#inniters where always on the trenches

[ctommy-chileno]

Remember when people were like "don't judge a character based on how they treat ctommy" like wtf was that

[saintpallis]

AWESOME INNIT CARE ITEMS LIST

- BLUE!! collect rain water!! It smells like blue and it's awesome, you can also use it on some blue fabric, fluff, or stone as you prefer to give it that smell

- BELLS, perfect for praying to prime and just feeling more at home!! No matter where you are, you can always be at home with PRIME

- GUITARS! learning guitar has been so awesome for feeling at home and my self esteem and shit, absolutely would reccomend for anyone missing they wilbur!

- CLOTHES, bandanas and everything red are awesome for feeling more like yourself! Also you should bleach your hair, I dare ya, do it, do it, it'll make you so happy I swear best decision ever. Also yellow sweater or trench coat to curl up in when u miss wil could be nice.

- FOOD, apple :] it depends on who you are what food will remind you of source! I like stews and breads because they remind me of technos house! Chicken reminds me of wilbur and carrots remind me of my garden, just for some ideas!

[thecursedhellblazer]

@paradiseturnedhell​ sent:

One moment he had been chilling at a bar, sipping some bourbon. The next, Tantabus felt the agonising pull of a summoning and before the Bussekater had even been able to put two and two together, he found himself in a neatly drawn circle of salt with somebody burning several herbs in a bronze bowl.

Tantabus scrunched up his nose. He cocked his head aside, blueish green eyes shimmering furiously. “Wow”, he said, “Rude much?!” Before the summoning circle stood a man in a long trench coat, messed up, dirty blond hair and a worn down face. He looked like he had seen better days. His clothes and skin reeked of cigarette smoke. He was even having one of the blasted sticks between chipped lips.

Tantabus looked almost humble in comparison with his black jacket and grey hoodie. He also didn't smell of any weird substances, minus the bourbon maybe. His brown hair was combed and clean. Cats were notoriously clean, so Tantabus was no exception, even as a human. A low groan escaped his lips. It had been years since he had last served a master. And apparently this lost cause had found out how to get him here.

Welp, here we go again.

Sometimes he felt like he was too old for this song and dance.

Tantabus said: “Okay, dipshit, sorry... Master - need to get back into the swing of things, you feel me, pal? - what can I do for you?” He even spread his arms and did a little, flourish bow. “Given that you have summoned Tantabus and all his qualities.”

Summoning a demon was always a bit of a hazard, even for someone who was, by now, an expert in the field. The slightest wrong accent and the ritual might not have worked. Or, worse, you could have ended up pulling the wrong motherfucker out of the Pit and that could be a real problem if the containments seals you had prepared weren’t powerful enough to hold it.

John had learnt that latter lesson at a very young age, back when he had had the reckless, stupid idea of trying to get rid of a demon by summoning a stronger one. A mistake that had cost him his soul and a great part of the mental sanity he had left and that had damned an innocent little girl to Hell.

Not to mention that, while technically the pull was impossible to escape, the strongest demons often found a way to take their good ass time to show up. He remembered one time when he had sat in front of circle all in all similar to the one he was looking at now for over two hours before the hellish bastard he had been trying to summon had bothered to show up.

Thankfully, this time around he merely had to wait a couple of minutes before a figure started to form in the middle of the circle. The magician was in no mood to wait and, especially, time was of the essence with the mess he was dealing with.

“Woh, where yeh in th’ middle o’ somet’in’, mate?” He snorted when the creature hissed his annoyance at him, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. “Well, welcome to th’ blood club. Tha’s jus’ ‘ow life works, innit? Can’t even sit down n’ finish yeh drink in peace.”

Blue eyes quickly scanned the creature in front of him. He had been expecting to see it manifesting in a different form, but, if the Bussekater had been already on the mortal plane, those looks were definitely less eye-catching than a giant black cat.

Discarding those thoughts, Constantine took one last drag from his cigarette and let it fall on the ground, stomping it under his heel. A hint of amusement touched his face as he watched the creature struggling to slide back into a less harsh and more theatrical mannerism and he even snorted quietly under his breath at the bow.

In a way, it was refreshing, because the Bussekater had showed no sign of having recognised him. It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t picked a demon. He had hoped to avoid the biases that came with the ill reputation he had among the ranks of the hellish hierarchy.

“No need to try so ‘ard n’ lick me arse. It’s bloody obvious tha’ yeh pukin’ in yeh mouth jus’ sayin’ tha’ word. ‘Master’. Let us skip th’ formalities, aye? I ain’t ‘ere to enslave yeh or shite, I jus’ wants to make a deal ‘cause I could use yeh ‘qualities’, as yeh like to call ‘em, for a job. Den we can bot’ go back takin’ care o’ our own business.”

He took a step closer to the circle, careful to keep out of it. “So, yeh wants to be dis th’ easy, civil way or do I gots to put a magical leash on yeh, mate?”

[thedevilyouknovv]

@prideschosensinner

Constantine supposed he could be called a hunter. He certainly ran in similar circles, although his tended more toward the occult and demonology than werewolves and vampires, but he'd always thought the name lacked panache. Exorcist, demonologist, master of the dark arts-- those had a ring to them, although it was a bit hard to fit on a business card. Unlike most hunters, whose careers started in random, tragic attacks, John had chosen this path on purpose. He'd always been drawn to magic, and it was every bit the addiction as the pack of smokes in the pocket of his trench coat at this point. He loved it, hated it, needed it-- a little too much at times.

He usually kept his cases on the other side of the pond where they knew how to make a decent cup of tea, but he'd been in the neighborhood. Whatever was going on in this nowhere little town was definitely within his range of interests. Maybe they had a secret underground military base keeping things running smoothly, but more likely it was something supernatural. Real magic didn't exactly advertise itself, but there were signs for people who knew how to look for them.

John's magic always bordered the line between the real thing--dangerous, unpredictable, sometimes just a Hail Mary (metaphorically) one-shot--and basement parlor tricks, but they both came in useful in his line of work. He'd mastered lock-picking and sleight of hand alongside location spells and necromancy, and he let himself easily into the room, no such thing as a locked door. "Cozy sort of place, innit? Not at all like being trapped in an episode of The Twilight Zone." He smiled, ignoring the criticism. As soon as he'd learned there was another stranger in town, he'd made it his business to find out who. He didn't have to search far for a reason she was here.

{This starter is open to any and everyone. Friends and enemies alike.}

The humidity here was stifling. Not that she wasn't used to it. Junction City wasn't too far from home. Only a five hour drive.... there'd been reports of people passing through and never coming home. Rumors of it being the next location akin to the Bermuda Triangle. Though, those rumors only ran among people like herself with their ears to the supernatural ground, so to speak.

She'd found out in her short stay here, that it was no rumor. No one left Junction City.

No one.

Yet no one new ever seemed to move in. The tiny town's population hadn't strayed from 200 people in decades, and that included births and deaths. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn't seem to care. None of the locals seemed willing to talk, and most of them strayed from her like she had the plague. She'd met a few out of towners, though they seemed to just....disappear even though the motel parking lot was empty, the no vacancy sign continued to blink. Lucky she'd found what seemed to be the town's only empty room at a little bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town near the long stretch of bayou muck that ran what felt to be a hundred miles before you hit the on ramp for the highway.

A sheet covered the mirror above the dresser in the dimly lit room. She'd done that just this morning, not being able to take the feeling of being watched anymore. More than once she'd sworn she'd seen her reflection move when she hadn't, or she'd rolled over in the night to see a figure standing in the glass for just a fleeting moment before her gaze adjusted to the darkness. She didn't know if it was whatever the fuck was going on in town, or if it was her insomnia making her hallucinate. Either way, the sheet at least kept the sinking feeling in her gut at bay.

A creaking floorboard made her jump as the other approached, her gaze flicking to the door. "You could have fucking let me know you were there..."

@perilousxlives @bemyaddictixn @untamedlobo @heretoboogie @hawkinsheroines @grimmusings

[ciaranshade]

Carolina Lowcountry Gothic

- They say Charleston is the most haunted city in South Carolina. What they don't tell you is that they're all haunted.

- Everyone knows and talks about the gray ghosts - the Gray Man who shows up on Pawley's Island whenever a hurricane is coming, the Gray Lady who wanders Debordieu and Brookgreen Gardens morning the loss of her son. But nobody talks about the Gray Creatures on the beach. You ask the old man - the one who's lived here as long as anyone can remember - and he tells you they're just Sand Cats. "Yes, they looked like cats," you tell him, "But they didn't really move like cats, and they were awfully big -" The old man cuts you off with a waving motion and shakes his head. "Sand Cats!" he insists, his voice almost angry. "They're nothin' but Sand Cats, and I won't hear no more about it!"

- The wind whispers through all the trees, but when it passes through the fronds of the palmetto, it laughs - a dry, raspy laugh, its tones even more ancient than the distant thunder of cannon fire from across the harbor. You ask your friend if he heard it, too. He laughs - a nervous echo of the wind - and says your ears are playing tricks on you.

- The tour guide tells stories of all the hauntings in Charleston - the souls of prisoners who died at the Provost Dungeon, Lavinia Fisher at the Old City Jail, the Gentleman Pirate Stede Bonnet and his crew at Whitepoint Gardens, the girl with consumption buried alive in the graveyard, the baby that cries in the yard of St. Philip's Church. The stories always vary a bit, and the ghosts don't mind. They're just happy to be remembered. You ask the tour guide about the old Market, the hub of Charleston's slave trade - surely such a place, steeped in cruelty and disregard for human life, is bound to be haunted as well. The tour guide's face grows stiff. They don't talk about the Market. The last guide to speak of them nearly choked to death in the middle of his tour. The tour guide can still see his face - cheeks turning purple, eyes shot through with blood and terror. The Market ghosts are off limits. They are done being exploited.

- There's something about the ladies who sell sweetgrass baskets on street corners that entrances you - bright smiles and bright clothing, dark eyes dancing, skin gleaming with sweat. If you can't afford their wares, at least smile or nod and say "Good morning." "Boy, 'e sure how outchea!" one says, waving a hand in front of her face. You can reply in one of three ways: "Sure is!", "Innit though?", or "Boy howdy!" Variations of these are acceptable, but you must reply.  Never ignore the basket ladies.

- Everyone knows about the Lizard Man. The only part of the story anyone can get straight is that he's a giant lizard who comes out at night and leaps on people's cars. It sounds ridiculous. You laugh. The locals stare at you with wide eyes. "You won't be laughin' when he busts through your windshield," they say.

- There's an island somewhere off the coast where they used to send victims of malaria and yellow fever. You wonder if the faint cries carried to you by the wind off the sea belong to them. 

- They tell you that Charleston is called "the Holy City," because there are so many churches. What they don't tell you is why there are so many churches. You always thought it was because Charleston was home to so many denominations of Christianity. The truth is, Charleston is home to something else, something you can only escape by entering a sacred place. Convenient, then, to have a consecrated building on every street.

- There's this woman you see frequently at the CARTA bus stop. Her clothing always seems to swallow her up. Even in ninety-eight-degree weather with eighty-percent humidity, she wears a long beige trench coat that obscures her face and reaches down to her ankles. You can barely make out her eyes peering from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. You've never seen her get on a bus nor step off of one. You've never seen her arrive at the bus stop nor walk away from it. She is simply there. And then she's not.

- Driving home at night on a dark country road with barely any street lights, you might think you catch a glimpse of something shadowy running alongside the car, darting in and out between the trees. Don't stop. Don't look at it. Keep driving.

- There's voodoo here. It doesn't permeate the air and seep into your bones like it does in Louisiana. No, here, it lurks unseen in the shadows, following you and whispering to you - superstitions and old wives' tales, you think. Still, you hold your breath or whistle as you walk by the cemetery, and you never brush your hair outside.

- You're thinking about purchasing a house in the area and ask the old man for advice. "If they ain't blue already," he says, "paint the door an' window sills blue. Or any part of the house. Just make sure it's got some blue on it." You raise an eyebrow. "Why?" you ask. He speaks seriously yet casually, in the same tone as someone suggesting citronella to stave off mosquitoes. "Keeps out the hags an' skincrawlers."

- Everyone you know has lost something or someone to the pluff mud.

- You always feel eyes on you, staring out at you from the tall marsh grass - unblinking, calculating. It's just a bobcat or an alligator, you tell yourself. Just a bobcat or an alligator.

- It is not just a bobcat or an alligator.

- Everyone's grandmother has told them that you must say, "God bless you" whenever someone sneezes. It is required. If you don't, their soul might fly out and get replaced with a demon. You don't consider yourself superstitious, but, somehow, you've never been able to avoid saying it.

- Your friend often complains about "damn bloodsuckers" and "no-see-ems." You think he's talking about insects. He's probably talking about insects. Right?

- The horseshoe crabs slide up onto the beach dragging behind them the endless sands of time. They are Eldritch beings from before the dawn of time, prehistoric beasts with blank eyes and hidden, skittering appendages. Their blood is full of ancient magic. Leave them be and respect their space. They are there for a reason.

- When you leave the seashore, the sand clings to you with insistent fingers. It doesn't want you to leave. Even after you wash it away at the beach showers, you can still feel it burrowed deep into your skin. The sand will never leave you. The sand will never stop calling you back to the ocean. And, in your heart, you know that you will return. You will always return.

- Time doesn't seem to pass the way it ought to in summer. The hours that trickle by like raindrops on a window in spring slow to the speed and consistency of tree sap. Moments stick in your memory like insects caught in amber. Did that happen yesterday or ten summers ago. You can't be sure. Time passes differently here in summer. And it's always summer.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 36

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 36: Alfie and Tommy discuss life. Meanwhile Johanna and Charles are up to no good.

           “Tommy, mate, you’ve got to get a fucking grip.” Alfie and Tommy took the walk down out to the pier. It was a bit away from where they’d shot each other on the beach.

           Alfie let the man take a few deep breaths of the salt air before he began. With a grunt, he sat down on one of the low dock posts.

           Tommy remained standing, his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

           “I mean, honestly, when Leah called me I thought you’d been shot. Or someone had died. She were hysterical, mate. Said you’d lost your fucking mind because your family had come for Christmas. Now, what’s that about, aye?” Alfie clasped his hands together between his knees.

           “There’s a black cat in my family.” Tommy replied, not addressing any of his actions that Christmas day. It was embarrassing enough to know that his wife was so distraught and in such a state that she phoned Alfie Solomons.

           “Right, now I’ve no fucking clue what that means.” Not the man to speak in riddles like the Shelbys, he skirted around the ominous remark. “I’ve enough common sense to know you’re referring to a traitor. That right?” The slight nod was enough of an indicator that Alfie was on the right track. “So, you’ve got your knickers in a twist because of one traitor? ‘Tween you and me, we both fucking know how many men we’ve gutted for being traitors. Now either you really have lost your bloody mind or you’re using it as a fucking excuse.”

           Tommy wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the chat with Alfie. What did anyone ever expect from the man? Even still, he was wise to use the tactic he’d used for years in regard to their interactions. He let the Camden Town gangster run his mouth until everything was said. He could handle the pokes and jabs Alfie made at him, that wasn’t an issue. If anything, he felt mildly comforted. As if things had gone back to a simpler time. Back to when they would meet in Alfie’s bakery. They would negotiate business, perhaps Alfie would pull a gun or dish out a few colorful threats. And yet both knew that they weren’t in any real danger. Because they had an understanding with each other. One that was unspoken. It’s why they weren’t enemies.

           “Lookit you, Tom, have you even fucking realized that the world has kept on spinning? You’re out there doing the same shit you’ve always done, ‘cept now you’ve got a fancy new office at the Commons. What’s that brought you then? Just a nasty mess, innit? Now your family’s involved.”

           “They were involved from the beginning.”

           “No, no, not that family.” He waved a dismissive hand at the rest of the Shelby family. “Your family. Your wife and kids.”

           There was a break in Alfie’s rambling. Enough for Tommy to listen to the waves crashing against the pier. Steady, rhythmic churning that felt a lot like the state of his brain at the current moment. Anxieties and anger kept sweeping in. Unrelenting waves of stress and the unbearable feeling of being caged in.

           Alfie let out a low chuckle of pity and shook his head. “We’re men of habit, Tommy, ain’t we? Don’t fucking learn, right, from our mistakes ‘til it really does some fucking damage.” He subconsciously rubbed a hand over the mangled part of his face. “Think ‘bout it. All of us going off, yeah to that fucking War, seeing the shit we did, then they fucking expected us to just come back. Some men did, can’t fucking understand it. They must’ve been able to shut off that part of their brain or sumthin’.” He shrugged. “We saw blood over there, didn’t we? Then we came back and didn’t see none. And that didn’t feel right, did it? So, we made the streets into a warzone. That felt right.”

           Tommy watched the crests of the waves as they glistened in the dim sunlight. The clouds had made it a gray afternoon and the sky seemed at odds with the dark angry sea.

           “Does it feel right now, Tommy?”

           Finally, he looked over at Alfie. In a moment of vulnerability, his defenses lowered. “I’ve dug in too deep.” He admitted in a low voice. “You, Leah, Polly, Arthur, whoever can blame me for what I’ve done. You can tell me I was wrong for getting involved with Mosley. I don’t even fucking care what me reason was in the first place. What matters now is I’ve done it. There’s no way to reverse it. I can only move forward. That’s all I’ve ever been able to do.” When his voice broke, he lifted a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

           Alfie peered up at him. “So, is this what happens when you’ve run out of answers? You lose your damn mind? Tryna hold everything together by a thread? May I remind you that you’ve got people ‘round you that are waiting patiently to fucking help you?”

           Tommy lowered his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Including you?”

           Alfie rolled his eyes and muttered a few incoherent words. “Didn’t fucking say that, but if it means helping out your saint of a wife, then yes.” He replied gruffly.

           “The world really is upside down.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           Although they hadn’t covered much ground, at least Alfie had managed to get Tommy grounded. The ocean and their usual banter had a strangely calming effect. For how long it would last, neither of them was sure as they walked back to the house.    

           Unfortunately, it would only last a few minutes past walking in the door.

           Tommy, ever the perceptive one, almost instantly caught on that something wasn’t right. Both Charlie and Johanna’s coats, which he had hung up on the coat rack, were gone. Yet, Leah’s was still there, ruling out that she’d taken them out for a walk. Cyril was also sitting by the door as if he were waiting for someone to return.

           Alarm bells going off, Tommy pushed past Alfie in the hallway and went into the sitting room. Molly was sleeping in her bassinette but the other two children weren’t there. “Leah?” He called down the hallway.

           Still in the kitchen with Alfie’s maid, Leah poked her head out the door. “Yeah?” She was hopeful that the chat had gone well. But that hope was dashed when she saw the same panicked look that he had on Christmas Day.

           “Where are the children?” He demanded.

           Instantly, her heart dropped to her stomach. “What do you mean? They were in the sitting room?” She quickly dropped what she was doing and rushed out to find the room was empty aside from Molly. The sight made her chest seize, a hand going to her mouth.

           Tommy ran outside. It felt like there was pure ice running through his veins. Dread made his head swim as he was desperate to keep afloat so he could find Charlie and Johanna. The yard was empty and there weren’t any nearby sounds of the two playing together. “Charles! Johanna!” He shouted. As he repeated their names, there was an overwhelming feeling that begun to mingle with the fears of the worst. His throat began to close up until he was gasping for breath. His vision started to cloud. It almost felt like he was drowning on dry land.

           Alfie, Leah, and the maid came outside after calling through the house to see if maybe the children were just hiding. Leah, overrun by mother’s instincts, took off sprinting down the dirt path that led to the main road. Alfie’s maid headed down to the beach to see if they’d gone there.

           But Tommy didn’t even notice, he’d dropped to his knees on the grass. He clutched his sides, continuing to hyperventilate.

           Alfie recognized the symptoms. He’d seen many young men suffer a similar fate. Wide-eyed men, boys really, as they experienced the trenches first hand. Panic attacking them like a vicious monster, pressing down on their chests to make it difficult to breathe, overriding all thoughts.

           “C’mon, c’mon.” Alfie grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and hoisted him up. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll find them, they couldn’t’ve gotten too far on them little legs of theirs.” He guided the hyperventilating man back inside and onto one of the couches. He picked up Molly to bring her somewhere quieter so she could sleep.

           Tommy curled into himself, his forehead pressed to his knees, his arms thrown over his head. He trembled as he tried desperately to breathe. Darkness was starting to close in on him. Was this really how he was going to go out? Some attack? Hardly a fitting death for a Shelby man but he felt powerless to stop it.

           Alfie returned to the sitting room and plopped down at his armchair. “Just try to breathe, mate. You’re alright.”

           Alright?!

           Tommy was sure he was dying and Alfie was just sitting there like it was nothing. He let out a broken sob, unable to really speak. His fingers knotted into his hair gripping so tightly he threatened to pull every strand out.

           “Easy, Tom, just have to wait it out.” Unfortunately, as many times as he’d seen the abnormal condition, Alfie didn’t know how to snap a man out of it. He could distinctly remember smacking one private who had gone completely mad. But a slap hadn’t done much and Alfie didn’t want to beat up a man who was nearly catatonic. Wouldn’t be a fair fight.

           It was just waiting game. Either until the person wore themselves out entirely or had a moment of clarity.

           Alfie stood and looked out over the balcony. The beach was empty aside from his maid who was calling for the children. Of course, he was afraid for the wellbeing of Charlie and Johanna, but it didn’t help if everyone was running around like chickens without heads.

           So, he stayed with Tommy as he endured the fit. Every so often, he’d offer a few words of comfort. Sometimes, he stood up to check on Molly before returning to sit with Tommy.

           Gradually, the Blinder’s breathing slowed and the grip on his hair loosened. He lifted his head slowly and could actually see clearly for what felt like hours. It happened to be good timing too because the front door opened and Leah marched in two very sheepish looking children.

           Charlie hung his head and Johanna was clutching a bag of chocolates.

           “Now you go and apologize to Alfie and your father for worrying them.” Leah ordered firmly.

           Charlie and Johanna stepped forward with pouts. “Sorry.” They mumbled in unison.

           “Now where’d you go off to then?” Alfie asked with a tut. “Gave us all of fright, can’t go wandering off on your own like that.”

           Neither of the kids answered until Leah prodded them. “Go on and tell them.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

           “Charlie said a naughty word and I wanted to tell mummy but he said not to. So, then he said he’d get me chocolate if I didn’t tell mummy.” Johanna rattled off. She’d tattled on Charlie almost immediately upon seeing Leah running towards them on the road.

           “That’s not what happened!” Charlie exclaimed defensively.

           “Was too!”

           “Alright, enough!” Leah interrupted the bickering and snatched the chocolates away from Johanna. “Go to your rooms. I don’t want to hear a peep from either of you.” She snapped.

           Johanna whined and made grabby hands at her mother. She hated being in trouble and never liked it when Leah was the disciplinary.

           “Go, Johanna.”

           Reluctantly, the young girl followed her brother down the hall to the room they were staying in.

           Leah sat down beside Tommy with a sigh. She put a hand over her pounding heart. “Spoilt, the both of them.” She mumbled. Although she was just grateful the two were alive and hadn’t been snatched up.

           Her husband silently wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. The physical touch was enough to completely bring him back.

           “Did you two talk?” Leah asked, her tone softening.

           “We did yeah.” Alfie nodded. “’Course there’s always more to talk about, ain’t there? You’re all welcome to stay s’long as you need to.”

           “Oh, Alfie, thank you but I don’t want to intrude on you with the kids.” Leah was slightly embarrassed by the fuss the children had already made.

           “S’alright. Brings a bit of life to the house, don’t it?” Alfie chuckled. Cyril plopped down by his feet for a good tummy rub. “Doesn’t hurt to have this ol’ lug around again too.”

           Leah smiled and Tommy there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “We appreciate it very much.” She said softly. “You’re giving us some time and a place to sort things out. I know we’ll be able to.” She said the last sentence to Tommy more than to Alfie.  

~~~~~~~~~~

          Charlie Shelby liked to believe that he was fearless. At least braver than most boys his age. He enjoyed riding horses, never shying away from a challenge in the saddle. He wanted to be as tough as his father and uncles. Wanted to carry a gun in a holster and walk around with razor blades sewn in his cap.

           Although he would never say such a thing to his mother. Leah would probably faint from fear if he ever said such a thing. She could barely stand the way he rode horses sometimes.

           Tommy hoped for a long time that by the time Charlie was old enough to understand, their business would be one-hundred percent legitimate. He didn’t expect the Depression and he certainly wasn’t expecting the fascist movement. So, it worried him that his son would pick up on things he wasn’t meant to know.

           Certainly, spending time with another notorious gang boss wouldn’t be the answer. But it strangely was. It took the children out of the framework of the company. Even though they spent most of their time in Warwickshire, business was still conducted there.

           Meetings, parties, deals. Didn’t matter.

           What mattered was pulling them out of that environment. Much as Leah had done when she took them to America. Putting them in a sort of safe-house was enough to draw their attention away from things they weren’t meant to be involved in.

           Still, Charlie had either learned enough or it was simply ingrained in him by blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

           “You’re writing an awful lot.”

           Winter turned into spring and Leah was worried they had long overstayed their welcome at Alfie’s. But the man didn’t seem to mind or give hints that they needed to leave. In fact, he waved off any of Leah’s concerns about how long they’d been there.

           Not that Leah wanted to leave. None of them did. The children were so happy to be there with Uncle Alfie. But they were also getting much closer to their father. And Tommy had a feeling he had Alfie to thank for that.

           Tommy glanced up from his notebook. He and Leah were sat on the beach, enjoying the first warm afternoon of the season. The children were indulging in the sunshine as well, romping about with Cyril and Alfie along the beach.

           “Can I know what you’re writing?” She wondered cautiously.

           He tapped the tip of his pen on the paper. He’d promised to be more open with his wife no matter how difficult it could be. “Alfie mentioned something about keeping logs in the War and it reminded me of-well of the journals I kept.” He admitted. “I used to write as much as I could so that if I died, maybe they’d have something to give Polly.”

           “And now you’re writing again.” She noted the number of pages he’d gone through in the leather-covered notebook.

           “Yeah.” Tommy nodded. “Not really to leave behind to anyone.” He idly flipped through the pages already filled with writing. “Just to, I guess get me thoughts out. Somewhere other than my brain.” He shrugged.

           “I think that’s a good idea.” She nodded and smiled warmly.

           Her husband smiled back and for the first time in a while, she could see the sun in his blue eyes.

           By the shore, Charlie was hopping from one rock to the other waving a piece of driftwood around like a sword. He’d been particularly taken by the pirate story Alfie had told them the night before. After all, who was more fearless than a pirate?

           “Argh!” Charlie stabbed his makeshift sword at the empty air in front of him.

           Alfie chuckled. “Captain Charlie, where’s your ship, mate?”

           “Erm…it’s been…it’s been stolen!”

           “Stolen, aye? What sorta scoundrels took your ship?”

           Charlie frowned and hopped down from the large rock he was standing on. “It was-um-it was Queen Jo! She was jealous of my ship and took it!” He pointed his sword at his sister.

           Johanna frowned. “I don’t wanna be a queen, I wanna be a pirate too!” She put her hands on her hips. “That’s no fair!”

           “Girls can’t be pirates, Joey.” Charlie rolled his eyes.

           “Now, hang on, Charlie-boy. Plenty of women pirates of legend.” Alfie told them.

           “Pfft, yeah right.”

           “I’ll tell you the story of Anne Bonny tonight.” Alfie crouched down when Molly grabbed at his pant leg. “Legendary pirate of the Caribbean Sea.” He picked up the youngest Shelby. “And a woman.”

           “Ha!” Johanna beamed triumphantly. “I can be a pirate!”

           Charlie frowned. “Fine, but I’m captain.” He asserted.

           “Very well then, Johanna can be the first mate and Molly can keep watch from the crow’s nest.” Alfie propped Molly up on his shoulders. “Now let’s set a course for mum and dad, I think it’s nearly time for lunch.”

~~~~~~~~~~`

           Charlie finished lunch before the others and wandered off when he was excused from the table. However, he wasn’t allowed to go back down to the beach by himself. So, he took to wandering around the sitting room. There were a few toys left out but he felt bored of the usual imaginary games he and Johanna played. Instead, he wandered back down the hall until he came across the coat rack. There, his father’s flat cap had slipped from one of the hooks.

           The young boy, rapt with curiosity, picked up the cap and turned it over in his hands a few times. He took a hold of the brim and pushed back the part of the fabric that hid the razorblade carefully sewn inside. Too young to think through the consequences, he lightly placed his finger on the edge of the blade.

           “Charlie! Drop that, now!” Tommy’s frantic voice from down the hall made Charlie startle and pull his hand back quickly. The motion caused him to cut his finger on the blade.

           The moment he saw blood, Charlie began to panic. Fearless. He liked to think he was fearless. But he’d never cut himself so badly before. Before he could really react, Tommy picked him up, making him drop the cap. He brought Charlie into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to wrap around his son’s finger.

           Alfie and Leah looked over from their spot at the table. “What’s going on?” She turned in her chair. "Is everything okay?"

           “He accidentally cut his finger,” Tommy replied.

           Charlie started to hyperventilate, tears pricking his eyes. He wanted to move his hand but his father kept a firm grip.

           “Is he bleeding?” Leah stood up, suddenly locked into mother mode.

           “Yeah.”

           “Well, what on Earth happened?” She gasped as she saw there was blood seeping into the white cloth around Charlie’s finger. The boy had only been away from the table for a few minutes.

           “He…he found my hat and was playing with it,” Tommy admitted. There was no use in lying.

           “Why did you leave it out?” She demanded.

           “I didn’t just leave it out!” Tommy argued over Charlie’s crying.

           “Well, he got his hands on it, Tom!”

           Alfie got up to separate the two. “Things fall from that coat rack all the time.” He said gently. “Let’s have a look-see then. If he needs stitches, there’s a doctor just down the road.”

           Tommy tensed up but let Alfie take a peek at Charlie’s finger.

           “Hm, doesn’t look too bad. Let’s get a bandage on it, yeah? You’re lucky, aye, your pirate name would’ve been Nine-Fingered Charlie!” The joke made the young boy laugh tearfully.

           Leah took a deep breath and stepped back. Her eyes met Tommy’s. They both realized how fragile their relationship still was.

           “I’ll go get something to wrap it up with,” Alfie said and headed down the hall.

           Charlie sniffled. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

           “I know, Charles, you just can’t play with sharp things,” Tommy replied quietly.

           “But you wear it. Thought it would be okay.” He mumbled.

           The hypocrisy was not lost on Tommy but he didn’t have an explanation suitable for the child. “I know. But you shouldn’t play with things that aren’t yours.”

           Johanna peered over the top of her chair. “Is brother gonna be okay?” She asked.

           “He’ll be fine, love,” Leah promised. “It was just an accident.”

           “Just an accident.” Tommy echoed. He wiped Charlie’s tears. “Something we can all learn from.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @tarafaithgr​ @vampgirl1997​ @evelynshelby​

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Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (6)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 6: The Hermit | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 | Previous: Chapter 5 | Next: Chapter 7 | Masterlist

6 of ?

So many questions rang in Cere’s mind, though she took her time in listing them up neatly in her mind. She started with the question why Imperials have arrived to the planet and started obliterating the biggest settlement.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask Cal,”

“Cal?” Greez was taken aback by the mention of his name. “Cal was there?”

“Yeah,” your pursed your lips and clicked your tongue. “I suppose he’s an Inquisitor now.”

“What? An Inquisitor?!” the Lateron captain exclaimed in disbelief.

“Well, given the last time we saw him, we all thought it was highly likely, innit?”

Cere ticked off that question and went on with the next.

“[y/n],” she cautiously spoke this time, gulping the lump stuck in her throat. “Did Cal do all that? The town?”

You swiveled your chair to face Cere—and Merrin who’s standing by the woman’s chair—and sighed.

“Yes. He told me that it was his directive to attack the town. How he found us here is something I don’t know, but I have a theory: they might have had spies in the town, though I shouldn’t be surprised since there were troopers there in the first place. My gravest assumption would be anyone in the Yewa Docking Bay.”

Loud sighs and nervous murmurs spoke for everybody in the cockpit. Everyone couldn’t utter a word. You swiveled the chair back and started inputting coordinates on the computer.

“What are you doing now?” the captain scolded.

“He’s still after the Holocron we retrieved from Magyon. I know someone who can be a better keeper, he’ll be the very least the Inquisitors—or Cal for that matter—will expect. At the same time, we’ll make our trail cold.”

The captain confirmed the coordinates that you’ve encoded into the navigation computer and got the ship ready for a jump to lightspeed. He cranked the lever and the ship enters hyperspace. When the situation has calmed down, you spun your chair again to face Cere.

“Cere, a word?”

“Of course,”

The woman promptly stood up from her seat and settled yourselves on the couch at the holotable.

“Something on your mind?”

“When I fought Cal, he was so different—he’s gotten more aggressive and heavier with his attacks. It’s like I barely knew him, even though he was such a familiar face. Frankly, he was scary,”

“It apparently has something to do with the training he received as an Inquisitor,”

“There’s another,” you adjusted yourself in your seat. “You know about my Force-Halt, right? The day we left Bogano.”

She nodded, urging you to continue.

“Well, it turns out, Cal knows how to use it too,”

The uneasiness became more evident in Cere: her eyebrows furrowed, her head turned to the floor, staring blankly at it while she registers that information.

“But,” that word cut off Cere from further zoning out. “He bragged to me that he’s mastered it, though, it also lasted for a short time. That’s why I was able to break free.”

Comparing the durations between your Force-Halt and his, you recalled the last moments that unfurled in Koboth—that day, you were able to keep him under the ability’s influence even from a long distance; though you couldn’t pinpoint whether the distance or voluntarily letting go factored to him breaking free. Both possibilities were logical, but there only has to be one.

“Then it could only mean he’s learned it later than you did. Perhaps, he’s still learning the ropes of it. Either way, you have to be careful whenever he does use it on you,”

Without a doubt, Cal will use it on you the next time he does. For now, the thing on your mind right now is getting to the planet where that person may be, and then hop to the next planet.

The trip was long so you retreat to your room, changed into a tank top and fresh pants to let your drenched outfit dry up. You donned a poncho to keep yourself warm from the Mantis’s air-conditioning.

You fished out the Holocron that you have been keeping in one of your bags. You sat in the lounge, joining Cere who was strumming away with her hallikset, she noticed the cyan cube pulsating its light in your hand.

“[y/n]?”

“You know, we’ve kept it all this time and not a day goes by without me thinking what could be inside,”

You look to Cere for some sort of affirmation or reassurance. The cube weighed on the flat of your palm and you channeled the Force from yourself to the Holocron. A rhythmic clicking noise emitted from the golden frame of the artifact, the once-whole pieces reduced into floating shards until a projection hatched out.

It was Plo Koon’s list of the Force-sensitive children he’s discovered throughout his journey.

“It’s exactly like the first one,” Merrin commented.

All eyes wandered across the luminous, indigo hologram riddled with the names written in Aurebesh. The projection is visualized like a sort of map, hence its circular image, with the dots signifying the planets where they could be found. The projection continued to hover and illuminate the room.

“There’s something on my mind that I want to say to you, [y/n],”

“Shoot,”

“This planet we’re heading to, how did you come to know it? What makes you think there’s someone who can keep it safer than we could?”

It was a good question. You search for the Cere’s holocron, you reached for it using the Force when you spotted it sitting on the corner of the dining table. Cere understood your plan, and you haven’t even activated it yet.

“You actually think that he’s there—in the planet that we’re heading to right now?”

“Look, Cere, I know it’s funny and you probably think I’m crazy or stupid or both. I don’t blame you if you think it’s illogical but…” you scoffed out a weak laugh, trying to gather the best words to be coherent. “I can’t explain it. Even when meditating, I feel it, the Force—as if speaking to me, telling me to trust my feelings. At first I didn’t listen to it because I thought the Force is toying with me just because I’ve become vulnerable all this time. But this time, I don’t think I have an excuse to not trust in my own instincts.”

There was a silence in the lounge. The microphone’s feedback crackled and a muffled rendition of Greez’s voice rang through the speakers.

“We’ve entered the planet’s orbit.”

All the women marched to the cockpit and got a view of the beige, sandy planet. Even from that a great distance, you felt a strong pull of the Force leading you on. That feeling was enough of a reassurance.

You assisted Greez in steering the ship, pinpointing safe areas that you could find in your navigation computer and then transmitting them to his own screen for him to follow. The Mantis landed behind a ridge where they’re safe from prying eyes. You suited up a poncho over your jacket so you blend with the sand and then pull up the hood; your bag containing the holocron and a few necessary items slung across your back. BD-1 crawled up your arm and then perched on your shoulder.

“How long do we have before the next jump is charged and ready?”

“Give it a few hours,” Greez replied.

“I won’t be long,” you tell Cere.

“Be careful out there,”

“Don’t I always?”

“Not really,”

It was the truth, though it warranted a laugh out of you.

You left the ship and began your trek through the flat, sandy wasteland. The low-lying haze of dust swept through your calves as you stamp your feet across the terrain. It felt like you’ve brought yourself to a purgatory of nothingness—save the extreme combined heat of two suns and the winds constantly changing direction to whisk up towers of dust clouds.

The golden brown sediments pricked the pores on your cheeks, you’ve already pulled up the flaps of your poncho to cover your nose and mouth but it didn’t do much. When the winds have picked up again, you found yourself passing through a low trench, shielding yourself from the inconvenience out in the open.

“Spooky, isn’t it, BD?”

“Boooo…”

“Don’t worry, I’m here, buddy.”

You unclipped your saber but didn’t ignite it, readying yourself for any attack that comes in the way.

An animalistic howl echoed between the crevices of the rocks and then you were jumped by a Tusken Raider! The end of its staff struck you across the cheek before you could even attack, causing you to drop your saber. Its weapon jabbed hard on your shin—and the pain was stomach-churning. You scuttled away from it and towards your lightsaber lying in a cushion of sand.

You had your hands literally full—on one, you were pulling for your saber; on the other, you inflicted Force-Halt on the Tusken. With the enemy frozen, your scuttling doubled its haste in going for the lightsaber. Certain with your ability, you took your time in hobbling back to the Tusken Raider you’re your saber ignited while it was standing painfully still.

You struck it down and snapped for a stim. It wasn’t a total recovery, the stim only numbed the pain tolerable enough for you to run with a shattered shin. When the curb of the pass was in sight, you slowed down with the running, presuming there might be more waiting once you make the turn. You stalked the path carefully, apparently your would-be assailant lost its patience and sprung out of its hiding place; holding the staff above its head and bobbing it up and down to assert dominance while doing its primal call.

The broken shin messed up your balance, and subsequently your fighting form. A swing of your saber severed its war club and then you introduced the sole of your boot to its chin, disorienting it and preparing to strike it down—but you were denied that chance when another gripped you by the shoulders to drag you across the floor.

“GET OFF!” you growled, violently shaking its grip off of you.

You threw your sword arm upward and drove your saber into the Tusken’s jugular—which you assumed it to be—and then its lifeless body disturbed the sand. This angered the one whose staff you just severed. It charged angrily towards you, there wasn’t a shred of sentience or humanity in its stride; you felt something or someone land from behind—you were too afraid to look and it would kill you if you glance over your shoulder. The Tusken Raider, once so wild with its movements and flailing its arms with great assertion, shirked in fear and retreated to the pass where it came from.

You felt a pair of gentle, kind hands clutch your arms, hoisting you up from the ground.

“You caught yourself in quite a pickle there, my dear,”

Still stricken with the events that transpired just now, you slowly craned your head to the side. Your savior is dressed in a dust-caked cloak whose hemlines at the sleeves and body were tattered due to time, his beard has grown past the tip of his chin and covered most of his jaw, and locks of his hair as brown as the sand flopped and hung in front of his forehead.

You know this man.

“Master Kenobi?” you uttered the only thing that came to your mind after everything.

“Well, I don’t think the word ‘Master’ warrants any meaning here,” he dryly chuckled. “Come, you’ve only met a small scouting patrol. We’ll be in big trouble if we linger.”

You winced when you planted the balls of your feet on the ground. The former Jedi Master saw your limping leg and noticed the bruise forming up in your cheek.

“Oh dear, are you alright, child?”

“Yes, I’m fine,”

“I think not,” he insisted. He bent down on his knees and checked your leg. He placed one hand on the spot where the Tusken had jabbed its pommel and suddenly appeared to be focusing.

A calming sensation entered your body—it was cool like water in a stream and swirled about the length of your shin. Obi-Wan withdrew his hand and you bobbed your leg, feeling for the pain—there’s no more pain. You shot him a surprised look and a smile paints on your face, he repaid it with a kind smile but his serious and urgent tone returned in an instant.

“Come with me and we’ll talk somewhere safe.”

You followed him across the ridge, evading the areas where there would be more Tusken Raiders patrolling the plains. The rocks acted as your cover. Along the way, Obi-Wan engaged in banter with you to rid any awkward air between the two of you.

“I suppose I should start asking for your name,”

“[y/n], Master,”

“And how did you get here?”

“You mean the planet or that trench pass?”

“Humor me on both,”

“Well, I came to this planet with a ship and a crew. They’re staying with the ship,”

“While you head out here all alone?”

“Uh, I chose to be alone,” you mumbled. “Anyway, I trekked all this way to come looking for you.”

“I suppose you can tick that off in your to-do list,”

You chuckled, “Yeah, I guess.”

The two of you went uphill until a small cottage was in sight. He invited you into his house and offered you a glass of blue milk. You didn’t realize that the thirst was overwhelming that you chugged the whole glass.

“Sorry, the heat just took its toll on me,”

“It is a rather unforgiving place. Now then,” he settled himself on a seat across you. “What’s a young Jedi like you doing in this desolate planet in search of a tired, aging hermit like me?”

You unslung the strap of your backpack, producing the Holocron out of your bag and holding it in front of him.

“This Holocron was originally Plo Koon’s,”

Obi-Wan mouthed the name while running his thumb across his beard.

“This contains a list of all the Force-sensitive children in the galaxy. If fallen into the wrong hands, these kids will be tools of the Inquisitors or the Empire—not that there’s much of a difference between the two, anyway.”

“Inquisitors?”

“Basically, they’re the hounds of the Empire, snuffing out the Jedi to destroy them. Aside from the typical Stormtroopers of course,”

Discovering that he has missed out on much of the Empire’s workings, you became his window to the outside world. It has been years since he’s exiled himself here in Tatooine with barely any connection beyond the planet. You narrated everything that’s transpired—not just the events revolving around you and Cal, but for everyone else in the galaxy: the partisans in Kashyyyk and the violent occupation at Zeffo to name some.

“And how much destruction have they wrought?”

You shake your head, “Not sure, exactly. But all I can say is that the damage is irreparable.”

Eventually, you peppered in the story of Cal, how he turned into the Inquisitor, and that he’s after this particular Holocron. Without any more filler talk, you went right into your true reason why you sought Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Hermit or not, you’re still a Jedi—whether you were or are, it doesn’t matter. I still believe it’s safer with you than it is with me. You won’t even come across the Inquisitors’ minds. I doubt it.”

“Well, [y/n], that does sound reassuring,” you couldn’t decipher if he’s serious or sarcastic with that remark.

He stands up to take the Holocron from your hands. He activated it and the relic emitted the luminous projection from its shell, his eyes trailed left and right, reading the children’s names and planets. There was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t read—unsure if it’s a look of resignation, obligation, or hopelessness. Then his eyes lit up, a secretive curl in his lip hid behind the scruff of his beard.

“I believe that he can keep it safe, but I will reveal it to him once it is time,”

Your eyes furrowed, “Who’s he?”

He lifted the lid of a box with a silver hilt resting inside, the Holocron eventually joined the weapon in the container.

“Our only hope.”

For the whole conversation, that was the most enigmatic answer you’ve heard from Obi-Wan Kenobi. You don’t believe that it’s the heat that’s gotten into his head. You truly believe that there was some meaning to his words, even though you’re not sure what to comprehend from that.

[smokeinherperfume]

Gold Dust Woman

In which Harry meets an angel who isn’t what she appears to be. [7.3k]

So here it is.. my promised Halloween-related fic! I don’t have too much to say about this (just that it’s been a long time coming for this one....i’ve worked on it quite a while) but I hope you like it! As always feedback is always much appreciated, enjoy. Oh! and Happy Halloween! 🎃

“You angels really don’t even try with subtlety, do you? You look like one of those ridiculous toppers the humans put on their trees this time of the year.”

Glancing up from the book you where holding, you slowly let it snap shut, tucking it in with the others you had nearby. You weren’t even sure who’d said it, but something about them already set you on edge.

“I mean seriously love, you look like you just left a winter ball on the way here….” Pouting, you spun on the balls of your feet, eying the stranger nearby curiously.

“ ‘S not very polite.” You mumbled, smoothing out the skirt of your white dress, hugging your soft beige trench closer. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you if you don’t have something nice to say, you shouldn’t say it?”

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you got a better look at the man; your body stilling under his cheeky gaze. He was practically the opposite to you, bundled from head to toe in deep plum and black. Though really, the wicked grin on his face should’ve been enough of a give away for you right from the beginning.

“And hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s more fun to misbehave?” He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against the bookshelf you were just looking over.  Huffing softly, you wrinkled your nose, grabbing books you’d picked up during your time in the shop.

“You know you’re not supposed to come near me, why is it so hard for your kind to follow the rules.” While you tried to add an edge to your words, your natural disposition made it difficult, your voice maintaining its gentle sweetness. “We don’t bother you or interfere in your work…”

“ ‘S true innit love, but it’s more fun this way. You lot get riled up so easily, ‘s hard not to.” Lazily extending a hand out in front of him, he studies his chipped black nail polish, the rings adorning his fingers glinting in the soft lighting of the bookstore. “And besides you’re clearly not busy with a case, and I had some time to kill so, I figured why not?”

“Anyways love, you just look so inviting… how is a creature like me supposed to resist?”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. I don’t need your shadow hovering over me.”  With that you spun on your heels, walking away from him as fast as you could. Even though you knew it was pointless, you wove through the crowd until you reached the cashiers, thankful that you couldn’t spot him nearby while you paid.

Heels clicking along the cleared sidewalk, you smiled softly at the string of lights hung above, connecting each lamppost you passed on the mild winter night. It was still early December, yet the people you encountered were already getting into the spirit; treating each other with a newfound warmth and kindness that delighted you every time the holiday rolled around.

You were considering heading home when you passed a small café. Taken in by the darling winter forest scene in the window you went inside; delighting in the fact that they were already serving your favourite peppermint mocha. Deciding you could make an exception to your schedule you found your way to the counter, nearly bursting with excitement as you ordered the hot drink.

~*~

Of course, after one of your longest days you’d spotted the demon once again. You’d unfortunately been tasked with dealing with the fallout from a horrendous accident on one of the motorways. Usually you could stomach it, knowing that the souls you helped to depart would be at ease and in a better world than the one they existed in before. But for some reason, the aftermath of the accident led to the fracturing of a lot of families, your soul aching as you knew how hard humans took loss around this time of the year.

Since you’d finished with the last soul, you’d tried to distract yourself for the rest of your day; unable to avoid the pain and sorrow that you experienced. Deciding to get a start on your weekly chores, you figured a trip down to the shops along the street would help clear your mind.

So, there you were, a little past eight in the evening, deciding what you’d eat for the following week. Balancing your basket in the crook of your arm, you where sorting through the fruit at the grocer’s. Unfortunately, with it being winter, the selection wasn’t what you were hoping for, and at the moment you’d only really found success with the apples and clementines, studying the pomegranates carefully when someone moved to stand awfully close beside you.

“An interesting choice for a little angel like you.” Reaching out to pick up one of the fruits just beside where your hand was hovering, you sighed when you saw his rings glint in the light.

“Didn’t think you lot could eat the ‘fruit of the dead’…but then again I imagine you’re full of surprises like that.” Studying the plump fruit, he turned it over before absentmindedly tossing it up into the air, easily catching it every time.

“And you’ve got a sweet tooth don’t you? Different to the rest of you though because you’re keen on fruit and not the fake garbage…I wonder if this is the only sweet thing around.” Twirling the pomegranate in his hand, he shot you a filthy wink. Shaking your head in disgust, you placed a few in the basket, wordlessly walking away from him.

“Oh come on now pet, I’m just trying to be nice!” He called, setting the fruit to the side. He scurried after you, his boots clicking on the linoleum as he tried to keep up with you. Scouring the aisles as you went, you sighed in relief when you hit the refrigerated section, making a beeline to the frozen fruit. You’d almost completely forget about the demon, giddily opening the case, humming while you looked over the options.

“Well shit, y’angels are quick on your feet aren’t you?” Huffing slightly, he was once again at your side, leaning against the cool glass of the case beside you, trying to catch his breath.

“It’s impolite to swear….and to follow people who’ve asked to be left alone.” You muttered, glancing down at the two types of mixed fruit in your hands. Unable to choose just one you shrugged, unceremoniously dropping both into your basket before you looked at the shelves in front of you once more. Seeing frozen raspberries at the very top, you moved to grab them, huffing when you realized you were *just* too short to grasp a bag. Watching you struggle, the demon chuckled lightly, pushing off to move closer.

“Lemme grab those for you love.” Without another word, he gently nudged you out of the way, effortlessly swiping two bags up before placing them with the rest. You had to admit you were a bit shocked at his actions, especially as demons were known to delight in watching others struggle (especially angels).

“Can’t all be bad now can I?” He hummed with a wink, stepping back to give you space. “And in case you were wondering, I’m Harry pet.” Wanting nothing than to just head off again, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in your stomach to be polite as you picked up your basket.

“Thank you, Harry, I appreciate it.” You muttered, keeping tight lipped while pretending to be preoccupied with sorting through the contents of your basket.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell me your name? Or shall I just keep calling you angel when we meet?” The never-ending teasing lilt to his voice was almost irritating at this point. It was as if the demon wasn’t capable of being anything but smug while he watched you carefully. Shifting on your grey ankle boots you finally looked up at him, shaking your head.

“Seeing as I highly doubt we’ll meet again, it’s not really necessary. Thank you for your help Harry.” With a curt nod in his general direction, you took off yet again, not stopping until you were certain you’d managed to throw him off the second time in a week.

~*~

It was the week after Christmas when you found yourself crossing paths with Harry once more. But this time it seemed that you’d been the one to realize it first. You’d been up late, having had to make a trip to a nearby apartment building to help a soul pass. By the time you’d made it home it was gone 2am in the morning and the street you lived on was deserted.

You lived for nights like this, the stillness in the air of the otherwise busy city comforting to you, giving you the space you needed to focus. You often spent hours looking out over the city from the small balcony connected to your living room, curled up with your favourite hot cocoa of the moment.

It was the sound of shuffling feet that pulled you out of your reverie during those wee hours, seeing a dark figure practically strut down the pavement. There was an obvious cloud of smoke circling them as the smell of nicotine filled the air, the person humming a gentle melody. It wasn’t until he passed a lamppost that you saw his face, recognizing it to be the demon that seemed to take a fancy in bothering you.

It felt a little strange to have the upper hand in this moment, often being the one surprised by him, and as you weighed your options you weren’t sure what to do. Angels really weren’t capable of cruelty, even in the form of making a teasing joke. So, while you could certainly catch him off guard, the chances of you following it up with something witty were unlikely.

Somehow, that didn’t deter you, and before you knew it, you’d willed your wings out. Checking them over carefully, you ran your fingers through the soft silver-white feathers as you saw him come closer. You waited until he’d just passed your house before setting off from the balcony, swooping over him, gracefully landing on your feet inches away from him, your wings fluttering in the cool breeze behind you.

“Surprise seeing you around here.” You hummed, placing your hands on your hips. He froze in front of you, almost stunned in his tracks at the sight of an angel, before recognizing it was you.  Taking a step closer you wrinkled your nose at the smell of him, the scent of alcohol practically wafting from him in the cool breeze as you wrapped your arms around yourself to stay warm. “And you’re drunk too… though I shouldn’t be surprised. ‘S kind of common for demons isn’t it.”

“You know I just can’t understand your kinds aversion to drinkin’ Angel, if you’d tried it you’d realize why we do it so often, why the humans like it so much. But as always y’lot miss out on the fun just to be the ‘pure’ and ‘morally superior ones’. “He slurred, hiccupping slightly as he leaned against a nearby lamppost to stay upright.

“But isn’t it rather late for y’doll? Past your bedtime certainly…. yet here y’are, checkin’ up on a filthy demon, and with what intent?” Wobbling slightly, a sleazy smirk crept across his lips.

“Just can’t keep away from me can y’love? Bet you’ve been followin’ me all night.” Pausing for a moment, he tapped his chin. “Though I really don’t ‘ope that’s the case, otherwise you’ve might’ve seen some rather scandalous things back in the men’s room at the bar…”

Rolling your eyes, you scuffed your white flat along the pavement, your wings slowly curling around you to break the wind.

“I wasn’t following you…” You mutter, eyes fixed on the pavement, hearing his footsteps near where you are, glancing up at him when he’s merely inches away. “Heard someone practically stumbling down the street, it’s my job to look after the humans around here. But it turned out to just be you.”

“Well look at you, a right guardian angel.” Cooing softly, he let his hand drift towards you, lightly stroking the feathers along your wings. You tried to recoil, knowing the touch alone from his kind could cause a burn, but to your surprise you didn’t feel a thing, the pure white feathers unmarred as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Checkin’ up on me, even when y’claim you don’t want a thing to do with me. Must be warmin’ y’up.”

Feeling flustered under his curious (yet albeit definitely intoxicated gaze), you weren’t sure what to say, tempted to just disappear from his sight.

“But y’still haven’t told me your name love…’s a bit silly f’me not to know, especially when we keep runnin’ into each other.”

“And don’t get me wrong.” He paused, slipping a cigarette from his pocket, placing it precariously between his lips. With a quick snap of his fingers he produced a flame, cupping the end to light it before drawing his hands away, the flame easily dissipating. He takes a long pull, lifting the light from his lips to let out a slow drag before continuing. “Chasin’ you is-“

“It’s Y/N… my name is Y/N.” You interject, cutting him off before he can continue to speak. At first he looks a little put out, but as he registers what you’ve said, a smirk creeps across his face while he taps off a bit of ash.

“Y/N, Y/N….Y/NNNNNN.” It’s almost as if he’s testing out how it sounds, saying your name as slowly as he can, tasting every syllable before taking another drag. “Rather like it. Not too cutesy like a majority of angel names… How’d you swing that one?”

“ ‘S not important.” Your tone was suddenly completely flat, the demon in front of you quirking a brow in surprise at how dejected you sound. “Not even sure why I came down here after realizing it was you. But you should be more careful.”

Before he could speak again, you turned away from him, your wings slowly retracting while you walked away, disappearing from sight.  

He hesitated for a moment, humming your name to himself one last time while finishing the cig. Snuffing it out under the heel of his boot before heading the opposite way, a small smile bloomed on his face, finally knowing the name of the mystery angel that seemed to ceaselessly fill his thoughts.

~*~

It had been a month since you’d seen him last.

You’d thought, hell you’d hoped, that since that night you snuck up on him and finally told him your name that you’d seen the end of him. And with every passing day you figured you had, not even feeling his presence nearby.

Admittedly, at first you found it rather relaxing, free from his suggestive looks or sleezy smirk; but as the weeks had gone on you found yourself almost missing his intrusive nature. Sure, you hardly knew a thing about each other, But your incessant bickering had practically become part of your routine, and without it you found yourself wishing he’d show up.  

The upscale restaurant you’d chosen for dinner that night was the last place you’d expect to see him, though in hindsight you really shouldn’t’ve been surprised. As the vibe of the fine eatery practically mirrored the aesthetic of the persistent demon.

Dabbing the napkin against your lips, you were just about to take another bite of your pasta when you noticed your waiter coming back into view, something on his tray that you just couldn’t place. Thinking he was simply on his way to another table, you turned back to your meal, twirling the linguine around your fork, only to halt your movement when you heard someone close by clearing their throat.

Carefully placing your fork down, you glanced up to see the waiter standing by your table.

“Horribly sorry to interrupt, but a gentleman at the bar sent this over to you.” He murmurs, quietly placing the glass of deep red wine on the table, slipping a folded piece of cardstock down beside it. Without another word, the young man had taken off, leaving you to sigh as you reached out for the card, slightly disappointed that yet another human had interrupted what precious time you had to yourself.

“Angel, Seems rather silly to keep calling you that now that I know your name. But what’s life without a little fun. Indulge a little for me, you might like it….

-H”

You felt the disappointment seep in as you glanced up, seeing the demon you’d become all too familiar with sat almost directly across the room from you. With a cheeky wave, he finished off the last of his drink and pushed up from his chair, sauntering across the dining room, easily weaving through the tables to stand beside yours.

“Aren’t you going to have a drink darling? Red pairs so well with the vegetarian option.” He purred, his hand resting on the polished wood of the booth. It amazed you how much he seemed to know about your kind, most demons being rather ignorant to their counterparts out of sheer laziness.

“You know I can’t drink…”

“Well then, can’t let it go to waste now can we? I’ll just have to have it for you.” Seamlessly, he slipped into the booth on the opposite side to where you sat, pulling the glass in closer.

“I don’t think you really should just sit at someone’s table. Surely they have rules against this.” You muttered, piercing a piece of broccoli on your plate with your fork, Harry just laughing softly in response.

“Who? Me Y/N? Darling I’m the reason why this restaurant is here… owner had to make a little deal with me in order to get the money he needed, so let’s just say I don’t have to worry about propriety of any sort.” He paused, taking a sip of the deep red liquid, savouring the taste with a satisfied hum. “Besides, you could use a bit of company, what with the weight of all those ‘troubled souls’ that you deal with resting heavily on those beautiful wings….”

“I have to admit I’m rather surprised when it comes to you angel; I had no idea I was in the company of such a… prolific one. You should’ve told me sooner. Would’ve made guessing your name easier.”

“But then again, you’re not for the spotlight are you sweetheart? Seems y’ rather shy away from the fame and the glory that your type gravitates to like a moth to a flame. Then again, a little humility never hurt anyone I suppose…” Musing to himself as if he was lecturing to you, you just rolled your eyes, turning back towards your meal.

“Well it’s not really important now is it Harry?” You asked, chewing slowly on the veggie as he quirked a brow in response. “Why would the work that I do be of any interest to you? More often than not your kind tries to undo what I’ve spent eternity doing, so why would I assume that you would be any different? Especially with how you behave.”

“You’ve got a little bit of spite in you love, haven’t you? Don’t like always playing by the rules that they set out for you hmmm? I can see it in your eyes, seen it in the eyes of many of your kind when they come… just beggin’ f’me to help them.” Grasping the stemware by the base, he slowly circles it on the table, letting the wine swirl around in the clear glass.

“But with you, there’s resistance… you want my help, hell you seem to be desperate to break from what you’ve been assigned to do. But there’s just something holding y’back isn’t it love? Can’t quite put m’finger on it but it’s enough…”

Scoffing at his accusations, you push your plate to the side, rolling your eyes while the demon just grins at you.

“That couldn’t be farther from the truth.” You mutter, suddenly pushing yourself up to stand. “I don’t owe you an explanation, and I don’t want to give you one either. I know you don’t understand the concept of manners, but by the time I come back I’d like for you to leave.” Tone flat and emotionless, you swipe your clutch up from the table top and leave, your grey gossamer skirt swirling around your legs as you head towards the restroom.

By the time you head back, the seat across from you is thankfully empty, though you’ve noticed that there’s a fresh non alcoholic cocktail waiting for you, along with another note propped up against the glass.

“Angel,

I’ll get you to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head eventually…We’ve got all of eternity.

-H”

Slumping in your seat with a sigh, you just tossed the note to the side, taking a long sip of the drink as you tried to figure out what to do next.

~*~

Seeing her leave the restaurant, her slate grey jacket pulled tightly, he swirled what was left in his tumbler slowly, watching the mixed drink slide around the cool glass. In all his years, Harry had never met a being, other worldly or human, that seemed so dead set against spending more than a moment with him than Y/N did.

It was like she was purposely cutting herself off from him, afraid of what his influence could do. Obviously, he’d expected a little resistance at first, all angels were like that after all, was just a result of the rather unflattering information they’d been taught about their demonic counterparts. But Harry had always been able to wear down that tired stereotype, ending with results that always worked out in his favour.

But Y/N. Well, Y/N just wouldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t let him in at all.

At first, he had to admit he was rather put off by it, Harry really couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to devote so much effort to one being. But if anything, her continued stubbornness was intriguing to him. Especially after she had been the one to surprise him the last time they met.

He was still trying to figure out why she’d even stopped him that night. He hadn’t the slightest clue where she’d come from, and she could’ve easily gone about her evening without acknowledging him. Yet something inside her pulled the angel to him, and he was rather determined to figure out what exactly it was.

Slipping his hand into his suit pocket, he let his finger rub over the soft feather that fallen from her wing that evening, feeling the unnaturally smooth texture against his skin. Getting lost in Y/N, his thoughts of what it could be that the mystery angel was keeping from him swirling around his head for a moment before he snapped himself out of his reverie.  Flagging down the bartender, he closed his tab for the night and stood up, eying the crowded dining room before disappearing out into the night, eager for a chance to cause a bit of a trouble.

~*~

The next time he saw her, well he had to admit, something clearly was different.

The thing about angels was they adhered to a pretty strict aesthetic. Nothing too risqué or trendy, and almost always in the purest shade of white they could manage (and when they needed to be a bit more formal silver or gold). Modesty and simplicity was at the heart of an angel’s style and what he saw Y/N in was…. anything but.

She was at the farmer’s market of all places, the large wicker basket she had in her arm already full of past purchases. The first thing that really caught his attention was the boots she’d opted to wear. It was a rather cold February day, but she was wearing a pair encrusted with jewels, looking as if they’d been stuck onto her skin with nothing underneath.

Now that alone probably wouldn’t have made him look twice. But paired the black A-line dress she had on with the plunging neckline that he could see underneath her unbuttoned grey jacket, well he just couldn’t resist.

Silently, he moved over to the stall she was glancing at, sliding up to her, offering out what was clearly the best apple in the bunch to her.

“Taking a walk on the wild side today Y/N?” Her posture froze, his lips barely inches away from her ear as she just accepted the apple, slipping it with the rest she’d picked out.

“And while browsing forbidden fruit no less….” Scooping another apple for himself, he spun the red skinned fruit in his hand before taking a hearty bite, quick to pass a few pounds to the cashier after he did.

“Honestly if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you might be falling just a bit angel.”

“is there something you want today Harry?” She murmured, side stepping him while counting all that she’d picked up from the kiosk before heading to the cash. Harry decided to hang back for a moment, giving her a bit of space as she passed her produce over to the farmer. Ever the angel she clearly handed him far too much money, insisting that the man keep the change before striding off. Just before Y/N was about to pass him he gently gripped the crook of her elbow, easily falling into step with her regardless of how much she tried to pick up her pace.

“Just admirin’ the good Lord’s work.” He teased, his hand letting go of her arm, slipping into his deep coat pocket. “Is the Lord’s day after all….”

“But you in this little number, it’s certainly not saint-like is it...”

“Do you have a point you’re trying to get at Harry?” She froze in her tracks, pivoting to face him. Her expression was almost completely devoid of emotion, and if he looked closer Harry could’ve sworn he’d saw a bit too much black in her otherwise soft hued irises.

With a shrug, he rocked back on the heels of his polished dress shoes. “Suppose I really don’t love. Just tryin’ t’figure you out…”

“Well don’t alright? It doesn’t concern you. So, stop meddling where you shouldn’t be…” The bite of her words cut him a little more deeply than he expected it to, the demon surprisingly taking a step back away from her. She all but stormed off, Harry watching as she disappeared into the crowd. Even then he could tell something was different.

See, angels often carry an aura with them. Typically, it manifests in those around them being stunned ever so slightly when they’re passing by or in a soft glow that just kind of emanates off them as they move.

But today, he can’t see either with Y/N, the angel appearing as if she’s just a regular human out for a shop.

Something about her is off, and it isn’t until later, when he’s musing over a glass of whiskey, that Harry figures out why it feels so familiar to him.

She’s presenting herself just like a demon would, and he can’t understand why.

~*~

“You know sweetheart, there’s somethin’ about you. I just can’t put my finger on.”

Scooping your latte up from the counter, you popped a lid on, quickly thanking the barista nearby as you tried to rush past him.

“You keep on runnin’ love, but we both know that I could do this for years.” Sighing in disbelief, you stop once the pair of you are standing outside the shop window, Harry looming over you as he leans against the glass pane.

“You don’t deserve it….” You mutter, running your finger around the rim of the cup. “But if I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

“Well… I can’t promise I will love, depends on what it is y’have t’tell.” He hums, combing his fingers through his unkempt hair.

“Will you at least stop being so persistent?”

Gnawing his lip, he eyes her slowly, seeing that she’s back in a saintly white ensemble today, Y/N embodying her angel persona in every sense.

“If that’s what y’want, then I’ll give you space… but after y’tell me what makes y’so intruigin’ t’me. Y’like a magnet love.” He idly reaches out, brushing one of your locks back behind your shoulder, smirking a little when he sees you blush. “A godly, golden, magnet.”

You pause, slipping a hand in your bag, fishing around until you pull out a permanent marker of all things. You gesture to his hand, Harry stepping closer, outstretching it towards you without hesitation. Somehow you manage to balance your still steaming cup in your grip as you scribble out an address on his palm.

“I can’t stay right now. You caught me while I was on my way to help a soul.” You mumble, finishing off the street name before popping on the cap. “Come here tonight at 7, I’ll tell you what you want to know.” You can almost feel the excitement radiating off him, the otherwise rather aloof demon glancing down at what you’ve written curiously before giving you a curt nod.

“Of course. I’ll see you ‘round angel.” Before you can react, he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, smirking when neither of you feel that rather unpleasant burn that usually accompanies a demon’s touch. Chuckling at the blush that spreads across you skin, he winks before striding off without another word, his long coat swirling around his lean frame as he moves.

~*~

When Harry stops in front of the non-descript building, well, he’s little confused. On the edge of town, he had to admit it wasn’t what he was expecting from Y/N at all. The neighbourhood isn’t close to the rather pristine imagine that she gives off, the area rather run down and destitute if you ask him.

The old brick façade in front of him isn’t projecting much confidence either, seeing only a heavy metal door at the entranceway, the windows all boarded up with wood it seems. Even if it is some kind of trick, Harry’s a demon after all, and he’s certain he can handle whatever might be waiting inside for him. He’s not sure if he should just try the handle and settles for knocking, brow quirking when it slowly swings open.

The sight inside comes as a complete surprise as he steps in, the interior actually appearing to be that of a rather nice restaurant. He’s a little baffled seeing the space so packed, bare blubs hanging from the rafters giving the entire room a rather soft glow.

“Harry?”

Pulled out of his reverie, he glances over at the host standing behind a small podium nearby.

“Sorry, Miss Y/N told me to keep an eye out for you.” He says sheepishly under the demon’s rather inquisitive stare fumbling with the pen in his hand. It piques Harry’s interest, especially as he can’t even sense you in the space like he often can.  

“So, she is here?” He asks rather curtly, straightening the cuffs on his suit as he moves closer to the podium.

“Early as always, was by the bar but she’s at your table, behind the partition in the far left of the room. Said she’d need privacy tonight…” He pauses, pursing his lips ever so slightly. “I’d lead you over, but she said you’d be able to handle that on your own. Have a good evening sir.”

With that the other man heads off, disappearing from Harry’s sight once more. The din of the room is rather comforting to him in that moment, the demon admittedly nervous for what surely must be the first time in an age. Taking a deep breath, he weaves his way through the crowd, gracefully moving through the tables that are nearly sandwiched together, smirking to himself as every nearby conversation dies off when the patrons get a sight of him.

It’s something that’s happened to him for almost 300 years now, but every time it does he gets a little smug. Humans are so fickle, but it still does wonders for his ego after all. By the time he finally approaches the partitioned area of the dining space, he’s not really sure what to expect, a little stunned to see Y/N sitting there, clad in black of all colours, absent-mindedly swirling what appears to be red wine around in her glass.

The soft click of his footsteps on the hardwood is what draws her attention up to him, a red tinted smirk curling across her typically angelic looking face.

“Harry, so glad you made it.”

~*~

You can’t help but hide the amused smirk that creeps across your face when you see Harry standing in front of you, looking more sheepish than usual. You’re rather impressed that he dressed up for the occasion, the details of his finely tailored suit not going to waste on his svelte figure.

“Was wondering when you’d show up, but then again I’m always rather early so it felt like ages waiting for you.” You teased, placing your glass down on the deep red tablecloth.

“Well… are you going to have a seat?” Quirking a brow, your gaze flickers from his face to the spot beside you. “Ordered a bottle of red, should still be chilled, you might want some before we start talking….”

“C-course love, ‘s jus’. Y’ caught me a bit off guard.” He murmurs, pulling out his chair, swiftly sitting down beside you.

“And why would that be Harry?” There’s a hint of mischief in your eyes as you watch him, the demon pouring a rather large glass for himself.

“Never seen an angel dressed like that before darling. You lot really aren’t known for your… daring fashions. Though black is oddly fitting for you...”  Slipping back into his rather smooth demeanour, he takes a leisurely sip.

You bite back a snide remark, rather surprised that you even though of it as you simply nod, running your finger around the rim of your glass, the soft pitch echoing in the silence between the two of you.

“So, what is it that y’wanted to tell me pet? Not secretly are a demon, are you?” He hums, chuckling at his own joke before seeing your posture stiffen slightly.

“A-are you?”

“It’s a bit… it’s rather complicated Harry.” He sucks on his bottom lip for a moment, finally setting his wine glass down on the table as he leans in.

“I’ve got time love.”

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes for a moment, calming your ever-present nerves before looking back at him.

“You’ve heard of fallen angels I presume?” You give him the space to nod before continuing. “Have you ever wondered if perhaps the reverse is possible?”

“A risen demon?” He asks, almost incredulous at the notion. “I’ve heard of my kind tryin’. But they never get close enough… though there is that one story… but it’s jus’ a myth at this point.”

“What story?”

“A few centuries ago, must’ve been around when I first began my time. There were rumours about a demon, for whatever reason they’d been mistakenly sent down when they’d led a life of service and duty; everything that would’ve made them out to be a textbook exemplification of an angel.”

“There was quite the fuss over it. They adapted to the life of a demon, but they never quite fit in, always bendin’ the rules to lessen the blow of their actions on whoever they were sent to see. Quite the fuss really.” He pauses, thoughtfully biting down on his lower lip before continuing.

“And then they disappeared, at least that’s how the story goes, there’s more to it. ‘M sure, but I can’t remember…”

“Do you remember the name at all Harry? Anything beyond that?”

“I don’t think so. We just took to calling her Pomegranate, Pom, after Hades and Persephone y’know? But I don’t know what happened to her… Don’t think she was really real in the end…”

“What if I said….” You paused, idly tracing the pattern on the table cloth as Harry looked at you with a curiosity you’d never seen in a demon before. “Harry what if I told you… that she, Pom, was real? That it wasn’t just some story?”

“Well, I’d have a hard time believin’ y’love. It’s ruddy ridiculous and unless I saw her before me. Well I wouldn’t think it t’be true for a minute.”

Breathing deeply, you cleared your mind, closing your eyes for a moment, making it look almost as if you were looking at the place setting in front of you before finally glancing at Harry again, his eyes meeting yours with a gasp.

Your irises had shifted completely, all colour in them gone in favour of a black so dark, he was almost reluctant to look into them for too long.

“It’s… y-you’re…. It can’t be.” He says in astonishment as you simply nod, clearing your throat as you loosen your grip on the tablecloth. “You? Of all angels?”

“It’s true… for the most part anyways.” You murmur, feeling rather vulnerable in that moment. “Of how I was misplaced, went out of my way to turn the tide for those I was sent to. It was horrible, I could feel myself slipping farther every day, nearly giving into the inclinations of your kind.”

“I wasn’t meant to be there, I’d done so much good in my life, always made an effort to help others, to put them before myself. And while we all knew it was a mistake, they still refused to send me up.”

“So, you’re right, I did disappear, I left Hell completely. Somehow, I managed to sneak back to Earth, and I made it my mission, I wanted to help as many as I could with the immortality I had. There were times where I acted… poorly but for the most part, I was so frequently mistaken for an angel with my work that it was only a matter of time.”

“And so, they finally let me up, let me become who I was truly meant to be in this life; but they made sure to leave what instincts I’d developed in hell fused with my soul. So that if I ever made a mistake, stepped out of line even slightly, they could send me down without a fuss.”

You pause, taking a deep breath, almost shakily reaching for your wine glass. You’re not quite sure what to say, the demon beside you practically stunned into silence, not even registering as the Host leaves another chilled bottle of wine at your table, the man leaving without another word.

“Which is why I’ve been so apprehensive about you getting close, about you knowing more about me than you should Harry. Being around your kind, well it doesn’t bring the best out in me, and I really don’t want to lose the life that I have; or the ability to help those around me in the way that I do.”

“You make me want to give into temptation, to test fate, to be reckless in favour of just causing a stir; and that threatens my fragile existence here.”

“My life as an angel, it’s not entirely permanent, and there have been instances where I’ve been purposely called to test my will, and so I suppose I just assumed you were another one of them. And I can’t… I won’t let you if that’s what you’re here to do.”

Harry just sits still, completely stunned as he fully realizes what Y/N has said. All those years, all those rumours; and now he’s here, sat beside a real risen demon. He should probably be jealous or do something reckless. But if anything, he feels sorry for her, realizing the gravity of his actions, of how his seemingly harmless teasing was so much more to you.

It feels like an age before he finds the right ones, tapping his fingers on the tablecloth as Y/N watches him closely, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I’m not ‘ere to test y’love, if anythin’ I just thought y’were another uptight angel. Sure I wanted to tarnish tha’ angelic glow of yours. But only for my amusement really.” He pauses, setting his glass to the side. “And y’should know. ‘M not gonna tell anyone ‘bout what y’ve said either. Not like they’d believe me anyways.”

“I get it. I mean I dunno why being an angel is s’important t’you with all the rules and things y’have to do. But I respect that Y/N, really I do.”

You just sigh, posture tensing up in your seat as you tuck your hair behind your ear. “You and I both know Harry that I can’t believe a single word of that. And I wish I could, I wish I could believe that you’re just a harmless demon just after creating chaos for humans and seeking pleasure. But I know you, I know your kind; and while I appreciate it, the empty platitudes really won’t put me at ease now.”

Pausing slightly, you pushed your still full glass back, your hands balling up for a second as your eyes fell shut. He’s about to interject, but you just shake your head, holding your hand up to quiet him. “This was just… this was a mistake Harry, I’m sorry. But now that you know, well, I can’t be near you anymore.”

His mouth was agape as you stood up from your seat, gripping your studded clutch in your hands. “Thank you for meeting me here. Goodbye Harry.”

With that you move away from the table as quickly as possible, ignoring his calls out to you as you weave through the dining room. You can hear his footsteps, feeling him trailing you but you keep your steely gaze forward as you leave the restaurant. By the time you finally make it outside, the cool air whipping around you comes as a relief, the tension leaving your body as you keep walking briskly, thankful that there’s a line of cabs on the other side of the street.

Before you cross, you pause glancing over your shoulder as you see Harry try to weave his way through the crowd that’s now gathered by the entrance. And for the first time, you’ve never seen him look so human. Even under the dim glow of the streetlights you can see his otherwise tanned skin now rather flushed, his eyes almost wild as he tries to search for you, nervously pulling at his hair when he finally spots you again. It takes everything in you, but you force yourself to move away, quickly jogging to one of the available cabs.

“Y/N! Wait!” He finally makes his way through the throng of people. But, by the time he reaches where you once stood, he realizes it’s too late, seeing one of the cars zip past him as he grips one of the posts in his hands. He clutches the metal hard enough that it dents under his sheer strength as he shakes his head.

You were so close, you finally let your guard down to him, showed him a side that no one else was able to see; and you ran. It shouldn’t bother him, he’s a demon after all, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest as he tries to calm his breathing.

For the first time in centuries, Harry feels devastated.

And he hates it.

[eturni]

Day 12 - Carolling

Day 12 of @drawlight​ ‘s advent calendar challenge. https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for Today is Carolling and of course since Silent Night wasn’t - carolling is 1914 No Man’s Land.

The run up to Christmas of 1914 was a long time coming and was, in small part, a result of the influences of a certain angel and demon among the lines. People were, after all, people. They were lazy and scared and most importantly hopeful. Almost to a fault. It was a fault that supernatural beings could use to manipulate (cajole) and tempt (encourage).

The angel Aziraphale spent much of the war as a stretcherman across both sides. Spent that time imploring a little more humanity in those he came across. Reminders to the wounded that somewhere along the enemy line there was likely someone who could meet his reflection wound for wound and loss for loss. That there was more similarity to them than that which divided them.

The demon Crowley tended to pop in and out as he pleased. With a steady enough supple of baccy and a dodgy enough look soldiers tended to make some very useful assumptions and not ask too many prying questions. Crowley put much of his effort into reminding people that, while it was potential suicide to abandon post, it was a choice to simply Not stick a head above a parapet. To take just a little longer in loading and firing a gun.

Humans are humans and will always do what suits them most. The influence did, however, make for a couple of pockets where the small allowances around cease fires to claim the dead expanded into small periods of conversation or bartering for baccy or cigs.

So it wasn’t too much of a surprise so much as a culmination of things when early in the morning of the 25th the sound of song started to carry across no man’s land. A carol.

It was eerie at first and sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine but the men around him were perking up and relaxing by halves and several of them made to leave the trenches.

“Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh...” Crowley finally processed the words but heard something else among it all. The call to relax. The call for peace, good will to all men.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/51945853 or:

It was what had grated like a prickle against his skin. It was too <i>good</i> for any angel but one. He scrambled up from his foxhole and was off like a hound at the heels of one of the other lads gone to check what the fuss was.

As if sensing that whatever Crowley was he must know something several of the others also decided that there must be some sort of safety. Some of their own voices joined the carolling. Joined the angelic call for peace. For now. For today. For just a little.

Crowley found Aziraphale in the centre of No Man’s Land. Of course he would be, reckless thing. He grinned with a few too many teeth when he spotted the other and was heartened to see Aziraphale stop singing and smile back at him, too bright for the dreary day around them.

The soldiers were already beginning to talk, stilted and soft though it may be. Already offering up small gifts and joining the carols in small groups together. “Look how wonderful. Just for today. It wasn’t even my- I mean I helped, of course, but it wasn’t even me who wanted this. One of the younger fellows suggested it but just wasn’t sure of the heart to be first over the top.” The angel all but beamed.

“They just don’t want to get killed themselves. They’re going to make any excuse. Cowardice it is, really.”

“More like compassion, m- dear boy. Empathy.”

“Empathy, huh? Something your lot go all in for I suppose.”

“Of course; it’s one of the humans’ finer features.” Aziraphale nodded firmly, rocking forward on the balls of his feet slightly.

“Empathy.. What about angels then?”

“Angels?”

“Yeah. Empathy, compassion, whatever. Is it good for an angel too? To sit with your enemy and call a truce because everyone’s tired of hurting each other and just wants five minutes for a fag and a kick about.”

Aziraphale frowned at this, straightened his slightly rumpled uniform before moving to clasp his hands at his front. “Well, that’s an entirely different matter of course. This is just people, not good versus evil.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah and I’m good at it; their higher ups tell them they’re fighting the evil side too though, y’know. Then they meet each other and they look a lot more alike than they thought. Just flesh and blood humans with a different uniform. Weird like that, innit?”

Aziraphale spared Crowley a proper glance then, looking sad for a moment. “Yes, I do suppose so. You think it’s cowardly then? Downing weapons and- the whole lot?”

Crowley sniffed a little, shrugged a single shoulder as a couple of the baffled Brits attempted to join in with Leise Rieselt der schnee. Haltingly and with almost no success, though the Germans were attempting to slow down (to an almost dirge) to allow them to copy the lines. “Stupid, really, is what it is. What, just wander over for a quick little chat while you’re enemy’s still armed. Hope your baccie’s enough to stop him from killing you on sight so you can play friendly until he turns on you next day? Lot to risk.”

Aziraphale’s answering smile was fond. Not that Crowley dared look. “Well when you put it that way. Still, I think-”

“Come on, angel. They’ll be singing at a funeral march if we let that bollocks go on any longer. Better go sort them out. Unless you’re joining the kick about?”

Aziraphale tutted and rolled his eyes but followed behind Crowley regardless as the demon found something else they could at least vaguely attempt to sing together. Aziraphale was a little disappointed to see that it amounted to a few whispered suggestions as he wound his way among the soldiers, passing off a treat here and there.

Aziraphale was so entranced in the kindness of it that he didn’t even recognise the singing picking up again at first. Not until Crowley stopped, turned to him and quirked an eyebrow as though to encourage him on. Of course even coming from a demon it was for a good cause so he was comfortable enough to take the suggestion. It was Christmas in No Man’s Land and it was as good a place as any for an angel to sing the praise from almost 2000 years before and pray a little more peace in the world.

[fangirling-and-lovin-it]

Home For Christmas Chapter 4:   It's Not You, It's Him

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/42444107?

“There's nothing like a full English,” Lee said, pushing his empty plate away.

He and Barney were sat in the hotel restaurant again, this time having breakfast. After the sleepless night they’d both had Barney was on his third cup of coffee and he’d been eyeing Lee devouring everything on his plate wondering how he was even conscious enough to chew.

“Is that a euphemism for something?”

“Did you just use the word, ‘euphemism'?”

“What, you don’t think I know any big words?”

“No, I know you do, but the big words you usually use are the names of weapons or some war-torn country you’re sending us off to.

And I was talking about the food.  We call that,” Lee pointed to his empty plate, “A ’Full English Breakfast'."

"That plate of cholesterol has a name?"

"Are you slagging off British food again?"

"I don't know, I've got no clue what you just said."

"It means insulting."

"Oh, then yeah. Definitely.  And I don’t know how you can eat all that anyway and not be clinically obese.”

“It’s all about moderation Barney.” Lee took a gulp of orange juice. “And does that mean you’ve noticed my figure?”

“I’ve noticed how much you eat.’

“Alright that’s it, I want a divorce.”

They were still ‘discussing’ food and which side of the Atlantic had the best when they returned to their suite. Not only had it been cleaned but a large gift basket containing a bottle of the Scotch that Barney had been drinking last night in the bar and several bottles of the beer Lee had ordered was sat on the coffee table in the living room.

"He got our room number," Lee said, his brow furrowing as he read the card attached to the basket. It simply said, 'From the man at the far table.'

"You know what it said in the file from Drummer, he's been staying here for years and has some of the staff in his pocket. He probably slipped one of them some cash to put it in here."

“I know, but…it’s intense though innit?”  Is this what women have to put up with from creepy blokes all the time?"

Barney raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a bloody caveman.”

“No, you just eat like one.”

“Is that any way to talk to your husband?”

“Well, maybe I want a divorce now too.”

“Course you do,” Lee said pulling his hoody off over his head. “I’m an unexpected feminist and you casually used a four syllable word before ten am. It’s been a funny old day so far, so why not add imaginary divorce from my fake husband to the list?”  He threw the hoody at Barney to stop him grinning.  “I’m off for a shower.”

“Didn't you take one before breakfast?”

“I was knackered, Barney. And bloody starving.”

“Well,  it’s good to know you have priorities and that personal hygiene  comes third.”

“Ha ha, you should do stand up.  Just don’t give up your day job.”

“I don’t have a day job.”

“Exactly.”

Lee disappeared into the bathroom and Barney settled onto the sofa which seemed comfortable again after feeling anything but last night when he was tossing and turning on it. He switched on the massive tv and tried to focus on the morning show hosts with their British accents but his mind was wandering. The sound of the shower seemed to resonate in his ears, bringing with it images of Lee’s naked shoulders and chest from last night, this time drenched in water, droplets trailing a path down his taut stomach, cascading down his hips and further to-

“No.” Barney was startled to hear his own voice in the room and wondered if Lee had heard him too. Then he realised that he couldn’t hear the shower running anymore and then the door opened behind him.

“Did you say something just now?” Lee asked, emerging from the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist.

“No, it was the …uh…tv. Some morning show I guess.“

There was a knock at the door and they both looked at each other. Lee went to look through the peephole and stepped back with an expression that was a mixture of surprise and annoyance. He  put a finger to his lips and then mouthed, “It’s him.”

Barney nodded once and motioned with his hand that he was going to hide in the wardrobe, which incidentally was nearly as big the bedroom itself.

Lee opened the door and put on what he was sure was his most flirtatious smile, looking straight at Artemis and ignoring the two bodyguards he’d brought with him.  “You must be, ‘the man from the far table’.  And the reason we’ve got a big basket of booze in our suite.”

“You can call me Artemis,” he said, outstretching his hand.

Lee shook it and stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. The Trench and Gunnar lookalikes stationed themselves at either side of the door as Artemis closed it behind him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

“Your husband not around?”

“Gone out for cigars.”

“The ones they sell at the hotel shop aren’t good enough for him?”

“He’s a man of very specific tastes.”

Artemis looked Lee up and down. “I can see that.”

“And uh….do you like what you see?” Lee stepped closer, crowding Artemis who was nearly his height but seemed smaller because of his slight build.

“Very much so.”

Unseen in the wardrobe, Barney’s hand involuntarily clenched into a fist. He’d left the door ajar just enough to keep eye on things and now risked peeking through the very slight gap. He saw Lee, with a small, sultry smile on his face, walk away from Artemis and sit on the bed. He opened his legs so that the towel split and rode up a little but the fabric still tantalisingly covered what was underneath.  Artemis walked slowly over to the bed and stood over him. Lee leaned back on both hands, encouraging him to lean down till they were nearly face to face.

“I like to be in control.”

“I noticed.  But the thing is…” Lee said, taking hold of Artemis and bringing him down onto the bed, moving swiftly so he was on top of him, strong arms either side or Artemis's head. “….so do I. That’s not gonna be a problem is it?”

“Not at all.  I’m happy to finally get you alone. Your husband is a little…rough around the edges for me.”

“And there I was thinking I’m your bit of rough.”

“Oh, you are,” Artemis said with a smirk, “But Barney looks like the kind of guy who’s covered with tattoos under his suits and that just doesn’t do it for me.”

“How do you know I’m not covered in tattoos under this towel?”

“Well….you could always show me.” Artemis placed a hand on the knot in Lee’s towel, and Lee put his own hand on top of his, once again showing him who was really in charge right now.

“Aren’t you at least gonna buy me dinner first?”

“Oh, you like to be wined and dined? I can do that.”

“I want dinner, I want drinks. And then….I want you.”

“I’m dessert?”

“You’re anything I want you to be.”

Artemis’s jaw dropped just enough for Lee to know he wasn’t used to anyone talking to him like that. He let his words hang in the air for a few moments before moving back and standing up.

“He’ll be back any minute.”

“I’ll see you tonight, then, “Artemis said as he got up too, smoothing down his shirt and jacket, regaining his composure. “Around eight in my suite?”

Lee nodded once and Artemis headed for the door as nonchalantly as he’d entered the room but unable to resist looking back before he left for one final look at what he thought he was getting a piece of that night.

Barney emerged from the wardrobe when he heard the door close.

“Quite a show you put on.”

“Yeah, well, ‘Reel him in’, you said.”

“And what are you gonna do tonight?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, you’ve got a plan?”

“Yes, I’ve got a bloody plan! Why are you being such a wanker all of a sudden? Look if you’re jealous or something ‘cos apparently he fancies me more then don’t-“

“That’s not it, Christmas.”

“...'Cos do you really think I want a bastard like that after me?!”

“I said that’s not it!”

“Then what the bloody hell’s the matter with ya?!”

“It’s not you I’m jealous of, it’s him!”

And for the first time since Barney had known him, Lee didn’t have a snappy comeback.  There was silence in the room once again and half of Barney wished he could take back every word he’d just said and the other half was relieved.

“Fucking ‘ell Barney.” Lee’s voice once again pierced the silence. They stood there looking at each other, Lee still in his towel, the few feet between them in the room feeling like a  crater from the revelatory bomb that Barney had just dropped.

“His hands on you….the things you were saying to him….I wanted to rip his head off and….”

“And?”

Fuck you. Those were the unspoken words that hung in the air, just above the imaginary crater. And this time Barney knew that Lee heard them too.

“Fuck.” And then Lee was walking, across the space between them and through the invisible words. He grabbed Barney by the back of his neck and pulled him in, crushing Barney’s lips with his own. And Barney didn’t pull away. He was too shocked to respond for a second or two but then felt his body press up against Lee’s, muscle on muscle. Fabric on skin. Like they’d always fitted together like this, they just didn’t know it till now.

They only broke apart moments later for air, Lee looking at him as intently as he had the previous night in the bar before kissing him roughly again. Barney walked him backwards to the bed and they fell onto it, still kissing.

Barney’s hand went to the towel, exactly where Artemis’s had been just a few minutes earlier. But Barney got a very different response

“Fuck…take it off.”

And Barney did. Looking down between kisses to take in the sight of Lee’s bare thighs and hips and everything that hung in-between.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.”  There was a smirk on Lee’s face. That familiar curve on his already perfectly curved lips that Barney had noticed a thousand times before but always tried to shrug off.

“You have seen me naked before.”

“This isn’t a locker room at the gym. This is different.It….feels different.”

Lee's smirk fell away, replaced with the look Barney had come to know as, 'Yeah I know, but I wish you hadn't said it.'  The few seconds that followed seemed to last an eternity, each man thinking the other might back out now, until Lee pulled at Barney's t-shirt and Barney let him take it off over his head.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Me neither. Right pair of virgins aren’t we?” Lee said, and Barney laughed. And Lee revelled in it because there was nothing like the sound of Barney’s laughter, soft and deep. And nothing in the world like making him laugh.

“There’s no coming back from this.”

“Is stopping really an option?”

Barney shook his head slowly, almost in time with their heavy breaths that seemed to be the only sound in the world right now. He moved off the bed enough to take off his pants and underwear and Lee’s mouth went dry again. He watched Barney open the drawer in the bedside table and take out some complimentary hand lotion they’d found when rooting around the room on their first night.

“Oh, so we’re using the fancy stuff?”

“If we’re doing this…might as well do it right.”   Barney got back on the bed and poured some onto his hand, rubbing it against the other one to massage it in and then took hold of Lee’s cock which was now as rock hard as his own. Unsure what to do next he started stroking him, hesitantly at first then faster, holding him firmer. They leaned into each other, almost involuntarily, their bodies pulled together as though gravity depended on it.  Barney felt Lee’s strong hand on his cock, as familiarly heavy as it had felt yesterday night on his leg in the bar. The same tingles ran through his body, and this time, he let himself make a sound so Lee heard him. A long, low sound somewhere between a gasp and a growl that was met by a bite to his neck, soft enough to leave only the lightest of marks, but sharp enough to let him know he’d been marked.

“Fuck” Lee almost whispered as Barney stroked harder, bringing him so very close to the edge. Resisting the overwhelming urge to just fall into it, he stroked faster too, lips still pressed to Barney’s neck as he felt his friend's fingertips and then nails grip his shoulder.

“Are you really tryin’ to……make this a competition?”

Lee laughed breathlessly. “Maybe……. or maybe I just wanna make it last now we’re finally doing it.”

Barney pulled back enough to look into his eyes “Well….I’m not complaining.”

“Makes a bloody change.”

And there it was again, Barney’s laugh. Low, familiar, and this time breathless.

“Fuck it,” Lee said softly, finally giving in.  The same way he’d usually say “Fuck it. yeah, I’ll have another beer.”  Because sooner or later it was inevitable and now he was falling, he couldn't wait to actually land.  Barney’s fingers pressed harder into his skin, leaving marks he couldn’t see yet.  Unfamiliar warmth splashed his body and filled his hand and letting go felt even better because Barney’s heat burned so beautifully on his skin. His jaw slackened as Barney’s cock twitched and jerked in his hand with the final few pumps and Lee let his body shudder against Barney’s. They collapsed back onto the pillows and now stained sheets and there was silence in the air again, accompanied only by their shallow breaths. The room grew quieter as their breathing did, and neither was quite ready to look at the other just yet. Lee grabbed the box of tissues that sat on the bedside table next to him, pulled some out for himself before handing the box to Barney. There was a moments glance between them before they cleaned up and only after that did Barney finally find some words. Well, sort of.

“So….?”

“If you’re gonna ask me, ‘what now’, I’ve got no fucking idea.” Lee sighed. “I’ve just fucked my best mate.”

“Technically, I was already fucking you and really technically that was jerking off, not fucking.”

Lee looked right at him. ”Are you bloody kidding me?  We just did….that and you’re taking the piss with semantics?”

”That’s only three syllables. I still win with ‘euphemism'.”

And then they were laughing again. And actually looking at each other.

“I still don’t know where we go from here.”

“Me neither. Another shower might be a good start though,” Lee said, looking down at himself and then gesturing to Barney’s body too.

Barney nodded, smiling ruefully. “You still haven’t told me your plan.”

Lee looked like he was about to start filling him in and then he broke into another grin and climbed off the bed instead. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“Put your knickers on, Barney.  I’m taking you out.”

[occultsleutha]

❛ At least I’ve chosen a side. ❜

superhero sentences / @farmboyalien

 Ever since John found himself tangled in this unlikely relationship with Clark Kent, he has always been looking for reasons to leave; an argument gone wrong, a conflict in interest, a growing intolerance for secondhand smoke. And logically, he knows that those things have always been there, waiting beneath the blanket of new beginnings for a later date where it can rear it’s ugly head and ruin everything John lied to himself about to even last this long. He’s always been good at playing along to the sound of his own bullshit, humoring himself against a universe that has never and will never give two flying fucks about his happiness or anything close to it. But sometimes he believes his own lies a little too much, falls a little too deep and—what’s new, John? What’s new.

There’s an immediate silence after Clark’s words, an aftershock of a weight making a crater into the apartment floor. John goes deathly still initially, cigarette smoke trailing up in a fine, straight line towards the ceiling as his expression becomes cold and hard. Then he stands abruptly from his seat at the kitchen table, a hand slamming violently against the surface with an exploding anger that surprises even him. He hadn’t thought he’d get so angry so fast, especially when he expects this kind of judgement; it’s one he’s crafted all on his own, because it’s true, but there’s something about hearing it from someone that has spent months telling him the opposite that really sets him off. He also realizes his pain comes from the fact that - despite all poor attempts at fighting it - he really does like Clark. 

It’s got to be a cruel irony that this time John’s the one being had by the heart-breaker.

“So the truth finally comes out, dunnit? That’s all you bloody superheroes do, muckin’ about with yer superiority complexes because you don’t have a fuckin’ clue about the struggles of everyday blokes like me! How could you, Clark? Or is Kal-El better? What would a bloody Kyrptonian know about the real world on this hell of an Earth? You can live here all you bloody want, but you ‘aven’t got a clue. Everything’s just well n’ dandy for you, innit? Dear ol’ Superman bein’ perfect, bein’ indestructible, bein’ a cardboard cut-out of what everyone wishes they could be! And y’know what? I may not be flawless like you, an’ me track record ain’t the most reputable, but I do what I can—a helluva lot more than the whole lot of you could do if you didn’t have your bullshit powers. While you’re babblin’ on about Justice and Honor and all that other Good vs. Evil rubbish, it’s people like me left t’ scrape up the grays of your black n’ white ideologies, the real truths, the shadow of humanity that you’ll never soddin’ understand n’ don’t care to be honest about, because it don’t bloody fit the neat lil’ box you’ve all fit yourselves in. I can’t stand any of you!” 

How many times had they talked about this? How many times had John put out the disclaimers about dealing with someone like him? The death count, the dangers of magic, and all the other baggage attached? And how many times had Clark insisted it was okay, that he understood, that some of it just wasn’t his fault. John had always had a suspicion that behind that acceptance was an unvoiced resistance to his lifestyle, muttered in secret among the rest of his colleagues who never approved of the damn relationship in the first place. 

This is exactly what he gets for thinking he could turn himself into a team player.

“To hell with you and the rest of your capes and cowls crew, playin’ sleepover in space camp, while everyone waits on hand n’ foot like you’re Gods! Well let me tell ya, you’re no better than all of ‘em combined!” John finally takes one long pull of his wasted cigarette before tossing the butt onto the tile floor and smothering it with the bottom of his shoe. “I don’t ‘ave time for this—” Snatching his trench coat off the back of the chair he begins his leave. He stops halfway to the door, catching a glance with Clark for one moment too long for his liking and tears it away before the anger melts into something too vulnerable for what he’s about to do…

“You want me to choose a side, well this is me choosin’ a bloody side.” 

The door slams behind him, and he’s gone.