#...all that said i do like to pretend more of LOV survived and are living happy lives

[dittolicous]

If I can be real for a second - what turned me off from BNHA/MHA wasn't even the series itself (though it def has some things I don't care for in the later half) but the fucking real life League of Villains stans who just CONSTANTLY blasted the hero side and acted like LoV were totally in the right just because they have tragic back stories where they were abused or failed by society (it started getting truly unbearable when Hawks killed Twice, like jesus. I will forever argue his actions were entirely valid, if misguided, given the information he had).

Because... it's literally the gif.

The who damn point was that they had valid points, that hero society was fucked up and failing the people who needed help the most... but LoV were not against MURDERING GENUINELY INNOCENT PEOPLE and thus had to be fucking STOPPED. They didn't just kill heros, they'd kill civilians as well. They were actively continuing the cycle that hurt them, just for the other half of society. Their actions weren't about making everyone equal, it was about making others suffer and putting themselves at the top.

Their reasons being understandable and sad DON'T MAKE THEM THE TRUE GOOD GUYS. Just like the heroes weren't purely the good guys because they fought bad guys (fuck Endeavor, all my homies hate Endeavor). It was gray vs gray, not black vs white. Both sides had something they needed to learn or understand, and change as a result of.

I just got so sick of wading through 'LoV is right!' 'Kill Hawks/All Might/etc.' 'All Mights a bad guy' rhetoric, I couldn't enjoy MHA.

[thebadgerclan]

Seconds Away

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader (Golden Era)

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Death was seconds away from both of you...

The reader loses part of her leg in this, there’s nothing graphic depicted, but she does lose a leg.

A/N: Idk if the killing curse works the way I wrote it to, but let’s pretend it does 😂

Curses flew in every direction, some missing you only by inches.  When you’d arrived with other members of the Order moments ago, you found that Harry and his friends were grossly outnumbered: two Death Eaters for every one of them.  You’d known that Harry might try and get into the Ministry, but you never thought he’d actually do it.  You thought he’d have taken his Occlumency seriously, you thought he’d place more value on his friends’ lives.  But you could scold and yell at him later, right now, your focus was getting him, his friends, yourself, and your fiance out of here alive.  

Lucius Malfoy had just been knocked flat on his back by Mad-Eye, Tonks was duelling Rodolphus, and Kingsley was taking on Dolohov.  Remus was herding the kids out of the room and to safety, and you allowed yourself a moment to breathe.  Four Death Eaters were Petrified or Stunned on the ground, the rest still duelling.  Your fiance, Sirius, had just Petrified Lucius, and he wore a triumphant smirk.  But you saw what he didn't, and you wanted to scream.

Bellatrix had appeared behind him, and what happened next seems to be in slow motion.  Her wand was drawn, pointed directly at Sirius.  Her lips hadn’t formed the curse yet, hadn’t spoken the words, but she didn’t need to.  She had murder in her eyes, and you were moving before you realized it.  Sirius saw you running towards him, and he smiled, not knowing death was seconds away.  You, Sirius, and Bellatrix all spoke at once:

“Y/N!”  “NO!”  “Avada Kedavra!”  You shoved Sirius to the ground, landing atop him, and stabbing, searing pain hit your leg.  “Y/N!”  Sirius screamed, face terrified and pale.  “Oh my god, Y/N!”  You were dizzy, black shapes popping over your vision, and you so desperately wanted to sleep.  “Stay with me, baby, keep those eyes open for me.  HELP!  SOMEONE HELP!”  Bellatrix raised her wand to strike again, but she was knocked off her feet by a spell.

Remus was sprinting towards you, horror on his face.  You were paler than anyone had ever seen you, your left leg bent at an odd angle.  “Get her out of here,” the lycanthrope instructed, voice hard and level.  “We’ll take care of things here, Harry’s safe, get her out!”  Sirius nodded, lifting you into his arms and Apparating away.  You were fading in and out of consciousness, you had no idea what was happening or where you were; all you knew was that Sirius was holding you.

Death was near, you were certain, and if you were going to die, you were happy to go in your love’s arms.  “Someone help me!” Sirius shouted, and you heard several pairs of feet running towards you.  “Merlin’s beard!”  “What happened?”  “Is she dead?”  “Not, but she will be if you don’t help!”  One of the people approached you, a young woman in green robes, and you realized you were at St. Mungo’s.  “Good Godric,” the healer said.  “Come on, we’re getting her to a room.”

Sirius began running down the hall, jostling you slightly in his arms, and you whined.  “It’s alright, baby,” he soothed, eyes darting down to yours.  “We’re gonna get you help.  Just stay with me.”  A moment later, Sirius laid you on a bed, and a flurry of healers surrounded you, pushing Sirius from sight.  They were all talking over one another, and you were woozy, and you only caught snatches of what they said.  “KIlling Curse… never seen this…necrosis, it’s spreading…”  You heard Sirius gasp from behind the crowd of healers, and you wanted him near you desperately.  

One of the healers turned to address Sirius after casting several diagnostics.  “It’s a miracle she’s alive,” he said, and Sirius nodded curtly.  “She was hit in the left shin with the Killing Curse, but you know that.  The limb is dead, and the curse is spreading, and fast.  We need to amputate to stop it and save her, and we need your consent.”  “M-mine?” Sirius stammered, overwhelmed with information.  “Yes, Y/N is in no state to consent to a procedure like this, and there’s no time to track down a next of kin.  But I have to ask, what is your relationship to Y/N.”

“I’m her fiance,” Sirius said.  “And please, save her, do whatever you have to do.”  The healer nodded and turned back to the bed, barking instruction to his fellows.  The bottom portion of your leg was grey, the tissue dead, and the color was rising rapidly.  Sirius couldn’t look away as the healers worked, expertly cutting through skin, muscle, and bone, until your left leg ended just above where your knee is--was.  The healers healed the rest of your leg, leaving a smooth, unscarred stump.

You’d passed out completely, or maybe the healers knocked you out, Sirius didn’t know, but when they stepped away, you were unconscious, looking as if you were simply asleep.  “She’ll be fine,” the healer said, wiping his forehead.  “She’ll be asleep for a while, but she’ll be alright.  I’ll get you the information of a woman who makes magical prosthetics.  If you hadn’t come when you did, Y/N might not have made it.”  The healer clapped Sirius on the shoulder and exited, leaving the two of you alone.

Sirius pulled a chair over to your bedside and sat down, taking your hand in his, kissing it tenderly.  “Y/N, darling,” he whispered, though no one else was here.  “Please.  You’ve got to wake up.  Please, baby, I need you.  Please wake up.”  Sirius wasn’t sure how long he sat for, eyes trained on your face, your hand in his, occasionally kissing it and telling you how much he loved you.  The healers came in a few times to check on you, each time telling Sirius that you were doing well and not to worry.

“She’ll wake soon, don’t worry.”  But Sirius did worry, quite a bit, actually.  The sun was peeking over the horizon now, and Sirius remained at your side, unwilling to leave for even a second.  His legs were asleep and his back ached, but he didn’t care.  All he cared about was you.  Sirius nearly flew out of his seat when you moaned, and his heart began to race.  “Y/N?  Y/N, baby, can you hear me?”  “Hmmm, Sirius?”

He couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face, and he moved closer to you, squeezing your hand.  “Yeah, baby, I’m here.  Can you look at me, sweetheart?”  You did, slowly  rolling your head over the pillow to look at your fiance.  When your eyes met, it was like a bucket of cold water was dumped over your head, and you sat bolt upright.  “Harry!  Sirius, where’s Harry, is he alright?  Are his friends alright?  Oh god, is anyone dead?”  “Hey, shhhh,” he soothed.  “Lie down, puppy, everyone’s fine.  Harry and his friends are back at Hogwarts, everyone from the Order’s fine, we’re all fine.”

You looked around, taking in your surroundings.  “What happened?”  Sirius knew you weren’t asking about the battle, you were asking what happened to you.  He took a deep breath, squeezing your hand again.  “Bellatrix hit your leg with the Killing Curse,” he began, stroking your knuckles.  “Your leg...it started dying, and it was spreading fast.  I brought you here, and they-”  Sirius broke off, remembering your amputated leg for the first time.

“They what, Sirius?  What did they do?”  He sighed, tears pricking at his eyes.  But he had to be strong for you now.  “They had to cut off your leg, Y/N.”  Your eyes widened, and you threw back the thin blankets, seeing the absence of your lower left leg.  “Oh my god,” was breathed, and Sirius stood, sitting on the edge of the bed, putting an arm around you.  “I’m sorry, Y/N, it was the only way to save you.  Are you alright?”

In truth, you were devastated, but if you were either going to lose part of your leg of your life, you’d pick the former every time.  “I’m in shock, I think,” you said.  “But I will be.”  Sirius nodded, scooting closer to you.  “I couldn’t let her hurt you,” you went on, the words spilling without your knowledge.  “She was going to kill you, Sirius, I could feel it.  And I couldn’t let her do that.  I had to save you.  And if it meant my death, then-”  You choked, a sob breaking forth.  Everything hit you at once: how close Sirius had come to death, how close Harry and his friends had come to death, how close you had come to death.

Sirius pulled you tight against his chest as you sobbed, rubbing your back as the breath caught in your throat, kissing your head as your tears soaked his shirt.  You cried for 20 minute without pause, letting the anger, fear, and sadness of the day past wash over you.  When you calmed, Sirius gently tipped your head up so he could look at you.  Your eyes were red and puffy, and your nose was running.  “We almost died today,” you said, voice hoarse from crying.  “Sirius, fuck, we almost died.”

“But we didn’t,” he said, cupping your cheek, kissing your forehead.  “We’re alive, Y/N.  Everyone survived.  Yeah, a few people got hurt, but we’re all alive.”  “I almost lost you.”  Sirius kissed you again, your lips this time, and you leaned into his touch.  “I almost lost you too, Y/N.  But neither of us lost each other today, we’re alright.  Hurt?  Yeah, but alive.”

You were crying again, tears silent this time, and Sirius wiped them away.  “Sirius?”  “Yeah?”  “Will you hold me?”  “Of course I will, puppy.”  Sirius gently lifted you, careful not to jostle you too much in case you were in pain, and sat in the center of the bed, settling you in his lap and draping the blankets back over your lap.  You snuggled into his chest, winding your arms around his neck, his arms around your middle.

“I love you,” he whispered.  “I love you so much, Y/N.  I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”  “I love you too, Sirius.  I love you more than anything.”  He held you tighter, rubbing your back sweetly.  “Does it hurt?” he asked, and you shook your head.  “No, not at all.”  “Good.  We’ll get through this, puppy, we always do.”  You nodded, lifting your head to kiss him.  “I know we will.  I love you, Sirius.”  “I love you too.”  Death was mere seconds, inches away today, but it passed you by, granting you more time with the man you loved.

[diana-prince-s]

do you have any advice for world building for a story? especially for stories that take place in the past like your spartan au. i personally love folklore and fantasy but i could never write for that genre because i'm so bad at world building so i just stick to modern day, slice of life stuff

hmm world building really is something that's very elusive. I'm not really sure if I'm a good world builder. am I?

for the sake of me giving you advice, let's pretend like I am. to start, I've always been a huge fan of fantasy (even modern day fantasy, like modern witches, monsters, the Shadow Falls series and Trylle trilogy were defining moments in my life) and I love history. I had an amazing history teacher who taught it like a story. Every lecture was basically just a story with a few important dates scattered in there. so maybe that's where I got my world building bug.

(and let me just say, in your modern stories you’re doing world building!! we don’t all live exactly where your characters live, we don’t do exactly what they do! my girlfriend noticed in my fics that I write in characters drying their toothbrush after they brush their teeth, which to me is so normal I don’t even notice I do it in real life. she said she didn’t start doing it until she noticed I do it, and I’m sure not everyone does! world building at its finest)

I think the first thing you have to do is to live in your story or your world. you have to feel like you're there. If while you're writing you don't feel like you're in Queen Elizabeth's court, or on the isle of Sparta, then your reader definitely won't. The next thing is to do research. I'm not one to say that you need to have ten pages of typed notes about a particular place and time before you start writing; but while you're writing, if you need to look up what kind of food they ate or if they had mirrors (two of the biggest things you'll probably need in a fantasy/historical story), look those up!

If you're writing fantasy, remember every decision you make is up to you; there doesn't need to be a precedent, and it's believable as long as you stay consistent and say it with your whole chest. If the new Dune movie can be a blockbuster success with how little world building they did for audiences that knew nothing of the world (🙄) then you can make a believable and successful story. Just believe in yourself and your characters. And almost all the time fantasy is just a retelling of history -- every house in Game of Thrones was based on a historical European nation/ethnicity, and we all know where JK(KK) Rowling got her inspiration. You don't need to reinvent the wheel, but there are ways that you can make it uniquely yours.

If you're writing history, like I've said, pretend like you're living there. Consume other historical media and copy that. But also don't be afraid to change history! Every historical nation or civilization had some aspect of fantasy -- dragons and samurais and knights -- that have become part of the modern cultural consciousness. People eat that shit up. I wrote a TV pilot about vikings and it's about (surprise surprise) a lesbian viking princess who's going to become queen. My idea came from Beowulf and I infused it with stuff that I saw in the show Vikings, and then when AC Valhalla came out I learned a lot more about vikings and added some of that stuff in. I've literally never learned about vikings in school, it's all just my own research and my belief that, after watching a TV show and playing a video game and feeling like I could survive in viking times, I can successfully write a viking show even if it's not true to the viking world (yet).

Once again, this is still fiction. My viking show has a woman leader. Did that ever happen in viking history? We don't know exactly, but the modern legends of women vikings are fun and exciting! We're bored of the men being the defining characters in viking works of literature and media! And, correct me if I'm wrong, people will love it. Her love interest is Black, of African descent, and that's totally believable. You know why? Because even if I didn't have proof of this (which there is historical proof of vikings meeting with other cultures, particularly in Russia and the Middle East), I explain that her grandfather, a great viking traveler, traveled south to North Africa, met an African woman and now there is an African viking. And that's how world building works. You are in control of the story.

I believe that you can write a fantasy or historical story. You can even take what you have going with slice of life and mix it with historical themes or fantasy. Because at the end of the day, across time and space humans have similar goals and similar ways of living. We haven't been around for that long, and over the span of time some of the really important things (love, which you can see in stories and literatures from the past and present; sex, which once again, check the historical writings and art; scandal, have you read Chaucer? those stories in that book about the road trip are saucy) and the really bad things (war, we're still doing it and we're doing it better; religions, because what else?; colonization, which we still haven't grappled with or solved) have lasted millennium.

Fantasy and history aren't out of your reach. If you want to add a domestic cooking scene between two star-crossed lovers in the middle of the Hundred Years' War, you can. I'm sure it happened.

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Felix Idea

Continuation of this

“-and anyway, I told Marinette pink is just her color, but I’m sure you would have swooned if you’d seen her in that blue dress she made. Like, not even you, Sunshine would have been able to get out a word in the presence of that angel! A revelation in pastel hues, lemme tell you!”

“Alya,” Felix managed to interrupt her when she had to take a breath. Finding the Ladyblogger had been easy, but getting her to shut up for long enough to speak? Not so much. “Marinette” - or Marian, or whatever her name had been - “looks great! I believed you the first fifteen minutes you told me about it, and I still do now.”

“Oh, but you can’t believe it until you have seen her!”, Alyas blonde friend - Rose? - emphasized as her goth girlfriend nodded along. “We should go visit her right away or you’ll miss the opportunity to witness true lov- beauty!”

God, how did his cousin survive these girls. Felix had only been in their presence for minutes and he already felt the urge to stick his head in the Seine, just to drown out their voices in his ringing ears!

“Later.” he promised, “But I came here to ask you something, and it’s really important.”

Alya had the self control to keep her mouth shut and nod. Finally.

“A few months ago, you posted that interview with Ladybug on your blog, remember?”

Alya nodded again, enthusiasm sparking in her eyes. Before Felix could stop her, she was talking again.

“Pff, if I remember? Boy, that was like, the kickstart of my journalistic career! If our little networking Queen hadn’t managed to convince LB-“

“Alya!”, he interrupted again, his mind racing to keep up with her. Networking Queen? “I need you to listen. You’re my friend, right? Friends listen.”

Immediately, she let herself fall back next to him.

“Right! Sorry! Gettin’ a little carried away here.”

“No problem!”, Felix pressed out with the friendliest, most Adrien-like smile he could muster up. Even if he was at the brink of loosing his mind.

“Anyway. Our ‘Networking Queen’... I need you to get me a meeting with her. Today.”

Alyas eyes began to sparkle in a way that made Felix wonder of this had been a mistake.

“Oooooh, I get it.”, she all but cooed. “You want some alone time with your ‘just a friend’?”

“A date between model and fashionista?”, Rose chirped up, that same expression in her eyes.

“Chat Noir’s voice talking to our Everyday Ladybug?”, Juleka followed suit, red eyes eerily unblinking.

They could’ve texted him in ancient hieroglyphs and he would’ve understood more than the nonsense that had just left their mouths.

He was about to give up - fuck it, he’d just create an Akuma and wait for Ladybug to show up - when a shrill voice caught his attention.

“Did I just hear ‘Ladybug’?”, snickered a blonde girl walking out of a nearby boutique. “Because if you want to talk heroes, Adrie-chérie, you’ll want to talk to me!”

“Chloé”, Alya growled, but Felix wasn’t listening anymore.

Everything clicked into place.

Networking Queen? Chloé knew lots of famous people by living in an exclusive hotel.

Adrien’s ‘just a friend’? Who else could it be than his oldest companion, who was also too much of a headache to ever be considered more than a friend?

Fashionista? Well... personally, Felix would have preferred to go blind this very instant before having to look at that garish yellow jacket again, but Chloé’s mother still was the Style Queen.

And an Everyday Ladybug? He might not know how, but Chloé did have a miraculous at some point, making her a lower-tier, more ordinary hero. An everyday Ladybug, if you wanted to flatter her and insult the goddess that was Ladybug.

In other words: The contact that would get him Ladybugs attention? It was Chloé Bourgeois! Everything made sense now.

“Well, that’s my cue.”, Felix told the three furies next to him and got up. Chloé looked surprised when he actually walked over to her, but the girls? They looked flabbergasted.

“W-Wait a sec! Didn’t you want to go to Marinette’s with us?”, Rose pouted, tears forming in her ridiculously oversized eyes.

“Yeah!”, Alya complained. “Since when would you rather hang out with Chloé than grab some pastries and compliment Mari?!”

That’s it. Felix had had it with their pushy, unhelpful and downright obsessive interest in his view on some amateur-designers dress of the day! Jesus Christ, did Paris do this to people or were they just born with an endless reservoir of mindless chatter?!

“For the record,” Felix’ friendly facade began to crack as his smile turned malicious, “I do not want to visit Marinette. In fact, I do not care about this Marinette at all! And I don’t care about you, your infuriating riddles and your absolute gibberish either!”

Chloe next to him spit out the smoothie she’d been slurping and stared at him in disbelief, but he wasn’t done yet. Now that their faces varied from shock to anger to hurt, he had an idea for a back-up plan. Prime Akuma-material was prime Meeting-Ladybug material, after all.

“It has been almost half an hour until something even vaguely useful left your mouth!”, Felix happily continued his rant. “Up to then, the only thing you did was bore me to death with your tabloid of a blog, some band I now wish I’d never heard of, and the oh-so glorious color choice of a dress that isn’t even finished yet! I mean, I don’t know about you, but I have a very important and busy life! So, if you’ll excuse me?”

He straightened his jacket and turned towards Chloé’s limousine.

“I have interesting people to spend my day with.”

All four watched him get into the car, mouths agape, before a sharp “Chloé!” Let the blonde remember she was supposed to follow him.

“Uh, Yeah!”, she stammered towards the other three. “So long, you... uh... uninteresting people!”

-

“Are you alright?”, Chloé asked him for the third time since they had arrived at her room. “I mean, not to say I don’t approve of you realizing how stupid they are, but that was kind of... sudden.”

“I told you, Chloé.”, he faked patience. “I just want to spend some time with you! My best and oldest friend!”

“Oh”, she perked up. “Well, then! We didn’t hang out in ages, Adrikins!”

She threw herself into a red-cushioned armchair, sighing.

“It’s been so long, I don’t even remember what we used to do all the time.”

A shrill, uncomfortable laugh escaped her, slowly dying down when she realized he wasn’t laughing along.

“So... uh, what do you want to do? We could play Ladybug and Chat Noir! I have these wicked expensive cosplays in my closet you have to see, maybe I’ll let you borrow the Chat Noir one! Sabrina usually plays him, but she’s got a cold and I definitely won’t let her contaminate it with some sort of poor people disease! So-“

“Why don’t we talk a little, for now?”, he cut her off, inspecting the numerous wardrobes in the room. Any sign that Ladybug frequented this place would be enough to raise his mood.

“About you being Queen Bee, for example! You and Ladybug must be... close.”

He turned around to her and she laughed.

“Close? We are BFFs! I mean, sure, she hasn’t given me a Miraculous in a while, but she still adores me. Everybody does, right?”

She laughed again.

“Right?”

Not bothering to answer, he rolled his eyes.

“Surely you must have a way to contact her.”, he hinted at his end goal of this conversation. “As close as you are, you must be talking all the time.”

“W-well...”, Chloé started, something unreadable in her expression, before she shook her head. “Of course! The bee signal, it’s on my balcony.”

She led him outside, proudly turning on what looked like a giant spotlight with bee motive.

“Cool, huh?”

Felix’ carefully cheerful face crumbled. This... was it? His chance at meeting Ladybug was nothing more than a glorified pocket torch on some rich girls‘ roof?!

“Cool?”, he laughed in disbelief. “Tell me, Chloé... has she ever actually answered your signal?”

The girl faltered.

“What?”

“Did Ladybug”, he hissed, anger pooling in his chest, “ever react to this thing?”

“I mean...”, she shrugged, “One or two times, I guess? But you can’t measure our friendship in how often she visited me, right? I mean, you didn’t visit a lot either!”

She laughed, but it sounded insecure now.

“Wow, that came of accusing! You know I adore you though, right, Adrikins?”

Sighing she leaned on the balcony railing.

“I bet you missed hanging out with me! It’s just that so much is changing for you right now, adjusting to school life and all, and you’re so crowded by these losers all the time. Sometimes I think you forget that we’re friends entirely, ha ha! That is, until I... until people are upset with me for some stupid reason.”

She talked on and on and on. Why was everybody talking so much today? Why did no one see how important this day was? How long he had pined for this moment to arrive, only to have it kept just out of reach.

“Hey, do you think you have time on Friday?”, Chloé finally ended her monologue. “Daddy is officially opening up our new spa area, and we’ve deserved a little break! Being popular is so exhausting.”

Felix let out a dry, bitter laugh and finally turned to his cousin’s childhood friend.

“Popular?”, he wanted to snarl, but it came out tired. “You’re not popular, Chloé. Get real.”

“Um, excuse-“

“No. I have had a thoroughly disappointing day, and I can’t stand to see more uselessness today.”

He sighed, ignoring how Chloé was backing away from him.

“Nobody likes you.”, he said matter-of-fact. “Who are you kidding? Ladybug won’t show up, and neither will anyone else. Any day. And I guess you should come to accept that, because the longer you entertain yourself with your little illusion, the more it will hurt when you realize you are hopeless.”

“Adrien, what’s gotten into you?”, she shook her head, trembling hands balled to fists. “You can’t speak to me like that!”

“Yeah?���, he mocked her, desperate to let off some steam. “Why not? Is your Daddy going to throw money at me? Is your Mommy going to call me by the wrong name and pretend to fire me? Or is it just you she does that with?”

Now she actually flinched, eyes as wide as dinner plates. He can only muster up a halfhearted chuckle.

“Do me a favor, Chloé, now that you couldn’t even get Ladybug here. Go away. You bore me so, so much.”

He expected a fight - hoped for one, actually. So when she retreated, carefully, before turning and running away, he was almost disappointed. Because now he was alone on the roof, with no Akuma in sight, and the glorious Ladybug spending her day somewhere else entirely. Or maybe she was with Adrien. Maybe she had arrived the minute he had left, because that was just how lucky he was.

He sank to his knees, exhaustion pulling him down.

It had always been like this. Adrien was the lucky one, and he was just his little cousin.

Adrien, the prodigy son. The heir to a fashion empire, with parents who actually cared about where he was. The junior fencing champion, and multilingual genius, and the flawless face that was plastered all over Paris. Everybody loved Adrien, that was just how it was.

Even... Even Ladybug. For some reason his birdbrained, pampered cousin had the attention of the one person Felix wanted for himself.

No matter how unlikely, or unlogical, or unfair it was: Adrien always won, without even trying.

Meanwhile Felix schemed and planned and worked, but it never amounted to anything. Even though he was so much smarter. Even though he looked almost the same as his cousin. Even though he deserved it! God, with his luck, Adrien probably had a Miraculous too and spend all his freetime wooing Ladybug!

While he was stuck here, with children unworthy of his time, wasting his precious day in Paris.

He should have just-

“Chloé?”, a voice interrupted his laments. He looked up. That voice...

“Chloé!”, she repeated, landing skillfully next to the pool. “Are you alright? You turned on the signal, is there an Ak... A-Adrien?!”

Felix rose to his feet, staring at the apparition before him with awe. Black hair, tied into playful pigtails on the back, framed a face that “beautiful” didn’t even begin to describe. Clear blue eyes looked at him from underneath her red mask, the look in them so open and happy he felt his heart swell.

“Ladybug”, he whispered.

For once in his life, he was lucky.

- - -

Our spoiled brat is throwing a pity party, but now we‘re getting to the fun part!

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: Here We Are Together (My Fair Lady, Eliza/Henry)

I wrote three stories this year for Yuletide! I was assigned to write for alestar, and what I ended up writing (My Fair Lady) wasn't what I wanted to write. They had some excellent prompts in other fandoms, and I'm not a Henry/Eliza fan in general. Their prompt for Dr. Facilier in The Princess and the Frog was really interesting, but I couldn't get good enough reference material on Voodoo practices to feel comfortable writing it. (Everything in the library system was written by outsiders.) They also had interesting prompts for the movie Hancock, which I remember fondly but only ever saw once years ago, and I couldn't find a copy to watch, and I wasn't about to write a fic based on a decade-old memory and clips on youtube. So My Fair Lady it was, and I'm pleased with what I ended up with. Title: Here We Are Together Author: beatrice_otter  Fandom: My Fair Lady Rating: G Warnings: none Written For: alestar  in yuletide  2019 Betaed by: kalypsobean  Summary: Eliza and Freddy are working together. Henry isn't happy, and makes sure everyone knows it. At AO3. Dreamwidth. Pillowfort.

"If we could but get the funding, Mrs. Doolittle, so much more might be accomplished," Freddy said earnestly. "Your contributions, both financial and practical, do so much good, and of course your greatest contribution is the time you and your husband give to veterans who cannot pay for your services, but unfortunately the scale of the situation—"

"Yes, yes, the number of men who returned with severe wounds is alarming, and their needs are many and great," Eliza said. "You would think that the thanks of a grateful nation would extend to paying for treatment for the injuries taken in the service of that nation."

"I sometimes think they would prefer if we had died, so that they could take out our pictures once a year on Armistice Day, and not have to deal with the inconvenient reality of our survival." It was a touch of the old, romantic, dramatic Freddy she had first met over a decade ago, although of course far bitterer than anything that young fop could have imagined.

"Perhaps I should mention the subject to my father," Eliza mused. "Much as he hates it, he needs respectable causes to mix in with his disreputable ones, if he wants to get anyone else in Parliament to actually work with him. And one can hardly get more respectable than poor veterans in need of medical care and other aid."

"It cannot hurt," Freddy said, "although far too many politicians are willing to give flowery speeches in public, and then tighten the purse strings in private. I begin to understand your preference for actions over words."

"Mm," Eliza said, making a note to write to her father. "Now, about—"

"ELIZA!"

Freddy twitched at the sound of her husband's stentorian bellow, and he turned pale so quickly she was afraid he might faint. Repeated calls did not help, but roaring back at her husband to be quiet would hardly be any better. Freddy, like so many veterans of the Great War, did not handle startlement well.

"Eliza, where are you, that great clod Bloxham was unbearable, he's the son of a grocer, he's no call to treat me like the help!" Henry strode through the door of the drawing room like a motorbus through Picadilly, coming to a crashing halt when he saw she was not alone. "Freddy," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't know you were visiting."

"You are setting a poor example for the children," Eliza said firmly.

"I most certainly am not," Henry scoffed, flopping into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He swung his legs up over the arm of the chair, twisting his body in a position that might have been leonine in a more graceful man, and he pouted. He would not call it that, but in that moment he might have been any one of their four offspring.

Eliza stared at him for a few seconds. Long experience had taught her that while immediately answering such a flat denial would only bring a round of squabbling to rival the worst the children were capable of, pinning his attention and then speaking firmly had a high rate of success. "You were shouting down the house. This is not a fishmarket, and you are not a fishmonger, though you may bellow like one. And then you were rude to a guest."

"Freddy?" Henry said incredulously. "I'm to be polite to Freddy Eynsford-Hill in my own home?" He shifted his shoulders slightly and sagged further down in the chair, a sure sign that he knew he was in the wrong but determined to be so. It was a legacy of his mother constantly demanding that he sit up straight. In Henry's mind, Eliza knew, sullen defiance and slouching were inextricable.

"Yes," Eliza said. "To his face and behind his back, both. Certainly whenever the children are present."

"Are the children present?" Henry frowned; he'd probably lost track of time and hadn't realized they were home from school. He peered around the room and found Aurelia in the windowseat with a book, Emily playing with her stuffed dog on the floor by Eliza's feet, and Edward and Andrew playing chess in the corner. All had stopped what they were doing to watch their father's dramatic entrance. "Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked.

"It's over for the day, father," Andrew pointed out.

"I should be going," Freddy said, as if he hadn't noticed the awkwardness. "We've covered the main points, and in any case Anne will fuss if I'm not home for dinner."

Normally, Eliza would say that he shouldn't let Henry drive him off, but they were mostly finished, and she could see how his hands were trembling on the head of his cane. "I shall definitely contact my father about funding, and if there's anything else I can do for your organization, please let me know."

"Your expertise is more than enough," Freddy said. "Good day, Mrs. Higgins. Professor." With gracious nods to both of them he left, leaning on his walking stick more than he usually did.

"Freddy," Henry said with distaste as soon as the front door had closed on him. "What does he want now, more charity cases to fob off on us?"

"You like working with veterans who have developed speech impediments or vocal wounds," Eliza pointed out. "It's a much more interesting challenge than teaching parvenus like Bloxham how to pretend they've always been upper-class."

"Yes, but it doesn't pay well," Henry pointed out.

"And the parvenus pay more than enough to cover the time we spend on charity cases," Eliza said. "What is it really? You've been like a bear with a sore head about Freddy for months, and frankly I'm sick of it."

"I'm volunteering my valuable time, and I don't like how he keeps asking for more."

"Not from you," Eliza pointed out. "And mostly he's asking for organizational help. I'd send him to your mother, if her health were better."

"Mother would have had him settled weeks ago," Henry grumbled.

"Possibly, but she has many more decades of experience organizing charities than I do, and a great many more contacts."

"Then Freddy should go find someone else to bother for help, someone like Mother who's spent the last fifty years organizing everyone else's lives," Henry shot back.

Eliza sat bolt upright as enlightenment dawned. "You're jealous!" she said in astonishment.

"No I'm not!" Henry said, voice climbing querulously.

"You," Eliza said, enunciating very clearly, "are jealous of Freddy Eynsford-Hill."

"Why would Papa be jealous of Mr. Eynsford-Hill?" Emily asked.

"Because Mr. Eynsford-Hill is more handsome than he is," Edward answered her.

"He is not!" Henry declaimed. "His profile is insipid."

Aurelia snickered at Henry's words.

"Aurelia, you shouldn't snicker, it's not polite," Eliza said. "And Henry, you shouldn't lie to your children. Or to yourself. Freddy is far more handsome than you are, but if that were important to me, I'd have married him instead of you."

"Was that an option, mother?" Emily asked, closing her book with a finger to hold her place.

"It certainly was," Eliza said. "He asked me before your father did. And I certainly considered it; besides his looks, he would have been far easier to live with than your father is."

"Then why did you marry me, if I am such a trial?" Henry said, with a mixture of curiosity and sarcasm.

"Because I don't have to hold back with you," Eliza said simply.

"Hah!" Henry said, sitting up straighter. "And yet you complain about my manners!"

"One can be assertive without being rude; your mother is the most forceful person I know, and her manners are impeccable," Eliza said. She turned to Emily, who at fourteen was beginning to notice men, and explained further. "You see, it is very unpleasant to live with someone who steamrolls over you, who dominates you, who controls you, even if they are not trying to hurt you. And when two people are not equals in that way—when one is always the leader and the other is always the follower, or when one is stronger and more forceful than the other—it is not healthy for either. At the time, Freddy was pleasant, but … easily led, shall we say. If he had any great depth of thought or character, he never showed them to me. I could have always had my way with very little effort, which would have been pleasant for me, but perhaps not good for me. And certainly not good for him."

"Whereas with me," Henry said, "you knew I would never let you have your way without a fight."

"With you the question was, could I get you to stop being a bully and a tyrant," Eliza said, turning back to him. "Fortunately, your bark is worse than your bite, and once you knew that I would simply leave if your conduct became intolerable, you amended your ways. I can keep you from running me over like a motor-bus, and I certainly don't have to worry about dominating you. If you'd kept treating me as you did when we first met, I'd have married Freddy and learned to be gentler."

"Mr. Eynsford-Hill doesn't seem shallow to me," Andrew said.

That was probably the source of Henry's jealousy, Eliza realized. Henry had been amused at Freddy's puppy love when they were first married. "He's changed quite considerably since he asked me to marry him," Eliza said. "He is much quieter and more thoughtful since he came home from the war."

"The Army was the making of him," Henry proclaimed, an opinion he had picked up from Colonel Pickering.

Eliza considered the way Freddy's hands sometimes shook, and how he flinched at loud noises that came unexpectedly, and the haunted look she sometimes caught in his eyes if he thought no one was looking at him. "No," she said soberly, "I think it was the breaking of him."

After dinner that evening, Eliza worked on her plans for the next day's clients, while Henry helped the children with their schoolwork, their education being far more like his had been than Eliza's.

"I still think we should send the boys to school, at least, even if we keep the girls here," Henry said as he got ready for bed that evening.

"What can they learn there that they can't learn from the perfectly good school they go to now?" Eliza asked, laying her gown neatly on the dressing room chair for Susan the maid to take care of in the morning. "Or from you?"

Henry grumbled, because he knew better than she did that the school the boys attended was as strong academically as any of the more prestigious schools they could have sent the boys to, and it was almost as distinguished. The difference was, in their current school the boys could live at home instead of boarding. "They could make good connections," he said at last, grasping at straws.

"Hah!" Eliza said as she climbed into bed. "That's rich, that is. How many connections did you make at school that were of any lasting value?"

Henry grumbled some more and climbed into bed beside her.

"Besides," Eliza said, "you'd miss them as much as I would, and you'd hate being outnumbered by women."

"True," Henry said at last. "Bloxham's going to send his boys to Eton and his girls to Cheltenham. He was bragging all about it. The blasted fool had never even heard of Tonbridge." Henry sniffed at this slight to his old school.

"You're one to talk about foolishness, wanting to send our boys away to school just because a fatuous idiot who made a fortune during the war is a snob," Eliza said. "Not to mention being jealous of Freddy, of all people."

"Oh, Eliza, must we go into that again?" Henry said, running a hand down his face. "I know I'm an old fool, you needn't rub it in."

Eliza paused and looked at him, really looked. He was so familiar to her, she knew his face better than anything in the world, and yet it suddenly struck her how old he was. When they'd married, he'd seemed ageless, powerful, in the prime of his life. And that was how she'd always thought of him; his force of personality had certainly not diminished. But he was in his seventies, now, and his face was deeply creased with age. Though his hair was receding, it was almost as dark as ever.

"I knew you were almost thirty years older than I am when I married you," she said at last. "If I'd wanted a younger man, I could have had one then. Freddy, or some other chap your mother could have found for me. I chose you, and you know how stubborn I am. You're mine, now, and I'm not about to give you up."

Henry sighed. After a few seconds he turned off the lamp on his side of the bed and slid down under the covers. Eliza followed suit, and waited to see if he'd say anything. In bed, in the dark, he was sometimes willing to be more honest than during the daylight hours.

"I feel old, Eliza," he said at last, staring up at the ceiling. "Old, and useless. I look at the men we treat, the veterans, and I'm glad Edward and Andrew are the age they are. If they'd been born a decade earlier ... All those young men chewed up at the front and spat out with their lives destroyed, and for what? So idiots like Bloxham could make their fortune in the munitions factories? So all of Europe could be laid waste? And then I read the papers and look at the fashions and the books and plays and art that are being made these days, and I don't understand it. It's all so different. All the rules of how things work that I've known all my life, they just don't seem to apply any longer." He fell silent.

Eliza waited to see if he would say any more. When it was clear he wasn't going to, she spoke. "You never liked the rules anyway."

"But I knew what they were, and how to break them," Henry said. "Now … you understand things much better than I do. You fit better than I do. You could bob your hair and go find a man who fits better than this old Victorian relic lying next to you."

"I'm not that much younger than you are, dear," Eliza pointed out dryly. "I doubt there are very many forty-year-old mothers of four with bobbed hair and short skirts in the dance halls even these days. And while I could throw you over and find a younger man, why would I want to? I've got you trained just the way I want, and I'd have to start all over again. You're mine, and you may not fit the world very well but then you never did—and you fit me quite nicely."

Henry reached over and took her hand. Eliza snuggled closer to him, and they fell asleep like that.

[pacifistofpatience]

If you're doing that types of kisses thing, prehaps 7,4,3, or 2?

Went hogwild and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Except sleep, i need sleep now lol

Unbreakable Kiss- The type of kiss that really shouldn’t be happening, it’s a mistake, butyou just can’t find yourself able to pull away.

(Oh jesues fuck I got distracted half way through and mayhave fucked this one up a little bit but I have had this idea in my head for sogosh darn long now and the words just spewed(Also Mars Got a mind of his ownand just started going and I Didn’t know how to stop him!))

When you had filled out the paperwork for the “Monster Rehabilitationand Reconnection Program” (MRRP, as they called themselves) you knew you would beaccepted. You had spent years volunteering as a foster parent, and with a stablejob and home, you were the perfect fit to aid in the slow inauguration ofMonster kind after the rumored horrors they had survived in the Underground.

(Sometimes it was hard to believe that a whole race had beentrapped under Ebott for hundreds of years. Left to be forgotten with time and thento nearly starve to death. It made you sick, but it also made you want to help.)

And you were right, only a month later were you given theseal of approval and your first two charges- A Sans and Papyrus Serif. Two lovelySkeleton brothers that- despite their substantial size- seemed absolutely terrified of you. Youthought that maybe you were scaring them. That maybe just you- being human- madethem naturally inclined to assume the worst.

Not one to let this go, you gently gathered the two (Notover dinner, you refused to tarnish meal time with the anxiety that maybe they wouldend up trapped in another “talk”) and explained that if they felt unsafe with you,you would be happy to adjust your living style to make them feel comfortable.If there was anyway you could- you know- help them feel safer…

Sans, who had been quiet for most of their stay, laughed. Atfirst it was nervous, maybe even shy. Then, as it finally connected as to whyhe was laughing, he began to do so harder.

Eventually, the laughter died down, and they both confessedthat they weren’t scared of you but for you. They were sure you had simplyopened your home to them for the…what was it called?… Tax benefits? And that notonly did they assume you were terrified of them, but there was always thechance they could–

None the less, it led to a very long, very deep discussionabout how- no matter what- you were here to help them. That you cared for them in your own way.

~*~

That had been a year ago, and the brothers slowly but surelywarmed up to you.

And you, well, you had warmed up to them too. You beganto learn about them, about their little habits and the ways they ticked eachother off but loved all the same. You learned how much you could grow to careabout them…and in one instance lov—

No, no no no. Bad idea. You were here to help them heal. Notto let your silly little heart get in the way of all that. You brushed off the feelings.You pretended like when you spent time with one of them your heart would burstwith so much adoration.

Still, every time you came home and smelled the telltale scentof Pasta sauce wafting through the kitchen you found yourself melting.

~*~

For what it was worth you weren’t the one to start it.

You were exhausted, stumbling into the house and almosttripping over one of Sans many loose socks as you made you way into the kitchen.The relief that washed over you every time you entered the kitchen knowing youwould have both a full meal and others to share it with was never not euphoric.And on top of that getting to see the two place sett—

Wait? Two?

You blinked, eyebrow raised in confusion, “Pappy?” youcalled out, knowing exactly who was making that racket in the kitchen, “WhereSans?”

And there he stood, back strait and looking leagues betterthen when you had first met him, hovering over the pot of boiling water with a boxof angel hair pasta in his hands. He grinned, outshining even the sun, andsaid, “Oh! Sans Said Something About Wanting To Give Us ‘Alone Time’ WhateverThat Meant!” he used air quotes right, for once, “And How He Was Tired Of Us ‘DancingAround Each other Like A Bunch Of Lovestruck Baby Bones’ Or Something.”

You choked on air.

“Exactly What I Said! Can You Believe Him? I Do Not Believe EitherOf Us Have Ever Been To One Dancing Class, Let Alone Together!” He turned backto the pasta, stirring it, “And He Didn’t Even Give Me Enough Time To Prepare! DoYou Know You Have Absolutely No Candles In The House Suited For Dates! All IFound Was That Weird Battery Powered Thing You Stuck In The Pumpkin For HallowsEve! And…”

When you finally gathered yourself enough amidst Papyrusramblings you glanced up at him, you noticed that the entire back of his skull(and the rest of his face) was alight with a deep blue blush. For a moment youwondered if you should leave. Isn’t this something that could ruin everythingyou had helped build them up to? That maybe giving into something like this wasn’tthe right step at-

“And I Know What You’re Thinking.” Papyrus said, “Sans- He…MayHave Mentioned A Few Things To Me…”

That sneakily little bastard. You knew there was a reason hewas trying to weasel a confession out of you all those days ago…You had just hopedhe would have given you a longer grace period before jumping into things.

“I Know You…That You Were Weary About Potently Starting A…RelationshipWith Me But…”

Papyrus trailed off, and for a moment you thought he wassecond guessing things until he turned on his heel. Puffing out his chest as hestrode over to you with something that could only be described as a pensiveconfidence.

He took your hands into his.

“You…You Have Done So Much For My Brother And I…You HaveWelcomed Us Into Your Home- Your Life- Without Asking Anything In Return And InThe Year I Have Gotten The Stars Blessed Chance To Know You I Have Seen What AGoo- No! Great Soul You Are! And I Have Started To Develop Feelings For You InA Way Only That Can Only Be Described As Lo-Love, Absolut Unbridled Love! For You!And For Everything You Do! And I Wanted You To Know That While I Am PerfectlyContent To Stay As Friends! If Both Of Us Harbor Feeling As Such For One AndOther Then—Then Why Deny That Fact!” He leaned closer to you, if you wanted toyou could just as easily stand on your toes to–

“I—” you stutteredout, “I—am I allowed to—to kiss you?”

Papyrus let out a relived sigh, his shoulders slumped, “OhThank The Stars. Of Course, You Are.”

And finally, you closed the gap, lips brushing against histeeth. Both of you refused to break apart.

In The Moment Kiss -Maybe it’s in the middle of an argument or you just looked to damn beautifulnot to kiss, but their lips were hot against yours and it felt too good tostop. 

Laughter came easy for you.

You had always been so loud and joyful that it was no surprisethat your laugh was the same. Bursting with so much happiness that any room youwere in lit up at the sound of it (As well as the next few rooms over).  Your laughter was unashamed, like the warmth ofthe sun on the first day of spring, like flowers in bloom.

And Sans…well Sans was enamored.

Much to Papyrus’ dismay; puns became more frequent with youaround. Sans was always a moment away from spitting out a witty one liner, oreven pulling another prank that he knew would have you on the ground laughing(Even when you were the recipient—Stars, a human after his own soul!)

And with your body folded over like that-Perfect kissinglevel- your lips parted into another wide grin… Sans couldn’t help himself. Themoment was perfect- You were perfect.

Before either of you knew what was happening Sans had sprungup. His teeth clacked rather painfully against your still opened mouth as youlet out anther shocked noise and—oh? was this how kisses were supposed to go?He was pretty sure they weren’t, considering it ended with an impromptu dental appointment.

Early Morning Kiss -A kiss that’s a wake up call, its barely even lips touching, more likethey're kissing your chin because they’re so tired in the earlymorning haze. 

Rus sauntered out of your kitchen and into the living room. Youtilted your head towards him, still keeping you attention to the TV as you filteredthrough channels in a vain attempt to find something good. When you noticed hisempty arms you asked, “Thought you were gonna get us snacks?”

Ruse shrugged, brushing something that looked very similarto the crumbs from your left-over cake off his hoodie, “did.”

You gave him a soft smile, unable to be mad at the guy whenhe looked exactly like some kid sneaking the last cookie from the jar.

Rus settled on the opposite end of the couch, and you wentback to channel surfing.

Click.

You looked out of the corner of your eyes to see Rus messingwith a loose thread in the couch.

Click.

He inched closer.

Click.

His knee bumped yours.

Click.

“Alrightly.” You placed the remote down and opened your armsto him, “Come here Sugerskull. Think it’s about time you—UFF!”

The moment he was given the OK Rus scrambled into your arms.He pressed his body firmly against yours, hands snaking around your waist insomething akin to a death grip as he clung to you from all angles before goinglimp.

Rus teeth brushed against your jaw, and then lowered to yourneck where they lagged with no exact destination. He pressed his teeth against youonce more then finally settled into a nuzzle. Eventually he drifted off tosleep.

Hesitant Kiss -The type of kiss where their lips brush against each other’s a few times,breath fanning across each other’s faces as one waits for the other to make amove.

“doll, ya awake?”

You were, in a sense, but definitely not enough to acknowledgethe skeleton poking at your cheek. You loved Sans more than anything, but you dayhad been long, and you were exhausted. A twenty-minute nap could be prioritizedover you bonefriend this one time.

You grumbled a little but made no indication that you weregoing to wake up, instead cocooning deeper into your blankets. You heard Sans chuckle,but the poking had relented. Instead he rested a hand on your head.

And, after a moments pause, he began to stroke your hair.

Sans…he wasn’t…It wasn’t to say Sans was not a touchy monster. Of course, he wrapped his arm around your waist on occasion, or hadhands on you almost all the time but there was never not a reason for them. Mostof the time he did so was when you two were in public, and he had always doneso with a tense atmosphere. It was always a warning to those around you—you werehis and if anyone dared to lay a fuckin finger on you there would be hell topay.

This was different. There was no one to preform for in your apartment.No lurking dangers in the shadows. It was just you and him, safely enjoying anight in. And in your home, he had found the peace to finally touch you likethis.

You tried your best to stay still, but the knowledge thatSans was there- Stroking your hair like that had left you wide awake. You two stayedlike that for a long time, to the point where you had thought he had fallenasleep as well.

But then you felt his warm breath closed to your face.Hovering right there as his stroking paused.

You two had shared enough skeleton kisses that you knew whatit felt like when his teeth grazed your lips. And then when it happened again,but he seemed to make no attempt to kiss you- like he was hesitant to finally doso. Instead you opened your eyes (Noticing that his were still fixed on yourlips) and leaned forward just enough to mercifully close that gap.

[vateacancameos]

Chapters: 1/1 Words: 2263 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Autumn, Post-Canon, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, So much fluff your teeth will ache, Gen or Pre-Slash, we'll be getting into slash territory in the rest of this series, adorable Aziraphale, cranky crowley, but not really, he's too busy having heart eyes to put in the effort, Footnotes, gross overuse of footnotes, my footnotes have footnotes, buckle in people Series: Part 1 of Ineffable Seasons

Summary: Aziraphale coos all over autumn and Crowley tries to pretend he doesn't find it adorable.

Story:

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, a smile on his face, his whole being practically glowing. It’s disgusting. Crowley glances away so he can’t be pulled further into the entrancing vision in front of him. But he looks back as soon as his best friend begins speaking.

“Oh, isn’t it glorious? The crisp temperatures, the smell of falling leaves. Jumpers and cider. And pumpkins.” At this final word, Aziraphale breaks his beatific pose—hands clasped in front of his chest, the sun hitting behind him at just the right angle to give him a halo—Hela,[1] did this angel have no shame—to crouch down and pick up a pumpkin in front of him. He holds it under his arm and throws another smile at Crowley, which has Crowley sighing and rolling his eyes to once again protest this whole silly endeavor. How he’d let himself get roped into this inane activity, he’ll never know.[2]

[1] Crowley, tired of trying to figure out which entity to use when he experiences feelings, has recently started using made-up gods instead, starting with the gods of the underworlds. He hasn’t found one that works yet, but he’s willing to try them all if necessary.

[2] It certainly has nothing to do with the strategically sweet and pleading face that had greeted him when he’d entered the bookshop to pick up his favorite angel[3] for lunch.

[3] The only angel he even deigns to like, in point of fact.

“Seriously, angel?” Crowley asks, sliding his sunglasses down just far enough to allow Aziraphale to see the disbelief in his eyes. “Autumn is terrible. Now winter, that’s the best season. Everyone harried and worried about money. Slushy rain and wet socks. Furnaces that stall or overheat. People stuck in their houses wearing terrible jumpers, forced to interact with family members they hate. Shoveling snow, if you live in a place that has that. Yeah, winter is a good one …” He lets himself grow nostalgic, remembering his favorite winters past.

“Oh pish. I’ve seen you light up like a child when seeing Christmas light displays. The closest you get to Scrooge is as him on Christmas morning, buying up roasted meat for the poor children of this world,” Aziraphale argues with a fond eye roll.[4]

[4] Let the reader note that, in fact, the closest Crowley gets to Scrooge is when David Tennant voices Scrooge McDuck on the DuckTales revival, including a great Christmas episode that employs meta jokes that reference Doctor Who, another popular show David Tennant played a part in. This author suggests you check out both shows if you have not yet done so. She’ll wait for you to get back. Okay, back now? Good. That was fun, wasn’t it? 

“That’s not– Ngh– I do n–. Stop it right now, or I’ll shove you into the back of the Bentley and take you right back to your bookshop, no cider and certainly no pumpkins.”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open, and Hades help him, Crowley can’t tell how real or manufactured the look is. The angel often does an amazing impression of being completely innocent, but there are times that his naivety is real.

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too–”

“Bless it,[5] angel, if you say nice–”

[5] Sometimes Crowley forgets and falls back on old curses and blesses. He’s been using them for millennia, after all. 

[read the rest under the cut or over at ao3.]

Aziraphale shoots him an exasperated look. “Of course not. I was going to say you’re too invested in teasing me for my every autumnal exclamation today to back out now.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Dear Persephone, he’s right. From the moment Aziraphale had asked for a ride to the autumn festival/pumpkin patch monstrosity,[6] Crowley had been coming up with ways to tease him for his love of the season and all its trappings.[8]

[6] Complete with corn maze, cider, too many games involving gourds, and a—he can’t believe he’s even thinking of it—a hayride. Really, humans are far better than he is at inventing pure misery.[7] 

[7] Let the author again note how amazing she thinks autumn is. That being said, hayrides are itchy, dusty, and bumpy, and you’re stuck sitting far too close to excitedly screeching children. She doesn’t blame Crowley for hating them. 

[8] Just wait until Aziraphale turns the tables at Christmas. 

Crowley acquiesces with a flop of his hand that he knows Aziraphale will read as both “Fine, fine, you caught me, I want to tease you,” and “Fine, let’s go look at these gourds you’re so interested in. Did you by any chance spend too much time in the New World back when it was still new?”[9]

[9] It was only new to the dumb, egotistical Europeans, though. It was plenty old to the native peoples of that continent by the time the Europeans showed up. 

Aziraphale beams, gently placing the pumpkin back on the ground and dusting off his hands and jumper.

“Did you buy that jumper just for today?” Crowley asks as they begin strolling through the pumpkin patch/festival/field of torture. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in one before.”

Aziraphale somehow smiles even more brightly. Crowley is glad he’s wearing his sunglasses.[10] The angel pats the fuzzy, cabled, oatmeal affair covering his upper body. “Do you like it? I saw it in a window display and it just called to me. And it was right after the weather began to turn, and I just had to try it on. And then it was so soft and warm, I couldn’t not buy it. It’s like being wrapped in a hug.[11] I thought today would be the perfect time to debut it. It might get regular rotation with my jacket this autumn and winter.”

[10] To shade his eyes from the terrible angelic brilliance, of course. It has nothing to do with hiding his reaction to said smile.

[11] Crowley would love to be wrapped in a– nope. Nope. That thought will not see the light of day.

“Mm hm,” Crowley responds, quite brilliantly. “Oh look, the cider booth.”

“Oh! Cider? That sounds lov–”

“I’ll just get one for you, shall I?”

He hopes Aziraphale will find another squash to coo over, but he feels his presence next to him as soon as he’s queued up, but he’s cheerfully quiet. They wait in comfortable silence for the people in front of them to get their ciders, Aziraphale’s wide eyes taking in every aspect of the event, and Crowley softens. He enjoys teasing his best friend—doesn’t think their friendship would have survived without it, and truthfully Aziraphale can give as good as he gets, so he doesn’t feel guilty for it[12]—but he also does genuinely enjoy seeing Aziraphale enjoying himself. That smile can have Crowley walking on air for days, even when it isn’t directed at him. It’s the reason he asks the angel out to lunch so often, despite himself being the type to drink his meal rather than eat it. There’s nothing better than watching Aziraphale eat. Or find a new book to fall in love with. Or … yes, even enjoy this absolutely awful season they currently find themselves living in.

[12] Not that demons ever feel guilty. Crowley makes a single exception for back in the beginning and the thing with the humans and the apple. But they don’t talk about that.

They finally make it to the front of the queue, where Crowley asks for one cider, extra cinnamon, for Aziraphale, and one mulled wine[13] for himself.

[13] Which the vendor is surprised to find she has, despite winter still being a good few months away.

They start strolling again, and Crowley lets the angel choose the direction, following along, like he always does, as he always will do.

“I don’t understand it.”

“No surprise there, angel. You may be smart, but sometimes daily life confuses you.”

“Oh hush, you,” Aziraphale admonishes with no heat, patting Crowley’s arm, which has unknowingly been tucked into by Aziraphale’s non-cider-holding hand. That’s been happening a lot lately, but Crowley’s not about to call attention to it, lest it stop. “What I meant was, you said mere months ago that—and I quote—‘I like spooky.’ At the old satanic hospital in Tadfield, if you remember.”

“If I remember? As if I could forget any part of that God-forsaken[14] week.”

[14] Yeah, he means that appellation there. Do you hear that, God?[15]

[15] Yes, She hears that. The author (and Crowley) would do well to remember that the game She plays is complicated and ineffable, thank you very much.

“Well, anyway. That’s beside the point. The point is, you like spooky.” Here, Aziraphale punctuates his words with more arm pats. “And autumn is when Samhain[16] occurs. You can’t have spooky without autumn.

[16] Pronounced saah-wn. Not Sam-hain, like they said on Supernatural that one time, which shows how little research TV writers sometimes do. This author is not stupidly obsessed with this fact. At. All.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Most spooky these days is over-manufactured swill sold to the masses for profit. It’s torture porn or silly ghosts. None of it frightens me.”[17]

[17] Except the current U.S. president. Now that shit’s scary.[18]

[18] Head office tried to give him a commendation for that whole debacle, but he noped right out of that one.

“Torture porn?” Aziraphale asks, a disgusted and confused wrinkle in his brow.

“Yeah, porn is a term current humans use to mean anything over-indulged in, but it has nothing to do with sexual acts. Well, most of it. Like, torture porn, food porn, space porn.” Aziraphale looks more disturbed the longer Crowley speaks, so he waves it away. “Never mind. I’m just saying, none of that manufactured spooky does anything for me.”

They come to a booth with caramel popcorn, and without even looking at his angel, Crowley signals for a bag, handing it over to Aziraphale as he counts out the correct number of coins. Aziraphale sighs happily and begins munching on it immediately.

“You’re just a stick-in-the-mud,” he says, going back to their conversation.

“Excuse me? I’m the stick-in-the-mud, Mr. I’ve-worn-the-same-jacket-for-one-hundred-and-eighty-years?”

“You’d do well to remember your car is ninety years old.”

“Practically new compared to your old smelly coat.”

Aziraphale’s jaw-drop this time is definitely not feigned. “You take that back. You said it looked good on me.”

“Yeah, in 1840.”

Aziraphale looks truly hurt. “It’s my favorite,” he says quietly, and Crowley relents. He can’t not, when he’s up against that face.

“It’s a nice coat, angel. But it’s good seeing you in something else for once.”

“Thank you, my dear. But the point is, you have no room to call me a stick-in-the-mud. Autumn is wonderful, and you can’t take that away from me.”

Crowley tries and fails to hide his smile. “How’s the popcorn?”

“Perfect!” Aziraphale says, the glow coming back to him. “This is all perfect. The weather could not be more beautiful or autumnal. I can smell spices and caramel and corn husks. The pumpkins look a particularly brilliant shade of orange this year. There are happy people all around. It’s lovely.”

Crowley looks around, seeing a particularly fiendish child twirling his unaware sister’s hair around a candied apple—who he silently cheers on—a small toddler screaming their head off when their parental figure offers them a pumpkin, a couple fighting near the corn maze. The stench of city and human beings is far too strong to be drowned by the sweets and spices, though it does fight for dominance with the moldering leaves blanketing the ground. And though the weather is nice now, he can see a storm building in the distance. They’d do well to hurry through the rest of the festival before they get caught in a chilly downpour.

But He won’t suggest this. He’ll follow his angel as he coos at the children posing for pictures with goofy scarecrows, as he bounces over to the candied apple vendor for a (non-twisted-in-hair) treat, as he begs with his soulful eyes for a hayride. He’ll follow his angel to the end of the world. He’s already done so, and he’d do it all over again if he had to. He’ll let them get caught in the freezing, miserable rain because Aziraphale is too taken with the pumpkin carving contest to notice the darkening clouds, though he will miracle them dry as soon as he’s able. He’ll follow his angel back into his shop, lugging the bag of things Aziraphale didn’t have enough arms to carry himself, and too big of eyes and stomach to not buy.

Aziraphale will light a fire, make two cups of whiskey-spiked chai, and wiggle his way into his favorite chair in the back room. Crowley will follow, landing on the sofa that has molded to his angles and long legs. They’ll talk about Poe and Mary Shelley. Crowley will talk Aziraphale into watching Young Frankenstein. Then Aziraphale will beg to be allowed to read aloud “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar,”[19] and Crowley will concede it’s just a little spooky. Though only just a little.

And though he won’t say it out loud, Crowley will think that maybe, just maybe, autumn isn’t so bad, when you’ve got your favorite person by your side.

[19] Read it here. 

[ragewerthers]

Beep.  Boop.  Does Not Compute.

This is a fic I wrote for @bgn846

Summary:  A little teasing goes too far during one of their movie nights. Luckily, Gladio is more than willing to prove to Ignis that he's not what everyone thinks he is.

Words: 2411

You can also find it on my AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17505866

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

“I’ve made up two different types of popcorn for this evening.  I know you prefer the simple buttered variety though I’ve also made up an alternative if you’d care to try it.  It’s coated in a sesame-ginger sauce and adds a little bit of flare to a normally droll..,”

“Iggy.  Babe.  I love you.  I respect you.  But if you don’t get your butt over here I’m going to start the movie without you,” Gladio said gently, his expression both teasing and fond as the Advisor to be made his way into the living room, two bowls of popcorn in hand.

It was one of the rare evenings where both retainers in training had been able to steal a little time for themselves, sharing in something that allowed them to relax and not think too much on their responsibilities and duties.

Currently they had decided to have their movie night in Ignis’s small apartment, Gladio already comfortably settled into one corner of his sofa, an arm slung over the back and feet resting on the others coffee table.

Huffing slightly, Ignis set both bowls of popcorn on his small coffee table, poking Gladio’s foot in reprimand.   The Shield instantly brought both feet back to the floor with a chuckle as Ignis made his way over to take a seat beside him,

“Pardon me for wanting to make sure our needs are met before starting in on this movie,” he murmured, leaning a bit into the taller mans side as the Shield wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“My needs would be met by you just being at my side.  I don’t need popcorn to be content, Iggy,” Gladio said gently, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as the young Advisor relaxed minutely into his hold.

“That’s completely unfair,” he mumbled, allowing himself a moment to slip from his normally stoic facade to pout.  “You’re not allowed to be sweet when I’m trying to be right.”

“Deal with it,” Gladio growled playfully against his ear, his arm moving down to wrap around Ignis’s waist, giving his side a little pinch and making the man jump sharply.  “Now quiet.  You’re going to enjoy watching this romantic comedy with me, no more fussing, and we’re going to have a calm, relaxing evening.  Understood?”

Ignis adjusted his glasses from his reaction before sighing in dramatic defeat and bringing his legs up to stretch out along the length of the sofa, back pressed against Gladios side as the mans hand came to rest on his stomach.

“Fine.  No more ‘fussing’ as you put it.  Even if it was just out of lov-,”

Gladio instantly started gently pinching and prodding along his boyfriends stomach, causing the man to jolt and snort, slapping at the brutes hand as yelps and horrid giggles escaped.

“O-okay, okay!  Dehehesist!” he pleaded, soon finding the offending hand soothing along his stomach to make up for the teasing.

“Now shush,” Gladio chuckled lightly, kissing the back of Ignis’s head once more before reaching for the remote and hitting play.

The movie was as to be expected.  There were two very different people with two very different lives who absolutely despised one another, but through a series of very interesting circumstances they were now having to pretend to be in a relationship.

“Surely her family would’ve seen through this charade,” Ignis whispered as a family get together was starting to go awry, his fingers lightly tracing some of the feathered tattooing adorning Gladio’s forearm.

Gladio shook his head from where he sat, giving his boyfriend a little squeeze around the middle where he still sat snuggled up against him.

“Let it go, Iggy?  It’s supposed to be funny,” he whispered back, though Ignis still gave a little grumble of disapproval, moving his hand away from his partners arm.

“Then they are clearly missing the mark.  There’s nothing funny about poorly written characterization.  I mean really!  It’s blatantly obvious that these two don’t hold the slightest interest in one another.  Her eyes keep going to her childhood sweetheart and her supposed ‘beloved’ isn’t even batting an eyelash at that because he’s too busy trying to make moves on her sister!”

The more he talked about the movie the more he started to work himself up, unable to help giving his opinion.  Every movie night ended up like this.  Gladio investing himself into the film while Ignis seemed incapable of stopping himself from commenting on this, that and the other thing.

“It doesn’t have to make absolute sense, Iggy.  It’s just a fun little movie.  You know what fun is don’t you?  Or did you replace it with extra politics lessons as a kid?” he asked, a playful smile quirking up the corners of his lips as he tried to keep his eyes on the screen, feeling the way Ignis all but puffed up indignantly next to him like a disgruntled chocobo.

“Yes.  I know what fun is, Gladiolus.  Thank you very much.”

Uh oh.  Full name.  He must’ve hit a sore spot.

Turning his head now to look down he could see Ignis had his eyes trained on the screen, though his lips were set in a thin line and colour was already dusting high over his cheekbones.

Yeah.  He’d definitely ruffled Ignis’s feathers a bit.

It really wasn’t anything new to have Ignis talking through a movie and, if Gladio was being honest, it was something that he enjoyed.  

He loved the running commentary his boyfriend could give on any given movie.  Whether it was to give him background information on a historical documentary they watched, solve the murder before they even got to the detective in the movie, or the way he’d give him several different emergency escape plans when they watched natural disaster flicks.

However… he knew that this particular comment was one he should’ve thought over before voicing it.

Iggy got it from everyone.  That he was no fun.  Gladio himself had heard it from Noct, from Prompto, from some of the Crownsguard they trained with.  Everyone thought Ignis was some sort of robot devoid of feeling and emotion who lived only to work before going home to shutdown and restart the next day.  If he was hearing it than there was no way that Ignis missed the snide comments or off handed remarks regardless of how innocent they may be.

Gladio knew he was so much more than that though.

He knew about the Ignis who would take his water bottle and squirt it at him during training to be an ass and throw him off when he started showing off.  He knew about the Ignis who’d stuck two straws in his mouth to look like tusks when he’d noticed Gladio getting distracted with worry during one of their very first dates.  He knew of the Ignis that not many got to see because he’d been forced to build his walls so gods damned high to be the pillar that didn’t crack under the weight of his responsibilities.

People were quick to call him out on not being fun, but when did any of them ever give him the chance to do so?

And here, Ignis had simply been doing what he’d always done in the comfort of their movie nights.  Talking and sharing his thoughts on a film they were watching only for Gladio to inadvertently tease him over something that the Shield was well aware bothered him.

A bubble of guilt was slowly starting to build in Gladio’s chest as he saw Ignis starting to build those walls back up when he should’ve felt comfortable and content in the safety of this place.

“Ignis?”

Nothing.

“Iggy?”

The movie continued to drone on in the background, but Gladio could see that Ignis wasn’t watching it.  The man was already caught up in that big brain of his and Gladio hated knowing he’d been the cause.

“Ignis.  I’m sorry.  I know you know what fun is,” he murmured, giving the side of his head a little nuzzle in the hopes to draw him back out.

“It’s fine, Gladiolus.  Android Ignis wouldn’t know what fun was if it bit in the backside, right?” came the quiet little reply and Gladio felt that bubble of guilt in his chest double in size.

“Don’t say that, Ignis,” he murmured, chest aching a little as he leaned back and took in his partners form beside him.

Ignis had drawn his legs up at some point, arms crossed over his chest and head now turned away from the ridiculous movie that neither of them really had any interest in anymore.

“Hey,” Gladio murmured softly, wrapping his arm around Ignis’s waist a little more and bringing his free hand up gently touch Ignis’s chin, turning his head back to meet his gaze.  “You’re one of the funniest and funnest people I know, Iggy.”

Turning his head slightly when Gladio prompted, Ignis looked up at the Shield, a frown still evident in his features.

“I can’t even enjoy a movie with you the way you want me to, Gladio.  I’m fussy over silly things like snacks.  I get caught up in the minutia of the films.  How much fun can that be?” he asked quietly.

“Ya ever think that that’s one of the things I enjoy most?” Gladio asked gently as he saw how disheartened Ignis had become.

The young Advisor huffed at that and shook his head.  “What?  Your robotic boyfriend needing to make variations of popcorn?” he asked.

“No.  Well… yes, but not what I was going for,” Gladio said with a little shake of his head.  “I like listening to you talk during the movies.  I like hearing your opinions and seeing you get worked up over things I never would’ve noticed.  I find it fun to watch these movies with you because you relax and speak your mind over things like whether or not two people can float on a door..,”

“They can’t…,”

“... or whether Insomnia could survive a nuclear winter...”

“It could…,”

“... or whether or not this couple on screen is believable,” he finished with a soft smile as Ignis started to relax a little under the reassurances.  “Don’t ever think of yourself as robotic, Iggy.  You’re far from it.  You are the most fun person I know.”

“Then you really don’t know that many people, do you?” Ignis said, though a smile was definitely trying to appear over his lips now.

“Hey!  Quit knocking yourself like that or I’m going to have to take drastic measures to prove to you how unrobotic and fun you are,” he warned playfully, nuzzling his stubbly cheek against the side of the man’s head.

“Beep.  Boop.  Does not compute,” Ignis said flatly, using his impressive force of will to keep a straight face and not react to his boyfriends antics.

Narrowing his eyes, Gladio growled, wrapping both arms around his partner and pulling him closer against his chest as the Advisor gave an indignant little squeak.

“I warned ya, Igs,” he purred against his ear before his fingers started their attack, finding the soft spots along his sides and stomach and instantly making the bespeckled man squirm where he sat.

Ignis instantly flailed, laughter bubbling up in his throat which he tried desperately to tamp down on as he pushed at his boyfriends hands.  All hope was lost when the Shield began to nuzzle against the back of his neck as well, instantly sending him into a most unbecoming giggle fit.

“Gl-... Gla-hahadio!  NO!  Nonono-ahaha!” he laughed ridiculously, legs kicking out and knocking off the throw pillows when he felt his partners fingers traveling up to his ribs, instantly bringing out a snort of laughter.

“There it is!  Proof that my Iggy isn’t an android,” Gladio cooed as he continued to nuzzle the poor mans neck and vibrate his fingers against Ignis’s oversensitive ribs.  “Androids don’t snort when they laugh!”

Ignis’s face had reached a lovely shade of red now as he snorted again in between manic giggling, his hands still trying to push at Gladio’s arms to free himself from this ticklish torture.

“A-Ahahndroids d-don’t lahahaugh at… at ahahall!  WA-HAHIT!” he cried out before finding Gladios hands sneaking up under his arms to tickle against his exposed armpits, instantly making him clamp his arms down as renewed wild laughter escaped him.

“See?  You agree with me then, right?” Gladio asked smugly as Ignis nodded, words something he was entirely incapable of as his boyfriend reduced him to a laughing, snorting puddle of ridiculousness.

Gladio soon took mercy on his partner, slowing his tickling fingers until ceasing entirely.  He chuckled softly as he pressed a few soft kisses against the back of his head, letting Ignis catch his breath to calm down.

The Advisor brought his hand up to wipe at a few tears of mirth, shaking his head.

“You… are hor-horrible!” he chided, though the smile on his face and the levity in his voice removed any malice from his words.

Gladio only smiled more as he brought his hands down to smooth over Ignis’s sides, feeling the man tense before calming once more when he realized he wasn’t about to be attacked again.

“I can live with that so long as I finally got it through that brilliant head of yours how adorably human and fun you are,” he said softly.

“Tickling is an underhanded tactic, Amicitia, and you know it,” he said simply, though he turned now in the mans hold to look up at him, his expression softening after a moment.  “But thank you.”

“For what?” Gladio asked gently, bringing a hand up to carefully sweep Iggy’s bangs from his forehead.

“For being so kind to me……….. and pausing long enough to let me do this!”

In an instant, Ignis had managed to grab one of the fallen throw pillows and thwack his behometh of a boyfriend over the head with it before jumping off of him and running toward the hall, a bright, carefree laugh escaping him.

Stunned from the attack, Gladio had to take a moment to realize what had happened before growling and jumping up to give chase.

“Get back here you moogle butt!”

The movie was now entirely forgotten as the Shield chased his Advisor all over the small apartment.  It didn’t matter to Gladio what anyone thought of his Ignis… it just meant he got to keep this fun, amazing, spontaneous man all to himself.

[vankoya]

A God’s Blood.

✗ Part of the Across the Multiverse series!

Genre | Greek Mythology AU.

Pairing | Kim Taehyung / Feminine Reader.

Words | 2,501 words.

Conspectus | Not even a God can save her. But oh, does he try his best.

Warnings | Death as a result of illness. Angst with a hopeful ending.

Not much thought goes into the abandoned, neighbouring house on the hill.

Well, until the day Taehyung peers out of his kitchen window and sees the driveway that lays forty-five metres from his own, hosting a shabby car packed to the rafters. Clothing and household items and two women of the same genetics spill out of its doors.

A scowl molds his weary features. The lone cloud that is lazily passing by the sun—smothering its shine—startles and scurries across the early morning stretch of robin’s egg blue, allowing the giant star to douse the scene in its luminous rays. Light swathes the hill in a diaphanous sheet of gold. Now, Taehyung sees clearly that it is certainly a mother and daughter who lift and load, tug and pass, in perfect tandem. Two birds filling their new nest.

It is quite a sight, really, for it is barely eight o’clock and they are both so utterly vivacious. On the other hand, Taehyung is bone tired, and it is most surely showing in the way that the sun lazily ascends, as though it perhaps has something else much better to do. Like staying in bed for another four hours.

Nonetheless, the candescent brilliance glowers at him through the crystalline pane, overlooking the sight of the first sign of human life that he has encountered in about a decade. Give or take.

You should go help them.

Taehyung agrees that it seems the polite thing to do. But before he has had the chance to have his taste buds graced by the heat of his freshly brewed cup of coffee? It could be a bad idea, especially since he is still frowning.

Though another god must be listening in on him, for the younger of the pair suddenly trips on her own feet and sends the contents of the cardboard box she carries flying across the gravel. Some items smash and splinter in a mess of china and glass, while others bounce against the ground and roll this way and that.

Taehyung is already bursting out of the front door, loping down the slope, praying that nobody had noticed the minuscule flare of the sun when the panic struck him like a bullet.

What he does not expect as he nears is for the girl to be coughing, doubled-over, palms pressed to her lips to smother the worst of it. Highly unlike the way that people will loudly expel tight air from their lungs to dislodge whatever infinitesimal particle is stuck to the back of their throat. Rather, she holds it in like she is hiding a secret; something that was never supposed to make itself known to the light of day. She swallows the sound as though she cannot bear for her mother, oblivious to the crash and the outcome inside of the house, to hear it.

Taehyung only understands when the girl calms down, straightens her spine, and her hands come away from her mouth smattered with scarlet.

“Are you alright?” he tentatively calls, five feet away, and she is damn near startled out of her wits, yanking her head around to face him.

The whiplash of how gorgeous she is, all bright eyes and radiant skin, gets him nearly as fierce as her surprised reaction of a shriek.

“Christ!” the girl yelps, licking her red lips and pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her knuckles, concealing the evidence. “What– Where did you come from? Who are you?!”

Taehyung, despite the fact that his heart knocks against his chest, grits his teeth. He should have had that coffee. “I’m your neighbour. That’s my house–” He helpfully gestures up the hill where his home resides, as if they are not the only two buildings within an eight kilometre radius– “Up there. I saw you trip over from my kitchen window and thought I’d come down to help you, but, uh, I guess I saw...”

With the tapering of his sentence, Taehyung’s gaze softens and drifts to her hidden away hands. He flicks his eyes back up to her expression, watching her sigh. Caught red-handed, quite literally.

Suddenly, he feels intrusive. Horribly rude, like he should have never stepped outside of his house in the first place and let his words run so bluntly across the space that separates them. Though such tar black feelings are quick to dissolve when the corners of her mouth curve with a hint of mirth.

“Oh. Well. I apologise,” she speaks gently, something high and beautiful and terrible like the blood stained on her hands. “But I suppose you know why we’re here now. I’m ___, by the way.”

“To spit blood on the hill’s face?” Taehyung, mentally slapping himself, thinks to trap his voice in a box for the remainder of eternity. He deserves Hell for the fact that his first human interaction in years stumps down to him joking about the disease that seeks home within this girl.

Yet her laugh, honey sweet, speaks forgiveness.

“For the fresher air, the warm sunlight.” The girl is radiant, in her words, her tone, absolutely everything. Blood still sticks to the left corner of her lips, yet she is so winsome that it hurts. “To breathe easy and live as content as can be.”

Then, her eyes flick worriedly towards the house; the open door where a mother is about to appear and question who the handsome stranger standing on her brand new front yard happens to be. “Just. Please, let’s keep this little mess between the both of us? My mother knows it’s bad, but she doesn’t know it’s become even worse. Promise?”

Measuredly, Taehyung slides his eyes from the doorway to the girl, staring at her honest, humble face like she is the prettiest possession of a museum. There is a tickle that dances across his lips, something of a smile, and he cannot help but notice the way her eyes widen a fraction. A string of panic is quick to tug at his chest when she does so, hoping to the heavens that he is not accidentally emitting luminesce from his pores. (It would not be the first time.)

“I understand,” he avows, mouth curving upwards as he scratches the back of his head and inclines his chin towards the almost forgotten mess. “My name is Taehyung. Shall we clean this up, ___?”

When she grins in full force at him before turning to the littered items, Taehyung cannot help but think that perhaps, whatever sun he has known and reigned over for the last millennium has been counterfeit. For the real one resides stolen in her smile.

Spring has not seen such extraordinary sunlight in years. Taehyung pulls it from every corner of his side of the world like summertime. They have not heard from the clouds in weeks, and he could not care less about the rotten complaints that the other sky deities spit at his feet.

This won’t last forever, comes the warning he expects. But Taehyung is ignorant; completely blinded by the devotion that spreads in poison ivy throughout his ribcage. All he can think about is the way that she had said the warm sunlight and how those simple words ignited a flame of brilliant determination within him.

Most days, they laze together in the luscious garden that circles Taehyung’s house in a barricade of ambrosia. They bathe in golden light, surrounded by soft pink peonies, blushing carnations, violet anemones; the score to the scenery being the gentle buzzing of bees and her occasional coughing. She never questions him on why he lives up here, how he survives so alone, nor how he can even afford it when he appears to be the same age as herself and has no apparent job to his name.

Instead, the girl stretches out across the neat, green grass. Instead, she pretends she does not notice the way her thin summer dress has hitched up her thighs and has his throat running dry. Instead, she tells Taehyung about the dreams she has when she slumbers forty-five metres from his own bed, and asks him questions that she deems important.

“Would you rather an extra nose, or an extra mouth?”

“If you could name a star, what would you call it?”

“Say I asked you to kiss me right now, would you?”

Four months pass, and the sunlight always stays. Brighter, if anything. Lasting later into the evening, now that summer has made way. She tells Taehyung it is the best she has breathed in years. That the clear, warm air tastes undeniably sweet in her lungs.

When he finally kisses her, he expects sugar and syrup and warmth. Not the taste of iron and salt and a guillotine just waiting to drop.

Taehyung has never wanted, nor needed to save somebody. All he has ever been required to do is bring the illumination to his side of the world. To fill the tenebrosity with handfuls of gold; to tuck light wherever it may fit.

But he has abused his rights, and that is perhaps why the gods are unforgiving at the moment he needs them most.

Her mother is in the town when the world falls to pieces like petals peeling from the receptacle of a withering bloom. Taehyung is the one to bear witness, to have his heart deteriorate alongside her lungs.

A rush, and the clouds flood the sky in a blanket of grey, almost as if they have been waiting for this dent of vulnerability to finally blow. They stream into the soft blue like depraved beasts to watch an end come to the girl who barred them for so long.

“Don’t,” she manages in a rasp, fingers weightless on his wrist, drawing the phone from his ear. “Please, Tae. This– It’s time...”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Taehyung is a wreck, his insides are shattered and his heart is pouring into his lap where he cradles her wheezing frame, utterly helpless. “You still– You can have more time–”

“I don’t–” She coughs, a harsh sound, flecks of crimson spraying onto his throat and collarbones. The tears roll fatter, faster down his cheeks. A sob is lodged in his chest. “I don’t w-want more time. I’m happy... For this t-to be it, Taehyung.”

All he can do is stare, blink furiously to be rid of the tears that smear his vision of her placid features. It had happened much like the day they met, with him observing through the kitchen window. Though this time, love was touching his eyes as he watched her add to the pile of blooms laying severed from their stems, next to where she had knelt in his garden. Above, the sun had watched and protected with its kindly, golden palms resting upon her bare shoulders, gliding its fingers through the flyaway hairs that curl at the nape of her neck.

She had started coughing. Taehyung had thought it would pass, that her feeble lungs would gradually relent as they always do, and he had went to fetch a handkerchief to clean up the aftermath. It was not until he had stepped out onto the grass and found her completely collapsed over the culled flowers that he had realised he never once thought they would give up entirely.

“Tell m-my mother... I’m sorry. That I love her.” Her eyes are glassy, her bones becoming dead weight against his arms. But the faint, tragic smile stained with her own blood remains. “I love you, Tae. So much.”

Something cracks inside of him, the salt waterfalls gush at a greater ferocity. Yet Taehyung is firm and sure when he stares into the eyes he fell so head over heels for and says, “I love you, ___. I will never stop loving you,” and she smiles at him like she is not resting on her deathbed.

“Make the sun shine...” her voice is barely above a whisper, exhaling thickly, lungs full of the scarlet that belongs to her veins and arteries, pumping through her slowing heart, “... one last time?”

The words ground him, tug his bearings back into sense and have his eyes staring widely into her own like the answer to her question hides somewhere within the shards of her iris. A ghost of her smile still draws at her ruby-stained lips. A truth unspoken. An acknowledgment that she made long, long ago, though never felt the desire to pry. Just like she ceased to do with the personal questions that she could have pulled from his bone marrow with her very own teeth if she tried.

Instead, she let him be, and loved him and the sun all the same.

Taehyung cannot bear to peel his eyes from her face, yet he must. Facing the sky, he focuses on the spot of brightness that is barely apparent through the coverage of thick grey.

I will take her. I will keep her safe. It is all that I can do.

Taehyung knows, and he accepts.

Before he squeezes his eyes closed and presses his lips to her forehead, Taehyung takes in her equable expression one last time. His trembling fingertips tuck her hair behind her ear in a gesture so heartbreakingly familiar that a tear gathers at the corner of her eye, passing down her cheek. With a careful lean, his mouth connects to her skin and she sighs, an utterance like relief, acceptance. The last sound that passes from her tender mouth.

In all of its glorious might, the sunlight suddenly bursts through the overcast in a radiance so effulgent, stories of its intense flare on this day carry through to the next millennium. Taehyung takes his lips from her skin to watch as her shining soul lifts from where her heart lays still. At first, it carefully treads, gradually climbing through the air.

Then, the sun gingerly reaches down to collect her.

It is not until months later, once he believes he has been wrung dry of all emotion, that Taehyung notices something different.

It comes the day after a mother has packed the items she and a daughter had unloaded into their nest, little over a year ago, to chug the shabby old car out of the driveway for the final time. Returning alone to the city that they had left together. Taehyung wakes early, drags his feet to the kitchen, and fills the stovetop kettle with water. Placing it over the glowing element, he pads towards the window, just as he does every single day. A routine to keep him sane.

But here, on this particular morning, he is met with a sight that nearly stops his heart.

The slowly ascending sun resembles her soul more than it ever has.

The voice is quick to follow, completely unlike he has ever known it. Yet holding a familiarity that has him grinning through the tears.

If you were able to name a star, would it be after my smile?

Prompt | Nurse Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.

Series | Across The Multiverse is a collection of drabbles based around the prompts from this list, each taking place in a different universe. The updates will occur whenever I am inspired by a prompt to write a small piece, most generally done as a warm-up.

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.