#None of the others really care too much because Dust and Horror are very ''eh I'll do it later'' about showering

[somegrumpynerd]

How many bathrooms do you think Nightmare's castle has? I can't see them each having their own cause that would be way too many but do you think they all share one?

Asking because I have a hc that Killer takes showers that last like, at least 45 minutes. Not that they need the bathrooms for anything other than bathing really, but I feel like Cross is the one most annoyed by it because he's probably the only one with a consistent hygiene routine. When Killer finally gets out Cross asks him, exasperated, "what were you doing, washing one bone at a time??" and Killer just says "sorry I had to wash my hair" and strolls past.

In reality Killer washes up pretty fast, but he likes standing under the showerhead and letting the hot water run over him. It washes the determination off him even as it drips out and he likes the feeling of being surrounded by warmth, it's like a full body hug and it makes him feel truly at peace for just a little bit. Until somebody starts banging on the door telling him to get out.

[officerjennie]

Commission for the ever so lovely @bouncyirwin - who spreads joy, happiness, and support as freely and easily as some people breathe (this fandom wouldn’t be the same without you 💜💜💜💜💜)

---

How anyone could so much as breathe without adoration hitching their efforts around her, Shisui really didn’t know.

This wasn’t even the first time this week he’d found himself staring in awe without a word able to escape him. Sakura had a way of making him dumb to the quick wit and playful flirting that usually came as natural as most any other social interaction to him - he’d always been the social butterfly of his clan, berated for it at times and having his hair fondly tousled at others. And yet here he sat, in the corner of the little restaurant Sakura and her team and her team’s families had all crowded into, unable to absorb any of the chatter or whatever joke had Kakashi snickering behind his book or even what had Naruto and the brat arguing this time.

Sakura seemed content enough to sit back and soak it all in as well, pride in the soft smile that graced her lips, a cup of tea cradled in her hand near her chest in lieu of the spirit that many of her companions had chosen to partake in this evening. And who could blame them? Rare was the day any shinobi party could come back unscathed along with their success, and given the tentative peace between Konoha and Kiri could have been destroyed at the smallest misstep their celebration came with relief felt by the entire village.

It warmed him to no end to see her so content and sure, so proud, none of the hesitance that used to haunt her expressions and tense her body anywhere to be found - the kunoichi that had chased and chased after her teammates had long since caught up and surpassed them in so many ways, and even without being privy to the intimate details of her internal battles Shisui could feel emotion trying to choke him.

Gods, but he had it bad, didn’t he? He forced some of his own tea down, looking away from the woman who had no idea she held his heart so tightly in her grip, scrubbing his face with his free hand in an attempt to clear his head. Admiration was one thing - very understandable in this case, given Sakura set the precedent for strong and capable shinobi who could punch a ravine into existence - but they could hardly even be called friends if he was honest with himself. So openly staring at her with his heart in his eyes could definitely count as creepy.

Maybe he needed more hobbies.

“Not really like you to hang out on the sidelines.”

It was a bit embarrassing to be snuck up on like that. He hoped his surprise wasn’t too obvious as he peeked through his hands, finding the woman who’d been occupying his thoughts all night now occupying the seat next to him. Up so close he could see her cheeks were dusted pink, though he couldn’t really tell if it was the chill from the night air or just some blush she’d painted on.

Either way. It didn’t really matter which one it was. All Shisui could really do with the information is filing it under “she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met” and keep the simple image of her tucking some pink hair behind her ear firmly in his mind’s eye for the rest of his days.

“Not a place I’d expect to find you either.” She blinked at his words as if confused, pursing her lips even, so despite how obvious it seemed to him Shisui clarified, “You more the frontline type, right?”

“Ah, yeah, I don’t really care for ‘supporting others’ to mean ‘being left behind.’ But today,” Sakura turned just enough to look over at her teammates, Shisui following her gaze to see Naruto gesturing wildly in horror at something that had Sasuke snickering unashamedly. “Today, I think I’m alright with not being in the middle of them. There are some conversations I’d rather they have without me.”

“What even has them going, anyway?”

“Relationships,” Sakura said, a little too quickly. But she didn’t let the awkwardness stay, her eyes flicking down to her tea which she held between her hands as if her fingers might be cold. Shisui wished he could warm them between his own. “Well, not exactly relationships. More like things people do in them. They seem to find it amusing to list all the people they’ve managed to kiss or make out with.”

With a snort, Shisui said, “I’m guessing they’re both at the top of each other’s lists then?”

He was very glad to see the tiny bit of tension relax right away from Sakura as she laughed, her eyes alight with mirth. “Somehow, they always seem to forget to mention that.”

“Bet you love to remind them.”

“Bet I do.” She flashed him a smile that had his ears heating up, and for the life of him Shisui could not say why it made him feel bold.

Despite how calm people saw him, despite his rather laid back nature, Shisui often found himself tongue tied where feelings were involved. But past his beating heart he somehow managed to not make a fool of himself, his nerves not overwhelming him - perhaps it was simply how welcomed he felt in her presence? How inviting and warm she was even as all she did was sip her tea, simply existing but existing there, next to him, when any number of seats were available next to those she was far closer to. And didn’t that make him feel lucky.

“Do you have a list?”

The gods only knew how he managed to make that sound casual. Even when Sakura’s eyes widened and blinked up at him (he swore his favorite color used to be blue but damn if that shade of green wasn’t going to change that) - and for a terrifying moment he remembered just how easily this woman could demolish any wall that stood in her way. With her fist.

Even if that wall was made with solid concrete, or was, say, a whole ass mountain. He was pretty sure he wasn’t anywhere near as solid as a mountain.

When she chose to not punch him, every single last bone in his body heaved a sigh of thankfully unbroken relief. “No, I...don’t have a list.”

No list? That was a little surprising. “A name, then?” Maybe not the best thing to ask someone, at least not before he was sure she would be comfortable with answering. Shisui was quick to add “Unless it’s a secret or something” - the last thing he needed was to drive her away by pushing into her own personal life.

Though, then again - and something in Shisui rose up in slight saddened panic at the thought - what would he do if she did have a name? A significant other? Itachi was out on another of his long missions, who exactly was he supposed to lean on and eat comfort chocolate with if it turned out his growing crush was, well...crushed, before anything could come of it?

“No. No name.”

It took physical effort to not sag with some sort of relief at her words, but it wasn’t a relief that Shisui had much time to process. Because as much as he wanted a chance with the woman of his dreams, as much as he had wanted to hear that...

“Eh? Really? You?” Shisui found it beyond the realms of possibility that Sakura, of all the people in Konoha, had yet to have her first kiss, and that shock was perhaps a bit too loud in his tone.

Definitely not good for his health and wellbeing. The nerve on Sakura’s forehead was suddenly twitching, and the sharp look she sent his way had him gulping.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, no! No no, nothing- I didn’t mean like that!” He shook his head a little more than necessary, horror dawning on him as he realized his unintentional insinuation. “I just meant- you’re just, well, beautiful! Beautiful and an exceptional shinobi, a damn good medic, and from what Sasuke’s told me in confidence you make a mean blueberry tart. Not to mention you could punch through steel if it offended you.” By some grace of the gods he managed to bit off his rambling there, scratching nervously at the back of his head, almost mumbling as he ended his poor excuse of an explanation with, “I just expected, you know… You might have kissed at least one of the people who admired you.”

The moments of quiet after his words were probably the most terrifying seconds of his life, though by some mercy Sakura did not seem angry. Maybe his apology/explanation was acceptable after all and he wouldn’t have to-

Sakura said something under her breath, and Shisui blinked back out of his thoughts, frowning a little in confusion. “What?”

“It’s just that I…” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth for a moment, drawing Shisui’s eyes. “I’ve never really had an appealing offer. You know?”

Had she always been sitting that close to him? Their thighs were touching and Shisui couldn’t remember when that had happened, but his pulse picked up, the whole of him keenly aware of every inch of her.

And how bad would it be, really, to be buried in the ground by those deceptively slender fingers?

“Would I,” Shisui started, with a smooth tone that belied how his heart beat frantically in his chest, “qualify as an appealing offer?”

A breath. Two. Sakura’s gaze flickered down to his lips as hers parted the barest bit - and even before she nodded Shisui knew her answer - though he knew not how he'd been so lucky as to get a yes.

Her hair was soft under his fingers as he cupped the back of her head, her pupils wide as she tilted her chin to look up at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that they were not alone, their friends and coworkers laughing and drinking and chattering away not even half a small restaurant away from them, but all of him preferred to focus on Sakura’s hand now coming to rest on his arm, the way she shifted forward as he leaned closer, how intimate it felt to brush their noses together, her breath tickling his lips.

And then their lips met, and the rest of the world fell away.

[amazingmsme]

Lets See A Smile

AN: My first Hazbin fic! There’s not nearly enough fics for it so here I am! Had a blast writing it, hope y’all enjoy! Angel and Alastor have such a fun dynamic!

Angel sighed in relief as his shift finally came to an end. You'd think a hotel with virtually no patrons would make for an easy work day, but when one of those guests was none other than fucking Sir Pentious of all people, you might as well jump off the highest cliff in hell. He kicked open the door to the break room, eager to vent to his friends.

"You would not BELIEVE the day I had! Next time you need someone to deal with Sir Penis get someone else to do it 'cause there's no way I'm going back up there to pick up eggshells and 20 feet of snake skin," he exclaimed dramatically, eyes closed with an arm thrown over his face like a damsel. Alastor popped his head up from where he was laying on the couch.

"I will be sure to let Charlie know of your complaint," he said. Angel's eyes flew open as he pushed himself away from the wall. 

"What, you? Where's Charlie? Or Vaggie?" he asked, not too pleased to see the radio demon when he was expecting his gal pals.

"Don't you remember? Tonight is their anniversary!" Alastor said in a cheery tone. Angel crossed his first pair of arms and rested another hand on his hip.

"Oh yeah, forgot about that," he said dismissively. Alastor sat up fully now, resting his feet on the floor instead of taking up the whole couch. He tilted his head quizzically, taking in the other demon.

"What, you got some fuckin' problem?" Angel asked, noticing his intense stare. Alastor shook his head, looking away.

"Not at all Angel, but from the sounds of it, you do." Angel rolled his eyes.

"Yeah and he's on the third floor," he said with a huff. Alastor scooted over and patted the cushion next to him invitingly.

"Why don't you sit?" Angel's face lit up as he strolled over.

"Hey don't mind if I do," he said before plopping right in Alastor's lap. He blushed and faltered.

"Wha- Not on me!" he exclaimed and shoved him off. Angel Dust chuckled, settling into a proper seat.

"Sorry, you didn't specify," he smirked. Alastor glared at him with a small growl.

"You know damn well that's not what I meant." They fell into a slightly awkward silence. Alastor sat stiffly while Angel sprawled across the sofa, taking up most of the room and not seeming to care. Alastor liked to pride himself in his ability to read other people, and right now it was obvious that Angel was not himself. Oh sure he would try and act like his usual flamboyant and snarky self, but apparently their customer had really gotten under his skin. He didn't like seeing the other demon so upset. He tapped his fingers on his knees, letting out a low whistle that mixed with the smallest whine of microphone feedback.

"Soooo..." he started. Angel only raised a brow. "Would you care to talk about it?"

"Eh, not really. That slithery prick's already eaten up too much of my time," he dismissed. After a brief pause he let out a long suffering sigh, arching his back over the arm of the couch and just let himself hang there. This caused Alastor himself to sigh.

"Well you're obviously upset about it, and normally I'd dump you off on Charlie but she's not here right now, so you're stuck with me. And while I may not be very good at this, I would like to cheer you up. Is there, um, anything I could do to maybe help?" Angel raised himself up, a little skeptical.

"You serious?"

"Yes! After all you're never fully dressed without a smile! And you sir are lacking the appropriate attire," he justified.

"Yeah well, I'm a slut, so what do you expect?" he asked, though he allowed himself to relax a bit. "Can you, no ya know what, never mind," Angel stopped himself mid sentence. And was that a blush creeping up his face? Needless to say Alastor was intrigued.

"No do go on!" he encouraged. Angel waved a hand as if to brush him off.

"Naw you wouldn't like it."

"Nonsense! And if I don't like it, I'll just talk about it behind your back to Husk like a normal person," he admitted. Angel considered this and shrugged.

"Well at least you're honest. So, what I was gonna say was, uh, can I have a hug?" he asked sheepishly. He reached up and rubbed a hand behind his neck, "It's just I'm a little tired and upset, and I'm kinda used to it with Charlie around. Hehe, look at me, goin' soft..." he trailed off. Alastor- didn't really know what to say. So instead he just leaned back into the sofa and held out his arms. Angel broke into a shy grin and cuddled against him. Alastor rested his arms around him, not allowing himself to fully relax into the hug. Not yet at least. Affectionate touch was still kinda new for him. But he had to admit, it did feel nice. It gave him a warm kind of comfort he hadn't felt in forever, and he let himself sink into the feeling.

"Ya know what Al? You actually give pretty good hugs. Heh, better not let Charlie know, am I right?" he joked with a poke to his side. Alastor went completely rigid, his hold on Angel tightened ever so slightly. This didn't go unnoticed.

"Al, you okay there buddy? Didn't hurt ya, did I?" he asked. He doubted he could even hurt him if he tried, but he wanted to make sure.

"W-what? You hurt me? Oh please," he tried to play it off, hoping he would just drop it. But this is Angel Dust we're talking about, he's not one to simply "drop" things. Not to mention, he's had years of experience in his old line of work. He's learned all there is to know about the body and it's various reactions to touch. Which is why it only took him a second to figure out what had happened.

"If you're ticklish you coulda just said so, I woulda left you alone," he said casually. Alastor's jaw dropped in mild horror and shock, pushing the other demon away.

"I am no such thing!" he adamantly denied. Angel raised a brow, a sly smirk creeping onto his face.

"Oh please, big scary tough guy like you? Definitely ticklish," he said, watching Alastor's reactions from the corner of his eye. Despite his best efforts to keep it at bay, a blush rose to his cheeks. As Angel spoke, he let one of his hands wander closer to Alastor's side.

He was just about to snap at him, a sharp retort on the tip on his tongue, when Angel's hand connected with his side. He let out a startled noise, jerking away and snapped his head to look at Angel. The smile he gave the radio demon was completely predatory and feral. Alastor found himself scooting away.

"Now Angel, don't do anything you'll regret," he warned, but his voice wavered with nerves.

"Trust me, I ain't gonna regret this," he said, lunging forth and straddling a very shocked Alastor. He wasn't used to people not taking his threats seriously and was a bit stunned. He tried to grab Angel's hands to block him, but he countered by pinning his wrists with his first set of arms. He chuckled, wiggling his fingers above his stomach. Alastor struggled, trying to free himself.

"What's the matter? Forget I had these?" Angel asked. He emphasized his point by skittering his fingers all along his belly, making him burst into staticky giggles.

"Stohohop this ihihinstant!" Alastor demanded through his laughter. Angel Dust leaned forward, grinning widely. Alastor could see his own hysterical reflection shinning in Angel's eyes, so he looked away, too embarrassed to see the giggly mess he'd become.

"Nah, I don't really feel like it. Besides, I think this is the first time I've heard you laugh! I'm having way too much fun to stop!"

"Thahahat's nohot true! Ihihi laugh ahahall the time," he tried to speak through his manic giggles.

Angel shrugged, "Yeah but laughing at your own lame jokes don't count. Kinda pathetic actually." He added another pair of arms to the mix, reaching behind him to squeeze and scratch at his knees. Alastor drummed his legs on the couch, his laughter increasing in volume and pitch. Radio static mixed more frequently with his laugh, making Angel coo.

Dohohon't patronize mehehe!" Alastor cried.

"I'm not! But you gotta admit Al, your laugh is adorable," he teased, making his voice a higher pitch and using the same tone that he normally talks to Fat Nuggets with. He brought his third pair of arms up to squeeze at his sides, the second pair starting to crawl up his ribs as he sang.

"The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout." Though he thought it to be impossible, Alastor's laughter increased even more. "Down, came the rain and washed the spider out." He raked his knuckles down his ribs, making him arch his back with a cackle. As he finished the nursery rhyme, he let his fingers walk back up his ribs before attacking his exposed underarms.

Alastor squealed before his voice faded into the high pitched screech of a microphone. Angel jerked back in shock at the loud noise, covering his ears as he fell back on the couch. His eyes were squeezed shut as he fell into a giggle fit, clutching his stomach with his many arms. He brought a hand up to wipe away a few tears as Alastor recovered.

His breathing was already beginning to return to normal, but his face was still a burning crimson. Angel patted his leg comfortingly before he rose from the couch, stretching as he spoke.

"Oh man, that was fun. Never knew ya could laugh like that Smiles," he said, settling back onto the cushions. Because he was so tall, Alastor was taking up most of the space, causing Angel to huff and kick his legs with his boot. "Skooch over, you're takin' up the whole damn couch," he grumbled. Alastor finally sat up, seemingly recovered. His cheeks were still sporting a decent flush and he brushed himself off, trying to scrap together his remaining dignity by straightening his crumpled clothes. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"You have ten seconds," he stated calmly. Angel raised a brow.

"Ten seconds to do what?" he asked.

"Why, to run of course," Alastor stated as though it were obvious.

"Hell no, I ain't runnin'! I just got comfy," he said, gesturing to his already lounging position. Alastor shrugged, his residual smile widening into something more sinister.

"Very well, it is your funeral after all." Angel's eyebrows furrowed together, beginning to connect the dots. He opened his mouth to protest, only to be cut off.

"Nine."

Angel's eyes widened and he scrambled to get as far away from the radio demon as possible. In such a rush, his legs got tangled and he stumbled over himself before rushing out the door. Alastor was already down to six. He rushed down the hall and into the lobby, looking for cover. There was no way he could out run him, so his only chance was to hide. He only hesitated for a second before his eyes landed on the bar and he sprinted towards it.

Husk saw him coming and shook his head. "Oh hell no, you already used up all your points," he said casually. He jumped back with a hiss, fur standing on end when Angel made a move to dive over the bar.

"This ain't about that, you gotta hide me!" he pleaded, gripping onto his shirt. Husk shoved him off.

"What the hell did you get into now?" he asked, running a hand down his tired face.

"No time to explain, just go on about your business and act like I ain't here," he said, crouching down underneath the bar. "Oh and if Al asks, say you haven't seen me."

Husker's eyes widened, shaking his head. "Sorry, but I'm not covering for you. This is your mess, you deal with it. I don't wanna get caught in the cross hairs of whatever you did to piss him off," he said, trying to drag Angel Dust out from underneath the countertop. Angel cursed as he struggled to stay put, already forced halfway out. It was then that Alastor himself leisurely strolled into the lobby. His eyes fell on Angel, and he twirled his microphone stand gleefully.

"Oh Angel there you are!" he exclaimed. Angel let out a small scream before leaping back over the bar, much to Husk's annoyance. As he ran out of the room, he used two hands to flip Husk off.

"Wow thanks for bein' fucking useless!"

Husk cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled after him. "I'll be sure to remember that next time you ask for a drink!" He sighed in defeat, bending down to arrange the various glasses and bottles he had knocked over. Alastor came up and leaned against the bar.

"I'll take a glass of water real quick, if you don't mind," he said. Husk complied, filling it up with tap before sliding it over to him.

"The hell he do to you? Kid was so desperate to get away you'd think he was fleeing for his life." Upon hearing the question, Al's ear twitched, another blush dusting his cheeks as he looked away. Husk looked him up and down and spoke once more. "Then again maybe he is."

"Mm. If you'll excuse me Husker, I believe I must enact some well deserved revenge." The bar tender chuckled.

"Alright, but don't rough him up too much. Charlie'll have your head if you hurt him."

Alastor waved a hand lazily as he made his way in the direction that Angel ran off. "No need to worry, our friend shall be in good hands." He sent his shadow in search of the fleeing man, rolling up his sleeves in preparation. In his time alive, one of the things he adored most was the thrill of the chase. The adrenaline rush that came with hunting down his prey was nearly more enjoyable than the act of killing. Almost. But oh how he relished in the fear glistening in their eyes and their labored breath as they were inevitably trapped, watching as he closed in. He found he was eager to see that look in Angel's eyes, though for a completely different reason.

Angel was close to his room now. He had had a few close calls, turning down halls that suddenly lead to nowhere, catching the glimpse of a dark shadow from the corner of his eye. He knew Al was fucking with him, but he was determined to make it to safety. He was almost there; he could see his door at the end of the hall. He ran that much harder, only to find he wasn't getting any closer. He looked down at his legs that were running in place and felt dread sink to the bottom of his stomach. He heard a deep, staticky chuckle from behind and gasped, trying with all his might to get to his room.

"Oh c'mon!" he yelled out in an exasperated tone, looking over his shoulder only to see the grinning deer. He gave a small wave, tilting his head to the side. Whatever magic Alastor had him trapped with vanished, and he let out a victory cry as he threw himself at his door, opening it before slamming it shut and locking it behind him. He let out a deep sigh of relief, shoulders slacking as he leaned against the door. The wood felt cool against his cheek, and he smiled to himself, finally knowing he was safe.

A slow clap sounded from behind him, and his breath hitched and caught in his throat. He whirled around to see Alastor, sitting on his bed with a stupidly smug grin as he applauded.

"Splendid! You put on quite a good show I must say, but I'm afraid the previews are over." Angel reached for the knob, only it was locked by his own doing. He pressed his back against the wall, smiling sheepishly as the man stood and slowly made his way closer to him.

"Look, A-Al, no hard feelings, right? I won't tell a soul I swear! You got my word, I'm sorry," he tried to plead.

"Did you really think I'd let you get away without having my revenge?" he asked calmly. Angel shrugged.

"Well I mean, yeah. I mean- I was hoping for it," he corrected himself, rubbing a hand behind his neck with a chuckle. Alastor snapped his fingers, opening a portal in the floor. All of a sudden, tentacles reached out and grabbed Angel and forced him onto the bed, pinning all of his limbs.

He blinked in shock before smirking. "Can't say this isn't what I'm used to. Been in worse bondage situations than this, let me tell ya," he mused, trying to mask his growing fear with his usual flirtations. Alastor sat next to him on the bed and he tried to squirm away, not getting very far. Angel shrunk in on himself, feeling very exposed underneath Alastor's gaze, and not in the way he would've liked. He gulped and spoke. "So uh, I normally ask this question with a lot more enthusiasm, but- what are you gonna do to me?" he ventured to question.

Alastor answered gladly. "I would've thought you were smart enough to know but clearly I overestimated you." Angel let out a cry of protest only to be cut off.

"I'm sure you know the phrase "an eye for an eye,"" he said, casting a sly look his way. That alone made Angel's chest shake as he fought to force down his chuckles. He tugged at his bonds but they held strong, not allowing any leeway.

"Ahahal I'm sorry! I won't do it again, promise!" Alastor smirked and rested a hand on his stomach. Angel jerked at the touch, barely holding back a squeal.

"Oh I know you won't, but I have to make sure the lesson is ingrained in your thick skull so you won't even think about trying it again." He looked down at him, smirk growing as he drummed his fingers along his stomach.

"Nohohooo," Angel whined through his giggles, trying to suck in his stomach to get away from the touch.

"Laughing so soon? Oh this is going to be fun," Alastor practically growled through static. "So, are you willing to speed things along and tell me your worst spots? Or are you going to do this the hard way?"

Angel was already in deep, he knew he shouldn't say it but the guy gift wrapped a perfect chance for a dirty joke and gave it to him on a silver platter. He couldn't help himself. "Oh you know I like it hard," he all but purred. Alastor's eye twitched and he flicked an ear. Angel's flirtatious smirk quickly fell flat as he saw his life flash before his eyes.

"Nonono wait I take it back-"

"Too late Angel. I'm delighted to say that you just dug your second grave." He dug his claws into his stomach, grin growing as he watched him writhe underneath his touch. Angel bit his lip, trying to contain his titters. Maybe if he held out long enough, Alastor would grow bored and give up. Angel always was a dreamer.

"Hm, I wouldn't have thought you of all people would play hard to get," Alastor mused. Angel screwed his eyes shut biting his lip so hard he began to taste blood. "But you'll crack sooner or later," he said. Angel was wearing a loose t-shirt, so it was easy for him to slip his hand underneath. The reaction was instantaneous; he burst into frantic cackles, tugging on his wrists weakly. Alastor gave him a lazy, nonchalant smile. "See, I knew you'd come around!"

"Nohoho you cahahan't do this to mehehe," he cried out.

"Oh but I can! In fact, I'm doing it right now!" he said with a flourish, followed by a laugh track that could barely be heard over Angel's mirth. He let out an annoyed huff when the baggy shirt slid back down over his stomach due to his squirming. "Why don't we get this out of the way?" he asked. Before Angel could question him, he snapped his fingers leaving Angel's chest bare.

"Hey that was my favorite shirt you asshole!" Alastor didn't dignify that with a response. Well, not a verbal one anyways. The thin pink line trailing the middle of his stomach caught his eye, placing a single finger on the pattern. "Whoa hey, if ya wanted me to take my shihirt off all ya hahad to do was ask nicelyyyy," his voice raised in pitch when Alastor pressed down ever so slightly. Fuck this wasn't good, his pattern was way more sensitive and he really didn't need Al of all people to figure that out.

"By now you should know that I don't ask nicely," he said, a completely sinister look in his eyes. He drug his finger up along the pink line, making Angel arch his back with a squeal, much to his delight. His finger made its way back down the same path, and Angel shook his head back and forth, squirming in the tentacles' hold.

"Nohohot thehehere," he pleaded. Alastor hummed in thought.

"You see, when you say that it really makes me want to focus all my efforts on this exact spot," he teased.

"Bihihite mehehe!" They both froze, Alastor's grin stretching across his entire face. Angel realized his mistake and even though he knew it was futile, he kicked his legs out for purchase so he could scoot away. Alastor moved to straddle his waist, leaning in closer as sharp teeth glistened. "A-Al Ihihi didn't mean it like that! Oh shit, you're not gonna eat me, are ya?" Nervousness gave way to fear as he had no chance to escape.

"Why, what an excellent idea Angel Dust! I am a cannibal after all." He lunged forth, head diving towards his stomach. Angel screamed in terror which soon gave way to hysterical screams of laughter as Alastor nibbled and nuzzled against his stomach.

"Fuhuhuhuck it tihihickles so damn muhuhuch!" he yelled, trying to curl in on himself, but Alastor's magic held firm. He rose his head back up from the fluff, sputtering before picking a few hairs from his mouth. Angel gasped for breath during the break he knew wouldn't last long.

Alastor wiped his tongue on his sleeve to rid his mouth of any excess fluff. "Suddenly I've lost my appetite!"

"Greheat, so can you lehehet me gohoho?" Angel asked, fearing the answer. Alastor tapped his chin in thought, studying his form before answering.

"I suppose I could, but there's one spot left I want to try," Alastor said, eyes falling on his exposed hollows. Angel followed his gaze, eyes going wide with realization as an excited sort of panic flooded his body. Giggles bubbled out of his mouth that was stretched in an anxious smile, gold tooth gleaming.

"No please, anywhere but there," Angel begged, his efforts to escape doubling but still yielding the same results. Alastor smirked as he rested his hands right below his second pair of arms. Just doing that made him jerk and let out a small squeal. Alastor tilted his head, a devious look on his face.

"Oh Angel, you don't really get a say in the matter," he said, and then he attacked. He was completely lost to his laughter as Alastor scratched and skittered in his underarms, switching rapidly between them all to keep him a jumpy hysterical mess. He drilled his thumbs into the fur and kneaded around the sensitive area. He had to hold back his own chuckles once Angel started hiccuping amongst his cries of laughter. He finally granted him mercy, snapping his fingers and releasing his hold on the other demon. He sat beside him as Angel's giggles trailed off, interrupted every once in a while by another hiccup. Alastor notes that he hadn't moved at all, arms still raised and laying on the bed.

Angel glared up at him. "Damn you, you fuckin' prick. You're a fucki- fucking monster," he said, having to restart the word when another embarrassing hiccup broke up his speech. Alastor just smirked, narrowing his eyes.

"A tickle monster," he felt the need to correct. Angel groaned, a bright blush growing on his face. He covered his face with his lower set of hands, hoping that Alastor would at least be nice enough not to comment on it. "I hope it goes without saying that none of what happened is to leave this room," he threatened in a nicer tone, though it was a threat none the less. Angel sat up, waving a hand at him.

"Yeah yeah, trust me I don't want anyone else to know." Angel perked up, head snapping to look at Alastor. "Hey what'd you do with my shirt?" Alastor pointed around a pile of clothes in the corner, the soft pink shirt laying on top. He walked over, slipping it over his head. He noticed him staring at him, a smug, knowing look on his face. Angel narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Alastor glanced down at his nails nonchalantly. "Nothing, just noticed something rather peculiar."  Angel flopped onto his bed, making him bounce with the mattress.

"Mind sharin' with the class?" he asked, even though he had a feeling he would regret it.

"I don't recall hearing you tell me to stop," he said with a sly smile. The curious grin on Angel's face immediately disappeared, cheeks heating up. He refused to meet his eyes as he struggled for a comeback.

"I- you- well- how could I, I was laughin' too hard!" he justified.

"You didn't seem to have any trouble saying other things," he beamed, holding up a hand when Angel grabbed a pillow and started beating him with it.

"Shut the hell up!"

"You like it!"

"SHUT UP!"

Alastor's static filled chuckles rang through the air. He even had the audacity to pinch his cheek before standing. "Glad to see you're feeling better. Laughter is the best medicine after all," he said.

Angel crossed his lower pair of arms, trying to hide his smile behind his hand. "Heh, I guess so."

Alastor was at the door, hand on the knob before he looked over his shoulder at Angel Dust. "Don't be shy to come find me if you ever need any more cheering up," he teased with a wink. Angel's face was practically on fire, and for once he didn't have a witty comeback. Alastor gave an amused huff before closing the door, leaving Angel alone to think about all that just happened.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Dawn in Your Eyes Part 17

Summary: Alfie has little to no idea why Caroline ever gave him the time of day. The blind woman seemed far too sensible to even speak to him. But soon he finds himself falling helplessly in love.

Part 17: Alfie and Caroline discuss names. Alfie finds out what a pain in the ass it is to be partially blind. 

            Pilot was extremely relieved when Caroline was returned to him. He refused to leave her side for more than a minute a few days after they were reunited. Of course, that really meant just going back and forth from Elizabeth’s home to the hospital.

            Julia and Alfie didn’t want her living on her own for obvious reasons after the kidnapping. It was an adjustment period, and Caroline wasn’t sure how long it would last. Would things return to normal once Alfie was cleared to leave the hospital?

            Maybe things would never go back to the way they were. Not after such an event. And not since they were due to have a baby in less than six months.

            Since most of her days were sat in the hospital or at Elizabeth and Richard’s, Caroline had plenty of time to process what had happened and what was coming next.

            Alfie assured her that the men who had taken her would be dealt with accordingly. That’s all he had to say on the matter. He wasn’t going to tell his wife that two men were dead and the other two were tied up in the cellar of the bakery. Waiting until Alfie was back on his feet so he could kill them properly. A long, torturous, painful death seemed suitable.

            Some of his men had already roughed them up a bit to learn their motives. It was reported to Alfie that they were Italians although not officially linked to Sabini. Just a group of rabid young men who wanted the wealth and power that Darby had. Hoping to impress him, instead, they made a critical error. Even Sabini was wise enough to know that kidnapping Alfie Solomons’ blind wife was a huge mistake.

            Alfie understood that but wanted to make an example out of the rogue men. To let anyone, not just the Italians, that his family was not to be messed with.

             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

            “Elizabeth had Misty write some names down for me.” Caroline arrived one day with a piece of paper in her hand. She found her usual seat beside Alfie’s hospital bed and sat.

            “Names for what?” Alfie reached for his glasses. It seemed that the blindness in his left eye would be long-lasting, if not permanent. But he was coping. Some of the doctors or nurses would sympathize, expecting the man to be devastated with such a drastic change. Alfie would simply bark out a laugh and tell them that his wife had been born blind. Losing sight in one eye wasn’t the end of the world.

            He’d made a similar joke when he first got to see what the bullet had done to his face. He snorted and grimaced. “Well, at least me wife is blind so she won’t leave me for looking like this.”

            The nurse holding the mirror just gave an uncomfortable smile and checked his dose of pain medication to make sure he hadn’t been given more than was necessary.

             “Baby names.” Caroline set her purse down and instructed Pilot to lay down by her feet.

            “That right? Let’s have a look-see then.” He blinked a few times to clear up his vision. Losing half of his sight was still something he needed to get used to. Emotionally, he was just lucky the bullet hadn’t gone straight through his brain. It was easy for him to stand up, dust himself off, and resume life. But the physical limitations were a weight on him. Reading gave him a major headache, his depth perception was utterly fucked, and his right eye was still trying to adjust. But he tried not to confide these hardships to Caroline. It felt so silly complaining to her about being half-blind when she’d never seen the world. He felt it was like whining about losing a finger to someone who’d been born without arms.

            So he tried to convey that everything was just peachy.   

            “Zelda, yeah that’s our great-aunt’s name. James, mhm, Sarah, sure sure, Rose, Helen, Eva, Pearl, Georgia, hang on. She’s only listed one boys name, is this her way of telling us she wants it to be a girl?” He protested.

            Caroline giggled. “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.” She didn’t tell him that, yes, his cousin had been hoping for a girl.

            Alfie grunted. “Ah, now here is a proper Jewish name for a boy. Eli. Proper good name. Not like all these fucking modern names she’s written down.”

            “Did you want something more traditional?” She wondered.

            “Thing is, think me mum gave me a more Western name to fit in, yeah? That way, people wouldn’t be looking down on us even more. ‘Fucking Jews and their wild names, eh? We’re English, ain’t we?’. But I ain’t naming our child outta fear. Ifya like a British name, then that’s fine. But don’t want you to name our child outta fear. Not like our parents did. People are gonna call me kid what they were named whether they like it or not. They have an issue; they can come to me and I’ll give them a well-crafted history of the chosen people. None of this…this bullshit.”

            Caroline nodded slowly. She hadn’t considered his point of view before but did understand it. Knowing Alfie felt so strongly about it, she wanted to grant his wish. Besides, she wanted her child to have a meaningful name, not something that was following a trend. “So more traditional. I think we could find a beautifully Jewish name.” She murmured softly and plucked the paper from his hand. “Zelda is Yiddish. Eli is Hebrew. What else?”

            “I’d hafta think about it,” Alfie admitted. He was starting to get a headache from reading the names his cousin had picked.

            She took his hand in hers. “How are you feeling?”

            “Fine, should be about ready to get back home. Fucking sick of this hospital.” He mumbled and squeezed her hand.

            “I know. I want you home so badly.” She sighed. “I love Elizabeth and Richard but I miss being together, just us two.”  

            “You can admit it, Liz can be overbearing.” Alfie chuckled.

            “She is not! She’s wonderful and caring. But I miss being with you in our own home. I want to go back to Letwin or Margate.”

            “I do too.” He raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. “We are due to have a very well-deserved vacation.”

            “We can leave straight from here.” Caroline got swept up in the daydream of being whisked away to either of their homes outside of London. Spending quality time with the husband she thought she was going to lose.

            “Well, I’ve got a few things to wrap up here before we do.” He frowned.

            “Like what?”

            “Like loose ends that need dealing with.”

            A cold chill went down Caroline’s spine as she picked up on anger in his voice. “Alfie…whatever you’re planning I’d urge you to stop.”

            “Not planning anything, love.”

            “I know you’re planning.” She argued. “And you ought to tell me the truth.”

            Alfie sighed and rested his head back against the pillows propping him up. He made sure not to touch his face even though he wanted to rub his weary eyes. “There are two men that are still alive. Part of the group that took you.” He told her. “They’ll be my example to those fucking-” He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Caroline, I won’t rest until they pay and the message is well received.”

            She chewed on her lower lip. Part of her wanted the men punished. After all, they had no right to do what they did. However, she knew her husband’s form of punishment was very different from the legal system. And she just wanted the ordeal to be done with. Caroline thought because she was home safe, things were done.

            But of course, they weren’t. And she wasn’t sure if they’d ever be fully settled. Besides, this wasn’t an isolated matter. It was just a symptom of years of Darby and Alfie bickering and fighting back and forth.

            “Alfie, will you look at me?” She reached up to find his cheek.

            “I’m looking at you, love.” He replied quietly.

            “What will it take to get you to give this up?” She asked, her gray eyes pleading. “We’re expecting a child. I don’t want this to continue to interrupt our lives. You were almost killed…”

            “I know, Caroline, I know.” He swallowed and tried to listen with an open mind. Settling arguments with Darby was never easy, often times Alfie just didn’t want to stop fighting. He felt like the man deserved what was coming to him.

            “I can’t have this in my life, and I know you can’t for much longer. You need to settle things. I won’t ask you to change completely but I need to know that my family will be safe. Our family.”

            “I’ll work on it.” He promised, the words coming from his heart. She was right, he didn’t want their child to see the horrors he had to. That was the point of bringing up a child, wasn’t it? To love them and to give them a better life? “Things’ll change. They will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~           

            Alfie returned home much to his and Caroline’s relief. The hospital was becoming very depressing and made Alfie stir crazy.

            Cyril and Apollo went mad when he entered the flat. They nearly knocked him over as they jumped on him excitedly.

            “Alright, alright!” He exclaimed. “Don’t push me now.” He prodded them off and patted them both. “I missed ya mutts too.”

            Caroline laughed softly as Cyril whined. “They’ve been so lost without you. Kept following me around.”

            “Well, at least you had good company.” Alfie chuckled. “Want some tea, love? I need something to settle me head.”

            “Sure.” She let Pilot off his lead. “I’ll be in the sitting room.”

            “Right, just be a mo’.” Alfie went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He had to blink a few times to try and right his vision. He didn’t think his life would be too changed by the lack of eyesight. He could get around, right?

            However, he was given a nasty wakeup call when he tried pouring the hot water into cups. He was certain he had the spout over the cup, that’s what it looked like. But it turned out his depth perception was worse than he anticipated. Boiling hot water spilled out over the kitchen counter and burned his hand.

            “Fuck!” He hissed and haphazardly set the kettle back on the stovetop but missed by a couple of inches. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He went for the sink to put cold water on his hand. Reaching for the tap, he overshot and knocked a bar of soap into the sink. “Fuck!” He growled and tried again, this time grabbing air. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Third time he managed to get a hold of the faucet and turned on the water. It took a few tries to get his hand under the stream of cold water. The string of events boggled his mind. How could he be so deceived by his own sight?

            “Fuck.” He uttered one more time as the water soothed his burn.

            “Alfie?” Caroline called from the next room when she heard banging around. “Are you alright?”

            “Fine, love!” He replied.

            Unconvinced, Caroline walked into the kitchen. “Are you sure?”

            “Just burned me hand a bit.”

            “Did something spill?” She frowned as her stocking-covered foot stepped in a puddle on the tiles.

            “Yeah, just water. Tried pouring but-fuck-I dunno, guess I don’t see quite right with just one working eye.”

            “You’ll have to adjust, that’s all.” She soothed softly and grabbed a hand towel. She found the kettle and the teacups. “Watch.”

            Alfie turned off the tap and walked over. He watched carefully as she tapped the spout of the kettle to the bottom of the teacup before pouring. She kept the tip of her finger a half-inch from the rim. When the water touched her finger, she stopped.

            “It’s all about learning how to live in a world that wasn’t made for you.” She poured the second cup. “You’re clever, you’ll manage. But you need to be patient with yourself.” She set the kettle down and reached a hand to him.

            “Don’t have your sorta patience.” He mumbled sheepishly and took her hand.

            She pulled him close and kissed his cheek. “You’ll find it.” She promised. “But it won’t be easy. Still, I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

            “I fucking love you.” He murmured and kissed her properly.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​

Tag list: @zazasblogxx​ @thinkingsofamadwoman​ @deaflikehawkeye​ @bellarkebxtch​ @evelynshelby​

Masterlist 

[moiraineswife]

Knocking On Heaven’s Door - An Ineffable Husbands Fic

*blows dust off my ao3 account* I am Returned. This time ineffable flavoured. Thanks to the ineffable discord peeps for coaching me through this. U all know who u are <3 

Title: Knocking On Heaven’s Door 

Summary: The apocalypse is averted, but neither Crowley nor Aziraphale counted on one thing not even Agnes Nutter saw coming: Me. And my veritable mountain of angst. Crowley is hurt and sad. Aziraphale is indignant and comforting. H/C ensues. Tw: Eye horror. 

Teaser: “You are many, many things, Crowley,” he said, quietly, “But you have never, not even for a moment, in all the thousands of years I have known you, been cruel.”“

’S far as you know,” Crowley muttered, petulantly.

“I know,” Aziraphale said, calmly, refusing to rise to the obvious bait, “As surely as I know every inch, and every crinkled corner, of every page of my favourite book...I know.”  

Link: AO3 

“I hope that’s booze.”  

Logically, Aziraphale knew he couldn’t have a heart attack. Emotionally, he seemed to be experiencing one anyway.

It was almost quarter past nine on Tuesday, and it had been a pleasantly mild, affable night. Aziraphale, pouring over some of the new books Adam had left in the shop for him to uncover, had found the craving for hot chocolate becoming unbearable enough that it had torn him from his work.

He had then discovered he had no milk in the fridge. He could, of course, have made it with water but...He had standards, thank you very much.

So he had taken a short trot to the little corner shop in the next street, the opening hours of which were almost as unusual as his own, but by some little miracle not caused by him, always seemed to coincide with his schedule.

It had been, perhaps, fifteen minutes, all told, between his leaving and returning, and in that time, something had decided to take up residence on the low couch in the back room. Something that was shaped, and slouched, and sounded very much like-

“Crowley?” he ventured, taking a tentative step deeper into the shop and lowering the milk bottle, along with any delusion of it being an effective weapon against an intruder.

“Were you expecting someone else?” the lazy, achingly familiar, voice drawled from the shadows.

Aziraphale moved closer still and lit a lamp, one of the dimmer ones, out of consideration for the demonic nature and sensitive eyes of his guest, out of habit. And there he was. Crowley, in the flesh, sprawled on the couch in all his lanky glory, looking as though he’d been there all the time.

There was such a familiar rightness about the scene that it took Aziraphale a moment to recall his indignation.

It slammed into him, full force, like a very large freight train, as he remembered how wrong it had felt for so long without him.

“I was expecting you quite some time ago!” he blustered, his emotions a terribly complex cocktail of the type Crowley favoured, driving his voice several octaves higher than usual.

A part of him wanted to embrace the stupid, demonic fool out of sheer relief. He would be lying, which, as an angel, he tried not to do, if he said he hadn’t been concerned about him during his absence.  

But for all that, another part wanted to throw the milk bottle over him to make him react instead of sitting slouching there without an apparent care in the world.

Still another part was still quite tempted to drop the milk bottle all over the floor out of sheer shock.

And another part just wanted to collapse into the nearest chair and massage his temples while miracling up some very strong tea because it was all, frankly, just a little too much to take in.

He did none of that.

Instead he glared at Crowley, as much as he was able, he never felt his corporation quite had the face for glaring. No more than he had had the substance for it, if it came down to it. But for special occasions, he would make the effort.

Then he said, with as much indignation as he could muster, which he was actually quite impressed with, “It’s been nearly-“

“Yeah,” Crowley interrupted with that usual languid cool that Aziraphale normally found a soothing counterpoint to his own rather manic way of dealing with the world, but that right now as just downright infuriating. “Sorry about that. Had some stuff to do,” he said, vaguely.  

As far as apologies went, it was definitely bottom five. And there had been quite a lot of competition for those spots over the centuries.

Aziraphale swelled indignantly, like a very indignant bullfrog. 

“Stuff?” he repeated, with all the infuriated incredulity the angel Gabriel had directed at him once after learning he had used a, not entirely small, miracle to ensure that his favourite sushi restaurant didn’t close down.

“Crowley, I thought-“

“So, is it?” the demon interrupted, apparently not listening to a word Aziraphale was saying, or rather spluttering, at him.

“Is what- what?” Aziraphale said, thoroughly confused.

“That,” Crowley supplied, helpfully.

“Crowley-“ Aziraphale began in his best ‘you’re testing my patience, you stupid demon, just spit out what you’ve got to say so we can return to the little matter of your terrifying vanishing act’ voice.

“What you’re holding in your hand, angel,” he said, impatiently, as though he, Aziraphale, were the one being difficult in this scenario, “What you just went out and bought. Is it booze or what?”

“Actually, it’s milk,” Aziraphale replied, with dignity.

“Milk?” Crowley echoed flatly.

“Yes. I ran out, you see. And I was working, and I usually don’t want for much of anything when I’m working, especially if it’s a particularly good book, which this one was. But all of a sudden I had rather a strong craving for a mug of hot chocolate, but then I found I had no milk. And I could have used water but, well, I’m not an animal, so...“ Aziraphale babbled.

He was good at babbling. Probably too good at it, if truth be told. If there was a religious order that specialised in rambling, he felt sure he should join it. Not that there was ever likely to be anything quite as ridiculous as that, but one never knew.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice was screaming at him and demanding to know why he was justifying himself in this moment, but he wasn’t paying it too much attention.

“Right, yeah, ‘course,” Crowley muttered. “Some things don’t change, I guess, no matter what happens to the world.”

“Crowley-“ Aziraphale began, finally taking heed of that little voice and trying to drag the very resistant conversation back to the ground it should be on at present.

“Even after the apocalypse,” Crowley interrupted him.

Though, as interruptions tend to require the intent to speak over another person to silence them, he didn’t feel that was quite the correct word for what Crowley was doing.

Crowley didn’t seem to be very aware that Aziraphale was trying to ask him questions. Or that he was speaking to him. Or that he was speaking at all.

He simply mumbled on, barely aware that he was speaking for that matter.

“Crowley-“ Aziraphale tried again.

“Sort of apocalypse,” Crowley said, head bobbing vaguely.

“Crowley-“

“Not really apocalypse at all, since Adam fixed it, y’know.”

“Crowley, I-“

“Some things changed, I suppose,” he mumbled, “Some things changed a lot. But not you, eh, angel. You’ll always just be you. Ineffable and angelic and-“

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, loudly.

Crowley jerked as though he had just branded him with holy lightning. “Yeah?” he said, raising his sunglass covered face to him, “Sorry. Carried away.”

At last he managed to put down his milk bottle on a nearby table, or other convenient hard surface, of which there were many in his bookshop, by design.  He swept over to the couch Crowley was slouching in, and peered down at him.

Here, he consoled himself, definitely, solidly, here. Physically, anyway. Mentally, Crowley seemed to be somewhere else entirely, but that wasn’t altogether unusual for him.

“Crowley I, I-“ he stammered, but apparently, simply because he now had an opening to speak, it didn’t make the words any easier to say, “I thought that you were dead,” he finally managed to say, in a kind of strangled whisper, as though his throat resisted releasing the words until the very last second.

A half-smile twisted Crowley’s lips at that. Usually his smiles, even the wicked ones, were still tinged with enough humanity that they never appeared all that sinister at all.  And, in all their time together, Aziraphale had never seen one that even scratched the surface of what you might describe as demonic.

This, though...This was not a smile that he recognised. There was something dark in it, something hollow, and ancient, and twisted. He felt some part of himself turn cold in return.

Crowley cocked his head to one side and said, with an admirable attempt at his usual languid ease, which was undercut by the way he had smiled just now,“We can’t die, angel. Remember?”

“I- don’t you be flippant with me!” Aziraphale blustered in response, feeling this reprimand was not at all going the way it had in his head. There wasn’t an awful lot of reprimanding for a one thing. And for another, Crowley clearly wasn’t understanding just how serious this had been for him.

They had passed quite some time, long, dusty centuries even, in the past, where they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of each other but this...This was different. They were different now. Before they had always, ultimately, been working for their respective head offices, and the Arrangement they’d had had always been secondary to that.

Now...Well, now, they had foiled an apocalypse together. They were on their side, now. Wasn’t that what Crowley had insisted to him? Things had felt different, they had been different. He was sure of that.

And he had worried. Being worried was something of a natural state of being for Aziraphale. Even when there was nothing to conceivably be worried about at all, his mind found something, latched on, and made mountains out of molehills until he had something suitably distressing to fret over.

This had begun as a mountain and twisted into a veritable Everest after only a few days. By this point, it had turned itself into an earth-consuming, Satanic sized, world-ending volcano of a thing, and it had nearly been enough to discorporate him all over again.

So, with one thing and another, Crowley’s current lackadaisical attitude, while in many ways expected, wasn’t really cutting it at present.

“I thought something terrible had happened!” He burst out, no longer able to keep his emotions in check, “I thought they had done something dreadful to you, and that’s why you hadn’t come back. I thought you’d been discorporated into a thousand tiny pieces, which had then been scattered to all the worst, most terrible, most twisted, and God-forsaken, isolated places in heaven, hell, and the known universe, to force you to exist forever in perpetual torment and agony!”

“With an imagination like that, you could be a demon, Aziraphale. Sure you haven’t Fallen after our little adventure with the antichrist?” Crowley said, sardonically.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to snap back the reply that this deserved. But then he shut it. And shook his head. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and composed himself as much as he could.

Then he whispered out the final thought, which had been the worst of all, “I thought that I would never see you again, Crowley.”

A little desperation tinged his words, desperation to make the damned demon do something, say something, feel something. So Aziraphale didn’t feel like the greatest fool anyone had ever seen in six thousand years for caring about him.

He didn’t understand how Crowley could be so...So unconcerned, so unbothered by any of this. He knew that the demon liked to put on a front, to pretend ignorance, or obliviousness, or simply that he didn’t care about anything.

But Aziraphale knew him better than that. He knew that that was a front. He knew that the demon did care. He knew that, behind those serpent’s eyes, there was a good heart, and a good person. He knew Crowley...Didn’t he?

“Well,” Crowley said, at last, “Now you can.” He gestured vaguely at his form, slumped on the couch as he had been slumping in it since Aziraphale had first purchased it, “Sorry to disappoint and all that.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, slow breath, which was all that stood between Crowley and a bottle of now lukewarm milk being smashed over his head.

“Really, Crowley,” he said in exasperation, “Sometimes you can just be so, so, so-“

“Demonic?” Crowley supplied, helpfully.

“Stupid,” Aziraphale concluded, with an affected little shudder to appropriately punctuate the point.

There was a long pause, in which Aziraphale duly hoped that Crowley was considering his recent actions, feeling serious remorse for them, and that any moment now, an apology would be forthcoming. A proper apology, this time.

“Have you got anything to drink?” Crowley slurred, in a way that told him he’d already helped himself to a number of alcoholic beverages on his way over here.

“Have I-“ Aziraphale repeated faintly.

Sometimes, sometimes, Crowley really did test him, really did tempt him to commit all manner of unnameable, unthinkable sins. There many little dinners, for a start. The Arrangement, for another. Preventing the apocalypse. And, in this moment, putting his hands around his throat and throttling some sense into him.

But no. That wouldn’t do. It would not be very angelic of him. So he resisted. With difficulty, it should be noted.

Instead, Aziraphale took a deep breath, stalked purposefully back over to his milk and said, “I shall make us both a cup of tea, and then we will talk about this,” he said, in a tone that strongly implied, you see if we don’t.

“Not gonna lie,” Crowley called after him as he headed towards the kitchen, “I was kinda hoping for something a little stronger.”

“I think you’ve had more than enough already, to be frank,” Aziraphale replied, a little tartly.

“Glad to see the near end of the world hasn’t changed you at all, angel,” Crowley half-shouted bitterly as he retreated into the sanctity of the kitchen.

If only you knew, Crowley....If only you knew.

Aziraphale could, naturally, have used a fairly minor miracle to create them tea but...There was something so familiar, so oddly routine, and comforting, and human about the process of making tea, that he leaned into it, and allowed it to calm him.

When he returned to the living room with the two cups of tea on a tray with a small plate of biscuits to go with it – because he might be angry with Crowley at the moment, but he wasn’t a barbarian – the demon hadn’t seemed to have moved from his spot sprawled on the couch.

With the light flickering on his face as it was now, hollowing out his already gaunt cheeks, and casting deep, dark shadows across him, he almost seemed a corpse.

Aziraphale stuttered in the doorway for a moment, before he managed to step forwards and set the tea tray down feeling a little troubled, all the same.

In all the years he had known him Crowley had always been a being of intense, continual, restless energy. He had to be doing something. Mostly he had to be doing at least two things at once to be in any way satisfied.

Whenever Aziraphale had left him alone for longer than it took to, well, blink, he had usually found him pulling books from their proper places and rifling through them, simply because he could, or was bored, or couldn’t think of a reason not to. Typically a combination of all three.

He opened his mouth to remark on the strangeness of this, but was distracted by a dark smudge on one of the demon’s high cheekbones, and changed tact mid-breath.

“Oh, you have something on your face. Here, let me-“

He reached forwards without thinking, but Crowley raised a hand and brushed it away before he could get near enough to even consider touching him.

“Oil”, he muttered, as Aziraphale drew away, and tried not to let the strangely keen pang of hurt show on his face, “From the car. It’s acting up a little, since Adam fixed it, y’know.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, automatically, internally cursing himself for not sticking to what he had practiced in the kitchen – firm, stern, committed to his indignation.

“What for?” Crowley asked, frowning.

“The car. I know Adam sorted it out for you, just as he sorted out my bookshop,” he looked fondly around at the place, “But I know how much you loved it just as it was.”

“Demons don’t love things, angel,” Crowley replied, harshly, “Kinda the point.”

“All the same,” Aziraphale said, gently, refusing to be baited into an argument of this sort again.  

He had long ago learned not to try and correct Crowley when he spoke like this. It did neither of them any good.

Aziraphale had long since suspected that Crowley’s Fall still caused him pain, even to this day. He had never fully embraced his new role as a demon. There just wasn’t enough difference for him between angels and demons to ever accepted that he was completely one, or completely the other.

But sometimes he snarled, viciously, the truth of his being, as if to remind himself what he was supposed to be, and to reprimand himself for not doing it properly.

Aziraphale had always considered that conflict, tragic as it was, one of Crowley’s greatest qualities. For at the centre of that conflict lay his heart, always at war with his nature.

“You heard from your side recently?” Crowley asked unexpectedly after some time, during which he hadn’t so much as looked at his tea, which had caused Aziraphale to purse his lips at the distinct lack of manners on show, even for a demon.  

“No, I haven’t,” Aziraphale replied primly, sipping his tea pointedly and frowning slightly.

When last they had spoken, Crowley had insisted that neither of them had sides any more. They were simply on their own side.

He shifted into a more comfortable position and then said, “Have you?”

“Nah,” Crowley shrugged with characteristic nonchalance.

Aziraphale relaxed again, though with a slight nagging continuing to badger him all the same.

“Out of sight out of mind, I suppose,” Crowley mumbled, more to himself than to Aziraphale.

He still hadn’t touched his tea.

Aziraphale frowned slightly, and set his down on its saucer with a little more force than was strictly necessary, so it made an audible and insistent little tinkling sound to remind Crowley of his own.

“So,” he said, when it seemed blindingly obvious Crowley was content to sit in languid silence, staring vaguely into space, not addressing the planet-sized elephant in the room between them. “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?”

Crowley sneered with such unexpected venom that Aziraphale started in surprise, “Since when we do we do that?” he demanded.

Since, but for us, the entire world almost ended. Since we cut ourselves off from our people, and everything we’ve known for six thousand years to do what we both felt was right, leaving us alone in this world, devoid of understanding, compassion, or aid, save for each other.

That was what Aziraphale thought.

What he actually said, rather lamely, was, “Well, you haven’t been around for some time, you know.”

He forced the words to be slow, and measured, forcing a control he certainly didn’t feel in this moment.

He had also tried to inject them with Crowley’s casual coolness, too, but he felt that was stretching the bounds of reality to a point even Adam couldn’t have managed, and gave up half-way through.

“Is it that unusual I might be curious, or even, dare I say it, a trifle worried about your whereabouts?” he demanded. Crowley said nothing, and now feeling rather foolish, he added, “Particularly after recent events I should add!”

Sarcasm was now starting to do rather more than tinge his words. It was oozing into them, filling up the gaps between the words, dripping between the contours of the letters. He did try not to lower himself to such things too often but, well, sometimes one just didn’t have a choice in present company.

Then there were the words themselves, which were definitely starting to run away with him. And he wanted to stop them, he did, he didn’t want to accost Crowley like this, that had never been his intention.

Only, well, now it was happening, and his voice was rising, and he was getting to his feet without ever telling his feet to get him, and he was ranting, yes, definitely ranting now, and a part of him didn’t care because, blast it all, it felt good after all this time.

“I had no idea where you were! You could have been anywhere! Anywhere! Heaven, or Hell, or some other forsaken place in between! I didn’t know when I would see you again. I didn’t know if I ever would see you again!”

He was breathing hard now, as though he had just run a race, but Crowley just continued to sit there, face perhaps a little tighter than it had been before, a muscle twitching in his jaw. But still, resolutely, saying nothing.

When he spoke at last, there was a cold, empty bitterness in his voice Aziraphale had never heard there before, “Thought you’d finally gotten rid of me, did you?” he asked.

This was so unexpected, so utterly, completely impossible to have foreseen that Aziraphale simply stared at him, mouth slightly open, eyes popping, as he continued, “Or maybe hoped-“

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, the bite in Crowley’s voice more than sharp enough to pull him unceremoniously from his state of temporary dumbfounded shock, “Crowley, I would never, I-“

“That’s the trouble with me, see,” Crowley said, thickly, his head lolling rather alarmingly on his neck as he fixed Aziraphale with a terrible grin, “I’m like a bad penny. I just keep turning up.”

“You, you shouldn’t say things like that,” Aziraphale said quietly, utterly thrown by the way this conversation was going, which was not at all what he’d anticipated or prepared himself for in the kitchen.

“What?” Crowley demanded harshly, “The truth, you mean? Thought that’s what your lot were all supposed to be about- The truth.”

“The truth can be....brutal, sometimes,” Aziraphale said carefully, “And cruel.”

“Right, well, that’s my department covered then, isn’t it? Is that what you mean?”

“No! Don’t twist my words in a way you know I would never use them,” Aziraphale said sharply, frown deepening.

Something was wrong. He had known it from the moment he spotted Crowley sprawled there on his couch but...Now he knew it.

“You are many, many things, Crowley,” he said, quietly, “But you have never, not even for a moment, in all the thousands of years I have known you, been cruel.”

“’S far as you know,” Crowley muttered, petulantly.

“I know,” Aziraphale said, calmly, refusing to rise to the obvious bait, “As surely as I know every inch, and every crinkled corner, of every page of my favourite book...I know.”  

Crowley said nothing to that, he just swayed slightly in his corner, expression curiously blank.

Aziraphale folded his hands neatly in his lap then examined them as he added, quiet but audible, “And, just for the avoidance of any and all doubt, you are, you know.”

“Am what? A demon? I’d spotted that for myself, thanks.”

“Wanted,” Aziraphale murmured softly. “You will always be wanted by me. And you will always be welcome here,” he said, firmly. “No matter what you may have done, or what may have happened. Always. Unconditionally. Eternally.”

Crowley was silent for a long moment, then he frowned slightly and hissed, “What are you getting at, angel?”

“Something is wrong,” Aziraphale said, simply.

He hadn’t wanted to address things quite so directly, but it seemed he now had no choice.

“Nothing is wrong,” Crowley jeered, in mocking mimicry of Aziraphale, waving his hand.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that it trembled slightly.

“Something is wrong with you,” he pressed, firmly.

Crowley snorted, “There’ve been a lot of things wrong with me for about six thousand years,” he said, sardonically, “Have you just noticed?”

“You are out of sorts, you have been all night,” Aziraphale continued doggedly, refusing to be derailed now that he had started. “This is not- This is not like you, Crowley. Not at all.”

“Maybe it is,” the demon ventured, a cruel twist to his lips as he said it.

“It isn’t,” Aziraphale said, firmly.

If he knew anything in this strange new world of theirs, he knew that.

“Well maybe you just don’t know me as well as your precious old books!” Crowley hissed, baring his teeth at Aziraphale.

“You see!” Aziraphale erupted in frustration, “This is precisely what I’m talking about!”

Crowley suddenly surged to his feet and Aziraphale, startled, took a little step backwards.

He swayed a little unsteadily then said, thickly, “Aizraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?” he replied, a little uncertainly.

“Go fuck yourself,” the demon spat.

He flicked his fingers in a vicious little movement, and the cup of still undrunk tea shot from the table like a bullet and smashed against the wall.

Aziraphale gave a little gasp as Crowley pushed past him, heading for the door, his shoulders hunched. Too stunned to do anything, Aziraphale simply stood, staring at the shattered remnants of his favourite tea cup lying amidst the slowly spreading pool of overly milky-tea he’d teased Crowley gently about for centuries.

He looked up at the sudden banging sound, which was all the warning he had to realise that Crowley had collapsed to the floor and was now shaking.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, dropping down beside him and reaching out a trembling hand, “Crowley, what-“

He broke off, breath catching in his chest like a fly in a cobweb.

Something dark was trickling from beneath the lenses of Crowley’s glasses. It was black. Black like the ink that gave life to his beloved books and black like, like-

“Crowley-“ he whispered hoarsely.

The tips of his fingers brushed Crowley’s cheek, so gentle, so tentative, as though he were the one that was holy, and Aziraphale feared to sully him with a touch, feared it may crumble him into nothing. And just like that he would be gone again. And Aziraphale would be alone again. And that was a terror worth Falling a hundred times to avoid, but-

“We can’t die,” Crowley breathed softly, panting, as the ribbon of black wound its way down his cheek like a tear. “But we can wish we could.” Something in Aziraphale’s chest stuttered, and died. “We can still hope for it, angel,” Crowley continued, his words slurred, not with drink, he realised, belatedly, but with pain. “We can beg for it. We can pray for it.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, shaking his head weakly, the last efforts of a dying man trying to rid himself of the flies that called for his end.

Crowley shuddered, “But we can’t die, angel. For all our miracles, and all our power, all our divine origins...It’s the only thing we can never have.”

He didn’t want to hear this. He couldn’t stand to hear it. He had wanted explanation from Crowley, but he had wanted to tell him he’d gotten drunk in Paris a month ago and lost track of time until he sobered up. He didn’t want this. It couldn’t be this.

But he couldn’t stop him. He had never been able to stop him. For six thousand years he had drunk in the words of this demon when he knew he shouldn’t, when he knew that it could corrupt his angelic soul and damn him for all eternity.

But it had never felt like damning. It had never felt like corruption. It had felt as though his soul had been the blank pages, and Crowley’s words had inscribed themselves, each one, upon it. He was a part of him, now. He had woven himself into the fabric of his being from the moment he had slithered up beside him in Eden.

After all, a book without words was as pointless as a pen with no paper, as pointless as a teapot without tea, as pointless as good without the balance of evil...As pointless, in fact, as an angel without his demon.

So he asked. Though it broke him. Though it shattered him in a way no discorporation ever had. He asked him.

“Crowley, my dear boy, what did they do to you?”

Crowley couldn’t speak. He tried. He opened his mouth, but for once, no words dripped like honey from that easy serpent’s tongue of his.

Aziraphale didn’t need them to. He never really had. When you knew someone as long as they had, there were some things that didn’t need to be put into words to be known.

His hands curiously steady, for they needed to be, he needed to be, in this moment, Aziraphale reached up and placed his hands gently on Crowley’s glasses.

They were his shield, he knew. The great lie he told the world. There was a vulnerability to him without them. He seemed more naked, fully clothed, without them, than he ever could have standing in nothing but his skin with them.

He paused, trembling, and waited until he got the jerky nod of approval from Crowley before he gently slid them free, folded them up, and laid them down as tenderly as he would a baby bird.

“Look at me,” he whispered softly, sliding a finger beneath Crowley’s chin and encouraging him, gently, oh so gently. “Please, Crowley.”

Crowley, breathing heavily, did as he was bid, raised his head from the pool of shadow that had been his last protection against the horror of reality.

Aziraphale felt his stomach clench, and then turn.

He had known it. He had known it from the first moment he saw Crowley sitting there, somehow, he had known it. But that didn’t make it any easier to witness.

Where once his eyes, his beautiful, bright eyes, like glowing stars in a world of darkness had been, now there was nothing. Nothing at all. Two gaping black holes that silently wept black blood and mourned their own passing.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered as he collapsed down onto the floor beside him, trying desperately to control himself for Crowley’s sake.

Even though all he wanted to do was cry, and fold him into his arms, and sob until there was nothing left of either of them.

Even though all he wanted was to rage, and storm the gates of Hell and rain holy water down upon them like a hurricane the likes of which had never been known before, until there was nothing left of them. Until he had obliterated it all so thoroughly that the mere memory of Hell was erased from the minds of anyone who had heard of it, and was wiped out from the pages of books that had once held its foul name.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had to be strong, and he had to be here. Crowley needed him.

“Crowley,” he whispered, pain stretching every syllable of the word.

“Don’t,” Crowley mumbled, shrugging away from him, hunching in on himself, “If I wanted your pity, I’d ask for it.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to deny that he’d been feeling any such thing. Then he closed it again. Angels weren’t supposed to lie, after all...

“Crowley,” he whispered, voice suddenly hoarse, throat tight from his attempts to restrain his emotions, his body shaking for the same reason,“Crowley, you must let me put this right.”

The demon made a small noise of disbelief in the back of his throat, and Aziraphale couldn’t blame him.

He had failed him. He had not been there when this had happened, when he had been taken. If he had, perhaps he might have stopped it, perhaps he might have stopped them when they’d come for him, kept him safe, and-

No.

No had he been there he would have stopped it.

He would have stopped it, and reminded the filthy demons that would do this to him why they should never have so much as looked at his Crowley in a way that might even consider harm to him.

He would have reminded them why he had been given charge of the Eastern Gate of Eden. He would have reminded them why he had been entrusted with that flaming sword. He would have reminded them why Heaven had won the first war and that, just because he was an angel, that most certainly didn’t mean he didn’t know how to hurt. He did. And he would.

The only pity would have been that there would have been nothing left of them afterwards to remind the others.

“You can’t, angel,” he muttered bitterly, shaking his head.

“I can try,” Aziraphale replied firmly.

“I have,” Crowley spat out, hunching in on himself again with a look of pure self-disgust at, what he perceived, as the weakness that confession implied. “I have tried. I’ve tried everything, I- It- It’s hopeless,” he finished, shaking his head, still trembling uncontrollably. “They told me,” he choked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “They told me I could try everything, could try it for another six thousand years, and it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“You haven’t tried what I can do,” Aziraphale said, as gently as he could, holding his tongue with difficulty on the fact that of course the demons would lie to him about something like this, just to further hurt him. “You couldn’t have. Perhaps- They could make insurances against your power, as it mirrors their own, but not against mine.”

Crowley shook his head again, but he didn’t speak, and there was, perhaps, a faint glimmer of hope in him now, that had not been there a moment ago.

“Please, Crowley,” Aziraphale said trying, and failing, to stop his voice from cracking, “You must let me try. You must.”

It was selfish, a part of him knew, and the other part hated him for it.  

Oh he wanted to help Crowley, of course he did. But he also wanted to do something about the abyss of guilt that was opening up within his heart and burrowing straight down into the depths of his soul.

He had let this happen. He had not been careful enough, not watchful enough. He had not been there for him when this happened. Crowley had been forced to go through it alone. And now, in the aftermath, Aziraphale felt a compulsion so powerful it might destroy him if not relieved, to help, to do something, to fix him.

He always had.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, watched the hope, the faint, terrible glimmer of it, flicker to life in him, like the embers of a fire that still glowed even after it had been doused.

Then, just as suddenly, he watched them die.

“You can’t angel,” he said again, shaking his head more firmly this time, fists clenched tight as if to stop himself begging for it.  

“You can’t possibly know that!” Aziraphale burst out with desperate impatience.

“I dunno if it’ll fix me,” Crowley bit out, his own temper flaring, “But I know your lot aren’t going to like you using a miracle this big on a demon,” he spat out the word as though it were poison. Then he continued, more flatly, “They’ll come for you, angel. And I’ve got enough to deal with it without adding that to the list.”

It would have hurt less if he’d stabbed him.

Crowley turned away, shaking his head, defeated, certain he knew precisely how Aziraphale would respond.

And for six thousand years before this very moment, he would have been right.

Even after everything that had happened, everything they had gone through, everything they had done, he had still not fully chosen a side. Not truly. Not in his heart.

He would have agreed with him.

He would have hurt, and he would have hated himself, and he would have been wracked with guilt about it for several centuries. But he would have remained on the fence. Trying to have his cake and eat it as it were. Not committing. Not choosing.

He chose now.

“Let them,” he said, very quietly.

Crowley started, “What?” he said, sounding a little dazed.

“Let them come,” Aziraphale said, more firmly, “Let them come, and let them try to stop me.”

Crowley was staring at him, mouth slightly open as Aziraphale swallowed and averted his eyes, sitting up a little straighter.

That had been frighteningly easy. He meant it. They both knew that he meant every breath of it. And it should have scared him, it should have terrified him but...But it didn’t.

In the moment, it seemed as though he had only just chosen, and the moment was suitably momentous for that.

But in truth, he had chosen years ago. Centuries, if truth be told.

“So,” he said, firmly, clasping his hands neatly together in his lap, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t beating so hard and fast it felt as though it might explode at any moment,“What do you say?”

At last, Crowley gave a shaky nod of consent, “Can’t do any harm, I guess,” he said, with an awful attempt at nonchalance, as though it didn’t really matter to him whether Azirphale tried or not, outlined by a poignant, desperate hope that Aziraphale felt radiating through the shattered remnants of the thing that had once been his heart.

“Just, just as long as you’re sure, angel,” he added softly, “There might not be any going back after this.”

“I’m sure,” Aziraphale said, softly, “I am surer on this than I have ever been of anything in my life, I promise you.”

Crowley reached out clumsily, found Aziraphale’s hand, and squeezed it once.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, briskly, pushing himself to his feet and trying to push away his mounting emotions with action.

He knelt down, lifted Crowley carefully to his feet, apologising softly as he winced. The he guided him back to the couch he had recently vacated.

Crowley collapsed down with his usual inelegance, leaving Aziraphale to kneel down primly in front of him.

“I’m going to put my hands on your temples now,” he said, quietly, and caught Crowley’s sharp nod of confirmation that he had heard and consented.

Aziraphale gently laid the tips of his fingers on either side of Crowley’s ravaged eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared himself. It had been quite a while since he had done this. Or at least, since he had done anything quite as, quite as bad as this.

“I, I’m going to begin now,” he warned him, “This may sting a little.”

Crowley let out a soft snort of derisive laughter at that.

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale began softly chanting, his eyes half-closed, focusing, channelling every bit of power at his disposal into the healing, chanting softly under his breath as he did so.

Once or twice he felt Crowley twitch beneath him, but the demon did not pull away, and as he finished, letting his eyes flutter open properly, he could see a bright light flickering within the empty holes where Crowley’s eyes had once been.

 He could see it shaping into eyes, taking cues from Crowley’s body, and mind, and memory, as to what had once been there, putting right what had been lost. He could see them becoming clearer, sharpening, focusing, solidifying-

Then Crowley screamed.

He screamed as though Aziraphale had just shot holy water directly into his veins.

As Aziraphale watched, petrified, he slid from the couch, trembling and clutching his head, still screaming, and screaming, and screaming.

It was the worst sound Aziraphale had ever heard in six thousand years. Worse than the first war between Heaven and Hell, worse than any atrocity he’d ever experienced on Earth, worse than anything he could ever have imagined.

Until it stopped.

The silence that followed was more devastating than the end of the world could ever have been, and every part of him became cold as death in answer.

Crowley’s body trembled. Aziraphale felt his very existence shiver, and he knew that he had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Crowley had come to him after, after what they had done to him. Because of course he had. Because that was what he did. It was what they both did. They came to each other when they needed someone most.

And they would have known that. Those demons that had done this to him. Of course they would have known that. And of course they would have set things up so that when he inevitably tried to heal him, instead he would, he would-

Oh God. Oh God. Oh-

“Aziraphale-“ Crowley rasped, one hand reaching out blindly, desperately, seeking for him, an anchor amidst the storm tossed seas of his fear, which was palpable.

The angel dropped down beside him and took his hand. Then decided, to Hell with it, and he simply drew the demon into his lap, cradling his body, not sure which of them was shaking more in this moment.

“I feel strange, angel,” Crowley whispered, gazing blindly upwards as though he could suddenly see more than he ever could before. “I feel...I feel...cold,” he frowned slightly, as though he’d just realised the absurdity of what he’d said. Demons were creatures fuelled by hellfire, they did not get cold. Not unless-

“I don’t think I’ve been cold since I, since I-“

He broke off and convulsed in Aziraphale’s arms and in that moment he felt sure – with the kind of burst of blinding certainty that comes with the kind of horrific revelations that leave permanent scars upon the soul – that this would not be a mere discorporation. This had been designed for Crowley to-

“No!” he burst out, giving him a little shake, which was decidedly not something he had ever been taught when he learned healing rituals, but seemed to have the desired effect on Crowley all the same. “No, Crowley I, I forbid this, I absolutely forbid it,” he choked, because if he forbade it absolutely there was no way it could happen.  

“Do you- Do you hear me, Crowley?” he demanded sharply, the effect somewhat ruined by the way his voice broke on his name. “I forbid you, I forbid you to die on me.” He carded his fingers through the demon’s thick red hair, barely knowing what he was doing or saying, “Not now,” he breathed, tears dampening his eyes, “Not after everything.”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted hoarsely, stirring slightly, “We can’t die, ‘member?”

“Then I forbid you to leave me!” Aziraphale snapped, half-terrified, half-frustrated that, even on the edge of discorporation, the demon was the most vexing creature he’d ever come across in over six thousand years, and entirely overwhelmed. “In any way. At any time. For any reason! Because I can’t- I won’t- I, I refuse to do this without you, Crowley!”

Crowley stilled, and Aziraphale felt the shadow of death whisper on the back of his neck like a cold breeze.

“Crowley!” he cried in desperation.

Aziraphale’s wings burst from his back in his panic, sending books and papers scattering over the floor. In some distant, inconsequential place, he had the shattering of his own teacup.

“Crowley, no! Stay with me now, come on, stay with me. Oh God. Oh God please. Please don’t take him from me. Crowley, Crowley please don’t leave me. Please. Oh what have I done?” he rasped, tears flooding from his eyes as he gripped the demon close to him, as though he thought to fuse them together and keep him safe within his soul. “What have I done? Oh Crowley, Crowley, Crowley-“

Crowley made a soft, muffled sound against Aziraphale’s waist coat, and Aziraphale started, drawing back slightly and peering down at him with streaming eyes.

“Crowley?” he whispered in disbelief.

“Untwist your knickers, angel,” Crowley ground out with characteristic tact, “’M alright.” He patted Aziraphale vaguely on the back and repeated, a little more firmly, as though he knew Aziraphale hadn’t quite taken it in, “’M alright, angel.”

Oh.

Now that he looked at him properly he realised that, by some miracle or other, he rather did seem to be alright. He felt heat and colour flood his cheeks

Aziraphale felt as though he had just aged another six thousand years within the span of around six seconds.

He closed his eyes and deflated dramatically, “Oh thank-“

“Language,” Crowley intoned.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale replied, automatically.

“Fuck” Crowley groaned, shifting uncomfortably in Aziraphale’s arms, “Promise you’ll never do this to me again, angel. It’s more painful than watching you do your magic act.”

Aziraphale snorted, rather inelegantly, through his tears, and hastily wiped his nose.

Crowley frowned up at him, face scrunching, “Angel, are you crying?” he demanded.

“No!” Aziraphale cried, indignantly, “I most certainly am not.”

“You are,” Crowley crowed, with rather indecent delight, given the circumstances.

“I, I-“ Aziraphale blustered, “For God’s sake, Crowley! I thought I had just killed you! I’m sure that in my position you might be a little, well, distressed, too!”

Crowley seemed to seriously consider this for a moment. Then he said, easily, “Nah, wouldn’t be that bothered to be honest.”

“Oh shut up!” Aziraphale snapped, but with a certain level of affection.

Crowley wheezed with laughter. Then just wheezed and began hacking and spluttering in Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale, because he was an angel after all, patted him on the back and miracled him up a glass of water.

Aziraphale pulled him a little closer, running his fingers absently through his hair, thinking a number of decidedly unangelic thoughts about what he would like to do to the demons responsible for this whole affair.

Finally, Aziraphale decided that the universe had reached a balance between Crowley’s general well-being, and his shredded nerves. So he scooped the demon up, steered him back to his couch, deposited him there (gently), then moved towards the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Crowley demanded, something that almost sounded like fear bleeding into his words, one hand half-raised, fingers brushing at the hem of his sleeve.

“Don’t let this go to your head now, dear,” he said, “But I’ve decided you were right. We need something decidedly stronger than tea.”

He returned some time later, rather longer than it should have taken to fetch two glasses and fill them with wine, during which he composed himself as much as he could.

Crowley was still sitting where he had left him, looking only mostly dead now, as opposed to utterly.

Aziraphale gently tapped him on the shoulder with his glass, and waited patiently as he fumbled a little before taking it from him.

He took a long gulp, then considered, as Aziraphale sat primly down on the chair opposite him, and sipped his wine a little more slowly.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to comment on the vintage and the unusual flavours of this bottle of wine in particular that had been lurking in the back of his shop for quite some time now.

But Crowley said, a little thickly, “Six thousand years. Figure I’ve seen pretty much everything there is to see. ‘S no great loss really, is it?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and bit his lip until it was painful to force himself to control his emotions.

“Crowley, I am so-“ he began, shakily.

“Don’t,” Crowley interrupted him, a bite of impatience in his voice.

“What?”

“Apologise.”

“But my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs softly, unable to stop himself, “What they’ve done to you, I-“

“Wasn’t your fault,” Crowley said, gently.

Somehow, the words didn’t sound mechanical, or knee-jerk, or forced, or even bitter. Instead, there was an aching softness to them, a warmth there has no right to be a...A deep sincerity.

Aziraphale knew, in that moment, that he had heard more truth spilled from his demon’s lips than all the angels of Heaven had ever spoken in their holy immortal lives. Or likely ever would.

And so he spoke his truth. Because fair was fair. And because he couldn’t stop the words from coming.

“It should have been me,” he whispered, hoarsely, trembling, “I should have been there. I should have been punished, too.”

Crowley frowned, frowned the same way he had that time they had both gotten extremely drunk together, around 1932, and he had asked Crowley, jokingly, how long they’d been on Earth together in seconds.

The poor dear had looked so thoroughly confused, and in the end, had broken down sobbing, saying he couldn’t do maths quickly enough because there were always more seconds adding on all the time and he could never count them all.

His face was a perfect mirror of that confusion in this moment, too.

“Good would that have done?” he demanded, finally.

Then he shook his head and taking another swig of wine, as though that would be the end of that conversation.

“I was responsible too,” Aziraphale croaked, unable to find any levity in the matter whatsoever. “Any punishment should have been shared equally between us. The burden should not have been placed entirely upon your shoulders.”

“It’s not as though you asked them to just punish me and leave you out of it. And-“ he added forcibly, voice rising along with a stern finger to silence Aziraphale. Even though he could no longer see him, he seemed to have been able to sense the impending interruption all the same. “Pretty sure I tempted you into it, technically, so you know...”

Aziraphale laughed at that. It was a hollow, bitter thing, and it echoed off all the harsh truths Heaven had carved into him over the years.

“What a mockery they have made of us,” he said, darkly, “When a demon has to tempt an angel into doing the right thing.”

He shook his head, and downed the rest of his wine. He was going to need to open another bottle soon, they were getting through it rather quickly. And with good reason.

“’M glad you’re okay,” Crowley said, so quietly, Aziraphale almost missed it.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale said, with impulsive politeness, quite sure he’d misheard.

“I’m glad that they didn’t hurt you,” Crowley repeated, more loudly this time.

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply mouthed at Crowley like a stunned goldfish.

Then Crowley suddenly let out an almost hysterical little laugh, that just as quickly choked and died, rising as what he might have sworn was a muffled sob. He took another long swig of wine, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then turned a tortured face to Aziraphale. It took everything in him not to rush forwards and embrace him.

“When my lot took me, I figured your lot had come for you, too,” Crowley said, suddenly, with the inexorable forward motion of a train that has come off the rails, doesn’t know how to get back on them, and cannot stop, so must plough resolutely on and hope for the best.

“I thought that was it. We were both done. No more tricks, no more games, no more chances just- Over.”

Aziraphale stared at him, quiet, gripping his now empty wine glass so tightly he feared it might shatter. But he didn’t really care.

He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t think he could stand to hear it. But he couldn’t not. Crowley needed to say it, and he needed someone to listen, needed someone to share this burden with. And Aziraphale would not, could not turn him away when he needed him.

“All those films humans make, they always say in them that when you’re about to die, you think of all the things you should have done. All the things in your life you would have done you never did, or all the things you would have changed, but I never did.”

“What-“ Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again, “What, what did you think of?”

Crowley raised his hollowed, empty eyes to him and said, simply, “You.”

Aziraphale nearly dropped the wine glass he was holding. Something, luck, demonic miracle, divine intervention, stopped him.

“I thought of, of all the stupid stuff. Stuff I didn’t even think would matter all that much at the time. But stuff that made me...made me happy. Made me feel like me. D’you know what I mean?”

Aziraphale nodded, then he, he remembered, and managed to rasp out, “I, I think I do.”

“Rain storms in Eden,” Crowley said, a faint smile daring to tug at the corner of his mouth, “Shakespeare in the globe. Jail cells in Paris. Ducks in St James’ park.” He swallowed, throat bobbing, and went on, more softly, “I dunno why that’s what I thought of. I dunno what good it did but...I think it was right. That at the end, it was you and me, the way it was at the start. And I guess, if the humans are right...It just shows that...I did the right thing. That, demon or not...We did the right thing.”

Aziraphale couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe, either. The fact that he didn’t, technically speaking, need to, shouldn’t be considered when determining his emotional state.

“And I figured, one way or another, however it happened, I’d never see you again,” Crowley said, his voice something that resembled more half-whisper than speech, now. “Guess I was right. Even if it didn’t happen the way I thought it would,” he said, gesturing towards his ruined eyes with a stab at black humour.

Aziraphale closed his own with despair.

“That’s the hardest part, y’know,” he mumbled, “It’s not the car, or the driving, or the humans and whatever weird shit they’ll come up with next. It’s not even my plants.. It’s you.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, with a near-hysterical little laugh of incredulity, “You’ve seen me for six thousand years. I don’t think you’ll forget what I look like it- It’s not so bad as all that, surely?” he said, with a false optimism that sounded hollow even to his ears.

“But that’s what I was most afraid of. In that moment. When it was-“ he swallowed, “When it was happening.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to leap from his chair and seize Crowley’s hand and hold it tight, as if that would stop the hurting, with great difficulty. “And I realised...I realised afterwards that I was right.”

Aziraphale stared at him. He could breathe now. But he didn’t dare to. This moment felt holy, sacred, to interrupt it with anything, even the faintest breath, would have been sacrilege.

“They were right, too,” he continued, “They knew just how to torture me. Now I’ll never get to see you again, all big eyes and flapping hands ‘cause I drive too fast. Or how pleased you look when they remember at that little cafe down the street that you don’t like your beans touching your toast, ‘cause you’ll never ask. Or that little smile on your face when you read your favourite part of your favourite book for the hundredth time or-“ he took a deep breath, as though his brain had caught up with what his mouth was saying, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue.

But then he did.

Almighty be praised. He did.

“Or the way,” he said, so softly, “The way you look whenever you look at me.”

“Crowley-“ Aziraphale began, voice strangled.

“Don’t,” Crowley interrupted him, and he sounded so broken, and so divine, all at once, that he found he couldn’t speak. “Even if I can’t ever see it again, I know, I know what I’ve seen before.” He raised his head, and somehow found Aziraphale, pinned him with that empty stare and said, “I know you, too, angel. And I know...I know how you’ve looked at me when you thought I couldn’t see. I know...Don’t I?” he breathed.

Those last words sounded like a prayer.

Crowley hadn’t prayed for six thousand years. Since before his Fall. And now here he was, metaphorically on his knees, praying for him.

And just like that, Aziraphale felt himself fall.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like damnation. It didn’t feel as though his soul was burning in the unearthly fires of Hell. It didn’t feel wrong, or traumatising, or like the death he never thought he could know as an immortal but for that.

It felt like coming home.

And so he said, soft, and gentle, and right, “Yes, my dear. You do.”

Crowley sat and stared at him with pure awe on his face. In all the years he’d known him, Aziraphale had never seen that expression before, and had never thought to see it either.

But in this moment, with adoration carved into his features as if by God herself, the candlelight gilding him with a radiant warmth, Aziraphale knew, somehow, that this was how Crowley had looked when he’d painted the stars onto the empty canvas of the night sky.

And he knew, with just as much inexplicable certainty, that that was where he belonged.

Aziraphale was never conscious of moving. He never gave his body instructions to go to Crowley. Yet suddenly, he was there, right beside him, Crowley’s face cradled gently, so gently, in his hands.

And he knew, with a deep, absolute certainty that radiated from his soul, that this was where he belonged.

How absurd, for an angel to belong with a demon. But it wasn’t absurd at all. It was right. Neither could exist without the other. That was the fundamental truth of good and evil. You couldn’t have one without the other. Two sides of the same coin, so to speak. They were both wholly necessary to the other’s existence. They had been for six thousand years and, Aziraphale felt quite certain, would continue to be for another six thousand.

The ball of his thumb traced lightly over the smooth angle of Crowley’s cheekbone, like a sculptor marvelling at his life’s greatest achievement.

And it was.

Six thousand years this moment had been in the making. For six thousand years, every breath they had drawn, every step they had taken, every word that had slipped past their lips had done so to bring them here.

They had carved this moment out from a universe that had never wanted it. With blood, and sweat, and tears, they had made it happen anyway.

Six thousand years.

Six thousand years for a single touch.

It was worth it.

Every single, interminable, ineffable second was worth it for this moment. To be able to touch him like this, skin against skin, their truths laid bare at last, their hearts held out in their hands. It felt rather as though his soul had just brushed against Crowley’s soul, in the most perfect collision since the Creation.

Aziraphale was an angel. He had been made from Heaven, made by God’s own hands, an instrument of Her will, a sliver of her own self.

But not until this moment had he truly understood the meaning of divinity.

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, sounding quite drunk, though he’d barely had a single glass of wine, “I can taste what you had for lunch right now. That better mean you’re about to kiss me.”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh and shook his head, a smile blossoming across his lips, “You are incorrigible, you know.”

“Demon,” Crowley reminded him in a low hiss, baring his teeth in a terrible grin that immediately made Aziraphale want to kiss it off his stupid handsome face.

“Yes, you are,” Aziraphale agreed, fondly, thumb gently stroking his face. “But I am an angel, and must remember my manners. So, yes, I fully intended to kiss you, my dear, but I had to ask your permission first.”

Crowley let out a soft groan, “You have it,” he breathed, “By everything holy and damned, you have it, angel.”

So Aziraphale kissed him.

Contrary to popular belief, the world did not stand still the moment their lips met. Explosions did not take place within their chests, or their hearts, or their souls. Or anywhere else for that matter. And a choir of heavenly angels did not descend from above to serenade them, which would have been wholly inappropriate, anyway.

What did happen, was two wandering souls that had been lost for a very long time, finally found their way home.

After a long time, or, perhaps, no time at all, Aziraphale was never very sure, they drew apart.

What he was sure of was that Crowley smiled at him when they did, and said, “To us?”

And Aziraphale smiled right back and breathed, reverently, “To us,” before Crowley kissed him again.

******************************************************************************

[nightcoremoon]

I think part of the reason why I hate horror movies is because of the overreliance on jumpscares and shock value and BWAH SUDDEN LOUD NOISES rather than on atmosphere, believability, tension, fear.

here's a list of horror movies from google and the reasons why I hate them, or why I love them, or that they're not actually horror movies.

A quiet place: haven't seen it yet but it's a thriller more so than a horror. thrillers can be scary though but then again so can comedies. and romances. 50 shades is definitely scary: it is psychological abuse after all.

Halloween: slasher film, automatically boring and shit. I'm including the entirety of the franchise here, by the way, and I'm also gonna be including Friday the 13th, nightmare on elm street, etc. They're all the same brand of sensationalist garbage. maybe the very first in each series could be redeemable but the mass volume of shitty and terrible CGI gorefests have ruined them forever. "oh no the scary unkillable monster is coming after us and he's gonna kill us in overly violent ways" 💩

Hereditary: I don't even give a shit it looks trite EDIT maybe it's okay but I don't give enough of a shit to bother to ~give it a chance~ because hey. that's what fucking horror games are for.

Insidious: boring, not scary, 0/10

Get Out: haven't watched yet but will because it's a cinematic masterpiece that defies genre conventions

Bird Box: IM SO FUCKING SICK OF HEARING ABOUT FUCKING BIRD BOX SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT BIRD BOX HOLY SHIT. It's just the goddamn happening by shyamagofuckyourself and it's an excuse to profit off of sensationalist suicide. oohh so spooky. eat my ass, boggart

It: too much bad cgi makes it a comedy. plus a bunch of kids say fuck a lot. good movie that's technically horror I guess but is it scary? nah.

Suspiria: I've never heard of this movie

Annihilation: same

Split: M NIGHT SHYAMALAN IS A SHITTY FILMMAKER and also it's ableist as fuck so

Mandy: google you suck none of these movies have any mainstream appeal

The Conjuring: 💩💩💩

Hush: ??? you know what fuck it I'm skipping the ones that don't matter

The Vvitch: 🙄 my mom's a witch, my best friend's a witch, I'm a witch. hey yeah maybe let's not buy into christian colonialism please? scary witches are boring as shit. gimme something actually scary. like Catholics.

The Nun: wait shit not like that! and by that I mean BORING AS HELL aside from the jumpscares. which are shit

The Babadook: clearly an LGBT movie, not horror

Cabin in the Woods: a parody and an excellent one at that. at least the gore is in homage, or hilariously over the top

Sinister: the fucking epitome of shitty jumpscares and shock value and lack of atmosphere and bad acting and bad plot and jesus fucking christ this is one of the worst and most boring movies I've ever had the misfortune to see DONT WASTE YOUR GODDAMN TIME

Saw: it's actually a thriller with Cary Elwes, Danny Glover, Michael Emerson, and Tobin Bell. it's a campy cheesy low budget true to form horror film with adequate writing, good acting, AMAZING MUSIC BY CHARLIE CLOSER, and isn't over the top with gore considering it's all practical effects. top fucking notch but spawned a dozen terrible sequels.

Shaun of the Dead: it's a touching and heartfelt romantic comedy... with zombies, EXCELLENT CINEMATOGRAPHY, excellent acting, and sad parts that will rip your fucking heart out, stomp on it, and grind it to dust. literally one of the best movies ever made of all time, eat shit tarantino.

The Ring: eh, the original Japanese was better (Japanese horror is its own genre and not a part of this criticism, I actually really like original Japanese horror unfucked up by american audiences as long as it doesn't just gratuitously glorify suicide as Japan does), but this was still a really good mystery thriller with some really cool effects, and is the only movie that has ever actually scared me for real. even now I hate that there's a tv with a vcr right at the foot of my bed.

The Sixth Sense: shyamalan made a couple of good movies. this was one of them. but it wasn't a horror movie and if you didn't know the twist IT WAS A FUCKING AMAZING ONE. like, goddamn empire strikes back levels of supreme and god tier plot twists. it went a little overboard on shock value but compared to the rest of the COMPLETE BULLSHIT on this list (AND IN HIS OWN MOVIES) it really could've gone way further.

The Descent: goddamn claustrophobia. too much horribly cgi'd gore and terrible decisions to be truly enjoyable though. would've been a much better movie without the mutants and the middle finger to physics throat stabbing and the JUST FUCKING KICK IT YOU GODDAMN IDIOT and oh yeah the subtle misogyny. the first half was good tho

28 days later: shitty remake of a merely ok movie EDIT I was thinking of 28 weeks later, 28 days was actually okay I guess

Scream: did not age well but it's okay for being meta, despite the fucking torture porn of drew barrymore at the beginning. allowed for scary movie 1 though, so I'm glad it exists.

Paranormal Activity: PARANORMAL FUCKING ACTIVITY CAN EAT MY ASS, ITS SUCH A SUBLIME FAILURE OF EXECUTION. I WANTED IT TO BE GOOD BUT IT WASNT. oh well at least it inspired five nights at Freddy's. I'll go ahead and throw all shitty found footage movies under this one, including unfriended.

Blair Witch Project: a fucking pioneer of its time. a genre definer. truly scary. good movie. I'll go ahead and throw all good found footage movies under this one, including cloverfield.

The Shining: a thriller, not horror. but goddamn is it the scariest not horror movie ever made. Stephen king you magnificent bastard

Alien: goddamn fucking alien. science fiction masterpiece. director's a little creepy but eh, sigourney weaver kicks ass, and alien isolation is such a good game (despite its many flaws), and it's just so iconic in terms of sheer scope of concept. it's the same horror movie as anywhere else but in space, and I still can't fucking believe this was made in the 70s. this and Star Wars were FUCKING AMAZING, and the xenomorph? THATS ALL PRACTICAL EFFECTS BABEY. NO OVERRELIANCE ON CGI GUTS AND SHOCK VALUE HERE, ITS JUST PURE HORROR AT ITS FINEST. good movie. aliens was better. everything else... eeehhh...

The Thing: same as the descent but with men instead of women, and EVEN WORSE DECISION MAKING. IT IS UNBELIEVABLE JUST HOW GODDAMN STUPID EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM COULD POSSIBLY BE. and in the remake yeah the practical effects were mind blowingly fantastic and inspired dead space which I believe is one of the best horror games if not just best games or horror pieces of media if not just best pieces of media constructed. but the prequel? 🙄 no thanks

The exorcist: masterpiece of practical effects without an overreliance on jumpscares and gore

Jaws: it's Stephen fucking Spielberg in the 70s and one of the most influential horror films and just films in general

Hellraiser: okay I'll give all works by clive barker a pass here because goddamn is he a demented fucking genius if ever I saw one. if only Jericho was actually a good game, it could've been the next doom 3

Poltergeist: an actually good horror movie that depends on atmosphere and effects more so than jumpscares and gore? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP

Evil Dead: campy but misogynist. the sequel was a comedy so it's okay. the next sequel is also a comedy AND ARMY OF DARKNESS IS ONE OF THE BEST MOVIES EVER FUCKING MADE. FIGHT ME. and fuck the remake. sam raimi should've retired after spiderman 3. maybe even before that.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre: honestly not bad. it was actually freaky and believable. rednecks really are fucking scary with all their inbreeding and terrible music and hatred of black people. I refuse to acknowledge the original and the sequels.

Psycho: eh, hitchcock's worst is still better than most of the shit on this list.

The Wicker Man: OH GOD NOT THE BEES! AHHGUBLAHH MY EYES! AAAAAHHHHH!!! fucking excellent comedy. but it doesn't have any naked ladies in it like the original did. oh well, can't please everyone.

Night of the Living Dead: THOSE ZOMBIES ARE BULLSHIT. ZOMBIES CANT USE WEAPONS AND THEY SURE AS FUCK CANT TURN YOU INTO A ZOMBIE BY STABBING YOU WITH A TROWEL. THEY HAVE TO BITE YOU. FUCK YOU GEORGE ROMERO. Also, dawn of the dead was just sensationalist garbage. "They tore apart a real pig carcass tho so it looked like real intestines" what? the fuck??? who gives a shit????? I watch movies to escape from reality, dumbass. I don't beat off to chopped up human carcasses. If I want a zombie movie I want the walking dead sans the soap opera bullshit and the racism and then "no one is safe and everyone will die" boring mentality propagated by twd and got and other things I used to like but no longer care about (because why should I give a shit about it if everyone could die? I can already be sad enough about all the real people I know who die. enjoying the pain of the deaths of those important to us is a privilege the cishets have). the walking dead seasons 1&2 was pure horror and the very best kind. don't give me boring contrivances. "but sheena, night of the living dead was a trope definer! everything in it was original!" yeah, you know what else is original? *farting noise* George Romero is just rob zombie without a rock band. his best work was fucking call of duty. that's pathetic. "maybe you just don't like gore" HEY YEAH SURE I DONT WANNA SEE UBER REALISTIC INTESTINES AND ORGANS IF THEY ARENT PART OF A MEDICAL DEAL SO IM JUST A BIG DUMB HATER. I'm the one in the wrong. fuck me, right?

Don't Breathe: A FUCKING TURKEY BASTER FILLED WITH SEMEN. THATS SO STUPID I FORGOT IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SCARY. BEST CRINGE COMEDY OF THE YEAR :D

Tremors: legitimately great movie with a hundred shitty sequels. like saw but your faves win so you walk away filled with determination rather than sad and disappointed. enjoyment of tragedies are a privilege awarded to those who are neurotypical.

Zombieland: gore done right. the only casualty is mindless zomzoms and bill murray. good. granted it counts as a romance and a comedy but honestly last time I watched it I cried at the part where you find out buck isn't tallahassee's dog. god I love that movie. AND FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS IS THE MOST BADASS MOVIE OPENER EVER.

The Fly: Jeff fucking goldblum. amazing effects for good reasons. need I say more? the original doesn't exist because 1950s horror movies are all bad because all 1950s movies are bad. the 1950s should just be purged from america's records except for pleasantville.

All other Stephen king movies: hit or miss but mostly still good. although very few are actual horror.

10 cloverfield lane: more of a thriller like above's misery but still an amazing movie.

Peeping Tom: literally a movie about how creepy it is to fetishize the deaths of women WHILE LITERALLY FETISHIZING THE DEATHS OF WOMEN. like, come on man. how do you miss your own point so completely?

Invasion of the body snatchers: it's not horror and if it's made to be horror using gore it's shit. the whole thing is just an allegory to the joe mccarthy communism witch hunts anyway.

Cube trilogy: the ultimate b movies. so bad they're good. and it's such an interesting concept too!

Killer Klowns from Outer Space: fucking alien clowns come to earth to turn us into cotton candy by killing us using carnival fare. THIS IS THE GREATEST BAD MOVIE EVER MADE.

All horror movies based on horror video games: either irredeemably bad, or action movies

All creepy Netflix horror movies: wow any idiot with a camera and basic cgi skills can throw shit together to make a movie these days, huh

The Slender Man: I am literally too pissed off about this movie to insult it.

Marble Hornets, Tribe Twelve, the Slender Man movie on YouTube: triumphs of meta, editing, found footage, proof of concept, and story. Slenderman is such a malleable entity for a perfect horror experience, HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY FUCK THAT UP? YOUD HAVE TO BE INTENTIONALLY SABOTAGING YOUR WHOLE MOVIE TO FUCK IT UP AS BAD AS SOMEone who exclusively directs remakes... oh... oh no.

Wrong Turn: one mediocre movie and a dozen loathesome snoozefests coasting by on shock value

Troll 2:

oh god

they're eating her

and then

they're gonna eat me

...

oh my gooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

(Troll 2 is literally the worst movie ever made and I have to respect it for that at least)

but yeah, horror is just bad for movies. but for video games, though...

[monomas-a-smug-bih]

Hiiiiiii could i possibly get a scenario with fem y/n challenging Bakugou in the pool training episode?! Thristy from those BakuAbs honestly ;) - anon

(Umm me too obviously)

:::

Tired of watching the boys race each other to the death, I decided to step in. No way was I gonna play beach ball the whole time and look girly and- ugh whatever. Anyways I ended up challenging Bakugou to a race, but without quirks so I could actually stand a chance.

“Race me!” The angry boy narrowed his eyes.

“Are you kidding?”

“Does it look like I am? Jeez Bak I never took you for the sexist ty-“ he scoffed.

“Oh shut it, you really wanna lose that badly?”

I faked a frown, “And suddenly, you’re a chicken too...” I smirked with my hands on my hips, still a little nervous. But I refused to back down. The excitement hidden behind annoyance in Bakugou’s attitude had pumped into my veins made my long hair bounce. Ends of every strand lighting itself, putting on small show of flames thanks to my change in attitude. The challenge hyped me up, making me ready for the swimming competition I expected from the teen.

If he didn’t go through with it, he’d be backing down, which wouldn’t in a million years happen right in front of his peers. Especially if it was to some girl. Despite that, he wasn’t too intent on losing to y/n and he didn’t want to risk it. Because by the looks of it, you could be some pro-swimmer for all he knew thanks to your physique and unusually cocky demeanour.

“Haaah?!” He growled, taking a step way closer than I’d expected him too. I felt his hand grip my arm and tug me forward. His face leaned in, our noses were practically touching. Suddenly, his voice hushed, a cocky grin plastered onto his face. “What’d you say little girl?” The sentence made my mind reel a bit. The surprise from having seen somewhat flirty(?) all of the sudden and being way too close to me at the same time, caused me to instinctively take a couple steps back. Unbeknownst to the pool’s edge being close enough to my back already. I managed the first step back, my foot going down unsteadily onto the wet and slippery cement, but the moment I felt the surface of a foam floaty board touch the palm of my second foot, my fate had been sealed.

“E-eh..?” I wasn’t paying enough attention to the attractive boy to see the surprise in his face. The board squeaked under my weight contemptuously. “G-GAh-“ I flailed my arms for balance. The desperate small steps that came after as I stumbled back in a frantic hope to recover only managed to shift my weight enough for the thing to slip out from under me and shoot outward. Gravity betraying me completely. Shit shit shit sh- Legs flying into the air, my body flew further from the edge, heading straight for the water. This is it. I squeezed my eyes shut. This is where I die.

“Oi! Baka-uh!“ His speech faltered, when I opened my eyes, he had a hand on my arm, the other ready to catch my waist. His body falling forward cut him off. Suddenly I was chest to chest with a wide-eyed Bakugou, his arms sticking out under mine. As he started to fall in what seemed to be slow motion, his head descended towards me, just enough to for me to see the culprit. Mina behind him. Mina, one hell of a wing-woman, had decked Bakugou Katsuki square in the back. Oh fuck-

\\SPLASH!//

Midoriya rose his voice, “Y/N!”

:::

Classmates watched in awe and horror, as they witnessed there oh so unfortunate y/n be belly-flopped by Bakugou. Mina dusted herself off, obviously proud of herself. Despite her and the red-head trying to get you two together, shark-teeth was horrified. Mina felt confused.

“High five?” The pink girl raised her hand, only to have it rejected and lowered slowly. Kirishima stared blankly at the water.

“He’s so gonna kill us.”

Midoriya murmured in the background. “This is badthisisreallybad.”

:::

An angry blonde head of hair emerged from the water. He shook his head, drying his hair in seconds while spraying groaning bystanders in the process. He grabbed the pool edge, screaming with a fist in the air. “Oi oi oi,” The intimidating boy started to crawl out of the pool. “Hey fucking idiots! Who in their righT MIND PUSHED ME INTO THE GOD DAMN POOL?!”

Mina stood there oblivious, while Midoriya was biting his nails in a trance of terror.

“This isn’t good. C-can she even handle that much?” He squeaked, “Cansheevenswim?whatifshejusslosesalofheren-“ Kirishima put a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s a matter? Why are you freaking out all of the sudden?” Bakugou glanced back at the empty water body, and pushed himself up. Only to pause mid-action. Wait. He glanced back again. Where’s y/n? Looking into the pool quite frantically, it didn’t take long for panic to arise in his chest.

“Eh? She disappeared?!” The blonde growled, whipping his head around towards the pink-toned girl.

“Well obviously not Raccoon-eyes!” He decided to look over to Deku and Kirishima. They’d been chatting none stop. Deku slammed his hands onto Kirishima’s shoulders.

“Y/n has a quirk that’s weak in water! Meaning water can’t be good if she was using-“

Then it came to him, your quirk. Fire, with water... Fire with-

“You dipshit she’s got A DAmN FIRE QUIRK!” He gripped Mina’s arm threateningly, “SO YOU THROW HER INTO A POOL?!” Mina blinked innocently, only to tilt her head and slowly realize...

“Oh.” A nervous and very forced smile clumped onto her pinky face. “Oh no.” Suddenly, Iida came into the conversation, advising everyone of the danger and trying to teach them how to do the Heimlick Maneuver in way too little time. He flailed his straight arms with authority, and poor Denki was dragged into his frantic demonstration.

“Alright everyone! The first step is to ask the victim if their really drowning-“ Quickly losing everyone’s attention, 1A looked at Bakugou. His red eyes widened. Shit. “Bakugou! Don’t even think about-“ He dove back in, ignoring Iida’s warnings completely.

The unpleasant feeling of the coldness of the pool and his ears popping from the sudden action welcomed him into the water. He bobbed up after a super short period of looking, having realized he was so panicked he didn’t take in enough air beforehand. He felt flustered. Why does he feel so guilty? He shouldn’t be caring this much. He dove in for real, seeing a mass not too far ahead and below him drifting slowly down further into the depths water. He swam his way over, being hit by an unpleasant wave of steam from the hot air bubbles your quirk had caused. He still found your torso and wrapped his arms under yours to swim forward and up as fast as possible. He inhaled air and gasped as soon as he broke the waters surface, trying to relieve his slightly aching lungs.

“Bakugou!” Iida’s screams coming form the other side of the pool didn’t affect him in the slightest. He latched onto the edge and held onto you with his other arm, looking down to see if you were okay. After staring at your peaceful unconscious face for a short while, you finally woke up. Throwing a small coughing fit and inhaling sharply was a relief, he exhaled and his muscles seemed to untense. Sero walked toward the other edge of the pool and cupped his hands beside his mouth.

“Hey! Are you guys okay?!” He blinked, snapping out of the trance you seemed to put him under.

“Of course we are! Don’t you fucking doubt me!” Sero’s figure seemed to shrink and shrug down in relief. Bakugou blinked in surprise as he felt something tighten around him. You’d squeezed shut your eyes and lied your head on his chest again, your teeth chattered uncontrollably, making your slightly blue lips twitch a little. Your soaked hair stuck tightly to your shaking shoulders peeking out of the water. You clung to him desperately, limbs wrapped around him like a koala bear. “S-shit! Y/n?” Most of the students rushed over, some astonished to notice concern in the boy’s voice for once. He pushed himself up to sit on the edge with you, still snug and stuck to him like a desperate leech. Murmurs from students filled the air as everyone got closer.

Iida emerged and pushed through the small crowd, “Bakugou! Let me see y/n! We should check her health and state immedi-“ He pulled you closer to him, surprising himself.

“Back off! Can’t you fuckers give her some space?” After a few seconds out of the water, he noticed you body loosen your grip and become less tense. Deku piped up,

“I’ll go get towels!” While the nerd walked away, he felt you go completely limp, worrying him a bit. You were out cold, seemingly unconscious when your breathe finally found its rhythm again. He couldn’t help but blush at how comfortable and at peace you looked. You were usually between stressed and competitive, so this you was new.

“Daaaaw, Bakugou will never let go~” Denki cooed with clasped hands, making Bakugou’s face darken into a deeper shade of red.

“Oh shut it with your shitty puns!”

“Bakugouuu shush, you’re gonna wake her up~” his gaze flickered from Denki to you.

“Why you-“ his growl was interrupted by a freckled boy returning with a handful of fluffy looking towels.

“I’m back! I found them!”

“Tch. About time nerd.” He looked down at you, and tried to wake your up. He squirmed his upper body out of your clutches, so he could shake you by the shoulders.

“Wake up.” Your head lulled forward and forced a sigh out of his mouth. He tried to pry you legs off of his waist, only to have you arms hugging his torso again. She sure isn’t making this any damn easier. He tried to stand up without you, only to look like a dumb tree with a tiny bear clinging to it sleepily. “Not to be an ass or anything, but get off.” You didn’t even stir. Mina’s giggle and the snap of a cellphone camera made his head dart to the side. He growled in protest, now trying to forcefully pry you off red-faced in embarrassment and anger.

“Get off! You trying to embarrass me pipsqueak! Get off a me and grab a damn towel! Don’t you dare look down on me!” Everyone sighed and giggled as things had gone mostly back to normal. He was stiff as a board and his face got even hotter when he felt your cheek rub against his chest as you hugged his body tighter.

“Nnn...noo~ You’re soo warmm~” A distressed growl of annoyance met your ears. Finally stirring with a tired murmur, you lifted your head off his chest. Taking a hand off, you rubbed your eye. The fuzzy red and blonde shape finally focused, you narrowed your already half-lidded eyes. “Wha- Bakugou-kun?” The boy had an adorable blush infecting his whole face, with a startled look in his crimson eyes. Blinking, you realized what you were doing. Your drenched hair and cheeks heated up. “Aaah! I-I’m,” h/c tendrils circled around your shoulders and your hair wooshed up into a flustered bunch of flames. You climbed off of his rather quickly, slipping on the ground and landing on your bum.

“Y/n!”

You waved your arms in defence, your lit locks toning down as you felt your blood run cold. “I’m sorry Bakugou!”

“Why would an idiot like you challenge me when you can’t even fucking swim?! Wasting my damn time with your clumsy ass-” You blinked slightly offended. You got up to your feet and puffed out your rosy cheeks. I can swim!

“I’m a fucking fantastic swimmer! Maybe if you hadn’t made me to use my quirk and then body slam me into the pool I could’ve shown you!” Bakugou’s hand landing on your shoulder made you jump. His hand tightened its grip. He leaned in again, making me shrink back.

“I should fucking strangle you for making me worry like that you ass!” Strangle me? For what-! wait. Worry? I got Bakugou Katsuki worried? His ruby eyes looked furious, but his words revealed the spark of concern in the boy’s expression.

You struggled to get up from the slippery floor steadily, (failing miserably) “O-oh, yeah. Sorry...” Only to give up for a minute so you wouldn’t make this anymore embarrassing than it already was. “-about that.”

He sighed and frowned. You blinked and blushed a little, The blonde whipped his head to the side, making you notice the hand he’d stuck out for you.

“J-just fucking take it! You look pathetic doing that on your own.” He sent you his half-baked explanation and it made you smile.

“Sure thing!”

You two snatched some fluffy towels and dried yourselves off a little. The warmth from them were so soothing you felt totally at peace. Until... wait a second. You whipped your head back and forth in search of a certain someone. A certain pink alien-queen was awkwardly conversing with Kirishima, totally subtly backing into the girls changeroom.

“MinaaaAAAAA!” You got up to dash towards her, throwing your comfy towel to the side. Not a second late, Bakugou shoved away Kiri and tugged Mina away from the change room she was oh so close to escaping through. She babbled and stumbled over her words to force out some apologies nervously.

“I-I’m sorry guys! No need to fight, me and Kiri were just...” she stared at the red-head desperately,

“D-don’t bring me into this! I didn’t throw anyone into the pool!” Mina stared him down with puppy-dog eyes. Kiri crosses his arms. “F-fine. Maybe I was a little involved? We just really wanted you guys to have some fun together, y-y’know?”

You and Bakugou glared holes into both of them evilly. Your auras changing from flustered and angry to terrifying. Kirishima and Mina hugged each other begging for mercy. Oh boy.

...

Alright ive been dead I’m sorry, but here’s an oldish ask from anon! Hope you enjoy!

[chaoticghost21]

1-100

Oh shit, that's all of them. Ya know what, its midnight and I'm really fuckin stoned let's do this motherfuckers1. What is you middle name?Cheyann2. How old are you?18 (19 in less than a month)3. When is your birthday?April 22 4. What is your zodiac sign?Taurus but on the cusp of aries and Taurus 5. What is your favorite color?Probably blue or purple 6. What’s your lucky number?217. Do you have any pets?5 dogs8. Where are you from?Oregon in the us9. How tall are you?5'510. What shoe size are you?10 in women's11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?9 i think but they all have holes in then and are ratty (other than my vans and my brown boots that are technically my mom's but they're mine now) so i really only wear one pair of converse12. What was your last dream about?All Time Low broke up and I had a meltdown public. like in this dream i fell to the ground screaming no and i was in public then yelled that this day was worse than March 2213. What talents do you have?I can draw, paint, bake, craft, play flute, sing, write, and compose music14. Are you psychic in any way?Possibly, I've definitely had some moments but idk15. Favorite song?THIS IS THE HARDEST QUESTION EVER. FAVORITE SONG IN GENERAL? RIGHT NOW? WHAT? HOW DO I ANSWER??? UMMMM SUMMER STAINED BY BROADSIDE BECAUSE ITS BEAUTIFUL AND I LOVE IT16. Favorite movie?Either The Lovely Bones or The Perks of Being a Wallflower17. Who would be your ideal partner?I have no idea but can they be respectful, nice, have musical ability, and a good sense of humor please?18. Do you want children?Yes but I want to adopt19. Do you want a church wedding?No20. Are you religious?Nope21. Have you ever been to the hospital?Yes, many times, sadly22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?Yes, when I was little me, my older cousins, and their friends got yelled at by cops for not having bike helmets but me being me I said I didn't actually live anywhere around there and my helmet was at home and this wasnt my bike (all true) so the cops let me go back to my aunts house while they continued to yell at the other kids23. Have you ever met any celebrities?Yeah, I met Tim, the bass from Home Free24. Baths or showers?Showers 25. What color socks are you wearing?They are Gryffindor colors26. Have you ever been famous?No but I've been on the news many times (i wanna be famous though)27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?Yes, i would love to be because i wanna hello people with my music the way music helped me 28. What type of music do you like?Like rock and any subgenre of rock (pop punk, punk, alternative, metal, post hardcore, etc)29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?Nope30. How many pillows do you sleep with?4 because that's all i have, sadly 31. What position do you usually sleep in?On my right side32. How big is your house?Small. We have 3 rooms but they're all small with tiny bathrooms, tiny kitchen, and tiny living room. I hate that all i have in my room is a queen size mattress and I barely have room for anything else33. What do you typically have for breakfast?Nothing34. Have you ever fired a gun?Yes, a few times35. Have you ever tried archery?No, i was offered the chance but i was too pissed off at the person to take them up on their offer36. Favorite clean word?POMEGRANATE37. Favorite swear word?Either motherfucker, asshat, or shitass38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?Over a week39. Do you have any scars?Yeah, on my hand, legs, and belly button (hand: idk, i accidentally stabbed a pair of scissors into my hand while craftingLegs: I'm really jumpy and someone threw a remote past me to someome else and i was sitting on the arm of the couch and fell off when i flinched and landed into 2 plastic storage boxes 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?No, people don't like me that much41. Are you a good liar?Yep, I've lied a lot in my life and no one knows 42. Are you a good judge of character?Sometimes43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?When I talk a lot I accidentally go into an Australian accent and I don't know why or how. I can also do a southern and British 44. Do you have a strong accent?Nah dude, pacific west coast, we don't got that much of one45. What is your favorite accent?AUSTRALIAN OR IRISH46. What is your personality type?idk my dude 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?My prom dress from 3 years ago 48. Can you curl your tongue?Nope49. Are you an innie or an outie?Innie50. Left or right handed?Right51. Are you scared of spiders?Terrified52. Favorite food?Pizza or teriyaki chicken53. Favorite foreign food?If what I get at my local sushi place is considered foreign then that54. Are you a clean or messy person?Messy. I'm so cluttered and scattered its not even funny55. Most used phrased?I'm gonna play this song 56. Most used word?Fuck57. How long does it take for you to get ready?15 minutes without makeup or making my hair look nice anywhere from an hour to 2 of I wear makeup and make my hair look nice58. Do you have much of an ego?No, I pretend to though. Fake confidence helps me59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?Suck but sometimes I get bored and decide to cronch60. Do you talk to yourself?Yes, I sometimes need expert advice and no one else I know is smart enough to give it to me (aka what I say to assholes who mock me for talking to myself lol)61. Do you sing to yourself?ALWAYS. I sing without knowing62. Are you a good singer?I think so, I meann that's what I wanna nake a career out of so I hope I am63. Biggest Fear?Dying without making an impact or difference in the world or not accomplishing my dreams64. Are you a gossip?No, unless you screw me over65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?Idk whats considered drama, other than Disney movies, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Lovely Bones, and Tolkien movie, and a few others I really only watch horror movies66. Do you like long or short hair?Looonnggg (I cut my hair short when I was little and it never grew back the same and I hate it)67. Can you name all 50 states of America?I think so but don't ask me ANYTHING about capitals 68. Favorite school subject?Music69. Extrovert or Introvert?An extroverted introvert ( I'm pretty introverted but it really depends on my mood)70. Have you ever been scuba diving?Nope71. What makes you nervous?Everything72. Are you scared of the dark?Yes73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?Sometimes74. Are you ticklish?VERY75. Have you ever started a rumor?No76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?No unless you count me being the leader of my choir, the flute section, and my old friend grouo77. Have you ever drank underage?Yeah which is how we found out I'm allergic to alcohol78. Have you ever done drugs?If marijuana counts then yes (I'm under the influence right now)79. Who was your first real crush?No one, I've never actually has one80. How many piercings do you have?None81. Can you roll your Rs?“No82. How fast can you type?Idk, pretty fast though (taking typing classes all elementary school helped that. They got tired of us so they made us do Mavis Beacon so they could get away from us and not have to teach us)83. How fast can you run?Not very, I have shitty knees and can barely walk (not a joke)84. What color is your hair?Really faded red but will be bright blue soon85. What color is your eyes?Green86. What are you allergic to?A LOT. Cats, alcohol, dairy products (lactose intolerant), pollen, like 5 different kinds of weeds, grass, a little bit to dogs, i think I'm a little bit to weed, bed bugs, dust, mold, flea shampoo, and I think that's it87. Do you keep a journal?No88. What do your parents do?Watch TV and smoke weed89. Do you like your age?Eh not really I'm almost 19 and haven't accomplished anything, no job, can't drive, still in high school90. What makes you angry?Many many things. Disrespect of any form is the biggest one though91. Do you like your own name?Eh, its okay. My mom told me the other name she had picked out for me and I wish she would've gone with that one (Kassadee Cheyann or Devyn Taylor... I'm emo as hell and seem slowly becoming more punk. Devyn would've fit me wayyy better)92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?I've thought of a few. I've always had either Ansley, Quinn, Spencer, or Talia for a girl and Jayden or Jace for a boy or Ash for any because I've always liked that name (fun fact I used to go by Ash or Ashton when I was questioning gender in high school [gender fluid] so my friends called me that)93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?Any, I don't really care. Gender doesn't matter to me at all94. What are you strengths?Imma copy and paste from my resume lol...Back from my resume and this is what it said: Dexterity, public performance, customer service, directing, leading, persistence, competitiveness, creativity, sound discrimination, listening, and writing95. What are your weaknesses?I'm afraid of everything, I'm very paranoid, and I have anxiety and depression96. How did you get your name?There was some character on a TV show my mom saw while pregnant whos name was Cassidy but my mom wanted a better spelling 97. Were your ancestors royalty?Doubt it98. Do you have any scars?Yes... This was also #3999. Color of your bedspread?BLACK100. Color of your room?White. My room is boring and I've never done any decoration in it.DONE. I DIDN'T REALIZE THIS TOOK ALMOAT AN HOUR HOLY SHIT

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

CHARACTER SHEET: Roger Jonathan Radcliffe

As I hide behind these books I read  / while scribbling my poetry / like art could save a wretch like me / with some ideal ideology / that no one can hope to achieve. / And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me. -- Waste of Paint, Bright Eyes

It takes strength to be gentle and kind. --I Know It’s Over, The Smiths

STATS:

Birthday: 11 October 1991

Hogwarts House (Primary): Ravenclaw (modelling a blend of Hufflepuff and Slytherin)

Hogwarts House (Secondary): Ravenclaw

Myers-Briggs: ISFP

Enneagram: Type 5

Height:  5’11

BACKGROUND OVERVIEW:

Mother: Harriet Martha Hunter Radcliffe

Father: William Jonathan Radcliffe (deceased)

Mother’s Occupation: manager at a fabric store

Father’s Occupation: musician

Family Finances: lower class

Birth Order: only child

Other Close Family: Gran on his dad’s side; he has two male cousins on that side who are pretty Patts-esque lol; didn’t really talk to his mum’s side all that much till about a couple of years ago

Best Friend: Paul Patts

Other Friends: from home: Lucy, Finn, Ed; from here: Anita, Perdita, Berlioz, Stan, Brad, Belle?

Enemies: none, really—Lou?

Pets: 32 Dalmatians lol (he had a Dalmatian named George when he was growing up)

Home Life During Childhood: eh so it was happy till he was about ten, then his father started drinking more than usual and doing bad drugs and there were a lot of fights and broken furniture and all that and Roger blames himself

Town or City Name(s): London, England—East End, near Shoreditch

What Did Her Bedroom Look Like: sloping wall with green-striped wallpaper, lots of books jammed into a little shelf, a little wobbly desk with a single desk lamp, kept a bunch of knick-knacks on his desk, lots of sheet music

Any Sports or Clubs: probably in school band or orchestra, also did theatre

Favorite Toy or Game: He had a stuffed dog that he went to bed with every night till he was like 13 or something and it wasn’t “cool” anymore and one of the bigger kids teased him about it so he stuffed it in the bin, but his mum rescued it and it’s on the shelf above his childhood bed

Schooling: finished secondary

Favorite Subject: Music, of course, and English

Popular or Loner: had his own group of friends, was never really a true loner, also helped that his best mate was like the most popular bloke in school

Important Experiences or Events: Dad died when he was 15, he found the body in the bathroom

Health Problems: prone to addiction, undiagnosed depression probably, also near-sighted if that counts lol (he wears contacts most of the time)

Culture: English

Religion and beliefs: his mum’s family goes to church pretty regularly and he’s, like, the type of guy who wishes he could believe in God but isn’t sure—even so, does Christmas, Easter, that whole thing, and when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable, he will pray

PERSONALITY:

Bad Habits: nervous talker, easily addicted to substances, smokes, drinks too much when he’s in a depressive spell

Good Habits: loyal, dedicated to his craft when he is in a steady spell, very good with kids and animals

Best Characteristic: dedicated—to the people close to him, to his craft, to his passions, he won’t quit on you

Worst Characteristic: low self-worth—he doesn’t think much of himself at all and it’s a big hindrance to, like, his life

Worst Memory: finding his dad’s dead body ha ha ha

Best Memory: when Powell approached him and introduced himself and said he had talent

Proud of: his musical ability

Embarrassed by: uh his like,,,everything—his looks, his background, his finances, his grades

Driving Style: he’s very average, speeds a little but remembers his turn signals

Strong Points: kind, artistic, passionate, intelligent, goofy

Temperament: melancholic

Attitude: can be broody

Weakness: tbh he’s like really sensitive if you doubt the one thing he is proud of (musical ability); also fuck with Paul/Anita/his mom (and Perdita by extension), he will get upset

Fears: not living up to his artistic potential, turning into his father

Phobias: turning into his father highkey

Secrets: sometimes he’s happy? His dad died bc it really put his mum out of a lot of misery…

Regrets: getting good at music, because that’s what ultimately drove his dad down the drain

Feels Vulnerable When: talking about himself in general lol, he likes talking to other people and does genuinely want to know more about them but he hates it when it’s about him

Pet Peeves: snobby rich people—he can deal with regular rich people who aren’t snobs and think that his social class is his own fault, kale (really does not like kale)

Conflicts: desire to follow his artistic dreams vs how freakin’ hard it is to do, as well as not wanting to like totally leave his mum in the dust

Motivation: to be a true, genuine artist and hoping success will follow

Short Term Goals and Hopes: get some sort of record deal—either as a musician or a composer

Long Term Goals and Hopes: gosh—make a decent living as a composer, trying not to be a sell-out, but also still getting his time in the limelight

Sexuality: bisexual, if we’re talking Kinsey-scale it’s like a 2.5 (prefers women, but still likes men)

Exercise Routine: gets most of his exercise from working tbh

Day or Night Person — Night.

Introvert or Extrovert — Introvert.

Optimist or Pessimist — Pessimist  

LIKES AND STYLES:

Music: jazz, of course! He grew up listening to the greats and has a fondness for Charlie Parker. Errol Garner is another favorite. Other than that he listens to a lot of classic rock—London’s a great city for classic rock, eh? Got the Stones and the Beatles and the Who—real great place, music’s everywhere, didya know that lots of the classic rock bands were influenced by jazz? Roger can show you where they played. Also really into the Smiths. And indie stuff. Fan of the occasional really good musical. Just doesn’t really like pop is all (ok except for some songs....)

Books: classics, he’s partial to the 1920s era—Hemingway (yes, I know), Fitzgerald, Stein, and all that good stuff. Also a fan of Virginia Woolf. Also a huge Jane Austen fan, he won’t admit that right away but it’s easy to pry out of him.

Magazines: tbh not many,,,he keeps up with music stuff online

Foods: good pub food—he likes a good steak pie with loads of green peas and mashed potatoes on the side. Also a good English breakfast (his favorite part’s the sausage).

Drinks: tea—black, the English Breakfast blend. Likes a good beer as well, or a shot of whiskey.

Animals: Dogs. No, but seriously, he’s always been fond of them and will take care to point them out on the street to whoever he is with.

Sports: He plays football but sucks at it haha, but he follows Paul’s team!

Social Issues: LGBTQ+ rights, he’s like really against gentrification, having lived it firsthand

Favorite Saying: “Life is like jazz; it’s a lot better when you improvise.”

Color: Grey. He likes how varied it is. It reminds him of home and of silver and the sky and the Thames and a lot of things he likes.

Clothing: he’s like very particular about how he dresses, tries not to wear shorts and t-shirts, he likes to keep it dressy casual, like hipster style (wow, roger)

Jewelry: he has a nice watch his dad passed down to him and a ring his granddad gave him when he graduated

Games: played pokemon when he was younger, will take a turn on those first-person shooters when he’s with friends, likes the Legend of Zelda

Websites: Instagram, tumblr, has his own like wordpress or something with music reviews, posts some piano covers on youtube (not terribly many)

TV Shows: Fools and Horses, other british sitcoms which i am too lazy to research r now but he’s a sitcom sorta bloke when he does watch tv

Movies: he likes weird horror movies, big zombie fan; secretly really adores Love, Actually, but says his favourite movie is Ray (which is a great movie, he just likes Love, Actually more....); prefers the BBC Pride and Prejudice over the Kiera Knightley one and is passionate about that

Greatest Want: to be a true artist™

Greatest Need: to overcome his bad self-esteem and love himself

CURRENTLY:

Home: lives in the Dalmatian Plantation farmhouse, on the top floor in an attic bedroom

Household furnishings: lots of sheet music, he keeps his closet pretty neat, but the rest is quite messy. Always has a stack of books on his bedside drawer. There’s usually an empty mug of tea because he’s too lazy to bring it downstairs lol. Bed is usually not made.

Favorite Possession: probably a book from either Paul or Anita (or both)

Most Cherished Possession:  the piano in his house in London, which belonged to his dad and his dad’s dad; also the watch his dad left him

Married Before: Nope.

Significant Other Before: Finn, Sarah (those are the only significant ones)

Children: n/a

Relationship with Family: very close with his mum, they stuck together when it got really bad on his homelife end; she’s always been supportive of him; his mum’s family used to not speak to them much, but recently have been reaching out; dad’s family talks to them more

Car: n/a

Career: dog care-taker, record shop clerk, musician/composer

Dream Career: composer/jazz musician [music teacher, but he doesn’t know that yet]

Dream Life: ok so honestly—Roger’s destined to become a teacher. He’s great with kids and in the end, he will (hopefully) realize that his passion for music is meant to be passed down to others. Sure, he’s gonna still write the occasional almost-famous tune and play in ensembles and venues, but he’s gonna be truly happy as a teacher.

Love Life: uh—kinda dating Anita? What is? Going? On?

Hobbies : playing music, reading, walking the dogs lol, likes playing football sometimes (sucks at it), acting

Guilty Pleasure : will, on occasion, like a pop song; rom-coms

Sports or Clubs: n/a

Talents or Skills : great musician—plays piano excellently, trumpet pretty well, and can manage a bit on saxophone and guitar; has a good singing voice too (baritone)! Decent driver (can drive manual wow that’s impressive to me tbh); good with kids and animals (also impressive to me lmao)

Intelligence Level : artistically inclined—he was bad at science/math classes, but good at music, literature, and history. He’s not dumb by any means, but his strengths aren’t really in a technical area. He’s knowledgeable and interested in learning about things, but don’t ask him to solve some intricate mathematical proof

Finances: manages alright on his own (he basically doesn’t have to pay rent, so he’s doing p good; sends money back home too)

[chaos-and-recover]

all of them. all. of. them.

WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME EVERY TIME is it because you know I have nothing better to do? Because you are right.

1. What is you middle name? Barbara. It’s my mom’s first name2. How old are you? OLD AS BALLS. Or like. 32.3. When is your birthday? April 4th.4. What is your zodiac sign? Aries5. What is your favorite color? purple6. What’s your lucky number? I don’t know if I have one?7. Do you have any pets? nope. I am sad and empty and pet=less8. Where are you from? Canada, eh?9. How tall are you? 5′11″ or somewhere in there. Apparently freakishly tall, according to my tiny, tiny friends10. What shoe size are you? ladies’ 9 1/2-10. Currently wearing size 9 boots every day because I haven’t gotten around to getting new winter boots and got those ones for a cosplay a few years ago because they looked rad and were cheap but NOT COMFY and I NEED NEW BOOTS.11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? lemme tell you it’s not nearly as many as it was when I worked in a mall with a Payless and went there WAY too often. There’s probably like 5 or 6 I wear regularly now.12. What was your last dream about? I... actually don’t even remember? I remember waking up the other morning thinking “what in the FUCK” about a dream I’d had but now I can’t remember what it actually WAS lol13. What talents do you have? none lol14. Are you psychic in any way? I mean I don’t know if I ACTUALLY am but I’ve learned to trust my gut when I feel really sure of an outcome of something because I’ve been right more than I’ve been wrong15. Favorite song? Falling Slowly from the movie Once is probably my favourite thing in the world.16. Favorite movie? 10 Things I Hate About You, The Princess Bride, and a bunch of objectively awful movies that I love.17. Who would be your ideal partner? Someone who will leave me tf alone. Actually I would probably thrive in a long distance relationship where I don’t have to like... see them all the time and can still have my own space?18. Do you want children? Not especially. I recently figured out that may be negotiable though which was... interesting.19. Do you want a church wedding? Not necessarily but if I did have one I would only want it at my grandparents’ church because history (my parents were married there; I was baptized there; my Oma loved that church).20. Are you religious? Not even a little.21. Have you ever been to the hospital? My guy I spent so much time in the ER as a kid that they almost called social services.22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nope, I’m a nerd.23. Have you ever met any celebrities? Yes, quite a few. That was like, My Thing in high school24. Baths or showers? baths if they stay warm for more than 0.00005 seconds.25. What color socks are you wearing? black, with white writing. They’re my July Socks because I am JUST that awful and love a bad pun.26. Have you ever been famous? I had my 15 minutes of fame in 2004. Green Day were involved. The story circulated the local music/industry community for at least a year. That’s all.27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? I don’t think I would like that AT ALL.28. What type of music do you like? I listen to so much music, honestly. Name a genre and I could probably name at least one artist I like from it.29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Not totally but I’ve gone halfway there. Not sober lol.30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 231. What position do you usually sleep in? Usually on my stomach32. How big is your house? not as big as the rest in the neighbourhood now but when it was built in the 70s it WAS one of the biggest around33. What do you typically have for breakfast? either: a bagel w/ cream cheese, Eggos (with chocolate chips sometimes), toast w/ peanut butter & banana, Cheerios w/ banana, or oatmeal34. Have you ever fired a gun? only a laser gun lol35. Have you ever tried archery? yeah, I actually liked it? I wasn’t very good. Although my Opa did make my brother and I our own bow and arrow sets when we were little. Nobody lost an eye, so it worked out well.36. Favorite clean word? I don’t know if I have one?37. Favorite swear word? I like made up ones, like “fucknugget.”38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? Without ANY sleep at all, like a day and a half. With minimal sleep, a few days - a week or so.39. Do you have any scars? Yes and they’re all dumb.40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? lol doubtful41. Are you a good liar? Sometimes. For like, inconsequential shit I don’t even need to lie about.42. Are you a good judge of character? I wanna say yes but I’m actually just kind of a bitch and super judgy anyway?43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Every one I try turns out like a really shitty southern accent44. Do you have a strong accent? I don’t think so but people from elsewhere might disagree45. What is your favorite accent? Irish, specifically Galway-area. I also like certain southern accents, like... wherever Matthew McConaughey is from. That’s a nice accent.46. What is your personality type? Like... those acronyms? No idea lol. I don’t do those personality tests.47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? Probably my Roots cabin sweater which I got for Christmas last year but I know ain’t cheap.48. Can you curl your tongue? Yes49. Are you an innie or an outie? Innie50. Left or right handed? Right, although I’m fairly competent with my left from when I was 8 and broke my right arm and had to use my left for everything for a while.51. Are you scared of spiders? Yes, they’re awful little demon bugs.52. Favorite food? Poutine lmao. I’m a stereotype.53. Favorite foreign food? Burritos.54. Are you a clean or messy person? Horrifically messy.55. Most used phrased? Lord, probably “lmao.” Or “your face.”56. Most used word? Probably “fuck”57. How long does it take for you to get ready? Depends for what. For just like, every day shit, like 20 minutes. If I actually wanna look good I need more time. Both of those require at least 20-40 minutes of sitting despondently on my bed wondering if I REALLY need to go where I’m supposed to go.58. Do you have much of an ego? I don’t think so?59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Lick/suck til I get bored, then bite. (Hey boys ;) )60. Do you talk to yourself? Yes, way too much.61. Do you sing to yourself? Quietly, but I do.62. Are you a good singer? FUCK no.63. Biggest Fear? The existential horror of Never Getting My Life Together.64. Are you a gossip? More than I should/want to be 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? Ever? That’s a hard question. I have a really unpopular opinion about Manchester By The Sea (I KNOW how we’re supposed to feel about Casey Affleck) but I don’t even know if that’s the best EVER, it’s just very good and that makes me angry.66. Do you like long or short hair? On myself? Kinda miss my long hair now.67. Can you name all 50 states of America? If you give me time to figure them out, probably.  (let’s see - Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Hawaii, Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, Idaho, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Kentucky, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Montana, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, Rhode Island, New York, Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, North Carolina, South Carolina, Colorado, Delaware, Wisconsin, Nebraska, Connecticut, Minnesota, Wyoming, Arizona, Missouri, Mississippi, Kansas, New Hampshire, Oklahoma. BAM.68. Favorite school subject? I was a nerd and loved History. I took American History in grade 11 SPECIFICALLY because my 10th grade History teacher was so good and he taught it, I wanted him again. I also liked English. Math can choke.69. Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert. But I play an extrovert on the internet.70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Nope.71. What makes you nervous? Crowds, specifically crowds hindering where I need to go or what I want to accomplish.72. Are you scared of the dark? No, I’m scared of things IN the dark lmao.73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Sometimes, but usually I couch it in “I think it might be this actually” which probably comes off as passive aggressive.74. Are you ticklish? Yes but if you exploit that you gonna die75. Have you ever started a rumor? Probably lol76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Yep. I used to manage a store. I’m also a supervisor at my part-time job.77. Have you ever drank underage? I really didn’t that much but I did a little.78. Have you ever done drugs? Never hard drugs because I’m lame.79. Who was your first real crush? Third grade. Luke Costello. That crush... set a bit of a tone lol.80. How many piercings do you have? None, not even my ears, which everyone finds baffling for some reason.81. Can you roll your Rs? Yes!82. How fast can you type? I don’t know my exact WPM but it’s pretty fast I think.83. How fast can you run? Not very.84. What color is your hair? Red85. What color is your eyes? Green/hazel86. What are you allergic to? Potentially cats and/or dogs, dust, MAYBE alcohol lol.87. Do you keep a journal? Nope88. What do your parents do? they’re both retired but they were both teachers, the absolute nerds.89. Do you like your age? Sure90. What makes you angry? Dumb people at rush hour on public transit.91. Do you like your own name? I don’t hate it.92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? Not in a long, long time and when I used to they were all ridiculous and terrible, thank GOD I never had any.93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? I wouldn’t care.94. What are you strengths? I’m pretty chill I think?95. What are your weaknesses? Maybe too chill when things are important.96. How did you get your name? It was crazy popular in the 80s and my parents just liked it.97. Were your ancestors royalty? No, but there may have been a Polish lord somewhere in the line? No one is really sure. We ARE sure about the bank robber though. She’s my favourite.98. Do you have any scars? Oh hey a repeat question.99. Color of your bedspread? Purple100. Color of your room? Also purple