#he cried more when he watched good omens than when he broke up with me

[mimikall]

My ex wanted me to bleach my hair so we can match Crowley and Aziraphale...

Yknow it kinda is comical that he broke up with me a month after I did

[100hearteyes]

Part 2 of Clarke And Lexa Make a Porno, because why the fuck not.

Part 1.

"No. Absolutely not."

Anya's wolfish grin is no good omen. Lexa feels a sense of dread wash over her and tries in vain to assuage her nerves by holding her friend's gaze. Anya wouldn't look this sure if she didn't have some card up her sleeve.

Lexa throws a furtive glance around, checks that her co-workers are still focused on the German porn telenovela. It's only when she's sure that the action on-screen will keep them rooted for a while that she turns back to Anya, trying but failing to meet her eyes.

She overcompensates with another glance around the room and a low hiss. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but am I not too," she licks her lips, gathering the courage, "'vanilla' to do it?"

Anya shrugs like it's a no-brainer; crosses her arms and props her booted feet on Lexa's desk. "That's exactly the point. You're a lesbian Disney princess. Pretty sure if you started singing the whole fucking fauna of Capitola would follow you around."

Lexa levels Anya with a glare and tries to push her feet off the desk, to no avail.

(Seriously, what's it worth being editor if she can't even have her subjects' respect? She wishes this job was less about the headaches and more about the self-indulgent moments of microscopic tyranny.)

The feet might not budge, but Anya will. Lexa is sure of it. She draws herself taller and tucks on her most authoritative scowl. "I won't do it."

Anya plucks an imaginary cigarette from her mouth and throws it away without a care in the world. She reaches behind her and drags forth a heavy wooden box, filled to the brim with—

"My vinyls."

Lexa is in a daze.

She thought she'd lost all her vinyls to time and moving. She mourned each one of them for at least a year, cried many a night away clutching her record player to dear life, lamenting their shared loss.

They had a real connection.

But it turns out her vinyls weren't lost after all, and her tears were for naught. They were safe all along, albeit in different hands, and she'd known nothing of it, like a mother who lets her children wander about without aim nor authority.

How can she ever have kids if she can't even take care of her prized vinyls?

Lexa feels a prick of self-righteous indignation at the betrayal and puffs out her chest. "Why do you have all my vinyls?"

"I think you mean all my vinyls," Anya corrects with a lazy flurry of one hand towards the box.

"You don't even own a record player."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her friend. "I come over all the time?"

"I could hide it while you're there."

"And then you'd never find it again, because that's what happens every time you try to hide something from me."

Anya shrugs and watches as Lexa picks one of the vinyls and turns it over in her hands, reading the track list on the back with the reverence one would a millennium-old parchment. Then she looks up at Anya with a stern glare.

"Over half of these were stolen from my house."

Anya shrugs again with infuriating nonchalance and Lexa wishes she had a pencil nearby just so she could snap it in two with one hand. Or stab one of Anya's eyes with it.

"Maybe I just rescued them from the actual malefactor," drawls Anya.

"We both know the real culprit sits across from me and has been wearing the same socks for the past three weeks."

Nailed it.

When she looks at her friend, however, all she sees is that same old resting bitch face that never seems to go away.

"Wow, Lexa," Anya deadpans. "Now you've really hurt my feelings."

Sometimes, Lexa wonders if Anya really has a rock where her heart should be. A supernatural, blood-pumping rock, of course, but a rock nonetheless. Or, maybe, Anya is a psychopath. Maybe the blood money theory wasn't so far-fetched after all. That would explain the brazen lack of empathy for everyone else's feelings, most of all Lexa's. What does it say about Lexa that her one true friend is someone who sneezes literally every time Lexa says 'I love you'?

Not that Lexa says it a lot. Only once or twice every few years.

Just enough to have noticed the pattern.

"Are you really trying to blackmail me with vinyls?"

Anya fakes an affronted gasp, laying a hand on her heart. "Would I ever. Think of it as... an incentive."

Lexa really does love Anya, despite her friend's... unique demeanor. Anya helps her come out of her shell — by taking up all the space and forcing her out of her own metaphorical home — and every once in a while she likes to make sure Anya is aware of her gratitude. Sometimes, though, things get really fucking weird.

Lexa would still do anything for her best friend.

"Let's imagine, hypothetically - very hypothetically," she stresses, although Anya's burgeoning smirk tells Lexa she isn't so easily fooled, "that I agreed. What would happen next?"

Anya takes her feet off Lexa's desk and sits up straighter, perhaps aware of the importance of this moment. This, Lexa decides, will determine her answer.

"Well first, I'd have to get you a costar. Then we'd sign some legally binding shit, find a crew, and make the damn movie. Simple as that."

Anya leans forward, looking into her eyes. In Anya's, she sees honesty and a pressing need to reassure. It takes some of the pressure off her shoulders right away.

"Look, Lexa, you can say no. But your name won't be on anything related to the movie and I promise no one in this shitty town will ever find out you did this."

This is why Anya is Lexa's best friend. And it's why Lexa would do anything for her.

Even star in a porno.

"Okay."

Anya's inner smile must be really, really big, because Lexa knows how hard she tries to tamper its outward expression — and still her lips manage to lift into a grotesque grimace. Coming from Anya, it's the equivalent of a blissful grin.

"Okay?"

Lexa nods and closes her eyes, bracing herself for a bone-crushing hug. It never comes. When she opens her eyes, Anya's resting bitch face is back on.

"What, did you want a fucking hug?"

It's a blessing to have her rude friend back, Lexa guesses, because seeing Anya almost smile is fifty shades of unsettling. So she rolls her eyes and rolls with it.

Her next question demands her full focus, lest she makes an even bigger fool of herself than usual.

Lexa breathes in, makes sure all her co-workers are still otherwise entertained, breathes out. Smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in her pants, wets her lips for courage.

"Anyway," she treads with caution, "do you have someone in mind for the other main role?"

It's fitting that Harper McIntyre's hit song One More Betyreyal (one of her less inspired titles, if Lexa may say so) starts playing in that moment, for the look in Anya's eyes speaks of nothing but danger. Lexa wonders how much planning went into this conversation, so Anya could plan all her gut punches in advance.

"Clarke Griffin."

No. No. Anyone but her.

Clarke Griffin is the new recruit, although Lexa hardly understands how there can be someone new considering the station is broke and they’re already overstaffed — and none of them make nearly enough money for how much they laze around all day.

Clarke came from out of town with a fancy degree and was directly hired as an editor. She voices the early afternoon newscasts and Lexa curses the one-hour period during which she's forced to cohabitate with Clarke every day.

Apparently, Clarke had taken a liking to unnerving her, be it by smirking at her every time she catches Lexa staring or by making all sorts of inappropriate comments — to her ear. Lexa hates how much it affects her, but how can she possibly focus on reporting about Lionel "Real Sight" Foster swallowing his own wooden eye or how Jasper Jordan rescued his own private parts from the jaws of two slats of an unassuming park bench if someone keeps doing everything in their power to distract her?

Lexa has a theory (an iron-clad theory, if she may say so herself), and it's that Clarke is trying to get her fired so she can take her shift. It's the best shift of the day. There is no other possible explanation.

"You know what, I take it back. Now you need to convince two people to star in your porno."

"Oh, there's no need." Anya waves her argument away with staggering nonchalance. "Clarke's already said yes."

Wait, what? "But you told me we'd need to get me a costar."

Anya shrugs and Lexa is now seriously considering revisiting her psychopath theory. "I lied."

"You conniving, lying b—"

"Careful," Anya cuts in with a raised eyebrow. "I am under protection of the Capitola Astrologers Union."

"Of which you are president, treasurer, and the only legal member," Lexa reminds her. "And I think any upstanding judge would love to know how exactly every other name on the list has joined said union posthumously."

"I am an astrologer, Lexa. I can communicate with the dead. It's in my job description."

"It scares me that you're not even aware you're describing an entirely different profession."

Lexa sits back, staring at the ceiling (and the chewing gum Murphy glued there a year ago — he could've been an Olympic jumper if he committed to work the way he does to being an asshole), trying to come to terms with a single, harrowing probability: she's going to star in a porno with Clarke Griffin.

"l don't understand why it has to be Clarke."

Anya leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, expression serious and ready to talk shop. The last time Lexa saw her like this was— actually, Lexa doesn't think she's ever seen Anya like this.

"Look, I've done some market analysis and most girl on girl pairings are a blonde and a brunette." Anya raises both her hands and starts counting off fingers, "Brittana, Petramos, Holstein, Wayhaught, Supercorp, Joanarty, Choni, the inaptly named Shoni, Deanoru, Dana and Alice, Bette and Tina, Catradora, Villaneve, Clexa—"

"What's Clexa?"

"I don't know, some chicks from this fucking terrible CW show."

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like what?"

"Clexa."

"Dude, I don't even know their fucking names!" Anya exclaims, exasperated. As if she's the victim here. "The only Clexa I ship is you and Blondie. Naked. On my porno. Clarke and Lexa. Clexa. Havin' very hot sexa."

"Smart," Lexa deadpans.

"I know."

"Why can't it be Niylah? She's blonde, too."

Anya's smirk is five hundred shades of gross. "I know you'd love to get up close and personal with Niylah's knick-knacks, but no."

Lexa decides to let the comment fly for the sake of her own sanity.

"Why Clarke, though?"

"Because you two have chemistry, you fucking dimwit."

Lexa snorts. Chemistry. Lexa has never heard of something so absurd. She and Clarke have as much chemistry as Harper McIntyre and any semblance of originality.

Which is to say, none at all.

"She makes very inappropriate comments," she argues instead, knowing full well that pressing on the topic of chemistry will only open way for some trademark crass joke from Anya.

"Yeah," her friend agrees, like it's obvious. "Because she knows you love them."

She most certainly does not.

"I most certainly do not."

"You do. Your freakishly tiny ears go red whenever she flirts with you. Your step falters when she makes one of those comments, for fuck's sake," Anya observes, pointing in Lexa's general direction, before leaving forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you, my friend, are a walking lesbian cliché."

Lexa takes Anya's hand off her shoulder. "Can you please stop insulting my tragically conspicuous homosexuality?"

"Oh please," Anya scoffs. "I'm bisexual, I can say whatever I want."

"If my step actually faltered - which they don't - it would be because her comments are annoying, off-putting, unprofessional, inopportune, and... and inappropriate", she finishes lamely.

"And you fucking love them."

"I don't."

Anya leans back on her chair with an evil smirk, propping her feet on the table and crossing them at the ankles. Lexa tries to push them off to no avail.

"Legalities aside, it's very simple. Clarke has already said yes. I just recorded you saying yes."

Lexa sputters, "You what--"

"You're both legally bound now." Anya shrugs. "Look at it this way: it will be very educational. You'll finally learn how to make a girl come, and get paid for it. Sort of."

A beat of silence.

"Anya, are you aware that you say something at least vaguely criminal every five sentences? Something that could actually put you in prison?"

Anya clicks her tongue, sinking farther into her chair, and lowers her sunglasses to her eyes.

"I've got friends everywhere, Lex. Let's just say I've dipped more than my fingers in my fair share of pies, if you catch my drift." A second later, she lowers her sunglasses just enough to reveal her eyes. "That means my tongue. My tongue's been in a lot of pies, too."

Lexa doesn't doubt that for a second.

"What I need to know is," Anya adds, taking off her sunglasses and throwing them across the room, "will you dip your fingers in the porn pie?"

Like this conversation hasn't caused enough trauma for thirty lifetimes.

"If I say no, will you still give me back my vinyls?"

"Absolutely fucking not."

Lexa swallows, clenches her jaw, and thinks of all those lonely nights spent in the couch clutching her record player and sharing cookie dough ice cream with it, longing for long-gone times when she'd dance to the mellow voices of the likes Billy Ocean and Ella Fitzgerald.

"My answer is yes."

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

I absolutely LOVE how you write angst, I'm always looking forward to a bit of hurt lol How'd the guys(romanced) react to being hit by the berserk syringe and start attacking Sole but come back to their senses right before actually killing Sole!?

i can’t imagine any of my boys hurting sole. this is such a unique scenario and i’m absolutely here for it! i’m not proud of this but please enjoy! <3

*i’ll edit this in the morning cause a bitch is tired.

[ tw: depression/violence/blood/injuries!!! ]

-

never in a million years did they expect the only person they’ve ever trusted to be the reason for their death. well, not the main reason, as the berserk syringe was the cause, but the fact that they were the reason why sole had been helpless on the floor only added on. they towered over sole, who laid in their puddle of blood, gasping in immense pain as they tried to use the last of their strength to plead. sole let out soft sobs, watching as their other half pointed the pistol at their head with no sense of remorse. this wasnt the way they expected to go, not by the hands of the only person they found love in.

“st..op..” they cried, trying to find the power to reach out to him. all the memories flashed through their mind; memories of their life before the bombs dropped, the moments they spent in the wasteland, and the day they fatefully encountered one another. they refused to die this way. sole mewled out his name, begging for him to stop. and just like that, they hesitated and regained consciousness, taking a moment to ground themselves into the situation and realize the horror of it.

-

Danse:

this was everything he’s ever feared since sole had landed into his life. he had dreams - not many - but definitely a fair amount of his loved one dying in his arms and he feared it may have been an omen wading in the darkness waiting to come to life - and it did, just not in the way he visualized. the sight of sole bleeding out in front of him brought him to a whole new level of fear. “sole?” he choked out in disbelief, unable to move. it’d take him a minute to piece everything together as his eyes darted from the weapon in his hand, to his surroundings, then the syringe... and it hit him. “shit!” he cursed, making his way to sole hurriedly and carried them off the ground, running towards goodneighbor. he had no time to talk, to cry, nor to feel sorry for himself. sole could be seconds away from dying and it’d be the last damn thing he’ll let happen. once someone had taken sole into their care, he would absolutely refuse to leave the building without knowing their status.

danse would sit in the chair or stand impatiently for hours on end, all thoughts of doing basic human necessities, such as eating and sleeping, completely slipping his mind. the minute he was given the chance to see sole, he did nothing but that and finally let the tears spill into the palms of his hands as he sat near soles bedside. sole would take him into their arms, kissing his hair gently as they caressed his head. “it wasn’t your fault,” they repeated constantly as reassurance, “none of it was.” despite soles words, he’d continuously blame it on himself for not being more attentive and have constant nightmares about what had happened, often finding himself in tears as he jolted awake. he’d explain to sole how he didn’t deserve them and how he was afraid it might just happen out of the blue again. it would take a long while for danse to get over his actions and a lot of reassurance from sole, who was more than glad to help him through these rough times.

Deacon:

deacon had panicked many times in various situations; you name it, it’s probably happened. but this? this was a different type of panic. one that he couldn’t avoid no matter how much he tried, regardless of how many lies and jokes he told himself. he darted to sole, taking them into his arms in a panicked manner as his breathing began to release in irregular patterns. “i didn’t do this, right?” he tried to push everything away, run from the truth that obviously surrounded the two, “sole, you know i’d never hurt you, right?” his voice trembled, hands shaking as he tried to move the hair out of their face. his stained hands and clothing told him nothing but the truth- he was responsible for what happened and there was nothing he could do. when sole let out a small, “i know,” and proceeded to look up at him with a tired expression, he broke down and held them close to his body, burying his face into their neck. “i’m sorry,” he sobbed, “i’m so fucking sorry.”

once sole had made it back to hq, he practically begged carrington to do everything in his power to help them survive. it took multiple people to hold deacon back as he fought against them, not wanting to leave soles side as they were taken away to a separate room. once carrington had given him the go to visit sole, he found himself rushing to the room, nearly ripping the door open. without another word, he latched onto them, letting everything he’s ever wanted to say to them spill out within seconds. how much he loved them, how they had changed his life, and things he wouldn’t normally say on a daily basis. sole would notice how he’d become excessively clingy right after that fateful moment and notice his attempts to cheer them up through jokes or little things he did for them throughout the day. during nightfall, he’d hold them in his arms, muttering apologies to them as tears spilled from his eyes. he didn’t know if he could forgive himself.. at least not for a while.

Maccready:

he choked on his own breath, throwing the gun to the side as far as possible. memories of lucy began flooding his mind and the thought of him being alone once more with additional blood on his hands only heightened his panic. with a loud sob, he dropped to his knees and brought sole to his arms, shakily caressing their cheek. “sole, sole. hon, look at me,” he choked through his tears, trying to keep them awake. he stroked their cheek with his thumb, trying to comfort them through the pain with words, touches, anything. “don’t close your eyes. please don’t leave me.” despite the condition they were in, they opened their eyes obediently, staring up weakly at mac who continued to sob. his tears fell off his face and right onto soles cheek, washing away any blood that trailed down. “we’re gonna get you help and you’re gonna get better. you’re gonna come home with me, duncan, and shaun, okay?” his hand moved down to lock with theirs as he gave it a reassuring squeeze, “they’re waiting for us at home, remember?” sole began to tear up, intertwining fingers with mac, “tell them i love them, please.” something triggered in mac and he shook his head, lifting them from the ground and finding his way to the closest town he could find, yelling at anyone for help.

after their wounds had been treated properly, the doctor had led him to the room where he saw his other half lay in bed, all patched up and taken care of. “they will be okay. i advise letting them rest for a while and try to stray away from any physical activity until they show signs of improvement.” the man noticed how mac stared at them with tears in his eyes and he coughed, “i’ll give you a moment, sir.” the sound of the door closing behind him would ease the tension he had in his shoulders and he would lean down, pressing a kiss on soles forehead as they slept.“you hear that, hon? you’re gonna be okay.” as soon as sole made it back home with him, he’d do everything he can to ensure that sole would recover properly. mac would do all the dirty work sole usually did and checked up on them as much possible, visibly worrying to death about them. at night, he’d have a hard time sleeping with the guilt weighing on his shoulders but soles words and affection were more than enough to ease his worries.

Hancock:

to say he hated himself at that very moment was a huge understatement, this being the cherry on top of everything on his list. he knew he’d fuck it up someday, but he never expected himself to go this far. even knowing that it wasn’t his fault and the syringe was the reason why he started attacking, it didn’t change the fact that it was done by his hands. he dropped and tended to soles injuries as much as he could before taking them back to goodneighbor. hancock used everything sole possessed- stimpacks, med x, etc while whispering reassuring things to them, knowing that blaming himself won’t do anything good. when sole weakly grabs his wrist and stares at him with fear and shock, he feels all his intentions of being calm sink to the ground. “am i gonna die?” oh god. never once in their time spent together has he ever heard them say something so heartbreaking. even in the craziest situations, they would always remain hopeful. hancock dropped whatever he held and scrambled to take them into his arms, attempting to soothe their mind. “you’re not gonna die. i’m not gonna let that happen.” he reassured, “there’s no fucking way in hell i’m gonna lose you.” hancock entering goodneighbor with sole in his arms would automatically send a message to the rest of the town and they’d begin readying the medical rooms and collecting all the medical supplies that were available for dr. amaris use.

sole had been discharged eventually into hancock’s care and he’d dote on them 24/7, ensuring that all their needs were met and would go above and beyond with everything they requested. while sole slept, he’d release his anger and bottled up thoughts by taking chems or going out to shoot things to release some emotions. whenever they were awake, he’d trace the wounds with his fingers gently and kiss their skin, apologizing about his actions endlessly. “it fucking hurts to know i did this.” he mutters, “i’m the one who’s supposed to be protecting you, not fucking doing the opposite.” sole would take his hand and brush their lips over his knuckles, “you’ve always protected me, none of this was on you,” hancock watched them with soft eyes, “we’ll get through this together, alright?” the mayor would nod, sending them a sad smile, “alright.”

Nick Valentine:

one of the many who refuses to say anything, but reacts quickly in response. he has no time for mourning or apologies right now and his main priority is to get sole help, even if it means kicking someone’s door down, then so fucking be it. he immediately wraps his coat around sole and carries them to the direction of diamond city, which was thankfully nearby. he whispered things he hoped they could hear despite their unresponsiveness, and silently begged that they’d be okay. when the doctor attempted to take sole into the emergency room, they had grabbed his wrist firmly, catching nicks full attention within seconds. “n-nick, don’t leave.” they pleaded weakly, tearing up when he looked down at them with grief and concern. nick rested a hand on their cheek, placing a soft kiss on their forehead. “sweetheart, i’m never gonna leave you. once you wake up, i’ll be here. i’ll always be here.” he whispered.

“promise?” sole whimpered, their hand still wrapped around nicks wrist. “i swear on it.” he looked up at doctor sun, who was assessing the injuries quietly, “we must act fast.” nick gave him a nod of approval, slowly feeling soles fingers slip away from his touch. as nick promised, he was there the minute sole had opened their eyes. he cupped their cheeks, leaning his forehead on theirs as he let out a shaky breath. “i’m so, so sorry.” they’d shake their head and remind him that it wasn’t his choice nor did they expect it to happen. nick decided to trust their words and though it did tend to lurk in the back of his mind often, he pushed it away as much as he could. he’d definitely become more cautious the next time they would hit the road and sole would notice that his paranoia reached to a whole new level.

Preston:

this seemed too familiar. the sight of his hands full of soles blood brought him back to when quincy was attacked by the gunners. it reminded him of how much people he couldn’t save back home and it surfaced emotions he yearned to forget, only this time.. it was way worse. “no, no, no.” he weeped, taking sole into his arms, “please, please tell me it’s a bad dream.” they had never seen preston so devastated in his life as loud sobs escaped his lips. sole weakly wrapped their fingers around prestons forearm, staring up at him through half lidded eyes. “it’s okay, preston.” their voice was strained and the color draining from their face only made his cries louder. “no, it’s not okay! i can’t lose you,” he said, “i lost everything in my life. i cant lose you sole, anything but you.” and without another word, he’d hold them in his arms as he ran to get help.

he wasn’t about to repeat the events that occurred at quincy and sole wasn’t gonna be another person he couldn’t save because of his careless actions. sole was the last person he wants to let go and there’s nothing that will stop him from ensuring their safety. he would fall back into his depression during soles recovery, knowing he was responsible for what happened to them and would find it absolutely difficult to ever forgive himself. even with sole reassuring him constantly that it was okay, he’d still deny it and cry as sole held him in their arms. just like deacon and danse, it would take nearly forever for preston to let go of what happened and it would eat him up inside and out every second of the day. it would take a lot of reassurance and self trust for him to understand that there was nothing they could’ve done.

Sturges:

he’s absolutely paralyzed, the gun falling out of his fingers unconsciously as he gazed at sole who desperately called out his name. sturges stared at his hands that were painted with that gut churning red and felt himself grow dizzy, hearing nothing but static fill his ears. he was so used to seeing that black/brown fluid paint his gloves that this contrast of red and black made him feel sick. this is why he didn’t step outside the comfort of his home and why he utterly refuses to hold a weapon. soles voice would break his train of thought and he’d immediately rush over to them, realizing that sole was on an unknown time limit. seeing their face so pale and lifeless scared the absolute shit out of him, and knew that there was nothing he could do at that moment to ease their pain. sturges grabbed their bag, searching for anything and everything that could possibly help them, eventually bringing out a stimpack and jammed it into their arm. when sole let out a pained whimper, he turned to face them and held their hand gently, his voice shaky as he spoke, “i’m here, sweetheart. i ain’t going no where.” he continued searching their bag and his eyes fell on the flare that was given to them when they had gotten recruited. that’s right, sanctuary wasn’t very far off from where they were, somebody was bound to see it one way or the other. quickly, he loaded it up and pointed it upwards, pulling the trigger.

once the bright flash appeared in the sky, he crawled over to sole and propped their head on his lap as he held them close. “helps comin’, sweetheart.” he whispered into their hair, “just hold on.” after those events he conspired and sole was given proper treatment and care, he’d be unable to focus on his tasks, his mind retreating back to those horrid memories he yearned to forget. he’d become more quiet and more inconsistent with his duties as the thoughts began to stick with him more. even the sight of a weapon would trigger him, immediately paralyzing sturges as the memories began flooding back. eventually, sole would have to confront him about what had happened to truly ease his mind off the tragedy, giving him some sense of comfort that whatever had happened was out of his control.

Gage:

one moment, he was shooting down gunners left and right and now, he was on his two feet, about to do the same with the only person who’s ever given a fuck about him. he should’ve killed the fucking bastard who shot that syringe at him- gut him clean with his knife and hang him up for display. none of that mattered now, the man was long gone and dead. the only thing that did though was sole. quickly, his hands traveled throughout their body where he could spot the visible injuries and pressed against them, as if it would halt any of the bleeding. “boss, can ya’ hear me?” he felt the fear surge through him the moment they remained unresponsive, eyes closed despite his small taps on their cheek. “fuck,” he breathed, “wake the fuck up.” his voice became more desperate as he attempted to shake them awake, but when sole showed no signs of opening their eyes anytime soon, his heart dropped. “don’t think you get to fuckin’ die on me. not now.” his voice was full of anger- not at sole, but at himself - as he carried sole in his arms to bring them to the nearest infirmary he could find. ‘not ever’, he thought, going as fast as his legs could take him, ignoring the growing pain in his limbs as he did so.

the infirmary he brought sole to informed him that they were not able to take them in due to the rooms being occupied and he pointed his gun at every single one of them, an angry expression painting his face. “now, if ya don’t take them in, i’ll be sure to take care each and every one of ya,” every worker in the building swallowed nervously, raising their hands in surrender, “i don’t make any empty threats, so get goin’ or things are gonna get dirty.” the doctors swallowed nervously, nodding in agreement as they hesitently took sole from his arms. once sole was treated and given time to recover, he’d properly confront them after days of thinking to himself. gage would give a proper and heartfelt apology, guilt wading in his eyes as he spoke. if sole tried to do anything that was against the doctors orders, he’d snap at them, annoyed at their stubbornness, “dang it boss, lay the fuck down.” he’d spit, eventually letting out a sigh as he turned his back at them, “i fuckin’ got it. just say the word and i’ll do it.” he’d feel himself flush, embarrassed at his temper as sole remained quiet, “i just,” he choked on his words, “i want ya to get better. i’m the reason why yer hurt and shit, so let me do this. please.”

[leda-x]

Ladybug has five minutes left with Chat Noir, and she isn't ready to give them up.

Ladybug woke in the cooking section of a library with the word “chance” tumbling from her lips. It was the ancient atrium of a newly modernized building. Like always, she was crouched down behind a bookshelf with Chat Noir at her side.

Far, far above her head, thin marble columns rose upwards, curving into graceful arches to meet in the middle. Early morning light shone through the enormous circular skylight positioned at the center of the atrium’s domed ceiling. It illuminated little specks of golden dust that had been disturbed by them seconds before. The room was empty, sound hushed.

Meeting her gaze, Chat tapped the screen on his baton and the numbers 04:58 began to flash. 04:57… 04:56... He reached down, flipping through a cookbook at his side, stopping at a random page. “Lobster tails meunière,” he read aloud to mark the attempt, green gaze flicking back up for her lead.

There were 2,000 recipes in The Escoffier Cookbook and Guide to the Fine Art of Cookery. That one was new. Ladybug took it as a good omen.

There was nothing but seriousness in Chat’s face right now. Seriousness and a rosy glow of determination and confidence.

Ladybug’s fingers drifted off her bracelet to cradle Chat’s cheek. Her gloved thumb followed the line along the bottom edge of his mask, right at the exposed part of his cheek. She watched the depth and vibrancy in his eyes. Could see a ring of eyelashes through the colored glass. Could feel the heat from his skin. He had a freckle on his upper lip. Not for the first time Ladybug realized her partner was beautiful. The first few times she had stopped to really notice she had cried. An ache started in her throat and grew until her entire chest was sore, until she was breathless with grief.

A blush colored his cheeks and his neck. She watched, with some fascination, the steady beat of his heart through the vein in his neck. It was throbbing quick. He was searching her face for answers now, lip pursing into worry.  “Uh oh… It’s that bad?” Chat joked.

She wasn’t ready. It wasn’t the right time around. Ladybug got up from her crouch and held out her hand.

Chat took it without question and allowed her to lead them both out of the atrium into a modernized foyer, then into an elevator. She pressed floor four. 

“What’s the plan?” he asked as the elevator doors shut. Ladybug could detect a thread of nervousness behind his grin. He was probably wondering why they were going up when the akuma was last spotted below.

Such faith. It cracked her heart a little further every time. Ladybug squeezed his hand, watching the elevator numbers tick so she didn’t have to look him in the eye as she admitted, “No plan.”

The doors opened to an art gallery absent of people.

She let go of Chat’s hand, even though she never really wanted to, and began walking through the exhibit. She could hear the soft sound of his footsteps following her. Extremely large images of sand flicked by in succession. Ladybug didn’t stop to marvel at them.

Chat always did. “Whoah,” he said and she glanced back, catching him craning his neck. “This isn’t a photo. Someone drew this.”

Ladybug used up a few of her seconds to watch her partner, feeling a wash of fondness as Chat placed his hands on his hips and tilted forward, nose scrunched, face inches from the canvas. “LB how long do you think this took to make?”

Years, Ladybug thought. Aloud, she said, “This way.”

Chat let out a low whistle as they passed by a total of ten drawings. Each one looked alike. There were slight variations, however, upon closer inspection. It was the variations in Chat Noir that Ladybug kept discovering that made it impossible for her to stop doing this. They had been here over a thousand times before. Each time was a little different, but always ended the same.

They wound a corner and ended up in a smaller room. Ladybug headed towards the back where a replica of the interior of an old-style french house had been built. There was a bed and a little TV where you could learn all about Château de Blois.

It was the best place she had found for this. She had tried a lot of places. She had already dragged Chat around the entire city of Paris looking for a solution. Not that this Chat Noir remembered any of that.

She gestured at the bed, ignoring the documentary that was playing softly behind her, “I have a lot to tell you and no time to do it. How are we, by the way?”

Chat Noir obeyed, sitting on the bed, cat ears perked straight up, eyes bright now and curious. His knee bounced with pent-up energy. He glanced at his baton. “Three minutes, forty-seven seconds. Why? What’s going to happen?”

“I need you to pretend that everything I’m about to say is true,” Ladybug began.

Chat Noir gave her a funny look like, ‘why wouldn't I?’

Ladybug couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. She crouched down in front of him, placing a palm atop each bouncing knee. “You are going to die in three minutes,” Ladybug said.

Chat froze.

“Your heart. It stops. An arrhythmia,” Ladybug continued, keeping her eyes locked with his, making sure he was following along. They never had time to go over it again. “We’ve been here a lot. Anything you are about to say I’ve tried.” She had tried every hospital, every ER, every doctor; had tried Lucky charm-ing a solution countless times. 

Chat’s eyebrows drew together. His eyes were still present in the room with her, though. They hadn’t glazed off or flicked away in fear. “What?” he breathed. He searched her for a long moment for the joke. 

Ladybug knew better than to so much as flinch or blink right now while he was looking for a way out. Chat’s denial came in different severities every time, but it was never helped by her saying or doing anything until he did first.

A stormy look passed across his face as he took that in. “So... I’m dead and there’s nothing anyone can do about it?” he summarized, grinning.

Ladybug nodded, relaxing a touch. In her experience him grinning was usually the best outcome, even though it did seem a bit deranged. She took her hands from his knees, giving him a bit of space despite every bone in her body aching to hold him close. Even though she had held him so many times, it was always new for him. Too much of her affection too fast could scare him off.

“Wait. What about the cure?” he asked.

“You know Ladybug can’t bring people back to life.”

Chat leaned back a touch. A clawed palm drew up to rest over his heart, expression a bit dazed. Ladybug watched as her partner’s brain spun, processing. Then he glanced back at her, eyes startled. “How… How many times have we done this?”

“Many,” Ladybug admitted. “Each time is a little different. Sometimes you don’t believe me. Sometimes you call your dad. Sometimes you call Nino. Sometimes we just sit together.”

“Nino?” Chat caught.

“I know you are Adrien Agreste,” Ladybug said and then waited to see how he would react.

Sometimes this revelation hit hardest. It was more real, more believable. Often the fact that she knew his name at all was taken as proof she was telling the truth about everything else. That realization typically followed with denial. Sometimes terror.

Ladybug watched closely as Chat’s chest heaved in panic.

A humming noise suddenly kicked off. It was only after it stopped that Ladybug realized the air conditioning had been on. The change shocked Chat back out of whatever place he had gone. “Do I know you?” he whispered.

“Do you want to?”

Suddenly he recoiled, gaze suspicious. “You’re not Ladybug,” he stated, as if the thought had just dawned on him. “This isn’t real.”

Ladybug’s heart sank.

He was standing now, stumbling backwards. His shoulder hit one of the wood beams of the replica, causing him to twist.

With a sigh she reached down and twisted the bracelet back into position.

. .

Ladybug woke again in the cooking section of the library.

Chat tapped the screen on his baton and flipped through the cookbook. “Eggs benedict,” he read aloud.

Ladybug was still reeling from last time. They had almost parted ways on terms she could (maybe) accept. But no— Chat had to get paranoid. Not for the first time she cursed all the replicas of herself that her partner had faced. Maybe if he hadn’t been tricked previously they would have a better chance at this.

“Ladybug?” Chat’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you wake up in the morning?” Ladybug asked, eyes locked down at the book in his hands. At the long pause she got out of her crouch and into a cross-legged position, chancing a look at his face. Sometimes his living face in all it’s animated glory really hurt to look at when seconds before it had been dead.

Chat was staring at her in uncertainty. After a beat he mirrored her, settling down at her side and putting down the book. “That’s a weird question. Why? Something to do with the akuma?”

“Yes,” Ladybug lied. “I need to know.” She needed a break. Even though she never grew physically tired, emotionally she was exhausted. She used up rounds getting to know him better, plucking up the courage to try again to say goodbye again.

He had a grin on his face now. “Usually because of my alarm clock.”

 . .

She was back in the library.

“Grammont pullet,” said Chat Noir, to her right. He set down the cookbook and tapped his baton.

Ladybug laughed. She laughed and then she cried. She wasn’t sure when she stopped doing the first and started doing the second. They sort of happened together, just like all of these second chances and all of these subtle striations.

Chat’s hands hovered beside her arms like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to comfort her. His ears flattened, green eyes distraught. However, when Ladybug leaned in his arms looped around her in an easy embrace, chin resting atop her head.

Eventually emotions passed and Ladybug went quiet, listening to the sound of Chat’s heartbeat and the rumble of his voice as he asked, “What’s the joke?”

“You started the timer after you read the recipe this time,” Ladybug said.

Chat’s grip shifted. He fell silent, as if weighing something, before he admitted, “I don’t get it.”

Ladybug reached up and patted his back. She hadn’t expected him to.

. .

This time around was coq-au-vin.

They had made it to the elevator. This time, Ladybug pressed ‘Floor 4’ right as Chat pressed ‘Basement’. The elevator suddenly had a choice, and it chose to go down, and instead of twisting the bracelet to start over, Ladybug decided to take out some of her own anger on the akuma.

The fight was over before it barely begun.

The umbrella Ladybug tossed to Chat skidded across the floor. Chat stumbled. Ladybug reached down and spun the bracelet before she had a chance to watch him fall.

. .

The last recipe was profiteroles. And it was only the last one, because Chat— like always— surprised her. Ladybug supposed it was only a matter of when, not if. She could only do this so many times before Chat turned it back around on her.

He was glaring at her now, green eyes bright and vivid, unobstructed by goggles. Ladybug internally cursed whenever Chat decided to transform back because it meant there was no more baton— no more timer— and she always felt a bit lost within these three minutes without it.

“How many times have you put yourself through this?” he was asking her, again, since she couldn’t give him a straight answer. Suddenly, and swiftly, he got up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed and took two steps forward into her personal space before Ladybug had a chance to stumble back. “How many?” he repeated.

“I-I don’t know!” Ladybug answered truthfully, suddenly flustered beyond belief. This was the first time Adrien Agreste had had the audacity to step this close to her, to get this mad at her.

“Marinette,” Adrien realized, sounding a bit punched in the gut. “You’re Marinette. This whole time...”

Not trusting herself to speak, Marinette nodded, eyes wide. The amount of times they had both come to know each other’s identities were slim. Rarely did it ever get this far. From this point on was uncharted territory for Ladybug. This Chat Noir suddenly became very real, no longer this strange version of himself that repeated the same phrases and did the same things over and over. No, all the sudden this profiteroles version of Chat was wholly unique.

“If I die in three minutes—” he began.

“Any second now, actually,” Marinette corrected.

“—you’ll do what, exactly?” he finished.

Marinette knew how bad it sounded, but she said it anyway, “I’ll go back to when you’re not dead.”

Adrien’s eyes flicked to the Miraculous around her wrist for a second, brows scrunching. “And then what?”

Ladybug only had to meet his eyes for a brief second to answer that question.

Suddenly Chat had a strong grip on her arm, yanking it towards him.

It took Ladybug a full three seconds to realize what he was trying to do. “Chat. Stop. Chat, stop,” she hissed, veins icy, mouth dry. If he took the bracelet it was over. She twisted and ripped her arm out of his grip, stumbling back and away. A quick glance down confirmed the bracelet was still there and still activated. She kept it pressed tightly to her polka dotted chest, holding it with her other hand.

Adrien was shaking his head, bits of blond hair falling in and out of his eyes. “You can’t keep doing this,” he said, a little out of breath.

Marinette wondered if his heart had stopped and her fingers rested down upon the bracelet, but after a few seconds passed and he remained standing she let them drift away.

If Adrien noticed, he didn’t mention it. “Other people need you,” he accused. “Paris needs you.”

“Paris can figure it out,” she hissed.

Chat blinked, surprised. His face slowly morphed, surprise bleeding into understanding. “It’s ok, Bug. It will be ok.”

Her throat clenched and it felt like he had cleaved her entire body into two pieces straight down the middle. How? How would it ever be ok? When she thought of her future now she only saw darkness. There was nothing left.

“I know I can’t keep doing this,” she gasped, the words ripping out of her. “I know other people love me, need me. But you’re not the one that has to walk out of here alone." The word 'alone' made her own heart swell ten times too big until it felt like it would burst. She hoped it would. That would be a whole lot easier. She had wished a whole lot of things recently that would have appalled her younger self. “I’m not ready.”

“When will you be?” Adrien asked softly.

A hot surge of anger raced through her and she felt the insane urge to shove him or hurt him or do something because how dare he ask her that. How dare he! How dare he die in the first place! Ladybug was tempted to twist the bracelet just to get away from this Chat and go back to an earlier version who was still malleable and innocent. Just erase this attempt all together from his memory so she would never have to answer.

All she had to do was twist it. But then he’d be right. And if she didn’t twist it, he’d still be right. Because… he was right, regardless. And no matter how many times she could make him forget it, she would never forget it.

Adrien wobbled, taking a few quick steps back until he was slumping back on the bed, face pale. Time’s up.

Her anger evaporated and she was there, tugging him close into her chest, because this was the closest to Chat she had ever gotten in all her attempts. The crown of his head tucked underneath her chin, gloved fingers running through his hair, as she felt all the movement and life drain out of him. It was like this every time. Quick, quiet, sneaky. As quick as a switch. One minute the lights were on, the next they were off.

She had no idea how much time she had before her five minutes were up. If she had to guess it was down to seconds. Her fingers detangled out of blond hair and dragged along her side, along her arm, until they met her wrist and bumped against the bracelet. 

Was she? When would she be? Ready, that is.

[theninjamouse]

Ocean on Fire Phantom of the Opera AU Master List (To be added to as I see fit)

Strap in, this is gonna get long. Big thanks to @thaylepo for indulging me and sending many brilliant ideas. 

This is a basic rundown and ideas that would happen at some point in the story. Obviously some things could change or be added but I’ve just got to get this down before I go nuts

Shore and Grillby were childhood friends.

Shore is the child of a wealthy business man, taught from childhood that the arts are to be treasured and appreciated

However, while she may learn instruments and dance and music, she is to take over the family business, not run away to star in the opera like she wants

Grillby's father (he has parents in this au) was a famous violinist who often was called by Shore's father to perform for parties. He wound up teaching Shore fundamentals of music

Little Grillby was a shy flame. Always trailed along behind his father, clutching his tailcoats

Shore saw the tiny elemental and decided instantly: I'm going to be his BEST FRIEND

Queue stuttering, hesitant Grillby being dragged around the manor, getting into all sorts of trouble and adventures. He's a lot more hardy than Shore is, so he rather often found himself acting as a sort of guard dog. He was utterly distraught when Shore fell and broke her arm. Shore teased him about crying because she couldn’t stand to see him so upset

They also learn music together from Grillby's father. First time Shore hears Grillby sing, she grabs his face and screams with delight until the poor little guy is fully bright blue with blushing

Then Grillby's father dies. A family friend takes Grillby away to one of the opera houses to work. Grillby and Shore are 13 and 10 at this point and have spent the last 6 years together. Shore makes Grillby promise to keep singing, to keep the spark of his father alive through music. He promises

They both wait until they are out of sight of the other to cry

Grillby cries every night for the first 3 months in the opera house. As a monster, he is bullied by many of the other students. He mourns his father's passing and he misses Shore to a near unbearable level. The only comfort he has is when he sings quietly to himself in those few moments when he is alone doing his chores

Then he hears a voice, a soft and gentle voice that asks him why such a bright flame weeps. He runs away in fear and hides in his bed

But the voice asks him again and again. 'Why does such a bright flame weep?' Slowly, over the course of a year, Grillby tells the voice his story

The voice says he is the Phantom of the opera house. Grillby thinks he sounds rather young to be a Phantom

The Phantom replies that Grillby is rather young to have such a lovely voice. He offers to teach Grillby. The fire monster agrees upon hearing the Phantom's beautiful and haunting voice

After all, he did promise

15 years pass. Shore has taken over her family business and is finally able to offer herself as a patron to an opera house that has shown remarkable growth over the years, becoming well known in the arts circles

Partially thanks to the star of the show, a humanoid robot named Mettaton. Most of the monsters we know work the show behind the scenes, so having a monster in the lead is a new leap in gaining treatment that is more fair for monster kind as performers

But Mettaton is also a diva. The day Shore arrives with new managers, he throws his tantrum and quits after a rather suspicious accident.

Shore only has eyes for the fire elemental standing frozen with the rest of the crew. She suggests letting him take the lead role. Promising that she knows he can sing.

Grillby is so quiet most assumed he couldn't even talk so naturally protests break out and Shore maybe uses her power as a patron to insist. 'He promised me,' is all she says, looking right at him

So he sings and everyone is stunned at the strength and grace of his voice. The managers instantly whisk him away to prepare for the show

After the show, Shore goes to his new dressing room and they fall into each other's arms. They speak of times past, of the loneliness of being apart. But when Shore says that she wants to take him out to celebrate, he hesitates. The Phantom will not be happy if he leaves, he knows this

But he agrees and she leaves to let him change

Enter in The Phantom. Showing himself for the first time, a figure in black wearing a simple white mask over his face. White hands punched through the palms. Grillby is enchanted, dazed and follows The Phantom into the tunnels under the opera house

*Music of the Night noises*

Grillby has a bit of a Crisis because he genuinely cares about Phantom and they became very close friends as much as teacher and student but this is kind of odd?? A little frightening?

Phantom sees this, backpedals real hard but hides it and sends Grillby back upstairs before falling into bed and screaming into his pillow

When Shore finds Grillby vaguely wandering back into the theater, she goes, uh??? What happened?? Were you kidnapped? I kind of stayed up all night looking for you??

Grillby, still a little in shock because what the heck just happened "Kind of?"

Now that won't STAND

Shore starts digging to find out everything she can about this opera ghost, keeping a close eye on Grillby. There is no gaslighting here folks like in versions of the story that to this day drive me crazy

As Shore digs, accidents start happening. Loose floorboards, unlatched equipment, a falling sandbag or two. Shore catches on pretty quickly what’s happening when she catches just a flash of shadow more than once right before or after these little ‘incidents’ 

Finally plants herself down in the middle of the stage and calls for the Phantom to show his face. It takes a while then she sees a shadow just barely move. He’s up in the rafters, crouched like some kind of bat

“What is your freaking deal?” 

“Why are you trying to take what’s mine?” 

“Yours? He belongs to himself you dingbat”

That makes him laugh for reasons Shore doesn’t get

Conversation happens, a lot of dodging questions, shifting blame. Phantom is oddly charming. For being an attempted murdering/kidnapping jerk

“Are you the one who keeps trying to kill me? The sandbag dropped on my head, the broken trapdoor, the spiders in my hat??”

“Oh my God, I’m not responsible for every little thing that goes wrong in this place. It’s an old building, accidents do happen. 

“The sandbag was me though.”

Grillby materializes just to smack him in the head for that

And so it goes, Grillby and Shore trying to reconnect, Grillby trying to maintain a level of friendship (and maybe more?) with Phantom and Phantom attempting various levels of accidents to get Shore to leave the theater

Until one day he finds Shore on the stage. She’s singing to an empty theater. She’s not...good exactly but...rather unpracticed. He’s startled enough that he stops his evil giggling and untwisting of the hidden trapdoor in the stage to listen. 

He comes up silently, creeping on the edges just out of sight. When he speaks, Shore shrieks and nearly falls off the stage anyway. Her blushing does a weird thing to his Soul. Like a sort of flip flopping squeeze. 

“Well, if you’re going to think yourself worthy of my Flame, you’d better have a voice to match. Let me hear you sing again.”  

Many ‘threat’ filled lessons later-

“Hmm. Maybe there’s hope for you after all” 

“Maybe there’s more to you than a creepy stalker personality.” 

Past the Point of No Return scene happens at some point. I don’t make the rules

Also Phantom and Shore have a sword fight that maybe starts out as anger fueled but rather quickly changes to a pent up Feelings kind of deal

Grillby’s concern is quick to fade and he watches the two idiots dance around each other, wondering why exactly they don’t see how much they actually do like each other. 

It’s also at this moment he realizes fully that he loves them both

“Well shoot, I love these two morons and they love each other but won’t admit it. This is going to be very ‘fun’ to sort out”

Eventually, Shore asks for Phantom’s name. 

“My name...died with the person I was long ago.” 

“Maybe it’s time you reclaim it.” 

His name is Wing Dings Gaster and for countless years he was held by the Void. He doesn’t fully remember how he escaped, nor what he looked like before. All he knows is that his face is broken with terrible cracks and skeletal in only the vaguest sense with a body that ebbs and flows with darkness. When he first stumbled back into the light after the darkness of the Void, people screamed and ran from him. Or worse, they chased him, calling him an omen of death. So he retreated down below the theater and resigned himself to always be a watcher and made a mask to cover his face. 

He was alone for years until he heard young Grillby crying in a corner and sat as close as he dared. It took a while for him to gain the courage to speak to the elemental

Given the fluid nature of his body, it’s easy for him to change his voice to sing. It’s the only part of himself that he can see as holding any worth. 

Grillby was his only source of socialization and he’s terrified of losing him, which makes Phantom a tad bit clingy with some pretty severe separation anxiety 

Phantom is a sad, sad boy who needs a lot of hugs and therapy

Shore is kind to him despite it all (and despite the irritation at the ‘death threats’) 

Phantom finally admits that she was never in any actual danger because he might be a messed up guy but he’s not a murderer. He might have even nudged her out of the way with blue magic a few times to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Eventually Phantom realizes he no longer wants her to leave. He wants to stand with her and Grillby. He wants to be a better monster but he doesn’t know how to do that so kind of retreats into his lair 

Grillby and Shore have to track him down. And queue the heart to heart, the great Crying Session, the Unmasking or whatever you wanna call it

And they all live an OT3 happy ending, the end

[starlocked01]

Not So Grim as She Seems

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Day 3 Analogical- You and your Soulmate own an animal that only you can see 

Virgil did not like Nox at all. Not at first.

Nox was the name he'd given to the terrifying giant black dog that would follow him around every so often. No one else ever saw Nox, and having been raised on tales of Grims and other magical omens, the first time he saw the dog he'd run home and cried. He didn't want to die so young.

After seeing the dog several more times, young Virgil had finally made the connection that the animal wasn't a magical death omen, but rather a soul animal. He'd named her after his favorite spell but still kept his distance. The black eyes sparkling from within the dark black fur were still scary, even if they didn't mean death.

On his 11th birthday, he got his letter to Ilvermorny. Virgil sat on the swingset in the backyard after the birthday party guests had left, staring at the sheet of paper. He'd known it was coming, his whole family was Magic and despite his older brother's teasing, he knew he wasn't no-maj. Nox loped around from the front yard, sitting next to him and letting the frightened boy bury his hands and face in her soft inky fur. Virgil didn’t want to say goodbye to the other kids at school, how would he make new friends? What if he wasn't good in class? What if he couldn't do any magic? What if none of the houses wanted him?

Nox whined softly, reminding him of the present. Maybe having a grim as a magical soul pet wasn't such a bad thing. But would she be allowed at school if he needed her?

Logan was a serious young man. He didn't quite accept the stories of soul animals that only you and your soulmate could see. For starters, no one could show him theirs. All of his scientific research couldn't explain selective invisibility. And the concept of soulmates was another problem altogether.

His unwavering faith in science took a serious hit when Nova showed up. The large black dog was beautiful, but when he tried to show his parents and ask to adopt her, they just stared right through her as if she wasn't the most obvious thing in the front yard. His mom was quick to assume Nova was a soul animal. Logan protested but as no one else could see her, he had to concede the point.

The second blow to his faith in science came from a strange letter received on his 11th birthday, months before he was to finally enter middle school.  Ilvermorny didn't even look like a word, much less the name of a prestigious-

Magic school? Impossible.

Nova showed up that evening, nosing the letter excitedly as Logan attempted to research the school online. Somehow it had 0 results and the poor boy was very frustrated.

Two days later a strange woman showed up at their home, explaining that Logan was a wizard born of No-maj parents. Logan was nervous as the adults spoke about particulars of the school, but Nova was there to offer comfort.

"Can I bring, Nova?" He asked the woman.

"Who’s Nova?" She asked with a kind smile.

"Oh, his soul animal. I'm sure she won't be a problem, right?" Logan's mom replied brightly.

"Oh yes, Nova won't cause any problems, and perhaps her other owner will be there too? Generally, we can't really keep soul animals out; they manage to find ways in even the few times we tried to use magical deterrents. Just so long as Nova doesn't distract from your studies."

"Nothing ever distracts me from the pursuit of knowledge," Logan replied, chin in the air, scratching Nova behind her ear.

Janus and Virgil made the trip to school together at the end of the summer. Janus was petting the invisible rat on his shoulder and Virgil wished more than anything that Nox had shown up. Maybe his soulmate needed her more today. He hoped that wasn't the case because he was terrified and didn't want his soulmate to be feeling worse .

Janus looked over and gave Virgil a sympathetic smile. This year would be a first for both of them. No one but Janus’ closest friends at school knew him by that name yet and this would be his first year after social transition. Virgil knew it would be rough for both of them, but his older brother at least had friends there who would be supportive.

Virgil had Janus and Nox, and Nox didn't even show up for his first day.

Logan was so grateful that Nova was snuggling into him as his parents drove him to this mystical wizard school. Everything about the situation defied logic. None of the textbooks he had to get made sense, he couldn't find their destination on any map or see this "castle" as it had been described no matter how close they got. And a seemingly invisible large black dog was licking his cheek as he pet her to calm his nerves.

All of a sudden, they found a long line of cars on the mountain road. Peering ahead, it appeared the cars were filled with other students of the school. Another car pulled up behind them in the slow-moving line and Nova sat up to look out the window. She barked, but only Logan could hear her.

Virgil looked up as they hit the line of cars dropping off students. He was curious who else would be at school with them for the semester. He saw a black dog looking out the back window of the car in front of them, barking while a boy about his age tried to calm it down.

"Aww that dog looks like Nox"

"What dog?" Janus asked in confusion.

"In the car in front of us?" Virgil pointed, only to see that the dog was no longer in view, "oh never mind. I'll point them out when we get there."

"Okay, twerp," Janus rolled his eyes, inching the car forward.

All of the new students were herded into a separate room for the sorting. Virgil had long lost sight of the boy with the black dog. He felt crowded by all the other new students and kept getting bumped into. He felt like he would be sick all over the floor.

Before he knew what was happening, they were all being herded into the hall where older students were already sectioned off by house. One by one they were each called up to be chosen by the animal mascots of each house.

A boy named Roman was quickly chosen by the Thunderbird's flapping wings, smiling broadly. Another boy named Patton was chosen by the Pukwudgie raising its arrow. Logan was called forward, uncertain what any of these houses stood for. He saw Nova standing in the shadows and put on a brave face. The Horned Serpent's crystal started glowing almost immediately and he went to stand with other new students who had been sorted into that house.

Virgil watched as other students were sorted. He recognized Logan as the boy with the black dog and watched him join Janus in the Horned Serpent house. His heart was beating fast as his own name was called. Please just let one house want him. He stepped up to the Gordian Knot. The moment felt agonizingly long but the Wampus broke out into a roar, startling him and causing him to jump back. Virgil caught a glimpse of Nox in the shadows and smiled, glad she'd been there to see him sorted as he walked to the other new Wampus house students.

The first semester went quickly. Logan was diligent with his studies and excelled in most of his classes. He'd managed to make acquaintances with others in his house as well as other houses. Nova always seemed to know when he needed her most to show up but she often disappeared when he otherwise wanted her around.

Soon, he was studying for finals before Thanksgiving break. He decided to take a break by walking around the courtyard when he saw something curious.

Nova was snuggled up with another student who looked stressed beyond belief, burying their face in her fur as they both sat underneath a tree covered with gorgeous red and golden leaves.

Logan blinked, reassuring himself that yes, that was Nova. He walked up to the other student and cleared his throat gently.

"Hello, can you see Nova as well?"

The other boy looked up, "who's Nova?" The dark bags under his eyes were frightening, almost the same shade as the dog's fur.

"Nova is my soul animal. She's a large black dog who you are currently hanging onto," Logan replied.

"This is Nox. Can you see Nox? She's my soul animal…" the boy looked suspicious. Logan sat down next to him and reached a hand out to pet Nova.

"Are you having trouble with finals?" Logan asked, petting the dog as Virgil stared in disbelief.

"Yeah, how did you-?"

"I find that Nova shows up when I'm most stressed out and in need of comfort. I was surprised that she wasn't around for finals prep, perhaps that's because she's been here for you instead," Logan looked to Virgil with a small smile, "my name is Logan. I'm in the Horned Serpents. What's your name?"

"Ah, Virgil. Wampus House. And yeah, Nox has been around a lot this week. No one else has been able to see her before though," he replied, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps that's because she's our soul animal, making us soulmates," Logan replied in a matter-of-fact tone despite his racing heart.

"You think so?" Virgil asked with a hopeful tone.

"Yes. She's good for comfort, but would you like help to prepare for finals, Virgil?"

"Yes please," Virgil stood and offered Logan a hand up, "yeah, thanks, Logan."

Both stood and walked off towards the library, the large black dog trotting behind them happily. The next 6 ½ years would be a lot smoother with her owners helping each other as well.

[wistfulcynic]

The Meet-Cute, Part One

In which Ruby decides that what Emma’s love life needs is a good old-fashioned meet-cute, and sets about arranging one for her. Or two, or three, or six...whatever, she’ll set up however many it takes for her friend to meet The One. But it may turn out that Emma doesn’t need any help finding The One after all...

Rating: T Words: 5.2k (first chapter)

On AO3

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LOOK @optomisticgirl I WROTE THE THING.

Also, @ohmightydevviepuu, @shireness-says, and @distant-rose you are complicit in the writing of the thing.

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PART ONE:

“What you need, Emma Swan, is a meet-cute.”

Emma swallowed a sigh but couldn’t hold back the accompanying eye-roll. “I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing I need.”

“No, hear me out,” Ruby insisted, her eyes alight with excitement. “This is actually perfect for you.”

Emma let the sigh go this time, reminding herself firmly that Ruby was her best friend and had been for years.

“All right,” she said. “Tell me why I need a meet-cute.”

“Yesssss,” said Ruby. “Okay, listen. There’s nobody at work you’re interested in dating, right?”

“My co-worker is literally my brother.”

“Yeah that’s kind of what I meant. Most people meet their future spouses at work—”

“That’s not a real statistic.”

“—but—yes, it is real—but there’s no one at work for you and that’s not likely to change, so you have to look elsewhere. Now, the next most common place to meet someone is where you live—

“Seriously, you’re just making this stuff up.”

“—but there’s no one for you there, either,” Ruby pressed on, ignoring her. “No cute guys across the hall—“

“No straight ones anyway.”

“—and seeing as you are for some strange reason dead-set against online dating—”

“I absolutely am.” Emma shuddered at the hideous thought.

“—which actually does work, by the way.”

“It doesn’t. You and Mulan are just outliers.”

“Look, Emma, don’t knock the matchmaking power of Good Omens Discord chats until you try them.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

“Well then,” Ruby declared, in a voice that suggested she thought she’d won the argument. “That leaves you with no option but the meet-cute.”

“Really, that’s my only option?”

“Just think about it, Emma.” Ruby’s eyes grew dreamy. “Adorable mix-ups in coffee shops… picking up the wrong leash at the dog park…”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“…you both reach for the last croissant…”

“Where am I going to find a croissant in Storybrooke?”

“The last bear claw then, the pastry is really beside the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“The point is that you meet someone and it’s fucking cute, okay? And then you fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“Or I could just, you know, go on as I am, not meeting anyone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, woman,” said Ruby sternly. “Do you want to live the rest of your life alone?”

Emma shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.” Better than being stuck with someone she didn’t love, just for some dumb reason like—

“Do you want Henry to grow up without a father?”  

—like giving her son a decent man in his life.

“Henry has a father,” she reminded Ruby. One he hadn’t seen for the best part of a year, but still.  

“Do you want Henry to grow up without a father figure who isn’t a massive douche?” amended Ruby. Emma sighed again.

“Neal does the best he can,” she insisted.

Ruby snorted. “Sure he does.”

“He does, really. He’s just… not cut out to be a parent.”

“Well, that’s for sure.”

But Emma didn’t blame Neal for being a shit dad, though she knew her friends and family did. It wasn’t his fault it was hers, for stupidly falling for and getting knocked up by a guy whose ‘best’ was showing up once or twice a year to shower Henry with presents and promises before disappearing again without a word a few weeks later. At first it had broken both their hearts—Henry’s from disappointment and Emma’s from anger and guilt over his disappointment—but Henry was twelve now and starting to learn that the parents he adored were human and flawed, and to adjust his expectations accordingly. Emma had to admit that it was a relief not to have to cover Neal’s ass anymore by trying to make excuses for him, however deeply she regretted Henry’s loss of innocence.

And yeah, it would be nice not to have to raise her kid alone. Neal got to be the fun parent, buying Henry all the stuff she couldn’t afford and taking him on trips to exciting places, leaving Emma to enforce bedtimes and check homework and try to make Henry eat the vegetables she herself hated. Having someone else around, a real adult she could rely on to share those responsibilities with her, that would be good. Great, really. Wonderful, in fact. But dating was hard enough without having to start it off by explaining that even though you yourself weren’t yet thirty you came in a two-for-one deal with a near-teenager, and Emma had had far too many first dates end early and awkwardly to hold out much hope that she would ever meet the man of her dreams, be it cute or any other way.

“I appreciate the thought, Rubes, I really do,” she said. “But I’m just not looking for anyone right now.”

“But don’t you see?” Ruby cried. “That’s the best time to meet someone—when you’re not looking.”

Emma threw up her hands. “You are impossible and I’m not talking about this with you anymore. I’ve got to get back to work anyway.”

“All right.” Ruby shrugged and let the subject drop, but the glint that still remained in her eye warned Emma that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

—

Before she returned to work after her lunch with Ruby, Emma stopped by the library. Belle wasn’t at her usual spot behind the desk so Emma ventured into the stacks on her own, in search of some books that would help Henry with his school project on the solar system. She was standing in the astronomy section with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, frowning at the frankly baffling array of options when a voice spoke just to her left.

“Can I help you find something?” it said.

Emma turned with a smile that stalled abruptly as her mouth dropped open. “Um,” she said, blinking in confusion at the blue eyes and dark hair that very definitely did not belong to Belle, and the bright smile that took her breath away. “I actually could use some help, but—sorry, but do you work here?”

The owner of the voice—and the hair and the eyes—laughed. “I do, for the moment at least.”

“Did something happen to Belle?”

“To her grandfather, apparently,” he replied. “I’m not sure of the details but Belle told me she had to go back to Australia for family reasons.”

“Oh. I didn’t hear anything about that.”

The man’s eyebrow twitched in a small frown. “Well, it was quite at the last minute, so she probably didn’t have time to tell everyone. But I’d spoken to her recently and mentioned I was looking for a quiet place to spend a few weeks’ holiday and so when she asked if I could come here and cover for her for a while, I gladly agreed.”

“And why would she call you?” Emma nearly flinched at the harshness in her tone but the man’s smile widened and his eyes twinkled, sucking even more air from her lungs.

“We’re old friends from library school,” he explained, as Emma struggled for breath. “My name’s Killian Jones.”

His smile began to crumble as Emma just stood and stared at him, until she managed to shake herself out of her breathless haze and smile back. “Emma  Swan,” she said. “I’m the town sheriff.”

“Ah.” Killian’s grin brightened again, and Emma thought vaguely that he should really have a licence for that thing. “That explains all the questions.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. We don’t get many new faces in Storybrooke and, well—”

“Aye, of course, you can’t be too careful.”

“Um, right. Exactly.”

“Well, Sheriff Swan,” said Killian, with an absurd little waggle of his eyebrows, “I can assure you that haven’t broken any laws, but then I did only arrive in town last night so there’s still plenty of time.”

Emma laughed. She couldn’t help it, his goofy humour and ridiculous eyebrows were too charming. “But if you broke the law I’d have to lock you up,” she replied, and fucking hell was she flirting with him?

He seemed to think so, if the way his eyes glinted as he leaned in closer was any indication. “I might not mind being locked up, if you promised to stay and guard me,” he murmured.

Emma’s breath caught again at the look in his eyes, the edge of danger behind the flirty charm. “Do you talk like this to all library patrons?” she asked, cursing the raspiness in her voice.

“Definitely not. It’s highly unprofessional, but then there’s not much else I can say when you still haven’t answered my question.”

She swallowed hard. “Wh—what question?”

“Can I help you find anything?”

“Oh.” Duh, Emma. “Um, yeah, actually. My son has to do a project on the solar system, so I’m looking for some books he could use.”

She waited for Killian to freeze up, to awkwardly withdraw from her now that he knew she had a kid. But he simply nodded and asked “How old is your lad?”

“Ah, he’s twelve. Sixth grade.”

“Hmmm, in that case I’d recommend this one.” He reached over her shoulder to take a book from the shelf, giving Emma a whiff of some spicy cologne and a briny scent like he’d been out on the sea. Her knees went weak, and when he held out the book she stared blankly at it, trying to marshal her scrambled thoughts back into some kind of order. “It’s an excellent overview of the solar system with plenty of details on all the planets,” Killian explained, “but the language is accessible for someone your boy’s age.” His eyebrows rose again in an expectant look.

“Um. That looks great, thanks.”

“See how he gets on with it, and if he needs more information I’d be happy to make another recommendation.”  

Emma nodded and followed him to the check-out desk, wordlessly handing him her card and watching as he completed the process of checking out the book. When he finished he tucked a bookmark between the pages and handed it to her with another warm smile.

“Well, Emma Swan, it’s been lovely talking to you,” he said. “I hope it won’t be a one-time thing.”

“I—I’m in here a lot,” she replied. It was only a slight exaggeration. Henry was in the library a lot and she often came to pick him up. “So I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

For the third time in fifteen minutes Killian Jones stole her breath with his smile. “I’m looking forward to it already,” he said.

—

The next morning Emma was at Granny’s waiting in line for coffee when out of nowhere someone gave her a hard shove, knocking her into the man in front of her, who had just accepted his cup from Ruby.

“Oh my God!” she cried. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened!”

“It’s okay,” said the man with a tight smile, shaking droplets of coffee off his hand as Ruby’s eyes grew comically wide.

“Oh, no,” she said. “What a terrible accident. Let me get you another cup, sir.”

“Thanks,” said the man, and Emma’s own eyes nearly rolled clean from her head. Ruby was known for her lack of subtlety but this was ridiculous, even for her. Emma glanced over her shoulder just in time to spot the tip of Mulan’s braid just disappearing through the door.

“So,” the man was saying to Ruby when Emma returned her attention to him, leaning on the counter and giving her a crooked grin. “You come here often?”

“Every day,” said Ruby dryly. “I work here. But maybe you’d like to ask Emma that question.”

The man’s pale blue eyes flitted to Emma, then rapidly away. “I’d rather ask you.”

Ruby gave a frustrated huff. “Here’s your coffee.” She thrust the new cup at the man and turned her back.

“What’s her problem?” the man muttered.

“I don’t know,” snapped Emma, “maybe you should ask her wife.” The man’s eyes widened in alarm at the look on her face and he backed away, slowly edging towards the door.

“Have a great day,” she called after him, then turned to her best friend as the man fled the diner.

“I hope you’re happy,” she hissed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ruby asked, the picture of innocence. Emma rolled her eyes.

“I’m guessing this was your attempt at a coffee shop meet-cute? I spill the man’s coffee, apologise profusely, he laughs it off. I offer to buy him another cup, he refuses but asks me to dinner instead? Was that the idea?”

“...maybe.”

“And you see how well it turned out?”

“He was clearly just not The One,” said Ruby stubbornly.

“There is no ‘The One’ Rubes, that is a myth, and I cannot believe you roped Mulan into this nonsense too.”

“I didn’t rope her in, she volunteered! We both want you to be happy, Emma.”

“And you think dumping coffee on the world’s creepiest doctor will make me happy?”

“What? Have you met him before?”

“Yeah. Last year when Henry broke his arm. You’ll be pleased to hear that he tried to hit on me then. Right in front of my kid.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Meet-cutes only work in romcoms and fanfics, Ruby. Here in reality they just piss people off.”

“Well,” said Ruby, handing Emma her coffee, determination clear in the set of her jaw. “We’ll see about that.”

—

Emma: What do you want for dinner?

Henry: What have we got?

Emma: Nothing, that’s why I’m asking. I can stop at the store on the way home.

Henry: I suppose pizza isn’t an option?

Emma: We had that yesterday.

Henry: Not a problem for me. But chicken or something would be okay too.

Emma: One of those rotisserie chickens?

Henry: Yeah, sounds good.

Emma: Okay, kid. See you at home.

Emma was standing in the grocery store, frowning as she compared the rotisserie chickens when a voice spoke just to her left.

“I don’t think there’s much of a difference between them, love.”

Her heart leapt and her skin tingled, and yet when she turned to face Killian Jones—and his damned smile—she was still not prepared.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “I, um, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No reason why you should, I guess, except that I like all people do need to eat from time to time.”

“Of course.” She felt foolish, but his expression was warm and only slightly teasing.

“How did your son get on with the book?” he asked.

“Really well! He read for like two hours last night. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“Any time.”

They stood grinning at each other until someone behind them cleared his throat and they both gave a little start. Killian rubbed the back of his neck as he moved aside to allow Mr Clark to select a chicken.

“So, um,” said Emma after he’d left. “Are you getting stuff for dinner?”

“Aye. I’m staying in the apartment above the library and this morning I discovered that the oven doesn’t work, and the repairman can't come until tomorrow. So I need something that comes pre-cooked. Hence rotisserie chicken.”

“Solid plan,” said Emma, though she felt sad thinking of this lovely man eating dinner alone in that tiny apartment, and that was the only reason that she blurted out “But, ah, why don’t you come over and eat with Henry and me?”

“Oh.” Killian blinked in surprise.

“Since we’re both having the same thing it makes sense not to waste a chicken,” Emma barrelled on. “When Henry and I get one we’ve always got leftovers, so… I mean, you don’t have to if you’d rather not—”

“No, no. I mean, yes! Yes, I’d like that.”

“Oh. Um, good.”

He smiled again, bright as always but with a hint of shyness that caught her off guard. “Is it, ah, just the two of you?” he asked. “Presuming Henry is your son, that is?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “His dad’s, um... not in the picture.”

“I see. Well then I would love to share a meal with you, Emma Swan. And your son. And perhaps you would allow me to bring dessert?”

Emma’s heart was pounding so loudly now she was sure he must be able to hear it. “That’d be great. Um, here’s my cell number, just at the bottom of this.” She took a business card from her pocket and handed it to him. “Text me and I’ll send you directions to our place. Can you come over about six?”

“Six it is.” Killian slipped the card into his own pocket carefully, as though he didn’t wish to harm it. “I’ll see you then.”

—

Emma finished the rest of her shopping in a daze, wandering haphazardly through the aisles and putting random things in her cart without thinking before giving herself a mental slap and a stern admonition to get a fucking grip. She removed the strawberry syrup from her cart (she and Henry both hated fake strawberry flavour) and the tuna (what the hell had she been thinking?) and then remembered that Henry was nearly out of peanut butter. His favourite kind was the most popular one and the store could hardly keep it stocked, so she was pleased to see that there was one jar left as she approached the shelf. Just as she was reaching for it, though, another hand appeared and snatched it from her grip.

“Hey!” she cried indignantly. “That was mine!”

“Sorry,” said the man who’d taken it. He didn’t look sorry in the slightest. “Maybe they’ve got more in the back?”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma huffed.

“Nope,” the man replied. “Look, I really am sorry but someone needs this peanut butter. She sent me in here to get it specifically.”

Emma hissed her breath out through her teeth. “She did, did she? And did she say why she couldn’t get the damn peanut butter herself?”

“Ah, no,” said the man, frowning warily at her. “She didn’t. But listen, lady it’s just a jar of peanut butter.”

Emma’s lip curled into a snarl and the man’s eyes widened in alarm. He backed away from her, nearly stumbling in his haste. “So, um, I’m going to, ah, go now,” he stuttered. “Bye.”

He turned and fled towards the checkouts with Emma close on his heels. She followed him to the self-checkout line where he kept shooting nervous looks over his shoulder at her and she amused herself by giving him darker and darker glares each time and keeping her eyes fixed on him when he took the jar of peanut butter and ran out the door.

When she arrived at where she’d left her car Emma was entirely unsurprised to find Ruby there, leaning against the hood and looking slightly sheepish.

“So what was the plan this time?” asked Emma. “That we would both reach for the last jar of peanut butter, our fingers would touch, sparks would fly, and we would exchange cute banter with sexually charged undertones ending in a date?”

Ruby nodded. “Something like that.”

“Ruby, I keep telling you, that is not how real life works!”

“Oh yeah?” Ruby challenged. “Well, what about David and Mary Margaret! They had a meet-cute.”

“He mistook her for a burglar and she hit him in the face!”

“Exactly!”

“How is that a meet-cute?”

“How is it not? They met, it was cute, and now they’ve got an amazing story to tell their kids.”

“I met Neal when I tried to steal the car he’d already stolen,” Emma pointed out. “That’s an amazing story and yet our relationship was a fucking dumpster fire that I’d be happy to forget all about if it weren’t for Henry. Not all cute meetings end in happily ever after, and frankly I don’t think a squabble over peanut butter in a small town grocery store is the best way to jump-start true love.”

“And what would you know about true love?” Ruby snapped, then gasped in horror as her eyes went wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Emma, I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her fingers. “I didn’t mean it.”

Emma’s chest felt tight. “It’s okay,” she muttered.  

“No, it really isn’t.” Ruby gripped Emma’s hands in hers. “I love you, Ems, and you’re one of the most loving people I know. That’s why I want so badly to see you happy.”

“I know.” Emma nodded and gave Ruby’s hands a squeeze. “I know you didn’t mean to say it.” However true it might be, she thought bitterly.

“Let me make it up to you—”

“Oh my God, please don’t—”

“—with this free jar of peanut butter!” finished Ruby triumphantly. She reached into her bag and removed the jar, offering it up with a flourish.

Emma smiled as she took it. “Thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Henry how someone stole the last jar right out from under me.”

Ruby flashed a grin, then turned solemn. “Are we okay, Emma?” she asked hesitantly. “Truly?”

“Of course we are,” Emma reassured her. “Truly. I do have to get going though I have—uh, Henry will be getting hungry.”

“Of course.” Ruby stepped back to let Emma unlock her car door. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you.”

As Emma drove home she tried not to think about why she hadn’t told Ruby that Killian was coming for dinner. It might stop her friend’s meet-cute-ing attempts if she knew Emma had a—well, not a date exactly but a man coming over to... well, just to eat really, but still. She could have spun it so it seemed like a date and got Ruby off her back, at least for a while. Yet for some reason Emma wanted to keep Killian just for herself. At least for a while.

—

Killian Jones was punctual and he could follow directions, Emma thought when her doorbell rang that evening at six o’clock precisely. That alone put him head and shoulders above Neal... and what the hell was she doing comparing a man she’d literally met yesterday with her son’s useless father, even just in the privacy of her own head?

She smoothed her hair and the front of her blouse and took a deep breath to calm herself before opening the door, and still she was not prepared for that stupid, gorgeous smile.

“Good evening, Swan,” Killian greeted her. “I come bearing brownies.”

And wine, she couldn’t help noticing as she stepped back to let him in. “Great, uh, brownies are my favourite,” she lied. “Um, Killian, I’d like you to meet my son, Henry.”

Henry came forward with smile on his lips and mild confusion in his eyes. “Hi Killian, nice to meet you.”

“And you, lad. I hope you like brownies as well.”

“I love them,” Henry replied. “Though my mom usually prefers—” he broke off when Emma gave him a Look. “Ah, she prefers hers without nuts.”

“Well, she’s in luck because these are nut-free.”

“Sounds perfect!” said Henry brightly, and Emma didn’t think she’d ever loved him more.

“Let me just take those from you,” she said, relieving Killian of the box of brownies and bottle of wine. “Henry, can you show him into the living room? Oh, and Killian what would you like to drink?”

“Whatever’s easiest, love.”

“Water, soda, beer?”

“Beer would be great.”

“Coming right up.”

Emma fled to the kitchen, doing her best not to look like she was fleeing. Once safety through the door she set the brownies and wine on the counter and desperately drew air into her lungs. She wasn’t going to survive spending much more time with Killian if she didn’t learn to breathe around him, she thought wryly, and also why was she even thinking about spending more time with him—this was nothing but a casual, friendly meal and they had only just met.

“Get a fucking grip, Emma,” she reminded herself firmly, and went to pour some beer.

When she entered the living room a few minutes later Killian and Henry were sitting next to each other on the sofa, deep in discussion about the solar system. Henry had his project notes spread out on the coffee table and Killian was rubbing his chin, listening intently as her son spoke, and Emma’s heart absolutely did not melt at the sight of them. It didn’t.

She set a glass of soda in front of Henry and a beer in front of Killian, who looked up at her with a smile.

“Thanks, love.”

Aaaand there went her breath again, thought Emma. Damn it.

“Ah, I’m just going to go finish up dinner, um, if everything’s okay in here?” she said.

“Aye, I think we’ll be all right.”

“Mom, guess what? Killian knows all about astronomy and he’s going to help me make sure my project’s good!” Henry exclaimed.

“All about astronomy, eh?” teased Emma.

To her astonishment Killian’s cheeks and the tips of his ears turned pink. “A slight exaggeration on the lad’s part,” he said, scratching at a spot just below his ear. “But it is an interest of mine and I’ll do my best to be of some use to him.”

“He’s already helped me with Saturn’s moons, and now we’re gonna talk about the rings on Uranus,” said Henry excitedly. “Did you know Uranus has rings, Mom?”

“I did not,” said Emma, biting her lip as amusement glinted in Killian’s eyes.

“Yep,” Henry continued, oblivious to their mirth. “Just skinny ones, though.”

“I suppose bigger ones wouldn’t fit,” said Emma. A muscle danced in Killian’s jaw as he clenched it tight. Henry frowned.

“Uranus is still pretty big,” he said. “Not as big as Jupiter or Saturn but—hey! Are you guys laughing at Uranus?”

“Of course not, lad,” said Killian. “Uranus isn’t funny at all.”

“It’s very serious actually,” said Emma.

“I certainly take it seriously,” Killian agreed.

Henry glared at them. “You guys realise I’m the twelve-year-old boy, right? If anyone should be making Uranus jokes it’s me.”

“Well you have been letting some excellent joke opportunities slip by you, my boy.”

“Yeah, Henry, we’re just picking up your slack.”

“Much like rings on Uranus might.”

“Oh my God,” Henry groaned, as Emma lost control of her laughter and collapsed onto the sofa. Killian was grinning like a maniac, ridiculously pleased with himself, which only made her laugh harder. Henry held out for nearly a full minute before he started giggling too, then all three of them held their stomachs and roared.

—

Their fit of shared hilarity helped Emma relax, and the dinner ended up being one of the best evenings she’d had in a long time. Killian, as it turned out, had spent several years in the navy before he became a librarian. He had hundreds of stories about his adventures in far-off lands and seemingly endless patience for inquisitive twelve-year-olds who wanted to hear every single one.

Emma sat and ate and listened as Killian regaled her son with his tales, and tried not to think too hard about how simply nice this was. Like the sort of pleasant family meal she’d always dreamed of as a child and regretted that she couldn’t give Henry, and she really needed to stop thinking about Killian like he was an actual part of her life when she’d barely known him for a day. She knew better than that. From bitter experience.

And yet. Killian’s kindness to and interest in Henry was genuine, she was sure of it. There was no hint in his words or actions to suggest that he was trying to use her kid to get to her, or that he was only pretending to care about Henry’s project. Her superpower didn’t even twitch. Every instinct Emma had was screaming that the most sinister thing about Killian Jones was how dangerously attractive she found him. He was just a nice man who knew how to talk to children. A nice, insanely hot man with the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen and a smile that stole all the air from her lungs, who not only didn’t run when he found out about her kid but actually liked him.

Fuck, she thought, as Killian caught her eye and gave her a little half-smile that had her gasping for air. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

—

“Well, thank you for a lovely evening, Swan.” Killian’s hand was on the doorknob but he seemed in no great hurry to leave, and she was equally not eager to see him go. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Me too. And thanks for being so nice to Henry.”

“Your boy is a delight, it was no hardship.”

“Still. It meant a lot to him.” She didn’t mention Neal and Killian didn’t ask, but she had the strangest feeling that they both wished they could.

You only just met him, damn it!

“It was my pleasure,” said Killian, and the way his voice went gruff on the word pleasure set her heart racing and heat blooming across her skin, and when his breath caught and his gaze dropped to her lips she had to force herself to remember that this wasn’t a date and she didn’t actually know this man. But she could tell from the rasp in his throat and the flush on his cheeks that he was feeling the same things she was, that he wanted the same things just as badly, and it would be easy, so easy just to lean in and press her lips to his—

Too easy, and far too risky. Emma gulped and stepped back as Killian gave a shaky exhale, closing his eyes as his Adam’s apple bobbed and Emma shoved her hands hard into her jeans pockets. He opened his eyes and then the door and gave her a brief smile before stepping into the hallway. Emma dug her fingers into her legs and firmly squashed the tiny part of her that wanted to beg him to stay.

“Well, ah, thanks for coming,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Aye.” He took two steps then stopped and turned back. “Er, perhaps next time you might allow me to provide the meal?” he said hesitantly. “Just for you?”

“Um. What?” said Emma, then immediately wanted to kick herself.

Killian’s nervous expression softened. “Well you see, as much as I enjoyed Henry’s company this evening, I’d very much like to take you out, Emma,” he said. “Just the two of us. On a date.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Aye, really. On Friday, perhaps, if you’re free?”

“Ah, yeah, I can be,” she replied, trying not to sound too eager. “I’ll have to see if I can get someone to watch Henry, but… yeah. I’d like that.”

That breath-stealing smile broke across his face as she knew it would, and yet she still wasn’t ready for it. “It’s a date, then,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something warm.”

“Uh.. okay.”

“And love, if you can’t find someone to look after Henry at such short notice I’d still like to spend the evening with you.” Killian’s face was earnest now. “With both of you, I mean. We’ll just postpone our date until a more convenient time.”

A lump rose in Emma’s throat and for a moment she thought she might cry. “I—that’d be good too. I’ll let you know.”

He nodded. “Good night, then, Swan.”

“Good night.”

—

@katie-dub @thisonesatellite @spartanguard @kmomof4 @stahlop @mariakov81 @teamhook in case you’re interested :)

[thesolitarystripe]

Tindyl’s Origin

How I’ve not posted this is beyond me..

It was an especially bright night, the evening that Tindyl was born. The moon was high in the sky. Its shimmering image was crisp and untouched by clouds. It was taken as a good omen as the young night elf was birthed beneath the giant limbs of Teldrassil. She was born of parents; Bai’len Moonwillow and Laurêl Sagebloom.

Bai’len, a Druid of the Claw, came from a long line of druids that also followed the path of Urso and Ursol. When his daughter was born, he dreamed of a life for her where she might follow in her ancestor’s footsteps.  As the world turned and decades passed, it became an apparent reality that times were changing. Female Kaldorei were becoming druids and males taking up Priesthood. Though he was conservative in his beliefs, a faint flicker of hope welled within him—perhaps Tindyl Willowmoon could become a druid.

It was a silent wish he kept to himself for many years.

Much of Tindyl’s childhood passed as it did for all Kaldorei children. She ran through the forests, danced with the whispering wind, and lost herself amongst the fields of flowers. Bai’len saw her connection with nature at an early age; though all night elves bore the same deep love for the perseverance of nature and swore their lives to protect it, he was sure that when Tindyl spoke to the trees, they spoke back.

When the young night elf reached the age of 100, she had a general grasp of all the duties available to her within their society. Bai’len taught her without sway. Though the druid tried to remain unbiased in his teachings, he couldn’t help but spend a little extra time showing her how to sharpen her claws or learn how to knit her pelt so tightly together that it felt like iron.

On days when the sun was high and the forest lost some of its naturally dim hues, Bai’len would take Tindyl to the main continent of Kalimdor, into the trees of Darkshore, and spar with her. The little she-elf practiced shifting in and out of different forms and did so adeptly. Bai’len knew fully that not every elf born had the knack for nature magic and the fact that his daughter caught on at such a young age, surprised even him.

He chose to practice away from their home for fear that others might think ill of him. While it had become more commonplace for females to practice druidism, his old bones felt the uneasiness of thousands of years of tradition. Some still did not approve of the societal changes and Bai’len feared that Tindyl might be treated harshly for her interests.

So, they spent their mornings nestled in the cool forest of Darkshore. Tindyl would practice shifting until Bai’len saw no hesitation in the way her body morphed. This simple teaching left her too fatigued to carry out any other lessons but; as she grew, her body became resilient and she took on the form of a cat, doe, bear, and dolphin with relative ease.

When she had the energy, Bai’len challenged his daughter to a sparring match. At first the young one was shy and meek to fight her father. When she stood beside her father in his guardian form, her eyes would fall to the massive prints left in the damp dirt as he walked from her and she worried that her own paws might never grow to even half the size.

Despite the hesitant approach Tindyl took to swatting at her father with a thick paw, the elder did not relent. With the same ferocity he would take to battle, he dove at Tindyl; teeth bared, claws protruding, and a mighty roar shaking the trees around them. Day by day, she cowered less and fought back more.

There were not many matches that she won but every so often, her teeth would nip the right spot behind her father’s neck and the druid would howl. One paw might swipe above his massive head, but she was small and quick. With the distraction, Tindyl would seize her opportunity as Bai’len stood with only three feet upon the earth. Their bodies crashed together as she lunged fearlessly, and they toppled into the grass in a pile of silver fur.

Bai’len’s laugh was as loud and rumbling as his roar. In an unusual display of public affection; he’d scoop up Tindyl and press his forehead against hers and scold her playfully for picking on her old father. Tindyl would laugh, roll her glowing silver eyes, and push herself out of his grasp.

It wasn’t long into her adulthood that he watched Tindyl’s demeanor change. While she obeyed and trained in the shade of Darkshore, there was a heaviness upon her heart. Her laughter did not echo between trees like part of nature’s symphony. Bai’len found her one evening sitting in a large meadow, head back as she stared up at the moon.

“What troubles you?” He asked in his deep baritone.

Tindyl’s eyes shut and a long breath slipped through her lips slowly.

“You’ve always told me of my ancestors, of your father and mother, and of theirs, Druids of the Claw. Druids of the Talon.”

Bai’len stood with bated breath. This was the moment his heart had held onto from the moment Tindyl’s first cries were lifted upon the wind and into the branches of their home. Yet, he felt as if he hadn’t enough time to prepare over these last 105 years. The druid stood beside her now, eyes fixed upon her face as his daughter’s brow knit together.

“I do not think I was meant to follow in their stead,” her voice was almost fearful as she said it. Those bright eyes opened and watched for her father’s reaction.

Inwardly, Bai’len felt a piece of him shatter but his face remained smooth.

“You have always had a choice, daughter. It would be an honor to serve with The Sentinels or even one day, The Wardens.”

“An’da,” her hand waved in the air dismissively.

Thinking that his daughter meant to shy away from his suggestion of becoming a Warden, Bai’len continued. “It is a high honor Tindyl, you’ve trained extensively in many areas I do not doubt—” Bai’len was interrupted.

“I do not want to be a Sentinel or a Warden.” As if preparing for battle, Tindyl got to her feet noiselessly.

“Then, what is it you want?”

Their shadows were cast long against the lush green grass as the moon shined down upon them. A desperate prayer was lifted to Elune as Tindyl took another deep breath and clenched her fists.

“I want to be a Druid of the Wild, I want to learn more of what you’ve taught me all these years. You said when I was young that it was uncommon that someone should be able to shapeshift into more than one form. I think..I must have been born with this gift, given to me by Elune herself!”

It amused Bai’len slightly to see his daughter’s purple skin flush with a red undertone as she passionately delivered her reasoning.

“While I love spending time with you in the forest, I do not think that I was meant to follow the path of Urso and Ursol. Nor am I meant to follow Avianna.”

“What do you intend then?” Bai’len’s arms were crossed lightly over his wide chest.

“I’m going to use magic…nature magic…to…heal.”

A single thick, silver brow raised high as Tindyl delivered her intentions in full. Bai’len’s composure broke mildly as his lips parted and he gazed down at his child in bewilderment.

“I’ve not taught you anything of restoration, who has put this thought into your head?”

“I did.” Tindyl stared up at her An’da, voice firm and calm for the first time during their meeting beneath the moon. “I would gladly spill blood to protect our home, our kin, our ways but it does not feel right. I am a warrior only because you’ve taught me how to be one, but it is not who I am within my heart.”

Tindyl waited in agony as silence fell between them. It was not within her nature to fidget or show any signs of her true emotions, but her eyes did hold the vision of Bai’len’s face tensely. The elder rubbed his forefinger over his bearded chin. The white hair bristled beneath his fingers as he scraped at the dark purple skin below it.

“I will not allow this, Tindyl.”

“But you would allow me to strap a bow to my back and ride a nightsaber alongside my sisters who die in battle against those that encroach on our home?”

“Do not raise your voice to me,” Bai’len threatened, voice like the snarl of a bear.

“Traditions are important, father.” Tindyl composed herself in an effort at another attempt to persuade him. “I believe that fully. Our ways should be preserved, our beliefs upheld, but I ask if you would allow me to practice druidism—something once unheard of for a female not many moons ago, why do you baulk at the idea of my healing? I only want to serve our people, to heal the wounds that would not otherwise mend. I’ve seen the soft green glow of that magic flow through my veins in dreams sent to me by the moon goddess. I can feel it in the tips of my fingers when they graze the petals of flowers and trunks of our trees. I will not allow it to consume me, not like it did to mother.”

Bai’len’s head snapped upward from where his eyes had drifted to a single flower swaying in the breeze.

“You will release this foolish dream from your head.”

That was the last word. Bai’len left Tindyl standing under the comforting rays of the moon. Tindyl sunk to her knees where she stood. The small stalks of grass were light against her skin, wrapping around her fingers and wrists as if to console her. The earth beneath her fingertips sang to Tindyl in the chirp of insects and call of evening birds. She knew it in her heart that what she said was true.

A single tear dripped down her alabaster skin and fell into the dirt below. In a dizzying instant, a wisp of green light shot upward. It vanished as quickly as it came and, in its place, stood a fresh silver flower. Tindyl’s hands hesitantly cupped its petals. The faintest green hue emanated within her palms and caressed the smooth edges of the plant that had just come into existence. A somber smile graced the night elf’s lips. She kept her hands around the flower as she leaned back and looked up at the moon.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her words were carried away upon the wind, whisked up and away into the leaves of their mighty Teldrassil. She could only hope Elune heard her and continued to show her the path she was meant to tread.

[loki-hargreeves]

Good Omens Imagine - You Summon a Demon

Warnings: demon summoning, this is honestly just a crack fic, vulgar language, a moody demon Word Count: 2K Summary: Out of boredom, you decide to summon a demon, not believing that it would actually work. You end up summoning Crowley in your apartment. A very worried angel comes looking for him as well. That’s how you meet Crowley and Aziraphale. Author’s Note: This has been on my mind for a while now. I don’t actually know how to summon a demon so please excuse how I wrote it. It’s not meant to be taken seriously. Please enjoy <3

THIRD POV

It was a silly idea, truly. Y/N and her friend had been out at the nearest bar and after a few drinks, they ended up discussing paranormal stuff. Somehow the conversation morphed into the two of them planning on playing with the Ouija board Y/N had somewhere in her apartment, possibly hidden in her closet or underneath her bed to gather dust. In their tipsy minds, it sounded like a perfect plan.

As Y/N returned home alone, she remembered that. She decided to find the board and get it ready for tomorrow. But as she found it hiding underneath her bed, she got an idea.

What if she played alone? It’s not like anything would actually happen, but it could be fun nevertheless. Surely, she would laugh at herself about it afterwards. So that’s what she did. Y/N set up the board on the floor, lit up a few candles to set the mood. She turned off all the lights and covered the mirrors in her bedroom. In order to play, she quickly read the instructions. Just like that, she was ready to get started.

As much as she was convinced that it was fake, it still made her nervous. There was always that small chance that it would work, right?

“Okay, I’m calling in good spirits. No negative entities are welcome here,” Y/N started as the online instructions had instructed her. “If anyone’s actually there, I would like to play with you.” Gosh, that sounded so wrong, she thought.

She sat on the floor with her fingers on the pointer. After a few moments of silence later, nothing happened which relieved her. She sank her shoulders and smiled, feeling much more comfortable now that it hadn’t moved. “This is so stupid, it’s not like this board could actually summon a demon,” The woman laughed by herself, giving her words zero thoughts whatsoever. 

If only she had known the power of her words.

As if on cue, something happened. The pointer began to shake underneath her fingers which startled her out of her skin. Y/N let out a scream as she got up from the floor, watching in horror as the Ouija board shook wildly. That was not supposed to happen! “Holy fuck, shit…fuck!” Y/N whimpered in horror. Her eyes were glued to the board. Once it began to levitate, she almost passed out.

Was she dreaming?

Or was she drunk? Y/N hadn’t had that much to drink either.

Her heart was pounding so hard from fear that she felt it all the way up in her throat. She wanted to run away, but her entire body was frozen in shock. Her fight or flight response seemed to betray her.

A bright light came seemingly out of nowhere. It was so bright in fact that Y/N had to close her teary eyes. A few moments later, the light seemed to vanish, and she heard that the board dropped back on the floor. Terrorized by what she saw, she still decided to look at the board. What she saw next was definitely not a Ouija board.

There was a man, a tall man in fact, standing right in front of her. He had ginger hair, an all-black outfit and round sunglasses. Although the lenses were dark, she noticed that he had yellow eyes. Yellow! The man, or whatever it was, seemed annoyed. “Aw fuck! Couldn’t this have happened a little later? I was just in the middle of something!” The stranger groaned in a…British accent?

“What the fuck are you?” Y/N cried in fear, wanting to keep a distance between her and the man. 

“There’s no need to be so rude, damn,” the ginger man, creature, whatever replied to her. Shivers ran down Y/N’s spine. In her mind, she was convinced that she had just summoned death itself into her own bedroom. She wanted to scream and cry, to run as far away as she could, but she could only stand there as her world began to spin wildly. Her vision began to brighten until she saw white. A split second later, her body failed her as she lost consciousness.

The demon, Crowley, wanted to leave. But he had been summoned and now there was an unconscious woman on the floor inf front of him. As pissed off as he was, he decided to wake her up. Surely, the candles would burn down her house if he just left her like that. “Get up, will you?” Crowley sighed and squat down on the floor right next to her. He poked her body with his long fingers, noticing the details of her appearance. He wondered why on earth she had summoned a demon and why it just had to be him! Crowley had been at Aziraphale’s bookshop as he was summoned. Surely, the angel was worried as hell over his disappearance.

When his poking didn’t bring her back, Crowley cursed under his breath. He wanted to leave, truly, but he couldn’t. He had been summoned. He had to end this ritual she had started, and he couldn’t do that when she was in an entirely different world than him.

                          Y/N furrowed her eyebrows together as her headache grew worse, so bad in fact that it woke her up. Carefully, she rubbed her temples and moaned in pain. Did she really get such a terrible hangover over a couple drinks? She opened her eyes and noticed she was in bed, although she couldn’t remember ever getting in it. Then she heard two men talking. Quickly, she was fully awake, and she remembered what happened.

The man!

Y/N got out of bed and followed the voices. Although she was terrified, she was curious. She walked out of her bedroom and looked into her living room. There were two men there, talking until they noticed Y/N. One of them was the same man that appeared out of thin air. The other one looked much kinder. He had light locks of hair, big blue eyes and beige clothes. For a moment, it was perfectly quiet in her apartment. Little did Y/N know she had a demon and an angel in her living room. She was convinced at this point that this was a fever dream.

“Someone’s finally awake! Great. Now just end what you started so we can leave,” The ginger one broke the silence. He sounded angry which was indeed horrifying. Y/N didn’t know them or what they were capable of.

It made the other man sigh, “Crowley, can’t you see she’s terrified?”

What kind of a name was Crowley? Why was the other one so considerate? Nothing made sense to Y/N in that moment.  

The same man continued, “Hello, I’m Aziraphale and this is my friend Crowley. I know you’re scared, but I promise that you’re just fine,” Aziraphale tried to ease her mind a little bit as Crowley rolled his eyes in the background and crossed his arms like a grumpy child.

“How did you…where did you come from?” Y/N managed to say something despite her worries.

“You summoned me, remember? Aziraphale just followed me,” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale couldn’t just ignore it when Crowley vanished into thin air right in front of his nose. Of course, he followed the demon! A little curiosity went a long way. “This doesn’t usually happen. You see, in order to actually summon a demon…”

“A demon?!” Y/N breathed out in shock and her eyes widened. It sounded absurd, but it would explain what she saw.

“He’s not a bad demon! You know, he used to be an angel…” Aziraphale tried to speak, but he was cut off again.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed, angry that the angel had to mention it to this stranger woman.

What the hell was going on? Had Y/N lost it? She was beginning to believe that.

“As I was trying to say,” Aziraphale raised his gentle voice ever so slightly, “summoning a demon requires a lot of spiritual power. You didn’t summon him for no reason. Now would you like to introduce yourself, dear?”

Something about Aziraphale was so calming. Yes, the situation was absolutely wild and unbelievable. Y/N was scared because there were two men in her home claiming to be demons. But this man had a presence which helped her relax. It was so overpowering, so magical. “I’m Y/N,” She said surprisingly calmly. The closer Aziraphale was, she more relaxed she became.

“Alright, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this little mishap and then we can all go on about our days,” Aziraphale smiled so cheerfully, as if this situation wasn’t terrifying at all.

Crowley sat on the arm of Y/N’s couch and he crossed his long legs, “Why did you even summon a demon if you’re so scared?”

Someone wasn’t happy to be summoned. Y/N almost felt sorry for ever touching that Ouija board. “I didn’t mean to! I just…well, I didn’t think it would work, okay?” She defended herself honestly. “Also, how am I supposed to believe you’re a demon...an angel, whatever. This is crazy!”

“Oh, you want proof?” Crowley smirked, as if she dared him to do something. He suddenly stood up straight again, getting ready to give her a little fright.

On second thoughts, she didn’t want proof. She was terrified enough and even the sheer possibility that they were speaking the truth was absurd. It would confirm to her, a human, that demons and angels existed. That kind of information would surely mess with her head. “No!” Y/N took it back.

“Oh, such a bummer!” Crowley muttered. He was already getting excited over the thought of scaring her by showing her his true form. It’s not like it mattered anymore. She had seen him appear out of thin air so what’s another supernatural experience more on top of that?

Aziraphale felt his stress levels rise as he stood between the two of them. He couldn’t believe they ended up in that situation. But somehow, he was convinced they were supposed to find Y/N. There was a very high energy radiating from her which almost told the angel that she could be useful. As risky as it was, he wanted to be friends with the mortal. Perhaps she could have something to do with the doomsday?

“Can you please just end this and then finish whatever you have to with Aziraphale? I’m tired of this,” Crowley began to get impatient.

“How do I ‘end this’?” Y/N wondered. She truly had no idea.

Crowley hung his head low as he tried to stay calm. Was she for real? “Did you read any instructions whatsoever before you decided to ruin my day?”

Aziraphale almost giggled at the situation. Although it was serious, it was a little bit amusing. But he managed to bite his lips together to stay quiet.

“I read something online,” She admitted. Y/N was oddly calm now. So far, they hadn’t made any indications that they would harm her. Besides, when she passed out, one of them had moved her to her bed. If they wanted to hurt her, surely, they would’ve done that already. So, she concluded that she didn’t have to be as terrified as she was.

“Okay then do whatever you read. I hate being trapped in here,” Crowley admitted. Wow. He couldn’t have been any harsher, now could he?

“Okay, I end this session. Whatever. Is that it?” Y/N mumbled a little awkwardly. Both Crowley and Aziraphale looked at her quietly. Nothing seemed to happen, at least nothing visible to her eyes. Did it work? Y/N didn’t even know what was supposed to happen!

That’s when Crowley cracked a smile, “See? That wasn’t so hard!” It was as if some magical bonds had let go of him and made him ten times less moody. Good for him, Y/N thought.

“Now, how about we discuss how you got him here in the first place?” Aziraphale suggested excitedly. He was naturally curious, so this was all fun and games for the angel. As long as he stayed, Aziraphale stayed. They had a conversation to finish and it didn’t matter if they did that at the bookshop or this Y/N’s apartment.

_____________________________________________

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this. Your feedback would be highly appreciated  💚

[ubemango]

commission 5: otiyr!hoseok

note: for anon who was so kind to help me back in November! I am so sorry this took so long to get out v_v;;; ........... I hope you enjoy ;_;!!!!!

note 2: U kno when person A be like *super tough on the outside AND has no Knowledge of baring themselves to someone AT ALL AND!!!!!! IS SOFT TO ONLY ONE PERSON BECAUSE THEY THINK THEY CAN BARE THEMSELVES TO THEM* and then person B be like *I am the only person they can bare themselves to so I try really hard to get them to come out of their shell ONLY IF THEY WANT TO this is a healthy relationship I like to poke at them sometimes, it’s fine*? Yea this is that but make it more pine-y. Best friends to lovers? It’s more likely than you think!

Coach Park blew the whistle. Obviously this meant that practice had finished, but Hoseok was convinced it’s what called upon the bad omen.

The hockey team’s time at the rink ended right at 3pm. This gave Hoseok exactly ten minutes to shower, three minutes to fend off a nagging Yoongi for practice again the next day, and twenty seconds to realize he had one minute to reject Soojin if he wanted to make it to class on time.

He had no idea how long she’d been there. She sat like a flower, right at the edge of the bleachers, cardigan wrought so tight around her shoulders as if to fend off the tundras. He wondered if she was waiting for Jeongyeon—the figure skaters got the rink for the next three hours now—and that is when he made the fateful mistake of catching Soojin’s eye right when he was about to slip through the exit.

“H-Hoseok!”

First, the freeze-up. Hoseok adjusted his gym bag for the sake of fidgeting; he didn’t even get the chance to pretend he didn’t see her, creep away unnoticed. She’s fast, anyhow, hopping over the bench and standing shy in front of him just as he’s turned around.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Hoseok nodded, only slightly pained. “Needed something?”

Behind her, Hoseok watched Jeongguk coming up, wiggling his eyebrows at him right as he passed by and out the door. Flaunting that exit like it was meant to encourage him to stay just a little longer. Hoseok felt threatened. Soojin took no notice.

“Yeah… it’s—well. How are you?”

“Fine.”

(Soojin most likely had no idea he had class at 3:15.)

“Oh! That’s… good. Well—I don’t want to keep you for long, and I-I know… i-it’s kind of sudden, but. We’ve been talking for a while now and I just—wanted to ask if you wanted to—just—hang out, someday. Like go out, or whatever.”

Ah, Hoseok thought sadly, I’m going to die, right here.

The first response he considered was to refute her claim that they’d been talking for a while—Soojin had offered help with chemistry homework when Jimin wasn’t available for tutoring anymore. He wasn’t aware that discussing the halogenations of alkanes over text qualified as the talking stage. That made him feel weirdly old.

Something else he considered: she was very pretty. He could admit to that. Soojin had eyes like raindrops, small ears with moon-shaped studs. An easy gait except for when she was nervous—and she looked very, very nervous.

Soojin was a nice person. Soojin deserved a nice answer.

“I don’t want to,” he said, which was not a nice answer.

He realized this the second Soojin’s gaze dropped to the floor. It reminded Hoseok of those sparkly cartoon girls, the teardrops that teased, never fell. She wouldn’t cry. No one ever cried for him like that.

“Ah—sure, that’s… fine.”

Hoseok never prided himself for being curt. He was just consistent at saying the wrong things, he remembered you saying, and he had lecture starting in less than a minute. Combine all these together, mix in the inability to read a situation properly, and you got the everlasting unease of being Utterly and Ridiculously Fucked. He felt very pained now.

Hoseok watched Soojin fidget again, shifting her stance. Contemplating that exit Hoseok just wanted to go through.

He was supposed to say something now.

“You can delete my number, if you want. I don’t mind. You don’t need it anymore, right? Since we already handed in that assignment.”

She was quiet. Slowly, Hoseok watched her face transform into what he could only guess was unabated anger. Her nose scrunched.

Then she slapped him.

Hoseok, holding his cheek (which did not ache at all, Soojin wasn’t strong like that), watched her stomp out, shoving the doors open with an animosity he didn’t think she had.

He was most definitely going to be late for class.

.

.

.

The astrophysics study commons is a quaint, aggressive space. There’s posters of Saturn and chalkboard lining the walls with confusing equations scribbled in white and at least five people arguing about velocity in the corner farthest away. This is where people find answers and actually make sense of situations. Hoseok  discusses his tragedy here for this exact purpose.

You sit back in your chair, playing with your slide rule. “She text you after?”

“Nope.”

“Did you want me to give my opinion?”

“Sure.”

You slap him.

“What—!” Now Hoseok has had plenty of time to dwell on his follies last night. But a second time? He wonders if he actually deserves good things in his life. He rubs at the poor spot on his cheek. “You didn’t need to resort to violence!”

“You’re so stupid!”

It’s not unlike you to tell it as it is. He’s known you for seventeen years now, the nicest thing you’ve ever said to him was back in fourth grade when you’d called him a good co-parent of your pet caterpillar. “Damn.”

“I mean you’ve always been bad with these things but I didn’t think you’d do something like that.”

“Like what?”

“Be a complete asshole,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t think it was that bad—“

“You told her to delete your number!”

So it was a bad move. He recognizes this. “It’s not like I don’t feel bad.”

The silence lingers as you catch your breath, watch him pensively. Something about the speed of light is being discussed in the background. He feels weirdly exposed.

“I want to try something,” you say finally.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow at you. “What.”

You stare at him blankly. For a second he thinks you’re going to slap him a second time, but instead comes—

“Hoseok, I really like you.”

The coldest, startling feeling runs up his spine. He reflexively says, “That’s disgusting,” and comes to the conclusion that the universe hates him.

“See! You can’t just say that!” You squawk.

“Why not?!”

“What if I had secret feelings for you that had been festering for years and you broke my heart?!”

“Do you?” Hoseok says, slightly alarmed.

“Wha—would you be mad if I did?”

“I would be mad if you did.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying. You’re so mean about feelings.” He watches you focus on the chalkboard behind his ear. He briefly remembers drawing a loopy spaceship on it. “Look. I’m gonna pretend to be a girl confessing to you, and I want you to be more—sentimental. Okay?”

This is the weirdest thing about you. For someone so annoyingly logical about science, you still somehow kept in touch with romance. The dewy-eyed. Everything Hoseok didn’t know. He remembers junior year and the slow dance with Yubok, and how he accidentally fumbled his knuckles against her back—too low, she’d whispered harshly—and how you’d come back from hiding behind one of those big planters near the entrance, looking sparkly and gentle, mussed up, and somehow he knew you were having the best night of your life, and he’d just accidentally ruined his. He remembers that he has never been cut out for this.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok sneers, thinking about how the universe loved you.

“Too bad,” you say. “I’m gonna start. Hoseok?”

He might get smacked a third time if he doesn’t comply, so he replies, “Yeah?”

You feign shyness. Casting your eyes down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I-I… Well, I just wanted to… tell you something.”

“Sure,” he says.

Your timidness slips into anger in a blink. “I said be sentimental!”

“What—did you want to tell me?” He tries again, shrinking.

“I think—Well, I think you’re really cute—and—“ you cross your arms, and he so badly wants to yell at you to stop— “and… I was wondering. If. You wanted to grab coffee sometime?”

His answer rolls down his tongue too fast for him to catch. “No,” he says flatly, and instantly he flinches to block your slap against his arm.

“Hoseok!”

“I can’t take this seriously.”

“But I want you to be in tune with your feelings,” you whine.

“I’m plenty in tune with my feelings,” he argues. “And I’m feeling invaded right now.”

“There’s a good two feet between us right now.”

“You’re breathing in my direction, it’s enough.”

You ignore this, and reach for his hand lain flat on the table. “How does this feel?”

Surprisingly, the first word that comes to his mind is safe. But that is not a safe response. “Feels—like you’re holding my hand?”

“Ugh. Just—look into my eyes,” you urge next.

“Okay.”

They don’t curve into softness like Soojin’s does. Your gaze is hard, strikes him so hard it’s almost mortifying. Then your hand squeezes his. He discovers that he likes it.

“I really like you, Hoseok,” you say, oozing sweetness in your voice. Subdued, something you were not. Hoseok wants to throw up. “So please just consider me, okay?”

He nods, speechless.

You revert right back to your previous stance and let go of his hand. It’s almost like a betrayal. Hoseok wonders why his heart is leaping. “So how was that?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” he spits.

“I’m helping you. Look. Let’s make it a thing! I’ll teach you how to be romantic and all that stuff.”

“I’m not trusting the expert of Tiger Beat romance, thank you very much.”

You ignore his quip. “You’re a good guy, Hoseok. Soojin might’ve come on a little too strong and so did you but—really! You’re a good guy! Who deserves love and stuff because it’s just nice to have!”

Hoseok sighs. It’s not that he hated the idea of being in love, he just couldn’t help but be unavailable. Pre-occupied. He said things he didn’t mean. You know this about it him.

“Fine.” And before you can cheer, he adds, “But don’t… tell anyone about this.”

“But the big scary hockey man getting slapped by the tiniest person on campus story is so—“

“Don’t push it,” he says.

“Whatever.” You snort. “Yes, fine, it stays between us. Yay! Okay. Tomorrow I have a study group so we might need to meet up two days from now, let me check my schedule…”

You grab your planner from your bag, scanning the pages. Hoseok has the vaguest feeling that he’s in trouble.

[love-killed-the-superstar]

Pinch Hitter

Written for @codesecretsanta 2020!!

Hey, @nemesisadraste!! It’s me, your secret santa!! I heard you wanted a slice of samodd so I was ofc 100000% down to clown. Hope you enjoy!!!! It’s a little group chat heavy and I apologise, but there’s some actual prose around the halfway point haha

Can also be read here on AO3!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323549

ngl I would actually recommend reading it on ao3 because of formatting hahaha but anyway enjoy!!

Pinch Hitter

DIRECT MESSAGE: Odd Della Robbia

(11:43PM) Odd Della Robbia: SAMMMMMM

(11:45PM) Sam Suarez: yyyyea?

(11:45PM) Odd Della Robbia: XANA ATTACK. NUCLEAR SHIT. COVER FOR US PLSSSS SHOULDNT BE TOO LONG 🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀

(11:46PM) Sam Suarez: sure thing sure thing go save the world n shit 👍👍

(11:46PM) Sam Suarez: was only going to stay up late rewatching good omens anyway

(11:47PM) Odd Della Robbia: hero. incredible woman. love of my life

(11:47PM) Odd Della Robbia: and say hi to you know who for meeeee 😻

(11:48PM) Sam Suarez: crowley is a fictional character odd, he cant hear you

(11:48PM) Odd Della Robbia: but he's so sexy and strong 😻😻😻

(11:48PM) Odd Della Robbia: not as sexy and strong as you, ofc ofc

(11:49PM) Sam Suarez: jesus odd go save the world already and leave me alone

(11:49PM) Odd Della Robbia: SO COLDDDD 🙀🙀🙀

(11:49PM) Odd Della Robbia: still love you tho

(11:49PM) Sam Suarez: still love you too ok NOW GO

…

DIRECT MESSAGE: Jeremie Belpois

(1:24AM) Jeremie Belpois: Samantha?

(1:27AM) Sam Suarez: sup belpois

(1:27AM) Jeremie Belpois: Motion sensor went off. Pretty sure Jim is out and about. Try to buy us some time?

(1:28AM) Sam Suarez: shit alright. i'll see what i can do. b-team already know???

(1:29AM) Jeremie Belpois: They do. The four of you work something out, please? Thanks.

(1:30AM) Sam Suarez: ofc. hey btw hows odd doing??? ok???

(1:30AM) Jeremie Belpois: 80 life points and going strong, Sam.

(1:30AM) Sam Suarez: sweet 👍👍

…

GROUP CHAT: Lyoko B-Team REPRESENT

(1:31AM) Sam Suarez: what's our plan then home slices!!!!!!! 💪😤

(1:32AM) William Dunbar: Still don't know why I'm considered a b teamer but okay 😒

(1:32AM) Sam Suarez: don’t fucking complain william at least you get to be in the main group chat, 🙄🙄

(1:32AM) Elisabeth “Sissi” Delmas: ^^^^^^

(1:33AM) Laura Gauthier: Try getting added, then removed, and still being on the waitlist to rejoin

(1:33AM) Sam Suarez: ouch lol

(1:33AM) Laura Gauthier: ANYWAY, we need a plan of action. Jim’s doing the rounds. Any thoughts?

(1:33AM) William Dunbar: I’ll go stuff Jeremie’s duvet 🙋♂️ Laura you go to Aelita’s, Sam come up with some sort of distraction 👉

(1:33AM) Sam Suarez: hold on WHY DO I GET STUCK WITH THE HARD JOB?? 😠😠

(1:34AM) William Dunbar: to prove yourself, young one. how else do you plan on getting into the lyoko warriors group chat?? 🤷♂️

(1:34AM) Sam Suarez: SHIT U RIGHT… 👀

(1:34AM) Sam Suarez: its my chance… to shine

(1:34AM) Elisabeth “Sissi” Delmas: Why does everyone forget im fucking here?? Give me something to do????? 🙋😤🤦♀️

(1:35AM) William Dunbar: nobody forgot you sissi, shit 🙄 take odd and ulrichs room, if u think u can wrangle kiwi 🥝

(1:35AM) Sam Suarez: i would like it on the record that i did in fact forget about sissi 🙋🙋

(1:35AM) Elisabeth “Sissi” Delmas: FUCK NO. THAT DOG DOES NOT RESPECT ME 😤😤😤😤😤

(1:35AM) Elisabeth “Sissi” Delmas: Also RUDE..

(1:35AM) Sam Suarez: priorities babe or the fucking world ends. your call tho!!!!!! ✌️🤪

(1:36AM) Elisabeth “Sissi” Delmas: ………………. F I N E 🤦♀️

…

GROUP CHAT: Lyoko B-Team REPRESENT

(1:59AM) William Dunbar: @Sam Suarez What did you tell Jim?????? He’s 100% doing head counts now you dumb fuck 🤦♂️

(1:59AM) Sam Suarez: don’t take that tone with me dickbar, he’s looking for a sick GIRL. if you stuffed the fucking duvets properly we won’t have a problem, he’ll only be peeking into rooms anyway 😠😠

(2:00AM) Laura Gauthier: And what do you suppose happens when he finds NOBODY and comes to the conclusion that you lied to him? You have to think these things through, Sam, Jeremie’s not planning on doing any return trips if he can help it.

(2:00AM) Sam Suarez: yall are jerks, YOU put me up to the task of cooking up an excuse, don’t complain that it was shit!!!! geez!!!!

(2:00AM) Elisabeth “Sissi” Delmas: God you’re all useless. I can fake-cry, I took a drama workshop over summer. I’ll take the hit but you OWE ME. 😤

(2:01AM) Sam Suarez: there are no favours in this sissi, we took an oath. we are heroes of justice now and you don’t get compensation for saving the world, its superhero 101

(2:01AM) Elisabeth “Sissi” Delmas: Shut up Sam, you’re buying me dinner tomorrow. Take me somewhere nice 💅🙆😘

(2:01AM) Sam Suarez: but i don’t date girls who only save the world to reap the benefits, this simply won’t work out 😔😔

(2:01AM) William Dunbar: Take your flirting to private message, I don't want to be implicated in this sordid affair if Odd finds out

(2:01AM) Sam Suarez: ahahahahahahaahahahaha we got a funny man over here

(2:02AM) William Dunbar: Lololol

(2:02AM) Laura Gauthier: SHUT UP ALL OF YOU.

(2:02AM) Laura Gauthier: I can hear Jim coming, play it cool

(2:02AM) William Dunbar: Hahahaaha good luck 😂😂

(2:07AM) William Dunbar: You all alive……………..? 👀

(2:07AM) Sam Suarez: we sure are, listen to this

(2:07AM) Sam Suarez: sissi fake cried, told Jim she was having the worst cramps of her life and started listing off the side effects of the birth control she’s on. It was the greatest thing ive ever heard and im absolutely buying her dinner tomorrow, and yes it will be candle-lit 🍽️🍷💍

(2:07AM) William Dunbar: Holy shit. 👀 My deepest respect. 🙏 I will put in a good word with Master Belpois Himself, she deserves a seat at the grown ups table for this 🤷♂️

(2:07AM) Sam Suarez: no doubt no doubt

(2:08AM) Laura Gauthier: That was a close one. Sissi’s methods are unorthodox but hey, it worked. Next time find an excuse that doesn’t create more work for us, all right, Sam?

(2:08AM) Sam Suarez: shit you’re ungrateful as fuck. Damn . 🙄🙄

(2:08AM) Laura Gauthier: I’M JUST SAYING

(2:08AM) William Dunbar: Come on, lets not fight, I’m too tired for this shit 😴

(2:09AM) Sam Suarez: so go to bed, dumbass

…

DIRECT MESSAGE: Odd Della Robbia

(2:59AM) Odd Della Robbia: guess who just got DEVIRTUALISED!!!! 😹😹🔫🔫

(3:02AM) Sam Suarez: oh no, poor baby, you were doing so well

(3:03AM) Odd Della Robbia: right????? fucking megatanks, im telling you, they suck so much 😿

(3:03AM) Sam Suarez: well, if you’re out of points now, come by my room and we can play animal crossing together

(3:04AM) Odd Della Robbia: would that i could, sam, would that i could

(3:04AM) Odd Della Robbia: but theres a fucking building contractor lurking somewhere in the factory, xana-possessed, trying to take me the fuck OUT 🙀🙀🙀

(3:04AM) Sam Suarez: just tell him you’re not interested????? Its what i told sissi earlier

(3:05AM) Odd Della Robbia: ahahahahahahahaha

(3:05AM) Odd Della Robbia: first of all, WOW WE GOT A FUNNYMAN OVER HERE

(3:05AM) Sam Suarez: lololol

(3:05AM) Odd Della Robbia: second of all, i demand to hear that story as soon as i get back. Nobody turns sissi down and gets away with it 👀

(3:06AM) Sam Suarez: well, i cant help it

(3:06AM) Sam Suarez: my heart… belongs to another… a mr odd della robbia… im in the throes… of love… 💓💓

(3:06AM) Odd Della Robbia: OH!!! SAM!!!!!!! 😻😻😻💓💓💓

(3:06AM) Odd Della Robbia: luv u. So much

(3:06AM) Sam Suarez: same same lololol

(3:07AM) Odd Della Robbia: when i get back we ca

(3:07AM) Sam Suarez: ????

(3:07AM) Sam Suarez: odd????

(3:07AM) Sam Suarez: come in, funny man????

message failed

(3:08AM) Sam Suarez: odd if you die i will be so mad

message failed

…

DIRECT MESSAGE: Ulrich Stern

(3:10AM) Ulrich Stern: Hey Sam, it’s Ulrich

(3:10AM) Ulrich Stern: Einstein has another favour to ask

(3:11AM) Sam Suarez: first of all you dont have to tell me its you, the app TELLS me whos messaging me, this isnt a text

(3:11AM) Sam Suarez: second, tell me my boyfriend isn’t getting fucking murdered by a building contractor 😠😠

(3:11AM) Ulrich Stern: Huh???

(3:11AM) Ulrich Stern: Oh yeah. He’s holding his own but there’s not much time. You need to go keep watch outside Jeremie’s door while Laura transfers some files. If we get busted and she can’t complete the file transfer… well. The world does actually depend on it, so. Yeah

(3:11AM) Sam Suarez: isnt william the better option anyway?? Isnt he only like 3 doors down from you 🙄

(3:12AM) Ulrich Stern: He’s not answering. Probably asleep already, he’s a dumbass. Please, you’re our only option, Sissi isn’t answering either

(3:12AM) Sam Suarez: oh theres a GREAT story behind that but i’ll let her tell it tomorrow

(3:13AM) Sam Suarez: and fine, but seriously is odd okay?? If this dude is more than 5’5 he’ll have a problem taking him down, you know how scrawny he is

(3:13AM) Ulrich Stern: He’s tougher than you think, Sam. Trust me on that one.

(3:14AM) Ulrich Stern: (Also I am about to go save him from getting his ass beat)

(3:14AM) Sam Suarez: all right all right

(3:15AM) Sam Suarez: but hey stern, when this has all blown over, we’re having a serious talk about promoting me to the big leagues

(3:16AM) Ulrich Stern: ...Big leagues?

(3:16AM) Sam Suarez: im talking main group chat, my guy. MAIN. GROUP CHAT. 👏👏

…

DIRECT MESSAGE: Odd Della Robbia

(3:30AM) Odd Della Robbia: im coming mi amore… i beat up a fully grown man with my bare fists… pushed him down some stairs… it was amazing 😼💯

(3:31AM) Sam Suarez: please say you didnt break any bones, belpois isnt planning on reversing time right???

(3:31AM) Sam Suarez: like even if was going to kill u he was only possessed by xana

(3:32AM) Odd Della Robbia: heh i broke nothing!! Im a hero of justice after all 💪😼

(3:32AM) Odd Della Robbia: ulrich may have given him some bruises tho 😹

(3:32AM) Sam Suarez: ehh i’ll take that over this guy waking up with fucked up limbs and shit

(3:32AM) Odd Della Robbia: no doubt no doubt

(3:33AM) Odd Della Robbia: …

(3:33AM) Odd Della Robbia: anyway, night sam 💞

(3:33AM) Sam Suarez: oh, ok 🙄

(3:33AM) Sam Suarez: night, stupid. love you ❤️

…

Despite his parting message, Odd shows up anyway.

He slinks into her dorm room as it draws to 4:00AM, half-heartedly kicking off his shoes at the door and closing it with a softness that’s surprising given how exhausted he looks; almost as though it is second nature at this point to keep quiet, avoid drawing more attention. Her boyfriend is a professional, after all, when it comes to saving the world on the down-low.

Samantha watches Odd from her desk, where she is sat up browsing Twitter and waiting for the inevitable ‘we need you to do something else before the night is through’ messages from Jeremie. She’s been listening to the same Jay Som song on loop for over an hour now, and it leaks quietly from her laptop speakers, a strange extra layer of ambiance to the puzzle that is the hour before birdsong begins. A Baymax-patterned blanket is thrown around her shoulders for warmth, and there’s an empty can of energy drink within arms reach.

“Wrong room,” she says in a low voice, expecting him to jump anyway; he doesn’t. Instead he squints at her in the dim light, leaning back against the door with a weary sigh. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

“Wasn’t, but… here I am.”

He doesn’t really elaborate further than that.

“Ulrich know you came this way?”

“He stayed behind to talk things over with Jeremie. The overbike got fucked up in Lyoko and they’re gonna upgrade it or something. Jer-bear needed to know the specifics about his experience driving it so they can do some fine-tuning, I think. Y’know, so he doesn’t drift too far and plunge into the digital sea. Shit can get real bad, real fast.”

“I’ll bet. So, you triumphed over evil tonight?” she guesses, shutting her laptop lid and rising to her feet. Her blanket trails behind her as she does. “XANA can’t attempt to destroy the world for another 24 hours?”

“You know it,” he says, yawning. “And now, it’s bedtime.”

Thank fuck they don’t have classes tomorrow. She’ll happily lie in til noon with Odd, catching up on these lost hours.

Sam steps over her skateboard and some laundry she kicked aside earlier, a little embarrassed that her floor is so messy, but she knows Odd is too tired to even comprehend the state of her room right now. As it is, he’s swaying a little while standing, stifling a yawn against his hand - it’s only a matter of time til he crashes.

“All right, guess you’re here to stay. Hop in.”

“Did you know? You’re a goddess. An angel. A truly spectacular woman among women,” he mumbles.

“Flattery won’t give me back the hours of sleep I lost sending Jim on that wild goose chase earlier,” Sam muses, wiggling under her covers, still bundled up in the blanket like a crepe. She doesn’t know the full story, nor does she imagine she’ll get it until tomorrow when the group meet up for lunch - something about XANA threatening to blow up a reactor on some nearby building site, creating some devastating damage to the local area - but at this point she’s too tired to listen and Odd is too tired to explain.

Odd flops down on the bed beside her.

“Thank you for helping us out,” he sighs, too tired to even look at her. His limbs are all floppy. If she nudged him off the edge of the bed now, he’d probably just fold up like a pair of pants and stay there til morning. “What did you do, exactly?”

“Told him I heard someone crying in the bathroom and thought maybe someone was unwell,” she says with a shrug. “Jim checked the girls bathroom and did room checks, which gave me, William and Laura some time to sneak into your respective rooms and act as extra head counts. Just being under the covers was enough, I don’t think he was doing anything more than cursory peeking into rooms with a tiny flashlight. Wasn’t the most innovative red herring to give him, but it did the trick.”

“If it keeps them off our backs, the creativity isn’t worth factoring in,” Odd murmurs, tugging off his jeans and chucking them at the wall opposite. The impact scuffs the wall slightly, but Sam doesn’t care. Delmas doesn’t give them shit about damages to the room unless it makes the room completely uninhabitable anyway, which is why there’s a literal hole in her wall through to the room next door that she’s had to artfully cover with a Front Bottoms poster.

“Anyway, Sissi distracted him. I’ll let her tell the story herself, it was fucking hilarious. Then Ulrich messaged to say he needed me to keep watch while Laura sent over some files from the computer in Jeremie’s room to the supercomputer, which - I mean, in this day and age, why the fuck doesn’t he keep everything on the cloud anyway? So I was stuck doing that, because apparently, William had already fallen asleep again, the fucking lug. Can you believe that? You’d think, being your Lyoko pinch hitter and all, he’d be better at staying awake.”

“Oh, I can believe it,” Odd drawls, tugging off his shirt and balling it up, sending it to land atop his crumpled jeans with a flourish. He rubs his eyes and peers around. “Got that old shirt for me to sleep in?”

Rolling her eyes fondly, Sam reluctantly peels back the bedsheets once more and pads over to her wardrobe, pulling it open and sifting through until she finds what she’s looking for; an old Hootie & The Blowfish T-shirt, handed down to her by one of her older brothers. It always hangs right off of her, so on Odd’s scrawny frame, it’s basically an Ebenezer Scrooge nightgown.

“Here.” She tosses it over to him and he wriggles into it happily. “You might as well keep it, these days you wear it more than me.”

“If I walked around in a band shirt that hangs off me like a smock I’d never hear the end of it from Ulrich,” he says with a laugh, flopping back against the covers and sighing deeply. “He makes fun of my little chicken legs enough as it is.”

“Well, I love your little chicken legs, so he can keep his opinions to himself.”

She slides into bed beside him and he’s cold to touch; the freezing factory, coupled with walking back in the chilly night air, must have really done a number on him. He snuggles against her happily, mumbling, “Can I warm my feet on you?”

“Will you respect my wishes if I say no?” she retorts. He grins as she sends him a knowing look, before placing his feet, two tiny, stinky blocks of ice, against her shins. They both pull the covers up over their noses, staring at the ceiling in dazed silence for a few moments, before she adds, “He won’t miss you when you get back?”

“Not likely, I don’t fucking spoon him to sleep, Sam,” he snorts. “He’ll be too tired to care where the fuck I’ve snuck off to, and he can handle anything Kiwi throws his way, so it’s fine. I’m sure he’s capable of connecting the dots.”

“Fine, shithead, I’ll drop it.”

She continues to stare up at the ceiling, but she can feel his keen gaze on her, and rolls over to face him. He watches her carefully.

“Are you mad at me?”

“What? No.”

“Even though it’s nearly four in the morning and you spent the whole night covering for us?”

“It’s what happens when you agree to saving the world, isn’t it?” she points out. Sam’s eyes adjust to the darkness, and she notices for the first time that there’s the beginnings of bruises around his neck. She reaches up to trace them with her fingers, and he instinctively wriggles away. Her breath catches in her throat. “…XANA did this to you?”

“Actually, it was a building contractor,” he corrects. “He started to choke me, but then Ulrich got him in a headlock and next thing you know… we pushed him down some stairs.”

“It must have been scary,” she mutters. At that, his face melts into a smile, and he prods at her face.

“You’re so serious! Sam, trust me, this happens all the time. I’m indestructible, so it’s fine.”

“How else am I supposed to react, huh? My boyfriend comes home with strangulation marks on his neck and you want me to be all cavalier about it…”

“Because I’m used to it.” Odd pauses. “Well, not strangulation in particular, but getting hurt on the job is kinda everyday stuff.”

Sam scowls. “You're not supposed to pretend like this is normal, Odd.”

“What, you want me to cry and be vulnerable on you?”

“No.”

“You do.”

“Okay, fine, I do! What about it?!” She fixes him with a stern look. “You have to be careful! What’s the point in me staying awake and making distractions and shit if you’re just going to fucking die at the end of it, huh?”

“I’m not going to die.” He cups her face in his hands and fixes her with his own stern look. “Look. I know you haven’t been doing this long, but this happens, okay? Not always, but it does. I mean, you remember the kind of fights you used to pick with me when I would come over with these bruises without telling you why.”

She thinks back to the months leading up to him finally telling her the truth. How scared and hurt she felt, seeing him with these cuts and scrapes, bruises, occasionally even a sprain. She’d gone through all the possibilities in her head - bullying, hate crimes, mugging even. Still, he refused to budge, until one day he just… stopped pretending it was all some big coincidence.

“It was scarier not knowing,” she decides. “At least this way I know what you’re up against, but… I don’t know.”

He leans forward and kisses her on the nose. “I promise you I’m fine. But look, part of being a Lyoko pinch hitter is knowing things get hairy sometimes. I’m gonna get hurt from time to time but if I don’t, the whole world explodes. Or, okay, maybe not literally , most of the time, but I’m like, a drop in the bucket.”

“Well, you’re a drop in the bucket who matters to me,” she reinforces. Staring into his eyes, she can feel her body relax slightly. “Look, I’ll drop it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Good. Now, can we please sleep? I am so tired, I’m starting to forget who I am. You’re about to encounter Grinch Odd, and he’s no fun whatsoever.”

“Oh, is he the one who said my face looked like a beet that one time?” she wonders, raising her eyebrows at him. He groans and pushes her away, covering his face with his hands.

“How many times do I have to tell you XANA fucked with my speech?” he grumbles. “Completely scrambled my words. I was going for beautiful.”

“Sure, sure. When in doubt, blame it on XANA?”

“I mean it! I would never call you a beet! A potato, maybe…”

She shoves him and he both winces and laughs. “Oof, that guy did a number on me.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll beat him up for you then.”

“You’re going to beat up XANA?”

“Sure, how hard could it be? I’ll just like, reach into the supercomputer with my full fist-”

They both burst out laughing and fall back against the pillows.

Once it trickles out, she blinks sleepily at the ceiling.

“I never really thought about how long you guys have been going without us, though.”

Odd quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Us. The B-Team, the Pinch Hitters. The Lyoko Warriors’ freaking PR Team! Without someone pulling the strings you must have run into all sorts of trouble, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Odd laughs. “We used to have the authorities trying to invade the factory. Almost got expelled by Delmas. I almost got sent to a psych ward before, that was fun.”

“Jesus, Odd. Why did it take you so long to introduce other people to the fray?”

He shrugs. “No clue, really. One day we just kinda realised… sometimes it’s better to have people around. No man is an island. That can apply to groups too, I guess.”

“And why would you trust me?” Sam presses on, arms folded over her chest. “Sure, I’m your girlfriend, but I’ve hurt you before. I mean really fucked you over. That whole thing with William…”

“You had no way of knowing,” he says firmly. “It was stupid and immature, sure, but how could you have known?”

She shrugs. “I’ve just been thinking about it, I guess.”

They both lapse into silence, but beneath the covers, Odd reaches for her hand.

“I trust you because I trust you,” he says eventually. “And because if we need some big Lyoko Warriors PR Team, I’d want you at the helm. Who else is going to keep William from swaggering off the side of the planet? He can be kinda self-absorbed.”

“Sissi,” Sam deadpans.

“And who else is going to keep Sissi from turning every XANA distraction into a fucking performative art piece?”

“...Okay, fair.”

“By the way, you still taking her out to dinner tomorrow?”

“Apparently. You should tag along as my date.”

He laughs. “No way, I’m no third wheel.”

Sam leans forward and kisses him gently, before muttering, “By the way, I told Ulrich to get me in the main group chat. Think he’ll do it?”

“Absolutely not,” Odd says cheerfully, kissing her back. “But nice try. Here’s to next time.”

…

GROUP CHAT: Into The Lyokoverse

(9:48AM) Jeremie Belpois added Sam Suarez to Into The Lyokoverse.

(9:48AM) Jeremie Belpois: @Everyone Look who decided to show up!

(9:52AM) Yumi Ishiyama: Oh Hi Sam

(9:59AM) Aelita Schaeffer: hey, look who made it to the big leagues!!

(10:10AM) Odd Della Robbia: SAMMMMMMMMM !!!!!!!!!!

(10:12AM) Sam Suarez: !!!!!!!!

[ourownsideimagines]

You Owe Me $666 for All the Sunglasses I’ve Bought (Crowley x Reader Soulmate AU)

Characters: Reader, Crowley

Requested: Yes

Requested by: Anon

Point of View: Second Person POV

Warnings: Slight angst, cursing, probably OOC Crowley

Words:  2459

A/N: For this, the reader is going to be American. And Ugh I feel like Crowley is OOC in this *cries in celestial* Also, this likely takes place after the events of Good Omens. Also did my best to keep in gender neutral, so let me know if I fucked up.

---

Golden. That was the color your right eye was. The eye that was meant to match your soulmates. It was a beautiful color you thought. Your family, not so much.

You’d been forced to wear sunglasses since the age of three. You didn’t understand why, no one would explain it to you. They simply expected you to do as you were told. For the most part, you did. But when you were alone in the restroom, or even in your own bedroom, you would take them off and admire your eyes in the mirror. One a lovely (color), and the other brilliant gold, slit down the middle like a snake’s.

When you started elementary school, your parents were hesitant. They made sure to explain to all the adults - the principal, the lunch lady, the teachers - that you were NOT allowed to remove the glasses. Ever. The other kids thought you were weird.

Some of them had already found their soulmate. Others had two different shades, some brown and green, others blue and hazel, some different shades of the same color. No one ever had a yellow snake eye.

It was the second grade that another kid finally convinced you to take off your glasses. You’d smiled brightly as you removed them, only to let it fall in utter confusion as he and his group of friends screamed.

The truth spread fast. They all called you freak, and you were a target of non-stop bullying. Even the little girl you’d managed to befriend stopped hanging out with you. The other kids would continuously try to steal your glasses, and when they did, they snapped them in half, leaving your eyes open to the world.

Within a month your parents pulled you from school and decided homeschooling was the next best idea. You were isolated. Alone. The human contact you had was short and dull. The only friends you had consisted of people you talked to online, which were few and far between. Slowly, you began to hate your eyes. Even when alone you tended to wear your glasses.

Both of your siblings found their soulmates by the age of 18. Their eyes were, as one would call then, ‘complete’. You prayed to whoever might be listening for you to finally meet your soulmate, so your eyes would be complete, so you wouldn’t be alone anymore. You would finally be able to safely see the world without a darkened filter. After a while you started to think, maybe your parents were right for making you wear the glasses, but damn, they were expensive.

By the age of 28, you still had not found your soulmate, and you’d spent more money than you could count on sunglasses. Your parents used to get upset at you when you lost your glasses or when they broke. And it wasn’t like you’d been trying to! You came to the conclusion that you had just been born unlucky.

Somehow, though, you caught a break. You’d just finished your second to last year of college when you managed to plan your first ever out-of-the-country trip to London over summer break. Your best friend, Sophie, lived there. Sophie was the only person you felt you could trust completely. You’d met her on a confession blog that she and her soulmate, Anna, ran. You knew them both well, but Sophie had been the first to see your eyes and not treat you like a freak of nature. Anna had only seen them once. Regardless, she was nice to you.

Sophie and Anna had met when they were children, and they had both recalled the moment they realized they the person across from them was the one person in their life they knew could do them no wrong. The one person they could trust completely. You wanted that. Despite everything that damn eye had done for you, you wanted that. You were just afraid of who the snake-eyed person might end up being. Lord, you hoped they were a good person.

Sophie was there to greet you when you arrived at the airport. She was in a light yellow sundress with black tights and black boots, and she held a half-assed sign with your name written on it.

When her eyes landed on you, her face split into a huge grin. She dropped her bag, and the sign and welcomed you with open arms. Despite wanting to keep your composure, you felt a few tears fall down your cheeks in happiness. You’d wanted to meet Sophie for years.

“Welcome to London,” She said as she pulled away. Without hesitation, she gently wiped away your tears. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Me neither.” You smiled widely for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’m just so relieved to get away, even if it’s only for the week.”

“Well I’m going to make sure this is the best week of your life, bitch, so you’ll have to come back.” She said with a wink.

“If I can afford it.” You laughed awkwardly.

“I’ll make sure you can afford it.” Sophie held up a hand and tapped your nose gently with a small ‘boop’ before pulling you out of the airport.

The first stop was the home she and Anna shared. It wasn’t anything huge - it had two rooms, a bathroom, a small living room, and a kitchenette. Anna wasn’t home - according to Sophie, Anna worked weekdays at her father’s furniture business, and did some custom clothing work on the side (in the corner of the living room you saw her sewing supplied all piled up in the corner). She wouldn’t be home till later.

“I took the week off,” Sophie admitted. “I want to spend as much time as I’ve got with you.”

“Oh Sophie,” You gushed quietly. “Oh, you didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense! Other than Anna, you are my best friend. I wasn’t gonna let you go around my hometown all alone, I’m not that cruel.” Sophie suddenly gets very serious. “You said you’re not allergic to cats, right?” You nodded slowly and she grinned. “Fantastic!” She skipped over to the door of her and Anna’s shared room and pushed it open.

Moments later, a large, fluffy, white cat bound out, covered from head to toe in dirt. Sophie let out a squeal of surprise.

“Shit!” She said. “Shit, shit, shit!” The cat bounced up at you, attempting to climb up your leg. You jumped back in surprise, but the cat was very determined. “I forgot to put Anna’s plants in the kitchen!” Sophie sighed. “Nina’s knocked them down!” Nina let out a loud pur as you scooped her up in your arms, and she immediately rubbed her head into the skin of your neck. You ran your fingers over her gently, dislodging some of the dirt.

Sophie stormed over, pouting as she looked at Nina.

“You little brat, you fuck up some perfectly good flowers and think you deserve a cuddle?” Nina peered up at her with bored blue eyes. You snorted as Sophie took Nina. “This is why we took away your TV privileges young lady.”

“She has TV privileges?” You asked, laughing.

“Anna and I figured out pretty quickly that Nina likes to watch Benedict Cumberbatch so we usually put on Sherlock or Doctor Strange on to keep her occupied. But recently she was being a little shit so we took away her privileges for two weeks.”

“I mean, I can’t blame her.” You giggled as Sophie avoided Nina’s playful swipes at her face with her paw.

“Ugh, you’re a bastard.” Sophie groaned, setting Nina back down. The cat bolted back towards the bedroom. “No- Gah!” Sophie sighed. “I haven’t… cleaned up yet.” She wiped her face with her hands, effectively smearing dirt on her cheeks.

“Want me to occupy her while you clean?” You offered, to which Sophie was grateful. She tore Nina away from the broken pots and over to you, and you held and played with her for a good twenty minutes while Nina cleaned up the mess. It was when Nina began bapping your face repeatedly that you quickly removed your sunglasses, knowing that if you got any kind of scratches on them you’d have to buy new ones.

“Alright!” Sophie announced, walking out of her room with a trash bag. “My beautiful fiancé’s plants are trashed,” she paused, noticing that you had taken off your shades. You guys met eyes for a long moment and then she smiled. “I was thinking you and I could go to the shop to get some more.”

You smiled, or at least tried to. You set Nina down, who scampered back into the bedroom, trailing dirt behind her.

“Yeah,” you put your glasses back on and stood. “I’m game.” Sophie grabbed her purse, fishing for a moment before pulling out her own pair of shades and putting them on.

“Let’s go then.”

The drive to the gardening shop took no more than ten minutes. The browsing on the other hand, that did seem like it was stopping anytime soon.

“What about these ones?” She picked up a pot of pink tulips, bringing them closer for inspection. It was the ninth plant she’d contemplated, of which she’d only decided on two.

“I thought Anna wasn’t fond of the color pink.” You frowned. Sophie purses her lips.

“Well, that’s mostly true. More pink clothing and accessories. Flowers are okay, I believe.” She held the pot close. “I’m going to hand this to the bloke up front, then we can keep looking.” You nodded, and she went off. You continued to wander, gazing at the different arrangement of flowers, and succulents, and some of the larger plants near the back. You held up a rather small spider plant, and decided that when you got home you were going to spruce up your place with some nice house plants. You’d been thinking about it for a while, but being in that shop just solidified the idea.

You begin making your way back towards the flower when a man rounds the corner and you crash into each other. You stumble back a bit, and take him in. He’s tall, with short, red hair, dressed in what you could consider semi-casual clothes. His eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses, not much unlike your own - including the side shields you sometimes had to put in yourself. He looks a bit annoyed by being ran into, but neither of you say a word because they catch in your throat. 

There’s a sensation of almost burning behind your eye - nothing uncomfortable, to your surprise. But it’s enough that you have to gape, removing your glasses so you could press your hand into it. The man quickly does the same, turning away from you with a short curse.

It’s the moment you’re able to open your eyes again that it hits you. As you stare at this man, you can’t stop yourself from gently grabbing his wrist, something it seems he’s going to jerk away from until his head snaps in your direction, and a pair of brilliant snake eyes stare back at you. The same color as the eye that caused you so much trouble growing up.

You could have cried, and you probably were. The man swallowed thickly, glancing back and forth to make sure no one was around before his eyes settled on you again.

“You’re…” he paused, unsure what to say.

“I thought I was never going to find you.” You blurted out, flushing quickly. “I-I wasn’t sure there was really someone with… well, your eyes.” Hesitantly, you reach up to cup his cheeks, and he watches you closely.

“I didn’t think there was really someone out there for me.” He replied. His eyes searched your own for something, though you weren’t sure what.

“What’s your name?” You asked, pulling away slowly. You were a bit surprised when he caught your hands.

“Crowley.” He gave your hands a light squeeze.

“(Name).” You replied. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Crowley.” You saw the faintest smile on his lips as he let go of your hands, placing his sunglasses back on.

“Likewise, (name).” He looked around again, opening his mouth to speak again when suddenly he was interrupted.

“There you are!” Sophie said from behind you. “Should I keep a leash on you?” She joked. You turned around to face her, and she caught sight of your face for the first time. Her eyes widened. “Oh-” She looked at Crowley, realization truly hitting her. “Oh! Oh, shit.” She laughed, but slapped a hand over her mouth. “Holy shit.”

“Sophie,” You sighed.

“No, no! I’ll leave you be.” She came up to you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug before pulling away, her eyes going between yourself and a slightly amused Crowley. “You know how to get back to the house, right?”

“Yes?” You said, a bit puzzled by the question. Sophie smiled, turning on her heel before sauntering off. “Sophie? Sophie, what the hell.” You hissed, half tempted to follow her before remembering exactly who was standing behind you. You turned back to Crowley, an awkward smile on your face. “I’m… So sorry about her.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Crowley shook his head gently. “I have a friend who may have reacted in the same way, except, well, without all the cursing.”

“Sophie’s been my friend forever now,” You laughed. “She’s the only thing keeping me sane sometimes.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Aziraphale.” He chuckled. There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Seeing him smile made your heart feel warm and fuzzy. Was this what it felt like to be in love? To feel loved?

Lord, you’d only just met the man, but you knew there was nothing you wouldn’t do so see him smile like that forever.

“So, uh, (name),” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know we just met and all, but, uh… Well, I was wondering if you’d like to go get some lunch? There’s a bakery a couple blocks away, and I’m… I’m sure you have many questions about…” He ran a hand through his hair, still stumbling over his words, but you knew exactly what he meant.

His eyes.

“I’d love that.” You agreed with a smile. “Seeing as my tour guide’s basically abandoned me.” You sighed. “Though, you know, my parents taught me never to accept invitations from strangers.”

“Strange? Me? No.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I think you’ll find I’m absolutely normal.” You laughed in response. Then, he held out his arm. “C’mon. I think it’s time we got to know each other. Smiling, you looped your arm with his.

“I look forward to it.”

Let’s just say, you were going to be staying in London for longer than you’d planned.

[katsens-writing]

The Cake

Summary: It’s Pepper’s birthday so Peter and Tony decide to make her a cake.

A/N: Ok, so today isn’t really Pepper’s birthday but it is my birthday and this is an idea I’ve had for awhile but never got around to writing. My plans I had for earlier this week got cancelled, so I thought, what better time to finally get this written? If you like this, check out my masterlist. As always, if you want to be added to my taglist for Marvel, Good Omens, humans-are-weird, or anything else, just shoot me a message. Enjoy! :D (p.s. this was not betaed so please excuse any mistakes. If I catch them I’ll probably correct them later.)

Word Count: About 1.9k.

Content: Fluff. Bad baking. Sarcasm. Maybe one tiny bad word. More fluff. Please me know if I need to add anything!

- - -

     When the smoke alarm went off in the morning, Peter groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket up over his head. Aunt May was probably trying to make breakfast again. He opened his eyes and glanced blearily at the clock. 7:13. He closed his eyes for a second before the shot wide open again. He levitated out of bed and flew down the hall toward the kitchen, his heart racing. Aunt May was never up this early in the morning on a weekend and as he ran down the hall he remembered he and Harley had stayed the night at the compound to help Tony with a project. Smoke filled the kitchen making his eyes water the moment he entered it.

     “FRIDAY, wake everyone up! Activate the fire suppression protocol!” Peter yelled.

     “No! Cancel that Fri, just... open a window!” Tony coughed, fanning at the grey plumes.

     “I got it,” Peter choked. “What’s going on, Mr. Stark?”

     Tony sputtered as he turned to the oven and opened it. “That.”

     Peter walked to Tony’s side and crouched down, peering into the oven at a charred, lumpy mass. “That... doesn’t answer any questions.”

     Tony gave Peter a flat look before rubbing his face. “Today is Pepper’s birthday and I wanted to make her a cake. She’s coming home from visiting her parents and I wanted to surprise her.”

     “That’s a cake?” Peter blurted. He broke out laughing, tears nearly streaming down his face. “The great Tony Stark, defeated by a simple dessert pastry.”

     Tony shot him a withering look before exploding and throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I earned two masters degrees before I turned 19, you think I’d be able to make a birthday cake!”

     “Yeah, masters degrees in engineering. Baking is chemistry, Mr. Stark!” Peter snorted, pulling on oven mitts to pull the molten monstrosity out of the oven.

     Tony’s face lit up and he turned to Peter with a look on his face that made Peter freeze.

     “You’re right, Peter! Hm, if only there was a chemist around who could help me.”

     “Nuh-uh, Mr. Stark!” Peter shook his head vehemently, backing away toward the hall. “I studied biochemistry! Unless you plan on making a cake that’s alive, leave me out of it!”

     “C’mon, Peter, it’s for Pepper!” Tony pleaded, calling after him.

     Peter turned to face Tony, walking backward. “Mr. Stark, you do know that everything I learned about cooking and baking I learned from Aunt May, right?” Peter arched his eyebrows.

     “I promise I won’t hold that against you,” Tony replied quickly, suppressing a shudder as he grabbed Peter by the shoulders and directed him back toward the kitchen.

     Peter groaned. “Why don’t you ask Harley?”

     “Because he’s babysitting Morgan. He owed me after what you two did to the lab last time you were here and you still owe me.”

     Peter stopped in his tracks. “Harley is babysitting Morgan? That’s about as good an idea as you making a cake.”

     “Hey!” Tony snapped.

     “Ok, fine, what about Sam? Bucky? Natasha? Vision?” Peter asked, going through the list of Avengers he knew could turn on an oven without setting something on fire.

     “Sam, Bucky and Steve are out for their run, Natasha and Wanda are gift shopping, Clint and Rhodey are in Quantico screening possible candidates for SHIELD, Banner is in Wakanda helping Shuri research gamma radiation and you know Vision was banned from using the oven after the pancake incident.”

     Peter groaned, slumping his shoulders in defeat. “Ugh, ok fine. Let me see the recipe.”

     Tony stared at him blankly. “Recipe?”

     Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “This is gonna be a long morning.”

- - -

     “Ok, next it says gently beat the eggs into the dry ingredients...” Peter read from his phone, the device and himself equally covered in flour and other miscellaneous ingredients. He looked up at Tony. “Gently,” he emphasized.

     “‘Gently beat’? How do you gently beat something?” Tony grumbled.

     Peter shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe there’s a gentle setting?”

     Tony peered over his glasses at the knob on the device. “I don’t see anything that says gentle,” he huffed, his impatience growing.

     “Well, it also says you can whisk it by hand,” Peter glanced at his phone. He brushed some flour away from the screen with his sleeve and squinted. “At least I think that’s what it says.”

     “Oh, now you tell me!” Tony rolled his eyes with exaggerated sarcasm, setting the bowl down heavily on the counter with a thunk.

     “Sir, if I may...” FRIDAY interjected.

     “Not now, FRIDAY,” Tony interrupted tersely. “I’m thinking of a way to murder Peter and have it look like a horrible baking accident without destroying the kitchen.”

     Peter looked around the kitchen, surveying the aftermath of four failed cake attempts with a raised eyebrow. “Too late for that. Kitchen’s already destroyed.”

     “I’ll buy Pepper a new one,” Tony gritted as he picked up a spatula and lunged at Peter. “Now come here!”

     “But sir...” FRIDAY tried again.

     “Hey! Is this how you thank me for helping you?” Peter cried as he dodged a swipe from Tony.

     “Oh yeah, being a smart-ass is so helpful!” Tony rolled his eyes and swung at Peter again.

     Peter jumped up and landed on the kitchen island in a crouched position, balancing on the balls of his feet. “Hey, you have no one but yourself to blame for that! I was never this sarcastic before I started hanging around you.”

     “Ay, feet off the counter!” Tony snapped, swatting at Peter’s feet with the floppy cooking tool.

     Peter looked down. “Whoops, sorry.” He put a hand down on the counter and kicked his feet out over the side, his heels bumping into the cabinet drawer below as he let his legs hang down.

     Tony groaned and rubbed his face. “It’s hopeless. Pepper is gonna be home in two hours and the place is trashed.” He sighed and leaned back against the counter behind him.

     “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Tony Stark is giving up,” Peter commented, setting his phone down next to him.

     “You said it yourself, kid, I’m an engineer, not a chemist and certainly not a baker,” Tony sighed. “Maybe I should’ve just bought Pepper a cake.”

     Peter glanced at this watch then looked around again at the disaster of a kitchen and bit his lip. Mr. Stark could’ve bought any number of cakes for Pepper’s birthday but he wanted to make her favorite from scratch. He wanted it to be as special as she was to him. Peter glanced at the mix in the bowl Tony had sat on the counter and perked up. He jumped down from the island and spoke up. “Hey FRIDAY, call Happy.” He turned with a grin to a confused Tony and tossed him his phone before picking up the bowl. “You read, I’ll do. I’ve got an idea.”

- - -

     Pepper stretched as she climbed out of the back of the town car, giving the driver a polite nod as he held open her door. The ride from the airport seemed longer than usual and she had been anxious to get home. It was nice visiting her parents and having some time away from work, but she had missed Tony and Morgan. She declined the chauffeur’s offer to carry her luggage for her and she tipped him as he said goodbye. She pulled her suitcase up the compound drive, so lost in her relief to finally be home that she didn’t notice the silhouettes darting back and forth hurriedly in the window.

     “Welcome home, Ms. Potts,” FRIDAY greeted, her familiar Irish lilt putting a smile on Pepper’s face.

     “Thank you, FRIDAY. It’s good to be home,” Pepper smiled as the doors slid open for her. She walked through the foyer to the living room. Her purse slid off her shoulder and down her arm as she sat it on a sideboard with a small frown, wondering why the usually bustling place was so quiet.

     “Surprise!”

     Pepper gasped as colorful, shiny confetti and streamers fell from the ceiling and everyone jumped from their hiding places.

     “Happy birthday!” Peter grinned, standing up from behind the couch with Morgan perched on his hip. He bent over to let the little girl down. She ran over to her mom with a big smile, her party hat lopsided.

     “Happy birthday, mommy! Were you surprised?” the little girl asked, her eyes shining.

     “I sure was!” Pepper laughed as she stooped down to pick up her little girl.

     “Yeah, so were we,” Natasha smirked as she took Pepper’s suitcase for her. “Tony called us over about an hour ago.” Pepper laughed as the spy turned away.

     “The pizza should be here any minute now,” Peter glanced at the clock. “The presents are set up in the den, but first Mr. Stark and I wanted to show you something.”

     Everyone turned to the kitchen to see Tony walking out carrying a serving platter with a round, chocolate frosted cake adorned with whipped cream florets and ruby red cherries. Happy was right behind him, looking a little worn.

     “Black Forest cake!” Pepper gasped as Tony sat the cake down. “Wow, did you guys make this?”

     “Yeah, it took a few tries, but we got it eventually,” Tony scratched the back of his neck modestly.

     Happy bent down and handed Pepper a drink. “Just don’t go in the kitchen any time soon,” he muttered under his breath.

     “What was that?” Tony shot a suspicious glance at Happy.

     “Nothing boss, just wishing her a happy birthday,” Happy replied quickly. Just then the doorbell rang. “Oh, that must be the pizza. I’ll get it.” Happy hurried to the door, pulling out his wallet as he went. Pepper giggled as Tony glared after him.

     Morgan slid out of Pepper’s lap. “I’ll go get your gifts, mommy!” Pepper chuckled as she rose, smiling at Tony.

     “You did all of this for me?” she asked. She sat her drink down and wrapped her arms around her husband’s shoulders.

     “Of course,” he replied, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, you know.” Pepper hummed in amusement as she pulled his face closer to hers, their noses brushing lightly.

     “Do you really like it?” Tony asked, meeting her eyes hopefully with his.

     “I love it,” she replied, bringing her lips to Tony’s tightening her arms around him.

     Suddenly Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, blushing. “Uh, Mr. Stark? I think Happy needs help carrying the pizzas...”

     Pepper chuckled as Tony pulled away, rolling his eyes. “What, were the two super soldiers busy?” he complained crossly, following after the kid.

     Pepper shook her head in amusement as she looked around at all the Avengers gathered before her. She smiled and waved at Banner on the plasma screen as Steve video chatted with him. Clint and Rhodey stood in the corner by the snack table complaining about the traffic coming out of Virginia to Sam who just rolled his eyes. Natasha and Wanda helped Morgan sort the gifts for Pepper while Harley made drinks for everybody.

     “Ms. Potts?” FRIDAY’s voice chimed above Pepper.

     “Yes, FRIDAY?”

     “Should I tell Mr. Stark that your birthday is tomorrow?”

     Pepper laughed as she took a sip of her drink. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

- - -

Tags: @parkerspicedlatte @xmarveled @myworstdays

- - -

Masterlist   Buy me a coffee? :)

[skylar102]

The first fic of many for the Malec Server’s Wingo Fic Challenge!

Prompt: Plucking

Read on Ao3 here

Fic based on this writing prompt

Eleven days. It’s been eleven days and his captor has not heard back from his family. He’s not surprised by this, or not as surprised as he thought he would be. When the man kidnapped him while he was out on a hunt in the woods, he expected his family to at least worry. Alec shifts his shoulder causing his wings to move behind him. He hisses out at the movement. Looking down he sees the clumps of feathers on the floor. 

While his captor has been kind to him, the realization that no one was coming to rescue him hit harder than he expected. He lets out a shuddering sigh as he moves his left wing in front of him and plucks another feather out, wincing at the pain. He twirls it in his hand, the raven feather shimmers in the light from the fireplace, showing off its purple and navy hue. How a simple color could cause him such pain. 

People don’t take kindly to those with black wings. They consider them to be cursed, an ill omen, a monster. Pluck. When his wings first appeared as a child, Alec remembers looking in the mirror, excited that his had finally come in. He ran to show his parents, only for them to cry out in disgust and call him a freak. He was five at the time, but the look on his parents’ faces still haunts him to this day. Pluck. 

Jace and Izzy as they got older said there was nothing wrong with the color of his wings. They would never understand the struggle it was to walk through life with black wings. Jace’s beautiful cream colored wings were loved by all. Izzy’s light blue wings were the attention of all the men and women. Two people were not enough to stop their village and their awful words. 

“Freak!”

“Stay away from my family, you monster!”

“If you come any closer, I’ll kill you!”

“Why don’t you cut them off? Save the village from having to worry about a looming disaster, you bad omen!”

Pluck.

When he was able to, he made a harness that would hide his wings behind his back. It hurt, cramping his wings inside the contraption, but it had worked. The looks and the shouting subdued a bit by hiding his wings. The adults in the village still steered clear of him, but the children seemed to like him. 

He goes to grab another feather when a hand clamps his wrist before he can. He jumps back startled, he hadn’t even heard his captor enter the room let alone kneel in front of him. His captor releases his wrist and looks down at the pile of feathers on the ground. Alec doesn’t move and he watches his captor reach down and pick up a feather. 

Alec waits, his body tensing the longer the silence goes on; for the comments, the scathing remarks. He had hidden his wings from his captor, afraid that they would kill him once they found out his wings were black. His captor, Magnus, looks up at him with his brow wrinkled softly and a tinge of sadness etched across his face.

“I didn’t realize they wouldn't come for you,” Magnus admits, clutching a black feather in his hands. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Alec nods at him but can’t bring himself to look Magnus in the eyes. He averts his eyes to look anywhere but Magnus. He focuses on the beautiful burgundy wings on Magnus’ back. “It’s… It’s okay,” he whispers out. It’s not okay, but he’s not about to show more weakness to his captor after he found him plucking out his wings. 

“Alexander,” Magnus says and the man reaches out a hand to touch his knee, but Alec moves back. He doesn’t know if he can handle being touched again right now. 

“If it’s alright, I want to go to sleep now,” Alec says, still avoiding Magnus’ gaze. He sees Magnus nod and stand up.

“There’s a tray of food over there.” Magnus points to the small table in the corner. “Make sure to eat something before you fall asleep.”

Alec nods but he knows he’s not going to eat anything. He hasn’t had an appetite since he hit day eight of his captivity. He hears Magnus let out a sigh and a door closing and he knows he’s been left alone. 

Alec doesn’t waste time pulling his legs up on the bed and laying on his side. His wings hurt from where he pulled out his feathers, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to fall asleep and not think about how his family abandoned him. He thought that at least Jace and Izzy would come for him and not hearing from them broke whatever was left whole inside him.

He lays on his side, staring into the flames of the fireplace. He watches at the logs crackle and burn in the heat. Eventually he finds himself falling into a fitful sleep with his wings curled around him.

Alec’s not surprised by the nightmares that come to him. He was expecting them. What he wasn’t expecting was to see his brother and sister next to his mother and father, telling him that he was a burden to the family. That they wish he was never born and that he should die already. The nightmare goes from bad to worse as he watches his family approach him with knives. He begs them not to do this but invisible hands hold him down and pull his wings back.

“It’s for the best,” his mother says. “Once they’re gone, we can go back to being a happy family again.”

“Please don’t do this,” he begs the nightmare. 

“We’re only doing what’s best for you,” his brother says. 

Alec screams as he feels the knives dig into his back right at the base of his wings. He screams and begs for them to stop. He doesn’t want this. They’re hurting him. The nightmare doesn’t listen, but why would it?

He wakes up when the knives slice through the bone. He cries out as he launches himself to a seated position. Not fully aware of his surroundings, he misses the body sitting next to him and jumps at the hands that wrap around his biceps. Shoving the hands away, he crawls backwards until he hits the bed frame, crying out again as his sensitive wings get crushed. He curls in on himself, ducking his head between his legs and wrapping his arms around his knees. 

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” a voice soothes next to him. “You need to breathe, Alexander. Listen to my breathing. Can you do that for me?” Alec tries to respond but his lungs won’t work. He jerks his head in what he hopes will come off as a nod. “Okay, that’s good. Now breathe in for me? Hold. Good. Now breathe out. Again.” Magnus’ voice washes over him as he repeats what the man instructs him to do. 

Eventually his breathing goes back to normal and he leans back against the headboard, closing his eyes.

“Are you alright now?” Magnus asks worriedly from where he sits. Alec peeks open an eye to stare at the man. The panic and worry shown clearly on the man’s face. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I’m okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” Magnus sighs. The man fidgets where he sits and his eyes keep drifting up and down Alec’s body. “Do you want to talk about it?” Magnus winces as the words come out of his mouth. Alec huffs out a laugh.

“No, not really,” he replies. The man jerks a nod at that.

“Right, sorry. Of course you wouldn’t want to talk about it,” Magnus rushes out. The room goes quiet as they both sit there. The only sound coming from the fireplace which, Alec notes as he looks over, has fresh logs put on it. Magnus follows his movement. “I knew that the fire in here was going to die and I didn’t want you to freeze at night so I brought some fresh logs to put in.”

“Thank you,” Alec says. “You didn’t have to do that, I would’ve been fine. I’m used to sleeping in the cold.” Those words seem to anger Magnus, judging by the way his face closes off and his hands curl into fists where they rest on his lap. 

“What do you mean you’re used to it?” Magnus asks. “I saw your family’s house, you are well off enough that you most certainly own a fireplace or two to keep the place warm.” 

“If I lived in the house, yes, but I don't. My parents made me move out to our barn to keep the bad luck away from the house.” He doesn’t look up from Magnus’ hands as he watches his knuckles turn white. 

“They made you sleep in the barn?” Magnus grits out. “Surely someone in your town would have reported them for this?”

“If the town didn’t also hate my presence, maybe.” Alec half shrugs, hisses a bit as the movement jostles his wings. Magnus notices that and raises a hand to help before realizing what he was doing. His eyes widen and he quickly lowers his hand. Magnus stands up from the bed.

“I have some medical salves that should help your wings,” Magnus says, walking towards the door. “I’ll be right back.” Before he leaves, he nods to the tray of food still untouched by the table. “Maybe you should try and eat. It will make you feel a bit better.”

With that, Alec is once again left alone in the room. He sits on the bed in thought, confused as to how the atmosphere has changed. Before, his captor only checked in to give him food and to give him wood for the fire. He never once attempted a conversation. Was it because of his wings? Magnus had never asked him to show his wings before. Now that he’s seen them, is he going to kill him? 

Alec panics at the thought before he remembers how angry Magnus looked when he talked about his living conditions. Surprised at the barely kept in anger the spread across the man’s whole body. Was he upset that he discovered too late that the person he kidnapped had black wings? That no one was going to pay the ransom to get him back?

As questions fill his mind, his stomach lets out a loud grumble. He looks over to the table where the food from yesterday still sits. Deciding for the best, he slowly crawls out of bed, giving his body a long stretch that has him groaning at the needles that shoot along his spine. He walks over to the table and sits down. 

Fruits, nuts and veggies cover the platter in front of him. Magnus must have stopped trying to give him hot foods after he stopped eating a few days ago. His stomach’s persistent grumbling has him picking up a few nuts and tossing them into his mouth. It’s like a damn breaking, he starts to eat more and more, grabbing piece after piece of food. He grabs the glass of water on the table and downs the whole thing in one go.

“You know you can make yourself sick if you eat too quickly,” the voice by the door says. Alec looks up and sees Magnus leaning against the frame with a basket of vials in his hands. He looks back at the tray and sees that most of it is gone. He hadn’t even realized how much he ate. Magnus chuckles at the blush that crawls up Alec’s face, his wings doing nothing but admitting his embarrassment by curling around him.

Magnus pushes off the frame and sets the basket on the table, he grabs the other chair and moves it next to Alec’s. Sitting down, Magnus sifts through the basket and looks for what he needs. Alec takes the time to really look at the man. 

The first thought that comes into his mind is how beautiful Magnus' wings are. The burgundy wings attached to the man’s back are rich with the color. Alec’s not sure if the fire is playing tricks on his eyes, but Alec’s pretty sure there’s gold flecks spread throughout the feathers, making the wings glitter in the light. Looking away from the wings, his eyes scan the navy button up that accentuates his wings to the dark tan pants. 

“Aha!” Magnus exclaims, snapping him out of his trance. He looks at the man’s hand and sees a vial full of a mysterious green liquid. Magnus turns to him with a grin on his face. “This should help soothe the aches from where the feathers were pulled out earlier.” Alec eyes dart back and forth between Magnus’ face and the liquid causing the man to roll his eyes. “It’s not going to kill you, I promise.”

“You’re okay with touching my wings?” Alec asks instead, watching as the man’s face drops. 

“Of course I’m okay with that,” Magnus spoke softly. “There’s nothing wrong with your wings. They’re beautiful.” Alec can’t help the snort that leaves his body. “They truly are, Alexander,” Magnus persists. “The way they have a navy and purple tint in the light. They remind me of the night sky, when you can see the galaxy and the stars in it.”

“You can’t mean that, Magnus,” Alec whispers out. 

“But I do. They truly are gorgeous.” Magnus reaches out slowly towards his wings, pausing just before. Alec hesitates before nodding and Magnus gently touches his wings. A shiver runs through his whole body at the sensations. No one has ever touched his wings, not even his siblings. He wouldn’t let them. Didn’t want to risk them getting bad luck from touching them, but something about the way Magnus looked at him made him trust the man.

“Can I put the salve on?” Magnus asks as he continues to pet his wing.

“Yeah,” Alec says, his voice more hoarse than he expected. Magnus sends him a kind smile and goes about pouring the liquid on his hands.

“Spread your wing out for me, darling,” he says gently. Alec can’t help but comply and stretches his right wing out slowly. Looking at the wing, he can see a small patch where feathers used to be. It’s barely noticeable, but anyone who looks close enough will see that there are feathers missing.  A feeling of shame passes over him and he scolds himself for being so weak. 

Magnus touches the feathers around the area, moving them out of the way while his other hand rubs the salve on the sensitive skin. Alec can’t help the moan that leaves his mouth as the cool salve touches his skin. He already begins to feel the stinging pain fade away. Magnus chuckles at his sounds as he finishes up the spot moving back to appraise his work.

“There, all done.” Magnus smiles at him and he can’t help smiling back.

“Thank you, Magnus,” Alec says. He fidgets a bit while watching Magnus clean off his hand and put the vial back in the basket, wondering if he should ask the question that’s on the tip of his tongue. Magnus catches his movement and gives him an encouraging nod. 

“What’s going to happen now?” He blurts out before he can stop himself causing Magnus to give him a puzzling look. “I mean, you know that you’re not going to get a ransom from my family so are you going to let me go? Or are you going to kill me?”

A look of sheer horror passes over Magnus’ face at his words.

“No! I would never, never want to kill you,” Magnus says. Turning fully towards Alec, he grabs both of his hands and grips them tight. “Alexander, you deserve to see the world for what it’s truly like, not what your backwards town thinks the world is like. There are so many people with wings like yours in the world. There’s nothing wrong with you. If I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you then so be it.”

Alec stares at the man in front of him, like he’s seeing the man who’s been his captor for the past eleven days for the first time. There’s determination set in the man’s eyes, that he’s not willing to let Alec go easily. But only one line is repeating in his head.

“The rest of your life?” Alec gets out, his mind racing. He clutches back at the hands still holding his. 

“Yes.” Magnus doubles down on the words. “I won’t let you go back to that hellscape of a village. I can’t. You deserve to be happy, Alexander. And I want to give that to you. If you’ll have me.”

Alec thinks over the words, the offer Magnus is giving him. He’s never left the village before, never wandered past its boundaries in the forest. Too afraid of what will attack him because of the color of his wings. This would be his chance to escape, to be free. He’s surprised at how quickly his answer comes to him.

“Okay,” he says. A smile slowly spread on his face. Magnus’ face lights up with joy and the man rushes to embrace him. Alec stiffens for a moment before melting into the hug.

“I promise you, Alexander,” Magnus whispers in his ear. “You won’t regret this.”

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Elegy for an Icarus (Inglourious Basterds Preference)

Requested by @valiantbandit

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines  @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67

Let me know if you wanna be added to the Basterds or OUATIH tag lists! :)

A/N: Trigger warning!!!! Dark themes/ readers character death/ grieving 

A/N I've never written in like a preference format before but I hope ya like it  :')

Aldo: He was angry. His hands were shaking through the grief of reading that letter. He didn't answer when the boys asked what was wrong...They'd never seen him like that. Usually when he was angry, he'd yell at nazis, and show no mercy, leave no survivors... But this...this was different. His hands were shaking, gripping the letter so tightly, the edges crumpled up. His face was red, his eyes were blank and blind with rage. After Wicki read it out loud for everyone, Aldo took the letter back. His eyes rested intently on the typed, faceless, voiceless words. An official report, stamped condolences from a major he'd never even met, and who'd never even met you. The words floated off the blank page, and it became a screen. An endless reel flipping between scenes of your time as a basterd... Your very first day in that lineup, next to Omar, straight faced, like any other soldier, but smirking eyes. Then a messy cut, like shoddy editing from a silent film. Aldo couldn't forget the last time he saw you. He made sure you went home. There was nothing he could do for you, nothing anyone could do. And as much as you wanted to stay, there was nothing more for you to give. It was clear you wouldn't survive long... You'd given your life for the war, and the least he could do was give you one last chance to see your mother, your brother, and your love. He knew it was coming. He knew the OSS would send that letter, in spite of all the danger.... And Aldo knew you... The Kid... The basterd that was too young, too dumb, and too brave. You were the basterd’s Icarus... You did everything, followed every order, in spite of everything.  He knew that, and he'd never forgive himself for sending you on that mission. You were the fourth basterd he'd lost. No more.... No more, not without ending the war. He clenched his jaw in rage, throwing the letter into the fire, watching it burn away like he watched the life fade from your eyes.

Donny: He didn't believe it. Not a word of it, even though he'd seen it happen... Every night since you were taken back home, he dreamt of you. He knew  it was over. Deep down, Donny knew. He was never much of a liar. He couldn't even lie to himself and say that it was alright. It stung him to force one last smile at you, and say he'd "See ya 'round, kid..." knowing damn well that would never happen. Then again, it wasn't a complete lie. He saw you around. He saw you everywhere. He saw you every time he shut his eyes, in ongoing, repetitive nightmares of what could have been stopped. He dreamt of seeing you again...one last time. Every night he saw it, like he was by your side, in your hometown, in a white hospital room... Even after all that, he didn't want to believe it was true. As Wicki read the distant general's words, he looked down at the german steel  in his hands. It was a nazi's dogtag, and belonged to the one that took you from the world. Donny took revenge in your name, and carried it around with him from then on, on that blood stained piece of metal, hung it around his neck with the other reminders of nameless acts of justice...Still, it would never be enough. Not without hearing your laugh again.

Hugo: He was silent...just as always. But this time was different. No one saw it... No one knew him like that. No one but you, and you were gone. And with that, a part of Hugo was gone. Still its remnants faded without a witness. It was a gaze lost in the blankness of the sky. Endless wonder and the beginning of loneliness... Hugo never spoke to you much, but with you, he felt human. He felt more than basterd, more than a soldier. With you, he was someone. All that was gone. He'd held on to the hope that somehow you'd survive it all...But it was over. You were gone. He gazed up at the dimly lit sky, beyond the splintering streaking clouds, and wondered which distant bright star was you. He found one, with a light blueish glow around it. A sort of hazey, cheerful halo around it, a bit like the light that came with your smile. He smiled for a split second, remembering it. Then he looked back around him. He still had a job to do. Donny might have killed the nazis responsible, but it wasn't enough. He wondered how many nazis equalled one good soul like you. Hugo was convinced you were an angel... To him, you may have been a good soldier, but maybe not a total basterd. You were just a good kid, with a better aim....But without a surviving shot. Everyone knew it. He'd kept his mouth shut, listening to the hopeless lies everyone told each other for weeks. Everyone knew the truth. You weren't coming back... And Hugo hadn't spoken since then...

Wicki: He read the letter out loud, but didn't listen to himself. The words floated off the page, and danced around him, along with his memories of you, as his own voice droned on. He could see you now... He noticed you stifling a giggle when you first heard Aldo’s accent. He remembered you taking your first ever drink with the boys in an English tavern, just before being dropped in France. Dancing with Donny and Hirschberg, dressed as civilians, in spite of the onlooking enemies. Scolding Aldo for smoking too much, and taking too much snuff. Making Hugo smile... It was all there. Everything, all at once. For a moment, it was almost as if you were there. But you weren't. And you never would be again. Wicki was the first to know you weren't going to make it. He usually tended to the wounds. And the moment he saw the blood, saw the bullet, the beating... he knew it was over. The kid with the sunshine smile was dimming away. The instant he saw the hope and light fade from your eyes, he was a broken man. It was a haunting image. Something he'd never forget. All the warm memories collapsed. The echo of your laugh died over the alps. The shadow of your smile faded with the distant tavern lights... Wicki couldn't do anything to stop it. Not when he pulled the bullet out, and not for the millionth wave of memories. And as Aldo snatched the letter back and burned it, Wicki was left with nothing but the memory of your blood on his hands, and the dream that never would be.

Omar: Tears streamed down his face the second he saw Aldo hesitating. He’d held out with hope, with thoughts of you... But the moment he saw that letter in Aldo’s hand and the look on his face, he went cold. His hands went numb. He zoned out when Wicki read it. His mind went blank. He stood up in the middle of the message without a word, not caring to hear it all, and wandered aimlessly into the forest. He'd known you all his life. You were a childhood friend. You volunteered together for the war. You weren't even out of high school yet... You moved up in the world together, or at least planned to. You wanted to start a business together...what exactly, neither or you knew. You had too many brilliant ideas, and neither of you could ever keep them straight, or keep a straight face. Then you were soldiers. You promised his mother, and he promised yours, that you'd watch out for each other, and that you'd both come home. If there was one thing Omar couldn't abide by, it was broken promises. You were able to make it home before it was over, but that wasn't the deal....Who was he without you? Who was he with a broken promise? And you... You... His back pressed against a broken tree, and he slid down against a towering pine, seething. How could you leave him alone...How could you break your promise to him? You promised you'd come home together, and be there to the end. You'd been there at the beginning, after all...After everything. After all you'd been through together. After...What could have been after the war... You broke your promise... You left him alone. His tears became a voiceless elegy, cries for no one. He sobbed through his anger, "I'm sorry..."

Smitty: He stayed by the others. After losing you, he was scared to go anywhere without someone watching his back.   He blamed himself sometimes. He was with you when it happened. He wasn't quick enough...And he was scared. You made sure he made it in and out of every single mission because you knew that. Because you were scared too. It was a secret between the two of you, but neither of you was ashamed. You had each other. You were just kids, far from home, far from everything you knew. And now he was alone, lost without you. He was scared without you.You always watched his back... The boys had lost Andy, Simon, and Michael. But it was different this time.He saw it happen... He was there. You were different... You didn't give up without a fight. That was the hardest part...  But that was just like you. That and the fact that you were the youngest. It hit Smitty then, it could have been anyone... They were the basterds, but they weren't invincible. At the end of the day, they were just soldiers, far behind enemy lines. They were the basterds. Legends that haunted the nazis... But they weren't immortal. Life was fleeting, like the embers rising from the paper omen. And he knew that as his trembling, grieving hands lit a cigarette, and silently, watched the smoke rise.

Archie: Months later, Archie had only just met the basterds. They had one mission, one final operation. Archie could read a room. He knew something was on all their minds. From the rumors, and the comments, and what he could press out of the younger basterds, he pieced it together. There was a celebrated rumor among the nazis: A heavy loss for the basterds. "Y/N." Was all he could get out of Aldo. According to Wicki, you were the closest thing Aldo had to a kid. The closest thing that Hugo had to a friend. The closest thing Omar had to a sibling... You were the closest thing the basterds had to hope. Losing you dragged them down. To his understanding, they carried on, not because they were soldiers with orders, not because they owed Aldo scalps, but because they owed it to you. He respected the hell out of that. And though he never knew you, he knew your worth. He knew that you made the basterds what they were. And for that, Archie thanked you.

Hirschberg: He refused to think about it at all. He was there when you were shot down, but he looked away when Smitty screamed for you, when Wicki ran to you, and when Aldo blew his cover for you. He refused to say goodbye... You were coming back after all, right? He refused to talk about it. But it stayed in the back of his mind, like a shadow that followed him everywhere. But he knew if he gave in, it was a hole he wouldn't dig himself out of for a long time. There was no time to grieve... He convinced himself quickly that that wasn't what you'd want. He had to get through the war, then he'd have the time... That was all... And he did. When it was all said and done, in your name, in your memory, the war was over. All for what? A few flowery sentences by politicians, throwing in your name, Andy, Simon, Michael, and Bridget's names. All for a medal. A medal that wouldn't bring you back. But it did bring back all the memories each of them had of you. And there on that stage, as words of honor and courage were given by men that did not know the war, Hirschberg was wrapped in other words. One word, to be precise: "Gerold." You were the only one that could call him that. The only one that wouldn't be hurt over it, anyway. The word embraced him, like you once had, a memory he'd never let die. One he didn't mind carrying around. And still...it wasn't enough. What was a speech to a lifetime that could have been? He held his medal, and smiled for a moment, remembering all the years he spent as a basterd. The good and the bad moments. With or without you, you kept him and all the basterds going. He sighed... He moved past the reporters and politicians and onlookers, and found a woman he recognized from your stories alone. Hirschberg may not hace been the politest, or more eloquent basterd, but he knew what was human. He wasn't a soldier anymore...now he was a man. An ordinary man. Just a man that had lost a good friend... It wasn't much, but it was all he could give. He gave his medal to your mother. "Y/N...Y/N was a good kid..." Something that went unspoken. She smiled, tearfully, seeing millions of unspoken words and memories of you in all the basterds eyes as they each followed, and gave their medals to her too. It was the only thing they could do... That, and visit the grave, covered in flowers and stones, memories and kind, broken-voiced thoughts. They said goodbye  to the war, and to each other, and to you one last time...

[toomuchofabastard]

Heaven’s Final Betrayal (4/6)

[ << CHAPTER 1 ] [ < CHAPTER 3 ]

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Aftermath of Rape/Non-Con, Dissociation, Consensual Anal Sex

Word count: 5,705 (total 15,475)

Fic Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

READ ON AO3

___

This time, Crowley woke to a face full of angel’s chest, the feeling of the carpet brushing against his knuckles, and irritatingly, in spite of his sobriety, a pounding headache. He cracked an eye open and was greeted with a close-up of Aziraphale’s face, looking pensively down at him.

Crowley smushed his face back into the angel’s waistcoat and mumbled something that might have been ‘good morning’. He felt a plump hand run slowly through the back of his hair. When he craned his head back up, Aziraphale was smiling faintly at him. They were still sprawled on the sofa where they’d lain together, bodies pressed close, long into the night. Crowley must have drifted off at some point. Damn it. He’d meant to stay awake as long as the angel was. He hoped he had been alright on his own.

He sat up, cracked his neck loudly, and yawned a little wider than he should humanly have been able to. Aziraphale also rose unsteadily next to him.

“You sleep at all?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. His expression was muted and sombre. He looked tired.

“I was thinking,” the angel replied. “About what you said.” He sighed deeply, a sigh heavy with defeat. “You’re right,” he admitted again. “I can’t keep running away from everything. Burying my head in the sand.”

Crowley rubbed the angel’s thigh fondly.

“It’s going to take some time to come to terms with, that’s all,” said Aziraphale, with fake breeziness. Then he hesitated. “I… I didn’t really believe them capable of such…such…” He didn’t complete the sentence.

“Yeah,” responded Crowley, not really knowing what else to say. That much had been plainly obvious from the way the angel had reacted.

There was an awkward pause. Then Crowley spoke suddenly. “Me neither. For what it’s worth.”

Aziraphale glanced up and laughed lightly, hollowly. “I don’t know whether that makes me feel better or worse,” he said. Then his face settled back into melancholy.

Once again, Crowley didn’t know how to respond. Aziraphale just looked so desperately sad. Over thousands of years, he’d probably seen pretty much every one of the angel’s varied and histrionic repertoire of expressions, but this emptiness and misery broke his demonic heart. Even more so, the thought that there was nothing he could really do to fix it. This wasn’t a situation where he could drop a flippant remark or a line of verse worthy of the bard to light up the angel’s face. He didn’t have the words for this. But he supposed there was one thing he could remind Aziraphale.

“I’m with you,” he said simply.

That brought the angel out of his reverie for a moment. His face softened and he leant into Crowley, the corners of his lips lifting into another genuine smile. Still a shadow of his normal ones, but Crowley felt cheered nonetheless. He hugged him back.

“How ‘bout some breakfast?” he asked after a while.

Aziraphale seemed to contemplate that for a minute, but then he shook his head again. “I’m afraid I’ve… rather lost my appetite.” His face dropped again, his eyebrows pinching with remorse.

Crowley nodded. He supposed that was inevitable, though it still hurt and worried him. It was better than Aziraphale trying to force himself to act like normal, anyway. Fortunately, eating was just a pleasure, rather than a necessity, for them. He was sure they’d get back to it eventually.

He leant closer to Aziraphale again, cupped a hand under his jaw and kissed him softly on his pudgy cheek. “I love you,” he murmured. The angel blinked and smiled up at him again. He laced his hand on top of Crowley’s, eyes closing as he melted into the touch.

“I love you too,” he replied.

◥|⧗|◤

They didn’t do very much for the rest of the day, nor the days following. Aziraphale didn’t express any further interest in leaving the cosy sanctuary of the bookshop, which suited Crowley just fine. The rest of the world could wait. He’d flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’ the second they’d returned, and as far as he was concerned, it could stay that way indefinitely.

Mostly, Aziraphale pottered about the shop like normal, shuffling books between the shelves in patterns apparently meaningful though inscrutable to Crowley, and sat in his comfy chair and cardigan, thumbing through some old volume, in a blanket of dust. He ignored the phone when it rang. At night, he dimmed the lights so that Crowley could rest, but he stayed awake through until the first beams of sunrise filtered between the window panes and the hubbub on the streets outside started up again.

Crowley watched him closely, and lay around, and dozed, and watched him some more. Occasionally, he tried to kill time by fucking around on his phone (ineffective, it transpired), but he always kept one beady amber eye on the angel.

There was something ghost-like in the way he moved sometimes. Drifting. Untethered. He didn’t hum to himself as he shuffled between the labyrinth of shelves, like he usually did. Crowley missed the humming. His limp seemed to have vanished, at least. Crowley hoped he was healed now. He found himself wondering if Aziraphale would even tell him if he wasn’t.

The angel hadn’t spoken another word about what had happened since that second morning, but Crowley could tell it was still nagging at his mind. He caught him sometimes, staring into the middle distance, deep in thought and with a grave expression on his face. As the days pressed on, blurring into one another, Aziraphale’s mood varied, but didn’t noticeably improve. Sometimes he seemed happy, and Crowley could make him laugh, and it was almost like he had the old Aziraphale back again, like it had never happened. Other times, Aziraphale might have seemed happy to anyone who didn’t know his moods so intimately, but Crowley wasn’t fooled. The fake smiles and cheerfulness returned, despite the angel’s promise.

“Angel, you’re doing it again,” he would say.

“I know, Crowley,” came the tired reply. “Please, just let me have this.”

And sometimes Aziraphale sat and just cried quietly, one hand pressed to his forehead, face marred with grief. Crowley didn’t say anything then, just sat with him in silence and stroked his back until the tears and stifled sniffles stopped. There was nothing left to say, anyway.

It was those times especially when Crowley felt the anger rising within him again. It kept bubbling up at inopportune moments, seemingly unprompted, like molten lava coursing through his arteries, scorching away every other emotion. Damping it back down was a herculean task, and unending, but the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally take it out on Aziraphale. And seeing as the deserving targets of his rage were out of reach - literally - there was nothing to be done with it. He could still feel it though, festering away inside him. Once Aziraphale was better enough that Crowley felt comfortable leaving him alone for a while, he was going to go someplace on his own and scream and howl and claw something - he didn’t know what - to shreds with his bare hands and set whatever was left on fire and watch it burn to ash. It still wouldn’t be enough. But it would help.

Until then, he would be as soft and gentle and patient as he, being a demon, could possibly manage. For his angel. He wouldn’t let him see.

◥|⧗|◤

Hence, he was sprawled out on the sofa one evening, trying not to physically combust, while Aziraphale lingered in the back room, making his first tentative mug of cocoa since it had happened.

It seemed to be taking him longer than Crowley would have thought. When the angel eventually emerged back into the main room and trailed over to where Crowley was sitting, Crowley shifted to face him. The smell of the cocoa wafted into his nostrils and lingered on his tongue, tasting sweet and warm, just like Aziraphale. But as he looked closer, Crowley noticed something.

There were ripples dancing on the surface of the liquid.

“You’re shaking,” Crowley frowned.

“Mm?” responded Aziraphale, blankly. “Oh. Yes.”

He eased himself into the armchair next to Crowley and rested the mug in his lap, glancing vacantly down at it. “Can’t seem to stop,” he muttered. Crowley’s frown deepened.

He leaned forward and tried to catch Aziraphale’s gaze. “Hey.” Aziraphale looked up.

Something was very wrong here. The angel was looking in Crowley’s direction, but as Crowley looked closer, he could see that Aziraphale’s eyes were not actually focusing on his face, but nearer, almost on some invisible plane between them. His gaze was empty. Just like before, Crowley remembered, and dread settled heavy in his stomach.

“Aziraphale? What’s wrong?” he asked, ardently searching those blank eyes for an answer.

The tiniest hint of a crease formed in Aziraphale’s eyebrows. His mouth opened to speak, but for a few seconds no words came out. His eyes drifted away from Crowley’s face and slid aimlessly around the room.

“I… don’t know,” he said eventually, his voice steady but distant. “I feel… strange.” He didn’t say anything further.

Crowley swallowed and tried to stifle the feeling of panic that was starting to rise in his chest. He scanned over Aziraphale’s body, as if searching for a hidden injury, or some clue as to what could have happened, why he was suddenly like this. The wax and wane of the angel’s breast as he breathed seemed a little heavier than normal, but not that significantly. He was still shaking slightly. The cocoa, now rapidly turning tepid, was cradled limply in his lap, like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Angel?” Crowley asked again. Aziraphale turned towards him, and the subtle lines of concern on his face deepened, but his eyes remained blank. His mouth kept moving like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t.

“Angel, please.” Crowley couldn’t keep the falter from his voice.

He clambered out of his seat and closer to Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s hands didn’t resist as Crowley quickly removed the mug to another table, and then grasped them tightly, squeezing in an attempt to get a response from the angel. “I don’t know what to do,” he implored. Still nothing. Shit. Shitshitshit.

In a final desperate attempt to elicit a reaction, Crowley threw himself forward into Aziraphale’s lap, burying his face in his stomach and clinging to him. “Come back,” Crowley whispered. “Come back to me.” He knew he was only talking to himself at this point. The buzzing of panic inside his head made it nearly impossible to think straight. Aziraphale would snap out of this eventually. Right? He had before. He had to. Crowley tried to breathe evenly. He had to.

A few, hideously-long minutes of silence and dread passed, until Crowley suddenly felt Aziraphale’s breathing quicken underneath him. There was a gulp, followed by a quiet, fearful voice. “…Crowley?”

“Oh, thank hell,” Crowley gasped. He looked up at Aziraphale, a dizzying wave of relief washing through him. The angel still looked petrified, but the emptiness in his eyes was gone.

“You scared me, angel,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale said nothing. He was breathing heavily, and his face was now pale and veiled with fear, confusion, and a hint of guilt.

“You were gone. What happened?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale swallowed again and his forehead creased further with distress. “I-it-it was like… nothing felt… real,” he stammered. “Not even y-you. I-I knew you were,” he added emphatically, “but… it was like I was… disconnected. Everything felt distant. H-hazy. Like I was floating.”

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, and then spoke again. “This, um, this keeps happening.”

“What?” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up.

“N-not as bad as that,” Aziraphale continued, licking nervously at his lips, “but since… you know… sometimes I’ve been feeling s-sort of… detached, and, uh, lightheaded. I don’t know why.”

He turned away from Crowley again, and Crowley saw his chin beginning to tremble. “…Am I losing my mind?” the angel whispered.

“Oh, angel. Why didn’t you tell me?” Crowley sighed.

Aziraphale just shook his head, his face crumpling. Crowley took his hand.

“It’s okay,” Crowley said. He thought for a moment. “D’you know why it was worse this time? Like, what set it off?”

The angel nodded, and bit nervously at his lip. “Th-there’s a book, in the back room,” he began to explain. “Um. Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management.”

He stopped.

“…yeah?” asked Crowley after a few seconds of silence, dipping his head.

Aziraphale seemed frozen again for a moment. Then he suddenly blinked back to reality and smiled reflexively, fleetingly, in Crowley’s direction. Crowley’s face darkened and he ran his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s knuckles as the angel continued.

“Before Armageddon, after the birthday party, they - …Gabriel and S-Sandalphon - they, uh, showed up here to- to check up on me. Well…,” - his voice became hushed and he looked down - “…threaten me, really.” He swallowed loudly again, and Crowley felt a tremble run through his hand. His heart clenched in sympathy.

“Gabriel pretended that he wanted to buy it - the, the book -” Aziraphale continued, and he chuckled weakly, “-and declared it to be pornographic.” He rolled his eyes, making Crowley smirk despite himself. “S-So that we could talk in private, you see,” the angel explained. “They cornered me in the back room… They were standing on either side of me, so I-I-I couldn’t see them both at once, and they were asking all these questions, and Sandalphon was blocking the exit and-” His voice got faster and more breathless as he spoke, until he was almost panting through the words.

“Easy. Easy, angel,” Crowley cut in. “Breathe.”

Aziraphale nodded and his eyes closed. Crowley stroked his back as he wheezed and tried to get his breathing under control. Eventually he seemed to calm, and opened his eyes again.

“So when I saw the book in there, it-it reminded me… ” Aziraphale trailed off again.

He didn’t really need to explain any more. Crowley could intuit the cause and effect easily enough.

He pulled him into another fierce hug.

He’d never known. They’d come here, to Aziraphale’s home, just rocked up unannounced to intimidate him. Backed him into a corner and put the screws on him. Crowley could picture exactly how the ‘conversation’ would have gone. Satan below. Was there no sanctity they wouldn’t violate? Maybe he should have seen it coming after all. No wonder Aziraphale had reacted so badly to the reminder. The undercurrent of the whole situation was sickeningly similar to what had happened in Heaven.

Crowley held him close until they both calmed down. Aziraphale was the one to break the embrace this time, sighing mournfully as he did so. His eyes, half-lidded, dropped back to the floor. Crowley took hold of his hands again.

“I’ll get rid of the book,” Crowley said. That was the least he could do to help.

Aziraphale’s head jerked up. “Don’t destroy it!” he entreated.

Crowley smiled softly. Oh, how he loved this angel. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. He cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. “I’ll take it to a charity shop or something.”

◥|⧗|◤

For now, Crowley hid the book with the theatre programmes, underneath The Sound of Music. No chance of Aziraphale happening upon it there. He might take the opportunity to get rid of that dratted thing too, while he was at it. It was only another reminder of those wankers in Heaven.

The days continued to slip listlessly by, like water gliding off a duck’s back. Now that he knew what to look for, Crowley began to notice when sometimes Aziraphale slipped into that troubling, vacant state. That’s what the whole drifting-around-like-a-ghost thing had been about. How could he have missed that?

The clue was always in the angel’s eyes. Glazed-over, duller than normal. The confirmation was in his response to questions. If he didn’t look over at Crowley, if there was a delay before his response, if the answers he gave were vague and scripted, emptily cheery. He seemed able to carry out his normal routine on the surface - even hold a simple conversation - but challenging that revealed the lack of consciousness underneath.

What worried Crowley the most was the effect this detachment from reality was having on the angel’s memory. Once he snapped out of it, Aziraphale couldn’t always recall what he’d been doing while he’d been in that state. This lead to painful conversations as Crowley had to remind him:

“You read that one yesterday, angel.”

“…Oh?”

“Yeah. You were sitting there for about two hours, I think.”

“I… I don’t remember.” He always looked so distressed and guilty once Crowley pointed it out. “I must have been… ‘away’… I suppose.”

Crowley thought maybe as time passed that the episodes were getting less frequent, but he soon came to realise that some were just so subtle and their routine so established that he had missed them. He hated himself for it.

Aziraphale’s voice, uncertain and fragile, drifted across the bookshop one late afternoon towards him. “Crowley? What… what have we been doing all afternoon?”

“We’ve just been here, angel,” Crowley replied as his heart sank. “You… you’ve been doing things with your books… you were on the computer for a bit…” Aziraphale just nodded hesitantly. Crowley could tell he didn’t recall doing any of that. Guilt and sorrow spiked through him. He should have noticed. Though even if he had, he realised, he couldn’t normally get Aziraphale to snap out of it. He would just stay with him until it stopped. He wished there was more he could do.

Otherwise though, Aziraphale seemed to be getting slowly better. He returned to regular mugs of tea and cocoa, even nibbled on a few biscuits. Cried less, smiled more. Proper smiles, not the previous pale imitations. Damn, Crowley had missed those smiles.

One night, they made their first foray into the outside world for well over a week - at least, as far as Crowley’s flat. Crowley wanted to check up on his plants, which he was sure were mounting some sort of insurrection by now, and it would do the angel good to get out, rather than languishing around the bookshop all day. They ended up staying, and cracking open a bottle or three of something red and alcoholic, collapsing onto the pristine sofa beside each other. It was good to relax a little. Crowley felt the alcohol slowly unwinding him, his body loosening like a string that had been left taut for too long.

Aziraphale got decidedly tipsy, but fortunately drew the line before booze-induced breakdown this time. He was actually… giggly. Crowley could scarcely believe it. He was even further taken aback when the angel suddenly leant close and pressed a quick, sparkling kiss against his unexpectant lips. A bolt of hot lightning seemed to shoot through him. He blinked at Aziraphale in surprise. The angel drew slightly back but kept his face intoxicatingly close to Crowley’s. He gazed up at Crowley, expression hopeful.

Crowley paused, finding himself lost in every detail of the angel’s face. Those blue eyes, locked onto his, so deep sometimes Crowley felt like he was falling into them, drowning in them. The little folds at the corners of the angel’s eyes and every other sketch-like line on his face, from thousands of years of laughter. The way the wine brought a rosy and cherub-like glow to his cheeks, and left a stain, red, on his lips, like rouge. Those lips. Soft, parted, eager. Crowley felt them pulling him inexorably forward, his own mouth parting to match the shape of the angel’s. He held his breath and closed his eyes as they met in the middle, interlocking perfectly together. Fuck, those lips were soft.

Aziraphale returned the kiss, slowly and tenderly, almost reverently. Crowley could taste the Cabernet Sauvignon in his mouth, matching the feeling of it still purring in his own throat. It was like he was drinking him in. The room faded from his awareness as they melted into each other. Crowley raised his hands to caress Aziraphale’s sides, drawing him closer. Aziraphale hummed contentedly and Crowley felt his mouth tighten with a smile as he leaned in and his kisses became firmer. His hand came down to rest on Crowley’s thigh. They felt so consummately fit together, like a set of matching fingerprints, like the quill and paper; made for each other.

As they continued to embrace, Crowley’s hands slowly trailed down Aziraphale’s body to press against his hips. Aziraphale recoiled suddenly and broke the kiss with a small gasp.

“Um, Cr-Crowley,” he stuttered, “I don’t know that I’m ready to-”

Oh, Crowley realised. He thought I meant-

“Hey, no, ’s ok. Didn’t mean anything by it,” Crowley slurred quickly. He reached for Aziraphale’s face and stroked the hair away from his temple with a soft smile. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Aziraphale broke into a matching smile. There were those little creases at the corners of his eyes again. The angel’s gaze floated down to Crowley’s lips, and he leant back in, his mouth seeking Crowley’s once more. Crowley happily met him as Aziraphale reached his arms behind Crowley’s head and crossed his wrists, locking the two of them together. Crowley placed his hands gently back on Aziraphale’s hips and rubbed around them and his lower back in the same rhythm as their mouths moving together. A great feeling of relief and euphoria flooded Crowley’s body as they kissed. This was how things were meant to be. The two of them as one, safe in the home they’d made, finding pleasure and joy in each other. It felt like finally being able to breathe out.

The stereo, neglected in the corner, quietly clicked into life, and began streaming out the mellow strains of whatever soul record Crowley had last left in there. Did he do that? Or were even more sentient machines in his life starting to develop their own opinions about the soundtrack to his and Aziraphale’s love life? Honestly… Crowley was too lost in their own world to give a damn.

They never went further than kisses that night, but around a fortnight later, they were back visiting Crowley’s flat again. Aziraphale had continued to improve in the intervening weeks, and they were back to something close to their normal routine. He’d opened the bookshop to customers again, albeit with much more restricted hours, and Crowley was more content now to leave him to do his own thing. The angel was eating properly again too, though maybe with less delight than normal. The zoning-out was still happening. Crowley hadn’t yet worked out what to do about that.

They found themselves sat on the sofa again, Aziraphale perched in Crowley’s lap, lips on his, and everything was quiet and peaceful. Aziraphale suddenly parted from him and sat back. Crowley raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

“I think I’m ready to try,” Aziraphale said, fiddling with Crowley’s necktie.

“Try what?”

Aziraphale made a you-know gesture with his eyes and motioned with his head towards the bedroom.

“Oh,” Crowley said. He had wondered when - or indeed if - Aziraphale was going to want to go to bed with him again, but he’d been waiting for the angel to make the first move. He wasn’t actually expecting it so soon.

“You sure?” he asked. Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley couldn’t help but feel tense as they made their way into the bedroom. He didn’t want this going wrong. The weight of what had happened in Heaven seemed to be sitting on his shoulders like some wicked clawed creature, a constant pressing reminder of everything that had changed. But if Aziraphale said he was ready, well, Crowley could only take his word for it.

Aziraphale settled on the edge of the mattress and reclined back, pulling Crowley down by his scarf to lean over him. Hints of the angel’s cologne flickered in Crowley’s senses as their mouths found each other again. Aziraphale was kissing him more forcefully now. Crowley could feel the angel’s determination as his tongue hungrily searched his mouth. His uneasiness slowly began to fade away as he lost himself in the feeling and the smell of him.

Without breaking the kiss, Aziraphale lifted one arm and clicked his fingers. A thrill raced through Crowley as both of their clothes melted away. Aziraphale shuffled backwards, and then lay back on the bed and spread his legs, gazing up at Crowley through his eyelashes. The sight sent hot blood down to pool in Crowley’s already-aching cock. He slunk forward to join Aziraphale on the bed. The angel hooked his legs around Crowley’s waist and pulled him in. A huff of pleasure escaped from Crowley’s lips as their naked bodies came into contact.

It felt like it had been far too long since he’d seen Aziraphale like this. There was a craving aching through Crowley’s whole body: to touch Aziraphale, to explore his whole body with his hands, to massage and knead all the bare flesh on display to him at last. But having only one hand free, he contented himself with running it slowly up and down the angel’s thigh, loving the feel of the strength of muscle underneath all that ample softness. Aziraphale sighed gently. The angel reached a hand down to where they were pressed together and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, rubbing slowly up and down. He was just as hard as Crowley. Crowley started to buck his hips into Aziraphale’s touch, relishing the waves of arousal the friction brought and the light moans that soon emanated from the angel with every movement. Clearly, the enjoyment was mutual.

Once he was almost-painfully hard, Crowley sat back up and, with a miracle, applied lube along his erection, shivering slightly at the cold. Aziraphale blinked deliberately as he likewise used a miracle to prepare himself. Grasping his cock, Crowley shuffled until he was in position kneeling between Aziraphale’s raised legs, and then he hesitated. He looked up at Aziraphale. The angel was watching his progress intently, his chest rising and falling heavily and mouth parted. He noticed Crowley pause and lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting Crowley’s. He looked nearly as nervous as Crowley felt, but still just as determined. He nodded earnestly at Crowley. Ok, Crowley thought. Here goes.

Aziraphale sighed quietly as Crowley entered him. Crowley let out a low groan and bit his tongue, eyes screwing up with pleasure, and pressed further in, until the tightness of the angel’s body completely enveloped his throbbing cock. Oh, how he had missed this. He’d almost forgotten how utterly divine it felt to be inside him like this. Aziraphale’s hands gripped the sheets at his sides and he moaned again, but it was a sound of pure ecstasy, not a cry of pain this time.

Reassured, Crowley began to fuck him, softly and cautiously at first, but with increasing passion as the exhilaration overtook him. Aziraphale lay back and let himself shift with Crowley’s movements, continuing to moan. After a while, Crowley moved to press down close against him, so that his hair kept flopping down into both of their eyes as he thrust, and their laboured breaths were mingling with each other. Aziraphale’s hands came up to dance lightly across Crowley’s back. Sharp, sweet arousal rocketed up and down Crowley’s spine to his shaft, and he buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck with a strangled groan of “angel…” Fuck, it felt so good. He was losing himself in the sensation, feeling the first hints of his orgasm building, when there was a sudden voice in his ear.

“Crowley… w-wait…”

Crowley froze immediately, and whipped his head up. Aziraphale’s face had gone slack and his eyes were blown wide and blank, staring straight past Crowley. His hands were still rested on Crowley’s shoulders, but the rest of his body had gone completely limp.

“Oh shit,” Crowley gasped. He pulled out as quickly and gently as he could and clambered off of Aziraphale, falling down next to him. “Angel?” he asked, aghast, as he clasped Aziraphale’s face and pulled him to face him. Aziraphale continued to stare, unhearing.

“Bless it,” Crowley hissed under his breath. The angel’s eyes were like two voids of emptiness, completely transparent. This was a bad one. A bad one. The worst he’d seen yet. Makes sense, he thought. But he needed to snap him out of it.

“Hey. Aziraphale,” he urged, massaging the angel’s cheeks. “Look at me. Focus on me.” Nothing. Crowley swore again.

On instinct, he grabbed the angel’s limp hand and pressed it to his chest, holding it there with his own. “Feel that, feel my heartbeat,” he said. Said heartbeat was fluttering and pounding so hard under his ribs that Crowley could practically detect its echoes through Aziraphale’s skin. “Focus on me,” he repeated. “Come back.”

He sat and waited for a response, holding the same position and concentrating intently on Aziraphale’s face, everything else forgotten. He hated being left alone like this, just waiting, with no idea what to do. Minutes trudged slowly by.

Eventually, the angel began to blink and Crowley saw the light return to his eyes, which shifted around as he took in his surroundings again. Crowley watched as he registered where he was and what had happened, and then the angel suddenly let out a little whimpered “oh” and collapsed into a mess of tears.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Crowley said, and took him into his arms, holding him close.

“It’s not,” Aziraphale gasped. “This isn’t what I wanted to happen,” he sobbed into Crowley’s bare chest. “Y-You didn’t even get to…” He stopped, and his eyes flickered meaningfully down to Crowley’s groin.

For a second, Crowley didn’t know what he meant. Then it dawned. “Oh, fuck that, angel!” he exclaimed. “It doesn’t matter!” As if getting off was the main thing on his mind right now.

Aziraphale broke down into sobs again.

“Oh, angel, please don’t cry. It doesn’t matter, it’s ok,” Crowley said, and rubbed at Aziraphale’s face, trying vainly to stem the flow of tears down his cheeks.

This had been a mistake. He wasn’t ready after all. And of course, now he was beating himself up about it. Crowley couldn’t stand the idea of Aziraphale thinking he’d somehow let him down.

“They had to ruin everything, didn’t they?” Aziraphale said, his voice more bitter than Crowley had ever heard it. Crowley didn’t want to tell him that was probably the point, angel.

“I can’t even make love to you anymore,” Aziraphale continued miserably. “What if I never manage to?”

“Then we won’t anymore. It’s alright.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “That’s not fair to you,” he said.

“Look,” Crowley said. He lifted Aziraphale’s face to his and stared him intensely in the eyes. “I survived six thousand years not having sex with you, angel. I can do another six thousand, and six thousand more, however long. Eternity, happily, if that’s what you need.”

Aziraphale gazed at him, misery and love intermingled on his face, but didn’t reply. Instead he just reached for Crowley and curled up around him, still weeping fitfully into him. Crowley cradled him, heart aching, until Aziraphale eventually finished crying and drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Crowley was still cuddling him when they awoke to the light of the morning. Aziraphale blinked sleepily and shifted closer to Crowley, resting his head on Crowley’s ribs. He looked worn out.

“Are we going to talk about last night?” Crowley asked him.

“Why?” Aziraphale said, and he perked up suddenly. “Do you want to try again?” he asked, face eager.

“No!” Crowley snarled with exasperation. “For Satan’s sake, angel. I want to make sure you’re ok.”

Aziraphale’s face fell. “I’m fine, Crowley,” he responded tersely.

“You cried yourself to sleep, angel, you are not fine,” Crowley snapped back, a note of anger slipping into his tone. Aziraphale just closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

Crowley took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. God, why did getting him to admit his feelings have to be like pulling teeth? he thought, though the hypocrisy of the statement wasn’t lost on him.

“Why are you so focused on this as the be-all and end-all of our happiness?” he asked gently.

Aziraphale looked at him and sighed again. “Because… I like having sex with you, my dear. I want to have sex with you. I enjoy this aspect of our relationship,” he said. “And if… if I can’t do that anymore, it’s-it’s like they’ve won. I don’t want this to be another thing they’ve stolen from me. They’ve already taken so much.” His voice wobbled slightly. “I just want to feel whole again,” he finished.

Crowley sighed too. “Ok,” he murmured. “I understand.”

He twisted a finger distractedly through Aziraphale’s shining curls. He could understand that. The struggle to keep something of yourself when everyone around you seemed bent on trying to break you apart. He wanted Aziraphale to be happy again as well.

“Just remember, as far as I’m concerned, you’re already whole,” he reminded the angel. “And… try not to pressure yourself too much, ok?”

Aziraphale smiled weakly and nodded. Crowley hugged him tight.

“You know I’d do anything for you, angel,” he said, trying to make it sound as deeply sincere as he meant it.

“I know,” Aziraphale replied, his voice warm with affection, and squeezed him gently back.

They snuggled together for a few more quiet minutes, and then Aziraphale spoke up, coyly. “Does ‘anything’ include… fresh croissants from the bakery on the corner?”

A smile cracked wide across Crowley’s face. He propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down lovingly at the angel. “Are fresh croissants vital to your continued health and wellbeing, angel?” he asked humorously.

“Well, they are rather,” Aziraphale replied with affected indignation. He blinked up through his eyelashes, pouting slightly.

Crowley smiled again, then bent over and kissed him right on the tip of his upturned nose. He never could resist that face.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, untangling himself from the sheets. Aziraphale beamed.