#more bees I need more bees permanently inked on me

[meowie17]

SCU hardest difficulty writing resource

I was working on an SCU writing project when I realized that no one had made a list of the changes made in the hardest difficulty video so I decided to do it myself it took me 3 hours, 53 minutes, 35 seconds, and 61 milliseconds and is 12 pages 7445 characters long excluding spaces its got some gaps and definitely has errors because I don't myself have access to the mod and thus can double check these things nor look at the extra stuff we didn't see like the horses that being said I would love it if anyone wanted to add on.

Here it is after the cut:

Charlie

Enchanting 

Horns Five causes you to make a clown horn nous when taking damage if holding something with the enchantment

Crafting 

You need a crafting table to create a furnace

To create a chest you need to make a chest plate out of wood in a furnace

Smelting

You need a furnace to create a crafting table

Interacting with a lit furnace sets you on fire

You can create a meat sword in a furnace using red meat like pork

Food

He added cardiovascular disease so if you eat too much red meat you die

And olk plank can be turned into a piece of mutton

When you eat a pec of bread a message will appear in chat that says “Oh {Name} always loafing around”

When you eat a piece of raw cod it will soot out an explosive projectile in the direction they were looking 

There seem to be two types of raw salmon one enchanted and one not the enchanted on is enchanted with knockback X

Eating an apple causes the chunk the player is on to be eaten away down to bedrock i also heard a distorted Schlatt “apple” but I'm not sure if that's the mod or the video

Eating rotten flesh spawns a lot of zombies I’m estimating that it's at least 60

Clicking with the Gapple summons a tower of six TNT each one block apart that floats in the air and then explodes along lighting striking to the front left and right

Eating an enchanted golden apple causes about four  chunks that the player is on to suddenly disappear

Bizly 

Mobs

We know that he did something fucked up to horses but we don't know what it was exactly

Iron golems look like naked villagers

Polorbaers look like pink among us, are always hostile, and take less damage oh and their speed has been increased

Chickens rapidly multiply when near players are always hostile have a slight increase in speed and do a lot of damage

Cows have red eyes their head or flipped and they slowly float upwards they are also immune to the explosives fish send out as they phase through the cow

Spiders look like the default Lego minifig

Villagers sell the Sonk Ponkel for one emerald 

There is no such thing as a baby chicken all chickens spawn in fully mature

Zombies have white possibly glowing eyes

Sheep scream

Lamas have been reskinned to look like the fortnight loot lamas and their spit damage has increased. It is unclear if they had their drops changed as we never see one killed

There is an entity we never get a good look at or description of that isn't normally in the game and if it is seen you have to stand completely still to survive it, it also makes strange industrial machine noises

Wolves die when someone looks at them

Hoglins are tinted lime green

Squids ink you making you blind

Taming a parrot spawns a wither

Endermen look like weird stretched turtles

Bees are a turquoise mint color, are permanently angry, and drop bee straws which summon more bees

Condi

The Nether

You randomly combust

Netherbrick doesn't have a texture

Nether fortresses spawn wolves

The End

Endstone is replaced by pizza

You get nausea for 2 min 30 sec upon entering the end

The ender dragon’s been replaced with a block of dirt

The dragon's breath attack spawns bees

Breaking an end crystal spawns about 5 TNT when you respawn after exiting the end through the portal you get killed immediately 

Grizzly

Tools 

Torches are upside down and they flashbang when placed down 

The iron shovel forces you to dig straight down once you use it and while activated all blocks take a single hit to break including bedrock then once you have fallen into the void it Tps you to the sky directly on top of where you fall into the void then get teleported back to the top in an infinite loop

The diamond peacock breaks after one use and makes a squeaky noise

Weapons

Wooden swords give you splinters that damage you every time you use the sword, (and may also blind you not sure about that last bit)

Bows fire once and do a million damage

They added in “Vanishing Mist” the sword that splits the world in half it does about half of the ender dragons' HP

They added a fucking Glock and bullets 

Nature 

Dirt can feel pain and screams when you break it

Dirt gives you the hunger effect

Water is poisonous and hurts you if you go in it or drink it

Theirs some kind of a never-ending storm

Lava heals you and while it does set you on fire that fire is harmless except in the nether where it acts like normal lava

Misc

Unclear jurisdiction

When a player is struck by lightning they turn into a zombie

Coal gives you black lung

Buckets have a chance to spill but I'm not sure if it's from sprinting or just walking around charlie did say “Be careful not to run with that bucket” but that could be hyperbole

The sea pickle makes Jojo yare yare noises

We are told not to touch granite limestone obsidian or cobwebs but we aren't ever told what they do/why we shouldn't touch them

Something happened with silverfish but I can't tell what it is over the panic about chickens

You can also craft in a furnace

Crying obsidian is round

The gasts face has been replaced with a zoomed-in picture of Obama

Name changes

TNT, Crafting Table, Chest, stone sword, Raw salmon, Iron pickaxe, trident, iron sword, ender pearl, eye of ender, shield, gold nugget, red mushroom, iron sword, enchanted golden apple, gunpowder, iron helmet, iron leggings, crafting table, crimson door, ladder, olk fence, ladder, diamond pickaxe, golden helmet, golden apple, golden chest plate, and Apple keep their names

An unknown splash potion is nicknamed Shame juice this isn't an in-mod change but one used for storytelling. As far as I can tell it is either a splash water bottle, an awkward splash potion, a thick splash potion, or a mundane splash potion this is based on the color

Dirt is Grund

Egg is E G G

Olk planks are Plok Anks

Mutton is olk mutton

Chicken is raw BIRD

Stick is stikk

Birch log is WHOAH Log

Sea pickle is Sonk ponkel

Torch is hcroT

Coal is Cole

Carrot is Orange

Bread is Loaf Of

Raw cod is Raw COD

Enchated raw Salmon is Schlamonn

Feather is Tickle monster

Dandiloin is Lion.

Cobblestone is Carble

What seed is What seeds

Dark Olk is Alright log

Rotten flesh is Yuck meat

Bone is Boner

Spruce log is oh yeah log

Emerald is Eerald

Bow is now woB

Jungle Log is hee hee log

Obsidian is die

Poppy is Poopy

Oak sapling is Little tree

Water bucket is water bucker

Olk log is mmhm Log

Diorite is Donko

Dark olk sapling is DONKLING

Andicte is Ants

Redstone torch is rad s t on e t            o            r            c            h

Acasha is AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Log

Flint is Sharp Rock

Iron ore is Irb Ornb

Iron ingot is Iran Ingot

Dark olk planks are DONK PLONKS

Dimond is Damon

Red tulip is rope

Brown mushroom is penis

Twisting vines is affliction

Beginning list bullshit

Bane of arthropods spawns spiders

Beacon recipe changed to 8 pork and 1 cooked pork

Crafting eyes of ender the normal way gives ghost eyes that vanish when you craft them

Crafting table recipes changed to smelting planks

Custom Names

Changed thorns to horns, plays doot when hit

Changed sharpness to bonkness, plays bonk sound effect when used

Chest recipe changed to a chestplate out of planks

Dropping a slime ball on a stick creates a Slimecicle which summons baby slimes when used

Flint and steel require netherite to craft

Fliped the torch texture

Frost walker removes water around you

Switched crafting table and furnace textures, names, and GUI’s

Shield recipe changed to 1 fence

Swords craft diagonally

Interacting with or touching lit furnaces sets you on fire

Plank recipes give 3 planks

Mutton crafts an oak button and an oak button crafts mutton, their sprites are flipped, and their names are merged. Same with cooked mutton, just spruce

Eye of enders are crafted with 1 sapling and 4 seeds

Eating pufferfish spawns pufferfish

Eating sweet berries either teleports you to a random player of them to you facing them and says "Now kiss."

Eating an apple sets off a sinkhole

Eating a melon slice spawns an ocean around you

Eating a tropical fish puts you in an aquarium with mining fatigue

Eating a spider eye spawns cobwebs

Eating rotten flesh spawns 1-100 zombies

Eating a cookie sets you on fire

Eating cake explodes

Eating carrots gives you 10 seconds of night vision

Eating rabbit gives you high jump boost, only cooked rabbit gives you slow-falling

Eating pumpkin pie puts a pumpkin on your head for 4 minutes

Eating kelp gives you more back each time

Eating beef/steak plays random Beef Stew sounds

Eating a beetroot does a heart of damage and takes back the hunger it filled

Eating baked potato puts a baked potato on your head for 4 minutes, makes you invisible, gives you blindness and temporary nausea

Eating 10 pieces of red meat in a row will send a message in chat before you die of cardiovascular disease

Eating chorus fruit plays a screaming chorus of ahh

Eating an enchanted golden apple teleports you to y1000 and makes you explode When eaten in the nether, creates a huge hole into the void

Eating raw cod shoots an explosive cod rocket where you're looking that collides with blocks and entities

Eating raw salmon gives you a knockback 10 salmon, Schlamonn

Eating a raw porkchop gives you a fire aspect 10 porkchop, Very Spicy Pigstab

[eggs-love-loki]

At dinner it came up that last year I never got to watch the entirety of Santa Clause 2 and I had to watch it this year cause it’s my favorite and then after dinner we decorated the Christmas tree and watched the first and second Santa Clause movies so now I have no goals left to achieve

[georgiapeach30513]

I need more of Miss Lucy and Chris. Something about them and their alternative lifestyle is just *chefs kiss*. She’s so different from her sisters. And maybe I have a bit of a size kink too 🤷🏼‍♀️ can we get some more insight into them?

Oh I LOVE Chris and Lucy! They look like such a badass couple, but they can also be so soft for each other. Don't get me wrong, Chris has no problem with using Lucy's body, and she drools every time. She's so different from her sisters in her outward appearance, and even her thinking. Her older sisters wanted the "normal" lifestyle while Lucy has always danced to a different beat. But She's still soft and caring, protective just like her father. Lucy's size kink is RAGING. She's barely 5', and Chris is the tallest of the men at a big 6'6", 6'7" with his boots on, and he's THICC. I realize I have never given you guys any actual smut from them...

🖤🖤🖤🖤

A Head’s Up

Summary:  Chris and Lucy....😏

Pairings:  Destroyer!Chris X Lucy Drysdale

Rating:  explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, biting, unprotected sex, PIV sex, oral sex (female receiving), tattoos, piercings, multiple orgasms, size kink, manhandling, cream pie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  1.1K

Desperate Lives AU Masterlist

Lucy Drysdale Masterlist

"Uhh,” Lucy cries out when Chris picks her body up to shove hard against the wall.  He grabs ahold of her legs to wrap around him.  Needing her to hold herself up, while his hands rip off her clothes, “No wonder I’m running out of clothes.”

“Oh, shut your damn mouth, I’ll buy you some more,” his teeth sink in on her neck, giving the tiniest nibble before sucking on her supple flesh.  They both know she loves when he uses her body to his desires.  Loves that even if her legs were straight down, they would be dangling high above the floor.

Her tiny hands begin to undo his buttons, before he jerks the shirt off himself.  She looks over his broad chest, her eyes roaming at the intricate connection of his connected artwork.  Some of her own originals permanently inked on his skin.  “Go on and do it, Honey Bee,” he coos down at his tiny little girlfriend.  

Lucy’s mouth kisses over his blackened skin, sticking out her tongue she traces a few of the details, before he’s shoving her back against the wall.  Her hips propel her body to grind over him, and he can’t do anything but watch how needy she is for him.  Always so fucking ready for him to push into her.  Even still, it’s such a tight fit.  She’s just so...small.  

His thick hands go to remove her bra, and those big pierced tits bounce into his view.  Every part of her body modifications, he did to her.  Allowed him to have free range with her body, and what a work of art it was.  She is by far his favorite piece.  Even her piercings, the most sinful little things, that he wants to touch constantly.

“Chris, need you to fuck me.”

He spins the two of them around before tossing her on the bed.  Her body bouncing on the mattress, before he’s shimmying out of his jeans, crawling over her body to rip off her thongs.  That diamond hood piercing all slicked up with her juices, “Don’t you dare,” his arms wrap around her thighs, and lifts her weeping cunt to his face.  “Not your tongue,” she whines, only for a minute, until he pushes down into her core.

His tongue kitten licking his favorite piece of modification.  Making her overly sensitive now.  She bites at her lip piercing, while basically hanging upside down.  Her hands just too short to even touch him, so she cups her breasts, her fingerings pinching and tweaking her nipples.  There’s not much more he loves than have her cum over his tongue first.  Wrapping his lips around her piercing he gives her bundle of nerves just the tiniest suck, and her body starts convulsing, her thighs squeezing against his face, but he doesn’t stop.  

She knows what he’s waiting for, but she likes torturing him just as much.  Her mouth only whimpering at his ministrations, but he sucks harder, giving her a little nibble, and it becomes too much.  Seeing stars she screams out his name.  her fingers searching on the bed for something of him to hold on to.  Looking in vain, but he reaches his hands around her back.  Lifting her up on his shoulders, still buried in her cunt when she starts fucking his face.  Her hands brush through his longer hair, and gives it a pull, holding on tightly, like it’s her reigns.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.  Need you, Pooh Bear.”

Dropping her to the bed below, his thick body crawls over her, “Want me to take my time?” she shakes her head no, “It’s gonna be a tight fit.  That cunt hasn’t got used to me yet.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Without wasting anytime, he pushes his girth through her folds, watching as her stomach swells when he bottoms out, “Don’t stop,” she whispers just before he starts rutting into her.  Sometimes he likes things nice and slow with her, right now, she’s being a little bitch, and needs someone to fuck her down.

Adjusting his weight to be on top of her, giving her that heavy comfort that she needs, while his hips slam into her mercilessly.  Pounding through her walls, and even when she clenches around him, he doesn’t stop.  He only stops when he’s ready to.

Jerking out of her warmth, he flips her pliant body to her knees.  With a tiny wiggle of her ass, Chris crashes back into her.  Nearly breaking her back as he fucks into her harshly.  Her words coming out as incoherent slurs.  Nothing discernable.  He has her fucked and blissed out.

Holding himself up by his fists, he stabs into her with a feverish need.  A need for his own high, so he can cradle his little Honey Bee.  Skin slapping against skin, and the delicious sound of her juicy cunt surrounds him, and when her walls flutter around his cock, grabbing ahold of his veiny girth the last time for the hour, she milks him dry.

He holds on to her hips, while he pulls out, watching both of their cum ooze out of her swollen lips for a moment, before he flips her into his lap.  His hands brush the dark hairs that cling to her sweaty skin away.  Rubbing his thumb over her lips, and she kisses at it with every swipe.  Almost chasing it, causing him to laugh.  “You’re the most beautiful like this.”

“What sweaty and fucked out?”

“No,” he presses a slow and tender kiss on her forehead, “vulnerable and open.  You let me do whatever I want to you, because you trust me.”

“Feels good too.”

“Don’t start that being hard shit.  I love you, Luciana Drysdale.”

Lucy catches his left hand with hers, her lips peppering kisses all down his skin.  “I love you, too,” her hand slides all over his, noting how this is one of the few patches of skin not covered.  “Why can I see your skin?”

“It’s my left hand,” he gives her another soft kiss to her lips, bringing the both of them to lay in the bed, “I kept it bare for when I get married.  Want my wife to tattoo my finger.  Let her leave her own mark on me.”

Lucy is stunned to silence, but he pulls her back tight against his chest, giving her tightest squeeze, “I want you tattoo my hand.”

“I’m not your wife.”

Taking a deep whiff of her raven hair he sighs, “Yet.”

“Are you proposing without a ring?  I’m not a romantic person, but you better not be proposing when my sisters got the most beautiful shit.”

“I’m just giving you a heads up, Bee,” using his thumb and index finger, he swirls a pierced nipple in between them.  “Still gotta talk to your dad.”

Masterlist

[fruitcoops]

could you write a coops getting a piercing or tattoo (one or both of them)?

Part 6 of the Coops wedding fics! Thank you to everyone who has read this series--it’s been so much fun writing these, and hearing everyone’s thoughts made the past week an absolute blast. Hope you enjoy!

Check out the rest of the series on the Series Masterlist!

If someone had told twenty-year-old Sirius that in a few years, he would be walking into a tattoo parlor, hand-in-hand with his husband as they prepared to get their wedding date permanently inked on his skin…well, he probably would have laughed in their face. He had never been a big fan of tattoos—they looked cool, sure, but he never understood the point of going through all that hullabaloo for something that would stretch and fade.

Now, though, he saw the point. Wedding rings were amazing, but they were easy to lose; tattoo ink, on the other hand, was a permanent reminder that he had scored the most wonderful person on the planet as his husband.

“Right this way,” Jaya, the young artist with bright blue hair said, smiling as they waved him and Remus into the back. “Congrats on the wedding, by the way. How long has it been?”

“Three weeks.” Remus squeezed his hand and Sirius smiled, running his thumb over the ring. God, he would never get tired of seeing it there.

“It went well, I assume?” Jaya asked as they began setting up.

“It was perfect.” Sirius felt a jolt of fear in his stomach when he saw the tattoo gun, but quickly quashed it down; they had done their research and worked on the design with Jaya even before the actual wedding. He wanted to do this.

“We talked about the process over the phone, but do you have any questions? I’ll go over aftercare again once we’re done.” Jaya paused for a moment, but neither of them spoke up. “Alright, then, which brave soul wants to go first?”

Best to get it over with, Sirius thought. “I can go,” he said, much quieter than intended. Remus raised his eyebrows and he kissed his forehead quickly in reassurance before settling into the chair. He let go of Remus’ hand for a second to pull his shirt over his head, then took it once again and tried to stop the fluttery nerves in his gut.

“Right in the center, yeah?” Jaya leaned down with a stencil, their silver-lined eyes flicking up to Sirius’ face.

“Yep.”

“Alright.” He swallowed hard at the cold feeling of the paper on his skin, just below the hollow of his throat. His neck felt bare without the necklace, but it would be back soon enough. Jaya held a mirror up to show the small numbers. “Look good?”

Sirius nodded. “Let’s do it.”

His heart hammered in his throat and he let out a shaky breath as Jaya cleaned the area and cleaned up their drawing, then picked up the tattoo gun. “Je t’ai,” Remus murmured as he closed his eyes in a last-ditch attempt at relaxing. “You’re alright.”

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius hissed when the needles touched his skin. He clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on Remus’ hand, breathing slowly as pain prickled all across his chest. It felt like a million bee stings, or the last week of his broken ribs healing.

“Do you need a break?” Jaya asked without looking up.

“Just keep going,” he managed, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. The buzzing sound wasn’t quite as frightening as the strange kind of pain, but it certainly didn’t settle his anxiety.

“You okay, baby?” Remus folded his other hand over Sirius’ and traced a pattern into his wrist.

“Mhmm.”

“Lily and James invited us to dinner next week. Harry’s been asking to see the new baby lions at the zoo with you specifically. He’s also learned the word ‘lame’ and won’t stop using it on James.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Lily says it was her fault, but she told James it was me who taught him to say it.” Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“It’s karma. You taught him to actually swear, after all.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Remus complained. “The line is, ‘that’s so unfair, sweetheart, and we need to get revenge’.”

“Right, sor—ow.” Sirius blew out a harsh breath as the needle skimmed over a sensitive patch of skin and bit the inside of his lip.

Jaya made a sympathetic noise. “Just a couple more minutes in this area and then we’ll take a break.”

Sirius turned his head toward Remus and quirked an eyebrow. “Were you trying to distract me?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He moved one hand up to brush the hair off his forehead; Sirius melted into the touch, channeling his attention into the tingly feeling of Remus’ fingers in his hair. “Almost done, love.”

“I’ve got most of it done,” Jaya said, sitting back at last. “Just cleanup work now, and that’ll only take a few minutes. You’re lucky with all the muscle on your chest. It would hurt like a bitch if it was closer to the bone.”

“It already hurts like a bitch,” Sirius laughed, grimacing as Jaya flexed their hand and leaned in again.

“When you two told me your placements at our first appointment, I was a bit surprised,” they murmured, back in the zone already. “Most first-timers don’t choose such sensitive spots.”

“The placement was the important part,” he said, wincing.

“With your necklace, right?”

“Yep.”

“I always like it when people have cute meanings.” Jaya swiped their cloth over the small tattoo before continuing. “I mean, I got most of my ink because I thought it looked cool, but hearing people’s stories is the best part of the job.”

“Would you say the wrist or the chest is more painful?” Remus asked.

Jaya bit their lip. “Depends on the person. The chest area has more bone, but wrists are notorious for hurting.”

Remus hummed, but Sirius heard the edge of tension and kissed the side of his hand. “You’ll be fine.”

“You’re one in the chair,” he laughed. “I’m supposed to be reassuring you right now.”

Jaya glanced up at him. “Count down from thirty for me?”

Sirius frowned in confusion, but obliged; as soon as he reached ‘zero’, Jaya set the tattoo gun down and stretched their back out. “Was that—is it done?”

“Yep. Congrats, you’ve got a tattoo!” Jaya grinned as he sat up, then handed him a mirror. There, in black ink covering a space the size of a quarter, laid a perfect ‘6/12’. The skin around it was bright, angry red, but Sirius was more focused on the familiar slant to the six and the curl of the two; he had seen it written on the PT room whiteboard countless times and, more recently, their mock-up wedding invitations. “Do you like it?”

Sirius cleared his throat as a lump tightened it. “It’s—I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Jaya handed him his shirt as he stood. Remus took his place, looking a little pale as he rested his hand on the small table Jaya had set up next to the chair. “Still okay with the inside of your wrist?”

Remus hesitated, then set his jaw and nodded. “All good.”

“Are you sure.”

“A hundred percent,”

“Alright, let’s get that stencil on.” Jaya worked with clear intent and smooth ease—that had been one of the main reasons they decided on this shop above the others in the area. The cleaning was quick, Remus approved the stencil, and then they got to work.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about the wrist,” he half-laughed, gripping Sirius’ hand in a white-knuckled hold. “Now would be a good time to start talking, baby.”

“Oh! Um, we need to pick up eggs from the grocery store.” Jaya had to sit back as they both burst out laughing; Sirius put his face in his free hand to hide his blush. “Sorry, I panicked.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your day with Tremzy?” Remus suggested, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes as he settled back down.

“Yeah, okay,” Sirius said lamely. “Uh, I kicked his ass in Smash Bros.”

“You’ve got yourself a keeper,” Jaya said as they started working on Remus’ wrist again.

He smiled up at Sirius. “I know.”

The next fifty minutes passed much the same as they had while Sirius was getting his tattoo—he chatted almost nonstop, rambling about Logan’s terrible cooking and the standing invitation to bring Regulus along for a ‘we survived the Dumais house’ party. Remus scrunched his face up every few minutes, but Sirius kept their shoulders pressed together as he toyed with his free hand. Jaya gave him a thirty-second countdown as well before wiping away the last of the stray ink with a smile.

“How’s it look?”

Remus’ breath caught when he looked down, running his thumb along the lower edge. “That’s exactly what I wanted, thank you so much.”

“Any time, dude. Both of you have good pain tolerance.” They slid their cart to the side of the room again and stood, gathering some gauze and plastic wrap.

Remus leaned his head on Sirius’ shoulder with a sigh. “You have the prettiest handwriting.”

“And you have no excuse for forgetting our anniversary,” he teased, kissing his cheek. “How’s it feel?”

“Like I just got stabbed by a bunch of needles.”

Jaya snorted as he held his arm out for the bandages. “This might shock you, but…”

The three of them broke down laughing and Sirius shook his head, fiddling with the edge of the tape that he could feel under his shirt. A dull ache had begun spreading warmth over his skin and he knew the itching would drive him half-crazy over the next two weeks, but it was an easy price to pay for having his husband’s handwriting on him for the rest of his life. A permanent ‘I love you’, he had said the night after they decided on the design. Sirius smiled to himself as Jaya outlined the aftercare procedures. Permanent. Permanent sounded good.

[blazedgraysons]

i’m ready for the concept😏

a/n: this is probably a lot softer than you expected. lmao sorry was in my feels when i wrote this. anyway’s here’s a lil expansion on this post

warnings: there’s some mentions of sex, but doesn’t really go super deep into it. it’s also unedited so bear with me <333

“What’s this?” Grayson asks, tracing along the bee on your ankle, a tiny yet delicately shaded piece of art.  You look up from where you’re laying in his bed, lying naked under a blanket. Most of your legs are still exposed, showing off the tattoos you’ve been keeping hidden due to a rare LA cold spell.

“S’for my childhood dog. Her name was Honeybee.”  You mutter, voice heavy with sleep. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, but somehow Grayson is up and full of energy. He had gotten up a while ago, doing whatever to keep himself occupied while you drifted in and out of sleep. He eventually found himself perched on the end of his bed, watching as your body slowly rose and fall until his attention was piqued by the dark tattoo on your ankle. 

“Didn’t know you had tattoos.” 

“That was like the first thing you pointed out when we met.” You snort, remembering the day you two had met. He had loudly asked about your tattoos, wanting to know if you could recommend him a new artist in LA. He was more than happy with his current artist, just needed a cheap excuse to talk to the pretty girl standing in front of him at Whole Foods. 

As you’re taking a trip down memory lane, he’s pulling at the blanket covering your bare body. You whine lowly, body slowly covered in goosebumps from the cold air as more dark marks are revealed. 

“Yeah, just didn’t know you had this many.” His eyes are wide, taking in most of the details he had missed last night and sees your body is covered in different ink portraits. Some are small, most of them are large and he makes a notice how you keep most of them in places that can easily be hidden. 

The first one he asks about was actually one that he noticed the night before. They were red devil horns on the apex of your thigh, right on the edge of your pelvis. He had made a note to ask about it before beginning to go down on you, and he brushes over it.

“That was my first one. My friend used to charge people to get shitty stick and pokes in the school bathroom, and I was her first ‘client’” You air quote around client, memories coming back of rushing through your hour lunch and hiding anytime an attendant walked by. You cringe now at the choice and how you proudly showed it off to anyone who asked you the next period, feeling so mature and badass.  “I was 17 and so lucky it didn’t get infected.”

“Stop that.” You giggle as he continued to brush over it, tracing the small horns with the tip of his fingers. “Tickles.”

He stops, moving up to the larger piece on your ribcage. It’s a portrait of Medusa, face cracking as if she turned herself to stone.  Her eyes are left bare, and there’s almost something hauntingly beautiful about it, expression ready as if she was planning on turning you to stone herself. 

“Same friend, actually. She ended up becoming a professional artist.” You yawn, head drooping back down onto the pillow. You keep talking with your eyes closed. “She needed a test dummy for a larger piece, and I trusted her. It actually came out really well.” 

Grayson nods, taking in the detailed line work of the snakes and the shading of her cracked cheekbones and nose. 

“We match.” He can’t help but point out, eyes giddy as he pulls up his underwear to point out his own Medusa tattoo. You take in the naked woman on his upper thigh, snakes covering her hair and lower half. 

“Didn’t peg you as a bush guy.” You joke, sitting up to trace over his tattoo like he does yours. He sharply inhales, and you smile, making a note of that in your mind. 

“What else?” He asks. 

You turn over on your stomach, flowers adorning your left shoulder. 

“It’s my brother and sisters birth flowers - Roses for June and Marigolds for October.” Those were your favorite, though you rarely admit it to anyone. A permanent reminder of your roots, bringing your siblings wherever you went in life.

You roll back over on your back, and he moves up to sit on your upper thighs, still scanning up and down your body. You watch as his eyes zero in on your sternum tattoo. A rose wrapped around a dagger, almost as if the rose itself was a snake.  It’s placed directly in between your chest, and he brushes over it lightly, hand resting underneath one of your boobs. 

“Thought you would’ve noticed this earlier; specially with how long you spent staring at my chest last night.” You joke, tucking your chin unattractively to look down with him.  

“Was kind of distracted last night.” He flicks your nose up annoyingly. “What is it though?”

“I don’t know, got it when I first moved to LA. Was trying so hard to be edgy and cool.” He laughs and you lightly cover your face in embarrassment. “Don’t think it worked though.” 

“Definitely didn’t work.” Grayson’s still laughing and you left out a soft hey in protest, kicking his ribs lightly. 

He leans down, kissing the pair of dice above your collarbone. Their sides are up, both numbers marked at 11 and you answer before he asks. 

“My angel number is 1111, and matching dice are lucky so it just made sense kind of.” He nods, smirking at the way you start moving as he lightly sucks a mark right on top of it. 

You pout jokingly and the dark writing on your inner lip catches his attention. He pulls your lower lip down, rolling his eyes at the small Daddy tattooed along the inside of it. 

“Bad mistake, but still a good memory.” You explain. 

“Can’t believe I’m dating a girl with daddy tattooed on her.”  He jokes and it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“Don’t you have grind tattooed on you? Feel like that’s somehow worse.” He laughs while moving his hand as you pull down his lower lip to reveal his own questionable tattoo choice. 

“Okay, so it wasn’t the best choice.” He moves your hand away from his mouth before interlocking your fingers, bringing your hand to kiss along the vine wrapping around your wrist. He stops at the butterfly, kissing it once while looking at you expectantly. 

“What about-“

You shush him, laughing lightly as you put a finger to his lips.

“As much as I’d love to continue the tattoo tour, we’d be here all day. And honestly, a lot of them don’t really have meaning, just thought they look sick.” He nods, understanding what you meant. There’s plenty of tattoos on his own body that he struggles to come up with a deeper meaning, not always wanting to admit he just got them to look cool. 

“You know what this means?” You raise an eyebrow, shielding your eyes from the rising sun. 

“We’re getting tattoos together on our next date.” 

“A tattoo date? That’s kinda serious.” You tease, poking his side lightly as he lays back under the covers. 

“What can I say? I’m all in with you.”

[diphthongsfordays]

Word Find Game

I've been tagged by the incredible @akindofmagictoo, thanks!!

Damage (Deathdancer)

“This fight holds no yield,” said Lalit, looking down at them. “It will conclude when the winner concludes it.”

That was on Ailin, to wrap it this nicely without doing permanent damage. It was more dangerous for her, but at least she wasn’t supposed to cause any real harm tonight.

Drain (Firetide Rising 2)

“Someone tried to kill me,” Kina muttered. “There was a burning building nearby, I drained the fire for energy to get away.”

“And it didn’t kill you?” said Lito, with the same calm curiosity as a sailor asking what knot was your favorite to tie.

“Nope,” Kina shrugged. “Although I’m told it could have.”

Danger (Deathdancer)

Ailin's voice sounded like a strangers. She hated it when that happened, when everything went so numb that her mind locked itself in a glass box and the world went flat.

It was easy to be impersonal when emotions never bubbled to the surface, and that was dangerous. If you were going to do terrible things, you needed to understand the consequences.

Dare (Firetide Rising 1)

“How dare you use my own words against me,” said Tai, the corners of his mouth twitching in a failed attempt to hide his smile.

“I only use the good ones,” Kina assured him. “That’s why it only happens occasionally.”

I tag (no pressure!!): @ink-fireplace-coffee, @writingonesdreams, @pepperdee, @theres-bees-in-my-head, and open tag for anyone who wants it!

Your words are: Take, Task, Train, Tackle

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Too Smart for Your Own Good: Part 8

Pairings: (Past) Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, (Past) Henry Cavill x Reader, Chibs x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, PTSD, abandonment, another dick move on Henry’s part.

Word Count: 6,114

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk.

A/N 2: Yea, I had fun with this one. Sorry, not sorry.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Negan had seen you pissed before, hell, he’d seen you down right livid. But he had never, ever seen you so furious you refused to even talk to him. He looked over at you with a small, tight smile as you walked into your messy kitchen, but you didn’t even glance at him as you bee lined past him to grab two coffee mugs from the cabinet.

“Morning, princess.” He dared, but he instantly shut up when you shot him a look that spoke volumes. “(Y/N)...”

“Save it.” You grumbled as you grabbed two K cups from the box on the counter and picked up the entire Keurig as silent punishment. He sighed loudly as you walked back out of the room past Simon, who took one look at the coffee maker in your arms and over at the spot it lived in on your counter, before shaking his head.

“Does the other house have a coffee pot still, or did she take that, too?” He asked with a glance to his boss, who was watching you walk up the stairs back to your room without a second glance.

“I fucked up with her, didn’t I?” You heard Negan ask his second in command before you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you.

“Ye took the whole damn thing?” Chibs whisper yelled as you headed into the bathroom to set the Keurig down.

“There’s a pot in the carriage house.” You said back with a shrug as you plugged your machine in. “I don’t feel sorry for them.”

“Cold hearted.” He chuckled as he made sure the pillows were all around the co sleeper and that Celeste was OK before coming into the bathroom. “No cream?”

“You get it black, or you can go down and deal with my father to get it, your call.”

“Yea, I’m no’ goin’ down ta flaunt the fact tha’ I stayed ‘ere over nigh’ to ‘im anytime soon.” He sighed as he partially closed the water closet door to use the bathroom.

“If it helps at all, he now knows better than to lay so much as a finger on you.”

“It does not.”

“Well you don’t have to see him for a week anyways, so it’s fine.” You said as you stepped over to turn on the shower while the first cup was brewing. “Besides, I need an escort through IRA territory and I’m not trusting my daughter’s life to a prospect. I have a lot of errands to do in the next couple days...”

“Luv...” You looked over at him with your eyebrow raised before following his gaze down to the tattoo on your rib cage that no one but him would know the true meaning of just by looking at it. He smirked as you moved your arm out of the way, and shook his head. “Ye did say ye’d never let me live it down...”

“You tore apart my garden for those lilacs, Filip.” You giggled as you looked at the bouquet of purple flowers in a metal milk can with a tartan patterned bow around it that represented his last name.

“Couldn’t show up empty ‘anded now, could I?”

“No, that wouldn’t have been right.” You whispered even softer as he stepped forward to brush his thumb across the bow.

“Does yer da’...”

“No one knows what it means.” You said with a shake of your head as you shivered from the goosebumps racing across your skin. “Negan asked if it was for my mom when he first saw it because lilacs were her favorite too, and I just nodded and walked away.”

“It’s beautiful.” He said with a glance up at you. “Much more elegant than mine.”

“You got a tattoo for me?”

“Subtle.” He said as he held up his left hand and stuck out his ring finger. “Black band, but your name wore off the side.”

“You’re so cute.” You giggled as you ran your fingertip across what was left of your name. “Who did it? Because that would have gotten back to Negan...”

“I did.” He said as he looked at the left over ink. “Did a stint in prison for possession seven or eight years back. Anniversary’a the last time I saw ye. Took all nigh’ bu’ I needed the pain.”

“We’ll get it re done soon if you want.” You promised as you turned on the water and stepped inside. “Coming? We have a lot of things to do today.”

“So no time for a quickie?” He teased before taking a sip of his coffee, starting yours, and stepping out of his boxers.

“What kinda girl do you think I am?” You teased as you shook an old, nearly empty bottle of shampoo to finish it off. “I wasn’t that easy back then, and as a mother and a woman of class...”

“Oh, shut it.” He laughed as he wrapped his arms your waist and pulled you into his chest. He kissed you gently as you went from washing your hair to washing his, just appreciating being together again. You couldn’t stop your mind from racing in a thousand different directions as he gently lifted you up and pinned you against the wall to slide into you, but by the time you both came, you realized that for the first in twelve years you truly felt safe. You felt at home.

“I still love you.” You said softly as you laid your head down on his chest. “I never stopped…”

“Was I supposed ta stop lovin’ ye?” He asked as he ran his fingers through your hair. “‘Cause even after all the shite I went through, I’d do it all over ‘gain to ‘ave ye in m’life.”

“You can protect me from the big bad world.” You said with a smile as you looked up at him. “I’ll protect you from Negan.”

“I may actually let ye do tha’, lass.” He said as he quickly washed his body off and stepped out of the way for you. “Yer da’s terrifyin’ when it comes ta ye.”

“My dad may think he’s a hard ass, but that man knows that I’m the one in charge no matter how much he doesn’t want to admit it. And he also knows at this point, now that he knows I know what he did, if he so much as lays a finger on you, I’m done... permanently. So being with me is as safe as you’ll ever be when it comes to my dad.”

“Tha’s somethin’ I’m really nervous ta test.”

“I can solve it today.” You said with a bob of your head as you turned off the water. “Because while I know he will never, ever admit it to anyone, possibly including me, he regrets what he did now that he’s been busted for it. And he didn’t feel shame for it until he saw the look in my eyes. Because it’s a look that instantly reminded him of my mom, and I know he can hear her freaking out at him in his memories.”

“It’s so strange ta see ‘im through yer eyes, my luv.” He huffed as he grabbed his coffee and went out to throw his clothes on from the day before. “Instead of as m’President.”

“Yea, it’s still entertaining to see him try to be ‘big bad Negan’ all these years later when I know the softie he can be since I actually remember it from when I was a kid… shit, I really don’t wanna wake her up…”

“Rip off the bandaid.”

“But she’s so cute…”

“Rip off the bandaid.” He repeated as he fastened his belt. “Ye said ye had a lot ta do, an’ tha’ ye wan’ed ‘er on Belfast time.”

“Son of a bitch.” You grumbled as you threw on a nursing tank, and a big, loose sweater over your leggings. You grabbed something cute for Celeste, that would keep her warm through out the day, and pouted at her as you kneeled on the bed and simply picked her up. “Oh, Mommy’s sorry.” You cooed as she instantly started to whine in sheer exhaustion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know.”

“She’s cute until she screams.” Chibs teased as he sat down on the bed to put his boots on. “Then she just reminds me of you.”

“Fuck you.” You said in a sing song voice. He chuckled and threw on his kutte before putting her car seat on the bed for you. “Yes, I know, Mommy’s mean. But you can sleep in the car, baby girl.”

“I’m guessin’ yer kidnappin’ me like old times?” He asked as he took the dirty diaper from you and got up to toss it in the diaper genie you had put in your bathroom the night before.

“Well obviously, I’m a defenseless first time Mommy that needs a big strong man to protect her and her adorable little girl.”

“Well now I jus’ ‘ave ta protect such a beautiful woman, and this cute little screamin’ bundle’a joy.”

“Oh, we are as much of a morning person as Mommy is.” You said as you grabbed his hand and put it on her stomach so you could pack your diaper bag for what you needed for the day.

“Oh, we’re jus’ no’ ‘avin’ a good mornin’.” He said as he picked her up and walked over to your bedroom window. He talked to her like he had known her throughout your whole pregnancy and her whole, short existence, instead of only a few hours. He got her to sniffle her way to a comfortable spot on his shoulder as you took out what you didn’t need and replaced what you needed to. You silently glared at him as his humming put her right back to sleep, and he moved at nearly a glacial pace to lay her down in the carseat. “I’m good wit’ kids.”

“Fuck outta here.” You huffed as you threw on your boots and grabbed your diaper bag and coffee. “Alright, you carry her. He’s less likely to hit you if you’re holding her.”

“No’ reassuring.” He muttered as he checked his pockets to make sure he had everything, before putting the car seat down just long enough to put his gun in the holder under his kutte. “Safety’s on, don’ worry.” With a roll of your head, you threw your bag on your shoulder, and lead him out the room with a sigh.

“Telford!” Negan yelled the moment you walked out the door, but you could see the flash of fear in his eyes when he realized you were headed straight for him.

“You have two choices here.” You said where only he could hear you as you stopped directly beside him, but looking out at the lake behind him. “You have the choice to try to take him out of my life for whatever fucking reason you could come up with. Or you have the choice to be my fucking father and fight for me to be happy with someone with as good of heart as he has to step up and protect my daughter the same way you protected me after everything I’ve been through. And we both know he wouldn’t have patched if he wasn’t a good person.” You glanced up at him with tears in your eyes, and you could see your dad, the man that only you really got to see looking back at you. 

“Just know, I won’t stop fighting for him this time. You got lucky with Henry falling in my lap at just the right time and my research taking off the way it did. But you won’t be this time. And keep in mind, he and I both have to live with the physical proof of what you’ve done to us for the rest of our lives which is exactly why I can honestly say that if you try, you will lose everything. So you make the choice.” You looked back out at the lake with a sniff as you put your sunglasses on, while Negan took barely a half second to weight the options of loosing you, or seeing you with Chibs before he straightened beside you.

“Telford, get that baby outta the fucking cold. The fuck you standing there for, huh? And make sure my kid doesn’t get lost in some Goddamn throw pillows or whatever shit she’s got planned in that fucking head of hers for this place. Or better yet, make sure that she doesn’t lose her damn kid in throw pillows.” You nodded your head and went to walk away, but Negan quickly grabbed your arm and held you in one spot. You met his eyes for a few moments, letting him apologize ten times over in a simple look, and you choose to partially let him off the hook.

“Get the fucking prospects to return those vans before you get charged another day’s rental. We’ll talk later.” He nodded his head and leaned over to kiss your forehead, before letting you go to yell at the prospects and regain his control of his men.

“Wha’ did ye say ta ‘im?” Chibs asked softly as you set your diaper bag on the floor board and peeked in the back to make sure the only thing that was back there was your stroller frame.

“I told him to make a choice.” You said as you carefully shut the back door, and pulled open the passenger door. “And he made the right one.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This place looks like it fucking threw up Christmas.” Your dad grumbled to you with a shake of his head as you walked through your professionally decorated house after spending a week on the road dealing with some club shit you didn’t even care to ask about.

“It’s Celeste’s first Christmas.” You started as you looked at the sparkling entry way proudly. “And our first one not spent in a portable in years. And you know I love Christmas. Oh, and I finally got confirmation that Colson, Casie, and Emma are coming for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so it had to be even more perfect. Ash and Ashton, too.”

“You got the fucking prospects to do all this shit?”

“Fuck no.” You laughed with a shake of your head. “I hired a company. The prospects are wrapping gifts in the carriage house because fuck knows I hate doing that shit. Paper cuts.” You said with a smirk as you looked over at him. “Not pleasant. They can do the bitch work.”

“Where’s Telford?”

“Why?” You asked as the smile fell from your face.

“Need to talk to him... and you, since I know you will never trust me in a room with him again.”

“With good reason.” You said as you gestured to the stairs. “Setting up my baby monitors in the nursery while Celeste tries out her new crib for nap time. Oh, Ash is heading over to the house later today to send me some shit I need to hang out here a while longer. Do you need anything?”

“I’m heading back day after New Years.” He said with a shake of his head and a heartbroken sigh. “I lost you because of this, didn’t I?” You hesitated for a moment and sighed loudly with a small nod of your head.

“You changed my whole life with your actions, Daddy. And his even more so. You may be the president of an MC, but you are still my father. And whether you liked it or not, you had no right to do what you did, no matter what the reason. Whether it be to keep ahold of your image, or to keep me closer to home, it doesn’t matter. You had no right. So yes, in a sense, you lost me- my trust is gone. But you are still my father, and I will always love you. So in that sense, I will still be here. You’ll see me, and Celeste, and I will always be here if you need me... but we will never have the same relationship we did because of this.” You looked over at him as a few tears fell from his eyes, and his sighed as his whole body sank with the weight of his actions.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.” He started as he looked over at you with a shake of his head. “But I would have lost her over this, too, so I understand.” As gently as he could, he reached out to pull you into a hug. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know, Daddy.” You whispered back as you started to tear up as well. You both stood there for a moment, completely ignoring Simon, and the Belfast charter’s president, Jax when they walked in to talk to him, but they turned right back around to give you your space as Negan pulled away and nodded his head.

“Can I go talk to him?” He asked as he wiped off his face. “I’ll leave my gun with you, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I’ll come up with you.” You said as you wiped off your own face with your fingertips. “You can use my room while I get Celeste up from her nap so we can go find a caterer last minute for Christmas Eve. And the gun can stay in the hall.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He agreed before gesturing you toward the stairs. You headed through the new baby gate, and up the right side of the split staircase toward the only two rooms on that end of the house, before telling Negan to wait in the hall so you could pre-warn Chibs.

“Hey, my dad wants to talk to you.” His head whipped away from his phone where he was adjusting the views of the cameras, but you nodded at him, reassuringly. “It’s OK. His gun’s staying in the hall. It’s not a bad talk, I promise.”

“‘S’more the knives tha’ got my concern.” He said as he picked up a piece of paper with the app information. “Username is yer email, password’s Celeste123107.”

“You think you’re slick.” You laughed, since the date was the day you two met.

“I thought so.” He said with a small smile as he headed out of the room, stepping over the hand gun that was laying just outside the doorway. You added the app to your phone and signed into your account to check the cameras yourself while the two men went into your room to talk, before walking over to the bed to wake up your baby girl.

“Hello, punk-a-pie.” You cooed as you gently rubbed her back. “Hi, good morning. It’s time to join the world of the living so we can go for another fun adventure. Yea.” She actually grunted at you in protest when you picked her up, and you smiled at just how adorable she was. “Oh, I know it. It’s just so hard to be a baby with such a mean Mommy. Waking you up from naps, and feeding you, and changing you all the time. How could I be so thoughtless, hmm? But that means I get to eat these chunky little thighs. And theses cute little toes-ies.” You smiled as she burst into a fit of giggles on the changing pad when you playfully ‘bit’ her toes. “Oh, I could just eat you up! Yes I could. Fuck, I’m glad you got Mommy’s chunky thighs. They are just so damn cute.”

“I second that.” Chibs said as he walked back into the room a lot faster than you expected, while Negan simply headed down stairs to find out what Simon and Jax wanted. You looked over at him questioningly as you pushed the dirty diaper into the diaper pail, but he shook his head. “Nothin’ bad. Apologized for everythin’, gave me direct permission ta go Nomad a’while ta be wit’ you. Told me ta take care of his girls.”

“He knows he lost me.” You said with a nod as you re-buttoned the long sleeve onesie and put your daughter’s jeans back on. “He knows there’s no coming back from this now. He made his bed, and he has to sleep in it and what are you doing?!”

“I bought this for ye 12 years ago.” He said as he stood beside you at the changing table where you were now frozen half way of putting Celeste in her jacket to look at a gorgeous ring in a black box. “An’ the day aft’a ye came back, when I knew ye still luved me, too, I ‘ad the prospect start puttin’ t’get’a the legal paperwork for the courts. Because I lost ye once, an’ I’d rath’a die then lose ye ‘gain. So on New Years Eve, at the exact stroke of midnight, 12 long fuckin’ years aft’a it shoulda ‘appended in the first place, will ye please, please make me the luckiest son’ov’a bitch in the entire world an’ marry...”

“Yes.”

“Can I fuckin’ finish the...”

“No.” You laughed as you leaned over and kissed him roughly. He smiled against your lips and held you in place for a moment, before pulling back with a shake of his head.

“I was gon’ wait until the day of.” He said as he pulled the ring free while you finished dressing your now impatient daughter. “But wit’ yer dad’s blessin’... shockin’, I know.” He laughed as he took your left hand and slid the ring in place. “But we ‘ave it. An’ I wasn’t waitin’ another moment.”

“I don’t blame you.” You laughed as you looked at the ring that felt so much more right than the last one that was placed there, before showing Celeste with a smile. “Look at that, baby girl. Mommy’s getting married. And if he wants to, Chibs can become Daddy all in the same swing.”

“I’d be honored.” You nodded over at him with a laugh as you put on Celeste’s ear warmer headband bow.

“We’re just gunna wait until after Christmas to let her birth father know that all the same.”

“Aye. Don’ feel like havin’ ta fight for both m’girls in the same month.”

“What would you have done if he had said no?” Your fiancé smirked as he checked your diaper bag for you and put it on his shoulder.

“We would’a eloped. But now, ‘e can bear witness, ‘long wit’ Jackie boy, an’ this little chubby thighed cutie.”

“Well now you’ve just sent me into overdrive.” You laughed as you buckled Celeste in her car seat, and wrapped her in the car seat blanket you had. “Because now, after the caterer, I need to find a dress, and a location...”

“I’ve it all figured out.” He interrupted as he took the car seat from you. “Except the dress. My club may be loyal ta Negan, but I’ve broth’a’s a’ the table tha’ want ta see a broth’a happy ‘a the end’a the day.”

“Well then you can come with me to the caterer, then I’ll drop you and Celeste back off so you don’t see me in the dress. We’ve finally got some good luck going for us here.”

“Sounds like a plan ta me, my luv. Sounds like a plan to me.”

——

You had always imagined that you would be nervous on your wedding day, but as you stood in a private room in a church of all places that meant a lot to your future husband, you didn’t feel anything but excited. You tried to keep everything simple, but still put the prospects and your decorating company through the ringer to pull off a dream shared across cotton sheets that Chibs insisted you deserved, and had already been planning as long as he had the paperwork to pull off, even if it was for the ranks of the Sanctuary’s unwashed heathens.

“You know, I never thought you’d actually get to this point.” Ashleigh said as she adjusted her silver dress around her hips. “I figured when you got engaged to Henry, you were gunna get to the actual planning of the wedding and just… not. And I definitely didn’t think you’d do it this fast.”

“Henry isn’t my Filip.” You said with a look over at her as you finished a braid of your updo and pinned it on to place. 

“Yea, but don’t you think this is a little fast?”

“Ash, I really wish I could explain this… Look, I loved Henry. I did. He was smart, and, funny, and kind. He supported my work, and didn’t mind my eccentricities… but he tried to change me. He tried to pull me away from my dad, to get me away from my club. He wanted us to move to England… and all of those things I would have considered because he made me feel comfortable. But then he took it upon himself to join the Army without a single word until the day he left, and he made that choice because he needed space to think things with me through. Yea, the things you learn after the fact. That was a nice ‘good to see ya after six years’ message.

But Filip, my Filip, the one that got away… He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel safe to let my guard down, and to not be this… always put together Nobel prize winning, Ph. D. three times over doctor all the time. He brings out an innocence that I’ve never gotten to experience because I was looking out for my dad, or drowning myself in my work, or because I was more focused on being the best astrophysicist this world had ever seen. He makes me laugh harder than anyone ever has in my life. He doesn’t just mind my eccentricities, he embraces them, and shows them off like a badge of honor. He doesn’t just make excuses for those times I have my ‘moments’ as Henry called them in public. He sacrificed being truly happy in life to make sure that I had the best life that I could. And I can’t lose that man from my life again. I can live without Henry. I can’t live without Filip.” You smiled as you picked up your silver and ice blue snowflake hair piece and turned in the mirror to see what you were doing to put it on. “And besides the fact, he hasn’t batted an eye over Celeste. Henry literally ran, and put her in the NICU for a month.”

“OK, he didn’t put her in the NICU.”

“He put me in a position that put her in the NICU.” You said as you glanced over at the clock. “But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters anymore. What matters is that the man that I was meant to be with years ago, is somewhere in this church, putting on a tie for me, and a suit that he wouldn’t be caught dead in otherwise for me, and has me excited to get married in a church of all places, without even questioning ‘God’ and all that entails. What matters is he is the love of my life… and after today, he will be mine.” Ash nodded her head slowly as she fixed your hair the slightest bit and tried to avoid eye contact in the mirror.

“(Y/N), I think...”

“Hey, Princess. You’re runnin’…” Negan interrupted as he knocked on the door while he pushed it open, and he stopped and smiled as he looked at you. “Well Goddamn.”

“You’re in a church, mister.” You reminded him, teasingly as you turned and pulled the mostly white, with a double layer of light blue tulle skirt around so it was straighter behind you. “Not supposed to swear in a church.”

“Yea, yea.” He grumbled. “Old, new, borrowed, blue, right?”

“I’ve got ‘em all covered, Daddy.” You said as you watched him walk over with something in his hand.

“Well I’m still replacing your old with mine.” He said as he held out his hand to you. Your brow furrowed until you saw the glimpse of a silver heart locket on a chain. “I don’t have to even ask if you know what it is…”

“It’s mom’s.” You said with a smile as you flipped it over with your thumb. “She wore it on your wedding day.”

“Always said she’d pass it down to a daughter. Nearly made Ash miss her fucking flight looking for it. You know I can’t remember where I put shit for shit.”

“Will you quit swearing and put on the damn necklace.” You laughed as you held it out to him. “Racing a clock here.”

“Yea, yea.” He chuckled as he put the finishing touch on your wedding day outfit. He took a step back and huffed with a small shake of his head. “You make a beautiful bride, baby girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Now Ash, what were you saying?”

“Oh, it’s... it’s nothing.” She said with her own smile as she handed you your bouquet of blue roses that had a dark blue bandana you borrowed from Chibs wrapped around the bottom stems. With a nod, you looked at yourself in the mirror one last time, before looking back at your dad.

“You ready?” Negan asked with a small smirk.

“More than.” With a nod, he held out his arm and led you out of the back room. “Damn it, can we just speed up the clock.” You joked as you carefully and subtly kicked out the front of your gown with each step so you would trip or rip it.

“Quit fuckin’ swearing.” Negan laughed as Ashleigh walked a little faster to get next to you.

“(Y/N), I think I made a huge mistake.” She repeated, timidly at the same time you watched Henry looking up from your sleeping little girl in her snow queen dress and a giant blue bow you prayed would muffle the noise so she could stay asleep next to Ashton in their winter wonderland decorated wagon, and over at you. There was only a moments hesitation as you ran through the list of women from the club that had come to see you as you were getting ready to wish you the best before you reacted.

“Daddy, go get Frankie.” You asked, simply as you let go of his arm for a moment. “She’s got on black and silver, so she won’t clash with the colors when she pulls the wagon.”

“(Y/N)...” Ashleigh choked as you simply ignored your ex standing there and stopped in front of the back doors.

“You are dead to me.” You said to her as you fixed your own dress and forced yourself to remain calm. “Get your son, the prospect will take you back to the hotel for your things and you can go.”

“(Y/N)...” She and Henry said at the same time, which made you round on both of them with fire in your eyes.

“I don’t know what either of you thought you were trying to accomplish here, but I’m not in the fucking mood. You, Henry, I can sort of understand because we were together so long, and you’re just hoping that maybe, just maybe I’d be willing to give you a third chance after every thing you have put me through, but Ash...? What the actual fuck. Seriously, how did you think that calling my ex in on my fucking wedding day was going to go over, huh? Good? Simple? Not likely to royally piss me the fuck off?!”

“I was just trying...”

“Well now you can just try to get the fuck out of here before I fucking strangle you on my fucking wedding day. And Henry, I have nothing more to say to you. You’ve made it perfectly clear that I am not the person you want to be with. And I am sick and fucking tired of compromising my integrity to fit into your perfect wife narrative when I met someone 12 fucking years ago that never wanted anyone but me in the first place and still does all these years later. So you both can leave. Frankie, I need you to pull my flower girl down the aisle for me.” 

“(Y/N)...” Ashleigh said as she carefully picked up Ashton.

“I said NOW!” You roared with a glance back at her. “Now! I will get you home, but you are dead to me. Frankie, it’s fine, just pull her down behind you, put her in front of my dad’s seat so you can take my bouquet, and when it gets to the count down, bring the wagon back here to try to keep her away from the noise.” You told your new Maid of Honor as you fixed your dress again. You didn’t look back as the prospect that had been watching the kids escorted Ashleigh and Henry out of the church despite their protests, but your dad stopped in front of you with a look of concern.

“You need a minute?”

“I need Filip.” You said as you searched his eyes with barely a hint of tears in yours. He nodded his head and told Frankie to go, as he walked around behind you and helped you pull out your ball gown so it made the perfect bell shape.

“What have I always told you about writing off family?”

“Fuck them if they don’t understand.”

“Exactly.” He said as he laced your arm with his. “Fuck ‘em. Now quit swearing in a fucking church.”

“Daddy, we’re both going to hell anyways.” You giggled with a glance up at him. “But I’m pretty sure we just gave ourselves the best seats on the bus.”

“Fucking right we did.” He laughed as you both took the first step down the aisle. You found Filip instantly, and watched as his eyes shifted from anger directed at Henry’s back, to concern when he saw your face. You tried to tell him that you were alright, but you could tell he didn’t believe it until you were directly in front of him with your hand finally in his.

“We’re getting married today.” You whispered with a smile as you reached up with your free hand to cup his cheek. “I’m OK. I’m finally where I’m meant to be. With you.” With a nod of his head, knowing that you would never lie to him, he leaned forward and gently kissed your forehead with a sigh of relief. The ceremony was kept short by design, since it was nearly midnight, and while there was talk of God, you barely noticed it because of the man who could not stop smiling in front of you with matching tears of joy in his eyes. You stuck with generic vows, because neither of you would have made it through writing your own, and your first attempt at saying ‘I do’ came out as a choked whisper, which made his smile grow even more.

“By the power vested in me by God and man...” The priest said as the club counted down the New Year for you. “I pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may now kiss the bride.”

“I told you I’d marry you one day.” You whispered softly in the last few seconds.

“Finally.” Filip whispered back as he wrapped his arms around your middle and kissed you like it was the first time at exactly midnight, just like he had the night you first met in the shadows of the Belfast clubhouse. The club erupted in cheers as you held your husband’s cheeks between both hands, while the priest presented Mr. and Mrs. Filip Telford over the noise and left to get some sleep before his morning church service. You both pulled back with smiles, and you took your bouquet from Negan, who’s face read happiness and sadness at the same time.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” He said softly as he kissed your cheek before you left, since you agreed to do the reception the next night when you could get a sitter for Celeste and so the club could still celebrate the New Year. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” You responded with a smile. With a nod of his head, he stepped out of your way so you could head out the back to collect your daughter and spend your first night as husband and wife making love until the sun came up.

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

You’re Gorgeous

Cas is woken from a deep sleep at the sound of scratching and whining. “Nougat, for the love of that is holy, please go the fuck back to sleep,” Cas grumbles, his voice thick with sleep. The scratching intensifies and the whining gets more insistent at Cas’ refusal to get out of bed. Cas groans as he slowly sits up and glares at the puppy sitting on the floor, wagging his tail as he stares at his owner. “I really thought we were going to make it all night tonight.” Nougat barks at Castiel as he jumps up and starts dancing in place. “Alright, I’m coming,” Cas mumbles.

Cas slips into his favorite pair of slippers which looks like overstuffed bumble bees. He trudges through the house still half asleep, Nougat running ahead of him with his claws clacking against the floor. He pauses by the door to grab Nougat’s leash and clicks it on his collar before opening the door and walking outside.

Cas follows behind the puppy as Nougat looks for the perfect place to do his business. Finally, after making two circles around the yard, he stops and pees. “Alright, let’s go back to sleep.” Cas tries to walk back to the house but is jerked to a stop. He turns around to see Nougat facing the opposite direction. Cas groans but follows the dog as he continues walking around the yard. After another two circles, he stops and squats to poop.

Cas, who has been on call for the past week at the hospital, is barely awake as he stands there waiting for the puppy to finish with his business. His arm jerks as Nougat suddenly bolts into the night. Cas feels the leash slip from his hand and his eyes snap open. “Nougat,” he shouts as he chases after the puppy.

Cas, now wide awake, sprints after Nougat who is running through the neighbors’ yards after God knows what. Castiel continues to call for his runaway pup, but he is being steadfastly ignored. Castiel has lost sight of his puppy but can still hear him running ahead, barking every so often.

Suddenly a voice rings through the night, “Woah, easy there buddy. What are you doing out at this time of night? C’mere you crazy pup, we need to find your owner.”

Cas finally comes to a stop, his lungs screaming for air. He bends over, his hands resting on his knees, as he takes in huge gulps of air. He glares as Nougat appears in his line of sight, wagging his tail as if the past five minutes had been a really fun game. “I swear if you weren’t so cute, you’d be gone,” Cas snaps at the wiggling puppy.

Nougat barks before going back to the other man. Cas stands up, his breathing back under control, and gasps at the Adonis in front of him. Even though the only light were the streetlights, Cas could tell the man was stunning with dirty blonde hair, bright green eyes, a toned body dusted with thousands of freckles, and adorable bowlegs. He continues to stare at the man, unable to tear his gaze away.

The man’s lips turn into a smirk as he says, “Has anybody ever told you that you have a staring problem?”

When Cas looks back on this moment, he will blame his sleep addled brain for the next words that come out of his mouth, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re gorgeous.” Cas’ eyes go wide and a blush spreads across his cheeks once his brain finally processes the words.

The man bursts into laughter, his whole face illuminating with happiness. “Do you always use your cute puppy to hit on your neighbors?”

Cas’ blush intensifies as he scrabbles to answer the question. “What, uh, no. No, not at all. I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean- I’ve barely had a decent night’s sleep in a week.” Cas finally just drops his eyes in embarrassment.

The man’s laughter turns into a light chuckle. “Dude, it’s cool. Besides, your lack of clothing was enough of a signal that you were hitting on me.”

Cas’ eyes go wide as he finally realizes what’s he wearing or what he’s not wearing in this case. The only thing Cas has on is the boxers he went to sleep in and his bee slippers. It was nearly four in the morning and he was dead tired, putting clothes on to walk Nougat hadn’t been a top priority. At this point, he was sure his cheeks were going to be a permanent shade of red from all the blushing. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I had no intention of going for an early morning jog or else I would have put clothes on. I just wanted to walk Nougat and then go back to bed for the next ten hours.”

The man waves him off with a large smile. “I’m just messing with you, man. I get it. I’m a doctor so I know all about crazy schedules and how precious sleep can be. At least you have boxers on. My dog got out once right as I got out the shower. My towel didn’t last until the end of my run if you know what I mean.”

Cas grins at the mental image that offered. “That must have been mortifying. I guess you’re right, this situation could be a whole lot worse.”

The guy saunters closer. “Yeah, I could be some old ugly dude instead of a gorgeous doctor in their prime.”

Cas snorts. “If you’re flirting with me, I’m afraid I don’t have enough brain power to process it. After I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep, I would love to talk to you more. I live around the block. My name is Castiel Novak.”

“Dean Winchester and I will definitely take you up on your officer,” Dean says as he hands Nougat’s leash over. “Here, give me your hand real quick.”

Cas tilts his head in confusion as he holds his hand out. He watches curiously as Dean pulls a pen from his pocket and writes something on his hand. He blows on it, looking at Cas with playful eyes. Castiel shivers as the warm air tickles his skin.

Dean drops Cas’ hand with a grin. “There you go, now you have my number. When you’re feeling more awake, why don’t you give me a call?”

Castiel glances at the ink on his hand before looking back at Dean. “Thank you and I promise to call you.”

“Awesome,” Dean says with a large smile. “Well, I hate to cut this short, but you need sleep and I have to get to work. I’ll talk to you later Cas.”

“Goodbye Dean.” Cas watches as Dean gets into a large beast of a muscle car before backing out the driveway and heading down the street. Cas waves as he drives away before heading back to his house. He couldn’t wait to talk to Dean more.

Cas gets his chance sooner rather than later when he walks into the hospital two days later and is introduced to his newest partner, a Mr. Dean Winchester.

Tagging: @lonewolf34500 @notwithd @multifandom-fanatic @flowersforcas @cockleslovesdestiel 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi! I loooooove your blog and completely admire how fantastically you run it - was wondering if you knew some fantasy/sci-fi johnlock fics? I’ve read a ton of the classic ones and love the genre. Preferably a bit longer, thank u!

Hi Nonny!

OOOH!! This is a fun rec, yes! I love Sci-Fi and Fantasy fics, I just don’t read them very often! Let’s see what I can dig up for you!

SCI-FI AND FANTASY JOHNLOCK

See also: 

Fairy Tales and Fantasy

TV, Movies, and Books AU (Fantasy Pt. 2)

Faes / Faeries

Immortal Sherlock or John

Shapeshifters

Disney-esque Fics

To Mend A Heart by dee-light (G, 1,472 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Emotional H/C) – Hearts can be broken, and mended, and broken again. Good thing, then, that hearts are only the seat of all emotion, and not something Sherlock needs in order to live.

Angel by MrsNoggin (T, 1,513 w., 1 Ch. || Winglock, Friendship, Chromoesthesia, Drugging) – John is an angel. That can be the only explanation. A response to the challenging request for a realistic wingfic one-shot.

the fearful passage of death-mark'd love by flibbertygigget (T, 1,980 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Life Partners, Name Marks, Referenced Deaths) – The first time that John meets Sherlock Holmes, the younger man has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, wrists bare of any hint of ink. Within 48 hours, John has added "Jefferson Hope" to his clavicle. (Or: The One Where, When You Kill Someone, Their Name Shows Up On Your Arm)

No Strings Attached by Elster (G, 2,714 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Fairy Tales, Love Confessions, Fae/Faeries) – To save John from being spirited away Under the Hill, Sherlock challenges the fairy queen to a fiddle contest.

It's After That Hurts by jonnyluvssherlock (T, 2,791 w., 1 Ch. || City of Angels AU || Fantasy, Fallen Angel Sherlock, Soldier John, Pining Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Permanently Incomplete Fic) – Sherlock's an angel stuck as a guardian to danger addict John Watson. Everything is fine until he gets too involved. Now he has to make the choice, eternity alone or one life time with a man who may or may not love him.

De Veritate Unicornis Moderni by tepid sponge bath (T, 5,260 w., 5 Ch. | Fantasy & Drama) – John Watson, a unicorn of this day and age, is trapped in a mortal body. Life as it is seems pretty pointless, almost unendurable, until he meets one Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and very much a virgin.

The Best Picture of the Human Soul by SwissMiss (T, 5,779 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Tattoos, Soulmates) – The stories of our lives are written on our skin. Part 1 of Imagines Moti

Second Waltz by Atiki (T, 6,685 w. 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Missed Chances, Retirement, Sussex, Bees, MCD, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Cancer) – "The night I died, you wished I could wait for you."

Sherlock’s Laboratory, Episode 1: Romance by berlynn_wohl (E, 6,900 w., 1 Ch. || Clones, Sci-Fi AU, Clone Sex, Foursome, Double Penetration) – “John, this isn’t one of your science fiction programmes. This is reality.“ Part 1 of Sherlock’s Laboratory

The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, ASiP Do-Over, Sci-Fi, Time Travel) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John's relationship.

Supernova by buttcat (M, 9,178 w., 6 Ch. || Body Swap, Science Fiction, Idiots, Mastrubation, First Time, Anal) – John wakes up in Sherlock's body. He's a little too enthusiastic about it.

Faerie-Touched by Blind_Author (T, 9,283 w., 2 Ch. || Faerie AU || Fantasy, Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock) – In a world of sorcerers and magic, Sherlock is a Faerie-born and John, lacking any kind of magical talent, often seems a bit out of place. But he has a gift all his own…

John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w., 1 Ch. || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time, Anal, Fleeting Depictions of Violence) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewolf and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

Resistance by Coquillage Atlas (K+, 12,455 w., 8 Ch. || Fantasy, Friendship) – A sequel to "Conductivity," in which there are grave dealings with Mycroft.

Software Malfunction by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (E, 16,679 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Android Sherlock, Love Story, Unhappy Ending, Angst, Suicide, Jealousy) – "You think I can’t love you? Just because you’re made with metal, and detailed programming?” The doctor propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at it. “I am nothing but blood and bone, and tissue. Things just managed get mashed together in a manner that made me like this. Just like you were put together to make you how you are. When I kiss you-” he did so, briefly, to prove his point. Then more deeply, and lingering, because he could. “When I touch you, or smile at you, does it make you feel different from when others have done it in the past?”

Everlasting by cypress_tree (M, 16,884 w., 5 Ch. || Magical Realism, First Time, Immortality, Angst & Fluff) – Most lives end. A Tuck Everlasting fusion, in which the Holmes brothers have lived for a very, very long time.

With All My Heart by QuinnAnderson (E, 19,257 w., 4 Ch. || Red Marks / Soulmates || Magical Realism, Growing Up, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love) – AU in which every time a person falls in love, a red line like a tally mark appears on their wrist. Sherlock is determined to keep himself from ever gaining one of these marks for fear that love will corrode his mental faculties. Then he meets John Watson.

Uncharted Territory by J_Baillier (T, 19,603 w., 4 Ch. || Dystopian Future / Black Mirror AU || Alternate First Meeting, Angst, Drama, Homophobia, Bisexuality, Technology, Humour, Romance, Near Future, Happy Ending) – The System puts people through a series of assigned relationships in order to determine who their Perfect Match is. John believes that it works; Sherlock really, really doesn't. One of them is probably going to be wrong.

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

Invisible by chappysmom (K+, 25,947 w., 11 Ch. || No Slash, semi-canon compliant) – John had had the knack for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t that he could become invisible, exactly. The laws of physics worked quite well in his vicinity, thank you very much. It was just that people tended … not to see him. {{This was one of the first AU’s I read, and I still love it to this day}}. SEQUELS: Still Invisible (ASiB) || Too Visible (THoB) || Invisible Once More (TRF)

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

An Acquired Taste by kinklock (E, 31,059 w., 4 Ch. || Vampires AU || Vampire Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Bat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Humour, Magical Realism, Fluff and Angst, Blood Drinking, Holmes Family, Slow Burn) – At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased. At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.

Inexplicable by emmagrant01 (E, 34,664 w., 6 Ch. || Body Swap, TSo3, Magical Realism / Artifacts, Infidelity, Angst) – So what was in that matchbox, anyway? John and Sherlock find out, the hard way.

Malediction by MapleleafCameo (M, 36,680 w., 11 Ch. || Ladyhawke AU || Magical Realism, Romance, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending) – Cursed to a half-life, John and Sherlock must fight the forces of evil to be reunited once again.

The Semantics of Crop Circle Formation: a case study by Sherlock Holmes [unpublished] by canolacrush (M, 41,710 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S2, Sherlock POV First Person, Aliens, Wordplay, Case Fic) – “Look at these photographs,” I said, gesturing to the wall of crop circles. “What do you observe?” “Crop circles,” John replied. “Obvious. What else?” “Are…are those intestines surrounding them?” “Yes. The majority are bovine and ovine in origin. The farmers who have acquired these crop circles in their fields have also had a tenth of their livestock murdered and arranged thus.” “Why?” John said, presumably in a rhetorical fashion. I detest rhetorical questions. “That is what I must find out, John.”

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Soul Remembers by i_ship_an_armada (E, 43,636 w., 10 Ch. || Oblivion AU || Post-Apocalypse, Movie Fusion, Science Fiction, Action/Adventure, Angst, Dreams, Bittersweet Ending) – John Watson is the lone security repairman stationed on a desolate, nearly-ruined future Earth. His dreams are plagued by a tall, dark-haired man, and when his dreams meet reality, he will be forced to question everything he believes is the truth about his life.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w., 9 Ch. || Magical Realism, BAMF!John, Slow Burn) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

Perdition’s Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

This Thing All Things Devours by cypress_tree (E, 63,844 w., 15 Ch. || In Time AU || Science Fiction, Dystopian Universe, First Meetings, Action / Adventure, Romance) – In 2169, time is money—literally. Humans are genetically engineered to stop aging at 25, when the numbers on their arm start counting down from one year. When that time is up, they die. The only way to get more time is to earn it, borrow it, or steal it.John Watson lives day-to-day in the crowded slums of Zone 13. He never imagined living any differently—until he meets the practically-immortal Sherlock, and helps him on a case to track a local time-thief...

Darkling, I Listen by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 73,254 w., 8 Ch. || Fairy Tale AU || Loosely Based on Beauty and the Beast, Magical Realism, Suicidal Themes, Romance, Creepiness, Adventure) ��� No one who enters old London ever comes out. They say that the beast devours them. When his sister disappears, John ventures into the dead zone beyond the wall, and finds a brilliant madman under a terrible curse... Part 1 of Darkling I Listen + Extras, Deleted Scenes

Bleed Me Out by antietamfalls (E, 87,987 w., 14 Ch. || Vampire AU || Bonding, Vampire Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, H/C, John Whump, Magical Realism) – John isn’t exactly surprised to discover that Sherlock isn't human. His vampirism doesn't pose a problem, even when their relationship gradually grows into something more. That is, until a deadly revelation about John’s blood sends their lives spinning dangerously out of control.

The Stars Move Still by BeautifulFiction (E, 96,022 w., 5 Ch. || Magical Realism, Demons, Slash to Pre-Slash, AU, Happy Ending, Souls) – "What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?”

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w., 71 Ch. || FutureAU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say:Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

The Swan Triad by Pennin_Ink (T, 121,660 w. across 3 works || Swan Lake AU || Magical / Fairy Tale AU, Romance, Falling in Love, Pining, Psychological Torture, Transformation) – Sherlock and John grow up spending every summer together. Their mothers' attempts to play matchmaker only fuel their mutual resentment and scorn. But then, one summer.

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w., 13 Ch. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

Fallen Series by Belladonna_Q, mamishka (T, 222,094 w. across 3 works || Winglock || Angel!John, Angels & Demons, Faes, Christianity, Changelings) – In a world where myth, mystery, and the supernatural flourish beneath the veneer of modern civilization, Sherlock is a master of magic as well as science and deduction. But there are some things that he cannot see, riddles he cannot unravel, even when they walk right beside him in the form of one John Watson…

MARKED FOR LATER

A Real Deal by toyhto (M, 10,339 w., 1 Ch. || Black Mirror-Inspired, Science Fiction, Post-TRF, Canon Divergence) –  Please be real, he thought and pulled Sherlock closer.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalize Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Impossible Improbable Truth by KaraRenee (M, 24,308 w., 9 Ch. || Labyrinth AU) – John and Sherlock take a case investigating the disappearance of a teenage girl and her toddler half brother. What they find is an impossible adventure that leads them on a journey of discovery of their sexuality.

Through Dangers Untold by hogwartswitch (E, 32,003 w., 13 Ch. || Labyrinth AU) – The Goblin King has fallen in love with John Watson and visits him in dreams. But the evil wizard who cursed the Goblin King cannot allow that to continue. Will John survive the labyrinth? Or will he become a lost goblin like all the rest?

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror AU || Future Technology, Science Fiction, Canon-Typical Violence, Sickness, Eventual Smut, Character Death, Happy Ending) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Dog Days by All_I_need (E, 101,627 w., 24 Ch. || Post-Baskerville AU, Experiments Gone Wrong, Fluff and Humour) – John has an accident in the laboratory of the Baskerville military facility. While they wait for the scientists to find a solution, he and Sherlock must re-examine the nature of their friendship as they navigate daily life and the Work, all while trying to answer the truly important questions: Is it okay to pet your flatmate if he happens to be a dog at the moment? And how exactly do you beg a self-professed sociopath for cuddles? Part 1 of Dog Days

Skeletons by flawedamythyst (T, 174,262 w. across 3 works || Implied Character Death) – Sherlock's refusal to talk about his past hides far more skeletons than John could ever have guessed at. Halloween-esque AU.

Names for the Galaxy by evadne (E, 191,101 w., 38 Ch. || Future Sci-Fi AU || First Time, Violence, Teacher/Student Dynamics, Ableism, Angst, Bigotry, Disturbing Content, Amnesia) – Sherlock Holmes is a recent arrival to 22nd century earth, and determined to find out who he is and where he comes from. John Watson has the unenviable task of teaching him how to be a normal human being. Part 1 of the Names for the Galaxy series

[vociferous-chaos]

Devil's Train

Marc shot up into a sitting position, gasping for breath as he held his chest. How was he alive? He had stabbed himself, he should be dead. He looked around at his surroundings, confused to find himself sitting by some train tracks. He stood up and looked around, cringing a little when a train whirred passed him. Once it was past he stepped onto the tracks, starting to walk on them.

He heard a weird gurgling noise to his right and he turned to see a weird, black creature standing on top of an abandoned train car. It’s body dripped like ink onto the ground and its mouth hung open seemingly permanently, exposing its mouth that showed where the gurgling noise was coming from. It gracelessly fell off the cart, but got right back up completely unfazed. It started towards him and he took steps back every step it took.

All of a sudden it charged, causing Marc to turn back on the tracks and sprint away. He tripped, but managed to catch himself, heart racing as he tried to get away from whatever the hell was chasing him. He threw a risky glance back and slowed his pace when nothing was there, stopping and gasping for air as he held his side. He doubled over and put his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

He stood back up straight and froze, staring wide-eyed at the… thing in front of him. Where its head should be was just stitched together skin and its body was an amalgamation of various parts. It was a horrifying creature and black oozed through the stitches on its face, making it even harder to look at. He took multiple steps back, staring at the creature in disgust. Its face split down the center stitches and a garbled laugh bubbled out of it. Maggots fell out of the tear in its face and started crawling in the exposed flesh of the creature, eating the flesh down to the bone.

Marc’s face screwed up in horror and he swallowed hard before sprinting off past it, still following the tracks. He didn’t hear it following and when he looked behind him he was relieved to see it had not pursued. He couldn’t see it though and that concerned him, but he tried his best to not let it get to him as he continued down the tracks. The landscape was strange and he felt like he was in a plane parallel to the normal but rearranged. 

He came to a slope that was steep and as he climbed he tried to rid his mind of the creeps. Within the foggy distance, he saw a silhouette that got bigger as he stepped, the train tracks were wet. He saw a shiny grin from afar like it was happy and as he got closer the guy’s appearance became more clear. He had tousled black hair and dark blue eyes with an icy blue ring around the pupils. His grin exposed sharper than average teeth and a black tail swayed behind him, the tuft of fur at the end a dark red.

"It's a nice night for a walk, would ya mind if I joined you?" The guy asked, turning around to keep pace with Marc.

"Do what you wanna do." Marc said, getting a weird vibe from the guy.

"Well that's great, 'cause I'm going to, and not to annoy you but, see I really have to ask what a young dude like you is doing out by the tracks. You waiting on a train?" He questioned, facing Marc as his eyes flashed red and spiraled towards his pupil in a hypnotic way.

"Nah, man, let me explain."

"Alright."

"I'm minding my business, so maybe you should do the same. I’ve just been a witness to something sick and sadistic, so twistedly disgusting you should feel real lucky you missed it." He said, a shadow falling across his face as he recalled the horrifying creature.

"Oh, easy with the tongue, son, try to listen carefully. What you've seen is scary, but nothing when compared to me.” His grin widened and black wings unfurled from his back. “I could show you things to paint all your dreams haunted.” His fangs extended and his claws unsheathed, horns curling back on his head and his whole body shifting to a very demonic looking entity. The landscape and scenery around them shifted as well, taking on a hellish look that would terrify anyone. “I could make you scream if I wanted.” 

The illusion snapped away and the guy wrapped his arm around Marc’s shoulder. “Or I can be the bee in your bonnet, your best friend forever.” He waved his other hand and a feather swirled between his fingers. “Two peas in a pod flocking like birds of a feather.” He flicked his wrist and the feather disappeared. He moved to standing in front of Marc, eyes gleaming. “And you never have a need to beg, work, or steal.” He held out his hand, the landscape and scenery around them shifting to the hellish look it had been. “If all this sounds worth it then let's make a deal.”

The scenery changed back and the guy kept his hand out, swiping his tongue across his teeth as his shadow discretely slipped underneath Marc’s legs and floated above his head. “All you want in life for the price of your soul. All the money you can fold, power that you can hold.” His shadow started getting into Marc’s head, whispering thoughts into his ear and making him think they were his. “I'll put you in control.”

His eyes narrowed and the red spiralled towards his pupil again. “Only if you're down to roll down these train tracks tonight.”

The guy’s grin widened as Marc’s eyes turned red briefly and he took the guy’s hand, shaking it. "But where are we gonna go?"

--

If anyone wants info on my character Alex, who is the guy offering the deal, message me and I can answer questions.

@doctordiscord123

[sebthesnipe]

Starlight

February Prompts 2/27

Prompt List

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The February Collection on AO3

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Prompt: Karma / Kneel

Ship:  Logicality

Note: I had planned on writing another chapter of My Dearest Procyon but a friend seemed to be having a rough day so I wrote here some fluffy Logicality instead. 

Logan sat at his desk, back straight with perfect posture as his pen glided across the paper before him. It was late. Far later than Logan typically allowed himself to stay up. He set a strict schedule for himself and he tended to ensure that he stuck to it. 

Still, as he glanced at the clock on the shelf above his desk, he frowned. 02:14 AM. His bed time had passed over four hours ago. He adjusted his glasses before focusing back on the written words that seemed to fail him. 

“Dear, 

Dearest,

My Dearest Patton,

I have recently discovered, I have come to realize, I have many things that I wish to discuss with you, but I do not know where to begin. I have never quite been very skilled at discussing things of an emotional nature. To my good fortune, you have always been there to guide me in the direction needed when the occasion arrived for such things. 

I unfortunately find myself to be inadequate in your presence. I can not begin to describe to find to express Despite my intellect and extensive vocabulary, words fail me. It appears that despite my many attempts to discuss the topic of my experience lack of emotional response physical and emotional reaction to your presence, I have failed. 

I fear I may have made things worse by attempting to gain some insight into expressing my troubles by speaking to Roman. He does seem to have an innate ability to woo our more somber friend.  He claimed that I was incapable of speaking to you about these responses due to his state being ‘shook’. Though, I am not quite certain what he means and why he claims ‘shaken’ is grammatically incorrect, but he made his point clear. 

It appears that while I am in your presence, I am unable to think properly due to a number of chemical reactions. I will admit, I had pursued research on the topic for fear that whatever the cause of my lack of judgement, this perpetual state of incoherence may prove to be permanent . Roman assured me that this is karma though it is still unclear as to what Hinduism has to do with any of this. 

It would appear that when I am in a close proximity to you, my brain releases dopamine, adrenaline, serotonin, estrogen, and testosterone creating an intoxicating mixture that, in Roman’s words, causes me to ‘ghost’ anyone and everyone near me. I am unsure about his choice of vernacular, but his point was clear. 

It is apparent that I care for you a great deal more than I have ever cared for another person. You are the figurative star at the center of my solar system. You shine more brightly than the sun itself. Every time I am gifted with the sound of your laughter, my heart breaks with the overflow of emotions the sound causes.

Furthermore, to compare you to a star is admittedly unfair. Though I have a passion for astronomy, the sorrowful beauty of a star could never measure against your own. Stars are dying structures billions of years away from Earth. Most of which have already died and remain ghosts in the sky. You are nothing so morbid. 

Your light and beauty are everbright, never to be extinguished even within the test of time. Your warmth and protection, the light and beauty you bring out from within all of us, these are qualities which will never die. Therefore, you can not compare to a star when a star will inevitably fail. 

I fear that even these words prove to be insufficient withmy intention. I am no poet and I do not pretend to be such. However, I am not ashamed to present another poet's words to assist me in my attempt at disclosure. 

The words of Geoffrey Chaucer come to mind when I think of the way you affect me. His poem, Rondel of Merciless Beauty, seems to express my feelings towards you adequately:

Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;

Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;

Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen. Only your word will heal the injury

To my hurt heart, while yet the wound is clean—

Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;

Their beauty shakes me who was once serene. Upon my word, I tell you faithfully

Through life and after death you are my queen;

For with my death the whole truth shall be seen.

Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;

Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;

Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen…..”

Logan read the words once more, taking in the numerous lines of red ink, striking through unnecessary sentences. His frown deepened before he tore the page out with a frustrated huff. He crumpled the  page violently between his hands, tossing it into the already overflowing bin next to the door. 

This was utterly hopeless! He was not some romantic protagonist in one of Roman’s poorly written romance novels! There was no reason he couldn’t just walk up to the smaller man and confess his feelings like an adult!

A knock at his door made the lanky individual start, heart pounding against his chest in surprise. He glanced at his clock once more: 02:17 AM. No one should be up at this hour. Even Virgil tended to be in bed by now. 

He pushed to his feet, pulling the end of the tie that hung loosely over his shoulders from where he had unfastened it in his frustration after his seventh draft of the letter. He deposited the wrinkled silken fabric onto his desk before moving to curiously pull open the door. 

Patton stood just outside the fairly spacious bedroom dressed comfortably in his cat onsie, a steaming mug in his tired hands. He peered up at Logan and offered a small tired smile. Logan’s heart stopped.

“Well, hiya,” Patton greeted, his usually chipper voice a bit sluggish with sleep, “I saw your light on, on my way to get a glass of water. I figured you’d probably be up with one of your late night projects so I brought you a cup of joe, Lo,” he chuckled, shooting Logan a wink. 

“I-I…” The taller man stuttered, face flushing in panic, “I.. Yes.”

The answer to a question Patton most certainly didn’t ask, had his brows furrowing. It was obvious that Logan was once again short circuiting, but Patton graciously chose not to comment on it. Instead, he offered the warm mug out to the larger man, giving him another one of those million dollar smiles Logan had just been writing about. The taller man practically swooned.

“You’ve been staying up well past your bedtime lately, kiddo,” Patton commented, glancing down at the bin next to his roommate and the crumpled papers scattered around it. “What a mess! You really have been working hard, haven’t you? I worry about you sometimes,” he continued kneeling down to pick up one of the balls of yellow stationary. “You’re such a busy bee. You really should allow yourself more rest, bee-cause sleep is important,” he laughed as he started unraveling the page, “What are you working on anyways?” 

Logan willed himself to move to no avail. He needed to get the paper away from the smaller man! He needed to do it now! Despite his attempts, Logan’s arms remained stubbornly where they were, both gripping the ceramic mug in his hands so tightly that his knuckles were pale. 

His body heated with embarrassment as his gaze became glued to Patton’s gentle features, taking in the way his forehead dimpled as he concentrated on what he was reading. 

Logan could scream if his body wasn’t betraying him in such a horribly demented way! Why was he allowing this?! This could ruin their friendship! This could be the last time he would be allowed to see Patton because he allowed his emotions to get the best of him! He needed to shut them down and shut them down now!

“Oh,” Patton breathed softly, sending a spike of terror through Logan’s heart. “Oh my.” The spike dug deeper causing the gangly geek physical pain. 

“Patton, I can explain-” Logan rushed, finally finding his voice.

“I had no idea you felt this way,” the smaller man breathed, peering up at his roommate, gaze glistening with the threat of tears. 

Logan was no longer convinced that a ‘spike’ was a good analogy. No, he was fairly certain that his heart had just been hit with an explosive ice grenade. He had made Patton cry! He would never forgive himself for this! He deserved-

“This is beautiful, Logan,” Patton added softly, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears, stopping Logan’s panic in its tracks. “I wish I had known…”

“You… You think so?” Logan asked lamely, the cup shaking slightly in his hands.

“Of course!” Patton chuckled, pressing the wrinkled paper against his chest. “Are all of them like this?” He asked, glancing down at the piles in awe.

“Well… To some degree,” the taller roommate admitted, taking a step back to glance at them as well. “Some are admittedly more composed than others.” 

“Logan…” Patton’s voice cracked around the word, the tears beginning to flow more freely now. 

Logan set the mug aside quickly, unsure of how to respond. He was not very good at comfort, that was Patton’s department. He reached out for the smaller individual, knowing Patton prefered physical contact.

“I’m so sorry, Patton. It was not my intention to upset you!” he rushed.

“I’m not upset, Logan,” Patton chuckled wetly, covering his face. “I’m just so happy. I thought I… I didn’t know you… I didn’t know you could feel that way, much less about me!” 

Logan blinked at him in surprise. Patton wasn’t upset? No, he could see the small dimples on his cheeks that usually were an indication of his large grin, even though they were currently hidden behind his hands. Patton was smiling. Relief washed through the taller man.

“Patton, may I,” Logan paused, still unsure of himself but feeling his own happiness warm him. “May I embrace- oof!” 

He barely managed to get the word out before Patton was slamming into him, arms tightly wrapping around Logan’s waist. The little man was surprisingly solid against Logan’s chest as he returned the hold. 

Patton buried his face in his roommate’s dark polo, his tears leaving small damp stains as he breathed in the earthy scent of wood and lavender that always seemed to cling to the other man. It was a comforting sensation that Patton had often found himself thinking about late into the evening when he was unable to sleep.

They remained that way for some time, hovering in Logan’s doorway silently, clinging to one another as if they letting go would cause them to drown. 

“Does this mean, if I were to venture an inquiry, to say, dinner this Friday, you would be inclined to accept?” Logan asked finally, flushing.

“Yes! Of course!” Patton replied without hesitation, pulling away just far enough to peer up at him, face beaming with happiness that caused Logan’s breath to hitch. How could one man be so breathtakingly beautiful?

Without a thought, the taller man’s hand lifted to Patton’s check, bending low to brush his lips against the small peak of the other’s nose. 

La fin...

Taglist: 

@hiddendreamer67 @hiddendreamer67 @gilby-the-geek-girl

[a-singleboat]

Accidents Mark a Soul

Word Count: 3041

Request:  Can you please do a Joven x reader soulmate au - anon

A/N: I would like u all to know that my wonderful betas pulled some grade A editing on this for yall so give them some love, their acc will be tagged at the end!

Waking up with a burning chest and other parts was not how you wanted to start your day. It felt like you had been newly waxed and you fought the urge to write on your skin to make sure your soulmate was okay. You had settled long ago that you wouldn’t reach out to them unless your life depended on it. The amount of pain they had caused you already was an as good sign if any to keep your distance. 

Your friends had theorized that your soulmate was apart of the army or whatever but you knew it couldn’t be. The injuries had never been too severe, mainly blunt force from being hit with blunt objects. You watched as letters formed on your arms, spelling out, “Hey, sorry for that. I just got my chest waxed for a punishment video.”

Excuses almost always came like that, which is also how you knew he wasn’t in the army. The excuse was always video-based and you got tired of the constant repetition. 

You walked to the sink and scrubbed at the words until they faded to nothing. The ink swirled down the drain as you pat your arm dry. It was time for you to get ready for work, having been offered a job as a video editor for a company that labeled itself as, “Mythical.” 

After doing some research on them, you came to the decision that you’d stay with them through the year-long contract but you’d search for something better the entire time you worked with them. You liked the company but you didn’t know if this was something you’d be willing to do forever. 

You took the bus that morning, seeing as your car was still in the shop after a hit and run busted your trunk door. You thanked whatever deity was up there that the damage hadn’t been too extensive. Having a totaled car was the last thing you needed after the unfortunate string of bad luck you had been having. 

When you had arrived at the building, you stood in front of it for a solid five minutes digging around in your bag for the temporary keycard you had been given to actually get past security in the building’s lobby. You rolled your eyes as you realized it was left hanging on your wall hooks along with your car keys, which you hadn’t grabbed due to the unfortunate event. 

“Do you work here?” A man approached you from behind and your hand curled around the pepper spray you had in your bag. You internally screamed. How had you remembered to pack pepper spray and not your keycard?

You stood up straight and zipped up your bag, flashing a smile at the man. He was tall with brown hair, the fringe dyed blue, but he looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Yeah, I work here,” you smiled at him. “I was hired last week as an editor at Mythical.”

A look of realization flashed across his face, “Yeah, you’re actually working with us. We needed another editor after our last left and so we put out an ad through Mythical. I’m Damien, by the way.”

You introduced yourself and walked into the building with him, becoming more and more confused as he continued to talk. The two of you breezed by security, making a beeline for the elevator. 

“Sorry, can we backtrack? Who is, ‘We’?”

“Were you never told who you were working with?”

“No, just that I got a job as an editor for a YouTube brand under Mythical,” you played with the straps on your bag. 

“Oh,” he stepped aside to let people out of the elevator before stepping in. “Well, we are called Smosh and you’ll be working with a specific branch of Smosh called Smosh Games. You’ll essentially be taking footage from the board games we do and edit those. Eventually, if you work here longer than a year, you’ll start working on the video game videos and maybe you’ll get the chance to appear in some videos for extra pay.”

“Oh, well I’m not really planning on staying here for longer than a year,” you said awkwardly. “This job was an interim job for me, I used to work for another media company that went under last year.”

“Did you work for Altos?”

“Yeah, my friend had her YouTube channel under them but then they went under so she’s been shoddily trying to get her team back together. I’m editing a few things but it wouldn’t be enough to get by.”

The elevator door opened in front of you, signifying the end of the conversation.

“I’ll show you to the editor’s room and let Ian know you’re here,” Damien left the elevator first with you quick to follow.

You walked behind him, taking in the open space and the office desks laid out in a casual manner. There were office and meeting rooms that branched off from the middle and another open area that looked like a kitchen space within the office. Damien took a left and a right before ending up in front of a room decked with technology up to the ceiling. 

“This is where the editors work and where we keep some of our recording cameras while we clean out the closet we usually store them in.”

“It looks nice,” you observed, looking around the room through the glass door. “Is anyone here right now?”

He looked around, “No, I think most are out for lunch but that desk over there is yours. It’s the old editor’s space but it’s all yours now!”

You thanked him and went into the room by yourself. You sat at the desk that he had pointed out to you and started to mess around on the computer. You soon found out that you needed a login to get into the computer and gave up on trying to get in without a password. 

Pulling out your own laptop, you started to work on the two hours of footage your friend had sent you. Since her parent company got shut down, she’s been trying to rebuild her team on her own. As her previous editor, you told her that you’d help when you can, or at least until she could find full-time editor. It also helped that her mother was filthy rich and she wouldn’t have had any problems otherwise. 

This was the last video you were going to edit for her, getting a hefty paycheck that would go towards a month of rent and two months of groceries. After that, she would have to look for a permanent editor that she could keep on payroll herself. 

You were ripped from your daydream by a sharp pain on the back of your left arm. You pulled up your sleeve and watched as your skin separated from itself and fresh blood pearled on the surface of your skin. You rolled your eyes before pulling your bag up onto your lap to look for the bandaids you brought around with you in case your soulmate got hurt during the day. 

You heard the door open behind you and you spun around with your arm in the air and a bandaid in your mouth. You waved at the man who had entered with your free hand before taking the bandaid from your mouth and opening it.

You reached out with your right hand and shook it, “Hi, I’m Y/n Y/l/n.” 

He shook it, introducing himself as Ian Hecox. “What’s up with your arm?”

You half-rolled your eyes, pulling your sleeve back over your arm. “My soulmate cut themselves, today has just been full of pain.”

He nodded in understanding, “Yeah, my soulmate used to get hurt all the time.”

You took note of his use of the past tense and decided to move on from that. “So I’m here for a year, what’s the gist of what I’ll be doing with you guys?”

“You’ll be introduced to the rest of the editing team as they trickle in, but you actually joined in the middle of Smosh Summer Games. Or at least, you joined in the middle of releasing all the videos from that filming period.”

“So what are the videos I’ll be editing for this period?”

“We have some Maricraft episodes where Mari, Courtney, Damien, and Shayne play Minecraft along to a sort of storyline, but you won’t be editing those. We’ll have you just take note of the editing style for them,” he explained, shifting his weight. “We’ll have you work on editing the Spelling Bee-Kini Wax video as that was what the old editor was supposed to take care of.”

You were about to ask about the spelling bee-kini wax when three people walked into the room.

“Perfect timing!” Ian clapped once. “Y/n, these are a few of our editors. Spencer, Mike, and Kevin.” 

You looked at where he pointed and gave them each a smile. 

“They’ll help you out from here on out and hopefully they’ll convince you to stay for longer than a year!”

You gave him a thumbs up and watched as he disappeared out the door. 

“Let’s get you started with a log-in, yeah?” Kevin waved you over to your computer. “So you should already be in the system so it should be the first letter of your first name and four letters of your last name. The current password should be SMOSH:NEWEDITOR, no spaces, all caps, and it’ll tell you to change it when you log in.”

You typed out the username and password, sitting back to wait while the computer-processed everything. “So what’s the rest of the schedule today?”

“I’ll probably have you go down with Spencer to sit in the editors cave while a video is filmed so you can see what it’s like, I’m pretty sure a Smosh Games video is being filmed at this moment with Joven, Shayne, Damien, Lasercorn, Wes, Courtney, and Mari.”

You blinked, not sure of who the people listed were. Kevin took note of your confused look and laughed a little bit, “I know the names are off-putting but Spencer will introduce you when you get down there.”

“Okay,” you grabbed a notebook from your bag and followed Spencer out of the room. 

“So, what’s this video for?”

“I’m not completely sure, I know that we’re just trying to get some content with Joven and Wes in before they leave for a bit,” Spencer fiddled with the pen in his hand.

“You’ll tell me who’s who when we get in there, right?” you nervously ran your finger over the exposed pages of your notebook, the feeling of the rifling papers calming you ever-so-slightly. 

“Of course,” he reassured you. “I wouldn’t let you walk in blind.”

When you got to the set doors, you didn’t have much time to take in what the set actually looked like before you felt a sharp pain on your back. You stood frozen for a little bit under a full minute, taking in the pain that you had to endure. Spencer noticed you had stopped walking and turned back to ask what was wrong.

“I think my soulmate just got slapped on the back like really hard,” you were trying to roll out the pain by moving your shoulders back and around. “I bet I have a handprint mark on my back now.”

You knew you were coming off of bitter and resentful, but you couldn’t help it. So far that day, your soulmate had gotten waxed in two very sensitive areas, stabbed themselves in a very visible area, and gotten slapped by what seemed to be a giant not even two seconds ago.

“It’s whatever, I’ve survived with this soulmate for this long. It’s not as bad as a lot of other people have it,” you shook off the pain and followed Spencer into what was known on set as the Editor’s Den. 

He introduced you to the video’s director, Matt Raub, who Spencer also mentioned was the acting Vice President of Smosh. He introduced you to the camera crew, though you barely managed to concentrate on the names that flew by as your soulmate managed to stub their toe.

Now that you thought about, there was a thought that the pain that your soulmate feels gets stronger the closer in proximity that you both get. If it was any consolation, the amount of pain you were feeling meant your soulmate was within slapping distance. 

That was the soulmate loophole, you didn’t feel any pain you caused to your soulmate. Which meant you could slap whoever your soulmate was without feeling anything. 

“Spencer, I might have to kill my soulmate,” you rubbed your temples to ward off the headache you felt coming. It’s a good thing was that if you got a migraine, your soulmate would feel it too. “How is it humanly possible for someone to get hurt this many times in such a short amount of time?”

“I don’t know, but the cast has arrived!”

He introduced you to the cast members but you focused in on the bandaid the man called, “Joven,” had on his left arm in the same spot you had yours in.

You smiled and introduced yourself, careful not to reveal anything to the person that could possibly be your soulmate. If you had finally found him after thirty years of pain and he was definitely within slapping distance, you could wait another hour or so more to confront him about it. 

You sat in the corner with Spencer, taking notes along with him. During the filming break, he went over things that you should look out for while watching the filming. You turned the page and pull your hand back in shock at the sudden pain from the paper. 

“Do you have a bandaid, Spencer? I left all mine back in the room,” you were tempted to suck on your cut but you knew it would most likely end up in an infection. 

“No, but Joven usually keeps bandaids on him. He’s really accident-prone,” Spencer answered, not even looking up from his notes.

You looked around the room in search of Joven, or otherwise known as your supposed soulmate, and saw him standing by a chair near the back of the room. He was tending to the small papercut on his own hand that you had caused. 

“Hey,” you greeted him. “Spencer said you had bandaids? I usually have some in my bag but I left it back in the editing room.”

“Yeah,” he replied without looking up. He passed you a small bandaid, you didn’t know if it was a coincidence or if he didn’t have any regular sized bandaids. He finally looked up at you and then down at where you were applying the adhesive strip. 

“Hey, did you just do that to yourself?” he asked, looking the slightest bit confused. 

“I did,” you replied. “Gave myself a papercut on my editing notebook.”

He pointed at and poked the bandaid on the back of your left arm. “What about that?” 

You recoiled slightly, falling back into yourself. “No, my soulmate cut themselves earlier.” 

This was the moment of truth, if he was your soulmate then he would use this to reveal him as so. You watched as he rolled up his left sleeve, a bandaid in a similar spot. 

“No way,” he said in astonishment. “Wait, let me grab a marker.”

You grinned in amusement as he sauntered across the room in search of a marker. When he had found one, he raised it triumphantly above his head and made his way back over to you. 

He uncapped the pink marker and asked you to hold out your left arm. “What should I write?”

You shrugged, “Just write your name or something.”

You watched as he wrote his name, Joshua, on his own arm and the both of you watched as the ink also appeared on your arm as well. 

“You’re my soulmate?” he questioned. You were confused, you thought this moment was supposed to be the climax of your life, the moment you’d been waiting for so long.

“I am,” you were taken aback. This was the opposite of whatever reaction you thought you would be getting. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just,” he stammered. “How come you never responded to me? The messages I would send you would just disappear.”

“I did respond to you, I responded to you for fifteen years and then fifteen years later you told me you were getting married and so I said my congratulations,” you were angry at him. Not for getting married, no, being soulmates didn’t mean you had to be romantically involved with them. It just meant that your two souls were the ones that were infused together when the world had begun and they would find each other through every rebirth. Some people do end up together but in most cases, soulmates stayed as the closest friends and it was their bond that kept them close.

“I started washing the messages away for personal reasons,” you said. You were rethinking everything up to this point in your life. “Maybe we shouldn’t have even met, our link had turned before we even met.”

When a link between soulmates turned, it meant that the souls combining the two were weak. This usually happened with souls that were so old and reused that no connection is feasible, or if the two people were just incompatible. It seemed that was what this was turning out to be.

“Listen, we don’t know to keep up contact. I know I work here now, but it’s just for the year. You won’t ever have to talk to me,” you reasoned. 

“No,” he shook his head. “I might be a little mad but I wouldn’t reject you as a soulmate.”

He opened his arms and engulfed you in a hug, “Our souls haven’t turned and they won’t for a long time. It’s good to know my soulmate isn’t a complete asshole though, and when you feel comfortable enough, I hope you can tell me the reasons why you had stopped responding.”

“Maybe, but we have forever to talk now.”

=================

these are my lovely betas!

@star-mum

@spookylegshayne

@my-name-i-we

@judastarkid

give them love!!!!! they worked hard to make sure the finished project was as amazing as any other work of mine has been, but y’know, better :)

[pipesflowforeverandever]

The Ink Demonth, Day 2: Growth

This one in particular is an idea I’ve had for a long time, expanding upon lyrics to a song I associate my AU and Joey interpretation with. The featured song is “Solar Waltz” by Cosmo Sheldrake. 

(If you liked this, I recently opened writing commissions!)

Summary: Sometimes things must die before others can learn to grow, and even the father who treasures innocence the most can’t stop what he loves from growing up in spite of him.

Word Count: 1010 with lyrics, 842 without

~Well, time she did as time she does She passed along her way~

Joey Drew was just a man, and yet so much more. He saw the plants in his mother’s garden grow, and so he had seen the whole world grow up in front of him. And yet, his own aging was not the same. He blinked his eyes and went from a little boy to an old man, and so his heart was much the same and his mind unknowing if he needed to grow up or if he was always anciently wise in his heart.

Either way was dangerous.

~And dawn, she crept like a frightened girl Out from the nighttime's sway~

He had a way of living that tangled into others’ lives, a manner of existing that made others want to exist with him. The people of the studio saw the delight in his eyes and the warmth in his smile, and they found themselves reaching towards his arms. And like morning glories and moonflowers delicate around a wiry fence, Joey embraced these souls that felt closer to the sky being around him.

But then those arms began stretch for things not inviting him, and those in his grasp found it suffocating whenever he became desperate.

~But in the merry month of May Her solemn fast does learn For spring, it sprung as spring it does And put the bees to work~

The people of the studio were neck deep in his honey irises, and it made their shoes stick to the floors. They wanted to leave. Why was it so hard to leave?

They continued their work, still believing in themselves and what they were doing in spite of Mr. Drew, but thanks to his praise. Like flowers at the top of the vine, they were afraid to climb down. So, their solace was in that things still had to get done.

~And work they must and work they shall For all the things to grow For if they don't, as time she knows They'd wither on the bough~

The purpose of work can be both of necessity and emotion. To stop working, if one can reasonably continue, soon drains. So some would slack off, painting lopsided smiles, but the dolls would still be made. The cartoons were never on time, but they were finished. Sammy knew the branches were withering, but he still felt obligated to write music to water the roots of the company; sometimes, he wondered if it was for wonderful, blasted Joey too, even when he began to curse his name.

Busy bees passing pollen from one bloom to the next, unsure how long what they maintained could live but doing their best all the same. The sturdier lianas were struggling to keep the fence from sinking to the ground with its decay, because they were still intertangled.

~And what a shame such things would be No wondrous wine for you and me No cider too, nor mead nor soup For us to all make merry~

Sometimes people forget worker bees are the one to thank for getting things done. Joey’s rosy face was that of the company, but Henry now turned his back, and it was he who made that big, wide smile in a total of three ways. Joey in his joy, Joey in hiding his panic as his world fell apart, and Bendy forever and always. Neither man nor toon would stop, regardless of what was felt.

Flowers may not rise without a post, but a post that stands alone stands for nothing. So Joey needed them too, even when he lied about how much he could carry when the tempests came and tested what was built.

~So rot, ferment, and decompose So all the things can grow Oh wallow in the drinkless world And wither on the bough~

Everyone died. And it was all his fault. He ran his fingers through the rivers of ink from the flood that drowned the studio, and it was the same as washing his dirty palms with their blood. The ink was made of the living, and the living were made of ink. Life is both passing and permanent, volatile and certain, and so it was for they. The people of the studio looked down at their dripping hands and decided whether or not something could ever blossom from them again.

For some, they would never make anything again, and only Joey was to blame.

~Oh what a dusty burden That nectar and the pollen Like Atlas with the heavens On the back of his head~

He was a god that said he didn’t wish to be, and yet everything spoke to such desire. All the guilt was on his shoulders, but so was all of the responsibility. He looked down at the flowers dripping his ink drop by drop from the tips of their leaves and decided it was still his duty to try to keep them standing upright, even when he planted had them in his flooded gardens with the soft, unstable mud that would rise with all his storms.

Joey knew he would never grow.

~And what if they should falter And shrug their little shoulders Well, time, she'd pass all the same~

Rot and growth are both the same. Even with time stopped, that of the world would pass on without them. Sammy bowed his head and prayed, feeling himself sink into the floor at the same time his heart ascended like a sapling wanting to touch the light from a crack in the attic ceiling. Susie renamed herself Alice, and her voice traveled like the whistle of wind as she called for the parts of herself carried far, far away. Others would come to the studio, and they would die, and they would grow back again as searchers, angels, and spiders of the estate. A demon was their scarecrow and gave his gloves for farmer Joey to wear and dig their graves.

Even in death, everyone lived to grow. Eventually, Joey himself would too.

[almightanna]

cisfemale — ever hear people say ANNABEL DE LA ROSA looks a lot like ADRIA ARJONA? I think SHE is about 30, so it doesn’t really work. The AUTHOR / BALLET INSTRUCTOR has lived in Livingstone for SIX MONTHS. They can be DILIGENT, but they can also be CYNICAL. I think ANNA might be A TIER 1 SHEPHERD. ( snot goblin. 20. est. she/they. )

i’m sry this took ... so long to put out ... ive been rly lazy these past few days but !! she is Here and she is Ready. i haven’t played her in a few months and last time she was a junior in high school so !! forgive me. but she’s a very old muse and has gone thru ... several fc changes. anyways !! please give this a LIKE if you’d like for me to slide into ur ims. 

TW: POVERTY, DIVORCE SORT OF, CAR ACCIDENT, TRAUMATIC INJURIES, MENTIONS OF DEATH, GRIEF.

a e s t h e t i c s

falling feathers darkened at the tips, leather jackets and pinstripes, red trenchcoats and plaid skirts, worn ballet shoes covered in dust, smudged eyeliner and unruly hair, boxing gloves, ornate canes and pain medication, bandaged hands, classical music floating throughout an empty ballroom, bomber jackets and cropped tees, spilled ink and stained hands, glasses skewed, sneers and jabs, constant fighting, smog in a city, spotlights and encores, piles of books and a long line, backless dresses and sitting alone at a bar, wariness.

general info !!

full name: annabel maritza de la rosa

nickname(s): anna, annie (hates), anna banana (father, exclusively)

b.o.d. - october 31st. scorpio child.

label(s): the catalyst, the charlatan, the crepehanger, the minefield

height: 5′7″

hometown: nyc, ny

sexuality: bisexual

pinterest

stats

biography !!

born to two high schoolers who never married, mathías de la rosa and leonora nieves. they were head over heels for each other - when mathías graduated he took up two jobs alongside community college to support their family, until leonora graduated and took on the arts.

growing up was tough - living in the city wasn’t cheap, leonora’s art rarely sold and the two often went without eating in order to provide for annabel. as a child she’d often wear hand-me-downs from extended family.

was taught to be a hard worker and it was reflected in her schoolwork - anna excelled in all her classes but especially english. her love for writing grew at a young age, and as a child she saved up enough money to buy herself proper journals. 

the only thing that she grew more passionate towards than writing was ballet - she caught the image of girls flying through the air and landing on their toes in the window of a dance studio on a walk home from school one day and that was it - something clicked inside of her.

that same day she would spend hours prancing about their tiny apartment, trying to mimic what she’d seen. it was easy to spot the passion anna had for the dance - and within a few months they had saved up enough money for a month’s worth of lessons.

anna was ecstatic - her slippers were old and found in the back of a thrift store by an odd miracle, but she put her all into the lessons regardless. she was quick to pick up on each move, and by the end of the month it was clear that anna had a natural talent.

leonora picked up a job in order for them to keep affording the lessons, month after month - they weighed down on their pockets, but it kept anna happy.

flash forward a few years - life was good. money was still a struggle but they were tight knit.

or rather, anna thought they were tight knit.

mathías and leonora split up when anna was twelve - an event that rocked the young girl’s world, something that she couldn’t understand. they had kept up a front of love when anna was home from school or ballet - but behind doors, they had been growing apart.

anna viewed their separation as leonora running off with another man - an art collector who had a fascination with leonora’s paintings. she viewed this as the end of the world. she viewed this as the death of love.

when anna was twelve, she swore she would never fall in love - refused to believe in its existence. she couldn’t wrap her mind around the simple separation.

her father got a third job in order to keep up with payments, and anna pushed herself in both ballet and school - not being able to handle an empty apartment. she decided to get a job - to help ease her father, but was too young.

so anna decided to do what any average 12 year old would do. she started scamming people.

she’d sell store-bought lemonade as if it were homemade, stole ceramics from art class and sold them to neighbors. she found an old girl scouts uniform in the back of a goodwill and for the next month, she sold knock-off girl scout cookies from the dollar store - going door to door.

her personality had changed drastically - anna went from a sweet, optimistic girl with warm brown eyes and an infectious laugh to cold, calculated, and downright cruel. she knew what she wanted and how to get it.

she got an invitation to a prestigious private school, full scholarship, before she hit high school - originally wanted to reject it as the thought of being surrounded by new york’s richest teens was appalling, but their ballet program was a one-way ticket into the american ballet theatre. anna ultimately accepted the scholarship.

high school was immediately hell for her - pretentious rich kids who all shared a collective brain cell and her secondhand uniform being a prime target for them.

ballet got extremely competitive - anna was a threat to every dancer in their program, bullying and sabotage became standard - but anna retaliated when possible.

this all, however, suddenly stopped when anna picked up her latest scam: faking psychic. through a small network of ‘bees’ she’d pay to gather information (gossip, rumors, etc. etc.) she was able to accurately ~see~ into students’ past, present, and potentially future affairs. the money was very worth it.

from that point forward, people were intimidated by her.

when anna was 16 she was handpicked to join the american ballet theatre’s studio company, alongside 11 other lucky individuals. her dream from that point forward was to become the youngest principal ballerina for abt - and she was going to start by winning over the role of clara in their production of the nutcracker.

she was 17 when she was chosen, much to the dismay of the other girls. she had momentarily quit her ‘psychic’ business in order to dedicate the entirety of her time towards rehearsals & practice.

the final week before her first performance as clara, anna got into a car accident heading home after another tiresome rehearsal. knocked unconscious, anna woke up three days later with no recollection of the accident - and her leg freshly operated on.

it was a devastating event that should had killed her - maybe she would had been better off if it had - but instead, it had effectively destroyed any chances of her dancing professionally.

it took two months of extensive physical therapy for anna to walk again - now relying heavily on a cane.

with ptsd and depression weighing heavily on her shoulders, anna turned back to writing - mostly as a coping mechanism, but it soon became the fierce passion it once was when she was younger.

for the remainder of her high school life, anna dedicated the majority of her time towards recovery, her writing, and directing her school’s theatre productions. oh - and claiming that almost dying had given her the gift of mediumship. it wasn’t too far off from her psychic claims - her peers believed it well enough to either stay away, or pay her for a small amount of comfort.

went to columbia after graduation on a full scholarship - it’s one of her few sources of pride - where she earned her dual degree in english & investigative journalism ( mostly because she didn’t know what she wanted to do )

wrote and published a book based heavily on her experiences as a scholarship student at a private school - YA fiction, essentially - mostly just to dip her toes in the water and become established as an author. surprisingly - the book was a hit, and has written three more in the form of a small series. she also wrote a small book on what it’s like being a ‘psychic medium’.

annabel only came to livingstone after the apner family had left her a hefty email - pleading with her to connect to their dead son. it was in livingstone that annabel heard of the watershed app - and it was from there that her interest was peaked. she immediately found herself involved as a tier 1 shepherd.

she’s partially there to take notes - to learn as much about the app as she can - and partially to strengthen and build her side-business, though she had thought she was retired. the con, however, is too great to resist. essentially - she wants to become a high enough tier to learn the dirt on everybody, and then use that for her psychic business. 

decided to become a dance instructor due to her experience as a ballerina, but because she can’t really ... dance, has assistants that help her.

personality !!

lives in a semi-decent apartment downtown where the elevator would break every other week until she threatened her landlord and it was magically fixed permanently  :^)

that being said - she’s not the friendliest person. knows what she wants and how to get it, and will not hesitate to use people or push them out of her way in order to achieve her goals.

her cutthroat nature was the reason for her success in academics and dance - her students are all terrified of her, and rightfully so. she teaches dancers between the ages of 16-24. while incredibly hard on them - she’d rip someone a new one if they tried to hurt any of her students.

horribly stubborn - if she’s got an idea of you already in her mind, then it’s hard to convince her otherwise.

still uses a cane - in fact, she can’t really walk without it - unless she wants to be in pain.

it’s sturdy, ornate, and pretty fucking solid. doubles as a weapon if need be - has definitely ... hit people with it before, though she’s calmed down now that she’s older.

used to be very angry, very defensive as a teenager and young adult - is still the same, just ... less intense. will not hesitate to speak her mind and let her opinions known - especially in the face of injustice.

doesn’t really have the best ... relationship with authority, mainly because of where she was raised and her con-artist businesses. tends to be snarky and sarcastic to anybody in charge - or really, anybody in general. 

pretty distrusting, pretty emotionless on the outside, doesn’t like to be seen as weak or somebody to be pitied. keeps herself closely guarded and doesn’t really let others ‘inside’ due to her own comfort levels.

swore off love when she was 12 and during a fluke mid-twenties, wound up engaged. called off the engagement when she found her groom-to-be and her bridesmaid-slash-cousin together. very classic - very re-enforcing of a few of her greatest fears.

she’ll sleep around but dating is out of the question, for the most part - she’s been on a few blind dates, a few casual get-togethers - but she’s always the one to break things off. is more of a careful hook-up kind of gal.

still does her psychic medium business !! sometimes she wonders if she’s a bad person because of it - but ultimately, it’s on her customers for believing in all that nonsense anyway. anna herself is a skeptic - doesn’t believe in anything unless she can see it and feel it.

her apartment is still half-packed, half-unpacked, because she honestly cannot be bothered. got out the essentials and that was it. still has her ballet shoes, still has all of her awards for competitions she’s won - they’re just in a box tucked away somewhere labeled ‘do not open’.

is actually ... a pretty sentimental person, doesn’t take anything she’s got for granted, and is hugely appreciative of her father. sends him money when she can. hasn’t spoken to her mother in years - pretty sure she’s got a step / half-sibling or two but she’s never met them. 

a lone wolf and likes it that way, but she isn’t super opposed to friendship - even if she won’t necessarily call anybody a friend. appreciates others who are similar to her - got their head on right, and knows what they want in life.

has a pretty bad fear of driving - will uber if she needs to go anywhere - even then, being in cars makes her pretty anxious. still has ptsd-induced panic attacks, though she’s managed them pretty well.

doesn’t really do drugs! will smoke weed to ease the ache and her nerves, but otherwise she only takes what is prescribed for her. doesn’t drink anything hard, either. big fan of beer and wine. probably gets wine drunk home alone late at night ... like ... two times a week.

goes between being high strung and uncaring - she’s not especially moody ( rather, is just consistently angry for whatever reasons ) but she definitely tries to bottle everything up.

probably keeps pepper spray on her at all times, even though she’s got her cane. has a gun in her apartment, cat ear brass knuckles on her keychain. she’s not paranoid, she just likes being prepared.

kind of wants to write a novel based off of watershed so! she takes a lot of notes - tends to be very observant.

has a soft spot for children, animals, and soft women. kind of person who will put herself in the line of danger in order to protect others - even if she doesn’t necessarily know them too well.

also the kind of person who’ll set something on fire - or do something because you’ve told her not to. incredibly spiteful when wronged. will raise hell if need be.

morally ambiguous tbh.

wanted connections !!

maybe ... a roommate? i imagine her living alone but i also like the idea of having roommate so :^)

she’s sort of new in town so ! acquaintances. people who’ve seen her in town and are curious. people who’ve seen her like ... kick someone’s tire in a small fit of rage or spend 20 minutes trying to coax a cat into coming near her so she could pet it.

fans of her books !!

someone from new york who recognizes her from whatever !! whether it’s from newspaper details of her incident, her legacy at her private school, someone who went to the same college as her, her legacy as a ballerina before her incident, etc. etc.

has taken up boxing recently - so somebody whose helping her at the gym?

someone who tried to like. help her cross the road or something because they saw her with her cane and she yelled at them so now they’re in this weird spot.

students !! if somebody does ballet - she might be teaching them.

alternately, one of her assistants !!

someone she’s soft for for whatever reason :/

hookups !! preferably mid-20s to like. late-30s. she’s not a cougar, i’m sorry :(

somebody who wants her to be a cougar. and she just has to keep rejecting them.

customers who come to her for psychic readings and like. comfort in the form of talking to the dead.

people skeptical of her !! maybe trying to ruin her in some way.

other shepherds. someone higher up that she’s trying to manipulate in some way for her own benefits.

a drunk one night stand that neither wants to talk about.

a pregnancy scare with another, separate one night stand! it turned out to be nothing, but there was some. weirdness. between them afterwards.

a blind date or two dnfjgkmh

someone she ghosted :/

someone she’s like, protected from a creep at a bar or a club ! and now they feel indebted towards her and she’s just like uuuh no. stop.

annoyances !!

like ... maybe a pal or two, or three. mainly just people she gets along with !!

on the other end - something where they just. despise each other for whatever reason. pure hatred.

hatred but make it sexy.

a dealer because even though she can get medical marijuana ... it’s good to have a lil extra on ya :)

people She’s suspicious of for whatever reason - someone she caught doing something. suspicious. untrustworthy.

someone where their mail keeps getting mixed up.

uuh really im down for anything !!

[thetunewillcome]

[Fic] Empty and Desolate, The Air

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Rating: Mature (graphic descriptions of violence)

Important Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, South Downs, Language and Communication, T.S. Eliot-Inspired

Word Count: 3871

Summary: Ever a guardian, Aziraphale kept watch. Sliver-shafts of moonlight sliced ribbons across Crowley’s face. The emptiness of it unnerved the angel. Even in slumber, his expressive face had always told stories. Syllables shifted in the corners of his mouth; sentences found themselves punctuated with the movement of an eyebrow. Now, only still silence, even in sleep. Heavenly forces decide the best way to get their once-dutiful soldier back is to slaughter his only real reason for rebellion. Their attempt leaves Crowley wounded and voiceless. Aziraphale tries his best to heal him and accept the soundlessness of this new verse of their song.

[Read on AO3] or below (hidden under the cut b/c violence)

"Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,

Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

Oed' und leer das Meer."

- T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland

All was silent save for the language of the garden: birdsong and the buzzing of bees.

The blessed blade slid through skin and sinew, stilling as it settled inside his ribcage.  Searing pain burned in red-hot flashes across his chest.  Breath caught; lung collapsed.  Gritting his teeth against the gnawing heat of the metal, he squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head in a silent refusal to give them the pleasure of hearing his torment, seeing his fear.  A disobedient, agonized grunt escaped his lips as the angel dragged the blade out, inch by inch, deliberately slow.  Warmth blossomed across his stomach.  Through slitted eyes, he watched his silver blood stain his shirt, drip from Sandalphon’s retreating hand.

Think of something, his mind pulsed.  Think of something.  Say something.  Do something.  Or else.   Weakly, he lifted his knees an inch from the soil, the start of an attempt to stand.  The metal shackles binding his hands behind his back scalded his wrists.  A hand  grabbed a fistful of his auburn hair, jerking his head up and back.  Golden eyes met lilac ones.

“Come, now,” Gabriel chuckled from where he stood behind him.  “You’re doubly trapped.  You’re not going anywhere.”  A pause as Sandalphon shifted closer and Gabriel said to him, “we need to get a move on, before we’re interrupted.”

Oh, you’ve got time, Crowley thought.  Aziraphale wouldn’t be back from the shops for hours.  Jaw clenched tightly, he glanced sideways at the empty patch of ground he had intended to fill with lavender that afternoon.  Infuriatingly fitting that his story would end here, in the garden he had so carefully tended for nearly forty years, behind the home they had come to cherish.  More so, even, than Eden, this place was their beginning; now, with one blind step across an invisible line, it would be his destruction and their end.

Gabriel spoke again to Crowley, voice full of arrogance and loathing.  “You fooled us back then, I’ll give you that, but look at you now.  I knew if we gave you time, let you play human in this stupid town for long enough, you’d let your guard down.  We’ve had that circle sitting out here for, oh, months now – concealed from demonic sight, of course – and you walked right into it.  So you will die, and Aziraphale will eventually forget why he turned away from us.  He will return where he belongs and he will fight for us again, in the new war to come.  In time, he won’t even remember you.”  Gabriel smiled, inverted in Crowley’s field of vision.

“Never,” Crowley choked out.  “He would never go back to –“  Something hot and wet pressed against his neck: the blade.  Instinctively, he jerked sideways and felt the edge cut a small track in his taught skin.

Gabriel’s grip on his hair tightened.  “Enough.  Time to die.”  His eyes fell shut, inner voice pleading with him to take action while the throbbing pain in his gut pulled his focus and slowed his thoughts.  Nothing came to mind but Aziraphale: the horror that would mar his lovely face when he discovered Crowley’s body, the crumble and collapse into grief, his blue-green eyes dulled under pooled tears.  Every speck of power Crowley possessed trembled uselessly just underneath his skin, detained by the shackles and the circle around him.  There was nothing he could do.

A tremor hummed through the air as the blade bit into his neck.  A breathy cry, foreign to his ears but coming from somewhere in him, penetrated his cotton-muffled consciousness.  Nails drew droplets of blood from the palms of his clenched fists.  Light was streaming in from somewhere to his right.  Metal cut deeper and his voice sputtered to silence.  All was blinding pain and light and quicksilver sticky warmth cascading down his chest, and then, a lightening.  His hair, released.  The blade, lifted.

Eyes flew open and took in the garden cast in brilliant white, a photo negative.  A hallucination, perhaps, as braincells starved and withered?  Or the light humans said they saw before death claimed them?  Air moved around him.  A flash: a lightning strike?  Head heavy, he folded forward, ink spreading across the edges of his vision.  One final fall, into darkness yet again.

Soft hands caught him: one cradling the back of his head, the other amplifying pain with firm pressure on his neck.  A burst of short-lived strength.  The circle had been broken.  The restraints tumbled from his wrists.  He was laid gently down in the cool embrace of fern and columbine.  White curls.  Bright, panicked eyes.  Aziraphale, he tried to say, run.  They want you back.  What are you doing wasting time on me, you perfect idiot?  Aziraphale, he tried to say, I love you.  I’m sorry.  But instead of words, a sickly, wet sound.

“Shh, don’t –  Don’t try to speak.”  Sweat and tears mixed on the angel’s face, and flecks of gold dotted his skin.  Fingers stroked his cheek.  His face was wet, too.  “I know it hurts and I – I am so sorry, dear, but I have to staunch the bleeding.”  More pressure.  Waves of agony behind his eyes.

“They’re gone now.  You’re safe.  You – oh,” and Aziraphale’s tender voice broke as his eyes swept over Crowley’s chest.  A hand found the gash in his stomach and pain bloomed there, too.  “I know it was holy metal, but – we have to try."  The angel's voice was an unsteady song, breathy and full of vibrato.  "Crowley, listen, with anything you have left, you need to try, okay?”  With a reassuring nod, Aziraphale closed his eyes.

Hazily, he lingered in the homecoming of Aziraphale's face before him, a sense of misplaced calm settling over his body.  It wouldn’t work – Angelic blades permanently injure occult entities deep beneath their corporations’ flesh. – but he would try, for him.  Crowley reached down into his core, desperately shoving pain aside, and found reserves of frantic energy.  Power surged through his veins.  Cells divided, mercurial blood replenishing.  It wasn’t a solution, but it would buy him time, and it was the best he could do.

Aziraphale’s warm energy flowed over his neck and ribcage.  The sharp stinging calmed slightly to a pulsing ache.  Weak and exhausted, Crowley watched Aziraphale concentrate, beautifully in his element, until the angel’s eyes reopened and fear took back its hold on his visage.  Shakily, the hand on his neck lifted.  Crowley read surprise and slight relief in the angel’s eyes.

“An improvement, certainly,” he said, trying to sound calm, though his breath came shallow and quick.  “Bandages, now.  Ready?”  A snap sounded in the distance; gauze wrapped tightly around his wounds, covering rows of stitches that had strung themselves through jagged skin.  “Much better.  You’ll be alright.”  You’ve always been a terrible liar, he thought.  Superficial patching was all their energy could do.  “Let’s get you inside.”

Tenderly, Aziraphale gathered him in his arms and lifted him.  Fresh pain burst forth as his body shifted.  He fought to keep heavy eyelids open and caught still images of the scene: evening primroses inching open for the night; hyacinths, named for the one whose blood first created them, dripping with silver; the smudged, broken edge of a devil’s trap in the dirt; a tree trunk sprayed with golden spatter.

At the last image, his eyes opened wide, mind sharpened with worry.  He ran a heavy hand over Aziraphale’s chest, earning him a concerned look.  An attempt to say Yours? required breath that wouldn’t come, and so he gestured vaguely at the tree and looked up into the angel’s pale face.

“Oh, darling,” and the hold on his body tightened, “it’s not mine.  Don’t worry.”  Eyes fell closed.  “Here, we’re almost there.”  The creaky hinges of their front door.  The click of the lock behind them.  The ten footfalls to their bedroom.  The soft give of their duvet.  Aziraphale’s presence began to draw back and Crowley shot out his hand, grabbing a wrist that froze at his touch.  “I’m not going anywhere, but I can’t let you–“  His voice tightened and he swallowed thickly.  “I’ll clean you up, change of clothes, okay?”

A snap, but nothing happened.  Aziraphale swayed on his feet, blinking.  “Shit,” he whispered, then recovered his soothing tone.  “Have to do it the human way, then.  But…”  Brows furrowed, he glanced at the bedroom door, then back down at Crowley.  “Well, in a moment, when you’re settled.”

His vision darkened, then returned as he felt the familiar pressure of the angel’s body on the mattress next to him.  Aziraphale moved cautiously, studying Crowley’s face as he settled down and slid fingers through rust-red hair.  Lips pressed a kiss to his sweat-slick forehead.

Sleep tempted him with escape, but as his eyes closed again, he heard a panicked “You –  Crowley?” and forced them back open.  “You need to stay awake.  It’s vitally important.”  Tears tumbled down Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley tried desperately to obey, but there were shadows curling in around the edges of his eyes.  More than anything, he wanted to speak, but their energy had only been enough to stop some of the bleeding, not repair deeper damage.  Thank you, he would have said.  Stay.  I’ll return.  Against his will, he slipped into sleep.

---

A sweet smell drifted into the cottage's studio on dreamy, heavy afternoon air.  Perched on a stool, Crowley glared at a canvas smeared with azure hues.  The paint was not behaving properly, and the whole piece was one more bad brushstroke away from spontaneous combustion when the sound of the door opening made him pause, paintbrush raised.  Aziraphale entered, and the sight of him spread a grin across Crowley’s face: he was dotted from head to toe in flour.

“That’s off to a beautiful start,” the angel said, words slowing as he took notice of Crowley’s expression.  “I like… What?”  A glance downward.  “Oh.”  A sheepish smile.  “I thought I’d try my hand at brioche.  The book made it look simple enough, but, well, I ran into some difficulty with the mixer, and then after it all, you’re expected to have the patience to wait for the dough to rise for hours before baking it…”

Grabbing hold of his hand, Crowley tugged Aziraphale closer to him and wiped flour from his cheek with a thumb.  “Couldn’t wait, could you?” he asked slyly, and guilt crossed the angel’s face.  “Well, it smells delicious.”  Leaning on the edge of the stool, he spread his legs wider and pulled Aziraphale forward by the hips until the space between them disappeared.  “Still, I thought patience was a virtue,” he murmured as he tilted his chin up and kissed Aziraphale’s lips.

“It is.”  Another kiss.  “But there’s no harm in speeding things along, either, sometimes.”

There was an absurd beauty in the realization that the angel before him could drown nations, burn sinful cities to the ground, plant dreams into the minds of men that would alter the course of human history, and yet, here he was, settled in South Downs with a demon, miracling dough to rise.  Crowley looked up at him as if he were the sun itself, wondering if Aziraphale had any idea of the limitlessness of his power.

As he had done countless times since the move, since the peaceful seclusion of the cottage had made it first safe to voice his ancient adoration, Crowley opened his mouth to say I love you, angel, but only heard a sickening sputter.  In horrified confusion, he pulled shaking hands away from Aziraphale’s hips and touched the ruin of his throat.  Where there had been blue paint on his fingertips, now, there was argent blood.  When he looked up from his hands, Aziraphale had disappeared and the stool was collapsing under him and he was falling, voiceless, back into the darkness of sleep.

---

The feeling of falling jolted him awake.  Gold eyes flew open and a second passed and then the pain rushed back to him all at once in a train-wreck of sensation.  Teeth ground.  Muscles seized.  Hands dug into the duvet.  Then Aziraphale’s hands were on him, warm and healing.  Dark circles had formed under bloodshot blue eyes, and his skin looked frighteningly pale in the half-light of the room.

Angelic energy smoothed the edges of the pain, but it still rang through him, the equivalent of covering one’s ears against a shrill alarm.  The hands withdrew and he watched Aziraphale wipe his face with a shirtsleeve.  He had no idea how long he had been asleep.

“You… you’re…”  Aziraphale, voice hushed and relieved, reached for words that unraveled on his tongue.  "I..."

Testing his body, Crowley managed a small breath in, all that his collapsed lung would allow, but the air died silently in his throat.  He raised his hand and mimed writing in mid-air.

“Oh!  Um, yes, hang on,” and Aziraphale grabbed a book and pen from the nightstand.  “Here,” he said as he held the pen out to Crowley, opened to a random page.  “Write in the margins.”

In jagged script, Crowley scrawled two words and tipped the book so Aziraphale could read them.  “Love you”

A stifled sob.  “I know.  And I love you.  You know that.  You're my world, my everything.”  Aziraphale’s thumb traced his jawline and Crowley leaned ever so slightly into the touch.

"They’re after you.   Go”

Shock and offense at the suggestion.  “No.  I won’t leave you, and you’re in no condition to be moved.  Don’t be absurd.”  A deep breath.  “They’re not a threat anymore.  Not for the time being, anyway.”

Crowley raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

For the first time in two days, Aziraphale looked away from Crowley, gaze hardening.  “I’m not exactly sure what happened.  It was all a blur.  My only concern was you.  Whatever I did to them, well, they deserved it, and I doubt they’ll be able to return.  At least, not soon.  But if they do, I’ll be right here” he said quietly, voice warming as he returned his focus to Crowley’s face, “and they won’t come near you again.”

"Should be dead”  To clarify, he added an “I” to the left of the phrase.

Aziraphale winced and exhaled slowly. “And yet, you’re not.  You’re here.  Perhaps I interrupted them before… Or… I don’t know…”  His voice grew high and tight.  “I’m not going to question it.  You can’t… because I couldn’t…”

The emotions battling on Aziraphale’s face became too much for his foggy mind to handle.  Crowley looked away and noticed his stained, torn clothes.  With a look of disgust, he gestured at them and the angel’s face twisted in guilt.  “Sorry.  Any ounce of energy that returns to me, I’ve routed right into healing you.  So I can’t miracle you clean, and I didn’t want to hurt you, doing it by hand.”  Not to mention he’d have to leave the room to get supplies, and he couldn’t pry himself away from Crowley’s side.

Crowley’s expression told him he was being ridiculous.  “Fine, if you feel up for it, I will.”  A small, weak nod.  “Okay, I’ll…”  Aziraphale stared at him as if worried he would disappear.  “I will be right back.”

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Crowley heard Aziraphale reenter the room, felt the gentle tug of fabric being removed from under him.  Like that magician’s trick, he mused, with the tablecloth and plates.  Except he was already shattered into sharp pieces.  Not much more damage could be done.

Wet cloth slid over skin, back and forth on silver stains.  Humans have been bathing bodies just like this in parlors and in morgues since their departure from the Garden.  Crowley had seen them do it, feeling like a voyeur in the face of their human grief every time.  He had heard them speak to the dead: apologies, confessions, questions hovering permanently in the air without answer.  Only silence from the dead, and now, from him.  What power lived in language, to prove I am here.  I can ask and answer.  Listen.  Under the reverent attention of his angel, he was lulled to sleep once more.

---

Ever a guardian, Aziraphale kept watch.  Sliver-shafts of moonlight sliced ribbons across Crowley’s face.  The emptiness in it unnerved the angel.  Even in slumber, his expressive face had always told stories.  Syllables shifted in the corners of his mouth; sentences found themselves punctuated with the movement of an eyebrow.  Now, only still silence.

Crowley’s presence had always felt thunderously loud to him.  Even in the early days, he would shatter Aziraphale’s peace with surprise greetings, bursting forth from a crowd or calling his name across a room.  Always a retort, always a bark of laughter or a groan of discontent.  Somehow, even when he listened, he listened with his whole body; Aziraphale could read volumes in the shifts of his feet and the tilt of his chin.  Sharing a home allowed him to hear new sounds he hadn’t been privy to before.  After a night of drinking, Crowley snored.  When concentrating in quiet spaces, he hummed to himself.  He shouted at sappy films and cursed at cooking mistakes and Aziraphale, who had always lived in lonesome quiet, had come to cherish every word.

Exhaustion ignited into rage.  They had no right to his voice, his life.  What did they even know of him?  Ancient questions?  Disobedient objections?  He was so much more: faltering bravado, endearing temper, sibilant begging, whispered affection, unwavering love.  His.  He was his.  And Aziraphale would do whatever needed to be done to keep him here.

Shifting into his true form that day had taken so much from him, and he had regretted it instantly upon realizing just how deeply they had injured Crowley.  Angelic energy took time to rebuild once depleted, and as it sparked and replenished in his core, he drained it into Crowley’s body, emptying himself again and again.  He hadn’t left the room for days, at least.  Dust had settled around them on the four-poster bed.

His mind wandered, recalling memories and verses to pass the time, but when it ventured near that afternoon in the garden, he stopped it.  He refused to consider what he had done to Gabriel, what it meant for him.  If Crowley’s life could only be purchased with Gabriel’s, if he had incurred a debt only repayable with his own Fall, he accepted those terms without hesitation.

Every instinct in him called for prayer, but his belief in a God who listens had withered half a century ago.  Still, he spoke.  It was a prayer, yes, but not to Her.  It started with an invocation, the one name in which he held unwavering faith.  “Crowley,” he breathed, lingering on the holy sound of his name.  “You’ve always been so strong.  Your will becomes reality here on Earth.  I’ve seen it happen.  Give it a try.  For me.  Forgive me for not being enough to heal you on my own.  Forgive me for needing you so selfishly.  You can save yourself, I know it.  You have the power, somewhere.  This can’t be it.  We’re meant to have forever.”  And ever.  Amen.

---

“Look like hell”

“Just the sight of you awake is lovely, my dear.”

“Not me.  You”

A shaky laugh.  “Haven’t exactly had the energy to keep up appearances, now.  So sorry.”  He had lost track of how much time he had spent lying quietly next to Crowley, watching, healing, hoping.

Crowley, propped upright now against the headboard and pillows, gave a fond smile and wrote “Standards?”

“Oh, stop,” Aziraphale chuckled as he unbuttoned Crowley’s pajama shirt.

Crowley’s physical pain was still present, but it had dulled significantly, and somehow, inconceivably, the invisible cancer of the blessed metal’s damage had ceased to spread.  It should have consumed him, and yet, it hadn’t.  They each had their separate theories – Aziraphale’s strength, Crowley’s willpower, the humanizing effects of isolation from above and below, the otherness of their own side – but neither would ever voice them.  Neither dared to question it.  And he was still far from out of the woods: he couldn’t even draw the breath required to ask for a compass.

“Focus, now.”  Aziraphale placed both hands on the bandage below Crowley’s left rib and closed his eyes.  Crowley did his part, meeting Aziraphale’s energy with the little of his own he had cultivated.

When they were both spent, Aziraphale leaned back, their shoulders touching.  Slowly, Crowley laced their fingers together.  His eyes were closed.  A scar ringed round his wrist, a souvenir of captivity.  The silence of the room pressed heavily on Aziraphale’s eardrums.  He wished for anything to shatter it: a word, a laugh, a breath, even, just the whisper of an inhale.  Nothing came.

He tried to be thankful for the silence.  After all, the air could be filled with angelic fury, with the sharp hissing of fiery weapons.  It could crackle with burning feathers.  It could carry a death rattle to his ears, bringing with it his ending, too.  The way things were headed, they still could communicate; it could have been much, much worse.  Aziraphale sat, warm palm pressed against Crowley’s cold one, and attempted to accept the soundlessness of this new verse of their song.

---

Eventually, Crowley urged him away from his post.

“Eat something”

“Shower”

“I’m fine”

"Get some fresh air”

“Please eat”

An irritated eye-roll when the angel insisted he wouldn’t miracle up food for himself.  “Pears are ripe on the trees.  Go”

Finally, he listened, disappearing for an hour here and there but always returning, a homing pigeon carrying stories and healing hands back again to Crowley’s quiet sanctuary.  One day, as he reluctantly walked down the hall, bedroom at his back, something stopped him.

Aziraphale had heard the first word ever born on a human tongue.  When Adam opened his mouth and began to name the creatures of the Garden and the Heavens, a strange and lovely music formed, so different from the celestial language of angels it defied comparison.  As Adam christened his wife, baptized his body – bone, flesh, rib – the young angel cherished each vibration.  How precious, the melodies of the human voice.  Out of that language, variations branched forth, harmonies.  Eventually, Babel brought discord, baffling and beautiful.  The early ages had rippled with vocal ringing, and as Aziraphale loved the humans, so he loved their languages.

But, oh, no word ever mattered more than this.  Its sandpaper sound was a shipwreck, dredged out of the deep, tempest-tossed nearly past recognition, but within its hull lay golden promise.  It was a name, just like the first.  Its syllables rose and broke over him, shattering months of silence and leaving him shaking in its wake.  “Aziraphale,” he heard.  A clipped song, a single note of adoration.  Spinning, he took in the impossible sight of Crowley leaning against the doorframe.  Carefully, carefully, with stunned and speechless gratitude, the angel wrapped him up in trembling arms.

Notes: It's not every day that you write something, go reading some of your favorite poems looking for inspiration for a title, and find lines that almost exactly describe what you've already written. (If I've been possessed by Mr. Eliot, I have absolutely no objections.)

The title comes from “Oed’ und leer das Meer” which means “empty and desolate the sea." Eliot borrowed the line from Tristan und Isolde.

Aziraphale’s prayer is very loosely based on the Lord’s Prayer.

[jasperrollswrites]

Ink

I’ve been having trouble writing lately.

Maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s a particularly bad bout of depression. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been fighting against myself to write something and I couldn’t manage to write anything. My brain and my body didn’t want to do anything, so I didn’t do anything.

I don’t know that I’m completely out of the funk yet, but I’m trying. This is me trying to get out. A Discord Server I’m on posted a image of a fat guy covered in tattoos, and I felt inspired to do something warm and positive, about breaking free of constraints and being yourself.

Hopefully you’ll enjoy.

------------------------------------

Jason had never been one for rebellion. His parents had been as strict and stern with him as they had with all 5 of his siblings. Honour thy father and thy mother, the 5th commandment said, and for many years of his life, Jason had followed that commandment as closely as he had followed the other nine. He hadn't strayed from the path set out so carefully by his parents, followed dutifully by his 3 brothers and 2 sisters, and now him. His carefully curated and managed life had let him grow up into a handsome young man. Swimming lessons had given him a thin, toned body with muscle that made girls smile flirtily at him, his face was clean shaven and carefully looked after, with not a pimple or zit to be seen and a strong jaw and straight, slim nose giving him an attractive look, assisted by his blue eyes. His bright blonde hair was neatly cut, carefully trimmed and combed every day to look its best. The Lord's path had never steered him wrong, and he'd never strayed, under the watchful eye of his parents.

But now, in his early 20s, he was at university. Away from home, away from family, he had expected to a certain amount that he would come across people who did not believe the same things he held dear. He believed he was ready for it - but the first few weeks had seen his faith tested harder than he could have ever imagined. The roommates he had liked to go out drinking in bars, seemed to have premarital sex with astonishing frequency that revolted him to hear through the walls of their freshman dorm apartment, and he was certain one of them smoked marijuana. His faith had been tested - and now, at 4 in the morning, in a room illuminated only by the blue light on his PC, curled up in the corner of his bed, knees held close to him, he was horrified that he had failed the test.

Hindsight was 20/20, and now he knew he'd made a horrible mistake, but at the time it had just seemed like a silly laugh. Had his mind been addled by the marijuana coming from his friend? He had no idea what had compelled him, but now he was trapped with the mistake he'd made for life. To be fair, it was a fairly small mistake, and not a bad looking one, by any means. Discrete, easy to hide. Really, no-one would ever need to know, but the shame was something else. A burning, indelible guilt he felt like he'd never be able to escape as long as the ink remained on his wrist. He had marked his body, permanently.

He'd gotten a tattoo.

It was just under the sleeve of his white long-sleeved shirt, on his right wrist, a simple black ink drawing of a rose. As mentioned, it wasn't a big or even unpleasant looking mistake, but he still felt a horrible sickness in his stomach whenever he saw it or thought about it, which right now was constantly. He felt like he’d contracted a terrible illness - all these years of always doing as he’d been told, doing right, and then one night had been all it took and now he felt like he was doomed. He tightly grasped the denim of his slim blue jeans.

The fact that it was easily hidden somehow made it worse. Now it was a horrible secret he had to hide from his family, a dark shame hidden just under his sleeve, burning into his skin. None of them ever had to know - and it just made the guilt hurt all the more. Had his brothers and sisters faced trials and tribulations like this? They must have. Which made it all the more sickening that they had stayed the course while he had failed. His parents would disown him. God would have him cast into hell. All for some ink. It felt like it would never end, the crushing guilt of his failure weighing on his chest, like an anchor pulling him down into the Earth. He just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to be free of it.

The rose unfurled quietly under the sleeve, beginning to blossom.

Jason blinked, tears springing from his eyes - but he didn’t feel sad. It was a difficult feeling to describe. It was like he had been drowning, something had been holding him under the surface of the water, and then it had stopped. He was still in the darkness. Acid was still churning in his stomach at the thought of the tattoo, there was still that unexplainable weight in his chest, but he didn’t feel like it was inescapable, all of a sudden. He felt the tears trickling down his face, but they felt alien. Maybe a tattoo wasn’t the end of the world.

There was laser removal. It’d probably cost a lot, but he’d always been a good person. Everyone strays from the path sometimes, even the most devout, has a moment of weakness. His parents would understand, surely. Might even spot him the money for it, considering the many years he’d been good and loyal. It would still be a lot of money, though…

The anchor shifted. Around the wrist, a circlet of ink, a crisscross pattern connected to itself. His stomach was beginning to settle, and in place of sickness, a warmth was beginning to grow. It was soft and pleasant, and it comforted him slightly. His stomach expanded a little as he breathed out slowly - but did not contract as much when he breathed in.

He uncurled his body a little, coming out of the fetal position slightly. In the meantime, there was always...being a man, he didn’t know much about makeup, but he’d heard about it...they had things for covering up blemishes in the skin, didn’t they? He could just use one of those, cover it up, so no-one saw it. And then he could save up for the removal sessions. And it would be like it had never happened. The only person who really needed to know was God.

From beneath the bracelet of ink, an intricate fretwork of lines was being drawn by an invisible artist, slowly travelling up his wrist. No clear imagery, just abstraction. His body was changing. The warmth in his stomach was making his torso slowly expand with each exhalation. With every breath, the slight six pack he’d put all that effort into was slowly disappearing, the muscles slacking, as fat took its place, his stomach becoming more smooth and soft. His slender fingers were filling out, becoming rounder, his palms swelling, a little like he’d been stung by a bee, but all over. The few fat cells that were in his body were multiplying, splitting apart but becoming more in the process.

Jason slowly sat up, looking around the dark room. The weight was lifting from his chest. He wiped his eyes, clearing his vision. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He’d just made a mistake, was all. He could move past it. There were a lot of ways to deal with this - and one interesting one came into his mind. He reached up and slid the sleeve of his shirt down, revealing the tattoo encircling his wrist, the lines of ink travelling up his arm. He stared at it, frowning a little. It felt like something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Well, of course it was off. He’d gotten a tattoo there. It’d take a bit of work to cover it all, but…

Did he really need to cover it?

Could it not be a sign of his faith? It would require a bit of a stretch - he couldn’t remember any specific bible verses about roses off-hand, or any of this fretwork stuff...but maybe it could be a personal symbol, a reminder of God marked on his wrist. The ink continued to spread up his arm, the lines becoming less abstract, taking form. Every layer seemed to be something different - one divided into small segments, like reptilian scales, another continued the intricate mandala-esque design it had begun as, another layer began to curl and flick upwards, like black flames. It surprised Jason how much the tattoo artist had managed in just an hour or so.

He pulled the sleeve up further, watching the design grow across his arm. There was no fear or concern. What had, maybe a couple of minutes ago, filled his stomach with revulsion was becoming enchanting, and hypnotic. His jaw slackened, his mouth open slightly, as he watched in a trance, seeing the different designs weave in and out of each other, distinctly different but strangely unified despite their contrast. His arm was expanding, filling out with fat that made his arms flabby, but firm in spite of the fat, allowing for a bigger, more complex design that was being drawn from nothing. Jason slowly ran a fatter finger from his left arm along what had already been drawn. It was embedded in his skin, faded slightly, markings much older than a few hours ago.

This was not a concern to Jason. All he thought of was how beautiful it all looked, how beautiful it was making him look. His body was becoming a canvas for something amazing. He had come to this place as a business major, but as the ink rose over his shoulder and began crossing over towards his chest and back, he was beginning to realize what those weird kids at the art building meant when they were saying anything could be art. His body could be art. And it was all for…

Well, it could be for him. Why did it need to be for God? Or any God? Couldn’t it just be for him. Because he liked it? Because it made him feel beautiful? This was his body. He owned it, and he could devote it how he liked, couldn’t he? This was what he wanted. It had been scary at first, but as the ink blossomed across his body, he was realizing how incredible it really was. The artistry, the effort, the talent. The more he thought about it, he was realizing he didn’t need the rules that had been laid out for him, the path that had been so dutifully forced upon him. He was not straying now - he was intentionally stepping away, and realizing that there were so many paths in life, just as there were many lines of ink on his body. And he could choose which one he wanted to take.

He grabbed the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up, and as he did, his growing stomach flopped out, no longer constrained by the soft cotton. He pulled it over his head, struggling a little to pull his head through the hole, but the ink didn’t stop for his temporary blindness. It continued to develop across his chest, which was bloating outwards above his belly, his previously muscled pectorals filling out with fat. Just above his right nipple, the ink seemed to be making a gap in the design, the layers curving as something considerably less abstract appeared in the space. Sharp teeth, flared nostrils, fierce, inhuman eyes. The ink travelled down lower across his chest, as the design formed the head of a chinese dragon, roaring with fire spilling out of its mouth. His pecs were swelling and sagging, becoming a pair of plump moobs, settling atop a belly that was only getting bigger.

It was bloating outwards and hanging down, spilling into his lap, which was getting pretty big in itself. The muscles that had propelled him through water with speed were losing their power, as fat multiplied rapidly, making his thigh thick and flabby, the size of tree trunks that were quickly tearing up his slim jeans. The sides went first, the seams splitting apart, threads being ripped open. Before long the jeans were no better than useless scraps hanging loosely off of his thickening frame, the waistline getting trapped beneath his fattening belly.

Despite this, his white briefs seemed to hold on, expanding to hold in the absolutely gigantic pair of buttocks he was gaining. The fabric was stretched to its limit, leaving little to the imagination about the size of Jason’s new titanic ass. They clung snugly to his cock, which didn’t seem to have quite the incredible growth as the rest of him. Rather, it remained roughly the same size, perhaps getting slightly smaller, becoming buried in a fat pad from which it would be something of a struggle for him to reach in future. This thought seemed to arouse him as it stirred, stiffening under the briefs.

Jason reached down, pulling the remains of the jeans out from the underside of his belly, but didn’t even really notice he was doing it, absorbed in the spectacle of the ink spreading across his body. It flowed over across to his left moob, where another gap opened up, for another dragon head, the twin of the one on the right, breathing flame down towards his stomach. The ink was crossing his left shoulder, now flowing down his left arm, which had already received a plentiful amount of fat, plenty of room for a mirrored design.

There was a tingling along his back, and it was much stronger than any kind of sensation he’d ever felt across his back before, mainly because its width had practically tripled to support the increase in weight. A dumbfounded smile crossed Jason’s face. He wished he could see what was on the back right now, but he’d need two mirrors for that, and he doubted either would be wide enough. Still, he could imagine it clearly enough. The long bodies of the dragons, sweeping over his shoulders and entwining behind his back in a strange circle that made it hard to tell where one began and the other ended.

Jason smiled, and his face fattened with the smile, his cheeks filling out, becoming chubbier. His jaw was becoming softer, rounder, as the increasing fat diminished the strong chin he’d developed over years, being lost under a swelling of fat - and now hair, as the jawline he’d taken so much effort to keep clean shaven was growing hair at an incredible rate. Across his lips, along the jaw, down towards the neck, a straggly, unkempt beard of black hair was growing.

Sideburns grew out along the side of his face, growing up towards the blonde hair atop his head. The second the two colours connected, the blonde was overtaken by the black. Hair grew out and down, cascading over his shoulders. He brought an arm to sweep the new hair back, as his face broadened, his nose flattening but becoming wider. His dimples became deeper, giving him a jolly expression. The warmth that had started in his stomach was flowing through his entire body.

His attention was brought back to his belly, as the twin plumes of flame flowed down across his chest towards the center of his belly, where they met. Over his belly button, a figure was drawn in, a man with dark emerald skin, wreathed in flame, holding a sword in his right hand, staring outward with fierce eyes. Jason ran his flabby fingers over the artwork that adorned his body, fascinated by it. It was amazing. He was amazing. He loved it, and he loved himself, in a way that he never had before.

And now, his memory was changing. The broad details were still the same - strict parents, strict Christian upbringing, 5 siblings all showing him the way, but now he was seeing himself rejecting it. Turning away. The path they’d laid out for him wasn’t a guide, but a prison of personality. They had wanted him to be a good, straight, perfect boy, just like his siblings. And he didn’t want it. He had never wanted it. He was his own person.

His first tattoo at fifteen. He vividly remembered horror on his mother’s face when she saw. He’d been ‘grounded’ for a year for the act of rebellion, but he’d stopped paying attention to their rules by then. He was going to live his own life, a life of happiness and love on his own terms, not on the terms of their restrictive religion.

And despite his rebellious attitude, he was hardly an idiot. He had worked hard in school despite them, done well in his exams. Of course, they had utterly refused to support him in any way, and he’d had to scrape together the money for community college by himself, working every shift he could get at the pub he worked at, but he’d managed it, and he was here, studying art, making art, being art. He was a work of art, and he loved himself. He felt like he was finally free.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened. Jason looked up to see his roommate, Conrad. Conrad’s brown shoulder length hair, covered by a beanie, glowed slightly in the light coming from the hallway. A too big Nine Inch Nails shirt adorned his lanky body, and a pair of briefs covered up anything unsightly - but not very well. A lit blunt hung loosely from his lips, the smell of weed beginning to permeate the room. His eyes were glazed over. He smiled.

Jason thought he looked kind of like an angel, if an angel was a stoner.

Conrad approached. “Heard you movin’ around, babe. You alright?” He mumbled, in that way he did when he was high - which was often. What minutes ago would’ve earned a sneer from Jason brought a smile to his already happy face. Conrad walked over to the bed, leaned down, taking the self-rolled blunt out of his mouth, and kissed Jason on the lips. Jason kissed him back without hesitating, his cock stirring slightly as he felt Conrad’s arms slide around his flabby body. Being touched in such a tender way always made him feel a little aroused. Part of him felt a bit of hypothetical schadenfreude at the thought of his parents knowing that on top of going to community college rather than university, he was gay too! But for the most part, he was just happy to be in love.

They broke the kiss, and looked into each others eyes. “Yeah, I was just...uh...admirin’ my tatts.” Jason explained, giggling a little.

Conrad looked down, running slender fingers over Jason’s massive belly. “Hell yeah, dude. Fuckin’ sick is what they are.” He said quietly, but enthusiastically, placing the blunt back in his mouth. “Any reason why now, though?” He asked, sliding to Jason’s side and leaning against him, pressing his head against Jason’s belly.

“I dunno...they’re just special to me is all. The first tattoo I got…” Jason raised his right wrist, showing the rose on it. “It was like...the first time I really rebelled against my parents. It was the start of my liberation from their laws. I’d always been kind of a brat with attitude but that was like the first time I was really like...I won’t be held down by your rules. And now, I have so many tatts, all over my body, and...it reminds me that I’m free of them. That I’m free to...to do what I want and love who I love...and…

“Just...realizing...I’m finally free to be me.”

“Right on, man.” Conrad smiled, and hugged Jason’s belly tight. “God, you’re soft, dude. You mind if I sleep with you tonight? You’re way more comfy than my pillow.”

“No prob, man. If you don’t mind sharing that blunt, of course.” Jason said, lying back on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah…” Conrad said, holding tightly onto Jason.

The warmth flowed out of Jason, happiness radiating from him, filling the world with light as the sun begun slowly began to rise on a new day.