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jamiedc-they-them · 1 year

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Happiness (Platonic/Familial)

Summary: A guilt-ridden orphan has a chance encounter with a girl who is grieving, and the two find a family in each other. One that lasts.

SPOILERS FOR QUANTUMANIA IN THE SECOND HALF OF THE FIC!!!

You had been an orphan for as long as you could remember. Just on your own; you against the world. Though, it mainly seemed to be the opposite way around most of the time.

And then the blip happened. You had survived. Lucky you.

Granted, it gave you new places to stay in, but then you saw the pictures of the families either fractured or gone all together.

Just imaging having a family, something to lose, made you not stay in any one place for long.

You couldn’t bare the thought, though part of you was envious and jealous. It was always just a thought to you, of having that to lose.

Still, you felt like you were intruding. You didn’t belong in those spaces, you belonged out on the streets that you ran away to.

But, part of you always did wonder, why weren’t you taken?

You couldn’t have done more to stop this from happening, even if it felt like it. Though, that didn’t help the guilt at all.

You didn’t know the people whose houses were empty, or those who were still left whose houses you accidentally broke into, and yet they weren’t so lucky.

Your brain was never kind to you anyway. But with this situation, it only get worse.

What made you so special to still be alive? Was the recurring theme of your thoughts.

One day, when going through someone’s bin for food, someone talks to you.

But it’s not in that angry tone you’re used to, it’s soft.

“Hey,” she says. You spin around, seeing a girl around your age. There’s mistrust in her eyes, sure, but there’s a softness there too.

“You don’t look too good,” she’s stating the obvious, but you just let her. You nod in agreement.

“I feel better than I look,” you counter, still weary of this girl.

She nods, and her eyes soften a small amount.

“Do you have anyone?” Strange question, but you find yourself being honest as you shake your head.

“I can make you something to eat, if you want?” A silence hangs after this question. Why is this girl who knows nothing about you offering something like food?

“I know it seems weird,” she says, seemingly able to sense your hesitation. Well, either that, or just made an educated guess as you hadn’t exactly moved or spoken since the offer, “but I think we need each other, now more than ever.” She’s earnest, you’ll give her that.

“How do you know I’m not a bad person?” You joke, she smiles slightly, but it wanes slightly.

“I don’t think a bad person would ask that.”

Despite your instinct to say no, to run, you instead find yourself saying something else:

“Ok.”

Her house is nice. It’s clean. You don’t know whether that’s a coping mechanism or not.

“You got any allergies?” She asks, pausing at the now open fridge door, just in case.

“No. No, nothing that I know of anyway.”

She nods, gesturing for you to sit down on the sofa as she makes a sandwich.

“I’ll do this, then be out of your hair,” you assure her.

“Do you have anywhere else to go?”

“Anywhere out there will do.”

She pauses her preparing of the food, turns to you, “you don’t have a home?”

You look to her, shaking your head, “people always found a reason to send me back one way or another. So I decided to take their agency away. I left.”

“I’m sorry that they did that.”

You don’t give a response, so she just continues to make your sandwich.

“Here,” she says, brining it over to you. She sits down next to you, with her own sandwich.

You eat in silence for a moment, your eyes drift to a photo of herself and who you assume to be her dad. That same feeling returns.

“I’m sorry you lost him,” you say, softly.

She pauses, looking to the photo as well, “thank you,” she says, before she turns to you, “what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you say honestly, it feels foreign to you, despite it being your true name.

“I’m Cassie,” her smile, despite the situation, is bright.

“Well, thank you for this, Cassie. But I’ll see myself out now —”

“Why don’t you stay?” She blurts out.

“Why?”

“You need somewhere to stay, and we can keep each other sane and alive.”

It’s a nice offer, but a dream you don’t fully deserve in your mind

“I’m a lot,” you counter with

She shrugs “we all can be. It’s ok.”

“Up here,” you tap your head, “I’m not a happy person.”

“That’s ok,” she assures, “we all struggle. Especially now with everything going on.”

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because everyone needs someone watching their back. I think you need a friend, and so do I. That, and my dad always said to watch out for the little guy.”

“Was he a ‘little guy’?”

“In more ways than one.” She says cryptically.

So, you stay, for what is intended to be one night, but that then turns into a week, then a month, then a year.

It’s slow going, Cassie is patient with you.

She buys therapy books, trying to aid you and herself where she can.

She tells you about her dad being Ant-man; you help her put flyers out looking for Scott.

There are a few scrapes you both get in; mainly your old habits of survival dying hard. Though sometimes it’s her own sense for justice that gets you in trouble sometimes too. Still, you both get each other out of it.

You become friends. Best friends.

Though for her, it’s deeper. She’s always wanted a sibling, younger or older it didn’t matter, and you seem to fit that bill.

She doesn’t force it own you, she still sees the haunted look in your eye whenever you look at the photo of Scott. You keep it platonic, scared of the familial terms.

Still, you’re good for each other. Going to protests and what not.

You keep each other sane, and alive for the four years you spend together.

Then, well, Scott Lang turns up at your Cassie’s house. She’s overjoyed, and you’re happy for her, honestly. But those feelings of being an outsider come back.

Scott looks to you, then back to his daughter, “who’re they, Peanut?” He asks.

She spins around, seeing you. You fiddle with your hands, looking between the family.

She approaches you, and takes your hand, giving it a squeeze, “this is Y/N. They’ve been staying with me for a few years. They’re my best friend.”

Doing the opposite of what you expect, Scott smiles, “that’s great! Welcome to the family.”

He gets to know you, surprising you by how easily he accepts you into the fold. Even Hope and her folks. Though hope is more understanding. She understands survivor’s guilt. As does her father.

And before you know it, there’s a “family” meeting where they want to make it official and adopt you. You don’t know what to say, you freeze. But, Cassie knows you, she sees the look in your eyes when you look to her. She nods at the silent question.

“Ok,” comes out of your mouth, but it is more grateful than before.

You have a family now it seems, but also something to lose.

You and Cassie continue on your hunts for justice, being arrested more times then you can count. Though, at least this is for a good thing, like fighting for people who are like you – or, more so, like how you used to be? This was confusing to you, using that in past tense.

And while Scott and Hope are proud of you looking out for the little guy (or, Scott before the books would be), it coming at the cost of your own freedom doesn’t sit right with him.

It is then that you learn about Cassie experimenting with the Quantum realm. You only ever had street smarts, but you got the gist of the thing; send a message, get it back.

You see the genuine delight in her eyes as she talks, so you let your best friend go on about it.

Janet then breaks it, but that doesn’t stop a thing. Whatever she feared, seems it’s found you all.

Cassie, despite her fear, sees you go in, and goes in after you. Scott then goes in after her.

She does not find you, however. She finds her dad, and she’s grateful she’s not alone, but the one question she asks is: “Where’s Y/N?”

Where you are, you don’t quite know, but you see three concerned faces of the rest of the family hovering over you.

“You alright, kid?” Hope asks. You nod, and they help you up. Now, despite the words said before of you gaining that family, it still feels odd. Having something to lose scares you. You just want to find your best friend and get out, but now you are with the people in the family who – by no fault of their own – you aren’t the closest to.

Hank, however, seems to notice this:

“Hey, kid,” he says to you once Janet says you’re in the clear and you get on the move, “how you holding up?”

“About as well as one can in a situation like this.”

He chuckles, “yes. Yes, that’s fair. Still though, has its ups. It is pretty.”

You nod, unable to deny it, “has its charm.”

You both go on a bit, before you can’t hold it in any longer, “I’m sorry,” he looks at you, just waiting for you to find the right words, “I don’t mean to seem…cold, or anything. It’s just, this is all new to me,” in your mind, you sound pathetic.

With his, albeit sympathetic, smile however, he sees it another way, “you’ve been through a lot, too much for someone of your age. It’s ok to still be in that headspace, especially with something as weird as this,” he takes an unsteady breath before he continues, “when I thought I lost…Janet, I almost lost myself. For a while, I just sort of felt like I was floating, on autopilot, like I didn’t…” he quietens his voice down a bit, “like I didn’t deserve to be here.”

That gets your attention, you even look to him, “yeah…yeah, I get that too.”

He doesn’t like that you have, but he knows he has something now, “but I’m still here, and so are you.”

“How – um…how did it happen?”

He smiles, and looks ahead to the two women walking and talking in front of you, “Hope, she saved me. Kept me going. It took time, hell even now I sometimes feel like I’ll just wake up and Janet will be gone again and I’ll be back to square one. And with this whole multiverse thing…maybe that’s true somewhere.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“It does; and, like I said, sometimes I feel like I am slipping back. Good days and bad ones. But, Hope is always there, she always has been. Janet is too, grounding me.”

“Cassie tried that with me. I mean, I am thankful, I think. It just…why me, you know? She could have given someone else the chance. I mean, I am sure no one would’ve noticed.”

“Cassie has always had a big heart. Let her dad back in after he got out of jail. Always been on his side. I am glad she’s brought you into the fold, you’re a good kid. I am glad you have a chance to be one. And, just remember,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, you’ve reached this bar Janet was talking about to meet her ‘friend’ in, “we’ll remind you as many times as you need. We are here.”

You meet him, but you can sense it’s going to go wrong. As the discussion continues, Hope clocks your unease. You’re good at hiding it, but an instinct she has of reading people can see you’re trying to find an exit.

Seemingly reading your mind when it goes to shit, she covers you as you go for the ship.

“Good instincts, kid!” Janet compliments as you and Hope hold off the guards, before boarding your new mode of transport yourselves.

As you go to find the rest…the rest of your family, Janet reveals why she was so scared to come back here. She started the reign of Kang and has no idea on how to stop him.

It’s not the most comforting thing, but at least you’re all on the same page now.

You all get back together, only to be ripped apart again. You’re taken to your own cell, as Janet is taken by Kang.

A part of you hopes for your family to come get you. But you then see the rest of the prisoners.

One, a tall and buff lady, tries to communicate with you, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You curl up, just wishing you were back on earth, that you had gone into one of the other universes where this hadn’t happened, where you could just be alone. Like you –

“Y/N?” the voice is soft and concerned. For a moment, you don’t think it’s real, but you open your eyes, just in case – and for once, your hopes are confirmed.

It is Cassie. You pull her into a hug, this being the first one you had ever initiated.

She stumbles a bit but hugs you back as well.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” she says.

“I knew you’d come get me,” her heart warms at the words. She knew this was all a lot for you, along with opening up to your new family – your only family – but she knew, they all knew, that only time would help with that. Hell, you barely opened up to her until about a few months before everyone came back from the blip. But still, you are here now.

“Always,” she swears, before knocking your foreheads together, “always.”

She then fishes in her pockets, “here,” she says, holding out a small device to you, “I made you a suit as well. Was gonna give it to you before, you know,” she spins her finger around, “all this.”

You nod, but your eyes don’t leave the device in her hands, “but I don’t know how to use it. I’m not like you.”

She shrugs, “no time like the present. And, besides,” she puts it in your hand, then covers your hand with her own, giving it a squeeze, “I don’t want you to be me. I want you to be you. My best friend. My sibling.”

You have tears in your eyes, Cassie mirrors them.

You put the device on your chest, then activate it. And, before you know it, you are in your own suit.

You are on of those people now. The people who save people. A hero.

Together, you both stand up, “now, what’s our play?”

She sees a spark in your eye, you always were alive when fighting for things.

“Anarchy?”

She nods, liking the plan, “anarchy.”

So, together, you make a call to the rest of this place, starting a revolution.

You’re still getting used to the suit, but it feels good, being able to make this all right.

Cassie can understand what all the aliens are saying, but not you. She remembers you haven’t had the drink she had.

But still, basic gestures of directions and nods are enough, it seems.

Then it comes down to you four against Kang, and it goes ok, before he loses control. But Hank rides in and saves you.

You are about to leave, but you look at the chaos down below. Unlike when the blip happened, you have a chance to save these people, to make it right; to make sure history does not repeat.

But you also know that it would be suicide. You could not be everywhere.

You feel a hand take your own, it’s Cassie. She looks down at the city with you.

You shut your eyes, still seeing the chaos that Thanos brought upon the world, this time subverted, but she also sees you accept that there was only so much you could do.

You look back at her, squeezing your sisters’ hand. You aren’t alone anymore; you can choose to be happy. You know it will be an up and down thing, but she’s grounding you right now. She reminds you that you are not alone. That, highs, and lows, they are there.

You all make it home.

You start trying therapy. It is slow. But you are making progress.

Scott starts making up for lost time, and always makes sure to have you included like that.

He has two kids now, but he isn’t complaining. You are a perfect fit.

He’s glad you’re looking out for yourself now as well. That you’re letting yourself have these good things.

You talk to them more, opening every now and then.

They do all they can.

Cassie is always there. At any protest, or to talk, or for company. She’s a great sister. She’s loyal, and always there to listen. She always makes good on her promise to remind you whenever you need that you matter to them.

You don’t know what’s coming, but you know you can’t control what comes next.

You can only control what’s now. And, right now, you’re happy.

#cassie lang x reader #cassie lang imagine #antman imagine #antman x reader #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #cassie lang #platonic!reader #platonic imagine

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cuzimmortal · 3 months

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“I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.”

statistics…

# basic information.

official name: yujun karstark. nicknames: jun, yuju by only his handful. noble title: lord of harhold. age: 25. birthplace: karhold. gender: cis man. pronouns: he/him. orientation: pansexual & panromantic. monikers: the sworn fighter. languages: common tongue, learning high valyrian.

# physical information.

faceclaim: cha eunwoo. hair: black. eyes: brown. height: 6'0". build: athletic & built. scent: cedarwood. dominant hand: right. allergies: none. scars: small & faded ones on him from years of training. distinguishing features: sharp piercing brown eyes. clothing style: traditional northern style in dark color though tries not to have too many layers on to allow easy movement & two silver rings and thin silver chain.

# personality.

label: the prodigy. mbti: isfj. element: water. star sign: pisces. temperament: takes a bit to get him angry. deadly sin: gluttony. heavenly virtue: humility. godly parent: ares.

# drives.

hobbies: archery, sword fighting, horse riding, reading. religion: the old gods. alliance: the notrh, house karstark & house starks. personal goals: be known for being a good fighter & making his parents proud. would they choose family or power? family, they took him and he swears his life to them.

# familial ties.

parent one: ruling lord karstark. relationship: father. parent two: ruling lady karstark. relationship: mother. spouse: none yet. relationship: tbd. sibling: tbd. relationship: older sibling. other: myranda. relationship: older sister. cousins: house stark.

narrative... tw: death mentions & self-deprecating thoughts

born on a cold and dreadfully rainy night, Yujun's birth was a difficult one and sadly only the child survived, leaving him to spend his first seven years with just his father. He was a tough man who lived his entire life as a knight for house karhold and it was expected for Jun to follow in his footsteps. His father was highly skilled and regarded for his talent and who was known for training others that when he could, he started teaching his son.

Yujun was a natural, a prodigy in father's eyes and was youngest to join in the yearly hunt but sadly in his first one, tragedy stuck. It happened so fast and he was gone, fully alone for the first time. Though thanks to his talents and maybe his sad story, the ruling lord and lady of karhold took him in and he became a part of their family. He pledged himself to be a great knight for their house and promised to do whatever he could as he felt indebted to them.

the rest of his childhood and into his adulthood, Yujun trained in archery and sword fighting day in & night out, like his life depended on it. in his mind: it did as a small thought always echoed your skill, your talent, is the only reason you a karhold, if you lose that then you are no one. he was the baby of the family, happy to not have to worry about ruling one day like his oldest sibling or being the spare like his sister but he knows it will be only a matter of time before talks of betrothals and marriages start making their ways to him, not that he doesn't already have an eye on someone.

Personality wise, is too smart for his own good and knows it. he is in all around good dude who wears his heart on his sleeves. loves to prove others wrong about him (been in many fights against people who didn't believe in his talents). he is really the poster guy of ‘looks like can kill you if provoked but is an actual cinnamon roll'. loves to train like so much and always looking for others to train with. also has a love for horse riding, one of his favorite past times along with his secret love of reading. many think he is this brood and mysterious knight but he is far from that.

Ships wise, when it comes to friends is there for them. loyal to a fault for them and yes will be honest with them about things. he will give advice and if they don’t take it, is like oh well and then if something happens would probably tell you I told you so afterwards. won't admit it but he is that dad friend. as for relationships, he may not look it but is an actual romantic. like gives you flowers or gifts, maybe even offer to take them riding or go on walks, he’s that type of guy. but also because he is out-going most likely has slept around. while he knows his ambitious father wants him to marry for the good of the house status to elevate them, he hopes its to someone he can love, just don't tell dad that.

#westeros.intro

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cthulhudundee · 2 years

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So that was an unexpected detour.

I was expecting a few months away from here, it always takes that long when I start a new job – a couple of weeks of ‘I hate this and I’m never coming back’ plus working out what I need to settle into a new work routine.

What actually happened was:

Two weeks in my bad wrist got worse. I couldn’t bend it at all. I wore my brace all weekend but still no relief by Sunday evening. In desperation I played a few minutes of guitar, cursing and swearing all the way from the pain… and it fucking worked dammit.

So I had to start doing a bit of practice everyday, worked up a few simpler pieces, had to buy a suitable chair and look for a guitar rest because I can’t use footstools anymore with my bad hip. Did you know that there is a guitar rest that looks like a giant chopping board that you attach to the back of the instrument?

Still haven’t found one I like but there’s one on ebay I’ll try eventually. Also my nails were really brittle for ‘some reason’ so it was nail hardener and nail care all over. I had to pick the one instrument that requires them.

Thankfully just doing my job has strengthened my wrists to the point where that’s mostly no longer necessary..

Then at work they introduced an app for clocking in and accepting shifts etc. (The company I work for is a zombie of a thing where everything is outsourced and they actually rent me from a recruitment company).

Of course it wouldn’t work on my phone so I had to buy another just for work, then I had to remember to use the damn thing, then it turned out others were having trouble with the app too so they put an ipad in the office and I was using this whole smartphone just for accepting shifts. At least I picked one with an alarm I can find this time.

But that turned out to be OK because then we had a break-in at home and my other phone and wallet were stolen so I just switched to the new phone but had to buy another sim to get my old number ported (all of my 2-factor authentications go to that one, all official communication goes through it) So then I had 2 sims in my phone on 2 different networks (do you think I could remember to keep credit on both?) and I only finally got everything connected back to my original number last month. Only took a year.

And THEN, the week before xmas last year I got rear ended. Second time I’ve had a perfectly good car turned into a repairable write-off by a middle aged bloke who wasn’t paying attention. Being just before xmas/new year meant all the crash repairers were closed for a couple of weeks so I was driving around in an unroadworthy vehicle with an exploded back window covered in plastic.

Luckily there were witnesses (the people in the car in front who I got shunted into - my car was the only one with major damage) and we both claimed on his insurance because I didn’t have any…. He was insured with an industry co-op for people who work in transportation, he drives for a living. I got another car for half the payout amount though so that left me some spare money.

In between all this I discovered my iron and B12 levels had taken a serious dive and I was either close to or officially anaemic, depending on which standard you use. My skin looked exactly the colour of the image on the Wikipedia page for B12 deficiency. I thought I was just getting really tanned! So that explained the brittle nails. Got B12 shots, finally found an iron supplement I can tolerate (it’s liquid! It tastes nice! I don’t get side effects!) Now I have sustagen in my morning coffee and it’s not to make the coffee taste better.

My blood test this October just gone showed I’ve made it into the low normal iron range and many of the symptoms that cleared up over that time are things I have had for my entire life. Hmmmmm.

After that I got onto my first round of allergy blood testing, just finished the second round and the results are that I am allergic to flavour lol. I’m heterozygous for one of the coeliac mutations so 10% chance I’m coeliac. I’m allergic to onion, tomato, potato, sesame and chilli. That’s, like, my entire diet and it means eating take away is near impossible. Also can’t have most gluten free baked goods cos they frequently contain potato starch.

Spent a bit of time trying different ways to hide veg and such in food, tried some kitchen gadgets and have achieved 3 reliable recipes – egg-lemon rice with spinach, lemon herb chicken and decadent porridge. Cheese n crackers and popcorn for snacks. ‘Reliable recipe’ here means a) something I can cook without too much effort and b) something I will actually want to/be able to eat once it’s made. Food shopping has become pretty basic since, and I’ve found a brand of fresh frozen lemon juice that doesn’t contain sulfites so I can go nuts with the lemon juice with no risk to my vitamin B1 levels.

So my diet is still very restricted but it’s completely allergen free and I’ve managed to finally ditch coca cola. I noticed my cravings for it were a bit sus, I’d always want something with gluten after and I’m pretty sure it’s the caramel colouring doing it. Still trying to find ways to increase veggies but fibre capsules are a godsend and my cholesterol is also high. Welcome to early middle age I guess?

In amongst all this I noticed a pattern in my sleeping habits where I would always either fall asleep or wake between 3 and 5 o’clock. Could be a.m. or p.m. but always those hours. I tried setting my alarm for 5am – totally unrealistic hour for my entire life. And IT FUNCKING WORKED! It still drifts a bit because 24 hours has never fit with my sleep-wake rhythm but I don’t suffer in the mornings anymore. I’ve actually had to move it to 4:30 because that’s about when I start waking naturally now.

So that left me feeling liked I’d been body snatched and took a while to stop feeling weird. Really weird. My only issue is sometimes falling asleep too early in the evening but then I just do cooking or whatever when I wake at 12 or 2. I suspect the key to it is that I’m awake for both sunrise and sunset and those are pretty much the only two time cues my brain has ever noticed. Also I’m not sacrificing any quiet time at night, it’s just been shifted to early morning.

And on top of all that my housemate’s sister’s second job was looking for people. I had to turn them down the first time because I still hadn’t sorted out several health issues but they asked again a few months later and I was ready. This is the sort of job I was looking for in the first place (audio transcription rather than data entry but still) but it’s way better than the one I had originally lined up for myself and its $50+ an hour. It’s only 3-7 nights a month so good second job, I get like 2x my regular day job pay if I do a full session

And that left me feeling weirded out again because now I have two jobs that I like, they both pay well, in both I have good bosses, I wake everyday (still not knowing what day it is) looking forward to whatever the day is. I don’t dread mornings anymore or wake up with the thought of ‘not again’.

Some massive changes for the good this last year and also I finally cracked crochet and knitting. But important to note, I think, that the main thing that made these huge gains possible was having a livable amount of money coming in. I regularly drop $200 at a time at the chemist and I have to be able to afford that, never mind the specialists I have to see and my GP clinic no longer bulk bills.

Getting a job was literally what enabled me to move forward while Centrelink payments kept me sick because I couldn’t afford food that wouldn’t make me sick or even the testing required to find out which foods were causing it.

#uhhh #how do you do read mores now?

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vs-redemption · 4 years

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From Cindy: This bad boy got away from me and ended up being 3,674 words. I’m really happy with it though and I hope you think so too. It was written for a writing collaboration on Discord ( @konoblog-simps )

Gray - Soulmate AU (Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader)

Read a similar soulmate AU for Levi here

You hated winter.

You supposed people found something magical about the view of fluffy white flakes catching the light as they drifted down from the sky and created a thick white blanket across the ground and trees. However, the fairy tale description was only true when observed from the other side of a window where the protection of four walls and a fireplace could block out the harsh reality.

“Don’t forget the shopping on your way back.” Your grandmother’s raspy voice cuts through the morning silence as you go through the tedious process of bundling up against the frigid weather you knew you’d be facing as soon as you stepped outside. The elderly woman was sitting in her favorite spot on the sofa, lap covered by one of the many blankets she’d made over the years. You grandfather shuffled into the room as if on cue with two piping hot mugs of tea. He hands one to his wife before settling happily into the place next to her.

“I never do.” Your words come out harsher than you’d intended, but your grandparents pay you no mind. They were either used to your attitude or too wrapped up in their own happily ever after. You finish off your ridiculously bulky outfit by shoving a knit cap over your head and then heading out into the cold.

You hated your job

You knew you should be grateful that you had the luxury of owning an apothecary. It was the type of establishment that would never want for business. There was also a certain pride in being able to provide people with medicines to relieve them of their aches and pains, allergies, and illnesses. The difficulty was in being surrounded by the memories of your parents and the perfect life they’d lived, as well as the constant reminder that you’d been robbed of the chance to experience that type of fantasy.

Trudging through the deep wet snow had made you a few minutes late, and there were already a few customers waiting outside the tiny shop you’d inherited by the time you arrived. You apologize politely as you unlock the door and let them inside, shedding the layers of your winter clothes as quickly as you can so that you can get to work. It was always a little busier in the winter months, but finding the right remedy for each person was something you’d gotten good at over time. Most customers came and went without much trouble, but assisting the regulars who’d known you since childhood was always a bit awkward. You did your best not to notice the pity and judgement on their faces as you prepared their orders with the same forced pleasantness as you did for everyone else.

You hated shopping

Having a job that earned enough wages to properly provide for yourself and your family was a blessing most people in your city could not enjoy. Your parents had always made sure to remind you of that fact whenever they came home with baskets full of fresh fruits and vegetables, cheese, bread, and sometimes even meat. As an adult, you still appreciated the fact that you did not have to know hunger, but it was always such a hassle to deal with the crowded market after getting off work.

When your parents had been alive, they had loved going out to run these types of errands together. It had always surprised you how they would choose to spend more time together even after living and working with each other every single day. They never seemed to get tired of each other, and you could remember vividly the way they’d smiled at each other with pure happiness and love in their gaze. It was hard to forget when you saw the same blissful look on every couple you happened to encounter as you went about your day. It made you feel so incredibly alone sometimes, but you did your best to bury those emotions deep down out of fear that they would consume you completely.

“How much is the bread today?” You ask the baker once you make it to the counter through the throngs of people. He tells you the price and begins to wrap up your order when you agree to it.

“You’re lucky,” he tells you conversationally. “This is the last loaf of the day.”

“Tch!” A frustrated sound comes from behind you and you turn around instinctively to make sure nothing was wrong. Standing next to you was a grouchy looking man with silky black hair, styled in an undercut. The long, soft looking strands on the top of his head came down to frame his face, drawing attention to the most important feature; his eyes. You notice right away they are both the identical shade of gray, which told you a lot about him already.

“Were you waiting in line?” You ask curiously even though meeting his sharp gaze directly was a bit intimidating. He regards you critically for a moment before sighing and looking away, probably forming his own judgments based on the incorrect story told by your own eyes.

“It’s fine,” his tone of voice is flat and a little dismissive. “I should’ve gotten here earlier.” He turns to walk away but something makes you call out to stop him.

“Wait,” you give him the friendliest smile you can muster before looking to the baker. “Please, wrap this up for him instead. I insist.” The baker shrugs, not really bothered by the change as long as he got his payment. The scowl on the man’s face gave way to surprise, and you thought the softer look suited him much better. You could see that he was preparing to reject your kindness, so you mutter a quick goodbye before turning away and blending in with the crowd.

You hated your eyes

In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. They were more than just a mere window into the soul, they were also a glimpse into the future. As a child, you could recall the excitement of your friends as they studied the mismatched colors of each other’s irises, speculating wildly about which shade truly belonged to them and which was borrowed from a stranger that they were destined to meet sometime in the future. Their enthusiasm had been contagious in the beginning, and you’d enjoyed listening to people discuss their predictions about the background, appearance, and personality of their future partner.

“Did you get everything on the list?” Your grandfather asks as he takes the basket of food from you once you finally return home. The walk back from the market had been miserable. Your feet were cold and wet from sloshing through the snow, but the rest of you was warm and sweaty from the exertion of hauling the purchases all the way back while wearing so many thick layers.

“They were out of bread,” You inform him while shrugging out of your coat. A look of displeasure passed over his face but vanished just as quickly when your grandmother called to him from the kitchen. You were relieved that she was volunteering to make dinner this time, because the exhaustion from your day was starting to catch up with you.

You head into the bathroom, ready to warm up with a hot shower and put on a fresh pair of clothes while the meal was prepared. As you wait for the water from the tap to heat up, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Usually you avoided looking at your face for too long, but every now and then you decided to stare back at yourself for a moment. You frown as you meet the gaze of the two identical eyes that you’d be born with. They looked mockingly back at you from the glass, their dull gray hue like a running joke that you’d never found remotely funny.

Washing away the grime of the day helped clear your head of negative thoughts, and soon your mind drifted back to the man you’d helped at the market. The memory of his eyes reminded you that you had made the right decision. He was the one who had someone important waiting for him back at home, possibly even children that needed to be fed and taken care of. You and your grandparents would be just fine as you always had, even if there was a spark of jealousy in you that the man got to have the type of wholesome future that you could never enjoy.

You hated soulmates

The idea of having the comfort of knowing there was someone out there born specifically to fill your life with joy, support, and love was an overwhelming one. It was hard for you to really imagine what it must be like for people to be filled with that nervous anticipation every time they got the opportunity to meet someone new. You’d had secondhand experiences as you watched friends and acquaintances around you find their destinies in one another, but while those meetings spelled out the beginning of something wonderful for them, it only served to make you feel the bleakness of your situation more profoundly.

It was extremely rare for someone to be born without a soulmate, and although your parents tried to have a positive outlook, you had still felt the stigma associated with your condition every single day of your life. It had been impossible to escape the stares and gasps of astonishment from both adults and children alike during you school-age years. Most of them had never seen a child your age with two of the same colored eyes, so it was inevitable that you’d garnered quite a bit of unwanted attention. The people you met were merely curious at first, but as you got older the intrigue turned to pity.

As hard as it was to deal with the people around you who knew the truth, meeting strangers was almost worse. Those who still walked around with duel colored eyes held little interest in someone who had seemingly already found their partner, and everyone else was too preoccupied with their own established lives to pay attention to you at all. In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. Unfortunately, your eyes had landed you into one of the loneliest roles imaginable.

You hated your luck

It should not have surprised you as much as it did when the man from the market walked into your apothecary a few days later, but considering the fact he’d been popping up in your thoughts sporadically ever since the first meeting, it certainly caught you off guard to see his face again. By the way his familiar gray eyes widened upon seeing you standing behind counter, you guessed he hadn’t been expecting to see you again either.

“Hello again,” you smile awkwardly to try and clear the air. You weren’t sure if it would be weird to mention the bread incident or not.

“Hello,” the man nods, his facial features relaxing into a neutral expression. You were glad he didn’t seem to be as agitated as he’d been in the market. “I’m looking for something that might help my mother. She’s recently fallen ill and nothing I do seems to be helping.”

“What are her symptoms?” The question falls naturally from your lips. As the man describes his mother’s condition, you find yourself taking in his appearance in more detail. His black hair looked as soft as you remembered, but now you were noticing other things like the shape of his nose and sharp angle of his jawline. The clothes he wore were on the nicer side, and it made you wonder what he did for a living. His stature was a bit on the shorter side, and although his build was lean, you got the impression that he was healthy and strong.

“Well, it seems like she may have caught a flu,” you explain once the man finishes speaking. You turn to grab a few items from the shelf behind you and place them on the counter. “These should work to control the symptoms and reduce her fever until her body is able to fight off the infection.”

“Thank you,” he sounds genuine as he pulls out some money to pay for the medicine. You accept the payment, taking note of his long, elegant hands and fingers.

“Not at all,” you assure him with an easy smile. “I hope your mother recovers quickly.”

The man nods in gratitude while scooping up the goods he’d purchased in his hands. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking back up to catch your gray eyes with his own.

“My name’s Levi, by the way.” The confidence in his voice did not match the anxious set of his features. “We didn’t get to have a proper introduction the other day.”

“O-oh,” there was no way to conceal the shock you felt in that moment. It was out of the ordinary for anyone to give you their name, especially a man who had obviously had his encounter with fate already. You manage to stutter out your own name, wondering if you were having some sort of intensely realistic dream as you watch the man’s lips twitch into the smallest, briefest of smiles.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he repeats your name to himself thoughtfully. “Have a nice day.” With all his business with you completed, he nods his head and exits your shop, leaving you to try and tame the wild racing of your thoughts and heart.

You hated false hope

It was embarrassing how often you had to remind yourself over the next few days that a person simply introducing themselves to you should not be taken as anything more than polite kindness. You had seemingly lost all control of your mind and feelings though, since scarcely a moment went by now without thoughts of Levi sending butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. It didn’t seem fair that you knew so little about him, but you understood that you’d have to be content with the memory of his ghost of a smile and the echo of the way your name had sounded as it escaped his lips. Part of you hoped you’d never see the man again so that you could get over your delusions as quickly and easily as possible, but another part of you longed to bump into him again.

“What are you doing in here?” Your grandmother walked into the bathroom to find you leaning over the sink, eyes wide open and focused so intensely on your reflection in the mirror that you hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Huh?” you whirl around to face her, finally blinking once you realized how tired your eyes were from the thorough examination you’d just given them. “What did it feel like after you met Grandpa?”

Your stomach sank immediately at the pitying look that grew on the old woman’s face. She reaches out to rub your arm sympathetically with a sad smile. “I’m so sorry sweetie,” is all she tells you before changing the subject completely. “Excuse me now, I need to use the restroom.”

“Right, sorry.” You offer a dry laugh as you move out of her way, reality rushing back like a harsh slap to the face. You’d known all along that you’d never really have a soulmate, but it was hard not to have grasped on to the small shred of a possibility. It hadn’t slipped your attention that Levi also had gray eyes, but plenty of people had the same or similar shade. Besides, the likeliness of soulmates having the same exact eye color was even rarer than someone being born without a soulmate at all. You vowed to keep these cold hard truths at the forefront of your mind from now on, and resigned yourself completely to the fate you’d been dealt.

You loved Levi

It had been a whole week since you’d given up the last loaf of bread that had sent your life into a strange whirlwind of new, unexplored emotions. The days between then and the present had been interesting indeed, but now you were determined to go back to life as normal. The weather wasn’t so terrible today, but you still bundled up to prepare yourself for the cold morning walk to the Apothecary. You arrived at the shop with plenty of time to remove the layers of winter clothes and do a quick inventory of items you’d soon need to restock.

It was around lunchtime when you really started to relax back into your routine. The steady flow of customers had helped to keep your mind occupied, and once things slowed down around midday, you picked up a rag and began to wipe down the counters and windows absentmindedly. The sound of the bell above the door alerted you to someone’s arrival and you quickly tossed down the rag and turned to greet them. Once again, you find yourself startled to be standing in the presence of the man from the market.

“Levi,” you mutter his name before shaking out of your daze. “Excuse me,” you look down and apologize in embarrassment. “Um, can I help you with something? Is your mother feeling better?”

“She’s much better, yes. Thank you.” Levi clears his throat awkwardly and you can’t help but think his posture is stiffer than you remember. You wonder again what he did for a living because he seemed to be a bit overdressed for a simple trip to the apothecary. He looked incredibly handsome in any case, and it was doing nothing to help quiet your wandering imagination.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you weren’t sure what else to say. You walk over to the small faucet behind the counter to wash your hands since you’d just been cleaning. The silence between you both grew more and more uncomfortable until Levi’s face suddenly contorts with frustration. You open your mouth to apologize for whatever you’d done but he cuts you off by coming forward suddenly and placing both hands on the counter.

“Your eyes,” he forces out the words before averting his own gaze. Any hope of keeping yourself grounded in reality seemed to go up in smoke as your heart rate kicked into overdrive.

“Yes?” you say breathlessly and the fact that you weren’t kicking him out for being incredibly inappropriate was enough to spur him on with whatever point he was trying to get to.

“How long?” he swallows thickly and takes a deep breath, “How long since they’ve changed?”

“They’ve always been this way,” it should’ve been harder to admit, but the way Levi was acting was distracting you from the shame you’d normally be feeling. A soft sound, like an intrigued sigh, escapes his lips and he covers his mouth with those beautiful long fingers you’d been trying not to think about. All you can do is stare at him as he comes to terms with the information you’d just revealed. You wondered why he’d even want to know and what he would do now that the truth was out in the open. Finally, after an unbearable stretch of time, Levi lowers his hand back onto the counter, revealing a faint but amused looking smile.

“Well,” his confidence began to return. “They look much better on you than they do on me.”

“What?” Every cell in your body seemed to be buzzing with anticipation. You wanted to believe that this was all leading up to something good, but a nagging fear in the back of your mind warned you against giving in to the false hope that you’d vowed to ignore.

“I was born with these eyes as well,” Levi confesses calmly while gesturing to his face. “Both of them.”

It was your turn to cover your mouth, wondering desperately if it was all right yet to dare to dream that there was meaning behind what was happening after all.

“I have no idea if this is all a coincidence or not,” Levi shrugs as his mouth pulls into a frown. “To be honest, I gave up on the idea of soulmates a long time ago, but I cannot ignore the fact that you’ve consumed my thoughts from the moment I saw you in the market.”

Tears unwittingly begin to blur your vision as all the tension inside you finally reaches a tipping point.

“I…” You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Levi’s hand appears in front of your face, offering a handkerchief. You accept it gratefully and wipe the wetness from your eyes and cheeks. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you either.”

Levi folds his arms over his chest as if contemplating the matter seriously, but the pause only lasts a few seconds this time. Before you have time to worry about what he’ll say, he’s offering you his hand.

“Would you like to be my soulmate then?” he asks, a hint of teasing in his voice despite the nervous energy surrounding you both. You don’t hesitate to place your hand into his. You weren’t sure if your matching eyes was a sign that you were meant to be together, but it wouldn’t be fair to either of you to throw away the shot of having the kind of life you’d watched other people enjoy your entire lives. If you were able to bring each other happiness, you could care less if it was what fate had planned.

“Yes,” Your voice shook with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you, “I think I’d like that.”

“As would I,” Levi replies as a real smile takes over his face at last. The hope you see in the depths of his beautiful gray eyes makes you appreciate the matching color of your own for the very first time, and the idea of a happy future finally seems within your grasp.

#Levi Ackerman x Reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #Levi Ackerman #snk #aot #soulmate au #Cindy's Writing

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Visibility (Good Omens Fic)

Written for Lesbian Visibility Day, 2021

(26 April, 1972)

“What did you szzay?”

Beelzebub glared at the empty space before zir throne, listening to a pair of feet shuffle awkwardly.

“I just…woke up like this,” Crowley explained, in what was probably supposed to be a casual voice. “At first, I thought I was coming down with something. Flu. Hangover. Allergies. All very contagious this time of year. Really, if you haven’t been to Earth before, April is – just wait at least another month. But then I realized, s’not going away, and I thought: curse. Definitely a curse. Probably one of those angels, thwarting and all, you know how they are.”

“An angel.” The Prince of Hell tapped one finger on the arm of the throne, swarm of flies flitting around, trying to make sense of what zir own eyes weren’t telling zir. “Iszzn’t that hideouszz pieczze of real esztate you live in warded?”

“Probably. You know how it is. Get home late, really tired, swear you locked the door, but…” The footsteps – echoing as those ridiculous heeled boots struck the ground – began to circle the room. Beelzebub didn’t keep many possessions – at least, not the material sort – but Crowley seemed determined to touch them all. “Anyway, you know angels. Clever bastards.” An ornate dagger on the far table began to spin. “Or witches. Not quite as bastardly, but they cause trouble. Oh, or a cursed artifact.” Papers began rearranging themselves. “I just…I haven’t been thrift shopping in years, you know, not really my scene, not anyone’s scene anymore, but I saw this really spectacular jacket, I thought, what the Heaven? Might have some age-old horrific curse, or bedbugs, but it’s going to look stunning on the dance floor.”

Pinching zir nose, Beelzebub tried not to imagine the foolish way she was probably grinning. “And by complete coinczzidenzze,this angel, witch or…garment, juszzt happened to make you completely inviszzible on the day of your department budget review?”

“Yup.” A selection of goblets toppled to the floor with a clatter, bouncing and spinning across the floor. One rolled as if kicked, but not even Beelzebub’s cleverest flies could locate the blasted demon who had caused the mess. “I mean, not just a coincidence. Plenty of reasons. Er. The angel. Just last week, that – uh, that Aziraphale, I foiled one of her plans. Thoroughly. Foiled like…like leftover chicken. So. This could be revenge. Very unfortunately timed, but you know.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub rose, stalking from zir throne across the floor to the spot that most strongly radiated incompetence. “And the curszze breakerszz haven’t been able to turn you back?”

“I mean, they tried.” More footsteps, hastier now, so that the echoes made them harder to track. “Course they tried. But,” she clicked her tongue, “couldn’t do it. Said they’d never seen anything like it before.” Ze would have to speak with them. No, too much trouble. Beelzebub would send the Hellhounds to take care of those idiots. “But, they did say it should wear off in…twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You know. With bed rest. Pity about the budgetary review.”

“How szzo?” Ze asked, lip curling. Every twenty-five years, like clockwork, like the courses of the blessed stars, the day of Crowley’s review, something – something highly improbably – tried to disrupt things.

“Well. I mean. Bed rest. Suggested by your curse breakers. And anyway. Can’t go like this, can I?” One of the goblets floated up from the floor, spinning in an unseen hand. “Might be disruptive.Wouldn’t want to draw attention away from Dagon – I heard, she has some fantastic charts this year. Pie graphs. One of those ones with the dots and the lines. Look at this!” From behind Beelzebub’s throne floated a ceramic pot filled with tall green plants, three dozen flies happily flitting around the attractively scented leaves. “Is this dill? Excellent choice. I’ve been doing some gardening lately, too, and let me tell you—”

“I cannot imagine anything” Beelzebub snapped, snatching the plant out of her invisible hands, “that could make you more diszzzruptive than you already are. But it appearszz you can szztill szzee, hear, and – unfortunately – szzpeak.”

“Just lucky I guess.” More pacing.

“Szzo. Dagon will be exzzpecting you in…four and a half minuteszz. I’m czzertain everyone iszz eagerly awaiting your planszz for the coming quarter-czzentury. Dagon, at leaszzt, could probably uszze the…amuszzement.”

“Course. Right. Perfect.” The footsteps began to lead towards the door. “I’ll just—”

“Szztop.” Beelzebub’s hand flew out, snapping tight around the demon’s wrist exactly as she walked past. “The otherszz will need to szzee where you are.”

“I could whistle,” she volunteered, launching into something that sounded like a tortured bird.

The Prince considered ripping her arm off and stuffing it down her throat, but the last time ze did that, the satisfaction hadn’t been worth the days of cleanup.

“Juszzt put on a hat or szzomething.”

A snap of fingers, and a band of glittering silver cloth appeared around where her waist should be. “Better? Can I go now? I’m…extremely eager to start my presentation. Ngk. Everyone is going to be impressed. This – this decade is going to put me on the map.”

“Go.”

The silver band of cloth sauntered out of the room, echoing the moronic way the demon walked. Checking the dill plant for damage, Beelzebub lowered zirself back onto the throne.

Which had, inexplicably, moved several inches back, causing zir to fall onto the floor, the potted plant shattering. “Crowley!”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Crowley muttered, stalking down the hall towards the meeting room. She’d spent a week putting this curse together, combining ones from six of Aziraphale’s most obscure grimoires, and yet she still had to make her bloody presentation. “Next time, I’ll just give myself the plague.” That had almost worked in the fourteenth century. Just needed a more impressive plague.

Ahead on the right, a door with a piece of paper taped on it reading Temptation Department Budget Group Lambda. She hesitated, fingers hovering just short of pushing it the rest of the way open. Had Beelzebub warned everyone she was invisible? More often, ze expected demons to take care of such things themselves, on pain of pain. Two minutes to spare; might as well try.

Crowley dropped the silver belt on the floor outside and slipped through the partially-open door, transforming her extremely cool boots into a pair of quieter slippers. That, at least, she could do without being sensed; shifting the shape of her feet didn’t alert the other demons the way a real miracle would.

A dozen of them sat in chairs around the conference table, grumbling about their project proposals, miracle allotments, and soul quotas. An overhead projector sat at the front of the room. It was the one with the cracked glass, projecting a broken circle of light onto a white wall. Dagon stood beside it, shuffling papers.

Crowley could try writing dirty words on a couple of the pre-made transparencies, but that didn’t seem properly demonic. Scanning the room, she spotted the wheeled coffee cart tucked in the corner, laden with a coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, plate of pastries and various flavorings. Horrid stuff. All demons were required to drink three cups of it per meeting, and to eat one of the scones, which this time appeared to be…pickled herring flavored? With orange marmalade?

There wasn’t much she could do to make that worse. She grabbed a few anyway, tucking them down the front of her shirt, and dumped the marmalade into the molten coffee, turning the temperature up as high as it would go. She’d managed to grab a fistful of wet soil and some dill from Beelzebub’s plant. Most of that went into the coffee pot, a little into the sour creamer, and the rest into the alleged sugar – probably an artificial sweetener, those were all the rage lately.

What else? She stole all the spoons, then pulled off an earring and started poking holes in the bottom of the cups with it.

With the perfect sense of timing honed from millennia of avoiding one more second in the company of her coworkers than necessary, Crowley managed to slip out the door, put on the belt, and waltz back in exactly as Dagon demanded, “Where is the demon Crowley?”

“Sorry, sorry. Feeling a bit under the weather today.” Only about three demons glanced her way with some level of surprise; the rest just got up and headed over to get their first requisite cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. And the traffic! The roads just get worse every year. Anyway, here now. Ready and eager. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She snagged an empty seat and dropped into it, crossing her boots on the table with a heavy thud.

Dagon sighed. “Do I even want to know what happened this time?”

“Pissed off an angel. Utterly ruined her plans. Cursed me out in the most unbelievable language, and then, well, you see. Or don’t see.”

It was certainly true enough. Aziraphale had been very upset when the “fine dining establishment” Crowley had selected for their meet-up turned out to be the hottest disco in the city. And the way she managed to express her disappointment while technically not swearing certainly strained credulity.

“Did you kill her?” Ligur asked. So unimaginative.

“No, I did something much worse.” She’d dragged Aziraphale onto the dance floor and managed almost twenty-three seconds of enthusiastic disco next to her before the angel – now bright red and flustered – had stormed out entirely. “But, we’re not here to talk about me. Let’s have it. Numbers. Spreadsheets. I heard a rumor we might see that climate change graph.”

A general groan ran around the table.

“Shut up,” Dagon snapped. “Listen up, you lot – all you idiots, and Crowley in particular. Every one of you worthless wastes of matter needs to explain what you’re going to do in the next quarter-century, how that’s going to secure souls for our Master, and why we should waste any number of miracles on your pathetic hides. Until then—”

With an icy shiver, Crowley felt her miracles vanish.

“Now. Let’s start on the success rate of last quarter-century, and if I hear one word of complaint, you can scream it from the bottom of a sulfur pool. And don’t forget your blessed coffee.”

As Dagon started her presentation, Crowley watched the coffee cart. Someone had helpfully wheeled it next to the conference table, so the demons could more easily torture themselves. Seven managed to soak their shirts and trousers from leaking cups before the marmalade clogged the pot entirely. That, however, would never be enough to cancel the meeting. Heaven, a few of them even said it tasted better than usual. Should have seen that coming.

Still. It was a start.

Crowley played with her earring, then grinned, thinking of a possibility.

“Ow!” she shouted dramatically. “Something bit me!”

“Wasn’t me,” Hastur said sullenly.

“W—no, I mean. Some kind of insect.”

“Don’t see one,” grunted another demon called Krang, sitting right beside Crowley.

“It’s right there!” Silence. Oh, right, no one could see her pointing. “There! On the coffee pot!”

Eyes narrowing, Krang leaned forward, glaring across the table at the pot, which was rattling slightly. Crowley jabbed them in the back of the neck with her earring.

“Arg! It got me!” Krang slapped at the spot, leaping out of their chair. “Did you see where it went?”

“There! On Hastur’s head!”

“Where—?” Hastur managed before Ligur swatted him so hard he fell out of his chair.

“Ah, shit!” Crowley shouted. “It got me again! No, wait, I think it’s a different one.” The demons anxiously glanced at each other, but no one else stood up. Not enough. “Oh, no! My…my hand!” Crowley tried to think of something suitable “It’s burning! Like Holy Water!” She jabbed the earring into the arm of the demon on her other side.

“Bloody—It got me too!” He was on his feet in an instant. “I can feel it burning already!”

“And me!” That demon wasn’t even near Crowley. She grinned. It was working.

“What are these things?”

“I can feel it crawling on my leg.”

“My neck is swelling up!”

“Sit down!” Dagon snapped, baring her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about bloody insects. You’re demons. Act like it! Or I’ll make it four cups.”

The room froze – silent, apart from the now-continuous rattle of the coffee pot – as a dozen demons weighed the fear of some sort of terrifying unseen holy insect versus drinking more of the vile brew.

So Crowley ripped a handful of scone out of her top and crumbled it. “What – my hair!” She tossed the crumbs across the table. “Are – are those larvae?”

Everyone shuffled back a few steps.

“I don’t think you heard me—” Dagon started, in a tone that suggested Crowley was about to lose the room. So she went all in.

“Oh, Satan!” She shouted, falling dramatically from her chair. “They’re – they’re crawling into my ears!” That earned a few nervous glances, so she took a deep breath and gave her best horror-movie scream. “That angel! She did something to me!”

“Crowley!” Dagon shouted. “Stop acting out right now,or I swear to Satan, I’ll—”

She never found out what Dagon wanted to do to her, though, because at that moment the coffee pot exploded, lid flying off, scalding brown liquid splashing in every direction, along with blobs of now-runny marmalade.

Never one to let an opportunity go by, no matter how unexpected, Crowley cried, “Eggs! They’re nesting in the coffee! Who drank that?”

A perfect panic set in, and there was nothing Dagon could do to stop all the demons – including Crowley – from evacuating the room.

In the confusion that followed, everyone lost track of a certain invisible demon. How sad. And totally unexpected, Crowley thought, climbing into the Bentley. Too bad I kept the radio off and didn’t go to the cinema. Otherwise, they could summon me back. If she were careful, she could have days to finish coming up with her proposal.

But first, a little fun. Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what kind of trouble she could get into next.

Well. One way to find out.

The London police were extremely disappointing that morning. It took nearly eight minutes of driving around at top speed, running red lights, and blaring her horn outside rich-looking homes before one finally started chasing her.

Slamming into top gear, she raced down the busiest streets, whipping around corners, weaving through traffic, making sure not to get too far ahead. The second patrol car joined in somewhere near Oxford Street, the third during a quick jaunt up towards Regent’s Park. When she’d collected four, sirens blaring as they struggled to keep up with her flawless driving, she spotted a side street and lurched into it with a complicated 270-degree-spin finished with the nose of the Bentley facing the approaching cars.

Then she settled back in her seat and waited.

The black monstrosity finally slid to a stop. Officer Mills kept her eyes on it while her partner slowed their own car to a stop.

“We sure he’s not just going to run?” She asked, trying to spot the driver. The glare off the windshield must be playing tricks on her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing.

“We surround it,” Harmon said. “Got to be enough of us, even if they try to make trouble.”

Six officers eased out of their cars, silently trying to decide who should approach the window. Mills won – or lost – and took the lead, Harmon close behind her. He was the only one armed; she felt a little better for that, in case the driver turned out to be dangerous, though most likely she figured he would try to plow through the police cars to get away. They couldn’t do much in that case apart from try to kick the tires in passing.

“Think it’s stolen?” Harmon asked as a few others moved to try and block the street beyond the idling nightmare. “Teenagers messing around?”

“Could be,” Mills said doubtfully. “It’s vintage, though. Really old. And whoever was driving knows what they’re doing.”

Anderson waved from the far side of the vehicle. Everyone was in position. Mills nodded and walked up to the window, prepared for a lunatic – or a drunk – or someone on an awful lot of drugs.

Instead, it was completely empty.

“What…” She glanced back at Harmon. “No one. Did he bail out?”

“We’d have seen. Check the back seat.”

“Nothing. Wait. There’s…a tin of biscuits. That’s all.”

Down the street, Anderson crouched, checking underneath. Nothing there, apparently. Slowly, the police approached, one by one relaxing as they confirmed that yes – the car was empty.

The driver side window was open. Mills stuck her head in, glancing up and down. Nothing. No sign of what had happened to the driver. The engine still gently rumbled, and the door was locked. She definitely would have noticed if someone had stayed there long enough to lock it through the window.

“I’ll call to have it towed,” Harmon said, stepping back. She could hear the confused frown in his voice. “Maybe we’ll find…something…when we search it.”

By this point, even the officers who had waited in the patrol cars had joined them, crowded along the sides of the black vintage monster, testing doors and peering through windows. Mills leaned in to unlock the driver side door. “But where could he have gone?”

“She,” a soft voice said near Mills’s ear, and something tapped against her nose. “And I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Mills stumbled back as the radio burst to life.

You know the day destroys the night Night divides the day…

Everyone spun in place, looking for the source of the music from a nearby window or door, shouting at shadows, so only Mills was watching as the pedals and gear stick moved themselves.

Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side Break on through to the other side…

The ghost car – what else could she be? – shot backwards up the street, faster than should have been possible, spun a full 360-degree turn, then straightened up and drove away, blending into traffic with a cheerful toot of the horn.

Mills finally blinked.

“Harmon?” She called. “You do the paperwork on this one. I need a drink.”

Crowley danced in her seat far more than she usually would, but for once no one could see her.

Made the scene Week to week Day to day Hour to – Crowley!

She nearly slammed on the brakes as Jim Morrison began to sound an awful lot like Dagon. Shit. Forgot about that.

“Ahhhh…speaking?”

“Who, exactly, gave you permission to leave?”

“Oh. Ahhh.” She glanced out the window at a row of businesses and pulled over in front of some kind of barber shop. “I thought, what with all the insects—”

“There were no insects!”

“There weren’t?” Crowley really needed to work on her innocent voice. “I must be hallucinating. Better go home and lie down until it passes.”

“Crowley. Your budget proposal is due by the end of the day. Do you want to be stranded up there without miracles? Do you know what we do to demons who fail to meet their quotas?”

She knew that. She’d been told, several times, exactly what to expect. “Nnnnnh…I’ve got – it’s going to be a big project. Very big. More souls than…than wasps have larvae. Just need to work on my proposal in a secure, bug-free location.”

“Crowley! Do you think for one second—”

“Ah! They’re coming out of the radio!” Crowley cut the sound.

She sat in the Bentley, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

I just hung up on Dagon. They’re going to kill me. Worse, they’re going to send me down to file in the archives for a thousand years.

Then again, they’d have to find her first.

And, she was finding, her current state presented the kind of temptations even a demon couldn’t ignore…

Graham Palmer had been trying to get into the barber shop for twenty minutes.

The door was stuck fast. No matter how he rattled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, as if something enormous had pinned it shut. And yet, every time he stepped back to let other patrons try, the door opened easily, but slammed as if pulled shut whenever he approached. He even tried slipping through behind another customer, but then it stayed shut until Graham stepped back. There was just no way in.

Now he hammered on the window, trying to get his barber’s attention. “Stuart! Stuart! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

The barber looked up from his current customer, blinking in confusion, and jerked his head towards the door.

“I tried that, it doesn’t bloody work!” A young man half his age walked past, giving Graham a funny look, and pulled open the shop door. Graham dove to follow him, but again it snapped shut, almost catching his nose. He pounded the door with his fist, glaring at the customers inside. “I’m going to be late!”

Across the shop, Stuart put down his scissors and shouted something. All Graham caught was “…break my glass…”

There was an idea.

He crossed the pavement to where an ancient black car was parked, removing his jacket. Wrapping it around his arm for protection, he charged forward, bracing himself for impact.

The door swung open in front of him and before he could stop himself, Graham tripped over – something – there didn’t appear to be anything – and sprawled on his face, sliding across the linoleum floor.

“Watch yourself, dearie,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, but when he looked up, no one was there.

Crowley strolled around the park, her new domain, another time.

Over there, at the edge of the path, was the Strange Chill area. Anyone who paused there, perhaps studying the slightly askew sign that seemed to indicate the exit was in the fountain, would feel a touch on their shoulder, a tickle on the back of their neck, or hear heavy breathing with no source.

Over here, near the ice cream cart, was the Creepy Bush. Originally just generic ghost noises, Crowley eventually discovered what really freaked humans out was a disembodied voice whispering their name, or something they’d said in private a few minutes before. She followed strolling couples around, listening in on anything good, and when one stopped to by the other ice cream, just really let loose on the one standing by the bushes. They usually started clinging much more closely to their partner after that, so really, Crowley was doing them a favor. Instant relationship counseling.

Across from the fountain sat the Haunted Bench. Crowley really went wild with that one. Children’s songs in a creepy voice. Branches shaking with no wind. Possessions floating away from wherever they’d been set down. Really, anything was allowed.

The narrow path leading through the tulips was the Asshole Road. Anyone Crowley caught being an asshole in her park was subtly sent that direction, pickpocketed, and then beset by bees, or at least a very convincing humming and a few pricks from an invisible earring.

The fountain itself was Rare Coins and Lost Items. Her third pickpocket victim had been carrying a tube of very powerful epoxy, and it turns out the coin-stuck-to-the-sidewalk trick was even better when you glued it underwater. A few pieces of jewelry at the bottom were also glued in place, but most of the valuables were simply tossed in or – if they weren’t waterproof – hung from the sculpture of frolicking animals in an amusing way. Crowley mostly just kept the cash, and even then only if the Assholes had been particularly cruel. So far, she’d accumulated almost five hundred pounds.

It was either the best park in London, or the worst.

She leaned against the clock – now set forty-eight and a half minutes slow – and surveyed the chaos. Two teenagers were frantically trying to get something out of the fountain, while the Asshole who’d sworn at that lovely gay couple was now soaked through, desperately trying to get his watch back from the ear of a sculpted rabbit seven feet high. That had been hard to get into place, but certainly worth it. The couple, meanwhile, were hand-in-hand, clutching ice creams and hurrying away from what had been for them the Creepy but Oddly Affirming Bush. The lady with the dog that had made a mess by the roses was trying to report the Haunted Bench to a cop, who tiredly insisted it was her lunch break and that the lady would not believe the morning she’d had.

Crowley grinned up at the sky. This – this was what it was all about. Forget budget meetings and presentations. Who did that make miserable, apart from the demons themselves? This park had everything: temptation, fear, frustration, justice, ice cream, and perfect weather.

“Hey. Hey you feathered wankers,” someone shouted, followed by the sound of rattling pebbles and angry quacking.

Tipping down her invisible shades, Crowley spotted some young idiot chucking handfuls of rocks at the ducks. Most were fleeing, but one flapped her wings, panicked and possessive, over a nest. One of the eggs had already been broken.

Looks like another volunteer for Asshole Road. Crowley was already eying their watch.

Every bakery has that one customer. Probably every place that sold food.

The one that demands impossible standards, not because of any particular love of fine cuisine, but just because they can.

The one that counts the blueberries in their muffin and lets you know if there aren’t enough.

The one who spends five minutes shouting, “No, not that one, that one,” while providing no other information, until their server had touched everything in the display case.

The one who complains that their brownie is too chocolatey.

The customer who somehow gets away with murder on account of being someone’s spouse, or sibling, or old school friend.

Victoria Lockwood was that customer, and as Riley watched her approach, they held their breath in trepidation.

“This scone,” she snapped, dropping her plate onto the counter, “is not right.” Then she glared at Bailey, waiting for a response.

“Is it…” Bailey’s mind raced, trying to work out what might be wrong. “The wrong flavor?” Victoria’s face only darkened. “Um. Is – is it dry?” But most of that batch had sold without a single complaint. “Did you want…more lemon curd? Or—”

“It is not hot enough.”

“Ah.” Of course. They’d taken that batch out nearly an hour ago; the next was ready to go in. “If you’re willing to wait, um…twenty minutes? I can give you the first—”

“Twenty minutes? What kind of service is that? I want my scone now.” She glanced at the tray coming out of the oven. “Why are you making me wait? What are those?”

Bailey glanced back and relaxed for a moment. “Oh – yes, I can get you one right now. They’re Raspberry Almond Butterm—”

“Disgusting!” Victoria rapped her hand against the counter. “That is not what I ordered! I demand you warm this one up, immediately.”

“I…” Bailey glanced at their coworkers, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “That’s…I can put it back in the oven but that would probably dry—”

“Fine.” She shoved the plate towards them. “Be quick about it, young lady, I don’t like to wait.” She clearly noticed the way Bailey flinched. “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a girl, I suggest you get a proper haircut. And not that hideous shade of pink.”

“Y’s ma’am,” Bailey muttered, because some arguments would never be worth it. They took back the scone and put it on a baking tray. Maybe if it was only in the oven for a minute or two—

“Victoria Lockwood!” Bailey spun around, searching for who had called out. Not anyone else behind the counter, they all had their heads ducked, concentrating on some other tasks. But there – on the counter – a scone sat on Victoria’s plate.

She looked up from her makeup compact, smiled triumphantly, and took a bite out of it.

Her face immediately went green, and she dropped plate and pastry, running out of the bakery faster than Bailey had ever seen anyone move. They rushed forward, ready to call after her, but very much not wanting to, and picked up the discarded scone – it smelled awful, like vinegar and fish.

There was also an enormous wad of banknotes on the counter, wrapped up in a scrap of paper with a note: Kid – Don’t take that shit from anyone. Flip off your boss when you quit. <3 C

The bakery door opened and shut on its own.

Well, there was an entire day’s pickpocketing gone in a moment, but it wasn’t like Crowley had a better use for it. She still had a few rare coins, but after the fountain, sticking them to the ground seemed an anticlimax. She’d had some fun modifying the haunting routine for the bus or Underground, but both would be filled with commuters now a ghost that swears when you elbow her in the ribs on a crowded train is…not as impressive.

Still. Not a bad day overall. The most expensive foods in the corner marked had all been re-priced, several examples of hostile architecture had been mysteriously destroyed, enough people would be sharing stories of “hauntings” that the whole city would need to be exorcised, and – just for the Heaven of it – she’d followed a particularly annoying human for almost an hour, up and down the streets, buzzing in his ear.

Really, it was the simple pleasures that made the world so enjoyable.

And speaking of simple pleasures, Crowley had left one particular part of the city for last.

Strolling down the streets of Soho, which was just waking up while more respectable – but far less fun – parts of the city were winding down, she kept her eyes open for anyone who might make a good target. A few possibilities presented themselves, but in the end her destination proved the stronger draw.

A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop.

It was just the right time of day, when the customers would still be bothering Aziraphale, and she would be running short of patient ways to refuse them and start turning to biting sarcasm and, on occasion, outright threats. She’d probably appreciate a little haunting to help chase them off, once Crowley had finished stealing her cocoa, moving her bookmarks, and changing the record in the gramophone.

But, glancing in the window, Crowley saw something that poured cold water all over her brilliant day.

Gabriel.

Michael and Uriel, too. Probably Sandalphon lurking around.

Aziraphale stood before her bosses, hands clutched anxiously, that eager, ready-to-please face that made Crowley’s chest ache. Some, when faced with the beings who had hurt them so many times, became afraid, or angry, or distressed. But Aziraphale…just wanted approval. A kind word.

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Heaven are you up to this time?

For once, she would be able to find out.

“And, I really think,” Aziraphale said, hands twisting like captured rodents as she rambled, “that this past decade in particular,I’ve – I’ve accomplished many things. Um. I – I prepared a list…somewhere…” her eyes darted to the disaster she called a desk, and she started shifting material objects around, smiling nervously. Guiltily.

“Is this going to take long?” Gabriel asked with a pointed sigh.

“No! I just…one moment…”

“We’re already running late,” Uriel commented. “We’d expected you to be better prepared.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale snatched up a book and began flipping through it frantically, as if it might contain the answers she needed. “Only, ah, you didn’t actually say when you would be coming…”

“We did say between the 3rd of January and 28th of October,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“Oh. Um. I…”

“Something doesn’t seem…right,” Sandalphon said, stepping close to Aziraphale, putting a hand on her shoulder. The book she held tumbled from her fingers. “This whole place has a…smell about it.”

The door slammed behind them. Gabriel glanced back, but couldn’t see it from where he stood. Sandalphon gave Aziraphale’s shoulder another squeeze, then headed over to check on it.

“I thought,” Gabriel said slowly, making sure the slow-witted Principality heard every word, “I told you to lock the door.”

“It was.” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide. “I – I mean I did.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. This had been a particularly disappointing review. Disappointing in the sense that their agent had once again conclusively failed to present evidence of meaningful victories towards Heaven’s cause. Less disappointing in that, whether she knew it or not, Aziraphale had already given him what he needed to take the arrogant fool down a few pegs.

In six thousand years, she’d barely managed to do a single thing right, yet somehow always came to him simpering and smiling like she deserved all the accolades of Heaven. Well, he’d been patient, as suited an Archangel, as patient as he could. But once per century, he had the opportunity to make his opinion perfectly clear.

Take away her miracles for a start, he thought. Though that didn’t seem to work nearly as well as it had a few centuries ago. Maybe recall her to Heaven for a year or two, re-educate her on the basics of her duty. There might be enough for a period of isolation. With restraints. They’d done that once, about three thousand years before, after a particularly poor review. Seven years chained up in an empty corner of Heaven, and Aziraphale had been wonderfully pliable for centuries after. Perhaps it was time to revisit.

“Look – look here, I have a list of…oh.” Aziraphale held out her book again, which seemed to be filled with irregular scrawl instead of the usual neatly printed words. “I started a list of accomplishments, but ah…I became busy the last few years. Um. Quite a lot has happened since…”

Uriel took the book and studied it, face impressively calm. “Interesting,” they said, not giving anything away as they turned the pages over. Gabriel trusted them to spot anything useful.

As the Archangels waited in pointed silence, Michael walked her fingers across a table. She pressed a thumb against a book, sliding it to the edge. Aziraphale stared as it teetered, then found its balance again. Michael watched it, disinterested, then moved on to another book, sliding that forward as well.

Sandalphon stepped back beside Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. No sign of anything. Well. More questions for later.

Uriel reached the final page.

“What happened in 1967?”

“Nothing!” At the panic in Aziraphale’s tone, all four Archangels raised their eyebrows. “I – I – I mean, yes, lots, many – many—” One of the books beside Michael fell to the floor with a slap. The Principality winced. “I – I’m terribly sorry, could you be more specific?”

“Your final entry,” Uriel held the book out to Aziraphale, “says 1967 – Prevented… Prevented what?”

“Ahhhhhh.” Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I…I…there was…ummm…”

“As I recall,” Michael said slowly, “you briefly visited Heaven that year, but didn’t officially report to any of us. And then didn’t return for at least…six months? Very unusual.”

“You haven’t been hiding something, have you?” Gabriel smiled, his heart rising. More than isolation. He could probably take away this shop, for a start, give it to a more trustworthy angel.

“Nnnnno.” Aziraphale gave that particular smile, the one that meant she thought she was about to get away with something. The one she thought Gabriel didn’t know about. “But, ahhh, if you could, um, quite a lot happened in the world in the…the last ten years or so.”

Something crashed on the other side of the building. No, he’d have the place demolished. It was falling apart already. Aziraphale could watch. Maybe he could order her to help. An eminently suitable punishment for wasting his time. “As I understand it,” he said, taking a step forward, “the last decade saw…war, riots, assassinations…”

“Well, well, yes, I…but, if you look at progress with, um, civil rights, ahh…anticolonialism…”

More made-up human terms. Gabriel and Michael shared a pained glance. “Look. Aziraphale.” Gabriel pressed his hands together. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate you taking the initiative, but…what does any of this have to do with your orders?”

“Or, for that matter, with your visit to Heaven?” Michael moved her fingers across the table again, coming to rest on one of those stupid little figurines Aziraphale had accumulated. Like a packrat. A human depiction of an angel, as some kind of soft, happy baby with wings. Not a warrior at all. Michael’s finger tapped against it. “What were you trying to prevent?”

“Did it have something to do with…Holy Water?” Sandalphon suddenly asked.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said. Something clicking in his mind. “There was that storage jar that went missing.” Did Aziraphale look more guilty than usual? “What year was that?”

“1967,” Uriel said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile. If he could prove Aziraphale had taken Holy Water for some sort of personal use, well.

He’d pretty much be justified whatever he decided to do.

“I – I – I can explain.” The Principality tried to back away, but was stopped by her own desk. “There – there was this demon, an – an especially, ah, wily, cunning, um, crafty demon—”

“Was there?” Michael’s finger twitched, sending the false angel off the table. It fell—

Then hovered, halfway to the floor.

Slowly, it lifted, rightening itself in the air before them. There was no trace of a miracle, no power of any kind. It simply…floated. Drifting through the air to land on the desk beside Aziraphale.

“Clever,” said Gabriel, watching the Principality’s face for any sign of deception. “How did you do that?”

“I…”

The pages of a book, laid out on the stand behind her, began to turn, flipping faster and faster, slamming shut.

“This…isn’t me.” Aziraphale said.

Behind her, books began to float off their shelves. One rocketed across the room towards Gabriel. He dodged it easily, but it was followed by another, and another. The lights flickered overhead.

“If it isn’t you,” Gabriel began, but a small table by the door to the next room began to rattle. Atop it lay a black-and-white board covered with formless carvings, which lifted into the air, then exploded, pieces flying at the Archangels. Gabriel easily batted them aside, but now one of the armchairs began to shift.

Without a word, the four prepared for battle, Gabriel stepping back, Michael and Sandalphon moving to the front. At least, that was the plan – the moment he tried to move, Gabriel fell, his feet somehow tightly bound together. The same happened to Sandalphon and Uriel, and even Michael stumbled, knocking over a table in her haste to stay upright.

Glass rattled in the back of the shop.

“It’s…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “It’s that same demon again! I thought I’d banished her!”

“What?” Banishing wasn’t exactly something angels did.

“The – the Holy Water!” A bottle of something hovered out from the back room, moving slowly but threateningly. “Did you bring any? It’s the only thing that can stop her.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s sword manifested in her hand. “What demon?”

“Crowley! She – she seems to have grown even more powerful!”

“Crowley?” Not that worthless snake again. How many times had he been assured – through Michael’s secret back-channel sources – that Crowley was the most useless, incompetent, lazy demon in Hell? And yet somehow, not a single angel had ever successfully dealt with her – except Aziraphale.

“I thought I smelled a demon,” Sandalphon said, pulling his shoes off and tossing them aside. “But I can’t sense demonic power.”

“Obviously not!” Aziraphale’s wings burst from her back, and she held out a hand towards the hovering bottle. It slowly lowered itself to the ground. “Why do you think she’s so difficult to defeat? The power she uses – it’s not of Heaven or Hell! I – I can barely counter it!”

“Let me, then,” Michael said, predatory gleam in her eyes. Like Sandalphon, she’d removed her shoes; Gabriel was working on his own, but somehow the laces had become wound together like snakes, something sticky sealing the knot shut.

Sandalphon and Michael stepped forward, swords at the ready. “No!” Aziraphale turned to block them, and immediately the rattling started up again – this time from the metal stairs to the upper floor. “You – you don’t understand! Wh – when she gets like this – the fires would only make her stronger.”

Something – horrible, screeching noises – began emanating from the back room, like some animal being torn apart.

“That’s – that’s why I need the Holy Water! In the proper ritual, it – it – it’s too complicated to explain!”

A cupboard burst open, revealing a display of holy items – consecrated Bibles, holy symbols, sticks of incense and jars of oil. “No!” Aziraphale shouted, genuine panic in her voice.

The largest, heaviest of the Bibles lifted and shot across the room. It didn’t reach the Archangels, but Gabriel could see smoke rising from its cover.

Next came a crucifix, spinning end over end, which Michael caught out of the air. The wood was burned all along one side.

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said, eyes round. “Nothing I have in there can stop her! What could a flaming sword even do? I need more Holy Water.” A jar of oil fell to the ground and immediately began to boil, bubbling and steaming. “I’ll try to hold her back as long as I can.” Aziraphale’s face furrowed in concentration as she walked across the shop. “Please, it – it’s far too dangerous for you here…”

“Right.” Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels. Something wasn’t right. But they couldn’t risk themselves against an unknown force. “We’ll…we’ll get some Holy Water. You do what you can.”

With a thought, the ascended to Heaven.

Gabriel quickly stood up, brushing down his clothing and trying to school his expression. “Well. I think the best course of action is to wait a day or two, then go see what the damage is.”

“And Aziraphale’s review?” Uriel asked, face somehow still calm, despite everything that had happened.

“I just hope we don’t have to give her a damn commendation again.”

The Arch-Wankers vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

“Ow, ow, fuck that hurts!” Crowley gasped, stumbling away from the spilled oil and shaking her hands. “What kind of stuff do you keep in there?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale started to rush forward, then froze. “Where are you? Can’t you – reveal yourself, or whatever?”

“Nnnnnnnnope. Rrrrrgh, how does this hurt more than walking in a church?”

“I…I’m sorry, my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been worried lately that if – if your side realized what was happening…I thought it best to have a little insurance of my own.”

“Well it works.” Crowley managed to reach one of the shop chairs and sank into it. “Over here…no, here! Where’s…” She nudged the rug with her least-burnt toe, folding a bit of it up. Aziraphale immediately ran over.

“That was – well, that was clever, Crowley, but highly unnecessary. I – I was only having my performance review. I thought I was doing quite well.” Her soft hands found one of Crowley’s and picked it up, fingers tracing across the palm.

“I…” Crowley had seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up at the mention of Holy Water, while she was on the ground gluing his shoelaces together, and she counted it among the most terrifying things she’d ever seen. “I’m sure you were, but vanquishing some super-powerful demon? Saving the Archangels? Well, that’s only going to help, right?”

“Hmmm.” Another brush of her fingers, and the sting started to go out of Crowley’s palms. “And, I’m sure, spark a few rumors that might help you?”

“Oh.” Crowley grimaced, looking out the windows. “Unless those rumors spread really fast, I doubt I’m going to get much benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale sank to the ground, patting around until she found one of Crowley’s feet. She gently lifted it, stroking from ankle to toe and giving it the same healing treatment. “And why are you like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Crowley.”

“Right. Um. I…may have…borrowed a few of your books and…designed a curse to get out of my quarter-century budget review. But in my defense – it’s so boring.”

Aziraphale sighed – or possibly blew a healing breath across Crowley’s feet. No, probably the sigh, but at least they felt a bit better. “My dear, it’s only a meeting. There’s no need for these – these histrionics.”

“Histri—Angel, that is – I am not – can you grab a dictionary? I need to know how upset I should be.”

“Extremely.”

“Right. I am. And…I thought it would only last a few hours. Have a bit of fun. But…I need my miracles for, you know, ambient healing, and…look, they cut off our miracles during the review, and only give them back once you’ve wowed them with your project idea.”

“And you don’t have one, do you?”

“Not…as such.” Crowley hung her head. “I…I thought I could get an extension. Just long enough to think of something.”

“So you cursed yourself.” That pained look, the I-hate-to-tell-you-how-much-you-failed-but-also-I-love-it look. Only slightly ruined by the fact that it was aimed somewhere over the demon’s left shoulder. “Crowley, did it never occur to you that in the time it took you create such a thing, you could just as easily have come up with a project?”

“Nh.”

“And did you come up with your brilliant idea during your delay?”

“Nnnh.”

“Well. At least you’re sorry now, I assume?”

“Nope.” If she hadn’t skipped out, Crowley wouldn’t have been here to help Aziraphale. She’d saved her friend countless times over six thousand years, but sometimes…she was quite happy the angel didn’t notice. “No, demons don’t get sorry. We get…” she grunted. “We get annoyed at ourselves for…ngk…for hanginupndagonnpissinheroff.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“For hanging up on Dagon and pissing her off.” Crowley rubbed her face. “Unless I can think of the greatest project any demon ever came up with…” Her stomach dropped as the reality of it hit. A thousand years in filing meant a thousand years without Aziraphale’s bastard looks and gentle touches. “I’m…probably going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stroked her fingers across Crowley’s foot one more time. “No, that won’t do at all.” She looked up with that icy, determined look. The let-me-speak-to-your-manager expression that made Crowley go completely light-headed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about all this.”

“Like what?”

“How are your feet?”

“F—hmm? Oh, fine.” They were – Aziraphale seemed to have removed all the pain. Or at least, she’d removed some of the pain, and the fluttery feeling in Crowley’s chest allowed her to ignore the rest. “So. Um. What did you have in mind? Oh!” A grin stretched across her face. “Dagon and Beelzebub already think you cursed me. Maybe we can stage a second fight where they see it. I’ll definitely get an extension that way.”

“Or.” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hands again and laced their fingers together, pulling her to her feet. “We can go for a drive in that beastly car of yours and actually come up with a proper idea. Something convoluted, demonic, and with that…Crowley style.”

“I have a style now?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Not as refined as mine, but I think we can make it work.” Her right hand squeezed Crowley’s, and her left slid up the demon’s arm to her shoulder. “You know, I had a little over a century apart from you. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat that. In fact I…I rather think I prefer your company to, well. Anyone’s.”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shuffled her feet and clutched Aziraphale’s hand back, guiding the angel to stand just a little closer. Needing to say something. Afraid to say too much. “Ssssss. Mmmm. Yeah. I, uh. I like it better up here, too. Y’know. Where you are.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s left hand slid further up, coming to rest on the back of her neck. “I can see right through you. My dear Crowley.” With the lightest pressure, she tipped the demon’s head down.

And kissed her, soft lips covering Crowley’s shocked mouth.

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, pulling back slightly, hardly at all. “I, ah…I meant to…” Her breath still tickled Crowley’s lips. “I…forehead…”

“Nrrh.” Crowley’s free hand drifted forward, finding Aziraphale’s hip, resting on it, barely a touch. It was all she dared. “Ah…?”

Neither of them moved. Or both did. Or they stood still and the world around them shifted. Whichever way it was, their lips touched again, and held this time. Slowly, they drifted closer, caught in each other’s gravity, a decaying orbit. Crowley would surely burn up on approach, but it was worth every moment.

Eventually they parted, once more just enough to breathe, to speak, to remember that they were two beings and not a single, burning soul.

“Not…” Crowley swallowed. “Not too fast?”

“I…” Aziraphale bit her lip. “I don’t know. But…Crowley…I know…where I want to go. Eventually.”

Their foreheads pressed together. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, dropping left hand falling away, right thumb rubbing the back of Crowley’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped. “Oh, my word!”

“What?” Crowley glanced at herself, black cloth trousers flared wide at the legs, tight red sleeveless shirt cut scandalously low in the front and back, boots with heels that made her even taller than usual—

She was visible again.

“I…I suppose I was still healing you when we…oh…oh, Crowley…what are you wearing?”

“Angel, it’s – I look fashionable, you look – have you changed anything in the last century?”

“I…a few things! Were you honestly planning to give a presentation like that?”

“I was going to be invisible, yeah!”

“You…are…” Aziraphale pressed her eyes shut. “I am going to get my jacket. And then I’m going to get you a jacket, because it’s cold at night, and you are cold-blooded.”

“M’not,” Crowley muttered.

“And then we will go for our ride and determine what evil, dastardly plan I will spend the next twenty-five years thwarting. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” After a moment, Crowley said, “Ah, Aziraphale?”

“What is it now?”

“At some point, are you going to let go of my hand?”

Aziraphale glanced down. “Oh. Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

(Fifty Years Later)

Crowley sat beneath the apple tree, her hand clutched tightly in Aziraphale’s, leaning back against her angel’s chest. “And that,” she concluded, “is why we call the 26th of April Lesbian Visibility Day.”

The Them stared at the two supernatural beings, mouths slightly open.

“You…” Pepper started, “are full of so much shit.”

“Oi!”

“Actually,” Wensley said, “that’s…one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard. How are you supposed to budget miracles?”

“If they could cut you off that easy,” Brian jumped in, “why didn’t they do it when you left Hell?”

“Oh, ummm,” she glanced up at Aziraphale.

“Tactics,” the angel said enigmatically.

Pepper didn’t even seem to be listening. “How did you know what all those people were thinking?”

“That’s right,” Wensley nodded. “Particularly Gabriel.”

“He…he has a very expressive face,” Crowley argued.

“How’d you actually move around like that, without anyone hearing you? The whole day?”

“Shouldn’t you’ve been, you know, way more worried about getting killed?”

“At least one of those bookshop attacks wasn’t even possible, unless you were in two places at once.”

“And how d’you accidentally leave your healing on?”

“How could you possibly mistake her lips for her forehead?”

“This was rubbish.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

The former Antichrist looked up from where he was playing with Dog. “I think…” He gave the angel and demon a penetrating look, then shook his head, smiling as if he’d just seen the joke at the center of the universe, and it had turned out to be a truly terrible pun. “I think you should just tell us the next story.”

“Which one’s that?” Crowley asked, settling back into the curve of her angel’s arm, fingers still twined together.

“The one with the greatest project any demon ever came up with.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Crowley tipped her head to meet Aziraphale’s shining eyes. “Wahoo.”

The song is "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by the Doors, because Queen had not yet put out their first album, though there was a lot of pressure in the Discord to have Crowley dancing to Abba instead.

Final scene set next year because we'll all be sitting together under apple trees with our loved ones and telling BS stories to kids before we know it.

For everyone who contributed non-anonymous suggestions:

@amidst-innumerable-stars @tangle5ancer @fenrislorsrai @feuerkindjana @bowser14456 @taksez @yeahhiyellow @infinitevariety @gargelyfloof118 @lourek @soft-forest-rain @undertaker991 @jules-al-c @lov-lyness2 @thisleadstohollyhocks @marianrios33 @aux-barricades @lostmemimi @joybones @derederest @myusernameispie @mothmans-favorite-lamp and @n0nb1narydemon (yes I did find a way to level up the coin gluing!) and of course @5ftjewishcactus who encouraged me when you really shouldn't. Sorry I couldn't fit in everyone's suggestions!

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alderaani · 4 years

Text

prison break (echo x reader)

A valentines gift for @just-some-girl-92 as part of the event being run by @starwarsfandomfests! Thanks so much for putting another one of these together @lilhawkeye3, and I really hope you like this Dell! I think credit for white haired Echo goes to @/amiro-art? That was the first place I saw it anyway, and I’ve really liked the headcanon that it’s like that post-techno union ever since!

Based on this prompt: Character A moves in next to Character B. They have conjoined balconies and A's pet/child wanders into B's apartment.

Fives and Echo are both reunited and well in this because everyone gets to be happy on Valentine’s Day and I said so. We don’t need canon on this blog.

The other side of the wall explodes with noise.

It makes you pause, looking up from the knitting trailing over your knees to cock your head towards the opposite apartment. You think you hear the screech of furniture legs being pushed along the floor, then the frantic rumble of several male voices speaking over the top of each other, the clatter and clang of things as they are removed and replaced.

It’s odd. When Tith-Mar lived next door, you used to hear it every time he coughed, or swore at that awful old holodrama he used to watch every Taungsday. As much as you tried to stop yourself you couldn’t help but get invested, and that was almost worse. Out of pride you never put it on your own unit, but that just meant you ended up half pressed against the wall, eventually not even pretending you weren’t listening to Capula and Mont confess their love. It had given you something to talk about, anyway, when you went onto the balcony to water your plants and he went out there to smoke the fancy deathsticks he joked he’d live and die by.

In the year since the war ended and Tith-Mar was finally able to move back out to be with his daughter on Ryloth you’ve never quite gotten used to the quiet. There was a strange comfort in knowing that there was someone on the other side of the wall. Maybe it came from the three years of water shortages and occasional outages - or, notably, the rampage of the Zillo beast, which hadn’t come quite close enough to flatten you in your sleep, but had downed enough of the power grid that you’d been locked in your apartment for five rotations. You miss the soft Rylothi folk music he used to play in the mornings, and you miss seeing him sometimes, blowing smoke up into the brisk Coruscant mornings with his blue lek, faded now in old age, wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

You just miss the comforting assurance of having someone else there. If it wasn’t for the sound of the door going, and the occasional thump of something being moved, you’d hardly know that you had neighbours at all now. It’s almost funny to think back on the furore it caused when the Republic bought the apartment for GAR resettlement. It led to the only neighbourhood meeting the building has ever had, and you’ve been very glad for that fact after discovering that a solid faction of your fellow citizens are bigots. It’s something you knew, objectively, but witnessing it from the people you personally rub shoulders with was a harder pill to swallow than having to watch some of the anti-clone protests on the holonews. You’ve not tried to remember the more colourful misconceptions about clone troopers aired by prim soft-handed mid-levellers as they sat in a lobby you can remember the Coruscant Guard clearing rubble from with nothing but their hands. However, you do very vividly remember someone from two floors up asking you if you’d ‘really feel safe’ living next to ‘those walking warmongers’, being young and living on your own. You’d shut that down, of course, and the resulting vote had passed in favour.

You’d honestly half expected the troopers to reject the place after that, and you wouldn’t have blamed them either.

Everyone had known the day they moved in, had pretended not to watch as a GAR issue speeder loaded with two armoured figures and a meagre quantity of possessions had pulled up on the walkway and made their way cautiously inside. You’d thought about introducing yourself, knocking or something, but concluded in the end that they didn’t need anyone else ogling them. You’d figured that there would be plenty of time for that later...and now here you are, a whole year on, and that glimpse is just about the closest you’ve ever gotten to them. You think they still spend a lot of time off-planet, helping with the reconstruction missions the now-voluntary GAR conducts throughout the Mid and Outer Rims. You hadn’t even been sure that they were home at the moment, actually.

There’s no doubting it now, as the frantic thumps and raised voices continue. Through your balcony door, cracked open to catch some of the soft breeze the weather engineers have scheduled today, you can make out a little of what their voices are saying, one frantic and forceful, the other softer, but no less worried.

“ - kriffing hell, can’t believe we’ve lost...Rex will have our heads…”

“...can’t have gotten far...can’t even walk!”

“ - already checked the fresher, Echo!”

“It can’t hurt to check twice...knew we shouldn’t have…”

You bite your lip, turning round while debating whether you should offer your help. Then you freeze. The baby on the other side of your caf table freezes too, chubby hand poised to grab the cookie you’d been saving for later. They’re standing on legs that wobble a bit, and there’s a glint of steely determination in the dark eyes that fix on your face.

“Hello,” you say a little weakly, realising very abruptly what the troopers must have lost.

The kid appraises you for a moment longer, brow furrowed and intent. There’s a huge amount of judgement there for such a small face, those focused eyes taking you in for several very long seconds. Then they huff, and very deliberately turn their attention back to the cookie. You smother an incredulous laugh.

“Not impressed, huh?” You say, carefully setting your knitting aside and uncovering your legs. “Can’t say I blame you, I prefer cookies too.”

The baby doesn’t dignify this with any attention, instead making a soft crowing noise as their little fingers strike victory and retract with the cookie firmly in grasp. When they immediately move to cram it into their mouth you burst into action, leaning across the caf table to swipe it. Just those mere seconds of contact have made it slightly damp.

The baby’s face scrunches in outrage, and they let go of the table edge, sinking down onto their padded bottom with a sharp, high noise of annoyance. They don’t cry, but the frown is something spectacular.

“Sorry, kid.” You force yourself the rest of the way up, keeping a hold on the cookie with one hand. Can kids this young even eat solid foods yet? Do they have any allergies? You don’t have any siblings, so the last time you were around a baby was when you were one. For all this one’s bravado, they look awfully breakable. “I’ll hang on to this for now, yeah?”

You don’t think that they’re old enough to understand what you’re saying, but the huff the baby lets out feels extremely pointed. You stare down at them on your rug.

“Don’t suppose you could give me any pointers on how to hold you?”

It turns out babies are wriggly. You put the cookie down long enough to hoist the kid into your arms and attempt to manoeuvre their little arms and legs so that they’re not jabbing into your vital organs, but at the sight of the food being placed far away, the kid lets out a piercing noise, right into your ear, and attempts to kamikaze their way back to it. A body that two seconds ago was ramrod solid and deliberately unwieldy is suddenly boneless and impossible to hold onto. Your brain goes empty of everything but wrestling with several pounds of struggling infant.

You end up on the floor, eventually, but at least both of you are in one piece. You’re breathing heavily. The kid’s face is thunderous. It’s very cute, but you can’t wait to give it back and appreciate that from a distance. Somehow, you manage to settle them onto your hip.

“What the f - heck was that for?” You ask, purely to make yourself feel better. Even if the kid could answer you, you get the feeling they simply wouldn’t. “Was it because I put the biscuit down?”

The kid makes a huffing noise. You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. The baby’s dark, just-curling hair is soft against the skin of your upper arm, and their weight is warm and solid against your side.

“I’m not taking it away from you. I’m gonna let you have it, just need to make sure it’s safe for womp-rats first. And return you before those poor guys tear their place apart, okay?”

You re-collect the cookie and struggle back to your feet, looking towards the open balcony. Visions flash through your mind of the baby pulling that boneless trick out there, with nothing but spacelanes separating them from the ground 50 stories below, and...no. You’re not even vaguely risking that. The front door is definitely the better option, but somehow more daunting, as you stand before the neighbouring apartment with your heart in your throat.

The second you knock, the frantic voices inside cut off abruptly, and then you hear the mad scramble that ensues to reach the door. It wooshes open, and suddenly you’re face to face with your neighbours for the first time.

They’re less identical than you’d expected. Maybe that’s a stupid thought, but it’s the first one that stumbles, half formed and dazed, into the open void your brain has just become. The second, very unhelpful follow up, is that they’re also much prettier than you’d expected. Not that you’d necessarily expected anything, but - you’ve never seen one of the clones without their helmets before. The Corrie Guard, back during the war, had made a point of never taking them off as far as you’d ever seen. That was apparently a crying shame. One of them has thick, dark curly hair, a tidy goatee, and a tattoo on his forehead. The other’s hair is a sharp, startling white, interrupted by metal nodes of some sort. Some sort of post-war medical adaptation, you assume. He’s slightly leaner all over, his eyes a little larger in his face. But the way both of them sag against the door frame is exactly the same.

“Thank the fucking force,” The dark haired one breathes, clutching at his chest.

The other trooper elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Fives.”

“She’s ten months old, Echo. She’s not gonna repeat it.”

“She just escaped from our apartment after General Skywalker swore up and down she’s not mobile yet. It’s gonna be her first word just to spite us.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself and flush a little when all attention snaps back to you.

“That I can believe,” you force yourself to say. “Hi. I think I found something of yours.”

You hold out your armful of infant and - you presume Fives is his name - reaches out to take her, groaning in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, fervent, taking a moment to bury his face into the child’s hair. She puts a determined thumb into her mouth and stares at your hand, still clutching the cookie. The trooper turns her in his arms and holds her up at eye level. “You are a menace, Leia. I thought we were gonna have to call in a search.”

It’s nice to have a name for that little displeased face. Leia regards the trooper for a moment before sticking her hand into his face. His eyes are impossibly warm as he pretends to gobble her fingers, and it is, quite frankly, cute as fuck. He turns his attention back to you, but just as he opens his mouth, the sound of a comm going off somewhere behind them cuts through the moment.

“That’ll be the General,” The white-haired trooper laughs. “You better take her and show him, before he raises down half of Coruscant trying to get here.”

Fives nods, flashing another blinding grin at you, before he and Leia are gone. The trooper you’re left with blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face.

“Well,” he says, his mouth crooking into a wry smile. “That was exciting.”

He sticks his hand out, and when you take it, his palm is rough and his grip firm. You give him your name without thinking about it, staring into the kind, golden depths of his eyes. They crinkle at the corners when he grins.

“I’m Echo. And - I know Fives already said it, but seriously, thank you. Where the shab did you find her?”

“Trying to steal biscuits from my caf table,” you say, laughing openly when Echo drops his face back into his hand and groans with embarrassment. “I think she got in through the balcony door.”

“Force, we didn’t even think of that. What a first impression, you must think we’re idiots.”

You shake your head, enamoured by the faint colour you can see rising in his cheeks. He brings his metal hand up to his face and presses the cool prosthetic against his skin.

“Not at all. You should have seen the look she gave me when I found her, she knows she’s in charge.”

Echo smiles bashfully. “It’s the first time we’ve ever won the lot to babysit the twins, our Company would have crucified us if we’d lost her.”

“Then I’m very glad to have provided a rescue.”

There’s a short silence as you fidget with your sleeves, strange anticipation churning in your gut. There’s no reason to keep standing here now that the pleasantries are done with, the baby exchanged, but...some part of you resists it, almost looking for an excuse to stay. He and Fives are the first new friendly faces you’ve met in a long time, soothing a sting you didn’t know was there.

“I - um -,” Echo begins suddenly, shifting a little. The colour in his face deepens. “I really like your plants. I’ve always meant to say something. We keep trying to guess what they are.”

“Oh!” Your heart turns over in your chest and you wouldn’t be able to stop the smile bursting onto your face if you tried. Those damn things are so hard to keep alive through the unpredictable engineered weather. You don’t think you’re particularly house proud, but you do preen a little that he’s noticed. “Thank you, I, um, I water them every morning. I could...go through them with you one day? If you like?”

Echo’s head dips an assent. “I’d really like that.”

You linger a moment longer, a pleased thrill still lingering in your belly, but there’s no putting it off now. “I suppose I should let you go. But...please knock if you need anything.”

Echo smiles. “Hopefully not in pursuit of any more babies.”

You’re just about to turn away when you remember the cookie in your hand, slightly smushed now. “Oh! Can you give this to Leia? I wanted to make sure she could eat them, first, but I promised. Seemed only fair, since she went to all that trouble.”

Echo huffs, his expression softening, taking the cookie with careful hands. “I’ll make sure her highness gets it.”

Then you go back to your quiet apartment, somehow deflated when faced with the monotony of your knitting and your music. You hear a few more sounds from the other side of the wall, faint laughter, perhaps a child squealing, and find your curiosity has not been sated at all.

It’s a wonderful surprise, then, when two days later on a clear, sunlit morning, you slide open your balcony door to water the plants and find Echo waiting, his face tipped up to the brightening sky. There is a packet of cookies resting on the duracrete by his feet, and two steaming mugs of caf on the railing by his elbow.

It feels like something special...It feels like a beginning.

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @battletales @bad-batch-of-fics @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @dom-i-nic //

#arc trooper echo #echo #arc trooper echo x reader #echo x reader #echo x you #arc trooper fives #fives #the clone wars #star wars #the clone wars fic #alderwrites

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julemmaes · 4 years

Text

Honey - part two

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: I’m so tired yall have no idea. My eyes are burning and my fingers are cramping cause I’ve been writing all day to get this done, so yeah, I’m very satisfied and some of the blogs that I consider big or are big for a fact started following me and commented on the first part, so I freaked out a little, but I can tell that I’ll sleep peacefully tonight because of that, so thank you all. Enjoy!:)

Oh, and I almost forgot, the song at the end is called “Honey” and it’s by Johnny Balik (shoker, as my man Kieran would say)

masterlist

Word count: 4,966

Lorcan's least favourite day was definitely Friday, unlike all people his age. Not because he didn't like going out in the city at night to have fun and drink until you forgot even your mother's name, but because it was the only day of the week he had to work at both the shelter and the toy shop.

He loved working with the dogs and the few cats they brought in, and although he wasn't really a people person, he enjoyed spending time deciding with the kids and parents what was the best gift to go home with. And although Lorcan would never admit it out loud, he had grown fond of some of the regulars - especially a mother of three who he knew worked as a lawyer in one of the offices above the shop. Almost every day she would come in during her lunch break to buy one of those surprise sachets that cost a euro each and if Lorcan didn't see her coming before he went on his break, he would wait a few minutes before closing up just for her. Elide had managed to find out this detail a few months later after she moved in and he knew she would never stop teasing him because he had a heart of gold.

The phone vibrated in his hand just as he got behind the wheel and he wasn't at all surprised to see that the last message he had gotten was from Elide.

He huffed, not even opening yet another link that would surely send him to yet another website with information on why the world was ending very slowly and why humans were to be blamed entirely. He started the car and drove off towards their house.

Lorcan wasn't a bad person and he really cared about everything Elide was sending him, but he was tremendously tired and all he could think about was how much he wanted to take a shower and pass out in his bed. The fact that none of this was going to happen because Fenrys and Rowan had forced him to accept the invitation out to dinner made it all worse.

It took him less than ten minutes to get home and when he parked and saw the lights in their living room on, he seriously considered backing up and getting out of there to get to Vaughan's house before Elide noticed his car and he wouldn't be able to get away no more.

He was sure his friend would take him in without question if he asked to put him up for a night.

But luck was not on his side as Elide's petite figure appeared in the window and Lorcan could not see her face, but he knew she was smiling as she bounced and waved to greet him.

Despite everything, Lorcan raised his hand in turn and smiled back at her, knowing full well that even she could not see him so low and hidden by the evening shadows.

As he climbed the sixth flight of stairs and mentally prepared himself for two more, he could foresee the flood of words that would wash over him when he entered the house. Elide hadn't kept quiet for the entire day, sending him voice messages and staying with him on calls for the entire duration of his lunch break, so much so that at one point he had wondered if she had gone to class and then to work. He had discovered that yes, she had gone, but she hadn't paid the slightest attention to what they had explained and had gotten half the customers' orders wrong.

When he opened the front door, he recognized the melody of one of the songs she'd put on her apology playlist, the one he'd made for her nearly three weeks earlier after she'd found out he still smoked. She'd seemed so hurt that after he'd gone to bed and cleaned the tiles of his blood until they glistened, he'd stood at the kitchen table and spent hours and hours searching for the perfect apology songs. A bit dramatic perhaps, but it had had the desired effect.

He sighed, slipping off his jacket and putting it as far away from Elide's as possible, so that no animal hair would get on hers. He would clean it later.

The girl in question sputtered out of the living room with a beaming smile on her face, her cheeks strangely red and her eyes so bright they were glossy, "Hello, handsome."

"Hi, Ellie." he murmured, straightening his back and making the bones in his neck crack. Elide approached and Lorcan took a step back, bumping his back against the door, "I haven't showered yet," he put his hands forward to keep her at arm's length, "you can touch and hug me all you want later, but please not now," he begged her.

She gave the cutest pout he had ever seen, "But-"

"No buts, you can wait three minutes for me to wash up without dying," he continued, walking past her without touching her or making any overly sudden movements.

"You're such a pain in the ass," she complained, that adorable pout deepening all the more, "I can always take the antihistamine if I get allergies."

Lorcan shook his head, turning a confused expression on her, "I'd rather you didn't take medication just because you want to hug me."

It was true.

To their great misfortune, Elide was one of the very few people he knew who was allergic to animal hair. Any animal. More precisely, she was allergic to the mites that lived in the fur and the dust that accumulated in it in enormous quantities even on a normal basis. Given that the dogs Lorcan worked with were left to run loose in the fields all day, when he came home he was covered in anything that could kill his friend and roommate in one sniff and he didn't want to have to take her to the emergency room again because they couldn't tell if she was breathing properly.

It was why every night since he'd started working at the shelter he had taken a shower before doing anything else. It was why their water bill had gone up so much since they had found out about this allergy of hers.

"It's just a pill Lor, it's not like I have to get shots or..." she shrugged, as if to indicate anything more invasive than a simple pill.

He brought his hands in front of his mouth like a prayer, looking her in the eyes, "How many times do I have to explain to you that if you take one type of medicine every day, after a while your body no longer perceives it as an extra foreign thing to help you, but as the norm and so it no longer has any effect?"

Elide grimaced, "I hate you."

He chuckled, walking backwards until he reached the bathroom door, just in case she had the great idea to ambush him and jump on his back, "Just wait five minutes."

"It was three before," she said frowning, "And, speaking of showers-" and then she did something that made Lorcan freeze in his tracks. He didn't register what was going on until Elide's shirt was too high up for him to avoid seeing everything. And by everything, he meant everything.

"Elide what the fuck are you doing?!" he turned around, screaming, then his eyes went wide, trying to figure out if what had just happened was true or not. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing his hands into fists, biting his knuckles, "You're not wearing a fucking bra." he said in a voice sharper than he had intended.

He heard her giggle, but the sound came out muffled, "Loorcaaan." she crooned, "Help."

"I can't turn around Ellie, you're naked," he pointed out to her with his eyes still closed, then in a lower voice, "God, you're naked. What has gotten into you?"

He felt her move as she walked around him and stopped in front of him, "Help." she said in a flat tone. Lorcan had to laugh, her tone reminded him so much of the way the green aliens in Toy Story talked.

"Help what?" he asked letting out an amused laugh.

"I'm stuck." she said slurring her words and he felt her move, she was probably wiggling to get out of her t-shirt. And if she was wiggling, that meant her-

Lorcan took a sharp breath, cursing under his breath and trying to quiet his wandering mind.

He arched an eyebrow, though he was pretty sure she couldn't see him either, as doubt crept into him, "Are you drunk?"

Elide was silent for a while, then giggled like a child, "Just a little tipsy."

"Ellie it's seven o'clock," he exclaimed amused, but surprised to learn that she had been drinking, "why on earth are you drunk at seven?"

"Just a little tipsy," she repeated like a broken record. Then she screeched like a pterodactyl and Lorcan burst out laughing again, turning and taking a step or two forward to avoid risking accidentally touching her once more.

"Alright, why are you just a little tipsy at seven o'clock on a night when we're supposed to be going out with the others?" he asked now a little more eager to know the answer.

He heard her snort audibly, "The world is ending, Lorcan, why won't you understand that?"

He opened his eyes wide, not believing what she was saying, pinning them on the picture their friends had given them for Christmas, the one with all their best pictures collaged on a coloured canvas.

And here he thought he was the dramatic one of the two.

He nodded to himself, "So you're telling me that the reason you decided to get drunk before you even went out is because of global warming?"

He heard a rustle and then something hit him on the head, "Sorry, I didn't mean to slap you," she said in the tone of someone who couldn't care less about having hit him, "Anyway, yeah. Global warming and forests catching fire and animals dying and plastic burning..." she took a deep breath and then continued for a few minutes, making a list of all the things she had learned that afternoon by reading all the articles she could find about why humans were the worst living thing in the world.

Lorcan stood patiently listening to her, occasionally getting lost when she introduced topics that were a little too specific, but listen to her he did. The way she was saying all those things was always reminiscent of the little green aliens, but he knew the subject was more serious than it sounded.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he didn't think he'd moved too much, but at one point Elide sneezed and he cursed himself for not having moved fast enough to go to the bathroom.

"I told you you'd get allergies."

"But I didn't even touch you," she squealed back.

"You know that's not necessary for even your soul to start itching too," he scolded her.

Elide remained silent for a while longer, then started talking again, "And we should seriously get some glass bottles, if I see you with those stupid plastic bottles again I'll kill you. Scout's honor." she threatened him.

Lorcan chuckled, "Elide you've never been in scouts."

"How punctilious of you." she scoffed at him, then gasped, "We could buy matching flasks, with glitter and," she gasped again, sounding increasingly excited, "We could have one of our pictures printed on it."

A smile broke out on Lorcan's lips and he knew that if he had looked in the mirror at that moment he would have seen the face of a boy lost in love. He pulled himself together, straightening his back, trying not to think about how he felt about Elide. It wouldn't have done any good to admit that those feelings were real and tangible inside him.

He was staring at Fenrys' face in one of the pictures they had taken on holiday that summer, when Elide spoke again.

"This is a list of things that should make you understand why we have to shower together."

Lorcan choked on his saliva. He coughed a few times, patting his chest.

How had they gone from polar bears dying from melting ice to them showering together?

"What are you talking about?" he asked her in a squeaky voice.

The fact that she was alluding to them showering together while he knew she was half naked behind him, a breath away practically, made him feel so many different kinds of wrong.

"We can't waste water Lor, it's not hard." she sounded exasperated, then muttered, "Sometimes I really think you're being obtuse or stupid."

Lorcan's eyes went wide, "Wow, thanks Ellie."

"You're welcome." she chipped.

He shook his head, sighing and running a hand over his face, "Don't you think there are plenty of other ways we can start saving the world, before we have to shower together?" he took the fact that she wasn't answering as a cue to continue, "Like start recycling?"

Elide gasped again, making him chuckle, "Did you sign the petition?"

"Which-" he trailed off. She was talking about the petition to have a door-to-door rubbish collection service introduced in their town. Something that would force everyone to sort their garbage. "Yes, I signed it."

"Good." she whispered.

"I signed them all," he reiterated, because it was true and he knew that Elide never sent him stupid petitions, that whatever she sent him must be important and it didn't cost him anything to put his email and name on a website if it meant he could make a difference in his own small way.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it." she said in a weak voice.

Lorcan felt strangely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

And not because of the fact that Elide was naked behind him and had just confessed to wanting to shower with him, but because he would have wanted to turn around and kiss her, not do what any other guy would have thought of doing with a half-naked girl. No. Lorcan just wanted to kiss her and take his time in the process, savour the kiss and not be hasty and quick.

He wanted it to be slow and heartfelt, he wanted her to feel every single thing he couldn't say out loud.

"Lorcan?" she whispered, "I'm always stuck and I'm starting to get cold."

He blinked, "Yeah, you're right." then interrupted. They were silent a few seconds, "You really can't pull your shirt down?"

"No."

He took a deep breath. Then another.

"Okay, I'm going to turn around and keep my eyes closed, please stay still so I don't touch- anything. I'm not touching anything. I'll try to help you." he stammered, clasping his hands along his sides. She made a simple grunt of assent and he huffed, raising his hands in the air and lowering them slowly until he touched her head. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and then released the elbow that had gotten stuck in her shirt.

"Yay." exclaimed Elide.

Sensing that she was moving freely on her own, Lorcan pulled away again and when the sound of clothes stopped, he asked, "Are you done?"

"Yes," she said singing.

His shoulder sagged a little and he smiled. He opened his eyes, ready to move Elide to the side and go take that holy shower, but whatever he'd thought when he'd asked if she was done must have been the exact opposite of what she'd thought, because Elide's tits were freer than ever between the two of them.

Lorcan grunted, slapping a hand over his face to cover his eyes, "What the fuck, Ellie. Stop flashing me, I'm begging you."

He heard her giggle and then a gust of wind and her laughter fading down the corridor let him know she had run off. He opened his eyes tentatively, peering through his fingers to make sure she wasn't still in front of him and sighed with relief when he finally managed to get into the bathroom and lock the door behind him.

He leaned against the sink, clutching the ceramic between his fingers and staring at his reflection in the mirror.

He never thought the first time he would see Elide's tits would be under these circumstances. He ran a hand over his face again, trying to somehow erase the image he knew he would never forget.

He had just stepped into the shower when he heard something very large and heavy slam against the door. Something that seconds later burst out laughing. Lorcan could only follow as he imagined a half-naked Elide running towards the bathroom and failing to stop in time.

"Are you alright, honey?" he asked her just in case. He turned on the water, hissing when he found it frozen, but not moving from under the jet. After all, a cold shower wouldn't hurt him.

"Let me in." she shouted, slamming her fist against the door, "Let me iiin!"

"Are you dressed?"

"No."

"Then you can't come in."

A scream of despair followed by what could only be a fake hysterical cry made him burst out laughing again, but then for a few minutes all that was heard was the sound of the shower and water falling from his hair.

"Ellie, are you still there?"

The answer came quickly, "Yes."

"Are you still naked?"

"Maybe." then he heard her move against the door and realised she'd been sitting on the floor.

Perfect, he was stuck in there. He reached for the phone and thought of something.

As he finished untangling the knots in his hair and washing out the conditioner, Elide was talking about how harmful the soaps they used were and had even gone so far as to say that they should both shave their heads so as to minimise their impact on the environment.

"What did you do today?" she asked him suddenly.

Lorcan didn't answer, dialling the number of a certain blonde girl who could help him out of this situation. Aelin answered after the fifth ring and Lorcan knew full well that she had done it on purpose, hoping he would hang up so she wouldn't have to talk to him.

"Hello?"

"Listen, something kind of weird happened and I need-"

"Who is this?" Lorcan arched an eyebrow, pulling his ear away from the phone to check the number. It was Aelin's phone. And the chick's voice on the other end was her, he was sure of it. "God, Lorcan, I'm fucking with you, what's up?"

"Funny," he deadpanned, "Elide's already drunk."

"What? But it's not even eight o'clock."

"I know, I came home and she was already like that."

A few moments of silence passed, "Okay, and what do you want me to do?"

"Well, she took her shirt off at one point."

Lorcan waited for a reaction, but Aelin didn't respond.

"And now she's naked in the hallway and blocking the bathroom door and-"

"She's what?" the friend burst out laughing.

"She's naked," he gritted through his teeth, "And she's blocking the bathroom door. I don't know how to get out and I don't want to open the door and push her off and risk hurting her. Is there any way you could come over here and help her? Help me?"

"I’ll make sure she'll never hear the end of it." Aelin laughed louder and Lorcan heard Rowan ask her what was going on. The blonde took breaths before saying, "Ellie flashed Lorcan and how he's stuck in the bathroom because he's afraid of a pair of nice-looking boobies."

"So are you planning on coming?" he asked before he completely lost his patience.

He imagined her wiping tears from under her eyes, "Yes, we'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"We?"

"Me, Ro and Fen. He's the one driving tonight and he picked us up."

"Okay," Lorcan murmured, "but they can't come up to the house."

"Why?" drawled Aelin, "Because you're jealous?"

He counted to ten, restraining himself from hanging up on her, "No, because this is going to be humiliating enough for Elide without two more of her friends seeing her half naked, so please just come up alone."

Aelin huffed, "You're right, but you're no fun."

They said their goodbyes and Lorcan put the phone down, starting to blow dry his hair.

"Lorcan."

Elide hadn't stopped saying his name for half a second throughout the call and it was starting to annoy him. Then he shook his head, no. He wasn't annoyed by Elide, it was Aelin.

That girl could get under his skin like few could.

"What?"

"You didn't tell me what you did today."

And Lorcan did, so that at least she would stop slamming her hand against the door.

He told her about the last man who'd come to see what dogs he could give his daughter and how he'd seemed so much like the guy who'd abandoned them on the side of the road after not even a week and it had pissed him off. He told her the morning had been even worse, because one of the children had started opening all the toys on display and his mother, who had been right next to him the whole time with her eyes fixed on the phone screen, hadn't stopped him and it had been up to Lorcan to tell him he couldn't do it. It was only then that the woman had realised what a mess it was and had simply apologised to him, running out of the shop so fast that he hadn't even noticed they had left. He had to call his manager and he was not exactly pleased to hear this story, but he also said that they would donate the toys to the church down the street, which was responsible for distributing them to kindergartens in the neighbourhood. That cheered him up a little.

By the time he had finished his story, Aelin had arrived and once he had taken her to her room. Lorcan could finally go out and get ready himself.

***

It was after midnight, the entire group was rocking out on the dance floor of their favorite outdoor club, a place called "The Wild Night" that was on the edge of town, closer to the forest than anything else, and normally Lorcan would have joined his friends to dance and sing, but there was a problem.

A big, huge, handsome problem.

And the problem was called Kyllian.

He couldn't figure out whose idea it had been to invite the boy with them that night, but whoever it was, this person's days were numbered, because Lorcan would kill them first and then use the limbs of their corpse to kill Kyllian.

Kyllian who had now been rubbing up against Elide for hours and who had offered her more drinks than stupid charming grins - and he really was reserving a lot of those for her.

"If you don't stop looking at him like that you're going to make his head explode," someone said, throwing themselves onto the small bench next to him.

He turned his head so fast he wondered how he had managed not to break his neck, "What are you talking about?"

Fenrys arched an eyebrow, "Even if you weren't staring at Kyllian like you wanted to see him disappear off the face of the earth, everyone here, including Elide," he told him with so much as a glare, giving him a slight shove, "would know that you're not really into what's going on on that dance floor."

"He's right," Rowan said to his left, sipping the drink of Aelin's she'd left him. When the hell had he sat there?

Lorcan didn't answer, remaining motionless with his sullen expression.

"I can give you a hand if you want," Fenrys murmured, sucking on the fuchsia straw sticking out of his equally pink glass.

He inhaled through his nose, "And how would you do that?"

"You have to trust me."

"Never." said Lorcan as Rowan said at the same time, "Don't."

Fenrys looked at them both with his mouth wide open and a hand to his chest, "I'm hurt." then finished what was left of the drink in one gulp and stood up abruptly, staggering a little, but holding himself up nonetheless. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the two boys still sitting, grinning, and Lorcan knew immediately what was going to happen.

"Ellie!" he shouted, turning more heads than necessary, "Love of my life!"

Kyllian pulled away from Ellie just enough for Fenrys to grab her hand and spin her around a few times until she burst out laughing and begged him to stop. The new boy didn't even seem to exist anymore as his best friend laced her arms around Fenrys' hips and rocked left and right, increasingly drunk.

Lorcan's heart clenched in his chest as he heard that sound so carefree, so happy.

He didn't realise he was smiling until Rowan cackled beside him, "God, you're fucked."

He didn't pay any attention to him and stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on her face.

He heard Lysandra and Aelin calling his name, hyping him up and threw them a real, quick smile that made them scream even louder, as if they were fans at one of his concerts. When he finally reached Fenrys and Elide's side, the blond spun her around ninety degrees and for a moment she closed her eyes, giggling, intoxicated by the amount of alcohol she had ingested, but when she opened them again and saw Lorcan standing in front of her, a smile as wide as he had ever seen it spread across her face.

"I'll leave you Ellie, you're in good hands," Fenrys told her, winking at him from above her head.

But neither of them even looked at him.

His eyes locked into hers as they both took a step forward and found themselves a caress away. Her chest rose and fell in an agitated rhythm. After all, she'd been dancing with everyone for hours, so much so that Lorcan wondered how she hadn't thrown up yet.

His gaze ran over her body, her bare shoulders, the line of her collarbones, and further down between her breasts. Breasts he'd had the chance to see for a millisecond a few hours before and remembered perfectly. The darker shade of pink that had characterized her-

"Lorcan."

He felt his heart pounding in his throat.

She had never said his name like that.

His eyes went up, sliding over lips so full, so perfect, up, over her nose and then up again, finding hers and the music changed, becoming slower, the lights dimmed as the strobes were turned off. Elide seemed to recognise the tune as her lips parted slightly, "Lor," she repeated. He raised a hand until his knuckles brushed her cheek and when she let go a shuddering breath, Lorcan began to sing under his breath.

"Tell me everything and hold no lies. Say you're waiting for better skies," he leaned forward as his other hand slid to her hip and Elide moved closer, until their bodies were fully joined to each other and one of her legs was between his and their hips were one thing moving in sync with the music. He felt Elide's breath against his neck and had to suppress a shudder when she too began to sing along with him.

"Oh, but honey don't taste like summer no more. Stick around now, I miss you every night,"

He lowered his head even more, brushing her nose with his own. The hand that had been on her cheek had slipped over her shoulder and was now tracing the path down her back, grazing the top of her bottom until it rested on her hip.

"Elide," he whispered, breathing on her lips. She closed her eyes, pushing herself up, towards him, and Lorcan held her tighter, moving his fingers over the exposed skin between her miniskirt and the black top she was wearing and there he was. Elide was there, with him, and she was so close to his body that he could feel the heart beating in her chest.

She was there and the next second... she wasn't. Because Elide had snapped away and was now vomiting on his feet. Lorcan held his breath as she was shaken by another gag and he had just enough time to take a step back that she threw up again.

The people around them quickly scampered away, creating a small circle of spectators and casting a quick glance at his friends he saw that they had a large audience. He just hoped Elide was too drunk to remember what happened the next day.

He looked down and grimaced, all sorts of emotions swirling inside him as the girl he loved clutched at him and puked her dinner all over his clothes.

He cursed at whoever decided how things went for breaking the best moment of his life with vomit and then gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, tying it with an elastic band he kept on his wrist specifically for these occasions.

He heard her whimper and put both hands on her shoulders, stroking her in circular motions to help her warm up. Aelin and Lysandra appeared next to them shortly after and when Ellie was firm enough on her feet to walk, they stepped over the pool of vomit and Lorcan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pushing her towards the exit.

"Let's go home, Ellie."

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send an ask)

@tottenhamboys20 @maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @ladywitchling @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @anne-reads @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @simping4bookboisngrls @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @miserablemusings @lanyjoy-13 @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass

#elorcan #tog fic #throne of glass #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elorcan roommates au #fluff #elorcan fluff #elorcan fic #rowan whitethorn #fenrys moonbeam #aelin galathynius #honey

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stonecoldhedwig · 4 years

Note

i like this prompt suits you. but lmk if you don’t like it and i’ll try to find a better one

“I’m allergic to flowers but I work in a flower shop – you’re a customer who’s very confused as to why I’d do that

Thanks pal for the prompt! This was adorable.

Here we are:

“Alrighty, so that’s a dozen white roses, the eucalyptus sprigs, and what else—oh! The gyp.” James looked up from his calculator and smiled at the middle-aged woman standing on the other side of the counter. “That’ll be twenty-eight fifty.”

The woman returned his smile, and held out a couple of notes. James reached out a hand to take them and—

Sneezed.

The woman recoiled, naturally repulsed. James immediately began to apologise profusely, only for Sirius to swiftly elbow him out the way.

“Twenty quid, the eucalyptus is on us,” Sirius said smoothly, dealing with the transaction. The customer smiled, all but snatching the bouquet of flowers out of Sirius’ hands in exchange for a twenty-pound-note, before practically fleeing from the shop.

“Thank you!” James called after her weakly.

Sirius looked at him, incredulous. “Prongs, what the fuck? You’re still sneezing? I thought you went to get a prescription for those super strong antihistamines!” “Yeah, but they give me the weirdest dreams. I had this awful one yesterday about how my uni professor Slughorn and I had to complete some kind of quest, but he kept turning into a lilac satin armchair. I can’t cope.”

“Pathetic,” snorted Sirius, but his tone was goodnatured. He turned and began to head into the back of the shop. “For that, you can clean the shears while Remus and I go fool around in the office…”

James threw a scrunched-up paper towel at Sirius’ retreating back and sighed, wiping his hands on his green apron. In Sirius’ defence, it really was utterly ridiculous—he was working in a florist, and he had hayfever that seemed to get worse every year. James, Remus and Sirius had been working in James’ mother’s flower shop every summer since they started university. They had a good time, the pay was decent, and every penny that they earned went into savings so that they could go on what they called their Grand Adventure after graduation. The allergies hadn’t been that bad at the start, but every year seemed to make them worse and worse.

James turned, about to fill the corner sink with water so that he could clean all the shears when he heard the bell ring to signal the shop door opening. He turned and stopped.

Standing in the shop was a girl. That much was obvious, of course, because James’ wasn’t actually so terrible with girls as his friends liked to think, and was actually capable of spotting one in the wild. This, though—this had to me more than a girl. She had a shock of red hair, pinned loosely back from her face, and James was sure he could call it cinnamon and russet and auburn and strawberry all at once. She was mesmerising.

“Hey,” the girl said, and James felt his mouth moving, but no sound came out. Even her voice sounded good.

The girl looked awkwardly at James, her smile slipping into more of a grimace. “Um, I’m looking for some flowers for my best friend. It’s her birthday.”

James found his voice, finally, although the words came out squeaky and strained. “Right!” He gestured towards the floral display. “What sort of thing were you looking for?”

“Something simple, I think.”

The two of them moved towards the display and James began to chatter. “I like the stocks—they’re simple, and they smell lovely. Although, we’re all out of the blue and I do personally find the pink a little garish. There are those alliums at the back—see those big purple coloured ones? They’re very nice; related to garlic and chives, although you wouldn’t guess.”

James chattered on, asking for more information and pointing out the different flowers he thought were appropriate. He might have hayfever, but he was also the son of a florist and a botanist, and James knew his stuff when it came to flowers. They discussed the merits of roses—too romantic, too cliche—versus hyacinths; and James tried desperately not to sneeze. He thought that his streaming eyes must look like he was getting emotional over the flowers, and cursed himself.

The girl smiled, listening politely. When James paused for breath, she gestured to a group of flowers that James had suggested. “Oh, the peonies are beautiful.”

“Yeah, they’re—they’re—“ James turned away and let out the most almighty sneeze. His eyes were streaming as he looked back at the girl and smiled apologetically. “God, I’m really sorry, I have terrible hay fever and it’s just playing up today.” “Oh!” The girl’s eyes lit up. “I’m a medical student and I’m writing my dissertation on the management of allergies. You’d be an incredible case study!”

James grinned at her with a bemused look. “I’ve never heard anyone tell me I’d be an incredible case study before. I must write that down and let my ex-girlfriends know…” The girl let out a laugh—a full-bodied, genuine laugh that made something delicious and delighted bubble in James’ chest. “I do have a question, though,” she said. ��Why the hell are you working in a florist if you’ve got such bad hayfever?”

James chuckled, looking down at his feet. “Yeah, it’s insane, I know. This is my mum’s shop—me and two of my friends work here during the uni breaks to earn some money for our big adventure after graduation. We want to go on tour with our band.”

“Oh, that’s so cool!” The girl looked genuinely interested. She nodded towards the logo on James’ apron that read Euphemia’s. “So you’re Euphemia’s son?” “James Potter, at your service.”

“Well, James Potter, I’m going to go for the peonies, I think.” The girl nodded towards the pink blooms that James had suggested. “They seem perfect.”

“Great!”

James busied himself with arranging the bouquet, taking longer than he usually would, and certainly taking more care. His mouth felt dry and he was furiously wracking his brains to try and think of things to say that would make the girl pause, stay a little while and talk with him. He already loved the sound of her voice; the light cadence of her words, the short snaps of her vowels. James could have listened to her talk all day.

Alas, nothing came to him, and after a couple more sneezes and an exchange of cash, James reluctantly handed over the bouquet.

“Thanks. Here—“ The girl reached out and snatched up the notepad and pen that were sticking out of James’ apron pocket. She scribbled something down and handed the paper back to James. “If you’re interested in being in part of my dissertation, you should text me. Thanks again for the help with the flowers—I think Marlene is going to love them.”

She turned to leave, and James glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. Lily Evans, it said, with a heart over the I and a number below. It’s now or never. He looked back up again, his face breaking into an earnest grin and butterflies fluttering in the low part of his stomach. Some small bloom of courage flowered within him, and he decided to act.

“Hey,” called James, and Lily’s hand stilled on the door handle. She turned back, the sunlight catching the copper and auburn in her hair, illuminating the smattering of freckles across her nose and those green eyes that glittered like cut gems.

“Yeah?” she asked, and James could have sworn that there was something hopeful in her tone.

“You know this case study?” He waved the piece of paper. “Do you think it could happen over drinks?”

“Oh,” Lily breathed, and beamed. “Yeah, I think it could.”

#jily #prompts #prongsdamnyou #james potter #lily evans #sirius black #euphemia potter #harry potter #hp fanfic #fanfiction #hp #muggle au #flower shop au #florist au #allergies?

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aquietwritingcorner · 3 years

Text

Sicktember Day 3: Chicken Pox/Rash Word Count: 2069 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Vato Falman Warning: NA Summary: Of course Falman would be the one to catch a childhood disease as an adult. Notes: AO3 || ff.net

________________________________________

Chicken Pox/Rash

Falman sighed, and idly scratched his wrist while he read the report in front of him. “—the incoming transport was loaded with supplies slated for the southwest region near Yommib. Unexpected delays occurred in the rail system at 1034. Causes were as follows—”

Falman blinked at the page. It was difficult to concentrate on it. He had been reading reports for days and memorizing them for this investigation. The non-stop reading was wearing on him, as silly as that sounded. His head was hurting, and he felt exhausted from spending all day reading these reports. Every time he stood up, his body protested by aching all over. He supposed he had spent too much time hunched over the reports. He even skipped meals, not that he had much of an appetite after reading what the criminals in question were up to. He wished he could take a day to rest, but he knew that it wasn’t possible. The stakes were too high.

He idly scratched at his chest. Did he forget to put in fabric softener last time he washed? It was possible. He had been rather caught up in that book Sheska had recommended to him.

“—Anonymous phone call received at 1025 purporting terroristic activities. Consequential investigation following received call. Mysterious substance on tracks (See report PGH#73940 for analysis). Small landslide approximately 3.5 miles down track (cause undetermined. See report IGF#2739 for further details).

Consequences of delays were as follows: 340 lbs. of meat unusable. 37 passengers missed connecting trains. Lack of support for troops at—"

Falman let out a sigh again and stood up. Breda looked up as he did.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

“I need more coffee,” Falman said.

Breda frowned at him. “You’ve been hitting the coffee hard the past few days.”

Falman nodded. “I know. But something about these reports just…wears at me.”

Breda grunted. “Yeah. I get that.”

Falman just nodded and got himself some more coffee before sitting back down and getting back to the reports.

“—Turnting. Further consequences include the delay of further trains, which had other unintended consequences (See attached report TDN#73849 for list of other related reports). A major consequence of note is the kidnapping of twelve children ranging from ages 14 to 3. This is believed to be part of a ransom and tr—”

Falman sighed, gripped his coffee, and kept reading.

By the time Falman went home, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. His brain was swimming with facts and reports, and he was looking forward to a night of sleep to help. When he got home, he blearily changed clothes, not even bothering to shower. He’d do it in the morning. He was just too tired and wanted to curl up into a long night of a dreamless sleep.

Unfortunately, Falman didn’t get his wish. It was 0249 when his phone rang. Fuery was on the other end of it sounding more awake than Falman did.

“Sorry, sir, but the colonel said its time. Rendezvous at site omega.”

“Right.” Omega. That was the one furthest from command. “ETA of… twenty minutes.”

“Understood.”

Fuery hung up, and Falman rolled out of bed. He ached and was tired and coughed. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with a cold. That would not be good. Still, he didn’t have time to think about it. Twenty minutes was cutting it close, and he didn’t have time to think of much beyond throwing on his clothes and going through all of the reports in his head. As a last-minute thought, he grabbed a canteen, filled it with water, and stuffed some peppermints in his pocket. His throat felt dry, a bit sore, and Falman figured it was just his luck.

He hurried through the dark night, making his way to the omega site as quickly as he could. His back itched as he did, and he wished he had given himself more time. Maybe he could have put on a little lotion or found a shirt that wasn’t as scratchy. He’d definitely have to remember the fabric softener next time.

He made it to the omega site within the twenty minutes he had allowed himself, although he felt more winded than usual. He carefully entered the building where he knew they had set up a watch. As he entered, he saw that, thankfully, he wasn’t the last one there. Havoc and Hawkeye were both missing, although Breda and Mustang were going over some reports. Fuery approached him, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Figured you could use it,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, definitely. Thank you,” Falman responded. He took a sip, and the warm liquid felt good on his throat.

Fuery frowned at him. “Are you alright, sir? You look a little pale.”

Falman shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I think I might be coming down with a cold.”

Fuery’s brow furrowed. “That’s not good. Are you going to be alright?”

Falman gave him a tight smile and scratched at his chest again. “I’ll be alright.”

“Falman!” Mustang called out, interrupting them. “We need your input.”

“Coming, sir!”

For the next hour, a plan was laid out. Havoc and Hawkeye returned from canvasing the area. This was the group they were after, and they had several of the children held in the facility. Mustang called in more of the men under his command. They weren’t going to take any chances with these children.

And yet Falman kept feeling worse.

He drank coffee, drank water, made his way through all of his peppermints. And yet he still felt bad. His throat was dry, he had a cough, he felt so drained, and he was itchy. What was he so itchy? It was almost unbearable. Maybe it wasn’t that he forgot fabric softener. Maybe he was allergic to something. Maybe he had developed an allergy to his fabric softener. Maybe it was something that someone before him had used, seeing as he used a public laundromat.

It was Hawkeye who finally said something, and Falman found that he was glad that she did. She kept giving him concerned looks, until she finally reached out towards him, her hand going towards his forehead.

“You don’t look good, Falman,” she said. Her brow creased. “You’ve got a fever.”

That caught the attention of the others.

“What?” Mustang said.

“It’s nothing, sirs,” Falman said, scratching at his chest and then at his wrist again. “Just a cold.”

Hawkeye didn’t seem to be buying it. Instead, her hand moved, darting out to catch his wrist. “It doesn’t seem like it to me. And you keep scratching at yourself.” She pushed his sleeve up, and then blinked. The rest of the team looked on.

“What is that?” Breda asked.

Falman looked at his arm. Little red dots, blisters of some sort, dotted his forearm. The passing of his sleeve over them caused them to itch more, and he brought his other hand over to scratch at them. Hawkeye caught it, keeping him from doing it.

“Don’t scratch,” she ordered.

“Off hand, I’d say it looks like chicken pox,” Havoc said. “Or at least it looks like chicken pox.”

“That’s a kid’s sickness,” Breda said.

“Unless you never got is as a child,” Fuery pointed out.

“Or had a light case as a child,” Riza filled in. She focused back on Falman. “Falman. Did you ever have chicken pox as a kid?”

Falman blinked at them. “I—no. No, I never did.”

Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged looks. “Take off your shirt,” Hawkeye said.

“Sir?”

“Just do it, Falman,” Mustang said. “Let’s see how bad of a case it is, and if we can confirm if it’s chicken pox.”

Falman was just miserable enough that he didn’t feel like arguing, and he did as they said. Hawkeye released him, and he pulled off his uniform jacket first, and then the shirt he wore underneath it. A collective breath was sucked in, and honestly, as he looked at his chest, he couldn’t blame them. It was covered in the same red spots. Up his chest, down it, on his shoulders, down his arms.

“Is my back just as bad?” he asked, turning around.

“Oh yeah,” Havoc said.

“Alright, first things first—is there anyone here who hasn’t had the chicken pox?” Mustang asked. There were negatives all around. Everyone else had been afflicted by the disease in childhood, it seemed.

Hawkeye looked over him, worry creasing her brow. “Sir, we probably need to get him to the hospital. Chicken pox is more dangerous in adults. It’s why a lot of parents try to expose their children when they’re young.”

Falman honestly thought the hospital didn’t sound like a bad idea. Maybe he could sleep. Although the prospect of this disease being dangerous was worrisome.

Mustang frowned, and then looked at Falman. “Do you think you can last until morning? This op can’t be delayed.”

“Yes, sir, I can,” Falman said, although he didn’t really feel like it. “Although… I’m honestly not sure if I’ll be of much help, sir. I’m sorry.”

Mustang shook his head. “You couldn’t have predicted this. You’ll stay here, assist Fuery in look out duties.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“In the meantime, rest until it’s time to move.”

Falman nodded, visibly glad for the opportunity to rest. “Yes, sir,” he said.

He found himself a place to rest, and discovered, quite by accident, that Hawkeye was a fairly attentive nurse. Although she was still working on the op, she made sure he had plenty of water, got some medication from somewhere, procured a blanket for him, and got him a wet rag for his forehead. He dozed off and on, his fevered mind only picking up snatches of the conversations around him. When it came time for the operation to go into action, he drug himself up, did his best help watch and relay information, although, to be honest, most of it was a blur in his mind. Now that it had been determined that he was sick, his body seemed to have given up fighting the symptoms. As soon as he could, he was sitting back down.

Falman wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Havoc was rousing him from his sleep, helping him up. He led him down to a car, where Hawkeye joined them. It was only a short trip to the hospital, where he had to wait in the waiting room, was finally looked over, a prescription for a few things were slapped in his hand, and then he was sent on his way. Havoc and Hawkeye drove him back to his place where Havoc helped to settle him in while Hawkeye did something in his apartment.

To be honest, he felt too bad to care what she was doing or about the state of his apartment.

Havoc left, and came back with some sort of lotion, which Falman wasted no time in putting on. Havoc must have felt some kind of sympathy for him, because he helped him spread it on his back as well. The lotion helped, and Falman breathed a sigh of relief as it helped to mitigate the itching, at least a bit. Laying in his bed made his back itchy again, but at least it wasn’t as bad.

Before they left, Hawkeye came in to see him, putting some medicine on his bedside table, as well as a glass of water and a canteen.

“I left some broth for you on the stove, covered up. All you’ll have to do is turn it on to eat. There’s also some soup in your fridge if you feel up to that. I took the liberty too, of setting up what you’d need for an oatmeal bath in your bathroom. I’ve been told that soaking in it helps the itching. Someone will be back to check on you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Lieutenants,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Havoc said. “It’s not like you got sick on purpose. Just rest up.”

“We’ll be back. Call if you need anything,”

“I will. Thank you.”

Falman heard them leave and relaxed as best he could in his bed.

Of course he would get sick.

Of course he would get the chicken pox as an adult.

But at least he had people who cared about him to help him through it.

#sicktember2021 #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma #Vato Falman #Heymans Breda #Jean Havoc #Roy Mustang #riza hawkeye #Kain Fuery #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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rextasywrites · 3 years

Text

Grab a bite (Lady Dimitrescu x f!Reader)

Hello! This is my first smut fic here on Tumblr. Please enjoy, I tried my very best <3 mostly smut with a hint of plot, maybe i can expand this idea??? have fun!

Warning: period blood kink! smut! don’t like don’t read please!

Find this fic on AO3

The days in the castle hadn’t been pleasant to you...to say it in a mild way. The three vampire chicks had thrown you into the basement, up to rot along your mates. The first one to go was Mike. He had suffered from a cold before you headed into the mysterious village, and his cold soon turned into pneumonia. There wasn’t anything you could do for him apart from making sure he was as comfortable as he could be.

The next one to go was Jasmin. In the cells you three (and a corpse) shared were quite a few rusty nails and she had the misfortune of stepping on one. Sepsis took her in less than 24 hours.

Just a few hours ago, it was James who perished. The food given to you by the vampires was barely edible.. for humans. While you suffered from stomach aches quite a lot, James had a bigger problem. His food allergies were through the roof, and a simple dish with some nuts in it was his last meal on death row. You tried to make a tracheotomy, you really did.

The vampires kept you in the cage for just a little bit longer. The bodies were taken away by them, but you had no chance of escaping. As you laid on the uncomfortable bed that kind of resembled a murphy bed, your mind went to everything you had left behind. Your family, your friends. All of this for a stupid job and “exploring Romania”. Fuck this shit. Were they looking for you? Were they missing you?

Your stomach churned at all the anxieties creeping up your throat, making you choke back whatever was trying to come back up. But that wasn’t the only weird feeling in your stomach. While you didn’t know how long you had actually been in this hellhole, you knew your birth control ran out several days ago, and now your body was keen on getting its hormone household back into place.

As if your uterus called her, one of the vampire ladies stood in front of the cell you were locked in, licking over her lips. You couldn’t tell if the darkness of her lips was from lipstick or the fact that she was a half dead monster. “Lady Dimitrescu awaits you.”, the lady said and unlocked the cage. When you first stood up, you had to press your hand against your stomach, feeling how the cramps were slowly getting worse inside of you. The lady just watched with raised eyebrows - do vampires even get periods?

She led you through the impressive castle, and you wondered when someone cleaned in here for the last time, spiderwebs and dust were settled on nearly every surface. But boy, if it wasn’t impressive. Bigger than anything you had ever seen in your life. This sentence also was fitting for Lady Dimitrescu, who was sitting on her luxurious bed, covers of satin under her impressive...body.

“My dear, I knew you would make it alive out of there!”, she gave you her biggest smile, and when she stood up...Jesus, she was taller than anyone you had ever seen, easily reaching 2,5 meters. Absolutely supernatural. But the thing which caught your eyes the most were her huge breasts. They were right at eye height for you, and being killed by massive tits seemed like the most pleasant death in this place. Well, at least better than dying because of a rusty nail.

Lady Dimitrescu cupped your cheeks, feeling how the past few days had made you visibly lose weight already. “Oh my...if you want to survive the ritual, we have to nourish you. Daniela, please, get us some of the wine. I wouldn’t want my daughter to starve, would I?”

Daniela came back with a bottle of the wine Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, pouring it into two glasses before handing you one, the other one to her...mentor? Mother? You didn’t know. Lady Dimitrescu made your two glasses click together and took a sip off the exclusive fluid, smiling as it made its way to her stomach. The taste wasn’t unpleasant, not at all. A strong taste of dry wine, but the aftertaste was slightly metallic. “You know you are allowed to speak with me.”, Lady Dimitrescu said as she put her glass on the nightstand, which had looked hilariously small in her hands. “You are part of the family now, dear. There is nothing to hide.”

“Why me?”, was everything you managed out. Daniela had left the room by now, but that didn’t help to lessen your anxiety.

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled and took your hand into hers, giving you the gentlest smile a vampire demon whatever the fuck she was could give. “Because you are special. The first moment my daughters spotted you in the village, I knew you’d come here. I knew you’d make it out of there alive. And now, I will prepare you for the ritual.”

“What kind of ritual?”, the questions were clouding your mind. The last ritual you heard of was from Midsommar, and you had no interest in being burnt alive! As your hands started to shake, Lady Dimitrescu tightened her grip on them.

“I will make you one of us. But first, you have to show me you can handle this life. That you can handle…”, she got closer to your ear as she whispered into it, “my needs.” Her needs?

Lady Dimitrescu took the glass from your hands, putting it next to hers. Once her hands were free she placed them on your shoulders, pushing you down into the satin covers of her bed, and once you hit the sheets, your eyes felt so heavy. “Don’t fall asleep little dove!”, Lady Dimitrescu shooed, tapping her long fingers against your skin.

“We would have started this sooner, but sadly”, Lady Dimitrescu gestured to your pants, “you have used this pill which stopped your period. And I need a good taste of you before we can continue.” What? A good taste?

“I thought vampires drink blood!”, you bursted out, cupping your mouth once your brain realized what you just said.

Lady Dimitrescu laughed loudly, giving your thigh a little pat. “Oh, we do, little dove. But I need to taste your innocence.” Your innocence… Her words flew around your brain while her fingers touched your bare skin from the holes in your pants. The bucket of water and the washing cloth might have helped you with feeling filthy, but it didn’t help with any ripped clothes. “It won’t hurt, I promise you. And once you have passed this test, you will be one of us in no time.”

“...Okay?”

“Good to hear that you agree with me, little dove!”, Lady Dimitrescu smiled, and her next move shook you to the bone. Out of the fingers of her right hand came claws, something straight out of a Wolverine movie! You froze in shock as she came closer, but instead of hurting you, all she did was slowly ripping the fabric of your clothes - or better said, what was left of them. She hummed at the sight under her, while your face became hotter and hotter. “Do not worry, dove. You will get new costumes when I am done with you. We will burn this trash you called clothes. Cheap trash.”

Soon you were left in your undergarments, Lady Dimitrescu eyeing you up and down as if you were a piece of meat, ready for the predator to rip into its prey. And it wasn’t that wrong of a thought. In the end, you were at her mercy, but slowly her soft touch made you feel warm on the inside, spreading from your stomach, reaching all the way to your fingers and toes, a warmth you hadn’t felt in days. Was it the wine? Or was it something else?

Lady Dimitrescu smelt old. But not an unpleasant old smelt, not this smell from nursing homes, where the rotten flesh melted into the seats of the wheelchairs. The smell of old books and knowledge, aged like the fine wine she had just given you.

As your mind was clouded, Lady Dimitrescu continued to undress you. Your period had started by now, and a single drop of your blood fell on the satin covers under your ass. She chuckled, dipping her finger into the blood, licking it clean. “Have you ever laid with a man before, my dove?”, Lady Dimitrescu asked, to which you were ripped out of your thoughts, your reply a simple nod. You didn’t trust your voice anymore. “That’s good. You are pure. You are innocent. Just perfect for my daughters and me. Oh little dove, we are going to have so much fun together!”, Lady Dimitrescu laughed as she clapped her hands together, giving you her widest smile - and for a moment you could spot her fangs. What a weird turn on all of this was.

Once her finger was clean, a hunger formed inside of her. Your blood...it tasted so good, so fresh, so healthy. Unlike anything she had eaten in the past 500 years - and she fucking wanted more. “Come here, little dove. Spread your legs for the Lady.”, she said as she grabbed hold of your hips, pulling your middle closer. The claws on her right hand had gone back into her skin, and at this point, you didn’t even want to ask why. At this point, all you needed was her.

Lady Dimitrescu settled between your legs, “Let’s make this a pleasant experience for the both of us, shall we?”, she smiled as she pulled down her dress, exposing her big breasts. “I noticed your stares.”, and by the gods, they were everything you ever wanted and needed. Big, her dress had held them up, it must have been painful to her. They were saggy, but who didn’t appreciate a great pair of tits? You reached upward, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh as she chuckled. Lady Dimitrescu placed her hand on yours, letting you feel her up as you desired.

“Come on, little dove”, she smiled after some groping from your side. She couldn’t deny, your eager massages on her breasts had left her wet and ready, but she had to prepare you. Maybe once she managed to spill a sweet orgasm from your lips, maybe then she would engage in some self centered pleasure. But right now, you were her main focus.

Her fingers dipped a finger between your folds, scooping up your wetness mixed with blood. Lady Dimitrescu hummed in delight as she sucked her fingers clean, happiness clearly evident as she savoured the taste on her tongue. “You want to try it too?”, you shook your head in response, to which she laughed, “Oh, you will appreciate blood soon enough, little dove!”

You couldn’t gasp when Lady Dimitrescu grabbed your hips, pulling you up against her mouth. With your legs wrapped around her shoulders, she had your pussy right in her face, taking in the sweet smell of your arousal and the metallic undertone of blood. Just how she liked it. Just how she imagined it. “Oh, having to wait for you for so many days was terrible, little dove. But now, you are mine.”, she whispered as she dove her head between your thighs, taking in more and more of you. The moment her tongue hit your folds, a loud gasp escaped your throat, surely the vampires outside of the room would hear you. Lady Dimitrescu just chuckled against your wetness, flicking her tongue over your clit as the sweet taste of your wetness spread all across her mouth.

Her tongue was in the same proportion as her body, longer and thicker than anything you had ever seen before - or felt before. She slurped up whatever fluid she could reach, humming in delight whenever blood found its way into her mouth. The blood of a healthy and innocent virgin had been her favourite kind for so long, so hard to come by and the resulting fullness lasting for even longer. Maybe she wouldn’t turn you and keep you as her little to-go human. But where would be the fun in that?

As much as you wished she’d use her fingers too, it was like Lady Dimitrescu was reading your mind. “No penetration for you, little dove. You need to stay pure, untouched.”, but eating your pussy out was fine? Well, you had to play by her rules, not yours. You relaxed further in her grip as Lady Dimitrescu refreshed herself on you, feeling hundreds of years younger.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you, unexpected but with a force you had never felt before. While you groaned and trashed under Lady Dimitrescu’s grip, she kept her lips on your pussy, taking in all the juices she could get her mouth on, the hint of blood making her moan in delight.

The next thing you know is that the pain in your abdomen had stopped and Lady Dimitrescu had put clothes on your. You rubbed your eyes, blinking as you made sense of what had happened while you were out. The clothes on your body were dark and silky, just like the dress of Daniela before. The hunger inside of you was burning your stomach down, but it wasn’t just a simple hunger.

You were lusting for blood. Well, time to find Lady Dimitrescu and tell her about the little changes in your body...

#resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu

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anxietysroomsupport · 3 years

Note

Hypermobile anon here. First, thank you so much. It's just nice to know there's someone here for me. And to give a little more info, I have a serious problem where if I'm not currently in pain. I don't remember how bad it was. I know everybody does this, but my brain literally checked out as I was going to bed recently and I fell on the floor. I nearly forgot to tell my physical therapist.about it because it didn't really hurt. So, I can't do the pain scale very well, and I never remember (1/2)

(2/2) It just makes it sort of hard for pain relief when I don't know I'm going to need it and don't have the energy when I do. Also, on the vitamin subject, I know that I've had vitamin d issues before (bad heat exhaustion and allergy scares = going outside less), bad enough that I was close to being diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I'm not sure about the others, but I do know I'm not amazing healthy, so? I take calcium pills for the vitamin d, though. Again, thank you guys for all your help.

We just got a bill from my PT place that says we owe money that we can't pay. They told us up front how much it would be with our insurance, and my mom's been paying each time, but it says we owe 177 dollars. Sure, it's not a lot, but we're not rich and trying to send a sibling to college. If we can't get this sorted out. I can't just not go. 10 exercises I can do at home and 5 appointments is not enough to help a chronic disorder. I cant focus and I have practice in 30 mins. -Hypermobility anon

Same day but later when I'm feeling a little better (my director was very supportive though so that's nice), I'd seen the letter and heard my parents talking a bit, but my mom told be as we got to school for rehearsal about PT. I got upset, and I felt bad because I could tell she felt bad because she didn't expect me to be upset, and in the heat of the moment I said "chronic illness" in front of my mom for the first time. She loudly (not quite yelling) (1/?) - Hypermobility anon

said to me "That is the most self-pitying thing I've ever heard. Chronic illnesses are like cancer". Sure, I probably should've said disorder and not illness, but I'm scientifically right. Then I said "It is, it's chronic pain, I am always in pain" and she said "Well then clearly PT isn't helping anyway" - I??? When I went in after 15 minutes after another girl, since we were both there for an hour and a half, I decided to stop trying too much to hide my crying (useful masks) (2/?) -HSD anon

since the other girl was in the hall to eat, and when I managed to explain to the director, she was understanding and nice, and when I said chronic, she said that I should never have to live with that, especially at my age. And when I mentioned not being able to sing at that moment from my crying, she pointed out how I was singing an empowering song that was about standing against the bad stuff in life, and I was perfect for it. I know my mom was just mad, but it just drained me.

Sorry I keep sending asks so often, I just feel like telling someone this. I decided to put 'zebra' in my bio. It's a thing that people with EDS and HSD sometimes like to call themselves. I like it, so even though I just have my name and pronouns, plus a random joke, in my bio, I added it. It just feels like a step in the right direction to remembering that I don't need google to tell me I'm dealing with this every 5 minutes. Accepting it, I guess. :) -HSD anon

My sleep schedule just keeps getting worse and I think it's my ADHD combined busy days and pain but I just never want to sleep anymore. I can't, I don't want to, and it hurts physically and mentally to just lie there and see if I can fall asleep. 80% sure my circadian rhythm changed to sleep at about 2 am but I get up at 7 and have a chronic disorder that's getting worse because of this I *need sleep*. And I'm so scared I'll mess up, want to make a side blog for it but want to make one (1/2)

for something happy first because I always figured that if I had side blogs they would be ask blogs or for fandoms or whatever. But I got a little better at not caring what other people think, so I haven't really needed one for fandom. But I looked through the tag and felt so comforted by some of the stuff that I just think it would help me. Maybe I'm just extra bad tonight because I went outside but also talked about it a fair amount with a friend I hadn't seen recently who didn't know. -HSD

I wanna talk to my physical therapist about hip braces because I tried a knee one we have and it honestly helps, but my hips are worst so I wanna see if it would help, but they're pretty expensive. It's hard to find dual hip braces, from what I've seen in my research, and even though one more than the other, both cause me issues. Idk, I'm conflicted, because it could help but is it worth all the effort? Also, even if it's under clothing it's still physical evidence (1/2) -HSD anon

(2/2) of my "invisible" disorder. Also, stopping exercises for a few days because of not feeling well from my covid shot reminded me of just how much time I spend on them, so it's another thing to deal with this. . . Idk, sometimes I just wonder if it would be better to just deal with it. I still have pain anyway, though it might be a little better. Less often, maybe? I don't really remember. It's not stressing at the front of my mind all the time, but the back of it. I'm just conflicted. -HSD

HSD anon here, idk if I mentioned it in an ask already, but recently I had a small breakdown because I was watching something where a character was in a car accident, as was trying to push through having trouble walking even with a hip brace. After a minute, I registered it and just thought "That could be my future". My joints had already been acting up and then they got worse, so I don't know if it was cause and effect? But I don't exactly know what to call it other than a trigger. (1/2)

Physical and emotional effect, at least I'm assuming on physical because I've had a bad reaction to something similar before, but like, I don't have trauma, I think it's more fear of the future. And I don't want to use trigger incorrectly, it's insensitive to those who actually have triggers. I'm just so confused.

Forgot to sign the last ask with 2/2 and HSD, whoops.

Hfnsiwk I'm not ready to walk into PT tomorrow and say that I don't think months of PT have been helping but I have no way to be completely sure because for all I know it's the weather since this is the first year I've known/it's been noticeable. Maybe it's just change, I don't know, but it just feels like such a waste of time if it really didn't help. Plus, I'd stop, and while that'd be great, I do enjoy being stronger, even if it didn't help pain. I have 12 hours and a bad pain day idek. -HSD

Hi Hypermobility Anon,

I think I found all your asks and got them in the correct order. And found your last ask!

I’m so glad you kept writing in. I think you should go ahead and make your side blog - you definitely have enough material for it. Wanting to make a happy side blog also is a great goal to have, but if you don’t know what it will be yet, don’t let that prevent you from doing something you know you want to do and that will probably help you.

You are dealing with So. Much. Your mom especially sounds like she just is not ready to accept the situation. It’s not self-pity to state your actual conditions. It’s just reality.

Forgetting about pain is normal, and really all you can do is try to write it down or make some kind of note about it in the moment or immediately after, so you can refer to it later. Maybe you can track your pain events in your phone notes.

I think your idea to add “zebra” to your bio is a good one, this is part of your life and just something you have to deal with. It sounds like you’re finding a community for this.

Sleep schedules are tricky, and feeling like you desperately need to sleep can make it so stressful that it starts a vicious little cycle. Some strategies to get around this are First, remember that just resting is okay and helpful too, even if you don’t fall asleep. Letting your body lay there to rest is good for you.

Second, if you’ve spent several minutes laying down without falling asleep, its okay to get up and walk around, or any small light exercise that’s comfortable for you. The goal with this one is to get out of the bed for a bit. It will help your brain to re-learn that the bed is for sleeping only, not for laying awake. That association can help signal to your brain to start its sleep-process when you get into bed at night.

Third, it’s really common to have a changing circadian rhythm during your teens and twenties. That’s just a thing that happens and you can’t do much about it, so just try not to worry too much. Sleep when it feels right and when you can, instead of trying to force yourself to sleep when you’re “supposed” to.

If hip braces would help you, you should definitely at least mention it to your physical therapist. You might research online for any used ones as well. A physical sign that you have pain can have good and bad consequences, but I think the good consequence of being in less pain far outweighs any others.

The triggering event you described is not so much a trigger as it is just a genuinely really upsetting situation. You related really strongly to the character you were watching, because they’re dealing with similar problems to you, and to problems you could have in the future. It’s a lot to process. But while you could potentially be in a car accident, remember that television is made to dramatize events and probably made it seem a lot more difficult and scary than it really would be.

Since we know you sometimes forget your pain, it’s safe to say that the exercises are helping you manage it, and you say that they’ve made you stronger in general. Those are good things, and I would recommend you continue the exercises you can do on your own even if you end of ending your physical therapy sessions. We don’t know yet if your pain might have gotten even worse without therapy. You’ll have to find that out on your own if you stop exercising, and then decide whether it’s more worth it to you to continue exercising or to live with the pain. Whichever you choose, it’s Your choice, Your body. Take care of yourself. <3

-bun

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sparkleofpizza · 4 years

Text

The archer - Tim Drake x reader 6/?

Requested: no

Warnings: underage drinking, swearing, sexual themes

Taglist: @isthataladybag @the-fandom-ness @takoyakkun @caswinchester2000 @malfoys-demigod @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @ijustwannabecanadian

Summary: Y/n Queen will be living in the Wayne Manor for a while, and Dick Grayson decided to be the cupid between her and his little brother Tim Drake

Word count: 3.658

A/n: I have no ideia if the league of assassins use cellphones, but for the purpose of this story they do

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

You wish you had brought a warmer coat or had thought better about what you were doing. Honestly when you reached out for the phone on your pocket and dialed Nissa’s Al Ghul number, you weren’t thinking straight.

But hey! Can anyone blame you? You just found out that one of the most horrifying memories you have isn’t actually real, your mom is alive and she is part of a very bad secret organization. Honestly, you thought you were handling it pretty well, you haven’t broken down into tears yet, so you saw this a victory.

“I need to talk to your sister.” You barked trough the phone, not even bothering to say hello “Tell her to meet me in Gotham near Crime Alley, at the old theater tomorrow night.”

“Little Queen. What is this about?”

“Does it matter, Nissa? Tell her I know about Malcom and the deal.”

“What deal? What is this all about?” She questioned again, clearly confused

“Get her to come, tomorrow night. Come along if you want to.”

With that you ended the call, placing the phone back to where it previously was.

Yes, you knew that contacting the League of Assassins wasn’t the smartest idea you’ve ever had, but you needed answers. You needed to know if what Oliver told you was actually true, and you knew that Talia would know. And you are going to make her talk.

In the middle of your walk towards nowhere, you realized you didn’t want to see Oliver again today, but you had to go back to the Manor eventually. You knew he was going to be there waiting for you which lead to you not having anywhere to go. Where are you going to sleep tonight?

You sighted, eyeing a bar from across the street you were in. Might as well kill some time at a place that wasn’t the streets. Even thought you know how to take care of yourself, you rather not be in the middle of a desert street, this is Gotham after all, you didn’t know this place very well, but you know it’s bad, way worse than Star City.

The bar smelled like cigarettes and cheap beer. You looked around noticing people around your age and bit older. Thankfully this isn’t an old creepy men's bar, the last thing you need is to deal with man who can’t take a no as an answer - although you weren’t opposed to kicking some assholes’ asses.

You took a sit at a stool, getting the bartender's attention. The man stood in front of you, a cloth in his hand as he was drying a cup. He was tall and had blond hair.

“What can I get you, miss?” He questioned, putting the cup and cloth away

“A marguerita, please.” You ordered

Tequila sounded good to solve your problems. It used to be your friend at events when you were younger, although you had to pretend you didn’t drink anything at all.

“Can I see your ID?”

You snorted, oh no, this guy isn’t ruining your already bad night.

You reached inside your pocket, grabbing a hundred dollar bill and sliding it across the bar's table.

“Here is my ID, dear.”

The man chuckled, grabbing the bill and turning around to prepare your drink. People were so easily bought with money it still baffled you. That made you wonder how many underage kids that shouldn’t be here drinking, got to drink because the bartender was bought with a hundred dollars.

You sighted as he placed the drink in front of you, taking a sip of it and letting the bitter taste of tequila and sour taste of lemon embrace you.

That was a really bad night. When you Tim started officially dating a few hours ago, you thought this was going to be one of the best nights ever, you didn’t expect for everything to go down hill once you had dinner with Oliver.

Dinner, your stomach contracted thinking about the food you didn’t have the chance to eat properly. All the coffee in your stomach was doing too little to keep you from getting hungry. What were you going to eat at a bar? The peanuts in front of you so you could have a bad allergy and die without air? Sounded pretty good right now.

Before you could realize it, you had already finished your first drink and ordered your second one.

“Oh, this marguerita looks really good.” Someone said, taking a sit at a stool beside you

You turned your head to the side, looking at Tim. He had his dark hair framing his face, a navy shirt and a really looking warm grey coat. You stared at him without saying a word as he smiled at your general direction.

“How did you find me?” You asked heaving a sight

He shuggred “I have my ways.”

“Did Oliver send you here to talk me into the shit he is planning?”

He grimaced a bit at your words, apparently not knowing what you were talking about it and sensing your discomfort.

“We” he said, sliding his stool a bit closer to you “don’t have to talk about it. But I am not going to let you drink alone, what’s the fun in that?”

You couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on your face at his words. Did you really find the perfect man?

You watched as Tim ordered a scotch, the smile still present on your lips.

This is going to be a weirdly fun drinking night.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The bathroom wall felt cold against your back as you were pushed against it. You heard the door lock behind you before Tim was standing right in front of you, hands hovering above you on either side of your head as he used the wall to support himself.

His eyes were small and shining a dark blue, his cheeks tinted a pretty pink and a smirk adorning his beautiful lips. His hair was a bit disheveled. You took into his appearance, glad you were the one with him in this small bathroom bar.

6 drinks each had lead you to this situation. You both locked at a bar's bathroom that didn’t smell that good. It was around 2 am and you thought he would’ve already left to go to patrol after taking you home, but no, there he was with you all night long.

“You are so beautiful.” Tim whispered in your ear, his hot breath and rasp voice sending shivers down your spine

His lips met the skin behind your ear, then his lips ghosted over the path to your mouth until a few inches away from it where he placed another lingering kiss. Then, finally, his lips met yours on a fervish kiss.

Your hands gripped his biceps to steady yourself, feelings your legs wobble. Tim presses his hips into yours, pushing you further against the wall. You moaned at the friction of your lower parts together, allowing him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He tasted like the bitter scotch he was drinking earlier mixed with the lemon from your drink since you two had shared a few kisses at the bar stool before venturing to the bathroom, a more private place.

Tim slid his hands from the wall to your waist, fingers digging into your skin with such force that you were sure you would have a bruise there tomorrow. Just the thought of him leaving marks on your skin was enough to make the fire within you grow even more.

You pulled apart to catch your breath only for a few seconds before your lips were crashing against each other one more time. Your hands left his biceps, one sliding down his chest, felling the toned muscles, and the other went up to his hair, pulling at it, making him groan.

Tim’s lips left yours to trail kisses along your jawline and towards your neck. His hands slinging further down, stopping at your ass and squezing it while nibbling at your neck, his tongue smoothing the skin he bit and sucked at. You left breath moans at his actions.

One of his legs found their place between yours, spreading your legs apart while his hands went from your ass to your thighs, lifiting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, felling the bulge in his pants.

“Timmy.” You breathes out, pulling his hair out as his kisses kept getting lower and lower towards your cleavage

He pulled his face away from your skin, hands tightening its grip on your thighs. His lips were red and swollen from the kisses, his hair was everywhere and you were pretty sure you didn’t look any better.

“Fuck.” He cursed, pulling you a bit closer and groaning at the friction of your bodies together “We can’t do this here and not right now.”

“Why not?” You questioned, inching your face closer to his

You kissed his jaw, lightly biting at it and going lower to kiss his neck. Lips scratching at the soft skin there and a smile on your lips when he squeezed your ass in response.

Tim closed his eyes for a while, enjoining the sensation, but also trying to recollect his thoughts. He was really enjoining himself, but this wasn’t right.

“This isn’t right, pretty bird.” He grunted in response “I don’t want our first night together to be in a bathroom at bar while we are drunk.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, eyeing proudly the bruise forming on his neck.

“We already slept with each other before, the previous night was one of them. We cuddled a lot.”

Tim sighted “You know I don’t mean sleep in the sleeping way.”

You licked your lips, a smirk curling on your lips.

“Oh, you mean you don’t want us to fuck in the bathroom while we are drunk?” You slid your hands over his shoulders, tralling a finger over his chest “But I want to, Timmy. I want you so bad.”

To prove a point you grinded your hips against his. He sucked in a breath, hands gripping your hips to keep you from moving.

“You are intoxicated, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want the first time we have sex together to be while we are drunk and can’t think straight.” He sighted at your pouting face “If you really want to, we can come back some other day.”

Your smiled wide at his words.

“Can we come back some other day, then? So you will fuck me senseless against the wall?”

Tim took a deep breath to contain himself. Who knew you were such a horny drunk?

“Anything you want, pretty bird.” He replied, pecking your lips “Let’s get you home.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Your groan was the first noise to fill the room at three o’clock in the afternoon. You sat in bed, rubbing a hand over your eyes and taking in your surroundings. You were at an unknown place, only wearing an oversized shirt and you would’ve freaked out if you haven’t seen the man beside you.

“Hey.” Tim said, his hair was falling down his eyes, and he looked like he had just woken up too “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.” You groaned, flopping down on bed, but this time a bit closer to him, seeking his warmth “Where are we?”

He chuckled, running his hand trough your disheveled hair. You are pretty sure you look like a mess, your makeup is probably smudged, your hair all over the place. God, you can’t believe Tim is seeing you like this.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to see Oliver last night so I brought you to one of my safe houses.”

You nodded your head, but regretted the action immediately as it felt like your brain was being squeezed.

“I’m going to get you some coffee, food and an aspirin.” Tim said as he watched your grimace

“No, don’t leave, you’re warm.” You whined

He chuckled again, kissing your hair softly as he slid off the bed.

“I’ll be right back, love.”

You allowed him to go after the petname. Your heart fluttered at the words, love and pretty bird, you could get used to hearing him call you that. It sounds so good when he says it.

A few minutes later Tim showed up with a tray in hand, placing it on the bed beside you and then sitting himself at the mattress. You took the painkiller and gladly drank the coffee the boy had made, and welcomed the waffles into your belly. God, you are so hungry.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You said in a soft tone, eyeing him quiet shyly “And I am sorry for last night being a horny drunk.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” He smiled down at you before laughing quiet loudly “And please, don’t apologize for being a horny drunk when I was kind of being one too.”

You nudged your head on his shoulder to hide your laugh and blush.

“Ok, we are both horny drunks.” You said, enjoining this moment of peace with him

You know that once you are outside this apartment and out there in the world, you are going to have to face your brother and your mom and oh no. You are meeting Talia and Nissa tonight. Fuck, what did you have in mind? What does Dinah always tell you? Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgements and that is exactly what you did last night.

“I know you are probably tired of this by now, but... I’m going to have to ask you to do something for me.”

“Sure, pretty bird, anything you want.”

You smiled a bit.

“I need you to get me some clothes from the manor, I can’t see Oliver before I do what I planned to do.”

Tim frowned, looking down at you for an explanation, but you had your eyes closed and most of your face hidden by his chest. He sighed, running his fingers trough your hair.

“What are you going to do?” He asked

“I’m going to meet up with Talia and Nissa tonight.” Your voice sounded muffled and you didn’t dare to look at his face, still keeping your eyes closed

Tim sat up straight, his hands pulling you away from him - even if honestly all he wanted was to keep you there by his side while you two cuddled. He frowned down at you.

“What do you mean you are meeting Talia and Nissa tonight?” He asked you seriously

In all the time you’ve met Tim, you’ve never seen him this serious. Of course, you’ve seen him serious but in a concentrated way as he was working on a case, or getting ready for patrol, and even then he would still look at you softly. Right now, he is giving you his batglare, and boy, doesn’t that make you want to make you as small as a ball.

You sighted before realizing it was best to just tell him the whole truth. So you did, you told him a bit more about the Ninth Circle, mostly just remembering him what you told him the night of the Casino slaughter. Then you told him about what Oliver found and that your mom is alive.

“I need to know if it’s true, Timmy.” Your voice wasn’t above a whisper “I need to know if I am right by being against Oliver on this one, I can’t let him treat her like a criminal. It’s my mom.”

He nodded his head, extending his arms until you were back in his embrace. Head against his chest, glad to have him by your side during this bad time.

“I know, if it was my mom I would do the same thing.” He sighted “Do you want me to go with you?”

You shook your head “Something tells me she won’t talk with you there. But I will tell you everything later.”

The wind was cold during the night again, but this time you were wearing a warmer jacket. Tim had picked up some of your clothes from your bedroom at the manor and brought them to his safe house where you showered and changed into it.

You were standing at the rooftop of the old Theater. Crime Alley really was as horrible as everyone said it was. This was your first time being at that place and it was enough to give you chills, and you knew pretty well it wasn’t from the cold.

You had allowed Tim to take you there, but made him leave immediately and promise you that he wasn’t going to be around. After some persuasion he was back at his normal route of patrol with a promise of a call once it was all done. You could handle Talia and Nissa if it was necessary.

A bow and arrows was attached to your back just in case.

“When my sister told me you wanted to meet, I honestly thought you lost it.” Talia’s voice cut trough the night

You looked over your shoulder before turning around. Talia stood there with her hands on her back, bow and arrow and a sword with her.

“Thank you for showing up.” You said, nodding your head towards her “Nissa didn’t want to come?”

“I told her to stay behind on this one, it appears this is a matter between us only.”

You brifily smiled at her. You did not hate the woman despite everything she had done, and right now you needed her to get the answers you want, so being rude was not an option.

“I have some questions for you.” You spoke up, eyeing her closely just to make sure she wasn’t going to attack you before you were ready for it

“Let’s see if I can and will be willing to answer them.” Talia smirked

You took a deep breath, not only to calm yourself down and not give into her, but also to prepare yourself for questioning her what you were about to.

“When Malcom and Oliver fought, three years ago, I was held as the prize. Why did your father accept that?”

Talia rolled her eyes “After all those years and you want to know now?”

When you didn’t answer she started laughing.

“Oh my, oh my. Do you and your brother finally learned the truth? About dead or not so dead mom?”

You set your jaw to keep yourself from saying something you’d regret later. Not really regret because it would feel grate to curse her in her face, but that would spark a fight and most likely you wouldn’t get the answers you needed.

“Yes. Now tell me what you know, Talia, before I loose my patience.”

That only made the woman’s smile winden.

“I would like to see if you still remember all of your training.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. Reaching out behind you, you pulled out an arrow and your bow. Aiming at the building, you fired it, the arrow zipped past her, scratching her face and embedding itself at the wall.

“You missed.” She said, wiping away the blood that was running down her cheek

“No, I didn’t.”

Talia turned around, watching where you arrow had hit. Right in the center of where a person’s heart would be on an old billboard picture of a man, announcing some show at the Theater.

“Drama runs in the family.” She said under her breath before taking a step closer to you “Alright then, shall we sit?”

You watched as she took a sit at the railing of the building. You stood in front of her, not letting your defenses down, if she was to attack you, you’d be ready.

“As you might have guessed, you bing the prize of the fight wasn’t Merly’s idea and neither was mine or my father’s.” Talia began, you nodded your head “A few months prior to the fight, we got a massage from the Ninth Circle calling us for a meeting. Obviously, we were a bit confused as to how Moira Queen was alive, but this one you should ask her yourself. To sum it all up, your mother proposed the fight and for you to join the League where we would train until you were the best assassin you could be. Then, you were to join her and Ninth Circle so you two would be reunited and they would have a perfect and loyal assassin by their sides.”

You frowned. “And why would your father take the deal?”

She smirked “You know my father wanted to train your brother, but he couldn’t because he already had a formed opinion. But train a teenager who is still forming a personality, perfect oportunity. Although I thought it was a waste of time, you and Oliver are too much alike.”

“Then why did you agree to this idea? You seemed to like pretty much hurting me during around practices together?” You asked, trying not to yell "Why are you willing to tell me everything now?"

Talia’s shoulders tensed and she stood up from her stop at the railing.

“I am a mother myself, Y/n.”

You nodded, understanding where her help came from. Apparently, she doesn’t have the best of relations with Damian.

“And where does Oliver fit into all of this?” You asked, changing the subject and hoping you didn’t upset her

“I think this is enough of an interrogation, I already helped you more than I honestly should.”

She stepped up the ralling of the building, looking over her shoulder to stare at you in the eye. She looked dead serious.

“Don’t come looking for me again, next time I won’t be so friendly. Tell my son I will be in town for one more day.”

And with that Talia was gone.

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