Back at Greg’s Apartment
Ten seconds later.
A short woman with jet black hair tied into twin-tails sat on a couch in an empty apartment clutching a thick volume in her hands. Her shoulders shook, silent sobs wracking her frame as she stared at the book.
A red summoning circle appeared on the living room floor in front of the sobbing woman. The circle rose, bringing four figures into view. The first, a tall, orange-haired woman with a high ponytail leaned nonchalantly, an array of shotguns strapped to her back. The second, a girl in pink and white spandex with a distinct lack of pants, stared with eyes wide open at everything happening in her immediate vicinity. The third was familiar, a pajama clad young man that was entirely too handsome for his own good.
The fourth was Jeff. Honestly, he was the cutest shark you’d ever seen.
“Rurglar?” Said Jeff, immediately found Spot, the now fully grown cat (who instantly hated him), and bounced off to play with this new amazing toy/snack. Spot scrambled to the top of the fridge, and Jeff plopped down on his haunches, completely content to watch the hissing feline for the foreseeable future.
A high pitch wail split the calm of the apartment. The young man was barely able to turn back to his assailant, before a blur of white and pink crashed into the young man’s frame, driving him back with bone-breaking force into the walls of the apartment and pinning him helplessly against the newly cracked structure.
The wail sounded something like “Greggy-chan it’s so SAD! I am NEVER going to read Fiona’s manga recommendations AGAIN! Magical girls are supposed to be HAPPY! I need five-million cc’s of Vitamin-G, STAT, or your adorable fiance is going to DIE!”
“Holy crap, is that Yuki Yuna?” Gwen picked up the Manga volume from the floor where it had been discarded, “Volume 5? That tracks. That manga was F’ing DARK. Hooboy. My old roommate basically forced me to read this when she was trying to convert me to her freaky ‘weeb’ religion. I was seriously scarred for life.”
Elsa ignored the chaos, beelining for the kettle on the stove, and started hunting around in Gregory’s cabinets. Gwen plopped down on the couch and started thumbing through the manga volume, cringing at some of the more trauma inducing pages, as memories rose into her mind. Jeff remained motionless, still staring at the cat.
“Ooh, Greg-chan,” Serafall pulled her head out of her godson’s armpit for a moment to take in the new arrivals, “are these your new contractors or did you just bring back a couple of cuties for me to moles… er… meet?”
“Auntie Serafall,” Greg answered while conjuring a magical circle to mend the broken apartment wall, “The woman making a mess in my kitchen is Elsa, she’s the contractor.”
“Sup,” the woman somehow managed to say in an extremely British manner, continuing to rifle through the cabinet, “Sleepytime, Tangerine Orange Zinger, Country Peach Passion. What the bloody hell is this, where is the real bloody tea?”
“Oh, I think Auntie Fiona keeps some Earl Grey packets in a plastic bag in the bottom left drawer. Jean’s taste in tea is a bit… basic, though if anyone tells her I said that I will not hesitate to erase their memory of this conversation.
“The Girl on the couch with the pink frosted tips and missing wardrobe components is Gwen,” the girl looked up from the manga, waved at the pair tangled up on the floor, and went back to her self-torture, “She just sort of… showed up? The shark tormenting Jess’s cat is Jeff.”
“Grgrl,” said Jeff, looking over briefly before returning to his vigil at the base of the fridge.
“Wait, Serafall,” the wheels in Gwen’s mind started turning as the name registered in her mind, “As in… Serafall Leviathan? Holy crap! Is this a DxD crossover?”
“Ixnay on the X-day, eeh-day, Gwen,” Greg said, exaggeratedly winking at the blonde girl, “Auntie Fiona told me we weren’t allowed to break the fourth wall with established characters.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Gwen answered, waving her hand dismissively, “I’m probably just a comic relief character, I’m a bit too Ace for a harem fanfic. I’ll probably just wander in occasionally for laughs so I don’t break the narrative stakes. I’ll be out of your hair before the end of the chapter.
“Unless!” Gwen’s eyes popped open with inspiration, and stared at the empty wall behind Elsa, who was dipping her recently discovered teabag into a cup of hot water, “The author totally decides to make me and Elsa gay so we can have an illicit and steamy love affair with lots of sexy R-18 scenes!”
Elsa continued dipping her teabag, raising her left eye as the blonde girl stared over her left shoulder.
“Hey! What the heck?” Gwen screams, miffed, “Hot girl on girl scenes would drive the readership up! I’m looking at you, bub!”
“Uhg, can you not say ‘bub’,” Doreen said as she walked in from the balcony, “I don’t like to be reminded…”
Doreen took a deep breath, her eyes shifting to the ceiling, and then muttered to herself.
“Cheer up Doreen, you said you wouldn’t bring up Logan any more,” Doreen turned back to Gwen. “Hi Gwen! I didn’t think I’d see you here, but I should have guessed you’d be here eventually.”
“Doreen! I can’t believe you’re still on about that thing with Logan, it’s been like, 15 years,” Gwen shouted as her friend entered, “Don’t worry, I’m going to be shoehorned in as a Gay love interest for that hot Brit Dommy Mommy over there. It’s totally cool!”
Gwen stared expectantly at Elsa who calmly stared back.
“Why aren’t you looking at me longingly? Where are the Sakura petals I ordered? Why isn’t the wind lovingly caressing your hair?”
“Love,” Elsa responded calmly, “I’m flattered, but I somehow firmly remain in the category of girls who prefer dangly bits.”
“It’s true!” Gwen said with astonishment. “You really are immune to reality warping! I can’t wait to post about this on SpaceBook-616. Miles and Kamala will FREAK.”
Somewhere on the Internet on Earth-616
Now (Like, really now, not then now, now now)
Gwendolyn Poole ✔️ @GwenIsNotA_GwenStacy
2 hours ago
IT'S CANON. THE BLOODSTONE SHIELDED HER FROM NARRATIVE REWRITE. I TRIED TO FORCE AN R-18 DOM-WOMAN-SUB-GIRL YURI SUBPLOT WITH ELSA BLOODSTONE AND SHE JUST BLINKED AT ME. THE THEORY IS 100% VALIDATED.
Comments
[@SlothBaby_69]: GWEN. DELETE THIS. OMYGOD DELETE THIS RIGHT NOW. What do you mean R-18?! Aren’t you ACE. ALSO?? ELSA BLOODSTONE?? CAPTAIN MARVEL SAID SHE ONCE RIPPED A WEREWOLF'S JAW OFF WITH HER BARE HANDS WHY WOULD YOU TRY TO SHIP YOURSELF WITH HER TO HER FACE??
[@GwenIsNotA_GwenStacy]: Because she's the hottest Brit Mommy in all of 616, K-baby! Besides, yuri scenes are GREAT for bringing up the reader count.
[@Thwip_Brooklyn_99]: Gwen. Please tell me you are not currently standing in front of a woman who carries silver-tipped hollow points. Tell me you didn't try to magically force a near immortal British monster slayer to kiss you.
[@GwenIsNotA_GwenStacy]: I mean, I tried. The text font didn't even shift to italics. It was humiliating.
[@Thwip_Brooklyn_99]: I am turning my phone off. If the Avengers ask where you went, I'm telling them you moved to New Jersey. Good luck.
[@SlothBaby_69]: Hey! What’s wrong with Jersey? #JCityFL #BitterBrooklyn
[@TheRealUnkillable_DILF]: LOL. LMAO. Imagine getting rejected by a plot hole in a shitty fanfic. Ask her if she’s single while you’re there. Asking for a friend (me). Also, why the hell haven’t I been written into the plot yet?
[@GwenIsNotA_GwenStacy]: Who the hell is that guy? Freaking lurkers.
Back at the Apartment in an Alternate Universe
Also right now (but then now, not now now).
“Gwen,” Doreen said as she looked up from her phone, “Do you really not know who Wade is? Wasn’t Ryan Reynolds a thing in your universe?”
“You mean the green lantern guy? I told you Doreen,” Gwen said definitively, “I only read the good comics. The shitty B-list characters are boring. The writers always seemed like they were trying too hard.”
“Right,” that word had been pulling way more weight than it had ever needed to since Greg had met Gwen, “Regardless, yes, this is Serafall Leviathan, my godmother and fiance.”
“Wait, so are you like… building a peerage in Manhattan in the Marvel universe?” Gwen asked with her eyes shining. “That’s so cool! I call the Pawn, I’ll probably need like 600 pieces to activate me, cuz I’m totally like, just that badass.
“This is so cool Dor,” Gwen pulled her friend into a hug, “I never read the light novels, but my roommate forced me to sit through like, three seasons of the anime. She dressed as Miracle☆Levia-tan for like four Comic-cons in a row. It took her two whole months to make the staff. If there is one thing I know, it’s that the Pawn is the perfect piece for an overpowered protagonist that likes boobies.”
“Um, Gwen,” Doreen interjected, “I don’t like boobies.”
“Shhhh, Dor, don’t worry. I am sure you’ll be super bi- by the end of the Iron Man arc. It’s pretty much guaranteed you’ll have some hot girl on girl action with the main chick at some point. The Author is American, so Girl-Girl scenes are inevitable. Just let it happen.”
“Hello all!” A mature (but still amazingly adorable) woman’s voice interrupted the chaos as Greg’s Auntie Fiona opened the door and sauntered in carrying a large bag on her arm, “Well, we’ve got quite the cast here, don’t we. Anyone up for drinks?
“Gwen, so good to see you’ve finally shown up. Oh, the Old Man asked me to tell you to hold back on your normal antics a bit from now on. He doesn’t want the place to be more of a madhouse than it already is.”
The woman pulled a bottle of Middleton Very Rare out of the bag, though the clink of glass in the bag made it apparent that this was not the only bottle she’d brought. She set the whiskey on the breakfast bar as a pink and black blur slammed into her at breakneck speeds. The older (but still fabulous) woman didn’t move an inch as a short woman with twin tails clung to her back, biting into her shoulder and growling about something like ‘Magical girls are supposed to be HAPPY!’.
Auntie Fiona moved to the cabinet, completely ignoring the new growth on her back, and pulled a bunch of rocks glasses out.
“Right,” Elsa said, the word doing nearly as much work as when Gregory said it, looked at the bottle on the counter, and gave Greg a thumbs up and a wink, “I think I’m gonna be right as rain here for a bit. When you getting my choker back, love?”
“Wait,” Gwen said, her face falling with astonishment at Aunt ‘Fiona’s appearance. She inched closer to Gregory and raised her hand to block her lips as she asked, “Is that…”
“Quite,” Greg answered.
“You mean like, the literal…” Gwen whispered.
“I believe so,” Greg answered.
“Not a host or a herald, but the actual…” Gwen asked.
“I believe she said ‘avatar’ when she was explaining,” Greg added.
“And the old man is…” Gwen questioned.
“Exactly whom you’re thinking of,” Greg nodded.
“Does he look a lot like…” Gwen queried.
“Mustache, shaded glasses, and all,” Greg confirmed.
“Gurgml,” agreed Jeff.
“Of course ma’am,” Gwen addressed Auntie Fiona, “You can expect me to be on my best behavior. I promise I won’t try to force any strange ships on Kamala’s behalf.”
“That’s very specific, dear,” Aunt Fiona answered as she began pouring Middleton directly into Elsa’s teacup, “But I’m glad to hear you’ll behave. Feel free to enjoy yourself, but this is Gregory’s tale, try not to usurp it.”
“Right,” Greg let the word do its usual 996 workload. “Let’s talk about getting your choker back.”
“Wait!” Gwen interrupted, “If she doesn’t have her choker, why is my hot British Dommy Mommy not falling deeply and irrevocably in love with me right now?”
“Do give it a rest, pet,” Elsa answered with a sigh, “The choker is purely sentimental. The bloodstone was actually embedded in my right palm during Secret Wars. I just happened to think the necklace did wonders for my collarbone.”
“Rowgle,” said Jeff.
An abandoned warehouse in Manhattan’s Meat Packing District.
A few hours later.
Todd was digging the scene in an ironic, post-modernist, semi-interested sort of way. Deciding to come to a pop-up rave in the meat packing district in 2007, way past the point of relevance for these kinds of things, was a last minute stroke of genius. Todd had seen The Thrills open for the Pixies, The Cribs and The Futureheads open for Franz Ferdinand, and The Secret Machines open for Interpol, leaving before the mainliner each time of course, but his 427 followers on MugShot were going to absolutely flip when he posted about this later.
He would have already MMSed the few pics he’d already taken to his cousin Angela, but his crappy Nokia wasn’t getting any service in this garbage place. God, he couldn’t wait until his parents got their advanced copies of the new iPhone he was hearing about. It would make posting about this crap so much easier, not that he condoned his super-capitalist parents for their world destroying over-consumption… Todd was a vegan, after all.
Todd took a sip of the lukewarm Pabst Blue Ribbon in his hand, secretly cringing at the bitter taste while feigning a look of enjoyment, and winked at the incredibly attractive alt-emo-goth girl rubbing herself against his crotch to some retro-apocalyptic-hard-acid remix spun by a goatee’d DJ wearing cheap dollar store aviators… completely authentic for its 1997 roots… not that Todd was one to objectify women, he meant this in a completely respectful way. Todd read Sylvia Plath in high-school, he knew all about the plight of women.
The next sip tasted more… coppery… than the last, and Todd looked down to see a drop of what looked to be blood on the lip of his can.
Todd blinked, tapping the top of the aluminum can as if a faulty carbonation loop was to blame for the vintage metallic tang. He looked up, his eyes tracing the sudden pitter-patter echoing off the industrial ceiling, just as the overhead fire sprinklers fully opened up.
A heavy, warm downpour of deep crimson instantly drenched his $400 vintage thrift-store jacket. Todd’s internal alarm bells rang, but his millennial brain-armor slammed down, reframing the nightmare through a lens of defensive irony.
‘Wow,’ he thought, aggressively wiping a streak of thick, copper-scented plasma from his lips so he wouldn't look uncool in front of his date. ‘I hope this blood is vegan safe.’
“What’s wrong baby?” the girl that had brought Todd said and… hissed at him.
Someone must have slipped something in his Pabst, or there must have been something psychoactive in the fake blood, because Todd started freaking out. He could have sworn that the girl he was just grinding on (in a completely respectful and platonic way) had fangs. Todd backed away (not in fear, he was just feeling a lot of negativity in that spot), pushing through the crowd, as he noticed more and more of the blood-covered and dancing mob around him. Strange eyes, fangs… like, who wore vampire fangs unironically nowadays. What was this, 1994?
Todd stumbled backward as the music reached its crescendo, stumbling past blood covered rave participants blissfully dancing as his mind began to break under the weight of what he was seeing. He turned and rushed to flee, pushing through aggressive dancers as he struggled to reach the exit. He just needed to get some fresh air, maybe call Angela. She would definitely help him come down off this bad trip.
The crowd parted. A bare chested man with long blonde hair cocked back his fist and hit Todd square on the chin. Todd dropped to the ground. I mean, he wasn’t a wimp, but who the hell was prepared for violence of this magnitude in this day and age. Violence took so much… effort.
Todd crawled toward the exit, losing all desire to maintain his image, as kicks rained down on him from above. When he finally pulled himself from the impromptu mosh pit (I mean, a mosh pit at a retro pop-up rave of all places, come on) his eyes locked on to a pair black combat boots.
As Todd’s eyes tracked upwards, a pair of black dress slacks followed the boots, with the tail of a vinyl duster hanging behind them. Above the slacks was a thick kevlar breastplate with three buckled straps and topped by the jacket of the duster. Finally, the face of a dark skinned black man came into view, sporting a crew cut, a mustache with a soul patch, and a pair of matrix-core neo-noir sunglasses straight out of 2001.
Todd fled from the man’s feet as the music faded into the background (not because the man was black, of course, it was just the whole freaky situation). The nearest patrons of this hellhole hissed while baring their fangs, all while mumbling strange phrases like, “It’s him.” “It’s the day walker.”
A tense standoff began, as fanged patrons postured at the stone-faced black man, and cleaner patrons filtered in from unknown areas beyond. Seconds passed as blood-covered rave-goers backed away in fear.
A second man, completely clean and blood free like the first, glided into view behind the ‘daywalker’. Literally glided. He stood on a glowing disc of force ringed with Enochian runes that floated inches from the blood soaked floor. The second man, much younger than the first by any metric, and probably more attractive than he had any right to be, munched on a bowl of popcorn as the surrounding dancers looked on in confusion and horror.
The hunter looked down and to the side slightly, his gaze not quite meeting the new arrival. Magic was rare, but he’d seen enough during his decades of hunting to recognize the distinct scent of a spell. The man’s voice growled at the new player.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” the young man popped another fluffy kernel into his open mouth, “Eric Brooks, right? Elsa sent me to ask you a few questions. The name is Gregory. Please, carry on. We can talk when you’ve finished your business Mr. Brooks.”