#I will have to land in London with a tag SOMEBODY FOR FUCK'S SAKE TAKE CARE OF THIS PANDA

[pandaroboto]

Thank you @quickblowsmokeuphisbottom, I AM crying.

I won't show the rest of the gifts, to not spoil anyone that will be getting a package, but yeah...I love this so much.

[zwiezraczek]

Hey!! I looove your writing and was wondering if you can do 12, 14 & 16 of your blurb prompts she/her with four, but like they��re teammates and they got something going on and one finds out about it?:)

Parkouring Between Ghosts [Blurb]

12. "Please, don't do that ever again." 14. "You need a hug, I shall provide." 16. "This wasn't planned at all." // You are teammates with Four, even something more, but One finds out about it...

How ironical that Eight and Four were the two parkour experts. One insisted on “hiring” after Four showed you a video of you, winning the Chase Tag competition in London last year. In less than five seconds, you caught the guy you were chasing, with agility and precision, the right way of thinking and intelligence. Thanks to you, your team was Champion of the World in the discipline, and that made you proud. And One thought it could be an advantage to the Ghosts, having two parkour experts would allow you more range and more freedom in movements. And somehow, you ended up dying, bad landing off a building as your comrades went down to find you, they couldn't. Nobody could find you, and so, you died.

You clicked with Four pretty quickly, for obvious reasons and began to train together, on the abandoned planes, in the desert and in the haunted houses around your living space. Lazily, you spent most of the time with your head on his lap as you sat on the couch in the common living room, listening to One's plans and new destinations for missions, which always thrilled you both because you used to sneak out to jump from building to building,together, laughing as you sat on the edge and looked at the city, Queen and King of the city, you used to say as Four smoked a cigarette and laughed too. From there, everything spiraled pretty quickly towards a friendship with benefits, which wasn't bad at all.

It especially began after a party you all went to, after a successful mission: Three found the right place and brought you all there – even One. And little they all knew, but you were a party animal, dancing and drinking were your favorite activities during a party, along flirting and getting drinks from strangers. And with Four by your side, you felt comfortable and not threatened, because you knew he would protect you somehow, because you would do the same for him. And because you drank, you got drunk pretty quickly, and pretty clingy too and Four had to prevent you from dancing with this man right there, because he smelt the rat. So he came up to you, taking you by the hand, and putting it around his neck as you began to giggle a bit.

“I wanna hug you,” you chanted, alcohol aromas in your voice.

“If you need a hug, I shall provide,” he replied, pulling you closer to him as you buried your face in his neck.

“You so cute, I'd kiss you,” you admitted after a long moments of your head resting in his shoulder.

“If you were sober, I'd kiss you too,” he teased you, ruffling gently your hair as you pouted.

“Kiss me tomorrow then,” you replied confidently looking into his eyes, yours shining under these purple lights.

But he didn't kiss you on the next day, even if he wanted to. He knew you were drunk last night, and your hangovered face reminded him how little you perhaps remembered from last night. But you did remember what he said to you, and gifted him with lovely glares when nobody paid attention to it, smiled sheepishly, and became more tactile than usual when One was speaking about the next move – your hands were more often around his neck as he sat on the chair, and you hugged him from behind, your hand looking more for his, your fingers caressing lazily his forearm. Nobody notices these soft attentions, as you usually are clingy around him, and others too – but less. You could feel Fours goosebumpsas you touched him, see them as you smiled, and feel the same butterflies in your stomach he felt too. And you craved for these lips, right here, right now, in front of them all. You didn't care, you wanted to kiss him as badly as you wanted, needed it, yesterday in the club.

At the end of the meeting, both of you went to this "haunted" house, to practice parkour together, as usual, nobody found it really alarming when both of you were gone for a long time, together, alone. And you used that free time to pin him against the wall of this house, looking at him as he lowered his head to look at you, all flustered.

“I'm sober right now,” you stated looking at him, fluttering your eyelashes, “you can kiss me now.”

“What,” he asked, more surprised than he ever was, hoping that he was dreaming somehow, or that he would wake up.

“I said kiss me Four,” you repeated, standing on tiptoe to reach his lips.

He didn't hesitate twice. As you expected, he put his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to his chest, your hands going on his jaw as you passionately kissed him. Hands wandering in his hair, on his neck, before you both gasped, looking for air as your foreheads touched.

“For a parkour expert, you chickened out pretty quickly,” you teased him, still catching your breath, a smile on your face.

“Fuck off Eight,” he replied, “I”m not the type of guy to kiss a drunk girl.”

“I was sober for the whole day today,” you said, before he bit your lips.

“That was the goddamn problem, I never know what you remember or not after a wasted party.”

“I do remember you.”

“This wasn't planned at all,” you hissed as Five sew your wounded body – again.

Your middle name was apparently “reckless”, Four commented as he sat on the ground. You wanted to finish this mission as soon as possible, and this was how you didn't stuck to the original plan you had with Four. Now, you were grounded for a few weeks by Five, unable to train with Four now. Great. You had to jump off that building, and fall down as the men tried to shoot you down, thankfully Four attracted them towards Seven so he could shoot them down. But as you fell, you didn't break anything, you just fell on a fence, opening one of your sides and bleeding. To death, as Five later added pressing some fabric against your wound as Four looked at you on the backseat of the car.

“You never plan anything,” he replied, bitter, “and here you are, hissing and screaming because you're wounded, again,” he groaned finally.

“Shut up,” you complained before hissing again as Five pulled the string harder. “Thanks for repairing me Five.”

“Pleasure.” She winked as cleaned the sewing delicately. “Four, be nice and grab your Chaste Tag reckless Champion to her trailer so she doesn't have to walk please.”

“Your words are my command,” he said as he got up and carried you out of the place, and when you were far enough from the others he looked at you, rolling his eyes. “You reckless stupid thing, don't you ever scare me like this.” He wanted to kiss you, but he feared somebody noticing you.

“I'll consider it next time, only if you give me a good reason,” you teased him, but deeply you knew that one, if you were injured you weren't able to do parkour and two you were a burdento the team. Two things you did hate. But for the sake of teasing, this answer was gold. And Four's reaction even better.

“Don't you tempt me.”

You did tempt him, one time, after a meeting in the Ghosts room as everybody left the place and only the two of you remained, looking at the plan of the city you were going in. He hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked at the plan, carelessly.

“We really need to know that,” he asked you, almost annoyed.

“We do Four, or one of us will die, I may be reckless but I'm not completely stupid you know,” you answered, putting your index on his nose. “Besides, I don't want to bury you for real or whatever.”

“Not happening,” he said, making you turn around to face you, before pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours. A chaste kiss turning into passion. Your hands on his cheek, his hand in your hair.

“Oh,” you heard from behind you. One entered the room, probably looking for something he left and there he found the two of you, making out. Damnit. “Millenials you... Gross, absolutely gross. I hate it, I hate it,” he complained, a hand before his eyes as he advanced towards you and the table. “Please, don't to that ever again, not in front of my holly eyes. Get a room, or whatever, oh, gross, worse than Two and Three. I'm disgusted andflabbergasted,” his disgusted tone making the two of you split for a moment, Four letting you go and making a step back.

“Flabber what,” you asked, your eyes wandering from One to Four.

“Lack of vocabulary but knowing how to play with tongue: classic millenials,” One concluded as you felt absolutely lost.

“You're not mad,” Four asked, frowning in surprise.

“I'm dead, you're dead, we're dead, I told you the rules, Two and Three broke the rules,” he concluded sadly before grabbing a folder on the table. “I also told you to not reveal your names but as soon as Seven showed up his little nose you all revealed your names so, at this point, I'm not mad or surprised, just... Disappointed,” he stated.

“You know each other's names,” you exclaimed looking at Four who rose his shoulders in defeat, “and I'm not even in this privileged circle!”

“Talk with Four, he'll maybe reveal your some things other than his tongue. I'm gonna head out, so excuse me”, he pursued as he began to walk towards the door.

“And we're the millenials here,” Four said as One left the room without any reply.

“You,” you said pointing at Four. “I hope your name is fucking hideous because if you hid it from me it better be.”

[pendragyn]

Yet Another Entry In The Ineffable Bastards Universe

Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls (It Tolls For They)

It all comes back to the church in '41, and what happened and almost happened and thankfully didn't happen after the church.

[This is very angsty and sad and while yes there will be a happy ending, so help me Glod, it is still a long way off as of the end of this ficlet. Also, I am not sure how to tag this because while they are very very into what they do do together, they are not thinking about the consequences of their actions due to some cursed cider.]

∞

Crowley ran, ran and ran, heart pounding, almost blind with panic, hissing with pain as their foot hit the edge of consecrated ground, but it didn’t matter, because they were in time and like a snake shedding their skin the panic slipped away as they yanked open the door and hot-footed their way into the church under the confused eyes of a trio of nazis and an angel moments away from a fate worse than death.

A church, for fuck’s sake? Can’t the angel see it’s a setup? A trap? Dealing with nazis on holy ground, giving them holy books, even if it’s supposed to be a double-cross, a double double-cross. “Sorry, consecrated ground. Ugh, like being on the beach in bare feet.” Crowley fervently kept that thought in mind, because in reality, it was far far worse than that. Crowley was very good at imagining not being on fire, and that belief was all that was keeping them from falling to ash inside that church.

Aziraphale continued to stare at Crowley in shock, for a moment wondering if they were actually hallucinating the way humans could during moments of high stress. Because consecrated ground discorporates demons, and yet. And yet, Crowley was somehow really here. Why the he- heaven is Crowley here? “What are you doing here?” Aziraphale hissed, the nazis and the gun momentarily forgotten.

“Stopping you from getting in trouble,” Crowley hissed back, dancing from foot to foot just an arm’s length away from Aziraphale. Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool, if you panic you’re both done for.

“I should have known. Of course,” said Aziraphale, not believing that for a moment, even if they couldn’t sense a lie. They’d never been able to sense a lie when it came to Crowley. Probably a punishment for still caring about a demon after everything. Don’t fall for it again! “These people are working for you.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale an annoyed look. “No. They’re a bunch of half-witted nazi spies, running around London blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.” That was one way of putting it, embarrassed; to be the first angel kicked out of heaven since the fall. The first one dipped in boiling sulfur in two thousand years. Even thought it was all a setup, that wouldn’t stop heaven from kicking Aziraphale out, not when they’d been trying for so long.

“Mr. Anthony J. Crowley, your fame precedes you.”

“Anthony?” echoed Aziraphale in surprise. The grudging respect in the man’s voice implied that Crowley was an adversary and not an ally, and Aziraphale’s momentary resolve to keep their distance started to crumble. Why are they really here? It, it can’t really be just to help me. Can it?

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked, desperate for anything to keep the angel distracted, keep them from making a desperate choice that would send them falling, just for a little while longer.

“No, no, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.” Aziraphale let out a little sigh, of regret and relief, because it was only a matter of time until Crowley hurt them again, but for now, for now they were here. Together.

“The famous Mr. Crowley. Such a pity you must both die.” Greta lifted the gun and pointing it at Crowley, wondering if that would spurn the response they were looking for from the so-called book-seller. Or perhaps from both of them, surely they’d get an even better reward if they got a bargain from two magical beings instead of just the one.

If we get discorporated, there will be paperwork, and paperwork means explaining… Oh dear lo- somebody, if either side finds out that Crowley can go into churches..! “What’s the ‘J’ stand for?” Aziraphale asked, trying to stall for time to figure out a way to keep them both from being discorporated. I have made a rather big mess of things.

Stall, stall, stall, Crowley kept thinking, giving the woman a sarcastic little flip from the brim of their hat, startled by Aziraphale’s question. “Oh, er, uh, just a ‘J’ really.” It was clear the nazis were getting restless and flicker of light caught Crowley’s attention. “Look at that! A whole font-full of holy water. Doesn’t even have guards.” Keep talking you arseholes, oh thank he- hea- somebody, there’s the sirens.

“Enough babbling, kill them both.”

“In about a minute,” interjected Crowley before Aziraphale could even think to say anything, “a German bomber will release a bomb that will land, right here. If you all run away very, very fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, you definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Glozier smiled, looking again at their primary target, Mr. Fell. Clearly Mr. Crowley was working for someone rather powerful, to be trying so hard to keep them from capturing the book-seller. “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”

Crowley was finding it strangely easier and easier to be in the church the longer the conversation went on, and they were almost still as they replied, “Yes. It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.” Took almost every bit of power I had too, Crowley thought, inwardly pleased to see their expressions shift at the word ‘demonic’. That’s right, thought they’d play fair, did you? Think again!

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that said, I don’t think they believe you. I don’t even believe you.

Dammit angel! “Look, you’re all wasting your valuable running away time! And if, eh, in 30 seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it,” said Crowley pointedly.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “A, a real miracle?” They nodded to show they understood but then their eyes landed upon the open font of holy water and they completely lost their breath in that moment. A subtle flick of their fingers vanished the entire font while everyone was distracted, and they let out a faint sigh of relief to not have to test if an angelic miracle could keep a demon from being destroyed by holy water as they were all vaporized by a bomb.

“Kill them, they are very irritating,” said Harmony with a wave of his hand, picking up the bag of books. This was taking far too long, and no matter what their handler might say, Harmony knew that angels and demons didn’t exist. Delusions of lesser minds, all of it, but the money was very good, and his collection of magical books was growing by the day. These English wizards are all the same, thinking a spell would protect them from a bullet to the brain. As though bullets can’t be enchanted as well. Played for suckers, all of them.

Finally! Crowley pointed upwards as the first blasts started to echo in the distance, smiling fiercely in triumph as the nazis all looked upwards with dawning horror, and used their one last bit of magic.

Aziraphale looked up too, slapping their hat on their head and grounding themself, casting the miracle outward over Crowley, pouring their own power into it as the blast wave and flames and debris battered against it. They floated in the center of the destruction for a timeless while and then the dust settled and the miracle was done, leaving them both unharmed amidst the rubble.

Crowley staggered a bit, relieved that the burning sensation was gone and squinted through their dusty glasses, relieved to see Aziraphale standing rooted to their spot as they slowly came back to themself, no surprise considering the magnitude of the miracle they’d just pulled off. Crowley pulled a handkerchief from their pocket to wipe their glasses clean, smiling a little to themself. The foreboding of danger was gone and hell and heaven had both been thwarted.

It took a moment for Aziraphale to come back to themself, respectfully pulling off their hat as it was still consecrated ground, and looked around in dismay at the destruction. Their eyes alighted on Crowley, looking for all the world as though it were any other day as they nonchalantly cleaned their glasses amid the smoldering ruins of a church. A church that would probably still be standing if Aziraphale hadn’t gotten it into their head to ‘help’ in spite of heaven being unwilling to do so. “That was very kind of you.”

Kind? Was it particularly kind of me when I stupidly reminded hell of your existence? Kind? To almost drag you down with me again? More like unforgivable. Crowley said none of that, instead saying, “Shut up,” as they defensively shoved their glasses back onto their face before Aziraphale could see anything in their eyes.

“Well, it was.” Aziraphale didn’t know how to reconcile it- Crowley, the demon, had, at great personal risk, done something far beyond kind. “No paperwork, for a start,” Aziraphale joked weakly, gasping as realization hit. “Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown to...” Aziraphale stared in shock and then wonder as Crowley prized the intact bag of books from, well best to not think about it, and held it out to Aziraphale, that little smile curling their lips that always invited you in on the joke.

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” Crowley had to make themself walk away after the jolt they’d felt from their hands brushing. They didn’t let themself look back, stalking away and wondering if Aziraphale would accept the offer. Almost hoped the angel wouldn’t, knowing they themself didn’t have the willpower to stay away, not when the angel looked at them the way they had as they’d accepted the books. As though it was a real courting gift, as though something lasting could come of it. As though Aziraphale had ever felt as Crowley had and still did.

Aziraphale looked down at the bag and up at Crowley’s retreating back, and inwardly at their own jumble of feelings and those that had come through with their first physical contact in centuries. Love. Their heart soared with terror and hope. They love me. They love me! As much as I love them! The euphoria was gone in an instant. In love, with a demon. A demon strong enough to walk on consecrated ground. How can this be anything but a trap? Aziraphale’s eyes drifted back down to the books, at war with themself, but called out, “Wait!”

Read the rest at AO3