have to go,” scooping up his coffee cup and turning to leave, only to turn back, as if he’d forgotten something, and to kiss me, briefly, on the cheek.
“Bye, guys!” he called over his shoulder, as he walked away, “I will totally see you later!” and there followed a silence in his wake that seemed almost damning.
“No but I mean,” Claudia said, “Seriously?” and I sighed.
#
I didn’t realize I was in trouble - and not just in danger of irritation - until several days later, when we were gathered at Claudia’s apartment[1]. Peter was curled up into my side, where I sat on
the couch, his head tucked under my chin, resting on my shoulder, his hands trapped between our bodies, burrowing into my side, and his knees tucked up against my thighs. He kept making contented little hmm noises as we watched what I believed to be the most inane show I[2] had ever seen.
Tess walked into the room just as the credits rolled, from where she had been helping Claudia in the kitchen[3], a glass of wine in one hand and an open bottle of Yuengling in the other. She took one look at how the two of us were arranged on the couch and raised her eyebrows at me as if to say, really, now? Peter chose that very moment to pick up my bad hand from where I’d set it on my knee, cradle it in his own and rub his thumb over my stiff, unbending fingers. Tess’ eyebrows climbed higher. She only stopped when Peter caught sight of her and said, “Oh my gosh, you’re totally lurking, stop it!”
Tess smirked as she crossed the room to set the bottle of Yuengling on the coffee table in front of me[4] and said, “Here’s your beer, your highness,” and then, “Holding hands, huh?” because she was entirely lacking in any sense of subtlety or, for that matter, decorum.
“Yep,” Peter said, happily, “Nicholas is totally the best at it,” which was flatly untrue,[5] being that I couldn’t hold his hand in return, even if I had the desire to do so. When I sighed and tried to jostle him off my shoulder, so that I could reach my beer, he simply wriggled down, putting more of his weight on me, and giggled.
“Peter,” I said, and he looked up at me through his eyelashes and said, “Uh huh,” smilingly innocent.
Tess snorted and said, “Hey, Peter. Claudia needs your help in the kitchen,” which was a bald-faced lie, being that no one needed Peter’s help in the kitchen, under any circumstances. Peter made a reluctant noise and clung onto my hand more tightly before Tess said, “Now, Peter,” and he said, “Oh my gosh, fine,” picking my hand up to kiss the back of it, before standing and walking down the hall, into the kitchen.
Tess set her wine glass delicately down upon the table then sat down in the armchair across from me. She folded her arms across her chest, set a level gaze on me, and said nothing which always boded ill in a conversation with her. After nearly a full minute of silence I gave in.
“Yes?” I said, acknowledging to myself, grimly, that I’d likely just opened a hellish flood-gate.
“So,” Tess said, still with all her attention focused, unnervingly on me, “if you’re not dating Pippi, then what was Friday about?”
“I… what?” was, I will admit, not the sharpest reply, but the only one I had in the moment.
“You took him to dinner,” Tess said, “You brought him roses. Red roses. Everybody knows what red roses and dinner mean, Nicky. So if you’re not dating him, what exactly were you doing?”
“I,” I found myself flushing without reason which was… irritating. “He’d just performed on stage for the first time. He did well. The gesture was merely one between… friends.”
“Hey,” Tess said, “We’re friends but you don’t bring me roses when I compete.”
“Roses are a little inappropriate for blood sport,” I said. “Never mind the fact that you always complain about where I choose to eat.”
“It’s Jujitsu, Nicky, I’m not exactly a Roman Gladiator. There aren’t even any lions,” she said, as if this were a terrible oversight. “Which you know, seeing as your in my class. Which,” she gestured at me with her glass, “brings us back to Pippi.”
“Must everything bring us back to Peter?” I said, because Tess and Claudia’s preoccupation with my and Peter’s friendship had been, in all honesty, a little disturbing from the very beginning.
“In this case,” Tess said, “Yes. She cocked her head to one side, as if considering and added, “Actually in most cases when it comes to you.” She set her wine glass down on the table and gave me another level look. “Now let me guess, you gave him the roses, you took him to dinner, and then you made it very clear to someone that this was your friend you had with you. Am I right?”
“I,” I very dearly wished I could have answered in the negative, if only so Tess could not go on looking so insufferably all-knowing. I scowled and said “And what if I did?”
Tess leaned back in her chair, thumping her head against the headrest, in a way that seemed excessively dramatic, to me. “Of course, Nicky,” she said, sounding long-suffering “Of course you did.” She held up one hand to stop me from making the comment she clearly saw coming. “Thus crushing his hopes once again, and leading him to sleep with Unfortunate Choice In Sexual Partner Number Fucking Two Hundred. Am I right?”
”I… I suppose that is one way you could look at it,” I said, somewhat mulishly. “Not that it means you’re right,” I was quick to add.
“I have fucking eyes,” Tess said, “I’ve known Peter a lot fucking longer than you have. I know how he works. That’s not just how I’m looking at it, Nicky. That’s how it is.”
Before we could devolve further into the argument there was the shrieking of a fire alarm[6] and Peter calling from the kitchen, “Oh my gosh it’s not my fault!” which was likely a complete and utter lie.
[1] One she would hardly need if she and Tess would simply quit dancing around each other and consummate their relationship - this being Tess's and not Claudia's fault. Tess had, at one time, been just as bad if not worse than Peter when it came to casually sleeping with people she seldom cared for or, more damningly, remembered. She had said, with Claudia, she was trying to turn over a new leaf and not be, ah, a "raging slut-bag." Which apparently meant the both of them were celibate, in a move that confounded everyone around them.
[2] Or anyone else for that matter, excepting, perhaps, Peter, who had kept up with his high school Spanish by watching Telemundo's daytime programming.
[3] Which I suspected was simply an excuse for wrapping themselves around each other and kissing to excess. If they managed to produce any food in the process, then we were lucky, indeed.
[4] Which I believe she did purely to vex me, being that I couldn’t reach for it, with Peter effectively pinning me in place.
[5] Except perhaps in the sense that I let him.
[6] A sound for which I never thought I would be grateful.
title: my boy builds coffins
prompt: ghosts/haunting/afterlife
rating: pg-13
universe: space dragon au 'verse
word count: 656
Nicholas certainly had not meant to haunt Peter - in point of fact, he meant to haunt no one, at all, had not even considered he possessed the ability to do so, being as he had previously thought the idea of life after death ludicrous at best, the sort of fairy tale people told each other so that the world’s many horrors would not weigh so heavily upon them. If he had meant to haunt anyone, he likely would have chosen the man who had shot him and not the man who had built his coffin.
“Oh, yeah, this happens a lot,” Peter said, while Nicholas tried to rearrange his entire word view to include things like ghosts, which pained him even though he now had proof of their existence. That being: he was a ghost, and he was surrounded by other ghosts who bore the mark of their deaths clearly upon them.
Tess left wet footprints behind as she passed them, her hair floating about her face, water weeds tangled around her legs - Nicholas hardly need ask what had killed her. Chelo left him very glad they were beyond the point of bleeding, given the steel rebar that pierced her body, even now. Claudia’s death had been something more of a puzzle, but his medical knowledge eventually led him to believe - correctly, as it was - that she had been poisoned; the scent of bitter almonds trailed her wherever she went, and her skin had taken on the blue tinge of one who’d inhaled gold arsenic. She’d gone in the night, in sleep, a jealous but extremely clever lover the cause.
“Yeah, uh,” she said, “I guess I really know how to pick them? My girlfriend before her totally skipped town. She attacked her room mate, and… yeah, I guess she didn’t want to face charges.”
“Apparently,” Nicholas said. “And the next one?”
“The next one what?” Claudia said, blankly.
“Your next lover,” Nicholas said because surely there were limits to a person’s stupidity. “The one who poisoned you. Was she convicted?”
“Oh! Oh. Yeah, she was. She, uh, got the death sentence. I’m just really glad she didn’t show up here.”
“I would imagine.”
“Don’t be mean to her,” Peter said, later, “Claudia’s really nice. She’s just, like, a little slow.”
“So I take it,” Nicholas said.
“She was the first one of you guys to show up, actually,” Peter said, while running his fingers over the carvings along one side of his most recent coffin. They were intricate; if Nicholas were sentimental - or perhaps morbid - enough to refer to such a thing as beautiful, then he would have referred to this coffin as such. “After that it was, like, a whole lot of people. Most people go to… um, I hope heaven, after a while. But Claudia’s been here for a long time. I don’t know, I guess she likes it here.”
Nicholas had a feeling Claudia’s continued residence in Peter’s home had more to do with Tess’ presence than anything else, but even he knew that to say such a thing about someone who could not touch another person, even if they wished - not even, apparently, another ghost, which made little in the way of sense - would be cruel. Had he not already thought so, before, he would now suspect that whatever Powers dwelt at the center of creation were extremely perverse.
title: cupid and aphrodite walk into a bar - stop me if you've heard this one, before
prompt: date (first).
rating: pg
universe: cupid's chokehold
word count: 751
“Fuck,” Cupid said, looking down into his mug - this was fucking disgusting beer and - “Fuck, I hate first dates.”
“Didn’t go well?” Aphrodite asked, her legs primly crossed but her dress hanging low over her breasts. Slut, Cupid thought and was instantly relieved that Aphrodite couldn’t read his mind. Nobody needed a repeat of the Fresno disaster.
“No,” Cupid said, mournfully, “First dates fucking suck. Everybody feels awkward. Every body acts awkward. The whole things just fucking awkward.”
“Blind date?” Aphrodite asked.
“Those are even worse.” Cupid said, and Aphrodite gave him a look like he hadn’t answered the question right. Cupid tried to think back. “Oh, uh, no, not a blind date. They’re friends. Friends should never date. It’s like dating your boss. You’re like switching boxes. Trying to switch boxes. Why do people do that?”
“Probably because you shoot them,” Aphrodite said.
“Fuck,” Cupid said, “I hate my job. And Paris keeps hitting on me.”
“Paris is an ass,” Aphrodite said, and suddenly he like her 100% more.
“Paris is an ass,” Cupid said. “Sorry about that apple thing. I mean, Hera. That sucked.”
“Water under the bridge,” Aphrodite said, shrugging and sipping from her extremely purple drink, which probably meant she was going to smite Paris before the night was through. At least then he wouldn’t be able to grab Cupid’s ass. “Oh, shit, Jello shots. Hey!” She waved her arm to get the attention of the girl with the tray. Cupid was pretty sure she’d been a swan that afternoon. The girl. Zeus was a fucking weirdo.
She also had delicious, extremely alcoholic shots on her tray, which made her Cupid’s new favorite person.
“Here,” Aphrodite said, handing one of them over to Cupid. “Good for what ails you.”
“You are awesome.” Cupid said, fervently. “You are my new favorite person,” because Aphrodite was paying for extremely alcoholic for him, forget the girl, Aphrodite was clearly a million times better. “I’d shoot you. But that would be, uh… buddies.”
“You’ve got to stop hanging around with Canadians.” Aphrodite said. “They’re starting to rub off on you.”
“Epic romance,” Cupid said, sinking down on his barstool, to rest his chin on his arm. “Fucking epic. They’re going to find hands.”
“Wow,” Aphrodite said, “That’s your idea of romance?”
“Better than heads in the fridge,” Cupid muttered. He was never going to get his arm unstuck from the bar. Fucking gross. Like putting heads in fridges. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with people.
“… Wow,” Aphrodite said, “I can’t argue with you there. Which one did that?”
“Detective,” Cupid said, “He’s not a sociopath.”
“Could have fooled me. Heads in the fridge.” Aphrodite shook her head. “Man, I’m glad I don’t have your job.”
“Love goddess,” Cupid said. “Just as bad.”
“Hey, I got to cause a war that one time,” she said. “Now that was an epic romance.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Cupid said. “Ugh. This is shitty beer.”
“That’s what you get for drinking tap.” Aphrodite said. “Everything on tap is shitty here. Plus you ordered Natty Boh. That’s shitty everywhere.”
“My job pays for shit.” Cupid said. “I am destined to drink cheap beer forever.” Cupid lifted his glass to her. “Fucking cheers.” Something was beeping, something was… fuck, that was his phone. He managed to work it out of his pocket without lifting his head.
From: Big Man
To: Cupid
JS on pier. Lock and load! :)
“He’s got to stop using smiley faces.” Cupid said. “He’s really fucking un-cheerful. That’s misrepresentation.”
“Big words for somebody who can’t stand up.” Aphrodite said. “Also, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be flying drunk.”
“Jet packs are in.” Cupid said.
“You definitely shouldn’t be flying drunk.” Aphrodite said. She took the phone out of his hand. “How about I take care of this one for you.” She peered down at the phone. “JS?”
“On the pier.” Cupid said, nodding wisely. His chin dug into his arm. He was so drunk, shit.
“Right.” Aphrodite said. “I’ll just follow the cartoon hearts. Gimme your arrows.”
Cupid tried to lift his head, but it dropped back on his arm without permission. “Can’t get up,” he said.
“Right.” Aphrodite said. “I’ll just take the one.” She plucked a single arrow out of his quiver and picked his bow up from where it was leaning against the bar.
“Not your job.” Cupid said.
“Oh, come on, I’m a love goddess.” Aphrodite said, “We’re one pantheon away from being family. What’s the worst that can happen?”
title: no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity
prompt: crackfic. which applies to basically all of these but whatever.
rating: pg
universe: cupid's chokehold
word count: 560
Cupid found Aphrodite in one of the dressing stalls at Rue 21. If he wasn’t so desperate for her help, he would have given her so much shit about her taste in clothing - of course then she’d give him shit about his diaper, and things would devolve from there, so his distraction was probably for the best.
“Uh,” he said, when she stepped out of the stall.
“Hey,” she said, then turned to the mirror and tugged at the end of the sweater she was trying on. Cupid had never seen a sweater that showed off that much cleavage. She’d probably altered it herself. “I don’t know, does this say, ‘I’m easy?’” She frowned at herself in the mirror. “Red’s probably not a good idea.”
“No, you look fine,” Cupid said, “Uh, I kind of have a problem.”
“Shoot the wrong person, again?” Aphrodite asked, and Cupid winced.
“No,” he said, “No, it was the right person, but the wrong, uh… “
“What, did you make someone fall in love with the wrong person, again?” Aphrodite asked. She hadn’t even looked at him yet. Cupid felt like she wasn’t approaching this with the appropriate level of gravity.
“A little,” Cupid said, miserably.
Aphrodite turned to regard him. “Wait, really?”
“Yes,” Cupid said.
“Seriously, how long have you been doing this?” Aphrodite asked.
“Hey, JS,” Cupid said.
“Oh, come on, I said I was sorry about that,” Aphrodite said. “Anyways, it’s not even my job. I was just covering for you.” She settled her hands on her hips. “So. Mortal?”
“Yes,” Cupid said, “With, uh… not a mortal.”
Aphrodite stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a handful of seconds, before she seemed to get. “Oh, shit,” she said, and then started laughing like she was going to be sick. “You made someone fall in love with you!”
“Keep it down!” Cupid said. “It’s not funny!”
Aphrodite kept laughing.
“You suck.” Cupid said.
“So,” Aphrodite said, petering off into giggles. “Who’s the lucky mortal?”
Cupid looked over his shoulder and then pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right picture. He turned the phone around to show Aphrodite.
“Oh, fuck,” she said and started laughing hysterically, again, “You made a rock star fall in love with you!”
“Shut up!” Cupid said. “Look, any body could have made the mistake - “
“Of making a male rock star fall in love with them,” she finished for him, wiping tears from her eyes. “What does Psyche think?”
“I’m not going to tell her!” Cupid said, “You can’t tell her, either.”
“No, you’re right,” she said, mouth wobbling, “that’d be the world’s worst threesome.” She peered down at the picture, again, doing the world’s worst impression of a straight face. “Wait, doesn’t he already have a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” he said and then, when she cracked up, again, “Stop laughing at me!” which was the exact moment his phone chose to beep at him. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.
From: Big Man
To: Cupid
AL, how goes? :)
“Fuck,” Cupid said, tugging at the ends of his hair like he was going to pull it out. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
“You really are,” Aphrodite said, reading the message. She patted him on he shoulder and added, cheerfully, “Good luck with that!”
title: bend sinister
prompt: au: affiliation switch
rating: pg
universe: eGad
word count: 130
“I’m thinking about growing a mustache,” Gad said, from where his chin was resting on Reagan’s chest - Reagan really had to stop using his familiar name, even if it was only one letter off from his super villain name.
“Why would you ever grow a mustache?” Reagan said. “You’d look stupid.” Or like a really terrible porn star, he thought, and then thought about phasing through the bed. At least Gad wasn’t psychic.
“Mustaches are sinister,” Gad said. “Seed says I don’t look sinister enough.”
“Seed wears panty hose on his head,” Reagan said. “Nobody looks less sinister than him. Seriously, don’t listen.”
“I told him the panty hose was a bad idea,” Gad said, “But he never listens to me.”
“Yeah,” Reagan said, “he’s kind of a dick. Sorry.”
title: courting ms. pippi
prompt: flowers
rating: pg
universe: space dragon au 'verse
word count: 2,085
I will admit that I found myself in something of a quandary on the day that Peter sat down at our usual table in the Trembling Cup - although really, he seemed more to pour himself into the seat than anything else, so languid he was practically limp - and said, “Oh my gosh, that was completely awesome,” while Claudia gave him a bafflingly wide-eyed look and Tess glared at him with more than just her usually pre-coffee bad temper behind it.
“You just had sex in the bathroom of a coffee shop,” Tess said. “It’s not even a fucking club. Do you have any idea how skanky that is?” Then she shot a look at me that… well, I couldn’t begin to parse, which was unusual given that Tess never tended to show much more than blindingly obvious emotions.
“Uh,” Claudia said, because she had always been one to add deep and meaningful insights to a conversation, by which I mean she was hardly better than mute, most days. She, too, gave me a look, though this one was a good deal simpler, a sort of can you believe what he just did? Which, yes, I could, though I couldn’t say I was particularly pleased by it. I had known Peter for three years, now, and had seem him slip off to… be intimate with whatever boy or girl had caught his attention for the moment no less than four times at this coffee shop alone. He was, as Tess so colorfully put it, “A total ho-bag.”
“Whatever,” Peter said, “You’re totally just jealous.” He turned to me and batted his eyelashes in that ridiculous, over-exaggerated manner he had. Honestly, there were times when I wondered why anyone consented to sleeping with him, at all, particularly strangers who had no knowledge of his redeeming qualities. Perhaps it was because he was so insufferably good-looking. “You’re happy for me, aren’t you, Nicholas?”
“I think,” I said, “that when you inevitably catch something, you’re going to have to find a doctor that hasn’t warned you not to do that, before. I’m going to refuse to treat you.”
Peter giggled and leaned over to lay a smacking kiss on my cheek. “You’re funny,” he said, not, apparently, realizing just how serious I was. As a matter of fact, I planned to refer him to Catherine, who always sent patients out of her office with so many pamphlets and such a traumatized expression that I suspected her of breaking her Hippocratic Oath for just that purpose. I will admit, I was actually looking forward to the possibility.
Taking advantage of my momentary distraction, Peter snatched my coffee cup and took a long drink from it. He grimaced immediately and said, “Oh my gosh, black coffee?”
“
If you don’t like it,” I said, taking the cup back with my good hand and sipping at it, leisurely, “then you’re more than capable of getting your own.”
Peter made a face, then stuck out his tongue. “I take back all the nice things I’ve said about you. You’re mean,” he said, then levered himself to his feet - somewhat unsteadily, I noted - and made for the front counter, where the line was unfortunately four deep. Which meant yet another four people for Peter to flirt with, unashamedly, not including the barista, who had been involved two of the four times I had seen Peter slip off to the coffee shops bathroom or back room or anywhere really with a door that locked to… well.
I sighed and turned back to Claudia and Tess to find Tess still glaring after Peter and Claudia giving me the sort of sympathetic, knowing look that boded well for no one. I grimaced, briefly, and then, deciding I might as well find out now what that look meant, said, “What?”
“Just,” Claudia said, “You. You could do so much better than that. Not that Pippi’s a bad catch or anything, but he’s, uh…” and Tess cut her off with a, “He’s a cheating skank. Seriously, I’d have broken his nose.”
I stared at them, at a loss for words, and then said, again – I have always so hated redundancy – “What?”
“Jesus Christ,” Tess said, “He’s fucking around on you. Seriously, he just had sex with someone in the bathroom, while you were out here waiting for him. That is the definition of cheating skank.”
“Peter’s not cheating on me,” I said, slowly, and watched them make matching expressions of did you honestly see what just happened, here?, although Tess’s included a bit of you complete moron for completeness’ sake.
“No,” I said, just to wipe those expressions off of their faces, “Peter’s no cheating on me because there’s nothing to cheat on. We’re not in any sort of relationship. He’s just being…”
“Pippi,” Claudia said, sounding baffled, at the same time that Tess said, “a trash bag ho,” then, “Seriously?”
“Yes,” I said, “Seriously. Now could we,” I added, as I caught sight of Peter coming back to the table, an over-large coffee cup in hand, “please stop talking about this.”
Before they had a chance to say anything else - though by the look Tess gave me, I knew the conversation was far from over - Peter was dropping back down into his seat and holding out his cup to me. “I got hot chocolate,” he said, sing-songingly, “I know you want some.”
I sighed, then leaned forward, obligingly, and took a sip from his cup. He giggled, took a sip for himself, and held the cup out again. I glared, and he grinned, unrepentantly, but took the cup back and didn’t hold it out again.
I looked up to find Claudia mouthing seriously? at me behind Peter’s back. I glared at her, too, then nearly fell out of my chair in surprise when when Peter squealed, suddenly and girlishly, and jumped to his feet, calling, “Channary!” and waving to a girl on the other side of the coffee shop’s window. She waved back, smiling, and Peter said, “Oh my gosh, I have to go,” scooping up his coffee cup and turning to leave, only to turn back, as if he’d forgotten something, and to kiss me, briefly, on the cheek.
“Bye, guys!” he called over his shoulder, as he walked away, “I will totally see you later!” and there followed a silence in his wake that seemed almost damning.
“No but I mean,” Claudia said, “Seriously?” and I sighed.
I didn’t realize I was in trouble - and not just in danger of irritation - until several days later, when we were gathered at Claudia’s apartment[1]. Peter was curled up into my side, where I sat on
the couch, his head tucked under my chin, resting on my shoulder, his hands trapped between our bodies, burrowing into my side, and his knees tucked up against my thighs. He kept making contented little hmm noises as we watched what I believed to be the most inane show I[2] had ever seen.
Tess walked into the room just as the credits rolled, from where she had been helping Claudia in the kitchen[3], a glass of wine in one hand and an open bottle of Yuengling in the other. She took one look at how the two of us were arranged on the couch and raised her eyebrows at me as if to say, really, now? Peter chose that very moment to pick up my bad hand from where I’d set it on my knee, cradle it in his own and rub his thumb over my stiff, unbending fingers. Tess’ eyebrows climbed higher. She only stopped when Peter caught sight of her and said, “Oh my gosh, you’re totally lurking, stop it!”
Tess smirked as she crossed the room to set the bottle of Yuengling on the coffee table in front of me[4] and said, “Here’s your beer, your highness,” and then, “Holding hands, huh?” because she was entirely lacking in any sense of subtlety or, for that matter, decorum.
“Yep,” Peter said, happily, “Nicholas is totally the best at it,” which was flatly untrue,[5] being that I couldn’t hold his hand in return, even if I had the desire to do so. When I sighed and tried to jostle him off my shoulder, so that I could reach my beer, he simply wriggled down, putting more of his weight on me, and giggled.
“Peter,” I said, and he looked up at me through his eyelashes and said, “Uh huh,” smilingly innocent.
Tess snorted and said, “Hey, Peter. Claudia needs your help in the kitchen,” which was a bald-faced lie, being that no one needed Peter’s help in the kitchen, under any circumstances. Peter made a reluctant noise and clung onto my hand more tightly before Tess said, “Now, Peter,” and he said, “Oh my gosh, fine,” picking my hand up to kiss the back of it, before standing and walking down the hall, into the kitchen.
Tess set her wine glass delicately down upon the table then sat down in the armchair across from me. She folded her arms across her chest, set a level gaze on me, and said nothing which always boded ill in a conversation with her. After nearly a full minute of silence I gave in.
“Yes?” I said, acknowledging to myself, grimly, that I’d likely just opened a hellish flood-gate.
“So,” Tess said, still with all her attention focused, unnervingly on me, “if you’re not dating Pippi, then what was Friday about?”
“I… what?” was, I will admit, not the sharpest reply, but the only one I had in the moment.
“You took him to dinner,” Tess said, “You brought him roses. Red roses. Everybody knows what red roses and dinner mean, Nicky. So if you’re not dating him, what exactly were you doing?”
“I,” I found myself flushing without reason which was… irritating. “He’d just performed on stage for the first time. He did well. The gesture was merely one between… friends.”
“Hey,” Tess said, “We’re friends but you don’t bring me roses when I compete.”
“Roses are a little inappropriate for blood sport,” I said. “Never mind the fact that you always complain about where I choose to eat.”
“It’s Jujitsu, Nicky, I’m not exactly a Roman Gladiator. There aren’t even any lions,” she said, as if this were a terrible oversight. “Which you know, seeing as your in my class. Which,” she gestured at me with her glass, “brings us back to Pippi.”
“Must everything bring us back to Peter?” I said, because Tess and Claudia’s preoccupation with my and Peter’s friendship had been, in all honesty, a little disturbing from the very beginning.
“In this case,” Tess said, “Yes. She cocked her head to one side, as if considering and added, “Actually in most cases when it comes to you.” She set her wine glass down on the table and gave me another level look. “Now let me guess, you gave him the roses, you took him to dinner, and then you made it very clear to someone that this was your friend you had with you. Am I right?”
“I,” I very dearly wished I could have answered in the negative, if only so Tess could not go on looking so insufferably all-knowing. I scowled and said “And what if I did?”
Tess leaned back in her chair, thumping her head against the headrest, in a way that seemed excessively dramatic, to me. “Of course, Nicky,” she said, sounding long-suffering “Of course you did.” She held up one hand to stop me from making the comment she clearly saw coming. “Thus crushing his hopes once again, and leading him to sleep with Unfortunate Choice In Sexual Partner Number Fucking Two Hundred. Am I right?”
”I… I suppose that is one way you could look at it,” I said, somewhat mulishly. “Not that it means you’re right,” I was quick to add.
“I have fucking eyes,” Tess said, “I’ve known Peter a lot fucking longer than you have. I know how he works. That’s not just how I’m looking at it, Nicky. That’s how it is.”
Before we could devolve further into the argument there was the shrieking of a fire alarm[6] and Peter calling from the kitchen, “Oh my gosh it’s not my fault!” which was likely a complete and utter lie.
[1] One she would hardly need if she and Tess would simply quit dancing around each other and consummate their relationship - this being Tess's and not Claudia's fault. Tess had, at one time, been just as bad if not worse than Peter when it came to casually sleeping with people she seldom cared for or, more damningly, remembered. She had said, with Claudia, she was trying to turn over a new leaf and not be, ah, a "raging slut-bag." Which apparently meant the both of them were celibate, in a move that confounded everyone around them.
[2] Or anyone else for that matter, excepting, perhaps, Peter, who had kept up with his high school Spanish by watching Telemundo's daytime programming.
[3] Which I suspected was simply an excuse for wrapping themselves around each other and kissing to excess. If they managed to produce any food in the process, then we were lucky, indeed.
[4] Which I believe she did purely to vex me, being that I couldn’t reach for it, with Peter effectively pinning me in place.
[5] Except perhaps in the sense that I let him.
[6] A sound for which I never thought I would be grateful.
