#Whoops fire is everywhere

[tothesolarium]

purposefully making these ending chapters really short to show time moving quickly has been fun and challenging

except for This chapter. Because the MAN I BEG YALL TO NOT SURE INTO A HOT VILLIAN, he is the worst and this not even a page long chapter really gets as overt with it as im gunna get. and the poem a few prior but-

we're building up to something something Big

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

thought to myself u know what. i havent watched falsettos enough. so here's a couple things i noticed in my latest impromptu rewatch (rewatch number 52th probably?? 67th?) + just some nice bits n parallel that are always Good (tm):

"he loves another" "i agree" with ("-man") going unsaid

the chess games following trina's song about stupid men and their little games

"that's the king. please protect him" That's marvin saying "please protect me. don't hurt me"

whizzer moves the pieces randomly in the revival but i like to imagine he's actually beating marvin at the game in the end... and the whole thing was him pretending to not know how to play, and that hurt marvin's ego more than anything

"now marvin, bend" as a sexy moment but later gets re-framed as a "unwillingness to change perspective" moment

"nothing is everything to me / except sex / and money" in that money whizzer is playing to marvin's insecurity that he's only sticking with marvin for his money- is so needlessly cruel (and thus such... delicious character writing lol)

"and he loves me so" that "so" at the end is sort of a "loves me so much" but also a dare. he loves me, so what can you even do about that?"

"ask me if i love him, it depends on the day"// "do i love him?… no"

"son with a brain, and nice bright mother" showing mendel is like marvin (+ many, many men) and wants a wife half just to do domestic labor for him (goes well with the "washing your laundry, washing your socks!" line)

"he loves his father" // "i love things i never had"

"im everything he wanted" here trina finally realizes how she was such a insecure woman for such a long time and why she could put up with so much / settle for so little ("love me for what i am, not what i try to be" etc)

i love that "what ive done to you is rotten" is the slap to trina, is not taking to jason about his sexuality, and is Also telling trina and jason he "never ever, wanted to love" them. triple treat of bad parenting lol (but our man gets there in the end #bless him)

"a man kid, you'll be kid, whatever your song" the kind of reversed coming out metaphor of it all. ugh. so good!! (also i always cry at this bit bc... i will never have this with my parents :) rip haha whoops)

"pretty boys are in demand" just a good line for the whole gay men dying everywhere + the 'dating frenzy' energy of the era

"im not a giant man" /"good" // "one day i hope to be / as mature as my son who is 12 and a half / and this tall… that's all i want to be, that's all"

"we'll spent BILLIONS of dollars" and then the actual thing plays the way it does

"making the most pathetical errors" as a metaphor for marvin's arc…. making constant errors in love but making a homerun at the end

"should i take this new promotion OR should i take this IBM job?" is an amazing, anti-corporate lyric that fits greatly w/ the most explicitly political (likely authorial) song in the musical that, imho, shouldn't have been cut in the revival. in hindsight tho i imagine the revival people felt very proud and """progressive""" when they made that cut lol is very much a typical liberal move: "cant have true emancipation or revolutions but u cant have some \~upward mobility in the job market xoxo". also on the same vein, cutting the line "i'll change my life, and hire a maid" from the og "and fire the maid" like it's this huge feminist moment lol ughhhh hh

(other line-cuts that frustrate me… "it's queer, mr. marvin", "i could use a little drink" and "i just bought a family" . i feel w/ all of these they tooks some "edge" of the OG characters and kind of attempted to make them "nicer". but it really just makes them a little flatter, a little less real) ( and also some scenes just plain make less sense (marvin's drink line leading to his outburst)

(but bc it's not All Bad sdklfj in fairness, i belie the whole "why don't we tell him, that we don't have the awnsers? (…) this is the start to his becoming a man" bit - is SUCH a great part for mendel, it goes so hard and from what i remember is not in the original falsettos? correct me if im wrong but if it was a new addition in the revival, imo it's a huge improvement to the scene flow… and dare i say, brings the whole climax together, and spells out The Aesop for people who hadn't gotten it by the end of Act 2) -"let me go, im not ashamed to have loved you" // "what's the matter trina, darling, why cant you let go?" -"feel all right for the rest of your life" The Message of the play implicit in it.. "even if it's cut short"

"you save lives, and i serve chicken fat / i can't fucking deal wit hthat" / "maybe is not dumb the way this whole thing ends / the food tastes really yummy!"

"it's about growing up, getting older, living on a lover's shoulder" /"but i confess, you grow up, you get old, you hate less"

"the ground shifting, the rules keeps changing" and it's when the set changes for the first time!!! (/eats all my walls)

"isn't it enough i love you every night?" "who?" // "we had trouble parking, just like on our second date" "i hyperventilate"

"good men never fail" // "but i can't help but feeling i've failed " proving once again those machista lessons marvin learned when young were wrong.... it's clear that him showing weakness at that moment to whizzer was The Right Thing To Do. and what the moment called for.

"the last little mountain ill climb" sound of music ref? maybe?

i only wanted to love and not be blamed " // "who would i blame my life on?"

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dream/nightmare sequences, mentions of spouse death and hypothetical child death (in the dream sequence), angst, references to smut, m/m/m/f dynamics

Summary: Each Marcus deals with conflicting emotions after spending the night together.

A/N: WHOOPS, who let all the angst in here???? Sorry about that!

Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Next chapter>>

(Moreno)

Marcus Moreno is about to die. Alien tentacles ooze toward him out of a strange crack in the world itself, moving with terrifying speed. He can choose to draw his swords and ready himself, or to shove the people beside him away and out of danger, but not both. He’s somehow both controlling his body and observing the scene from the outside as he turns to see a pretty young woman with fierce eyes, a man dressed in Roman armor, and the FBI Agent he admires so much that it hurts. They all look at him with fear in their eyes as he lets out a strangled yell and throws them out of harm’s way with all of his strength. They land on the pavement several feet away, but it’s not far enough. The tentacles engulf them, and Marcus cries out in anguish as he draws his swords, slashing and hacking frantically, spilling thick, black blood everywhere as he tries to reach his loved ones.

He throws off the last of the writhing black mess, but somehow, the three people he had thought had been there before have changed. Now, only two bodies lie broken and bloodied on the pavement–one much smaller than the other. When he sees the eyes of his late wife staring unseeingly up at the sky, he drops to his knees with a guttural scream of grief and pain. He can’t bring himself to look at the second body, knowing exactly what he’ll see when he does. 

No, he whispers as tears fall down his cheeks. No, no, no, no–

He shoots up in bed, gasping for air. He’s soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, heart still pounding in his chest from the remnants of the dream. It’s only when something shifts behind him, a broad, bare chest turning and facing the other direction does he remember he’s not alone. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes his movements hadn’t woken anyone else. Carefully, he scoots down the bed, avoiding several pairs of legs, and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants before retreating to the living room. 

Hey, he taps out a message. How’s college life?

He stands in the middle of the room, staring down at the bright screen and feeling rather awkward in his nudity, not really expecting a response at this time of night but wishing with every atom in his body for one anyway. 

He’s about to give up and try to force himself back to sleep when three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

M: Who’s asking, leader of the Heroics or my papá?

Marcus snorts softly.

Do I receive a different response depending on my answer?

M: 1. I am studying at the library, or 2. It’s dollar beer night at Lotus.

He smiles. 

I choose option 1, obviously.

M: The real question is what are YOU doing up so late? 

Couldn’t sleep. Just felt the need to check in on you. Everything okay?

M: Everything’s fine. Are YOU okay? You haven’t sent me Worried Dad texts in the middle of the night in a while.

Marcus begins tapping out a response, deletes it, starts again, and deletes that too. He sighs, glancing warily back at the bedroom. I’m afraid to let anyone else into my life, he wants to tell her. You’re my only success story, and I worry every day that I’m going to lose you, too. 

It’s too much to lay on his twenty-one year-old daughter, so he turns it into a joke instead.

I’m short on my Dad quota and wanted to make sure the Dad Boss doesn’t fire me.

M: You’re weird.

Ever heard the saying ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?’

The message is left unread for several minutes, and he imagines that her friends are all goading her to get off her phone and rejoin the fun. Good. He does all the worrying for both of them, so that she can remain carefree. He smiles softly and taps out one last text.

Have a good night, bug. Call me sometime. xo 

He locks his phone and holds it at his side, but remains standing in the same place, mulling over his thoughts. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he said it had been a long time since he’d had… well, anyone really. The last time he’d had sex was during a disastrous no-strings-attached hookup after one of his coworkers convinced him to download some app and set up a profile. That was… shit, it had to be almost two years ago now. He hadn’t realized it had been quite that long. 

The last time he had a relationship was more of a trick question. He dated a few people on and off, once Missy had been able to mostly fend for herself at home, but they never lasted long or ever became serious. None of them had even met his daughter. The real answer to ‘when was your last relationship’ was ‘not since his wife died.’

It wasn’t just that no one could compare to her. It was that he couldn’t allow them the opportunity to even try. The closer people are to him, the more danger he puts them in. 

But ever since a certain FBI Agent waltzed into his office and asked so earnestly for his help, he found himself wanting to let someone in for the first time in a very long while. 

And now, to his great surprise and bewilderment, he has not just one more person he cares about, but three. Can he let himself get closer again? Can he afford to?

He looks at the book left open on the coffee table. At first he thinks there must be something wrong with his eyes, because the words all look like gibberish, but then he realizes the book is in Latin. Oh. Somehow he had forgotten that Marcus Acacius did not actually belong here. He can’t tell if the thought troubles him or relieves him–knowing that one less person will be in danger because of him.

The Heroic debates sleeping on the couch for a few moments, but the remnants of the dream still trickle unpleasantly through his bloodstream, and he doesn’t want to be alone. Carefully, he pads back into the bedroom and crawls back into the still-empty space that he had vacated. 

He lies awake for a long time, listening to the sound of breathing.

(Pike)

Marcus stirs, cracking open his eyes to see the first rays of daylight reflecting on the wall opposite your bedroom window. He rolls onto his back, being careful not to wake you as he turns over. Moreno is snoring softly beside him, looking peaceful. This is the only time he hasn’t seen worry lines etched on the man’s forehead, and he wonders about the burden of one man trying to protect the entire world. 

The Roman is already awake, piercing brown eyes meeting his with a mischievous twinkle. Marcus nods to him in greeting and gives him a small, crooked smile. The other man reaches over the Hero to run the tip of his index finger down the length of Marcus’s arm, and he shivers softly. 

“Early riser,” he comments in a whisper. 

“I have always risen with the sun.”

“Makes both of us,” Marcus grins. 

“And decidedly not our hostess.”

They both laugh quietly, not wanting to wake the other occupants of the bed. 

“Coffee?” he asks the Roman. 

“I would love some.”

Marcus helps himself to your kitchen, knowing exactly where you keep your coffee grounds and filters. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so at home in someone else’s space; he’s spent more time here over the past several weeks than he’s spent at his own apartment, and from the beginning he had secretly preened over the excuse to get to know you better.

At first, your temporary houseguest had been a slightly befuddling distraction–his distinctive presence ensured that he looked completely out of place in every environment, and his constant refrain of “Quid est, quid est, quid est” was equal parts endearing and frustrating. Marcus didn’t often feel like a small man, but he couldn’t deny that the way the General’s broad shoulders seemed to fill every room had him feeling some kind of way about it. 

It’s a fascination, he had told himself so many times. A temporary infatuation that’s distracting you from the woman of your dreams. 

When the translators were introduced, and the Roman’s sharp wit and mischievous sense of humor could be understood for the first time, the pull became even stronger. It didn’t help that the man seemed to be a shameless flirt with everyone–himself, you, and when Moreno began spending the odd evening here, him too. 

Even so, the events of the previous night had been so far beyond his imagination that he can hardly make sense of it. Marcus has always been a serial monogamist, hopping from one way-too-serious relationship to another and hoping against all odds that the next one wouldn’t end in disaster. He’s never been able to do anything that could remotely be considered casual.

He had no concept of what last night had meant. 

He pours the coffee into two mugs–dumping a fair amount of cream and sugar in one, and far less in his own–and hands one to Acacius. 

“You are pensive this morning,” he remarks, his voice still carrying a light rasp from sleep.

“Just thinking.”

“You and the Hero both strike me as men who are inclined to think themselves into an early grave.”

Marcus snorts. “That might be true.” Might be. Everyone he’s ever known has called him an over-thinker. “You're a great tactician when it comes to war,” he challenges the man. “Surely you appreciate the benefits of analysis.”

“There is analyzing a situation, and then there is helpfully standing in place wondering what action you are going to take while the enemy completely surrounds you.”

Marcus pauses, coffee cup halfway to his lips, and really looks at the man beside him, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. He tries to imagine him in the armor he had been wearing that first night, bruised and bloodied, leading the armies of Rome with a fierce battle cry. “I don't often find myself surrounded by an army.”

“The enemy can be many things. There is a word for this, no?”

“A metaphor?”

“Mmm,” he grunts in assent. “When is an army not really an army?”

Marcus smiles to himself, setting the mug down on the counter and staring into the middle distance. “So, what do you think my enemy is?”

The General looks him up and down. “The things that you carry with you.”

His eyes snap to Acacius in shock and surprise. The man is discerning–alarmingly so, at times. Marcus’s breath catches in his throat when he responds thickly, “What is it that you think I’m carrying?”

“This is not for me to know,” the man remarks casually, raising one eyebrow. “Unless you are wanting to tell me something?”

“What are you two chattering about?” your soft voice cuts through their conversation. Marcus turns to see you padding toward them wearing only a shirt and looking satisfyingly mussed. 

“A soldier that carries the weight of his past failure into the next battle will surely lose,” the General says cryptically. 

You stare at the two of them blankly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need some coffee if you’re going to be talking like that.” You look at Marcus shyly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to do. Does he kiss you? Is that rude? He wants to reach for you, to take you into his arms, but the two other men have him at a loss–how does one act after group sex? He has no blueprint for this situation.

“How lucky we are to have such a beautiful woman in front of us, still looking so well-fucked from our attentions last night.” The other man croons, moving closer to Marcus and nosing the shell of his ear. 

Feeling emboldened by the other man’s candor, he extends his arm to you, and you immediately fill the space perfectly, your head resting against his bare chest. Marcus presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With the General at his back, he feels completely surrounded by warmth–and wonders, despite himself, if he might be lucky enough to hold onto this feeling. The only thing better would be…

“Our other Marcus still asleep?” he jokes.

“The Hero was awake for some time in the night,” Acacius comments. 

Ah. That explains it. “We’ll let him sleep, then.”

“Or,” you say with a sultry smile, “or we could all three of us go back and… wake him up.”

(Acacius)

Marcus Acacius likes this more than anything else. More than any of the hedonistic acts that had come before, more than the thrill of building sexual tension between partners, is this: 

The utter decadence of sweaty, sated bodies, limbs tangled together… delicious. 

The hero lies boneless, half-sprawled over him. A man who has been pushed into a position of strength all his life, he finally appears free of all those expectations here. The General has always been able to read people, but it hardly took any effort at all to see that Marcus Moreno desperately craved the ability to let go. His breath shudders slightly on the exhale, and the other man curled around him makes a soft noise of inquiry.

“Feel okay?”

“Mmhmm,” the hero mumbles, not opening his eyes, and Acacius smiles.

The Agent, on the other hand, is much like himself, in that he seems to be just as comfortable in a position of power as he is in submission. Marcus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the man as he guided the hero through his first time receiving–gentle, but firm, one hand wrapped around the man’s cock and the other grasping his shoulder for leverage, his fingers always reaching possessively for his neck. Marcus Pike does not simply take a lover, the General concluded, he desires to own them.

It was that obvious possessiveness that had kept Marcus from insisting the Agent share with the others the night previous, allowing him to be the sole proprietor of your pleasure–but the way the man had shuddered at the sight of his beloved with his own thick cock down your throat gave him less qualms about the matter today.

And if that resulted in Marcus delighting in the hot, wet clutch of your cunt for himself, that was simply a fringe benefit, was it not? Oh, you were a sweet one, and it was easy to see why Pike was completely enraptured. You whimpered so beautifully when he broke you open for the first time, squirming around his cock with a little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead. When the Agent reached down to palm your cheek and soothe you through it, you greedily sucked his thumb into your mouth and bit down gently, eliciting a soft groan from the man. 

Marcus eventually flipped you on your stomach to take you fast and hard, mirroring the intensity of the two men beside you. You were delirious, drunk on your own pleasure, but still had the presence of mind to reach out and stroke the cheek of the Hero, who was moaning into the pillow next to you. You smiled softly, seeing the other man’s overwhelmed expression, and moved yourself closer to him. The two of you were still tangled together when you reached the point of ecstasy.

You’re curled into Marcus’s chest now, your soft breaths disturbing the smattering of hair and your warm body leaving his own glistening with sweat. You beside him, the Hero sprawled bonelessly on top of him, and the Agent with his arm draped over top, his fingers brushing against the top of his pubic bone–and Marcus Acacius feels utterly at peace. 

[angelsnkisses]

thinking about softdom!danny cooper <3

A/N: everyone's so adamant that he's a sub (no judgement here, i love me some sub!dan 😩) but oh my god i can't stop thinking about how he would be the sweetest dom.

💟 nsfw - mdni 💟

warnings: softdom!danny, sub!gn!reader, unprotected sex, overstimulation, biting, creampie

• softdom!danny, who praises and praises you like no other. it's mostly for your pleasure, but that doesn't mean it doesn't turn him on, too.. in fact, he lives for the way you get all flustered at his compliments, the way you tighten around him with every gentle coo of sweet encouragement, the way you whine and moan for him and only him, all of it.

"you feel so good, darling. so, so good,"

• softdom!danny, who loves overstimulating you until you blubber and cry for him to slow down. he's nothing but sweet the whole time, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily fair. no, he's anything but. he knows your body even better than you do, and he knows exactly how to have you practically screaming into the pillows in no time. he thoroughly enjoys fucking you dumb, molding you into a melty, crying mess.

"come on, angel.. one more for me. just one more? there you go.."

• softdom!danny, who has a bit of a biting problem. he can't help it, he loves how you jerk at the sudden pain, how your surprised yelp will warp itself into a blissed moan. he'll sink his teeth into your thighs while he's giving you head, though it's never hard enough to break the skin. more often than not you'll find faint, crescent-shaped bruises on the supple surface the morning after.

"was that me? oh.. whoops. okay, okay, i'm sorry!"

(he's not)

• softdom!danny, who's allll hands when it comes to you. he can't keep them to himself, and believe me, you rarely want him to. he'll always have a firm grip on your hips, your thighs, your ass, your wrists, your chest, your neck, everywhere. best believe he showers you with praise while he's touching you, too. calling you his perfect slut, telling you how soft you are, how warm you feel.. he's very vocal, and he loves when you are, too.

"let me hear you, just like that.. you sound so pretty, baby,"

• softdom!danny, who talks you through it. he'll flip his voice to a low, comforting hum, putting his lips at your ear so he's all you can focus on. well, aside from the mind-blowing pleasure he gives you. i can literally hear his cooing, shaky voice HELP ME.

"it's too much? oh, honey, you can take it. shh, c'mon.."

"doing so good for me, hm?"

• softdom!danny, who whimpers.. a lot. need an audio-visual? watch intruders. he gets especially vocal when he's close to finishing, his voice getting gradually more wobbly until he's almost as much of a mess as you are. he'll hold you tight, his head falling forward and his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to get you to your release before he gets to his.

"gonna cum? yeah, come on, cum for me,"

"so fucking pretty, my pretty slut, f- oh, fuck,"

• softdom!danny, who babbles praises and 'i love you' over and over when he fills you up. either that, or he smashes his lips to yours in a messy, desperate kiss, swallowing up your mirrored moans greedily. he can't help but push himself as deep as he can, his rooted desire to watch his cum leak out of you fueling his fire like no other. he loves it, though he won't actually admit it..

"that's it, you take me so well.. mmhm, you do,"

• softdom!danny, who is the KING of aftercare. anything you need, consider it done. you want some tea, cuddling, and a movie? of course, anything for his sweet angel. you want some space to listen to music or take a shower? absolutely, he'll be waiting for you when you're done. one thing about danny is he loves you, and he'll do anything he can to show you just how much <3.

[rosileeduckie]

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free. 

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

[sparxwrites]

Joel remembers things after the accident in flashes. 

The accident itself, he remembers fine – don’t mess around with enchanters, kids, stay in school, and especially don’t mess around with an enchanter, a chest full of various potions, a charged creeper, and several untamed wolves – but everything after it? Not just a blur, but gone. Other than the flashes. Funny little snippets of memory, half-order.

-

First: Him, on the ground, in a crater. Enchanter, gone, wolf corpses, still very much present. There’s broken glass everywhere; he’d forgotten he was storing potions in the next room. His body aches like he was hit by a truck, burns like he was hit by a bolt of lightning, and is– whatever the fuck the correct adjective for feels like he’s mainlined a month’s caffeine intake directly into his brainstem is. It’s not a great combination.

There’s also a Gem beside him, crouched carefully down in the grass. She’s saying something. His ears are ringing; he can’t make out the words. She looks worried.

She reaches out to touch him, and Joel’s entire body hurls itself at her without his conscious permission, jaws agape, fury rising like a red and mad tide. Everything goes black before he makes contact, but the terror on Gem’s face burns itself into his retinas before it does.

-

Next: He wakes up, alone, unclear where he is, struggling to move. His mouth tastes of blood. He’s lying on a mattress, wrists and ankles bound down. There’s something over his mouth. And Etho is there, too. Etho with a sword. Which doesn’t make much sense.

“Hi, Joel,” says Etho. “How you doing? You know where you are?”

Joel feels like shit, and has no idea where he is. But when he opens his mouth to say that, the only thing that comes out is a croak. He tries again, nothing, only pain, and then gives up. “Face,” he says, instead, voice raw like he’s been howling. He tries to lick his lips, and they taste of blood too. The sword, slowly, starts making sense.

“Uh. Oh, yeah.” Etho shifts in his chair. “We had to muzzle you. You’ve been, uh– well. The teeth have been a problem. When you… you’ve been like. Blacking out. And biting people. So…” He gestures, vaguely, at Joel’s prone body. “But it’s just a temporary measure. Some of the others are working on it. We’ll get it fixed soon.”

Joel wants to say more, wants to ask more, but things are fading. He can feel them fading. The black wants him again. “Hurts,” he says, raw as gravel, as his vision begins to tunnel.

“Yeah,” says Etho, soft, sympathetic. His hand is very warm, where it touches Joel’s wrist. “I know, buddy. I know.”

-

Last: He’s on fire, he’s burning, he’s fucking burning, they’re burning him alive, holy shit, why is no one trying to help him? 

There’s a dog somewhere nearby howling, or else a child screaming, or a horse being murdered, or maybe just a grown human in spine-melting pain. Hard to concentrate when he’s busy being ripped apart. Difficult to hear. His ears are ringing, vision blurred and half-dark, skin crawling as it tries to get away from the agony. 

Dimly, distantly, through the pain, he sees Jimmy. That’s when he knows he’s dying; no Jimmy on Hermitcraft. And also he called him Jimmy, even if just in the privacy of his own head. Sure sign of imminent death, that. 

The Jimmy who is not real looks at him, eyes calm and kind, and says, “Well, you’ve really fucked it now, Joel, haven’t you?” And then, before Joel can say anything back, he’s gone – and so, blissfully, is the pain. So, blissfully, is everything else

-

He wakes up, and hurts like someone has tried to make taffy of his bones. Everything aches, deep and abiding. But– he wakes up.

“M’alive,” he says, surprised, and his throat is full of knives, but the words still make it out. He could whoop from that alone. If not for the knives.

“You are.” That’s X’s voice, and when Joel flops his head to one side, the admin’s stood there, hands outstretched over Joel’s chest and belly. Even through the helmet, he looks tired. “I don’t know what you did, Joel, but I’m going to have to ask you to never do it again. Please.”

“Yeah, Joel.” Grian. Who else. “Or we’ll kick you off the server.”

“We won’t kick you off the server,” says Xisuma, exhaustedly. “...But I might want to.”

Joel laughs, but the knives, so it comes out more as a dry wheeze. He needs water. He needs a piss. He needs some painkillers, and to sleep for maybe two or three days. What he says instead, though, before he can help himself, is, “Jimmy. W’s Jimmy ‘ere?”

He expects Grian to laugh. It’s a mark of how bad things were that Grian doesn’t. “No, Jimmy wasn’t– Do you want Jimmy? We could maybe whitelist–” He looks at Xisuma.

Xisuma sighs. “Sure. Let’s invite the whole Empires server, while we’re at it.”

“’d be nice,” mumbles Joel, and then, “g’nna. Mmm. Sl’p now.”

“That’s fine.” Grian’s voice, and there’s a hand stroking his hair, which is nice. That might be Grian’s too but, since his eyes are already closed, he can’t tell. “Sleep, Joel. Jimmy’ll be here when you wake up. Which you might regret asking for, actually. Ah well.”

[cyten0]

A Symphony in Crimson

Act 2: A Movement in White

Chapter 5-B

♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯

The battlefield lies before you. The clouds darken the sky. You have ALL your weapons to play with!

Oh this is gonna be a GOOD day!

♯♪𝄡 “THE STARS ABOVE AS MY WITNESS!!!”

Mi’s music blares out from above!

Let’s GO!!!!

You charge forwards, greatswords in hand! NORMAL people would say they’re ‘massively over-sized’ but honestly they are as light as daggers to you. With simple, quick swings, you crush people’s bodies before the edge splits them in half, showering you in blood, viscera, and shards of armor!

STARS, YES!!!!!

You can FEEL the sins of these people with your gift, so you have absolutely NO remorse!! Someone tries to stab back at you, but you dodge to the side, and SLAM them into the air with the flat-side of your blade! Whoop! There they go!

Oh, you see a big guy to your side! He looks tough! WAIT!!! That means you can test this weapon!! You use that magnet craft Ti taught you to pull it over! It hits a few people on the way, so it’s already pre-bloodied! Nice!

You rev up the awesome, and almighty CHAINSWORD!!!! Epic combo of excessively oversized greatsword and chainsaw! Is it practical? Nope! Does it make a lot of mess? Yes! Is that the point? ASH YEAH!!!!

As the blades on it’s edges spin rapidly, the guy you were charging at ducks out of the way, hearing the sound of your weapon as you approach. You swing again, and dig into his flesh, Watching as bits of him fly EVERYWHERE as it grinds him into blinding PASTE!!!

You have NO idea when you started laughing, but you are not gonna stop!

♪ “Having fun?”

Aurola walks up next to you, sniping away rapidfire craft with their bare hands in a rain of perfect targeted blasts. Making their little fingerguns to focus them into precision destruction.

♯ “HAHA YEAH!!! STARS it’s been WAY TOO LONG!!! HAHAHAHA!!!!!”

Next weapon! Oh, that cool sword you got from Ka Bue! Normally they make them smaller, but BLIND THAT! This might not be as big or heavy as most of your stuff, but it’s REALLY sharp!

You focus craft into the sheathe and in a single motion, pull the blade from it’s sheathe, unleashing it into a slice razor thin! Think you got like, 13 ish people with that? You only saw their bodies fall a second after it happened! Cut is so precise it’s practically surgical, even on this scale!

Not as messy, but still SO SATISFYING!!!!

You are about to turn towards the next group, when a wave of craft rips apart the earth towards them, like an explosion!

♯ “Aw, I was gonna get them!”

𝄡 “They were archers. Could have hit the town.”

Oh, yeah, good point, they might have panicked if you attacked them. Okay then! You’ll let Ti have that one.

You hear someone speak in your headphones.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

HOLY CRAB they really are just TEARING through the army! What the crab even ARE these people?!

Whatever, gotta do your job, that group is coming in hot! Literally! Those torches look like trouble!

❁ “Second group, coming in from the north of town! Looks like they got fire!”

♪ “I’ll get them, Re and Ti have things covered.”

You watch as La leaps out of the battlefield, and starts running the walls, before suddenly a barrage of craft snipes down the lot of them from halfway across the town! WOW okay!!

Some of them are getting into town, but this mysterious black armored knight lady has been clearing them out. She’s not on the same level as the others, but she’s really good! And she’s got a knack for command. Looks kind of like the lady in the painting?

Honestly, this is kinda cool! You take the phone Re gave you and pointed it at Mi a little! They need some screentime cause Crab they are really awesome and the music gets your blood pumping and they look like they’re having the time of their life performing and it’s kinda cute, especially when they smile at the camera-

A-Anyways back to the action! WAIT WHA- How the crab did someone make it up here?!!

You slam your hammer into them, and it knocks them off the clocktower! Whooo okay, that scared you for a sec. Crab, it’s kinda just hitting you this is a crabbing warzone! You’ve only ever fought the odd weak sadness, You are NOT prepared for this!!

♫ “Thank you!”

Mi gives you a smile.

Nevermind, You are absolutely crabbing ready to deal with literally anything that happens.

𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢𝄢

You watch as Nille takes care of that threat. Good. All is secured.

You focus on maintaining your concentration. Keeping yourself steady. The streets are getting flushed clean, the citizenry is secured near the farther side of town, away from the battle, and you have the defenders making use of local knowledge to ambush those who do make it within the walls. A manageable amount for them, thanks to your Allies outside.

𝄢♮ “Good work, Defenders! Keep it up!”

You see a soldier in the street, and charge at them, focusing energy from your gauntlet to knock them out with a mechanically powered punch to the face! They get knocked back from the blow, and their neck nearly snaps off. You then charge at the next group. You won’t let any citizenry get hurt today!

♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯

As the dirt and grass below your feet slowly turns to mud from blood alone, You continue to cleave a gruesome path through the army! You did take a few small hits, but you can barely tell with the raw craft and adrenaline running through your veins!

Φ “Enough! Face me, Demon!”

You just barely manage to parry the blow as the commander dives at you from above, spear in hand. Oh he’s strong! You actually had to fight him off a bit!

Φ “By the Dragon, you shall die today!”

♯ “Heh, We’ll see about that! Ti, give us a little arena, I want people to watch this!”

Let’s see if this guy can keep up! Ti nods and with a flip of his pages, a column of earth rises from below the two of you, lifting you both into the air.

You call your own spear over. See if you can beat this guy at his own game!

♯ “Come On! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

He leaps into the air, diving at you, but that trick won’t work twice! You sidestep him and punch him straight in the stomach! He skids across the ground, but uses his polearm to keep himself going off the edge.

You dash at him, spear first, as he Leaps out of the way. Jumpy, ain’t he? But you kick off the ground, and intercept him mid air. Manage to clip his flank this time, but he catches you off guard when he swings around, using his cape as a glider to swoop midair! You block the blow, but it sends you crashing down.

Oh, you’ve heard of this! A Poterian Dragon-Knight! Oh this is SO crabbing cool!

Φ “From on High, I shall send thee whence you came!”

♯ “Fighting in the Air, huh?”

Oh, stars this is so cool, like that play you saw back in the day! Oh You have GOT to play the part!

♯ “Then together we shall soar! And let us see who flies higher, the Dragons almighty-”

You use craft to bring your greatswords up, and hold one in your hand, while using magnetic craft ride the other like a surfboard, then send it careening through the air!

♯ “Or the Stars above!!”

Your movement is fast enough to catch him off guard, but he swoops just out of the way, with you only slightly grazing him. But he won't expect this! You stop right after the blow, hovering just above him, and then using your rides hilt as a handlebar, swing below to kick him in the face! He flies back, then turns the momentum into an upwards sweep, which you just barely manage to dodge out of the way.

Five seconds of seeing how you move and he’s already adjusting! He knows his stuff!

Φ “Enough! Begone!”

He kicks you in the face with enough force to knock you down again. Aw, you were having fun...

Φ “You shall not have your way! We WILL reach our goal!”

Wait… Do you smell… Sugar? Wishcraft?!

His spear fills with craft so brilliant it seems to be alight with flame, and then, he dives down with full force!!!

As the commander rockets into the earth, buckling the land like a crater’s impact, the Poterian soldiers cheer.

But as the dust settles, you watch as the commander’s face goes from confidant to horrified.

As you simply caught his lance in your hand before it even hit the ground.

♯ “...You called on Wishcraft? For this? To slaughter innocents?… That you would desire such a thing so purely.”

He starts to shake. You are furious. But. You can’t help but laugh.

♯ “In that case. I can’t afford to let you live.”

You fling him up into the air. A Dragon-Knight shouldn’t die anywhere else. Then, you feel your heart beat, filling you with power. As you amplify your magnetic craft, and lift ever single loose weapon from the battlefield.

And drive them towards him, from every angle.

In one moment, he’s left nothing but a mangled corpse, barely visible through the blades in his body.

You look out at the army. Seeing his death, they freeze.

And then run. Run for the hills.

♯ “And don’t you BLINDING come back!”

...Blind it. That soured your mood.

You look at the man. He cared enough for whatever it is he was trying to do.

♯ “...May the Phoenix carry your soul home.”

You don’t know a Poterian prayer that matches that, but you guess it doesn’t matter.

Battle is over anyways.

>>>

After a nice shower at an inn room someone lent you all, you’re feeling MUCH better! You get yourself dressed back up, and join the others in the lobby, having meals while the locals barrage you all with questions and praise.

It’s a little tricky to go into detail, given everything, so you all settled with ‘travelers from the lost island on a secret quest’. Which, is close enough that people accept it. And mysterious enough to keep most from prying too much.

As you sit down, a defender instantly jumps up and asks you-

▣ “I gotta know! How did you get so strong!”

Well, you don’t mind giving a little advice!

♯ “Hard work, experience, and Dedication!”

▣ “...Okay, that’s bullcrab, you cut an army in half.”

♯ “Not really! Those are the important bits! The rest is just fancy rituals that wouldn’t have worked without them.”

▣ “That also how you threw swords around with your mind?”

Okay, you CAN’T take credit for that! Sure, you might have made it your favorite craft at this point, but…

♯ “Nah. Ti actually came up with that. His little Bladeheart signature is he can invent new minor craft types if you ask. Stuff that'd take ages to figure out otherwise. I just got really god at that magnet craft he taught me, cause I found it fun!”

❁ “Bladeheart signature?”

𝄡 “Every Bladeheart knight gains a special ability, unique to them, based on the nuances of the wish they made when they took their oaths.”

♯ “For example, I can track down people from those who know them. Works best on finding people who’ve hurt them, but also can find those they want to protect, if they’re worried. Like I did back in Bambouche!”

❁ “Huh, why that?”

Oh… That’s… Stars, It feels awkward to say. Makes you remember... Unpleasant times. Things you’ve tried to move on from.

...Ah, Ash. You see Nille’s face and just. Yeah. You can tell them. You have suspicions they’d get it.

♯ “...Later. It’s kinda personal.”

A kid walks up and drops a gift box on the table.

∘ “Here! You were super cool so I made you a thing!”

♯ “Oh, wow, thank you! I wasn’t expecting that! Let’s see-”

You open the box and with a loud POP, a burst of glitter fills the air!! You are absolutely coated in the sparkling stuff!!! As is the surrounding table, all the rest of you, some bystanders and…

Not La. Who was standing back.

♯ “AUROLA!!!!”

♪ “What, I totally, absolutely had nothing to do with that!”

That gets a laugh out of a lot of nearby patrons. And. Ah, blind it, you chuckle a little too. It’s been a while since you got a proper La prank!

∘ “Wait, but where’s the gift I made?”

♪ “Check your pocket.”

∘ “Huh?… Woah. How’d you do that?!”

♪ “Magic”

The girl pulls out a small handmade plushie of the change god, but it’s holding little copies of your swords!! OH THAT IS AMAZING!!!! You think you let out an involuntary squeal of delight!!

∘ “You like it?!”

♯ “Oh my stars I love it so much!! Oh this is absolutely joining my collection!!! Thank you thank you thank you!!”

She hands it to you and you give it a big squeeze!! Oh you love this so much!! You then give them a big hug! Oh this is so blinding sweet you love it SO MUCH!!!!

𝄡 “Perhaps we could return the favor. Didn’t Darkon commission some plushies of us at some point? Might have a spare.”

The little girls eyes practically sparkle!

∘ “Really?! Can I?!”

♯ “Yeah! I… Ah stars, I actually don’t have a spare. Um...”

𝄡 “Hm. In that case, We could teach you a little ritual to make the favor tree give you one.”

▣ “A Ritual? Not just normal asking?”

So’s face flickers to a cheerful, informative one.

𝄢 “It’s called wishcraft, and with the right steps, you can turn a desire for something into real effects! It’s frankly comparable to magic.”

Ti Finishes writing down the steps and hands a copy to the girl.

∘ “Okay! I’ma go get a magic mini Knight lady! Thank you!!!”

She runs off, excited. You wave her off.

❁ “Is that safe?”

𝄢 “Favor tree ritual isn’t anything serious. You can maybe conjure a simple item, help learn a skill. Small things like that. Things that ‘feel’ within reason to do yourself, but would otherwise be difficult.”

▣ “Okay, but that’s still wild. Could’ve helped against the king, maybe! Bunch of people wanted that.”

♫ “Maybe. But it won’t help clean up this glitter. I hope you’ll help the Innkeeper with that, La.”

♪ “Oh, very well, I suppose I should.”

You enjoy the rest of your meal, even if it’s a little glittery, and enjoy the afternoon! Basking in a job well done!

… Something still bugs you though.

If nobody knows about wishcraft then. How did that Poterian guy know any?

𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞

You watch over your other family. Hidden away in the corner, using a little wishcraft to keep yourself hidden. Not an easy thing to do, especially with Aurola there.

They still think you’re dead. That you died with the refugees when 'someone' let monsters into the safehouse. A reasonable assumption, and one you played into a bit when you realized they wouldn’t be on board. With. ANYTHING you’re doing.

You’d like to keep it that way. They know about you. They’d try and stop you. And they are the only people with any kind of knowledge about what you’re using. Right of kings, Arcana, Primodials, ect. Even if they don’t have NEARLY as much knowledge as you.

You don't like being distant from them any more then you do your other family. You lived a very happy life with them. They helped you. Grounded you.

But you HAVE to do this. You would do this a thousand times over if it helped them. You'll bring back Astravia, make it a good place, and fix the whole rest of the world while you're at it. Make it perfect.

They might figure out something is up later, but every second you can buy yourself helps. For now, they won't notice the little things.

Like how they didn’t notice pieces of Arcana in the Poterian soldiers. Now seeping into the earth. You’d have hoped they got a little farther, but they covered a good chunk of the coastline.

It was easy enough to convince them. Told them the ‘blessing’ those shards gave them was for a holy quest. That the rituals were teachings of the dragon. And, STARS, they ran with it! Poteria always did put on the best shows!

And now this land counts as Astravia for the Royal blessing. As will the people living on it, given a days time. As they drink the water, breath the air, they will slowly but surely count as subjects. But you aren’t going to use that right away.

No, they’re buffer. You’d rather your Astravian family doesn’t get sacrificed. They still have that little blessing on them, so they are much farther down the list for the Arcana. But just in case, you want a few extra names on that list. You still care about them. Even if they hate you for this, you don’t care. As long as they live it’s FINE.

Breathe in. And out. In. and Out.

Now all you need to do is get Isa to start the cycle. Throw wide the gates, but put the blood on HIS hands. You’d rather it was anyone else, but it’s fine. Too late now, you can’t make another. Only reason the Empress made a second king at all is cause you hid yourself. Two kings gets messy, and they know it.

But it’s also the only thing that works. The only way to appease Judgment’s price.

You walk out of the inn, and when out of sight, use your translocator. You’ll head back to base, then tomorrow, you head back to Réfroir. And start this show for real.

♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯♯

...Eh, you’re sure it’s fine! Could have dug that stuff up from anywhere.

You hug your gift. Change god with swords is so cool! And they’re YOUR swords, which is cooler!

You finish up your meal, and chat with people. It’s a little tricky, cause obviously they have questions, but you kinda can’t answer all of them cause it’ll give them headaches. Though once they figure that out, they kinda ease up on it.

They do ask about Suki though. Some noticed she was Vaugardian, despite the white hair.

♫ “The white hair was from some wishcraft! A-A lot of people from our home have white hair, and she wanted to fit in.”

❁ “Huh, that’s kinda cool. Changing to fit in with a new home.”

𝄢 “She cared a LOT for the Island. She saw the potential for a good place. And she fought tooth and nail to try and make it that. To help it change, as it were. Course, Darkon and her getting together helped, but she got by on her OWN merits. She was one heck of a Queen.”

❁ “Wait, she was a QUEEN?!”

♫ “Yep. Darkon was Crown prince at the time.”

▣ “Wait, Darkon? Like the guy who wrote Cursing of Chateau Castle?”

♪ “Same one. That series turned a LOT of heads, being so subversive on the ideas of nobility and royalty, ESPECIALLY with it being written by the current king. The entire work was practically a scathing review of the entire political climate.”

▣ “… I might have to re-read the entire series.”

So’s face lights up but you can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad way.

𝄢 “I HAVE to see the Vaugardian translation at some point! How did they translate the symbolism?! The cultural context?! Do people even KNOW about the romance? Or have ANY idea who Hermes is?!”

▣ “Wait the guy who showed up in issue 43?! Is that a reference? Does he come back again?!”

𝄢 “I hope not!?! That’s the spirit of the first King!! Married to the Patron Star!! That’d be like if the Change god was a reoccurring character!”

▣ “Crab, if this wasn’t starting to give me headaches, I would ask SO many more questions!”

𝄡 “Eventually that wish will be taken down, and you can learn more then.”

Huh. That’s. Interesting to think about.

Your home has been gone for seven YEARS now. You kinda grew complacent with the idea that it’d stay gone. Sealed up and buried. But. It won’t. Not forever.

Ash, that’s a sobering thought. Might be able to build Suki’s Astravia from the ground up. Literally rising from the ashes, just like the dove of Hermes. Awfully fitting, if a better Astravia is reborn like they were. Maybe the Universe thought this was the best way.

>>>

You just get into your room to relax for the rest of the day, while So and Mi go about getting supplies for your trip, when you get a message.

▲ {Hey, it’s Isabeau here. Letting you all know we aren’t gonna be doing a call today. Something happened, and we’re a little shaken.}

♯ {What happened, we gotta know!!}

▲ {Heard you all knew about Fa’s horn turning black? Yeah that.}

♪ {Huh, thought it wouldn’t come up. It tends not to, unless someone deserves it.}

▲ {Oh so the whole ‘murder our enemies’ thing is normal? That’s good to know. What about the eating people?}

𝄢 {Only if they do something truly unforgivable. So what happened? And do you need help covering up a murder?}

▲ {Okaaay, was NOT the response I was expecting! But thankfully no. Some Timecraft Fa got back in Dormont kicked in, and now neither them NOR Odile are dead. Though all three have some trauma now.”

𝄢 {TIMECRAFT?!? That is excessively dangerous! Especially if it can reverse things! My brother is the only recorded person in HISTORY to manage it at ALL!}

𝄡 {Given Fa has Siffrin’s memories, that would explain how they managed it. Regardless, watch out for changes.}

▲ {Hold on, brb, we’re having the Change god take a look for that.}

You sit and wait there, kicking your feet as you sit over the bed. You pull out a sigil Ti gave you and conjure up a pile of your stuffed animals, so you can just lie on them. You need comfort. Oh PLEASE let Fa be okay!!!

▲ {Back. Change god confirmed it. Timecraft got permanently etched into Fa, and it’s messed them up a bit. They’re gonna need more food from now on, and that’s making them and everyone nervous.}

𝄢 {Blind it, the worst time for their divine nature to kick in.}

▲ {Divine nature?}

𝄢 {Odile hasn’t mentioned yet? Part of them, specifically the fallen star part, is the same kind of being as Change or the Arcana.}

𝄢 {They were formed from Astravia’s faith and excess wishcraft. Decidedly mortal now, but still.}

𝄢 {They can be affected by what kinds of wishes they grant, and in Fantasia’s case, their own wishes. Again, why they are banned from wishcraft.}

▲ {Huh. How many people know about that?}

♪ {Pretty much just us, why?}

▲ {Change saw it was done by force. Like some kind of secret wishcraft surgery. Someone, or something, MADE this happen.}

You freeze solid.

Someone. Forced changes. Onto Fa.

♯ {WHO THE ASH HURT THEM AND CAN I STAB THEM?!?!?!}

♫ {Calm down Re! When we meet up, you can track them with your gift, right?}

Right. Someone HURT them. You are really. REALLY good. At finding people who hurt others.

♯ {I am gonna mess them up so much I’ll give Fa in Black a run for their money.}

▲ {Oh absolutely. We are gonna kick this person’s butt.}

Ash yeah, a fellow but kicker!!!

… Oh stars, you just realized you swore in chat. You REALLY hope Fa doesn’t see that. You’ve been doing really good at not swearing in front of them all these years. Just using baby swears like stars or blinding!

You are not loosing that bet, not after 20 years! Ash would ABSOLUTELY count as a swear, and is way too close!

▲ {Actually, weird aside. You all know what it means if your hair and eyes turn that same weird shade Fa’s secret monster eyes?}

𝄢 {You mean red? That’s the name for the color. Or shade, as you’d call it.}

▲ {Yeah, that. I made a weird wish, and the uh. Empress Arcana wasn’t sure how I was able to do it? Mentioned a third party, which is why I thought to bring it up. Thought that might be related.}

Wait. If they have the same thing Darkon and Siffrin had then... Are they… Oh my stars that’s really cute.

♯ {Guys, looks like Fa got their prince charming after all!!!}

♪ {Never thought that would happen! Grats on becoming Royalty btw Isabeau.}

▲ {Huh?!? Can I get some explanation?}

𝄡 {The eyes and hair are a symbol of the Arcana’s blood flowing through your veins. By divine right, all under their influence are your subjects. Rather impressive to get that without being a direct descendant.}

▲ {Huh, explains the name. But what’s that actually mean?}

♪ {Practically speaking? Two things. One is the power to summon the Arcana. Powerful beings of world shaping power, but it’ll cost innocent lives to do so. So don’t.}

▲ {Yeah, I heard about that. No worries, I don't plan to!}

You remember Siffrin talking about it, once. The royal secret. The Coronation of Celestials, the ritual to summon the 22 fragments of the patron star into the world. How each one is already unbelievably powerful alone. How if all of them are summoned, one can literally remake the world like a god.

Not surprising, So mentioned the Change god has fundamentally altered reality on accident just trying to show up. You suppose YOUR local primordial could do it on purpose if they get remade. Favor for the trouble.

But no king ever managed to summon them all in recorded history. Not enough lives to spend, you guess. Or something came up. You don’t know.

♪ {There’s a second benefit, but I’d rather not mention that one. Lot of kings get really twisted with that one. It hopefully won’t come up, but if it does, you’ll notice. Do NOT take advantage of it, if it does. It’ll put every Astravian in danger if you do. Us included.}

▲ {Concerning but. I’ll take your word for it.}

Yeah, you REALLY don’t want them to find out what happens if an Astravian king gets killed. Wouldn’t be good at all. Even if you all are sort of protected. You hope. Darkon’s blessing stuck after he died, so Siffrin’s should too. Either way, there aren’t many Astravian’s left.

Still. This whole business is super concerning. That the most dangerous things from your homeland are coming back in concerning ways… You aren’t a fan.

❁ “Sup, I’m back.”

♯ “Oh hey, Nille!”

You’re sharing a room with Nille, just cause of room setup. She plops down into her bed, and rolls around, before checking the phone So gave her, catching up on the conversation.

❁ “… What’s this about Fa doing murder?”

♯ “Old bodyguard instincts. Astravia got rough, so they kinda put all that into a box in their head. Guess even after, it’s still around. It only comes out when people are in extreme danger, and just to protect them.”

❁ “...Promise it won’t hurt Bonnie?”

♯ “Swear on the universe! It only comes out if violence is a given. If Bonnie ever sees Fa like that, they'll probably save their life! Even if it's violent, they don't hold back!”

❁ “...Fine, I’ll take your word on it. Still doesn’t sound good though.”

♯ “Fa would agree with you, on that front. They don’t like doing stuff like that.”

Nille looks through the phone a bit more.

❁ “Soooo..... Why can you track people?”

Oh! Ash, right, you did promise to tell them that.

You do as Ti does, and breathe in. and out. Nice and slow.

Okay. You can do this.

You hold a hand up to your chest. Feel your heart. Remember the day you plunged that dagger into it. And what you wished for, so hard you had to scream it out loud to cover the pain. That you repeated, over and over, as you clung to life...

♯ “...I … I wished for the strength to make sure nobody would ever get hurt like I was.”

Nille pauses, and closes the phone, looking directly at you. You're still kinda shaking. Even if it was only a day, it felt like years of pain and struggle.

You breathe again. In and Out.

♯ “I remember that wish so clearly. I-I guess the tracking part is to find and stop people, before they can either get hurt or hurt others. That’s what it feels like at least, whenever I use it.”

❁ “Oh… I can guess why that wish must be personal.”

♯ “Heh! What, you thought a wish made while stabbing your own heart wouldn’t be?”

Nille just stares silently. Clearly feeling guilty for asking.

♯ “… It’s alright. I. Didn’t have a good time growing up. Parents were… Horrible. Nobles typically were, honestly. Kinda avoid looking like one to distance myself.”

You felt more in common with the poor folk they would torture anyways.

♯ “They... beat and starved me for not playing up to their standards. For not being their perfect little pawn. For every misstep I made.”

Started out as not being proper enough, even if you were only four. Then not being interested in boys enough to ‘ensure the line’, even if you were only seven. And then just whatever excuse they could come up with, till that day at twelve years old.

Nille holds her own arm. You know that look. You still sometimes feel your dad’s blows on you, if you think too much about it. You hold your side to wave away the memory.

♯ “Familiar territory, I’m guessing?”

❁ “...Yeah. Had to bail from our place. Took Bonnie with me, so they wouldn’t suffer what I did. Glad we made it out.”

♯ “Glad you did too. Nobody deserves parents like that… Still, I guess you got lucky you could run.”

❁ “You didn’t?”

You curl up into a ball. Stars, if only you had somewhere you could have run to... Instead...

♯ “...Nope. Had to kill mine.”

You still remember so clearly. The dagger in your hand. The weight of it’s metal. The blood around you. You didn’t know to be glad, scared, or sad. Settled for hysteria. You don’t know when you stopped stabbing. But it was before the guards showed up. Only cause you could barely lift the blade anymore.

You were nearly gone by the time they did. Starvation and injuries started taking their toll by that point. If you hadn’t killed them, you don’t know if you would have lived to see the next day. Think they were planning to just have another kid and get rid of you, at that point.

Course. The guards wouldn't have been sympathetic. They were under your parents payroll. But They'd invited the royal family to a party that day, and Darkon had been nearby.

♯ “I-If Darkon hadn’t taken me in. I’d have been executed. Got myself a position in the royal guard, to keep close to him. But mostly just cause I could. Made me feel safe, somehow.”

It feels weird that the day you killed your own family was when you learned you liked killing. Liked fighting. Loved the feel of a weapon in your hand. Of being drenched in blood... Not good things to like. But it makes you feel safe. Like you’re in control. Like you won’t get hurt again.

Might have made you make some bad calls early on. But the others helped keep you steady. From falling too far down that rabbit hole. Thankfully you had that mostly ironed out by the time you become a Bladeheart. Probably wouldn’t have made it through the ritual if you hadn’t.

♯ “Eventually, we decided we didn’t want Astravia to be a place where stuff like that would happen. So. Yeah. That’s why I did it.”

Keep breathing. It's over. It's over. You're okay.

You try and get yourself out of your head a little, shake off the memories. You’ve had YEARS to try and get over that. But you guess in the end it’s stuck in you forever.

Nille just stares at you. You can see she’s having to think it over, when a little nervous smile creeps up on her face.

❁ “Crab. Is… Is it weird I’m almost jealous?”

HA! Oh it's messed up, and you wouldn't wish it on anyone! But...

♯ “… Yeah, I get it. Least I know mine are gone for good.”

You know that the worst they can do you now is maybe watch from the stars. You still like having safety but. You know you don’t need it from them at least.

You look at Nille. They have this echo of your younger self. Heh. You know one thing they might enjoy then. A little taste of the childhood you both missed out on.

♯ “So… Wanna lie on the plush pile with me? It’s comfy!”

Nille looks at you for a second, and then chuckles.

❁ “Yeah. That sounds fun.”

She joins you, and you share her a fun game you finished coding up some time ago. Rhythm games take some time to make charts for, but once you got the framework, it’s just plugging in what you want. Fantasia loved the prior version, and you saw Darkon sneakily playing some now and then, when he wasn’t being all kingly.

It made you feel better, every time they did. The smiles on their faces. Something you could do right. That your parents couldn't taint. That was all you.

You both sit there, relaxing. Knowing that both of you are safe.

[punsmaster69]

1/APR/20XX

[After checking the page again, the words have ACTUALLY been written properly this time - with a working pen.]

[A small attached sticky note reads, "heheh. couldn't not, sorry."]

i'm carried out of bed and immediately served chocolate pancakes as papyrus briefs me on the day's plan - all before i even finish waking up fully.

"YOU WANTED TO GO TO AN ARCADE, SO THAT'S WHAT WE'LL DO FIRST - EVERYONE ELSE IS GOING TO MEET US THERE, SO DON'T SAVOUR MY COOKING 𝘛𝘖𝘖 LONG."

" 'k."

"AROUND LUNCHTIME, WE'RE GOING TO STOP BY GRILLBY'S... UNFORTUNATELY."

"AFTER... WE'LL JUST HANG OUT AT MS. TORIEL'S HOUSE FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT; CONSIDERING IT WOULD BE THE CLOSEST."

"ok."

"sounds good."

"...."

he looks over his shoulder to see me still yawning, giving an eyeroll gesture and placing a cup of hot coffee in front of me.

"CAN'T HAVE YOU FALLING BACK ASLEEP IMMEDIATELY, SO DRINK UP!"

"...doesn't work, remember?"

"..RIGHT."

beside it, he places a cup of ice water.

"THAT SHOULD, RIGHT?"

i mumble an affirmative response. papyrus takes this as good enough.

——

"Yo!"

undyne high-fives papyrus, then grabs me for an aggressive noogie.

"Excited for today, you decrepit bag of bones?!"

"PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH HIM, UNDYNE."

this diverts her wrath onto papyrus instead.

"PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH 𝘔𝘌, UNDYNE!!!"

me and alphys fistbump.

"Good choice."

"figured you'd approve."

"S-Still wish they hadn't plastered that creepy ice cube's face EVERYWHERE in this place. Can't even have one bare wall."

"whaaat? ice-e's an icon."

"Of weird c-corporate marketing."

"and unsolvable puzzles."

"They were always that way, then?"

toriel and frisk - flowey wrapped around the kid's arm - wave as they approach.

frisk nods.

"Even the first one Sans and Papyrus set out for me back in Snowdin was unsolvable."

"IT WAS?!"

"Weird letter inconsistency."

"SANS!! YOU NOT ONLY PUT OUT A 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 OF ALL THINGS, BUT AN 𝘐𝘔𝘗𝘖𝘚𝘚𝘐𝘉𝘓𝘌 ONE?!?"

"whoops."

"SIGH."

"REALLY, I DON'T KNOW WHY I SIMPLY DIDN'T DO IT ALL MYSELF!!"

"I CERTAINLY WOULD HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN WITH EASE."

"ER-"

"I'M!! GLAD I DIDN'T THOUGH, NOW!!!"

we chat for a while more before actually going inside -

"I MISS THE SUN ALREADY."

- and splitting off towards the games each of us preferred. toriel simply stuck by me to observe whatever i decided on.

somehow, at some point, we ended up just playing air hockey really badly.

𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬.

"Is this how you play??"

"is this how you play???"

repeatedly smacking the pushers together, the puck was ignored.

——

papyrus won a scary amount of tickets and used them to redeem two dart guns. one was instantly hijacked by undyne, who cackled after ricocheting a dart off papyrus' skull. she was going to fire at me, but

"You're spared for today. Don't think I won't get you another time, though!!!"

"..cool."

grillby's wasn't far, and the weather was pleasant, so walking was actually pretty alright.

the bar erupts into noise as we show up. there was a barrage of questions and comments about everyone and everything, but the chaos made any recollections of it blurry. (fun chaos, don't get me wrong.)

i waited for the right moment - somehow, i knew it would happen.

my brother raises his glass of milk.

"WILL EVERYONE PLEASE RISE AND GIVE A TOAST TO MY BROTHER, SANS, WHOSE BIRTHDAY IT IS TODAY?!"

a roaring sound that resembles a "YEAH!!" as everyone in the restaurant rises to their feet.

i move quickly, placing one on each seat - unnoticed amidst the commotion.

"THREE..."

"TWO..."

"ONE!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SANS!!!"

appearing beside my brother as if i'd not moved at all, i clink a bottle of ketchup with the various other beverages being lifted.

and then a loud,

deafening,

𝙋𝙋𝘽𝘽𝘽𝘽𝘽𝙁𝙁𝙁𝙏𝙏𝙏𝙏

as everyone sits back down.

it was beautiful. enough to make a grown man cry.

tears of laughter, that is.

a magician clown never reveals his secrets, but i sure was asked "HOW?!" a lot.

——

the sun has just finished setting. for the first time today, it's quiet. a gentle breeze cools the day down. toriel and i hang around on the porch to take it in - myself sat upon the rail.

"Are you truly alright with not getting much...?"

"yeah."

"spendin' time with you folks is all i wanted."

"and i got it, so."

"seems like a pretty good birthday to me."

"Still, it feels lackluster to have shown up empty-handed."

"i mean. you brought cake."

"That is a given."

"here."

"if you're really concerned about me not getting any gifts..."

"..."

i gave her a goofy grin.

"gonna be corny for a sec, hope you don't mind."

"I do not have a 𝘤𝘰𝘣-lem with it."

"In fact, I am all 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴."

in that moment, i couldn't have been more certain.

i push myself up into my knees to deposit a quick kiss on her cheek.

"...that can be my gift."

dropping myself back down to sit on the porch rail.

". . ."

"sorry for suddenly 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 that onto you. wanted to 𝘦𝘢𝘳nestly-"

puns were halted as my mouth became suddenly occupied with something else.

when she eventually let go, i found myself sputtering momentarily trying to find my words.

"There. You being on the receiving end makes it much more of a gift, does it not?"

"i-"

"i, uh."

"thought i was supposed to initiate it??"

"The cheek is close enough. And that one, you did."

"I will count it."

"....."

"there's another thing i'm s'posed to do."

"a ques-"

toriel puts her hand over my mouth.

"Do not ask it today."

"We would have to celebrate our anniversaries on your birthday."

"what? you don't want a double-event?"

"There is a multitude of reasons."

"shoot."

"...?"

"gimme 'em. gimme the reasons."

"Firstly, birthdays are to be spent with a multitude of friends and loved ones. Anniversaries are for spending with the romantic interest. To do both of those at once would be impossible."

"Secondly, it would subtract from the specialness of each as well."

"Thirdly-"

"it'd be easier to remember."

she hadn't noticed me slowly inching my face closer and closer to her own until i spoke.

"Th-"

"birthversary rolls right off the tongue, too."

"..."

"I'll show YOU a tongue."

she suddenly sticks out her tongue. my proximity causes me to have to back away quickly.

too quickly.

toriel leaps forward and wraps an arm around me to stop me from going completely backwards off the rail.

"I did not mean for that to happen."

"good catch."

"Oddly, not the first time you have fallen from my railing."

"yeah, i'm gettin' 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 good at doing that accidentally."

"Hehehe."

"Do I need to install rails for my rails?"

"gonna box me in, huh?"

"If it will stop you from falling, then maybe I will."

𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬.

"WE'VE DECIDED ON A SLEEPOVER-"

we both looked to the back door.

with a blanket draped over his right arm, papyrus stopped speaking to stare at us blankly for a moment.

arms wrapped around each other, being bent over the rail, her hips between my legs...

"..I ASSUME YOU ARE BUSY."

"....."

"might be a minute."

promptly spinning 180 on his heels, papyrus went back inside; carrying the same expression the whole time.

immediately bursting into laughter, tori lifts me up the rest of the way and places me on the porch.

"Awkward-looking situations seem to be your forte, my dear."

"no kidding."

"At least it was Papyrus."

"yeah."

"..."

"so, can i ask you the-"

"Another time."

"ok."

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep2 Musings - At the Chateau

More random musings; this time specifically about The Hunt at the Chateau.

I hate these two wenches specifically, but NGL, they look cool here.

Ohhhh, AMC knew what they were doing, going RIGHT for my ovaries! 😍 DADDY TUAN PHAM! 😍😍

Sincere is one thing. HONEST is another, though. Y'all knew those Americans were sus, Armand. They're not buying that "Bruce" BS, Louis, don't sleep on them!

I am SO BUMMED that we didn't get to SEE this scene; I was so excited!

Now I'll never get to see Louis so bored out of his skull by Santiago's thespian charms that he starts snoring in the middle of the play. U_U

Mr. I Could Not Prevent It, what were YOU doing to protect your man? You slaughter random innocent fledglings just for blinking, but you let your whole coven plot Louis & Claudia's demise right under your nose?

Bull frikkin crap!

Daciana been knew. U_U

Who is the coven LEADER, and the coven MASTER?

"COMPLICIT" finna be my favorite word this season, istg.

SO well said, Louis; as this beastly monstrous coven has TWO heads, these SNAKES, this immortal Hydra that only dies when Hercules cuts its head off and cauterizes the wound.

I am SO ready.

I loooove this transition frame; the Moulin Rouge as the most famous French theatre in pop culture, as Louis snaps his sad photos and Claudia whoops and the Theatre Louis sets on fire takes them hunting to a chateau they'll set on fire.

Reminds me of what Lestat said: "there is a veil between us; but it is a THIN veil." Louis will never be "one" with y'all. He's already bound by "a cord you cannot see, but it is real;" all your Mind Gift's mindscrewing can't un-screw Lestat out of Louis' blood! 😜 Louis drags that camera EVERYWHERE, ducking behind the lens, seeing the world thru a Glass Darkly; a warped perception of time & space. Cuz he's STRUGGLING; looking for God; looking for ("the wrong kind" of) love in all the wrong places.

Look at the things he takes pictures of! He's documenting DEATH; a MASS MURDER--"you are chronicling a suicide"--as the coven rides their bikes to the house they're gonna KILL everyone in. This isn't a mere road trip; this is a HUNT.

Equestrian statues & triumphal arches--monuments of blood-soaked imperialism & colonialism.

Hedonistic bacchic revelries. "I want food, I want sex, I want to go home."

Meanwhile, Claudia's high as a kite, on cloud 9.

EVERYBODY, Claudia? As they pan to Louis? "I hate you both!"

I wanna throw up when I remember Claudia's ashes got mixed with the coven's when the Theatre burned down. U_U No justice, and no peace. Claudia, I would've become the most notorious Parisian poltergeist in history--the Pope himself would've had to come up to perform the exorcism, on god I'd make my death everyone's problem.

But the LOOK on Louis' face, omg.

Whole 5 stages of grief in reverse:

Acceptance: he TRIES to "be one with us," taking on the "collective hunger;" smiling (fake AF) as he tries to soak in Claudia's ecstasy; riding in Armand's sidecar, flirting with the "Maitre," cozying up with his potential new beau

Depression: knowing full well he hates the rampant bloodlust & violence, the carnage in the chateau on fire behind him

Bargaining: Mr. I Only Eat Once Every Other Day, refusing to take part the the slaughter but still standing by--you are all COMPLICIT--while they were being killed; and agreeing to have Armand teach him how to be a better killer by honing the Mind Gift, etc.

Anger: The Fire Gift WHENNNNNNN? Foreshadowing AF! Claudia, you WILL be avenged!

Denial: Lestat WHO? Being told straight to his face that Armand knows he's lying, knows he's been collecting alimony & child support checks from Roget, knows Claudia wants to join the coven that set up a frikkin shrine to the dude, knows Santiago's a cheap imitation of Lestat, knows DreamStat's gonna keep haunting the narrative, I can't

An EFFED UP Gothic Romance.

The book stans who keep complaining about this show are just willfully ignoring what AMC's doing here. There is PLENTY we can complain about absolutely! But overall this adaptation is a slam dunk.

[generational-atrophy]

Sleepy cuddling with Ivan :3c

(HWS Russia x Reader) Sleepy Affection!

(Gender Neutral) Scenario ~ A/N WAIT THIS IS A A THOUSAND WORD.S WHOOPS. UM. IM NORMAL ABOUT RUSSIA (LYING LYING) I HAVE NOT BEEN DREAMING ABOUT THIS FOR YEARS (LYING I AM A LIAR I AM LYING)

Trigger Warning: None, just Fluff!

Meteorologists had predicted a large snowfall. While you had told Ivan that you would leave before it got too bad, that plan ended up dead in the water. Or more accurately, dead in the snow. Before you knew it, the ground nearly rose to your knees. That’s fine, right? It’s really no problem, staying with your boyfriend. That was… until the power went out… along with the heat.

He tugged on your shirt lightly, rubbing the collar between two of his fingers. In the background, the fire crackled quietly. The scent of a warm fireplace nearly drowned out your boyfriend’s faded cologne. He always smelled faintly of roses, something close to what you’d find in your grandmother’s home.

Months earlier, you recalled him mentioning that he had lived in this home for centuries. Which, to be fair you could’ve guessed. Normally it would be nothing more than an annoyance, how it creaked and groaned keeping you up at night. But now, its ancient architecture meant you two had nothing to worry about. The fireplace meant you two could make it through the night in comfort.

So there you two lay. A short distance away from the fireplace cuddled up on an old mattress he had dragged downstairs. On top of you lay layers of quilts and ratty old blankets, all of which smelled of must and people you’d never meet. 

“Крошка? Are you still awake?” His voice startled you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah…”

“Why?” He readjusted himself, sitting up and facing you.

“W-Why? This isn’t the ideal situation to sleep in, Vanya.” You replied, looking up at him in confusion. He paused for a minute, lost in thought, before reaching out and holding your shoulder tightly.

“I understand. We just have to get through one night. I am sure your hotel will have the power back by then, and you will be alright.” 

He laid back down, “Will you let me warm you?” 

A light pink rose to your cheeks, and you rolled to look away from him. Sure, you had been plenty affectionate with each other before, but nothing like this, “If you’re fine doing so… aren’t you cold too?”

“Of course. But I have been cold many times before,” Ivan responds as he presses himself against your back, “Besides, I cannot help but be slightly delighted by this arrangement.”

“You’re happy about this?” Your tone rises.

“As I said, only slightly. It reminds me of many nights I have had before.” He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, drawing you closer. You can feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, along with his eyes resting intently on you.

“I would have thought that an immortal would try to ignore any memories. Don’t they just make you sad?”

“Sometimes, yes. The world has changed very much. But I try to not let that bother me. It is all about looking on the bright side. Years ago, I could not have been seen with you. But now…” Ivan leans forward, laying his head in the crook of your neck. “We can be here… together.”

Smiling to yourself at his sudden affection, you begin tracing light patterns on his arms. Quickly, you hear him sigh, muffled by your neck.

“Be the romantic all you want, I still want our power back at least.” You joke.

“Really? I do not mind.” 

“Psh, of course, you don’t. But I’m a little used to the comforts of modern life.” He returns your playful tone with a smile.

“I enjoy this. It reminds me of nights spent with my old family. We would have to sleep like this often in the winter as well.” Although he smiles, you can hear his tone drop.

Although you had been dating for almost a year now, he rarely talked about his family. You had gathered that he had sisters… at least one… and maybe a brother at some point. There were pictures of this home, filled with people, placed everywhere throughout the home. Yet, they never seemed to be the same people. And anytime you would become curious as to why he would brush your questions off.

“Your family?”

“We never had much money. I was lucky to receive this home from the Tsar many centuries ago. It protected us well.” He lets go momentarily, just to grasp for your hand as his voice falters. 

You wiggle out of his hold, turning around to face him. His eyes soft, lost in memory, suddenly transfixed on you as you grabbed his hand. He leaned into your touch as you caressed his cheek and squeezed his hand tightly.

“It’s nice to know you have happy memories with them. Whenever you mention them usually, you seem so sad. I can’t stand to see you like that.”

Ivan closes his eyes, relaxing his tense face. “Those are not happy memories. It makes me sad to think about those why we had to huddle in those winter nights.”

“Then why did you bring it up?” Your face turns to concern as you begin running your hands through his soft, silvery hair.

“Because I am not sad right now. Regardless of how it reminds me of my old family.”

“H- Why? I know I would be upset if I were you right now.”

He opens his eyes, staring intently into your own, “Because I have done this with my old family,” he smiles lovingly, “and now I have done it with you.” 

As you look up at him in confusion, he simply draws his quilts tighter to the two of you. Grinning, he continues, “I did not think I would ever do this again. It means that even in this world I do not always recognize, I will still find my new family.”

Bringing your hand, still tightly holding onto his own, up to his face, he kisses your knuckles lightly, “You will be my new family. We are together here, like I was once with my family, and that is all that matters, любимый.”

Despite the intense emotionality of what he just declared, his face betrayed nothing but peace. “V-Vanya…” you pause, “I love you.”

“I love you too. While you sleep, I will make sure you are safe.” He put one hand behind your head, pulling you forward to kiss your forehead.

“Thank you, my love.” You say before closing your eyes, leaning back into his chest.

“Сладких снов,” he whispers, before falling asleep to the crackling fire himself. With you safe in his arms, everything felt just as he had wished it to be for centuries.

[thelikesofus]

✨Writing Patterns✨

tagged by the wonderful @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @thekristen999 xx

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

Hearts Beat (Louder Than Bombs) (markhyuck | 25k ongoing)

There is a rush of commotion outside, disrupting what had been a thankfully quiet morning.

merry go 'round (buddie | 772 words)

“Why are you calling me, Buckley?” Taylor sounds groggy and vexed, which Buck supposes makes sense and in all honesty, he isn’t sure he has an answer but he’s been pacing his apartment for hours and the sun set without him noticing, and then it started rising again while he was still pacing.

ring the bells (buddie | coffee shop au | 5k)

"Order for Evan!"  If ever Buck was to die of happiness it would be in this moment.

the forest for the trees (buddie | 1k)

"I see you." Is the first thing that Eddie says when Buck opens the door to his apartment to find his best friend standing in the hallway at eleven o'clock in the evening looking all kinds of distraught.

when the night is cold as it is long (buddie | 4k)

Eddie is shivering when he wakes up and his chest aches as he gasps for every breath. The light from the moon and street lamps outside is filtering through the thin curtains over Eddie’s bedroom window and yet his vision is too hazy to recognize his own hand in front of his face.

steady steady (buddie | 970)

"You didn't have to wait up." Buck says as he closes the front door behind him and toes off his shoes in the pale light of the hallway lamp.

waiting on you kid (buddie | buck & bobby | 420)

Bobby’s hand hangs limply, hovering over the door knob. He’s been standing in the hallway for three minutes, the same length of time it took to drive Buck to the hospital. Those three horrible, stretching, shrinking minutes, yet as he stands now, they pass in a single blink.

wild child be still for me (buddie | 644)

Eddie’s heart is already in his throat even before he watches Buck lunge for the rope, swing across the gap, and slide to a stop. He doesn’t take a breath until Buck pulls himself to his feet, throws his hands in the air with a whoop, and jogs back towards the truck.

like coming home (as easy as breathing) (buddie | 960)

In the hospital, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look. His eyes darted everywhere but Buck’s limp and pale form. How small he looked under the hospital sheets in a loose gown.

love always wakes the dragon and suddenly flames everywhere (buddie | 875)

Eddie has always kept his emotions, like cards, close to his chest. No point playing with fire when all it does is burn your fingers and leave your throat coated with soot. 

well......quite consistently starting with dialogue or the character's name if that means anything???

tagging @lilbuddie @thosetwofirefighters @rogerzsteven @shortsighted-owl @911onabc @loveyourownsmiilee @tomlinpun @sibylsleaves @disasterbuckdiaz @jobairdxx @spaceprincessem @loserdiaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @monsterrae1 @bekkachaos @elvensorceress @heartshapedvows 

[suntaeshine]

Hey! What kinks do you think nct have?

deep breath,, this is fine,, im not familiar with all the technical terms so stick with me on this

smut below the keep reading tab

MINORS DNI (go study and grow i love you and you are the future it’s not too late to turn back)

Taeyong: watching you masturbate, roleplay, wax play, power swap (you’re both switches and it’s f u n)

 Johnny: size kink, soft choking, roleplay, dirty talk (to the point you’re there like johnny shut the actual fuck up)

 Yuta: bondange, choking, roleplay, slapping, coursing, hard dom he will make you cry or else you didn’t really have sex

Kun: ‘sir’ kink, spanking, vanilla sex on occasion to make you feel ~feelings~

Doyoung: ‘sir’, ‘boss’, ‘master’ kinks, power play (not really dom he just likes being in Charge), handcuffs, oil massage into sex

Ten: literally like fifteen positions while having sex, flexible and acrobatic shit, pet play (you are his kitten and you have a collar), anal (but he doesn’t want to tell you until he’s sure you’re into it too)

Jaehyun: ‘daddy’ kink, creampie, 69, impregnation kink (what is the actual name for that ??), hands on your throat but he wont like Choke you Choke, ya know?

 WinWin: praise kink, praise kink, praise kink, praise him, he will praise you, eye contact during sex so he can watch your facial features as close as possible, he also has this Thing where he wants you to try and not react as he fucks you (he thinks it’s a game)

Jungwoo: ‘baby’ kink, no dom/sub (he wants you to be equal and just love each other whole heartily), holding hands, roleplay (cliche ‘i’m stuck’, doctor, and pizza man shit that you usually laugh during and break character)

 Lucas: size kink, size kink, size kink, roleplay, he has a thing for pinning your hands above your head with one of his hands and teasing you with the other, dirty talk, slight degradation until you’re both close and then praise praise praise

 Mark: this little shit likes games (like that try to not react), phone sex, oral all day every day (’i knOw WhaT I wANt foR DeSseRt’ type shit), dirty talk and communication (he doesn’t want to hear no ‘green light’ shit he wants to hear you say how much you enjoy how deep he is in you)

Xiaojun: eye contact don’t you fuckin dare even BLINK, dirty talk, he loves any position but please ride him sometimes bc he will crumble and give you the entire world, he also has a Thing for making promises ?? like ‘say it and i’ll make your dreams come true’, ‘i’ll give you everything love’ like it’s a niche thing but he can’t help it, also he wants to make you make as many noises as possible until he hears something you’d never done before

 Hendery: voyeurism, mirror sex, oral (suck his fingers PLEASE), dirty talk with slight degradation, hair pulling (both ways do it to him and he’ll make noises like a pornstar)

Renjun: degradation (but you don’t figure that out for a long time), wax play, holding hands during sex, he absolutely has to say ‘thank you’ and tell you how much he loves you

Jeno: size kink but mostly strength kink ?? like you ask him often if he gets turned on by himself when looking at his muscles in the mirror (he does), mirror sex, ‘sir’ on special occasions

Haechan: mouthy little shit please degrade him because he has so much stored back to fire right back at you, spit kink (please spit in his mouth), he also likes roleplay but only cute shit like you’re friends and uh oh we kissed now what whoops

Jaemin: he’s going to slap you everywhere,, like your cheeks (face and ass), your ass, your sides, he’s just,, he’s GOING to slap you without even noticing he was really doing it, pet play (you are his ‘puppy’), and soft choking

YangYang: switch of all switch (when you degrade him, will he moan or cry? sometimes both?), power plays (you are not equals but you also don’t have your fixed roles,, switch switch switch), hair pulling (both ways), spit kink (both ways), slapping (both ways), he’s down for anything as long as the person with the idea is the one in charge for that session

[bad-witchcraft-smp-ideas]

What if this entire smp was actually just children playing at the school playground

Scott trying to bring his beloved back (actually just a mud scuplture/pet) and has a black notebook with the title "Necromancy Book" taped to it

Lauren just joins the fun as a sand-witch because it was the first thing she could think of (*looks at her pb&j sandwich* "I guess this is me now") but also because she can now throw sand at people with this title

Tiff was the nature kid who liked talking to the flowers at the playground ("Mother Nature" is what she calls her mom)

Joey brings warm and ice cold water one day and calls himself the "fire frost witch"

Pris is a dramatic threatre kid talking about her dark backstory and lore

Shubble likes sprinkling water everywhere saying that she's making it rain

El brings a blanket/coat that she wraps around herself ("I'm invisible now! You can't see me!) or others ("I blinded you!")

Cleo is the one who keeps track of time, telling them when recess/lunch is over (they call her the time witch because of that)

And Bertha is that cool teacher that hangs out with the kids

The competition for "Supreme Witch" is actually just kids bickering about who's better and asks their teacher to decide

(I didn't mean for this to be long, whoops)

ANDJHWHCBW,,, i love that. Bertha would be a fun teacher

[baroquepopcorn]

Tired of “humans as special among the aliens because they are uniquely greedy/self-destructive or emotional/creative/determined/passionate” what about:

Humans as honor-bound tribal warrior race:

have you looked at our history? The way we talk about politics? Our sports teams? Fucking Twitter? “Humans are a warlike and tribalistic race who have a natural propensity for arranging themselves in small groups. They have such strange customs as gathering in large groups to shout at groups of other humans tossing around a ball, putting their national banners literally everywhere, and getting angry at other humans online for not liking the same things as them”

Humans as the pragmatic, serious, and businesslike race:

Wow, turns out the aliens are even more emotional, passionate, and artsy than us. “Those strange sad humans, insisting they dress in uncomfortable looking colourless clothes for ‘serious political discussions’ putting themselves in cubicles and suburbs, insisting all buildings need to look ‘modern’, driving themselves insane over being ‘mature’ and ‘formal’ and ‘not-tacky’” average alien social media is like tumblr x 10. (It doesn’t help that we seem to elect only the most boring humans to positions of power)

Humans as the literal planet of the hats:

whoops we’re not the most special alien race to ever exist, in fact, we’re pretty obscure, looks like humans are mostly know for making really cool head garments. Aliens are disappointed when they visit earth and find basically no one actually regularly wears hats anymore. Human hat-makers make a killing off alien tourists.

Humans as the race who make pretentious speeches about themselves:

All aliens are a bit selfish, a bit self-destructive, a bit-determined, a bit-artistic, a bit-existential, a bit-emotional, a bit-serious, but those humans, boy are they pretentious. Aliens prank humans by getting them to go on captain Picard speeches on the “nature of humanity” then laugh at them

Bonus:

guardians of the galaxy-style group of human and various aliens, but it’s one of the Aliens who always makes pop-culture references

*human fires laser gun in specific way

Alien: “ha ha”

Human: “what’s so funny?”

Alien: “you look like Ragn-thator”

Human: “is he cool?”

Alien: “Hell yeah he’s cool”

(Ragn-thator is a magical pastry chef from a popular series of alien children books. He’s known for firing his pastry bag from extremely long distances to put frosting on alien desserts)

[tokillamockingbird427]

Flying is boring with how easy it is... simply find a willing mount with wings. Saddle it. Hop on. Steer. And sit there until you get where you want to go.

Logan however, this "marine sergeant" from "the United states" had seemed endlessly fascinated however. Even when they were in the stables, when is stunk of gryphon manure, he'd been enraptured even watching the simple task that saddling their mount was.

And even now, with the world passing beneath their feet he seems enchanted... Bewitched by nothing more than trees, hills, and rarely the light from some fire. Man-made or otherwise.

"I thought you said you flew before..." The imp asks, when the blonde behind him leans to the side again, like the view from the left and right side of the dust-brown gryphon are different.

"I have!" The marine replies, enthusiastically. "But that was inside an aircraft, not riding it!"

Keegan sighs softly, it's lost in the wind, and Logan continues to hum and chitter to himself.

"Go higher." He orders suddenly, and Keegan considers complaining, but decides the marines thick skull won't yield. He pulls the reigns back and after a couple dozen feet, right under the clouds, he lets the animal even out.

He doesn't like flying through clouds... they're very wet.

He can feel Logan shift around behind him, a hand and weight on his shoulder, and turns his head to see the blonde reaching up and dragging his fingers through the underside of the mist.

The cloud lights up, bright blue-green, and Logan grins wide, laughing to himself.

Keegan's not sure what's special... they're everywhere, if only very visible on dark nights, and the only reason they light up is because the little animals in them. It's not magic.

The thought strikes him that someone below might see them, and his hands tighten on the reigns in worry... but what does he have to fear? An archer can't reach them. A ballast would need time to aim and they'd be out of the bolts reach in a few moments.

He looks back at Logan, who's raised both hands and continues to stare at the light, the thin twin trails of blue light dragging behind them and reflecting in his eyes.

Keegan pulls the reigns back, and they ascend again, passing through the bottom of the cloud and swamped in bright blue light until they breach the top.

Logan whoops when they do, laughing and grinning, spreading his arms out to touch more of the clouds and widening their trail. Though the gryphons wings reach farther than his arms ever could, they cut through below the top surface, and the light isn't as bright as where Logan touches it.

Keegan looks across the rolling sea of clouds around them, mostly grey-dark mist, but lighting gently wherever the wind pushes... he's seen a view like it a million times, he's used to flying but... he'd forgotten what if felt like the first time he found one of these clouds, without knowing it.

A flying ocean, one that breathed and lived, glowing wherever he touched it. Breathtakingly beautiful, wondrous and new, something strange to be learned and understood.

Keegan reaches out a hand and dips his fingers into the mist, feeling the cold wet mist on his skin and watching the glow spring to life under his fingers. He releases the reigns, sure that the gryphon will keep it's current path, to reach out his other hand. Copying Logan, watching the light spread out behind them, and smiling... a little.

He turns to see what else the marine might be doing, only to see he's been staring at Keegan, grinning still.

The light in his eyes aren't just from the clouds now, not when he looks at Keegan.

===

Posted on AO3 as well

[southern-god1]

Has The Man the Southern Superhero had his fill of hearing the praises of the kryptonite imposter? Feeling cocky and confident, showing off his massive big guns in his Short sleeve black leather shirt, he mocks the Kryptonian and challenges him to a fight.

The Kryptonian accepts, knowing no mortal man can whoop him in a fight. The size of The Man takes him by surprise. Intimidated. But is unable to stop his growing bulge tenting his silly red briefs.

Superman landed gently, and looked around. He had arrived at the place where the stranger had told him to meet; downtown Metropolis. He didn’t have to wait long. A figure flew in from the South. He descended quickly, coming to a somewhat rough landing, leaving two bootprints in the concrete where he landed. As the stranger strode forward, he casually tossed an empty beer bottle to the ground, smashing it. Superman began eyeing up this strange man who had challenged him to a fight. He was large, for a human, but that didn’t mean anything. The most muscular humans on Earth were incredibly weak compared to the Son of Krypton. The stranger had a scruffy chinstrap beard, and wore a simple t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of work boots. The strange man wore a shirt with the Confederate flag on it. Coming from rural Kansas, Superman wasn’t especially shocked by the sight of the flag, but he did view it with disdain.

The stranger looked over Superman with his green eyes. Pathetic little liberal, typical Yankee who thought he was a man. Barely any muscle. Not a hair on his face. Pathetic.

“Yer Superman? More like Superlib. You don’t even got a hair on yer chin. Superboy, maybe? But a Southern boy is about to show ya yer place, so yer not a boy…”

Superman was about to say something, when The MAN rumbled out a beer burp that blasted through the street like a hurricane. Shop windows shattered, glass flying everywhere, cars were sent hurtling into buildings, people were blown away. Superman was blasted through a building. He blinked a few times in utter confusion, shaking his head. He heard boots crunching on glass.

“Shheeeiiiitt, yer weaker than I thought!”

Before Superman could react, a boot stepped on his chest, thoroughly pinning him to the ground, the country boys muddy Redwing boot stepping right on the S.

“Y-you’re from Krypton?!?”

Jordan Helms grinned down at Supes.

“Naw, I’m from Union County.”

The country boys green eyes lit up red for a moment. The heat vision barely missed Superman’s head, on purpose. Superman fired his own heat vision, while lifting off, expecting to toss the man back, but then, to his surprise, he didn’t move an inch! And the heat vision directed at The MAN’s face didn’t so much as singe a superior Southern beard hair.

“Heat vision? Really Yankee? I’m from Dixie. Heat don’t do nothing to me. Now, bow down and start lickin mah boots or I’ll be washin yer face off the bottom of em later. Either bow the fuck down to your new Southern God, or die. Yer my fuckin Superslave now.”

Superman struggled to move, applying all his strength to try to move, but he couldn’t move an inch. The country boy placed his other boot over his face.

“Go head.”

“No, this is-“

Superman’s protest was cut off by the boot stomping down, muffling his voice. The other boot pressed down on his cock and balls; his cock had hardened a bit, and this made him wince with pain.

“I said lick.”

He felt something under his boot and grinned.

“Ya like this boy? Like serving a country boy? Good Yant.”

He flexed a mighty bicep and smirked, as Superman realized he couldn’t escape. He slowly, hesitantly, stuck out his tongue and licked. The dirt and rocks and the taste of leather nearly made him gag, but he felt an electric tingle, and his cock hardened more. This felt oddly good. He licked again, and again, as The MAN smirked.

“Yeah, that’s a good Yant. Clean mah boots, good boy.”

He smirked and looked over at the press, and flexed. Hundreds of citizens of Metropolis were running for their lives, trying to get away, to get out of the offices surrounding the square he had touched down in. Jordan boomed over to the press corp.

“Make sure y’all get mah good side; want all of y’all to know I’m in charge now.”

After a minute or two of showing off and flexing as he stood over Superman, he fired up his heat vision again and swept it from side to side, cutting the crowd of fleeing Yankees in half, the beams cutting them in half and soaking the ground with blood before the two halves were cauterized by the heat. He zapped the Daily Planet’s globe, severing the support and sending it tumbling to the ground below, and laughed as he heard the crunch of several Yankees under it.

Jordan lifted his other boot off Superman’s crotch and stepped away; he wanted to see if he would keep licking without being pinned down. To his amusement, Superman did not immediately attack or try to fly away, but kneeled and continued to lick his boots. Good lil Yant.

“Yeah, that’s right superslave, worship mah boots while I wreck your shitty city. Knew ya knew yer place.”

Folding his arms over his pecs, The MAN smirked and enjoyed watching the champion of ‘truth, justice, and the American way’ licked his boots clean, a stain forming on his red tights. Pathetic little superslave.