#my gabriel. of flames ignited; for you i burn. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marjansmarwani · 3 years ago

Text

It feels like an out of body experience

2k || ao3

“He was talking to both of us,” he repeated, aware that he sounded like a broken record. “Both me and Gabriel. He was going to take what was most important, from both of us.” --- Just a missing 2x12 scene of the moment after Owen realized TK and Carlos were in danger and what follows. Featuring an in-depth look at his guilt because why else do I ever write Owen Strand anymore?

This has been sitting mostly done on my google drive since May and I finally decided to finish it today, for some reason so I hope you’re all in the mood for some angsty Owen content.

Beta’d by my loves @silvarafael and @justaswampdemon

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

“You thought he was talking to you?” Billy asked with a snort. “I thought he was talking to Reyes.”

Judd let out a laugh beside him and Owen rolled his eyes, picking up his glass to take another sip of the whiskey. He rolled Billy’s words around in his head as he twirled the glass, watching as the whiskey sloshed around the sides. The thought came suddenly and hit him with all the force of a steam engine.

“He was talking to both of us,” he said quietly, pulling Judd’s attention to him. He could see the other man frowning but he ignored him. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner; he couldn’t believe it hadn’t been his first thought.

“He was talking to both of us,” he repeated louder, now pulling the eyes of all the others to him as well. Tommy sat up straighter as she clocked the fear in his eyes.

“What are you saying?” she asked evenly, using her steady, tempered captain’s voice that he had heard so often on patients in the field.

“He was talking to both of us,” he repeated, aware that he sounded like a broken record. “Both me and Gabriel. He was going to take what was most important, from both of us.”

His words hung in the air for a moment as they all processed and began to connect the dots. Owen set down his glass as they did, his hands were shaking too much to hold it. He was already reaching into his pocket for his phone when Judd’s expression cleared and he let out a curse as he figured out what Owen was implying, but he didn’t have the focus to see anything but the phone in his hands.

Billy still hadn’t figured it out though so Owen spelled it out for him as the phone now clutched to his ear rang: “Our sons. He meant our sons, who live together. He meant TK and Carlos. He rigged their house to burn too.”

There were horrified looks all around now but Owen couldn’t focus on them. The fear coursing through his veins was too all-consuming; there wasn’t room for anything else.

The ringing stopped and for a split second, Owen thought that maybe, just maybe he was in luck, that TK had finally answered. But his voicemail answered instead at the tail end of the moment and Owen could feel some of the hope he had managed to cling to slip away.

The others were watching him intently and he knew that the fear was written all over his face. Grace was the first to speak, breaking the tense silence.

“You all need to go.”

They all turned to her and Judd opened his mouth but she shook her head, “Those boys need you. With the 126 closed, there isn’t a house close enough to get to them in time. But you’re close here. I’ll call it in to dispatch, and pray a whole lot.”

Owen nodded, already standing with Judd on his heels. The younger man paused for all of a moment, turning back to his wife who only shook her head.

“TK and Carlos need you right now Judd, I’ll be fine. Just be careful, and call me when you’re done.”

Judd nodded and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss, “I love you, Gracie.”

“I love you too, now go!”

Owen didn’t need to be told twice. He was already halfway out the door before Grace even finished speaking. He jumped into his truck and was momentarily surprised when the passenger door swung open beside him. He turned, hand frozen over the ignition to see Billy climbing in beside him. The other man took a look at him and scoffed.

“Well, what are you waiting for, New York? We’ve gotta go.”

So Owen started the truck and sped away from the curb because Billy was right. TK was in danger and nothing else mattered.

He pressed the speed limit the entire way from the Ryder’s house to the condo. It wasn’t far and Owen was making excellent time as it was, but that fact did nothing to quell the racing of his heart. He can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. What kind of father was he that when he was told that someone was going to take what was most important to him and he didn’t immediately think of his son?

If they were too late and the worst did happen, how did he live with himself?

Billy had the scanner app running beside him, and the sound of his son’s address being relayed by dispatch sent an entirely different chill through him. It made it real, hearing the words outside of his own head. All the while his phone rang between them until TK’s voicemail picked up again and Owen swore. He took a breath and tried to let logic in. Maybe Raymond was just trying to scare them; rigging two places to burn might have taken more time than he had. Maybe they weren’t home, maybe they had decided to go out after everything that had happened today. Maybe they had been able to get out at the first signs — TK had been a firefighter, after all. He would have noticed, he would have known how to safely get them both out. He...

His conjecture broke off sharply as they finally reached their destination and Owen suddenly found that he couldn’t breathe.

There were flames already eating through the first story, their ominous glow cutting through the night. Owen knew in his gut he had been right but seeing it stoked an entirely new fear within him. TK was in there. Carlos was in there. He needed to get them out.

He moved towards the structure but suddenly there were hands on him, pulling him back. He rounded on the hands holding him, ready to fight back only to be met with Judd’s unimpressed gaze.

“Running in there half-cocked and getting yourself hurt isn’t going to help them,” he told him, pressing an AFD t-shirt into his hands. “Cover up your face and let me grab the extinguishers, then we’ll go in.”

Owen followed his instructions without much thought, his shaking hands moving on autopilot to fasten the shirt around his face. His gaze never left the flaming structure before him, his chest aching with the knowledge that his son was trapped in there. It wasn’t long before a fire extinguisher was pressed into his hand by Judd, but it felt like an eternity as he watched the flames grow ever higher. He felt as if he were in those flames himself, the fear and guilt eating away inside of him with every passing breath that he got to take that his son might not.

And then they were moving, bursting through the front door and attacking the flames with their extinguishers. Owen barely took a moment to survey the downstairs — to see the familiar living space charred and destroyed — before he led the way up the stairs to the bedroom, Billy on his heels. The sound of breaking glass had him running faster and he burst through the door to feel his heart jump into his throat at the sight of Carlos preparing himself to jump out of a second-floor window, TK a step behind him.

He shouted at them to follow him as Billy did his best to quell the flames that threatened to stop them. But Owen knew they wouldn’t because he wouldn’t be deterred. Now that he had the boys in his sight, he wasn’t about to leave here without them; no matter what.

They both turned and looked at him in shock and he can only imagine how little sense this all must make. But then TK was pulling Carlos towards them and then they were out of the room and down the stairs

He noted the hand that TK kept on Carlos as he stepped in front of them and wondered how much of it was his training and how much of it was the need to know that he was still with him. It was an instinct he understood, as he led the way and did his best to clear their path with the one fire extinguisher he had. He could hear them behind him but he was almost afraid to turn around, as if somehow if he looked back they would be gone; a modern-day Orpheus giving into his doubt and losing it all. So he focused instead on the flames, on finding the next step. On the way forward.

His mind had almost started to wander again — pondering the terrors and what-ifs even now — but a piece of the ceiling falling to the ground before him interrupted that spiral, wrenching him back to reality. Being surrounded by fire on all sides without a stitch of gear was unlike anything else and he bit back a cry as some of the smoldering debris landed on his arm. But he pushed on because TK and Carlos were behind him and that was all that mattered. He could weather any amount of pain as long as the boys were safe.

Finally, they burst through what remained of the front door, and before he even paused to take a breath he turned on his heel to make sure that they were behind him, that he hadn’t failed even more than he already had.

But there they were, hunched over on their front lawn; taking heaving breaths of fresh air and coughing out the remnants of smoke still trapped in their lungs.

Distantly Owen heard the sound of footsteps behind him and Tommy ran to join them and of shouts as Judd and Billy spilled out of the front door. Tommy gave him a quick look before making a beeline for the boys, reaching out for TK who shook his head and nodded towards Carlos. Her expression softened ever so slightly as she reached out a hand for Carlos, guiding him (and therefore TK too) further away from the flames still eating through the darkness of the night sky.

Owen watched them go as Judd appeared at his side, following his gaze before glancing down at Owen’s sleeve.

“Those could be some nasty burns, Cap,” he observed. “You should get those checked out.”

Even as he said the words the 129 was piling out of their truck and the captain was calling out orders. Owen watched them go but knew with a sinking heart that the damage had already been done in so many ways. He shook his head at Judd a moment later, “They’ll keep.”

Judd opened his mouth to argue but trailed off when he followed Owen’s gaze back to where TK and Carlos were now getting checked out by the paramedics, Tommy hovering at the edge. His expression turned sad at the sight of Carlos hunched over and TK wrapped around him, running a soothing hand up and down his arm even as his mouth moved in what were likely soft reassurances.

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me Judd?” he heard himself ask, and he wasn’t surprised when the other man looked at him sharply.

“Who?” he asked, “TK?” He started to speak but then stopped as he glanced back over his shoulder at the home that was crumbling to soggy ashes behind them. His eyes turned back to the couple currently seeking solace in each other in the back of an ambulance before he sighed: “Yeah, he will. He’s good like that. It’s just gonna take some time.”

Owen nodded his agreement but kept his mouth shut so what he was really thinking didn’t slip through. Maybe, he thought, forgiveness isn’t even what he is looking for. Forgiving could be easy and TK had perfected the art over the course of his life. He knew his son loved him, but love didn’t always mean the same as trust. Trust was something else entirely and Owen couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before his son ever put his trust in him again.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #my writing #oh look another 2x12 coda #userkimmy #userjilly #userac #userbones #usermaximus #tuserpaige #reyesstrand #reyeslonestartag

43 notes · View notes

hyp-andreveos · 3 years ago

Text

Hypnovember 2021 Day 9: Repetition

“Comfortable?”

“Mm… yes, very,” you replied softly. The answer seemed somewhat inadequate; blissful would have been a more accurate descriptor. The grand wing chair seemed to fit your proportions perfectly, no part of your weight awkwardly supported. The finely aged leather hit the perfect midpoint between pliable and firm, deforming just enough to spread the comfort evenly all along your neck, back, rear and thighs. The room around you was cool, but quickly warming with the merrily crackling fire which had just been ignited in the grate in front of you. It was the only source of light save for the faint glimmer of moonlight trickling through the high, arched window of the drawing room.

Gabriel turned, his head looming out from the wing of his own chair. He reached out and cupped your cheek gently; he was smiling, but his chestnut eyes were round with concern. “One last check, then; are you sure about this? Once it’s implanted, I don’t plan on removing it unless it is truly necessary.”

An electric jolt shot down your spine, one of apprehension or exhilaration, you couldn’t tell. “I’m really sure,” you said, quietly yet purposefully. A whisper of a coy smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, Mr. Fancy Evil Hypnotist?”

A chuckle resonated from deep within Gabriel’s chest, making your cheek tingle where his skin shook. His slender thumb pressed slightly against your lips, making you kiss it in revenge for your dry comment. “If you must use my noble title, that’s My Lord Fancy Evil Hypnotist to you, my dear,” he shot back smoothly, settling back into his chair and out of your sight. “But Gabriel will do quite well, I think. I’d hate to impose some archaic honorific on you. Now then,” he continued, his voice already beginning to shift into that warm, comforting bass rumble which sent yet more electric sparks down your spine, “would you be so good as to look into the flames for me?”

Settling back into your cozy chair, you did as you were told and focused your attention on the flickering fire before you. Though it had only been burning for a few minutes, the flames had already reached a respectable height, curling and rippling against the bundle of blackening logs like silk in a gale. The warmth brought a rosy tint to your cheeks as it banished the cool of the night far into a distant memory.

“Excellent,” Gabriel intoned; you wondered if he could see you, but you suppressed the instinct to scan your peripheral vision for his enthralling gaze. “Just like that, watching the winding, whispering flames, swirling and twirling, fluttering and flickering, radiating that sweet, gentle warmth which seeps into your skin. The night is dark and cold, but you are safe here, bathing in the mellow orange glow of the flames which fill your attention. Like a moth, your eyes are pulled away from the darkness, slipping out of the shadows, your focus drawn to the light, the warmth, the comfort and safety of the flames. It’s quite easy to devote your full attention to that light, to allow yourself to see little else but the flames, dancing, flickering, shining, shimmering, rising and falling before you.”

You felt the familiar tug in the back of your mind within seconds, softly but inexorably drawing your attention to the fireplace. Your peripheral vision was already beginning to fade, your gaze tunnelling towards the fire, noticing each and every plume of flame curling up and around the logs, your ears attentive to every hiss and spit of the fire as Gabriel’s words formed a soft, sweet accompaniment.

“And it would be so nice, it would feel so good, to imagine your thoughts twisting and turning and rising out of your grasp like the plumes of heat rising before you. Not to worry. Your thoughts will rise and shift and fade soon enough, but first… I’d like you to do something for me. Nothing difficult, nothing intensive, nothing which takes more than your sweet, precious, fading little mind can take. In a moment, I will begin to give you a series of prompts, one by one, and I’d like you to repeat them for me. A series of affirmations, a series of ideas, a series of truths for you to repeat, for you to inscribe deep within your mind, not just with my voice, but with your own. A set of words, a set of thoughts for you to pull yourself ever deeper with. Are you ready?”

It took a moment for you to respond; that pleasant buzz was already beginning to fill your thoughts, even after just a couple minutes. “Mmm… yes,” you whispered in reply, surprised at how soft and sweet your voice had already become.

“I will repeat these words.”

“I… will repeat these words.”

“I will repeat everything you say.”

“It feels natural to repeat these words.”

“Every time I repeat, it becomes a little easier.”

“Every time I repeat, I sink a little deeper.”

“Every time I repeat, the words feel a little better.”

“The flames hold my attention.”

“The words hold my attention.”

“The words… hold my attention.”

“I can hear my own voice speaking.”

“I can feel my own voice beginning to pull me into trance.”

“I can feel my own voice beginning to… to pull me into trance.”

“My voice is getting quieter.”

“Mmmy… my voice is getting quieter.”

“My mind is getting quieter.”

“My mind is… getting quieter.”

“It feels so natural to repeat.”

“It feels… so… nnnnnatural to repeat…”

“It feels so natural to sink.”

“Feels… so natural to sink…”

“It feels so natural to obey.”

“Feels so natural to… to obey…”

“It feels so good to repeat.”

“Mmmmph… it… it feels so good to repeat…”

“It feels so good to sink.”

“It… hnnngh… feels so good… to sssssink…”

“And most of all…”

“Mmmost… of all…”

“It feels so very, very good to obey.”

“Feels so… very good to… obey… mmmmph…”

The heat of the fire seemed to have percolated into every pore of your body. Every one of your muscles felt… warm, loose, relaxed. You vaguely, blearily wondered if you could still move them, but… somehow, you didn’t feel the need to try. It just felt so much nicer to sink into this warmth, to allow your body to loosen, slacken, slump as your lips moved as instructed. With each repetition, it was feeling less and less like you were actively repeating, more and more like your lips were moving on instinct, forming loose, slack shapes with little conscious control. But you didn’t mind. It was like your thoughts were cushioned on a soft, downy mattress, warmed, loosened, slowed down by the heat of the flames. You could still try to think clearly, of course, but… you didn’t feel the need to try. It was so much easier to simply drift on this feeling… dropping… repeating… obeying…

“My body is warm and relaxed.”

“Body… warm, an’… an’ relaxed…”

“My mind is blank and empty.”

“Mind is… blank… an’ empty…”

“My mouth is moving automatically.”

“Mouth is… movin’… autmatkly…”

“My conscious mind is asleep.”

“Conscious mind… is asleep…”

“My conscious mind is unaware.”

“Conscious mind… ‘s unaware…”

“But my subconscious understands.”

“My subconscious… understands…”

“My subconscious knows to repeat.”

“My subconscious… knows... to repeat…”

“Every word that I say…”

“Ev’ry word… I say…”

“Every truth I speak…”

“Every truth… I speak…”

“My subconscious accepts it.”

“M… my subconscious… accepts it…”

“Very good, now you can stop repeating for a moment.”

“V-very good, n-now…” Your brain took a moment to catch up, your lips moving automatically before your mind was able to process the instruction to stop. What little fragments of thoughts you had left were moving sluggishly, barely managing to inch forward through the molasses of your blank, obedient mind.

Gabriel chuckled warmly at your mumbled words before continuing. “Now that your mind is wonderfully deep, blank and empty, the only thoughts you have left are ones of obedience. Your conscious has been stripped away, melted in the heat of the fire, leaving nothing behind but your sweet subconscious, nothing but your basic functions, your basic needs. And your subconscious takes care of those needs so wonderfully; regulating your need to breathe, your need to eat, your need to sleep. Basic functions, yes, but so very necessary. And your subconscious takes care of you tirelessly, always keeping you safe, always keeping you sane. It’s such a wonderfully powerful part of your mind.”

“But there’s another need that your subconscious wants to fill. Another need, a primal itch, a basic, almost animal desire… to obey. When you are with me, or with someone who you trust and trusts you… you are almost overwhelmed by that desire, that need, that craving… to obey. So long as it is safe, and I can allow it, you will feel that inexorable pull towards obedience. Feeling amenable. Feeling pliable. Feeling safe, obeying me, under my care. Accepting my words as truth, trusting me, knowing that I would never do anything to harm you. Knowing that every time you obey, you make me happy, and you scratch that insatiable itch to serve. Your obedience compels you to serve me well, to care for me as I care for you. And when you serve, you bring pleasure, not just to me, but to yourself as well. That warm, submissive glow that percolates through every part of your body whenever you serve me well. It feels so good, so warm, so right. And it stokes the fire of your obedience yet higher and higher, hotter and hotter, your need to obey getting ever stronger and stronger.”

You were barely aware of it, but your body was sighing in enjoyment. You could feel that itch, that tingle to follow Gabriel’s words, to obey his instructions, to serve and care for him as he cared for you. It felt so… good, so right, so wonderful. It was like being given a cup of cool water after weeks in the desert, an overwhelming thirst, an itch for obedience, finally being sated.

“Three concepts. Obedience. Service. Pleasure. Three deep, primal needs that your subconscious pulls you towards inexorably. And to help you fulfil those needs, I’m going to give you a gift. A mantra, of sorts, for you to repeat, over and over again, to help remind you of that hunger, that desire to obey, to serve, to feel pleasure. Once I give it to you, it will become deeply ingrained into your subconscious, summing up your basic, primal cravings in one simple, beautiful set of rules. A system for you to follow, a code for you to uphold. And once you start repeating it, you’ll barely be able to stop… not that you’ll want to, anyway. Even if you’re busy with other things, the mantra will still whisper in your ear, growing ever deeper, ever stronger into your subconscious. In a moment, I’ll ask you to begin repeating once again, and I will give you that mantra. That code you will live by. The cravings you will need to sate. Are you ready?”

You nodded, a bolt of pleasure accompanying the simple movement.

“Obedience compels me to serve.”

“Ob… oh… uh…” Your mouth felt slack and loose; you had fallen so completely into trance, you had forgotten so completely about your body, that it suddenly felt strange to move even such a tiny part of yourself.

“Obedience…”

“Ob… obed… ience…”

“…compels me…”

“…comp… compels me…”

“…to serve.”

“To… to serve.”

“Once again, now. Obedience compels me to serve.” There was no hint of reproach or frustration in Gabriel’s voice, just a warm, sweet patience.

“Obedience… compels me… to serve…” A rush of satisfaction at being able to obey the calm, clear instruction.

“Service brings me pleasure.”

“Ss… service… brings me… p-pleasure…” A bolt of pleasure, yet stronger than the first.

“Pleasure helps me to obey.”

“Pleasure helps me to… obey… nnnnggguhhh…” You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning. The need, the desire, the craving to obey was almost too much. You needed to… you needed to…

“Obedience compels me to serve.”

“Obedience… compels me to serve…”

“Service brings me pleasure.”

“Service brings me… pleasure… hhhahhh… huh…”

“Pleasure helps me to obey.”

“Pleasure… hhhah… helps me to obey… nnngh… hhhhh…”

“Obedience compels me to serve.”

“Obedience compels me to serve…”

“Service brings me pleasure.”

“Service brings me pleasure…”

“Pleasure helps me to obey.”

“Pleasure helps me to obey…”

“Very good, you’re doing a wonderful job. I’d like you to continue repeating that mantra, over and over, again and again and again. It’s not just an instruction; it’s a need, a deep, primal craving worming its way into your subconscious, a code you must uphold. Obedience. Service. Pleasure. Repeat.”

“Obedience… compels me to serve… service brings me pleasure… pleasure helps me to obey…”

“Good. Again.”

“Obedience compels me to serve… service brings me pleasure… pleasure helps me to obey…”

“Again.”

“Obedience compels me to serve… service brings me pleasure… pleasure helps me to obey…”

“Again. Feel the code burrowing deeper into your thoughts…

“Obedience compels me to serve…”

“Feel that mantra burning into your subconscious…”

“Service brings me pleasure…”

“Feel this truth becoming an integral part of your mind…”

“Pleasure helps me to obey…”

“Again, my dear. You’re doing so well.”

“Obedience compels me to serve… service brings me pleasure… pleasure helps me to obey…”

“So very good. So very deep for me. Tell me, what does obedience mean?”

“Obedience… compels me to serve…”

“And what does service bring?”

“Service… brings me pleasure…”

“And what does pleasure do?”

“Pleasure… helps me to obey.”

“Wonderful. I’m so glad that you’re internalising this truth. Again.”

“Obedience compels me to serve… service brings me pleasure… pleasure helps me to obey…”

“Again.”

“Obedience compels me to serve… service brings me pleasure… pleasure helps me to obey…”

“Again…”

#cider #hypnovember 2021 #mantra #repetition #obedience #service #submission #hypnosis #my work #feedback welcome

15 notes · View notes

chocoluckchipz · 4 years ago

Text

The Other You - 21

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Whatever alcohol was present in her system evaporated alongside Chat Noir’s mask dissolving from his face. The moment the last bit of electric green disappeared, Marinette froze.

It couldn’t be true.

Chat Noir…

Chat Noir was Adrien?

Her Chaton was Adrien Agreste?

She stumbled back, barely able to breathe. A shiver ran down her spine as her body moved on its own, her hands covering her mouth in disbelief.

Because this… this didn’t make any sense!

Her eyes must be deceiving her.

Adrien couldn’t be Chat Noir!

Chat Noir couldn’t be Adrien Agreste!

That was impossible!

It shouldn’t…

He watched her for what felt like an eternity. Her head spun, cold spreading to her very core. Adrien looked away, turning around. She couldn’t move, her body gripped by an invisible force. He called for his transformation and walked to the balcony’s door. Marinette couldn’t utter a single sound. Chat vanished into the night, but she continued to stand in her place barely breathing.

Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste!

Chat Freaking Noir was…

Chat…

Something pinched her cheek, the pain bringing her out of the trance.

“Are you alright?” Tikki hovered at her eye level, her eyes big and blue and filled with worry.

“No,” Marinette whispered, sinking to the floor. Her body trembling, she clutched her hands together. “Chat is Adrien. Did you see, Tikki? Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste.”

“Yes. I saw that.”

“Chat… is Adrien…”

Chat Noir’s words that confused the heck out of her just a few moments ago suddenly made a whole lot of sense. She couldn’t remember everything he’d let out, but there was one bit that popped right at the top of her mind.

The truth, Marinette, is that you are the one who doesn’t love me.

Her heart tightened, breathing shallow and quick.

That wasn’t true!

She loved Chat! She loved him with her whole heart.

Adrien? Gosh! If the last few weeks could prove anything it was that Marinette was still very much unable to resist him. Falling in love with Adrien must be in her genes or something, and she wasn’t talking solely about physical attraction. She loved his soul, his character, his kind heart. She loved the person he was, not just his looks. Otherwise, there would be no need to cut him off as cruelly and unequivocally as she'd done in order to stay faithful to Chat Noir.

Her vision blurred. Marinette swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze falling onto the dining table. The candles burned low in the middle alongside a cheese platter, a bowl of grapes, and a bottle of wine with two glasses set by each place setting. He was a horrible cook, but he’d tried his best to prepare at least something for her when she was too busy partying to do it herself.

Her stomach dropped, every muscle in her body numbing. He'd given her a place to live basically for free when officially they were still enemies. He’d instituted a curfew and opened a cafeteria at work to keep her alive and healthy. Marinette closed her eyes, swallowing her pride. Sooner or later she had to admit it.

He did it solely for her.

When she wasn’t taking care of herself, Adrien used whatever power he had to keep her nourished and rested to help her recover her sanity and health… all while they were still at odds with one another.

I should've been smarter than to help you again as soon as I saw you struggling. But, no! I just had to rush in with my help, all while you despised me so much you couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with me for more than five minutes!

The beating of her heart echoed in her ears, images of Adrien popping in front of her eyes.

Adrien trying his best to be friendly and help her at work. Adrien apologizing for his mistakes and going above and beyond to earn her forgiveness. Adrien smiling and laughing with her. Their easy conversations in the last few weeks. His eagerness and his sincerity in trying to win her friendship again. The comfort of his company. Subtle glances she hadn't missed. The fire they ignited in the pit of her stomach. The hurt that filled his eyes at her outburst at the after-party.

Marinette curled in on herself, wrapping her hands around her head. A pitiful moan escaped her lips. It all made sense now.

I’ve tried so hard for you to like me.

Was this why he shied away after the reveal? Was this why he doubted her feelings? Was this why he refused to kiss her? Because she claimed to love him in the mask while pushing away his civilian self?

Stupid, brainless, and pathetic because despite knowing everything, knowing you hated me and knowing you’d never forgive me… I still managed to fall in love with you.

Her eyes snapped open. She stood hastily, catching herself on a nearby chair when her feet fumbled underneath her. “I have to go to him.”

Tikki zoomed to her face. “Marinette, no. Please, don’t rush into anything. It never ends well when you do that.”

“But, Tikki, I have to. He’s my partner and he’s hurting. I hurt him. I have to go—”

“He’s your partner who is also Adrien. And Adrien would expect you to answer his question the next time you see him. Are you ready to give him an answer now?”

“What question?”

“Can you look Adrien in the eyes and tell him that you love him without the slightest doubt? Can you trust him with your heart again?”

She was about to scream ‘Yes!’ She had forgiven him. She was certainly attracted to him. She enjoyed his company and loved the man he had become.

Was it enough, though, for the kind of love she knew he wanted?

Could she look at him and tell him she loved all of him with all of his faults and with their history? More importantly, could she trust him enough to open her heart and give him a chance? Because the “can’t fully trust you” bit Marinette threw at Adrien back at the after-party wasn’t as baseless as it seemed. She might have forgiven him, she might have been falling in love with him, but building back the trust they once shared required time that simply hadn’t passed yet.

Was she ready for the kind of commitment Adrien wanted and deserved?

Marinette couldn’t say. She wasn’t sure. Making that choice at this moment terrified her.

“You have to be careful with this,” Tikki said, gently cuddling her holder’s cheek. “There’s a lot at stake. His heart is at stake. Yours too. Please. I don’t want you two getting hurt anymore. I'm not sure either of you can handle any more of the heartache, and we both know that when you act on an impulse, you tend to overreact and say or do things you don’t mean. So, please, Marinette. Don’t rush. Calm down. Think about it and, only when you’re absolutely certain in your decision, act.”

Shaking, Marinette closed her eyes, weaving her arms around her torso. “I have to talk to him, Tikki.”

“And you will. But take some time to figure out your feelings first. This might be a life-changing decision for both of you. Please, don't take it lightly. Don't act recklessly when it’s someone’s heart on the line.”

Marinette looked at Tikki, but images of others stood before her eyes. Alya. Nino. Adrien. Perhaps, even her own parents. Who knew how many more. All the times she hurt those she loved, acting impulsively, without thinking, following her temper, trying to prove herself right or achieve what she wanted, turning a blind eye to the needs and desires of others. She really had become like Gabriel Agreste, and she didn't like it.

Unlike Gabriel, though, she still had the time and a chance to change. Innately, she was a good person and meant well; her heart was sure of it. But Tikki was right. Good intentions could and would turn horribly wrong if executed poorly. That much Marinette had learned quite well recently. And after a few insanely busy months of work, fresh off the rollercoaster of emotions that was this day and still somewhat tipsy after the party, Marinette was not in a state to think clearly right now. No matter how much she hated the idea, it would be better indeed for Marinette to resist her urge to go after him. She had to handle this carefully. This wasn’t a game.

“You need to recover, both physically and emotionally first.” Tikki continued on. “Pass your ESMOD exam. Isn’t it the day after tomorrow?”

Marinette nodded. “This Friday. I still need to read some of the material.”

“Then, focus on that for now. Afterwards, you’ll have a clear mind and the whole weekend to think before you have to see Adrien at work on Monday. That should be enough time to at least get an idea of how you want to move forward.”

“Perhaps, you’re right,” Marinette responded barely audibly, absentmindedly sitting at the table. Pulling one of the candles to herself, she cradled it in her palms. The flame fluttered on the candle’s wick, claiming her gaze and attention as the two men she now knew to be one merged together in her mind.

It wasn’t just Adrien anymore who went behind her back and betrayed her trust, daring to compromise her biggest dream, even if with the best of intentions.

No.

That man was now also Chat Noir.

But it also wasn’t just Chat Noir with whom she’d fought akumas for a decade, who comforted her when she was hurting, who was her best friend and always, always understood and supported her. It wasn’t just her Chaton anymore with whom she could trust her life without a doubt. It wasn’t just her partner anymore who had been proving his love for her daily for years. Who had died multiple times, protecting her!

It was also Adrien.

Marinette closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She needed time to come to terms with this, to find sense, to fully grasp the truth she wanted so badly but turned out to be more than she could handle at the moment.

“You should go to bed,” Tikki said, blowing out the candles in the middle of the table. “It’s past midnight already.”

“I should,” Marinette echoed and picked up the still lit candle in front of her. The flame flickered, dancing around. Beautiful. Warm and life-giving, yet so extremely dangerous at the same time. It called and mesmerized. Were she to answer its call, she would be burned. Was she ready to answer Adrien, knowing that her answer could burn them both should she be too careless?

She was too tired to know the answer herself.

With a single breath, Marinette extinguished the flame and followed Tikki to her bedroom.

***

The sun peeked over the horizon. Marinette groaned under her covers, shifting onto her stomach. Hugging her pillow, she buried her face into it, hiding her eyes, red and puffy from hours upon hours of tossing and turning and quietly crying in between, from the light. None of the tricks she knew had helped her fall asleep. The blissful oblivion of a dreamland felt farther away with each passing moment as a single thought hammered at her mind relentlessly.

She had to talk to him.

Yes, she had agreed that it was better for her to stay away until she was calmer, sober, and sure of her feelings and desires. She had to act carefully as not to hurt him again but… Wouldn't he take her silence for an answer? Wouldn't her not reaching out tell Adrien that she wanted neither him nor what they had between themselves back in her life? She didn't want him to think that. She hated the idea.

“Tikki?” Marinette murmured into the silence of her room.

The kwami hummed and raised her head from the pillow beside her.

“I was thinking. Maybe I can send him a message? Just to tell him that I need time to think? You know, so he isn't left in the dark and doesn't start assuming things?”

“A message?” Tikki blinked sleepily at her.

Marinette propped herself on her arms, her mind clearer than at any point of the last few days. “Yes. A key to a good relationship is communication, right? So I think we should start to communicate. I don't want him to think I’m giving up and moving on. I want him to know I’m taking this seriously, and I just need time to figure things out. Or something like that.”

Tikki’s smile was gentle and loving, as she flew closer to Marinette. “That’s a great idea. You can transform and leave him a message on his communicator. Plagg will let him know.”

A hint of hope filling her chest, Marinette cradled Tikki in her palms, nuzzling her little face. “I don't want to mess this up again. I love him.”

“Something tells me you will do just fine this time around. Now, transform and leave him a message. You’ll need to catch at least some sleep if you want to pass that exam.”

“Right.” Marinette got out of bed. The array of colours in the sky outside her window were breathtaking. A new day. Another chance. She wouldn't mess this one up. She would take into account her every mistake and do much better this time around. And she would start it with a message to her Chaton, a few words that hopefully would make him feel better.

Determination in her eyes, Marinette never turned away from the rising sun as she commanded, “Tikki, spots on!”

***

Thursday, Marinette buried herself under the reading materials needed to pass her exam. She struggled to keep her concentration, Adrien being constantly on her mind. Friday, she did a quick review in the morning and headed to ESMOD in the afternoon. The lucky charm Adrien gave her was the only object apart from a water bottle on her desk during the examination. Upon exiting the building afterwards, he was the first person she wanted to tell that it was easier than she’d expected, that after years of experience she knew her stuff, and if there were a few questions she didn’t know, Marinette doubted the holes in her fashion history knowledge would greatly impact her final marks. Unfortunately, she wasn’t ready to face him yet. She texted the next best person.

Marinette: All done. I should know the results in a few days, but I’m feeling pretty confident about this.

Alya: Congrats, girl! I’m sure you passed with flying colours and I expect a party when you get your diploma.

Marinette: LOL Of course. We’ll invite half of Paris and make lots of noise about it.

Alya: Don’t know about half of Paris, but Nino, me and Adrien better be there. You two did start talking again, didn’t you? And I mean not just business-related topics.

Marinette: It’s a bit complicated at the moment.

Alya: Complicated enough to exclude the man who requested and paid for your ESMOD exam?

Marinette stilled, looking at her cell phone in confusion. Was she too exhausted after her test to read properly or were her eyes deceiving her?

Marinette: What are you talking about?

Marinette: Weren’t you the one to get me an exam through some of your contacts?

Marinette: And what payment?

Alya: I did snoop around and found out that in your case only your direct supervisor could request the exam you needed under the “obtaining extra qualifications” program. There was also a hefty fee to go along. I told Nino. Nino mentioned it to Adrien. What magic Adrien performed I don’t know, but a few days later he texted me with the information to pass to you.

Marinette reread Alya’s messages at least three times before sitting down on a nearby bench.

Was there anything good in her life recently that Adrien wasn’t involved in?

Because it seemed that without him, she’d be in a whole different place right now. Her success, her promising future, her wellbeing, her health, perhaps even her very life—she owed that all to Adrien.

Alya: Plus, he brings the best wine and cheese. You simply must invite him!

Marinette gripped her phone, debating. Telling Alya the truth was out of the question. Avoiding the subject it was, then.

Marinette: Let’s wait for the results first.

Marinette: About to go underground. Ttyl

Alya: Love you, girl. And let me know as soon as you get those results so I can start planning.

Marinette: Of course. <3

Her cellphone back in her purse, Marinette descended into the Metro station. The trip back to the apartment didn’t take long. Adrien haunted her thoughts the whole way.

He did so much good for her. As Chat Noir and as Adrien. And he didn’t seem to expect anything in return. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing it all behind her back.

A few months ago Marinette would have assumed Adrien was helping her only because he didn’t think she could handle it herself, but she couldn’t say that anymore. Not when she knew Adrien and Chat Noir were one and the same. Marinette knew too well how much Chat respected her and her abilities. He helped her in battles, but he never did her job for her. He always acknowledged her competence, openly admitting that out of the two of them, she was the one best fitted for Ladybug’s role with all the skills and responsibility it demanded.

Similarly, Adrien didn’t design or sew her collection for her. She did. He just hired her an assistant and made sure she was physically and mentally capable of doing the work herself. Adrien might have gotten her that exam, but she was the one who studied and took it. His help didn’t diminish her achievements and the more Marinette thought about it, the more grateful she felt, shame for the way she treated him in return overwhelming her at the same time.

She had to make it right! And she had to find a way to do so quickly.

Entering the apartment, Marinette glanced in the kitchen’s direction in confusion. The light was on. Hesitantly, she entered the room but it was empty. Her sight fell to the table. A white envelope and two small boxes rested on its surface, accompanied by a small bag and a note. She picked up the note first, her heart quickening its pace. She knew that handwriting.

I put some grapes for Duusu in the fridge for the first few days. He prefers the green, sweet variety in case you need to buy more.

Marinette reached for the bag, finding nothing but good quality silk cut in pieces inside with another note indicating those were for Nooroo. Next, she opened one of the boxes. An electric orb erupted in front of her, a peacock kwami appearing in the middle.

“Duusu?”

“At your service, My Guardian.” The kwami bowed.

Marinette reached for the second box, the butterfly kwami soon joining them.

“We missed you so much,” Tikki cried, flying in for a group hug with her long-missing friends. “I’m so happy you both are safe.”

She gave the kwamis a few moments to themselves. Once the initial emotions subsided, Marinette reached forward and pulled them all to her chest.

“Welcome back, guys,” she whispered. “We’ve missed you. Let’s get you into the Miracle Box. I’m sure all of your friends can’t wait to see you again.”

She quickly put both miraculouses into their slots in the Miracle Box, sending everyone and Tikki to the kwamis’ space to celebrate. Once alone, Marinette went back to the dining room. Her eyes focused on the only object left on the table she hadn’t touched yet—the letter.

There was only one person who could’ve delivered Nooroo and Duusu. The letter must also be from him. She reached for it, jerking her hand back almost immediately. Marinette bit her lip, trying to touch the letter again. A shiver ran down her back. She withdrew again. A few moments and a couple of other failed attempts later, Marinette jumped to her feet and paced the room. Her breathing shallow, she tried to calm down and muster the courage.

What was in it?

What did he write?

Did he curse her name?

Was he leaving a door open for her?

Why was she so terrified of reading it?

“You can do it. You can do it. You can do it, Marinette!” she chanted before snatching the envelope off the table and opening it before she could overthink it again.

Good evening, Marinette.

I apologize for the intrusion. I know you said you needed time to think and I respect that and will wait no matter how long it takes. However, I promised to deliver Nooroo and Duusu to you and this was the only way I could think of doing so safely and without us meeting. There are also a few things I owe to tell you. That night, you asked me for the whole truth, but I delivered only some of it. A letter seems like the most appropriate method for the rest.

Before, though, I want to apologize for my outburst. My actions and words that night were unacceptable and I said things that I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for hurting you, and I know I can't fix anything now, but I wanted you to know that despite what it may have sounded like, I don't blame you for anything. Shit happens. We all make mistakes. Some are just impossible to fix and I could never blame you for not trusting me because of my own actions.

Now, the whole truth you wanted. I won’t discuss my identity in depth. There is really not much to it. My name is Adrien Agreste. I received the Black Cat miraculous when I was fourteen and have been Chat Noir ever since.

My father. I found out that he was Hawkmoth when I visited the mansion for those sketches you needed. I stumbled upon the butterfly miraculous in one of the drawers in his desk. Nooroo then told me about the peacock miraculous my father kept in his safe, and that Nathalie, my father’s assistant, used to be Mayura. I didn’t know either of those things before that evening, and I wish I’d never found out, but knowing my father, I was hardly surprised.

Lastly, Felix. My cousin, Felix Graham de Vanily, lives in London and is a skilled designer, but he wasn’t the one who was assisting you these past few months. The truth is—I couldn’t find a qualified assistant for you in time, so I figured I could use Nooroo’s power to make up for my incompetence. Long story short, I akumatized myself into ‘Felix’ so I could use his skills to help you. I hope you can forgive me for that. I swear, if I could have found you a real assistant in the time frame I had, I would’ve, but it wasn't happening and time was pressing and I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for the mess ‘Felix’ was. Unfortunately, being an akuma, I couldn’t control my actions and words, and I know I made you uncomfortable far too many times as ‘Felix’. I’m sorry about that. ‘Felix’ won’t be returning so you don’t have to worry about him anymore. The HR department will find you a new assistant soon.

I guess that’s it. That’s all of my secrets, the whole truth.

I dare, though, to ask you for a favour. I know as a Guardian, it’s your duty to gather all of the miraculouses back into the Miracle Box, but I beg you to allow me to keep Plagg. He’s been by my side for most of my life. He’s my best friend, the only family I still have. I can’t give him up. Not yet. I know there will be a point in time where I’d have to, but if I may, I’d like to hold onto him for now. I can keep you updated on his whereabouts at any given time, so you’ll be able to claim him if the need ever arises, but I’d really appreciate it if you can grant us some more time together.

One more thing, I’m sorry for what happened on that terrace. I never meant to push you to cheat on your “boyfriend”. I only wanted you to like me. I wanted you to see potential in me, so that when I revealed my identity later, you wouldn't reject me straight away. I didn't plan to kiss you. I just wanted to spend some time with you and got caught up in the moment. And I’m so, so sorry for that. I just can’t seem to think straight when it comes to you. And I don’t know if this matters anymore, but for what it’s worth, I avoided kissing you as Chat Noir not because I didn’t love you, Marinette, but because I knew you’d hate to kiss Adrien. I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t let you kiss the person you hate just because he had a mask on his face.

I’m sorry if my feelings have been too much of a nuisance. I would completely understand if you decide to move on, and if that is the case, I won’t be bothering you anymore. Adrien won’t be coming back to Gabriel. Chat Noir will vanish as well. I love you too much to keep hurting you, and it seems that’s the only thing I do every time I get close.

Please, forgive me. I never meant any harm. Thank you for everything you’ve given me. I’ll treasure every memory with you forever.

Adrien.

P.S. Good luck with your ESMOD exam. You'll do great!

P.P.S. Just thought I’d mention that you can stay at the apartment for as long as you need. I don’t use it anyway, and I don’t think I’ll be using it any time soon. When you decide to move out, leave the keys on a table and tape a note to the window, facing the writing outside. I’ll see it eventually.

Tears pooling in her eyes, Marinette couldn’t look away.

That idiot!

He did what?

Doesn’t he know how dangerous—

No! It couldn’t be true! Could it?

She rushed back to the Miracle Box and took out Nooroo’s miraculous.

“Tell me this isn’t true,” she demanded, as soon as the kwami appeared. “Tell me Adrien didn’t akumatize himself daily for months.”

His mouth slightly ajar, Nooroo stared at her wide-eyed for a few moments before guiltily bowing his head. “He did.”

Marinette groaned, facepalming. “How stupid could he get? Doesn’t he know how dangerous it is? There is a reason there are always two people involved in akumatazation. He could’ve easily lost control and endangered all of us.”

“Master Adrien knew the danger,” Nooroo shyly added. “That’s why he asked Plagg to keep him in line.”

“Plagg? Plagg is a kwami. How could he keep an akuma in line?”

“Master Adrien used a very fragile object for the akuma to infect, something that Plagg could easily break when needed.”

She quirked an eyebrow. That was actually very clever. “What object?”

“Your picture.”

Marinette stilled, silently staring at Nooroo for a full half-minute before uttering, “My picture?”

The kwami nodded. “Master Adrien said that because his goal was to help you, it only made sense to use your picture. In a way, he was also counting on it to keep his akumatized self from seeking other goals which, honestly, wouldn’t be an issue anyway because Plagg could de-akumatize him at a moment’s notice if he’d strayed to something different.”

Marinette sat on her bed. "By tearing up the object, in this case, a picture, right?"

“Yes.” Nooroo smiled. “Plagg had lots of fun doing that. I suspect that’s the only reason he agreed to the whole ordeal in the first place.”

“To rip up some paper?”

“Not exactly.” Nooroo chuckled. “You see, as expected, Master Adrien as an akuma didn’t want to leave your side, trying to help you with everything he could. However, he had other responsibilities, so he couldn’t afford to do that. After a few days of failing to control his ‘help Marinette’ urges, Master Adrien allowed Plagg to do whatever it took to get him out of the room and de-akumatize him at an appointed time.” Nooroo grinned. “Plagg tried different approaches and soon discovered that Master Adrien is very ticklish. Since then, all he had to do was to start tickling him and when Master Adrien couldn’t take it anymore, he’d leave the room to get rid of the annoyance. Once in a hallway, though, Plagg would tear up the picture and Master Adrien would be de-akumatized.”

Marinette couldn’t help a snicker, a lopsided smile sneaking onto her lips.

This.

This actually explained so much. Like why ‘Felix’ was so overbearingly helpful with everything. Obsessively, even. Or why he would never warn her that he was leaving, instead vanishing without as much as a goodbye. Or why he seemed to always be extremely uncomfortable right before disappearing. After a while, Marinette had just assumed he had some kind of a health issue and since it wasn't her place to pry, she'd decided ‘Felix’ would tell her when and if he wanted to. The real reason behind his strange behaviour was way too hilarious for her not to laugh.

Who would’ve thought that it wasn’t some secret disease but a pesky kwami tickling his idiot of a wielder to get him out of the room?

The space filled with giggles, her eyes with tears, Marinette laughed. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to see the process of his de-akumatization! Adrien probably looked so adorable after being forced to release the butterfly and drop the transformation. Dishevelled, disoriented, and lost like a kitten. A moment later, he’d be sporting a kicked puppy look, glaring and pouting at his smug kwami, yet unable to do anything because he was the one to ask for it. That would’ve been quite a sight to behold.

“He’s such a dummy,” she giggled. “What was he thinking?”

It was a rhetorical question, one Marinette didn’t expect an answer to, so when Nooroo gave her one, she froze.

“He was thinking of you. Master Adrien was always thinking of helping you, akuma or not. I just gave him the means to do what he wanted.”

Unable to look away, Marinette stared at Nooroo for a short while before dropping her eyes to her hands, clenched together in her lap. “Why? He didn’t know I was Ladybug when he started helping me. I was just a girl who hurt him. Who considered him an enemy for years and wanted nothing to do with him. Why would he go to such lengths to help me?”

“I might have an answer to that,” Tikki said, flying closer. “Do you remember how the Black Cat’s miraculous wielder is chosen, Marinette?”

Her eyebrows knit in a frown, as Marinette tried to recall Master Fu's lessons. Ladybugs were chosen based on their ability to think outside the box and see things differently. People called it "creativity" but it was so much more than that.

Black Cats were chosen…

Her heart quickened its pace, eyes widening a fraction.

Black Cats were chosen based on the purity of their hearts. It didn’t mean they were perfect and never made mistakes, but it took a really strong and immeasurably kind person to contain the destruction that Plagg embodied.

With a groan, Marinette fell on her bed face up. She closed her eyes, letting memories flood her mind. She’d fallen in love with Adrien because of his kindness. She’d fallen for Chat because of his loyalty. The man she was getting to know these last few months was still just as kind and loyal, going beyond his abilities to help an estranged and bitter girl who had hated him for years.

Her eyes filled with tears. How blind and stupid and completely unreasonable she was. How far gone in her resentment she must have been to doubt his intentions. She knew Adrien. She knew how kind and innocent and loving he was. Then why? What happened to her to get them here?

Most importantly, would he ever forgive her?

Because she loved that man. She loved him so much it hurt.

“I have my answer, Tikki,” Marinette whispered into the silence of the room.

“You do?”

“Yes. I love him, and I know I can trust him. All of him. With my life.”

“How about your heart?”

Marinette propped herself on her elbows and looked at Tikki, a smile gracing her lips. “Absolutely.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. I know it won’t be a smooth ride and we’ll need to figure stuff out and work on it, but if he’ll have me, I’m more than willing to give us another chance and will do whatever it takes to make us work.”

Tikki smiled, leaning against Marinette’s cheek and snuggling. “Good. I’m glad you’ve made a decision you’re happy with.”

“We should go see him now. He’s been waiting long enough.”

Tikki closed her eyes and concentrated on something for a few moments before smiling apologetically at Marinette. "Plagg isn't in the ring, meaning Adrien isn't transformed.”

“You can feel him? Can you tell me where to find him?”

Tikki shook her head. “I can only feel Chat Noir’s energy. That’s how you can locate him with Ladybug’s yo-yo. But unless Adrien transformed, I wouldn't be able to pick up anything. Built-in identity protection.”

“Then maybe I can…”

Oh, crap.

She didn’t have his contact information. They exchanged neither phone numbers nor emails because at first she didn’t want anything to do with him, and later it never came up. Adrien was always available at the office should she need him. Chat visited her daily and she could contact him through their communicators when he was transformed. Marinette could probably ask Alya or Nino for his number, but she didn’t really want to involve them. Alya was sure to pry and Marinette didn’t want to answer any questions before she and Adrien had a chance to talk. Plus, talking face to face would probably be the best option in their situation.

‘Okay, then. We can get his number from the office tomo—” Marinette groaned, closing her eyes. “It's Friday. The office is closed until next week.”

“I can let you know if I sense Chat Noir if you want.”

“Thanks, Tikki. That’ll be great. And if not then I guess, we’re getting his number on Monday.”

Tikki placed a tiny kiss on Marinette’s cheek. “I’m proud of you, Marinette. You’ve grown so much.”

Marinette snuggled the kwami close. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Of course you could have,” Tikki smiled. “After all, you’re Ladybug. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Only if I have my partner by my side,” Marinette added. “There’s a reason our miraculouses are the only ones that come in a pair, isn’t there, Tikki?”

The kwami let a smile split her mouth as she nodded. “There absolutely is.”

Unlike the previous nights, today Marinette slept soundly. Her mind made up, she dreamed of how their meeting would go, what she’d say, how Adrien would react. Would he forgive her? Would he finally kiss her now that there were no more secrets between them and he knew she didn’t hate him?

***

The morning brought more pleasant surprises—an email from Sofia Tentazione, a representative for Muï Muï, a fashion house Marinette loved probably just as much as Gabriel. She’d met Sofia at Gabriel’s afterparty and they exchanged contacts, but Marinette had never expected to hear from her. And yet, now she was staring at an email in which Sofia was asking if Marinette would be available to come in for an interview with their head designer in Milan next Wednesday. At the bottom of the email, the postscript stated that as long as Marinette showed up to that interview, she was guaranteed a job at Muï Muï. Apparently, the head designer hadn’t been so impressed with someone’s work in a long time and didn’t even bother hiding his intentions to scout Marinette for himself. The interview was supposedly scheduled only to comply with the house’s hiring process.

“Tikki, am I still asleep?”

“I can check.” Tikki nonchalantly flew closer with a wide grin on her face.

Marinette jerked away, glaring at the kwami. “No, thank you. I know the way you check. I had a bruise for a week last time you checked.”

"You were definitely awake at that time."

“And I’m perfectly awake right now. No pinching required.”

“Why did you ask for it then?”

“I didn’t. I’m just shocked. I have a job offer from Muï Muï! Can you believe it?”

“That’s great,” Tikki smiled, before turning serious. “Will you take it?”

Of course!

Why would Tikki even ask? Isn’t it why Marinette almost killed herself trying to get the collection done? To get a good job offer from someone so amazing in her situation was nothing short of a miracle.

Why wouldn’t she take it?

Yet something nagged at her. She hesitated.

“I… I don’t know. I mean, this is a great opportunity, and this is what I wanted, but… I’d have to move to Milan.”

“And leave Adrien behind,” Tikki added.

Marinette bit her lip, every nerve ending in her body tingling. Tikki was right. Adrien wouldn’t move for her. She had no right to even ask that of him. He had a job and his father’s company to take care of in Paris. He couldn’t just abandon it all and move to a different country only to see if they could make it work.

If he wanted to see if they could work in the first place.

The truth hit her hard. All the happy fantasies she’d dreamt up last night disappearing, replaced by fear and guilt. Why would he even want her after the way she treated him? Adrien wasn’t a fool. Why would he risk it when all she did was hurt him? In fact, he wouldn’t. He said it himself in that letter—despite still loving her, he was willing to step away because he couldn’t bear to hurt her anymore.

Her heart ached. Even in this, he was thinking of her first. Was he even real? She certainly didn’t deserve his love. Perhaps this job offer was her answer then. She’d move away and it’d be easier for both of them to get over each other and find happiness with someone else.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat, a low tremor running down her spine. Funny. This situation resembled their first argument so much—she had to choose between him and her career then, too. Only now that amazing job offer in Milan wasn’t nearly as appealing to her as an uncertain chance with a man who might not even want her at this point.

“Another huge decision to make?” Tikki asked.

“Seems so.”

Tikki flew up, hovering right at Marinette's eye level. "I'm sure you'll make the right decision, Marinette. Just think what will make you happier in the long run."

Marinette chuckled sadly. “So basically, the old cliché ‘Follow Your Heart, Marinette’?”

Tikki nodded. “Yes. Old, cliché, and very true. Look deep into your heart and listen to what it has to tell you. That’s the best thing you can do.”

And that was what Marinette did. She shut her phone off, signed out of her social media and email accounts, and took long walks at the local park, thinking, reflecting, and trying to see what it was she really wanted. It took her almost two days, but Sunday evening Marinette was confident she had found her answer. She turned her laptop back on, and replied to Sofia, agreeing to the interview.

Then, she took a sheet of paper and wrote a letter to Adrien. She wasn’t sure she could face him right now, but she had to tell him what was in her heart. A letter it was.

Monday morning, Marinette came by Adrien’s office to drop off said letter only to be told that M Agreste wouldn’t be back there any time soon if at all. Luckily, on her way out she ran into his family lawyer who let it slip that he was to meet with Adrien in a few hours at an undisclosed location. Not seeing a better choice, Marinette gave the man her letter and asked if he could pass it to Adrien. Then, she arranged a week off for herself and returned to the apartment.

With her heart and her future at stake, there was nothing she could handle doing for the next two days but packing her belongings and waiting for Adrien’s response to her letter.

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #adrienette #ml #chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #the other you

26 notes · View notes

goodomensblog · 5 years ago

Text

Afterward - Part 16

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

(#1 is our winner! The votes for this one were the equivalent of the kids in the schoolyard circling up and chanting FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT lmao)

HEY ALSO - tw: blood, minor gore, psychological manipulation.

Afterward - - - Part 16

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

Entropy climbs over Crowley, its white, spider-thin legs all but encircling him. The demon’s thigh is speared by one of the creature’s cruelly twisting claws, and is pinned to the floor.

Beelzebub should go.

The smart choice is to go.

“I do want the angel,” Entropy says, looming over the felled demon and angel. “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

A clawed hand curls over Crowley’s head, and Beelzebub can’t help but recall the cracks that spread over the angel Sandalphon, fracturing the powerful angel like cheap ceramic.

Crowley gasps, and Beelzebub twitches, looking from Crowley, to the unconscious Aziraphale, and finally, to the archangel Gabriel, collapsed helplessly over the fountain, his golden blood mixing with water.

“Fucking shit,” Beelzebub breathes, hating everything. Steeling themself, they turn their back on the door.

Taking one limping step, then another, Beelzebub lifts a clammy hand, pressing it against their chest. Beneath curling fingers, they feel the trembling pool of infernal heat at their core - and with a strangled shout, pull.

The lamps lining the courtyard flicker - then pop - exploding one by one in storms of sparks and glass.

Gasping, Beelzebub doubles over, hunching as midnight wings unfurl. From clenched hands, nails harden into claws, razor’s edges slicing into skin. Around the prince of Hell, flies swarm in a black, biting cloud.

The creature looks up as Beelzebub roars.

Entropy rises, but Beelzebub is already across the courtyard, shattered flagstone exploding in their wake. The creature’s doll white face swivels - and Beelzebub’s black claws slam into its forehead and twist. Snarling, Beelzebub wrenches, flinging the creature into the nearest wall.

Beelzebub is burning from the inside out, the last vestiges of Hellfire crackling beneath their skin. They feel light, delirious, and very, very angry.

“Beelzebub?”

Panting, Beelzebub glances back.

Crowley, one hand braced on his bloodied leg, stares, open mouthed and wide eyed. “How’re you-”

“I’m going to destroy this bitch,” Beelzebub says, staggering. “And you,” they stab a finger at him, “are going to grab the idiot angels and get all of your dumbasses out of here.”

Crowley’s yellow eyes are studying them, and he looks alarmingly like he wants to say something.

Beelzebub, who doesn’t have time to deal with Crowley and his bloody useless words, turns away, jabbing their middle finger over their shoulder. Putting Crowley and the angels and every single other pointless distraction out of mind, Beelzebub stalks toward the Entropy shaped hole in the wall.

By Beelzebub’s estimation, the Hellfire fueled energy surge is going to last a whopping three minutes maximum. They’ll have to eviscerate the creature before that time is up.

“No problem,” Beelzebub says, spitting blood.

Blade-sharp claws slither out of the hole in the stone. The pale creature glides out of the cracked wall, spindly limbs driving them forward. It’s white forehead is ripped with jagged wounds; jet black ichor pours forth, painting smeared lines down it’s porcelain face. Tilting its head, it smiles, and the wide, terrifying void of its mouth swallows up the bottom half of its chin.

“Shoo fly,” it says, black eyes gleaming.

Beelzebub attacks.

They don’t bother thinking - not when Entropy moves faster than even their demon eyes can follow. Wings spread and claws raking, Beelzebub defers to instinct. When one of Entropy’s limbs lands too close, Beelzebub lunges and bites. Using teeth and claws, they rip the pale limb from its body.

It shrieks and Beelzebub leaps back, spitting black ichor.

Void black lips curl over stained incisors, and Beelzebub’s grin is part animal and all teeth. “You came into my Hell. Used my leader. Hurt my demons,” Beelzebub rasps, drinking in the creature's screams.

A limb shoots out, fingers raking.

Beelzebub leaps back. They’re one hundredth of a second too slow.

Fingers like razors punch through the demon’s shoulder and out the other side.

Dark blood spays the flagstone, and Beelzebub wrenches up and back, tearing the narrow appendage out of their flesh. Around the wound, Beelzebub’s skin flakes into black dust.

Clutching their shoulder, Beelzebub launches back, narrowly avoiding Entropy’s next strike.

Halfway across the courtyard, Beelzebub skids to a halt. Heaving shallow, uneven breaths, they survey the creature, assessing.

One limb down. Seven to go.

They’ll need to get in close.

“So much anger,” Entropy says, it’s layered voice horrible and saccharine. Across the courtyard, it’s pale face tilts to the side. Round, unblinking eyes study Beelzebub as the thing says, “Though I understand why you’re angry.”

Beelzebub presses a burning hand to their shoulder, grimacing as their flesh sears together. “Yes,” they growl between clenched teeth, “dickwad, I’m angry because you-”

“Oh no no no,” Entropy interrupts with a laugh like shattering glass. “Not me. At yourself.”

Beelzebub’s shoulder gives a final sizzle and they let their smoking hand fall. “Enough bullshit-”

“Tell me, Beelzebub, prince of Hell,” Entropy croons, “who really, honestly cares about you?”

“The fuck?” Beelzebub spits, and shakes their hands until they ignite.

“No no, hear me out,” the creature says, laughing. “First, your all loving God decides they don’t care to forgive you. So you go and forge a place for yourself in Hell, rising up in Satan’s army, fighting and killing your way to power. Only once you’ve got the power you spend centuries fighting again and again, always looking over your shoulder, always knowing that any one of those demons would happily destroy you for just a taste of power.” The thing grins, black streaks of ichor twisting in a horrifying mask. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

Beelzebub rocks back, pain blossoming, taking root not in their shoulder, but in that insidious, narrow space behind their ribs.

Fuck.

Snapping back onto the balls of their feet, Beelzebub pants, letting the flames climb their forearms. “I’m tired of waiting to rip you limb from fucking limb,” they snarl, and ravenous flies burst from between the black feathers on their wings.

Beelzebub follows the flies. As their pets bite at Entropy, burrowing into it’s skin, Beelzebub launches into the air with a blood curdling cry. Claws aflame, Beelzebub rakes two brutal slices down Entropy’s macilent sides.

Beelzebub snaps a sharp look up, eager to revel in this monster’s pain.

The screams don’t come.

Beelzebub stares into an eternities wide smile.

Two hands punch out. One spears through Beelzebub’s good shoulder, and the other goes through a leg.

Entropy shoves Beelzebub into stone. It cracks around them as the creature’s two limbs pin them to the ground, like an insect on display. Their skin flashes hot and cold, and Beelzebub shakes because everything is burning.

Entropy climbs over them, long limbs pinning them in. When it’s pale, laughing face looms over them, Beelzebub spits.

The creature doesn’t react, apart from a slight tilting of the head.

Beelzebub heaves another shuddering breath and jerks to and fro - which only serves to shift the hands spearing their flesh. Back arching, Beelzebub screams.

And the creature is laughing, shaking with mirth.

“Oh this is precious. You know, I’d keep you. But at this point, you’re nowhere near strong enough to survive as a vessel. I’d tear you limb from limb.”

Beelzebub spits again. “I’ll kill you,” the say, and mean it - because they’ve never lost a fight and they can’t they can’t they can’t -

Needle-like fingers slide up Beelzebub’s face in a mocking caress.

“Darling,” Entropy breathes, “You have known nothing but pain. But everything falls apart. Everything spreads until it is eventually nothing. Let me dismantle you. I’ll save you from the pain of miserable existence.”

“Fuck you.” Beelzebub lunges up, swiping at its face.

Entropy casually knocks the hand aside, and a bladed appendage stabs through Beelzebub’s palm, pinning it above their head.

Beelzebub bites into their tongue to hold back the scream.

Entropy leans in. Mouth gaping, they hover over Beelzebub as fingers like needles hold the demon’s face.

“Whatever the fuck you want from me-”

“What I want,” Entropy says, soft as a breeze, “is to understand how you’ve kept from falling apart - knowing that no one in all this wide, wide universe loves you.”

“What?”

The white face tilts. “Oh come now. I can see right through you. You know God doesn’t love you. The demon’s don’t really even trust you. And the angels certainly don’t care for your existence. So,” it stops, licking its lips. “When everything in the universe - every inch of energy - is spread to nothingness, there will be no pain, no loneliness, Beelzebub. All will be nothing,” it breathes, rapturous.

Beelzebub isn’t listening. They’re not - they’re not.

“Yes you are,” it says, laughing again, and it’s big black eyes are staring down, practically swallowing Beelzebub up. “Oh it’s going to be delicious smearing you across the universe.”

Beelzebub shudders, snarling and kicking, but it’s no use because that mouth is stretching and the needle sharp fingers are prickling, digging in and - and - and -

Cold metal flashes and the creature’s head tips and rolls, bouncing grotesquely off stone.

The cold, alien body sways, then topples, following after the head.

Beelzebub stares blearily at the cloven head, gaze sluggishly shifting to the rich brown loafers cautiously prodding the thing’s jaw.

“I don’t know about you, but I was getting really tired of that voice,” Gabriel says, leaning heavily on his sword. One of the archangel’s arms dangles, bloody and useless and a thick gash runs down the side of his face - all the way from forehead to chin.

Beelzebub blinks, and since coherent thoughts don’t seem to be making themselves available, settles for a few more moments of blankly staring.

In a detached sort of way, Beelzebub watches as Gabriel’s dumb face does something complicated. And then he’s kicking the head aside. The sword clatters to the ground as he kneels reaching-

That snaps Beelzebub out of it.

“Don’t touch me!”

Gabriel actually jumps back.

Gritting their teeth, Beelzebub hauls their free hand up. With a savage scream, they tear the spear out of their shoulder. Panting, they get the one in their hand next. And finally, their leg.

Forcibly ignoring the fact that every inch of them is a pulsating mass of pain, Beelzebub shoves up, rising into an agonizingly uncomfortable crouch. They grit their teeth.

Gabriel is looking at them and his expression is still complicated and Beelzebub hates it.

“How much did you hear?” Beelzebub says, flat. Hand pressed against their shoulder, Beelzebub draws shallow, uneven breaths and waits.

Gabriel blinks twice, and then he’s shaking his head. “Nothing,” he says, light.

Beelzebub’s lip curls because that's a load of shit if they’ve ever heard one. “You-”

A sharp voice interrupts them.

“Hey Beezy! You alright there?”

The voice is Crowley’s and Beelzebub honestly can’t decide if they hate Gabriel or Crowley more at this very moment.

Whipping around, Beelzebub hisses, “You were supposed to run. And I said no nicknames!”

Crowley is at the courtyard’s edge. He’s got an arm around Aziraphale, who finally seems to have awoken, and is holding him upright.

“Well, you see - I was going to,” Crowley calls back, “And then you started getting the living shit beaten out of you. So I slapped the archangel till he woke up.”

At that, Gabriel cuts a frankly murderous look in Crowley’s direction.

Aziraphale, who does seem to be slightly more conscious than not, grabs a fistful of Crowley’s shirt.

Beelzebub is gathering the energy to tell the lot of them to fuck right off, when the ground begins to shiver.

Stiffening, Beelzebub snaps to attention.

From the creature’s severed head, ephemeral tendrils spread. When the first tendril touches it’s body, Entropy gasps, and the body rapidly begins knitting itself together. As Beelzebub watches, a new limb sprouts, replacing the one they had torn off.

“I don’t think….it can be destroyed in….the usual ways,” Aziraphale says, hoarse.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, watching Entropy slowly rise.

“Again! Cut off the sucker’s head again!” Crowley shouts.

“We need to go,” Aziraphale calls. “Now.”

Gabriel reaches for the sword. “I’ll smite the sonofabitch.”

Entropy, black eyes gleaming with renewed life, smiles.

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

Beelzebub, despite managing to put up a fierce fight against Entropy, was eventually defeated. Gabriel, awoken by Crowley’s repeated slaps, saved Beelzebub, though not before Entropy cruelly laid bare the demon’s fears. The survivors are weak and Entropy has revealed regenerative abilities. As Entropy repairs itself, a slew of suggestions are shouted, and Beelzebub decides….

To listen to Crowley. Grabbing the sword from Gabriel, Beelzebub attempts to cut off the damn thing’s head. At the very least, it will give them time to come up with a better solution - and probably won’t make anything worse?

To listen to Aziraphale. As much as Beelzebub hates to admit it, this thing is way out of their league. They need to run, rest, and regroup. Though escaping may not be easy...

To listen to Gabriel. Beelzebub knows not to get in the way of an archangel’s smiting. And while Beelzebub doubts a smiting will do the job, it probably can’t hurt to let Gabriel give it a try. Right??

To listen to none of them because they’re all idiots and at this point, Beelzebub is running on pure spite. It may not be the best choice, but Beelzebub is going to punch the creature in it’s jackass face. They’ll figure the rest out from there. (Note: for my anxious voters! This option will NOT kill Beelzebub (nor will the other options). The last chapter was definitely a rough one, and I honestly just wanted to give y’all the option of seeing Beelzebub just straight up deck this dude).

Please comment or reblog to vote! :)

Things are dark now, but I promise I have voting options to add some much needed humor, levity, and team bonding planned soon!

Part 17

#my writing #choose your own adventure fic #choose your own adventure #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #aziraphale #crowley #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy #good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fic #multi-chapter fic

268 notes · View notes

antisocial-af · 4 years ago

Text

Day 23: Gabrily

Title: An Explosively Tailored Christmas

25 Days of Pairings: Day 23 Gabrily (Cecily Herondale/Gabriel Lightwood)

Rating: G

Wordcount: 924

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Fluff, Holidays, Christmas Tree, Malfunctioning Inventions.

Summary:

Gabriel is sent off to investigate the latest explosion in their home.

Click Here to Read on Ao3

Story:

Gabriel held the fold of the clothing as Cecily leaned in to put the pin when a shattering noise followed by an explosion caused Anna, their oldest, to jump and the pin her mother was holding to prick her.

“Ow!” exclaimed Anna as she looked to her mother with a slight pout.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t move,” Cecily replied, carefully inspecting Anna’s leg and the trouser’s material. “Gabriel, go see what that was, while I finish putting the last ones in.”

“Stay still for your mom now; we can’t have you going to the Christmas Party in an ill-fitted suit,” Gabriel said as he stood up walked by his wife, placing a soft kiss on her cheek as he passed, “I’ll be back, hopefully, it wasn’t the furniture again.”

“Chris’s just trying to make them easier to clean!” Anna called out to defend her brother as Gabriel left to check.

Gabriel shook his head, walked down the small hallway, and saw a thin haze of smoke coming from the living room. He and Cecily had hoped, placing him on babysitting duty would dissuade him from tinkering with something. Gabriel turned into the living room and was met with the sight of his fourteen-year-old holding baby Alexander on his lap and a remote in hand.

“Alright, this time for sure! I fixed the shorting wires, so this time it shouldn’t spark,” Christopher moved his little brother’s hands on the button and pushed down to ignite his newest invention.

“Christo-”

Gabriel’s words were cut short by the high squeak of machinery jamming and then another spark, but this time, when Gabriel looked to where the noise was coming from, he was met with the sight of their still undecorated tree going up in flames. They had just purchased the tree earlier in the day and had promised they would decorate it after tailoring Anna’s suit for the party.

Instinct took over, and he started patting himself down for his Steele, only to remember he had taken it out of his pocket while assisting his wife.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Christopher stated over the cheering claps of Alexander in his lap. “No Alexander fire means the invention failed; it’s not a cheering thing.”

“Cecily!” Gabriel yelled out as he rushed to open the large living room window and took the curtains, wrapping them around the still burning tree and pushing it all out the window into the snow-covered garden outside. He watched from the open window as the snow started to put out the fire, pushing the snow gathered around the window on top of it for good measure.

“What’s wrong?” Cecily asked as she entered quickly, followed by Anna now back in one of her day-to-day suits. “Gabriel, where’s the tree we just purchased and stop letting the cold in; it’s freezing out there, and Alexander doesn’t have a coat on.”

Christopher handed Alexander to his mom and walked over to the window, looking down at the now extinguished tree and the black outline it left around it. “We honor your sacrifice Fir Tree Lightwood, ashes to dust with you.”

“Christopher, close that window. I swear you and your father both want to catch a cold,” Cecily scolded and took a blanket on the couch to wrap their youngest.

“What did you try and make this time, Chris?” Anna asked as she looked around the room and saw the wires and tools laying on the floor.

“I wanted to make the Christmas tree turn,” Christopher explained as he waved to the parts of the invention still left on the floor. “That way, we could put decorations all over it and always be able to see them. It’s boring only putting them in the front.”

“A spinning tree does sound amazing,” Gabriel praised, closing the windows and turning to Christopher. “But what did we say about experimenting while watching your baby brother?”

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to him,” Christopher replied. “He was safe with me! I even put my goggles on him so nothing could get in his eyes.”

Cecily looked down at the fussing baby in her hands, and he did indeed still have his older brother’s goggles on still. She looked over to Gabriel, who was currently giving her the ‘help me’ eyes.

“What I think your dad means is that Alexander isn’t wearing a helmet, Christopher. Something could’ve flown and hit him.”

“So next time, I should put a helmet on him too,” Christopher repeated as he wrote it down in his small notepad.

“Maybe Alexander can help you with the planning instead of the testing, Chris,” Anna attempted and looked over her brother’s shoulder at what Christopher was planning next.

Gabriel rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed before looking at his wife. Cecily attempted to take the goggles off of their youngest, while Alexander was adamantly trying to reach for and keep them.

“Alright, who is coming with me to get a new tree,” Gabriel asked, ruffling Christopher’s hair. “We can even stop by Charlotte and Henry’s, so maybe he can help you out with your new idea.”

“I’ll go get Alexander dressed,” Cecily agreed and looked around the living room. “Can you help Anna and Christopher tidy up the room before we go?”

“Of course, Cecy,” Gabriel replied, making his way to Cecily and placing a small kiss on her forehead. “We will be here waiting.”

“No more prototypes till you talk to your godfather, Christopher,” Cecily called out as she left with Alexander.

#antisocialaf #mywork #hmdiscord #gabrily #gabriel lightwood #cecily herondale #fanfiction

23 notes · View notes

shadlad24 · 4 years ago

Text

Stranger

Feeling very much like she had when Dahak’s cult members first grabbed her, her physical strength and mental clarity being drained from her body, Gabrielle swayed all the more perilously on her feet. “This can’t be happening…”

“Little one!” Aphrodite rushed to catch and hold up her friend. Too, she glared at the mob. “You crazies seriously need to step off! I mean it! No one’s doing any killing here!”

“Burn the witches!” someone in the back of the group called, throwing his torch at her.

The deity became something Gabrielle had never seen before. With a snap of her wrist, she stopped the flame from coming anywhere near her sweet pea and instead sent it back at its owner. “How dare you?” she cried. Her irises lost their color, becoming the near-white Callisto’s and Velasca’s had upon eating ambrosia, as outrage beamed out of their pupils like lasers.

Black clouds rolled in from nowhere and then crashed into each other so that thunder boomed overhead. Lightning struck in the no-man’s land between Aphrodite’s group and the mob. The only reason a fire did not break out is because the goddess, mindful of her promise to Gabrielle, did not let it. Instead, the electricity surged into and under the dark soil without igniting any of the dry leaves covering it.

“I am no witch, but I am a god, damn you! And I will not let you harm my little one. Now, GO!” Aphrodite commanded, her voice shaking the earth more than either expression of the sudden storm had. “And don’t come back!” she shouted at the retreating backs of the villagers. Once she was sure they were gone, she came back to herself. Her eyes returned to their usual bright blue, and light burst through the storm to break up the gloom of the forest completely. “Well, that was fun, eh?” she said with a sheepish giggle. “I’d forgotten I could do that…”

---

Another fic excerpt, this one is set after the series finale. Adventures in Moving Forward follows Gabrielle and Aphrodite as they live Xena’s legacy...

#xwp #xena warrior princess #xena #gabrielle #aphrodite #gabrielle and aphrodite #xenafic #xena fanfiction #gabrielle fanfiction #dahak #callisto #velasca #ambrosia #forest of the banshees #brittania

9 notes · View notes

ourownsideimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Anger Comes In Many Forms (Aziraphale x fem!Reader)

Characters: Reader (Female), Aziraphale

Requested: Yes

Requested by: @walrusgoddess

Point of View: Third person omniscient

Warnings: Cussing, violence (not a lot), and soft bean Az, and ALMOST NO EDITING

Words: 2379

A/N: OKAY LISTEN, so I had something planned out w/ the reader and Az coming back from the shop from lunch and being harassed (and the reader of course sticking up for Az), but then I had the most wonderful idea of her just fucking decking Gabriel and had to write it. I hope this fits your idea hun!

—

Aziraphale did not get angry often. Some people would assume he didn’t get angry at all -- these people, of course, were wrong. Crowley knew that best, from experience. The angel has been a little more than irked by his fallen friend. His girlfriend has also learned this oddly fast, after experiencing a fight between her angel and his favorite demon. She didn’t have the faintest idea what the argument was about, because as soon as she’d entered the shop Crowley excused himself and stormed out, leaving her to calm down Az.

(Name) on the other hand, had a bit of a tempter, and often it got her into trouble. She’d given Az heart attack on multiple occasions when she would tell off a man twice her size for cutting them in line, or when she would tell men who were very obviously a part of the mafia to fuck off when they entered the bookstore. He loved her dearly, but her temper was going to kill him one day.

Today might as well have been that day.

Aziraphale had told (name) about his boss, Gabriel, on a handful of occasions. Often in complaints about how the archangel didn’t care about the end of the world, and would let everyone burn in the fires of armageddon.

(Name) had never met Gabriel, but she already hated his guts.

She remembers when Az had come to her, upset, because he’d tried once more to convince Gabriel that there was something they could do and he not only rejected the idea, but had made a rude comment about his weight. That was the final straw for (name), and she was prepared for murder.

(Name) had been away from the shop, grabbing some lunch, trying not to think of the fact that the world could end at quite literally any minute. On her way back, she could smell smoke in the air and began to worry. It was when she saw the roaring flames spilling out of the bookshop doors that the food left her hands, and her feet carried her to the building.

She ignored the pain of forcing the doors open, and flung herself inside.

“Aziraphale!” She shouted, but got no response. “Az!” With an arm out in front of her, she took a step towards the backroom, but was stopped when a beam fell from above, effectively blocking her path.

The world around her began to spin, and (name) began to cough violently.

“Aziraphale!” Someone cried from behind her. “(Name)!”

“Crowley!” She called back. The demon came into sight, storming his way towards her. Tears fell from her eyes, both from upset and from the fire. “He’s gone!” She sobbed. “I left to get lunch, and when I got back… Oh god, Crowley.” (Name) let out a low, pained moan as the demon dragged her into his arms, protecting her from the fire.

“Some bastard,” Crowley growled, making sure nothing fell over the both of them. “Killed my best friend.” He hissed. The two didn’t stay much longer in the shop, knowing that it would kill (name) to stay in there. After grabbing something off of one of the tables, Crowley lead her to his car, tossing his ruined sunglasses away in the process, allowing (name) for the first time to see the yellow snake eyes Az had once offhandedly mentioned that the demon had, when she had asked why he wore them all the time.

“Get in.” He all but snapped, trying to collect himself as he got in the driver's seat. (Name) got in beside him, not strong enough to make any arguments.

“He’s gone…” She croaked.

“Discorporated.” Crowley hissed. “And the bastards probably won’t even give him a new body.”

And Crowley was right. Because as (name) and Crowley sat at the bar, Crowley drunk, and (name) halfway there, Aziraphale appeared to them, albeit transparent to say that he’d left notes in the prophecy book they’d accidentally taken from the girl they’d hit with Crowley’s car (of which, conveniently, was the book Crowley had taken from the shop).

That’s how you found yourself stuck in traffic on the way out of London, towards Tadfeild, and why Crowley was suddenly cursing himself for messing with the shape of the M25.

“Come on, there must be some way across this.” Crowley muttered, reaching over you to grab the prophecy book. “Burning roads. Did you predict this, Agnes?” As Crowley began to flip through the pages, a hand reached of from the backseat, causing (name) to scream and jump away. Hastur crushed the new pair of glass with his hands and tossed it onto the seat beside him as Crowley grimaced. He then pulled you closer to him, in case Hastur got any ideas.

“You’ll never escape London.” The duke said matter-of-factly. “Nothing can.”

“Hastur!” Crowley said icily. “How was your time in voicemail?”

“Funny ha-ha, joke all you like, Crowley.” Hastur grumbled. “There’s nowhere to run.”

“Aren’t you to be lining up, ready for battle around now?” Crowley gave (name) a light squeeze when he realizes just how nervous she had become.

“Hell will not forget.” Hastur replied. “Hell will not forgive. You know where the real Antichrist is, don’t you.” Even (name) knew it wasn’t a question. “You’ll never reach him. You’re done Crowley. You think you’re going to get the both of you across that?” The flames before the car seemed to grow at the duke’s words. Crowley used his free arm to select a CD, much to (name)’s confusion. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“Let’s find out.” Crowley slipped the CD into the player.

“What- wh- why are you driving.” (Name) could hear the distaste in Hastur’s voice.

“Crowley,” She muttered.

“Trust me on this,” He mumbled back.

“That’s- what- Stop this thing!” Hastur demanded, and (name) slowly began to recognize the tune of Queen’s ‘I’m in Love With My Car’.

“You know the thing I like best about time?” Crowley drawled. “It’s that every day it takes us further away from the 14th century.” Crowley kept an arm around (name), and one hand firmly on the wheel. He gave her a tight squeeze. “I really didn’t like the 14th century. You’d have loved it then, Hastur. (Name), not so much. They didn’t have any cars back in the 14th century.” Crowley continued to speak as they drove closer, and closer to the raging fire. (Name) had half a mind to force the wheel to the other direction, but she was too scared to even more let alone tussle with the kind demon.

As they plunged into the fire, (name) was surprised to find that it was not hot -- whatever Crowley was doing to keep her safe, she hoped it would last, because even from her seat she could hear Hastur’s skin bubble and ignite. She tried to ignore his screams of pain, and Crowley’s howls of laughter, or the way he screamed at the burning car even after they’d finally exited the fire and entered the London rain.

The next few events happened in a blur -- they arrived at the Tadfeild Naval base, where (name) discovered that Aziraphale had taken possession of an older woman, who herself was accompanied by an older gentleman. They’d followed a group of four kids, led by the Antichrist, onto the base.

(Name) was shocked when Az pulled a gun on the Antichrist, and almost tackled him was it not for Tracy taking control back momentarily, causing them to misfire into the air.

“Why are you two people?” The Antichrist, Adam, asked. Az began to stumble over his words, but Adam stopped him. “I think you should go back to being two separate people.” At his words, Tracy’s form became distorted, and out of her Az stumbled ungracefully into (name). She almost cried in joy, throwing her arms around him. She pulled back suddenly, frowning.

“Were you just about to shoot an eleven year old boy?” She glowered at him. His eyes widened.

“I- oh - ah- Yes! But he’s the Antichrist!”

“He’s a child, Aziraphale.” She scoffed. “If I remember correctly, even you believed in nurture over nature.” That seemed to shut him up, if only momentarily, as they watched Adam’s three friends use a flaming sword to defeat three of the four horsemen.

“Wasn’t that your sword?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” Az said. “Yes, I do believe it was.”

“You had a flaming sword?” (Name) asked. “Did you lose it?”

“Now I… gave it away.” He said, his cheeks flushing pink. (Name) would have questioned it further if not for Death’s departure. “See Crowley, it’s like I said-”

“Oh it isn't over.” Crowley said, shaking his head. “It’s far from over. Heaven and Hell still want their war.” Crowley stepped away, towards the children. “You, boy. Antichrist. What was your name again?”

“Adam Young.”

“So your friends got together and saved the world. Well done, have a gold star, won’t make any difference.” (Name)’s head swamped with confusion as a man and woman approached, the woman shouting at Crowley about how he had stolen her book, of which he tossed back to her. A slip of burnt paper floated downward, which Az caught, but would not let (name) see before slipping it into his pocket.

(Name) jumped out of her skin when a crack of thunder rang through the air, and a bolt of lightning struck the ground behind them. Az held her close as a nicely dressed man appeared, another figure appearing shortly after, rising from the ground, a gigantic fly adorning their head like a hat. They approached, moving past the group to stand on the other side of them.

“Lord Beelzebub.” Crowley said as he did an over exaggerated bow. “It’s an honor.”

“Crowley.” Said Beelzebub. “The traitor.”

“That’s not a nice word.” Crowley grimaced as he stood back up

“All the words I have for you are worse. Where’s the boy.” Crowley turned to look at Adam.

“That one.” The nicely dressed man spoke. “Adam Young.” He moved closer to the kids, stopping a few feet from Adam. “Young man… Armageddon must.. Restart.” He said with an unconvincing smile. “Right now. A temporary inconvenience cannot get in the way of the greater good.” By now, (name) had determined from Az’s previous descriptions that this was Gabriel, and that he was just as much of an asshole as he had been described. She watched as, together, Gabriel and Beelzebub attempted to convince Adam to restart armegeddon.

“Excuse me,” Az began to move closer to Adam, you following along, not wanting to leave his side, and him not wanting to argue. “You keep talking about the great plan.”

“Aziraphale, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut.” Gabriel demanded.

“One thing I’m not clear on.” Az ignores him. “Is that the ineffable plan?”

“The great plan!” Beelzebub snaps. “It is written. There shall be a world, it shall last for 6000 years and end in fire and flames.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds like the great plan.” Aziraphale gave your hand a tight squeeze as he spoke. “Just wondering. Is that the ineffable plan as well?” That’s when the realization hit (name) -- neither of them knew. Of course they didn’t know!

They just wanted war.

“Well, they’re the same thing!” Gabriel exclaimed after a few tense moments of silence.

“You don’t know.” Crowley and (name) said in unison, catching attention. Crowley sauntered over to stand with his friends.

“You know, it’d be a pity if you’d thought you were doing what the great plan said, but you were actually going directly against God’s ineffable plan.” Crowley looked around as he continued. “I mean, everyone knows the great plan, yeah? But the ineffable plan… It’s well… It’s ineffable isn’t it? By definition we can’t know it.”

“But…” Beelzebub frowned. “It is… written.”

“God does not play games with the universe.” Gabriel argued.

“Where have you been?” Crowley scoffed.

“Obviously not on earth.” (Name) muttered as Gabriel took aside Beelzebub to speak. (Name) turned again to Az, about to say something when the archangel shouted.

“Well at least we know who’s fault it is!” He snapped, eyes landing on the group. (Name) had had about enough of him, and tore herself away from Az to take the few steps to Gabriel. Az and Crowley both called to her, curiosity laced in their worry. Gabriel sneered down at her. “And what do you want-”

(Name) had only punched two other people in her lifetime, one of those being Crowley (for reasons she would rather not mention), the other being her older brother. Neither had felt as satisfactory as landing a perfect punch on the angels stupidly perfect face. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Beelzebub was almost amused by the situation as Gabriel held his face. (Name) didn’t know if it was out of actual pain or from surprise, but she glared at him all the same.

“That’s for calling my boyfriend fat you bloody prick.” She spat. “And for all the other times you treated him like shit.” There was suddenly a hand on her shoulder, and she allowed Crowley to pull her back towards the group.

“She-“ Gabriel resurfaced, hand still over his face, but (name) was satisfied when she saw the slow drip of blood onto the pavement. “She broke my nose!”

“Oh, get over it, she could have done way worse.” Crowley gave her a knowing glance and she looked away sheepishly. She ignored the constant returning glare from Gabriel as he and Beelzebub promised to tell Adam’s father (Satan) about him ‘misbehaving’. As they finally disappeared, (name) brought herself to finally look at Aziraphale, whom had been staring at her with flushed cheeks.

“Did you… did you really do… that,” He fumbled over his words as he took a step toward (name), his cheeks only burning hotter as he refused to meet her gaze. “Did you just punch an archangel… for me?”

“I’d have done much more to that asshole if Crowley hadn’t pulled me away.” She promised. She grabbed his burning cheeks and planted a soft kiss to his lips. “No one insults my angel and gets away with it. I’d do anything to protect you, my love.” Az pulled her into a tight hug, too flustered to do much of anything else.

“Hey, you two.” Crowley said. “There are kids, don’t go getting call cutesy.” You rolled your eyes, but gently took your significant other's hand, prepared for whatever might come next, because he was at your side.

Then, the ground began to shake.

#good omens #good omens x reader #aziraphale x reader #aziraphale #x reader #aziraphale good omens #crowley x reader platonic #my writing #reese writes #reader inser #female reader #fem!reader #Aziraphale x fem!reader

736 notes · View notes

thisbitchinthecorner · 5 years ago

Text

Roughly 7 minutes after the End of the World That Wasn’t

“We’re fucked”

There before them stood the Archangel

Gabriel and Beelzebub, Prince of Hell. Gabriel, his face twisted in an sadistic smile, began unfurling his wings, one after another; each one more terrifying than the other. Beelzebub, surrounded by flies, unleashed his monstrous wings and brandished his bow and arrow, poisoned with the fires of hell. Both prepared to unleash their wrath upon the angel and demon standing between them and the antichrist.

Crowley, holding nothing more than a spent tire iron from his once glorious, yet now demolished, 1926 black Bentley that had not a scratch upon it until the hellfire that ignited the M25. The demon turned his gaze towards the brilliant light standing beside him. Aziraphale, despite his soft and genial appearance, stood, flaming sword in hand, poised to fight against the horror before them. Crowley’s heart soared at the sight of the angel, a desperate wave of fierce love came over him. “We stand together.” He whispered to himself, trying to steady his confidence against the rage of both Heaven and Hell. Suddenly, the world shifted, and he found himself alone, encompassed in darkness.

“Anthony J Crowley.” A voice boomed from above as time seems to stop. He was now upon the precipice of a brilliantly lit hallway. He walked down the corridor, towards the voice that called to him.

“Anthony J Crowley!” The voice bellowed once more.

“G...god? Is that you?” He sputtered in disbelief.

“Yes, my child.” God’s harmonious voice replied. “It seems things have gotten, well, rather complicated.”

He scratches his head and tried to come up with something witty to say, yet no words came.

God continued. “Crowley, my sweet child, what are you going to do about this situation?”

He sighed, “Well, I just thought I would...you know, fix it.”

“How did you plan on preventing armageddon?” God asked curiously.

“I don’t know.” He gestured wildly, trying not to show how utterly defeated he felt. “It’s a mess. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Oh Crowley, how you suffer.” God’s voice soothed. “My fallen angel, your pain displeases me.”

“Your pain?” Crowley suddenly snarled, in a such an angry tone that it surprised even him. “I was forsaken by you. You cast me out. You made me to suffer.” Crowley, forgetting himself completely, lashed out in anger.

“I know. Banishing you caused me pain beyond pain. For you see, my child, of all my creations, I love you and one other, above all.” God’s voice fell upon him like a thousand flaming arrows, setting his heart ablaze.

“You- you love me?” Crowley’s voice broke. Words failed him again as he tears filled his eyes.

“My dearest child,” God continued. “I love you in ways that even I cannot comprehend.”

“But why? Why would you banish me? Cast me out like garbage! That’s not love! It’s cruelty! How could you? Why? Tell me!” He screamed to the heavens, clenching his fists.

“My sweet Crowley, when I created you, there was nothing that could match the love I had for you. You were perfect. My Favorite.” God’s voice echoed thought the vastness. “Then I made another creature, one who was just as perfect and for whom my love was equal. Yet, this creature, one so gentle and pure, needed attention and protection. And that creature, my child, became your eternal purpose.”

Crowley pondered for a moment. Still God continued to speak. “I made the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to make, I needed you to watch over this creature. None other were worthy. For only you could be so mindful and attentive. Only you could be trusted to perform such a task. So I had to cast you out. Knowing that one day, you would fulfill your glorious mission.”

Crowley paused, filled with confusion. “What are you saying?”

“You have done brilliantly protecting my beloved child over the centuries. Keeping him from harm, guarding and watching over him. After all this time, do you think that I have not noticed?” God said plainly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Crowley denied.

“You do, my sweet child. I see your heart, and I know your greatest desire.” As God spoke, Aziraphale appeared beside him; frozen in time, flaming sword in hand, eyes filled with determination as he prepared for battle. He felt his heart skip a beat.

“Crowley, my sweet, you have fought so valiantly, yet even you must see, that this world is meant to burn to ash. But your efforts are not in vain. I will prove my love for you; I offer you a gift.”

Crowley, still fixated on Aziraphale, asked, “A gift?”

“Yes, my child. For your suffering, I offer you the stars. You will have galaxies and nebulas at your whim. But I know that is not enough for you. To prove my love, I offer you my beloved Aziraphale, my most cherished angel, to join you among the stars as your reward. Neither Heaven nor Hell will come for you. You will be together, and free, and my beloved Crowley, you will be happy.” As God spoke, Crowley’s golden eyes changed; they darkened and filled with stars as he was entranced by God’s promise.

“Crowley, my tired child, I offer you happiness. Just say the word, and it will be done.”

Stars danced in his eyes. “Together.” He murmured. “And I will be happy....” His eyes grew wider as visions of eternity with Aziraphale flashed before him. “I will be happy...” He closed his eyes, before opening them again slowly, methodically, as he did, the stars within them began to dim and fade, and were once more the vibrant yellow they had been for many millennia. “But Aziraphale will not be happy.” He paused. “I can be happy in the stars with him, but he cannot. Aziraphale loves his bookshop, and fine wine, and sushi. He loves fancy clothes and crepes and brioche and more than anything, he loves humans and their pursuit of knowledge. How could he be happy without any of those things?”

“I could make him happy. I can make him forget all Earthly pleasures. He will be yours, and yours alone.” God cooed. “Alpha Centuri and Aziraphale will be all for you. Just say yes, you know you want to.”

“It is true,” Crowley began. “That I love Aziraphale more than anything. That he has held my heart for 6000 years, and that I want nothing more than to be at his side for eternity. But spending eternity in the stars with an Aziraphale who has forgotten his earthly delights, is a cheap alternative. I love him because of his affections for earth.”

“Crowley, my brightest star, this earth is over. If you refuse me, then you, and Aziraphale, will perish.” God proclaimed. “But if you accept, then I promise you that Aziraphale will love you as obediently as he loves Heaven. He will be blissfully happy because I will make it so. How can you refuse?”

Crowley pondered for a moment, his eyes fixed upon Aziraphale’s frozen face. He wanted to reach out, to touch his cheek, to feel his warmth, yet thought better. He sighed before speaking. “God, almighty one, while your offer gives me everything I could ever hope for, it is ultimately a selfish desire. I do not want Aziraphale to love me because you command him to, I want him to love me because he choose so. He may never choose to love me, as he is, after all, unfailingly good, but I can accept that.” Crowley swallowed hard. “If we are to die, then we will die side by side. My choice and his choice.”

“Are you certain, my beloved?” God pressed.

“Yes.” He answered sincerely. “I am sure.”

God fell silent for a moment.

“You are, and always will be, loved beyond measure.” God answered. Crowley closed his eyes, tears streaking down his face as he felt God’s love to wash over him.

The light began to dim, but not before God asked one final question.

“My cherished child, I must know, what does the J stand for?” God asked curiously.

“Oh! Um, it’s just a J really.” He stifled a laugh. “Haven’t given it much thought.”

“I like it.” God replied. “But might I make a suggestion?”

“What’s that?” Crowley asked with wonder.

“How about Jed?” God proposed.

“Jed?” Crowley laughed. “Jed.” He said again with interest. “Hmmm. Anthony Jed Crowley does have a nice ring to it.”

“It does indeed.” God’s voice echoed through the endless chasm. The glowering faced begins to fade, and the brutal reality of the present comes glaringly into focus. Crowley, lowering his tire iron, turns to face the heavenly body beside him.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured. “There is something I have to tell you.”

“I know.” Aziraphale says, as he lowers his sword while turning towards the demon. “There is something I must tell you too. And I’m afraid it cannot wait.”

......

Part 2

“We’re fucked!”

Aziraphale turns to look back at the group of children clustered together, Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale watch, eyes wide with fear, as the Archangel and Prince of Hell transform into their celestial forms. Adam Young, The Antichrist, stands right behind him and Crowley, the young boy quietly absorbing all that is unfolding around him, but his only concern seems to the be supposed Hell Hound trembling at his feet. Do something Crowley! He thinks to himself. He closes his eyes and as he opens them, he feels an intense light shining down from Heaven, one he has not felt for 6000 years.

“Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, I see you found the sword I gave you.” God’s voice broke upon him like the crescendo of a symphony; leaving him shaking with both joy and despair.

“Oh! Well, yes.” He stumbled over his words. “But that’s not important. You got my message! Thank the Lor...I mean, thank you!”

“Aziraphale, what is it that you want me to do?” God asked plainly.

“What I want you to do? Right! What I want you do is to stop this! The world doesn’t need to end!” He waved his arms erratically. “That boy is The Antichrist, and by some miracle, he refuses to start the apocalypse. But Gabriel is convinced that this war must happen, and now he and Beelzebub will stop at nothing to see that Heaven and Hell have their way. But you can stop this, all of it!” He pleads with desperation coursing through his voice.

“Aziraphale, what if this is the Great Plan, the Ineffable Plan, and all of this is meant to happen?” God asked calmly.

“I cannot believe that you would destroy humanity just to settle a proverbial score.” He argued, his voice shaking. “They do not deserve to die. Humans are inherently good and filled with wonder. They have created so many beautiful things; music, art, language, food and books, so many wonderful stories they have told over the centuries! They are curious and constantly seeking understanding and knowledge, and that has given them grace and their lives meaning. How can you destroy so many miracles made from their own hands?”

“Aziraphale, you, more than anyone, must know how much the humans mean to me.” God’s voice offered him some measure of comfort.

“So...you will stop all of this then?” He asked hopefully.

“Yes, Aziraphale. I will stop this and set things right.” God soothed.

He let out a shriek of joy; his hands clasped together and a brilliant smile flashed across his face. “Oh thank you my Lord! You truly are merciful!”

“I will return the world to the way it was yesterday. What has been done will be undone. I will return the angels to Heaven, with one exception, and banish the demons back to Hell.” God declared triumphantly.

He paused for a moment. “All...all the demons will be sent back to Hell?”

“Yes,” God replied. “All of them.”

“But what about Crowley? Surely you do not intend to banish him to Hell.” The very thought made him ill.

“He is a demon, he belongs in Hell, Aziraphale.” God stated coolly.

“Crowley doesn’t belong in Hell! I mean, he is a demon, but he’s not...he’s not like the rest of them.” He protested.

“Aziraphale, are you saying that he belongs in Heaven?” God’s voice raised in tone ever so slightly.

“Oh goodness no!” He nearly laughed at the idea of Crowley strolling into Heaven with his ridiculously tight pants, low cut shirt and flashy watch, asking Michael for a high-five and languishing seductively over a plush chaise he miracles into existence. “No, he belongs on earth, he’s been living among humans for well, for as long as I have.”

“He has,” God began. “And he’s been corrupting them for as long as he’s been on earth. You remember it was Crowley who tempted Eve to eat the apple. It was him who set all of this into motion. So, in reality, everything that is happening now is directly his doing.”

“In his defense, you did put the forbidden tree in the very center of Eden. Seems to me they would have succumbed to temptation even without Crowley’s influence.” He daringly argued.

“Aziraphale, Crowley is a demon, he is Fallen, and despite what you believe, he deserves to be in Hell.” God reasoned.

“But Hell is angry with him over this business over the mixup with The Antichrist. They will not be pleased with the canceling of the apocalypse.” A shudder went down his spine as he considered what Hell would do to Crowley as a result of his betrayal.

“Aziraphale, I fail to see how that is a concern to you.” God remarked. “What Hell chooses to do with one of their own shouldn’t concern you.”

“Except it does, in fact, concern me. Greatly.” He could hardly conceal his growing anger. “They will destroy him for what he has done for humanity. For what he has done for me.”

“And what has he done for you?” God asked.

“Crowley has been there every time I needed help. He’s saved me more times that I can even count.” His memories go back to the little village decimated by the Black Plague where he nearly discooporated due to illness, to The Bastille where he was nearly beheaded, to Nazi occupied London where he was nearly shot, to a dark alley in the late 1980’s where he was nearly beaten to death; every single one of those moments could have been his last, had it not been for the miraculous appearance of a certain demon. “He’s been there for me. He’s always been there for me.” The words kept coming, and he could scarcely stop himself from speaking. “It was Crowley who came to my rescue time and time again. Crowley who convinced me to try to stop the apocalypse. Crowley who was there for me when Heaven turned their backs on me.”

“Aziraphale, it sounds as if you have affection for him.” God questioned, and he could feel God’s judgement upon him. But he would not be diminished, not anymore.

“If it sounds that way, it’s because I do.” He snapped. “I have more affection for a demon than I do for my own kind. When was the last time an angel offered me any kindness? Heaven treats me like a joke; they belittle and mock me.”

“I am not altering my decision on this, Aziraphale. If you want to save the earth, then Crowley must be sent to Hell. With demon influence, this same scenario will continue to occur, time and time again.”

“You’re asking me to sacrifice Crowley, to damn him to utter destruction at the hands of Hell to save the world?” He clenched his fists and nearly drew blood from biting his lip so hard.

“I am. But for that sacrifice, you will have the earth and all its splendors. You will have it’s music, art, language, food and books. You will be free from Heaven’s scorn and free to enjoy yourself. Be thankful that I am giving you this opportunity, thankful that I have not cast you out for your indiscretions. I am giving you this reward for your many years of loyal service to making humanity inherently good. Choose carefully, Aziraphale.”

“Then my answer is no. I won’t sacrifice Crowley. I won’t abandon him! You might not care what happens to him, but I most certainly do.” He is filled with defiance now, filled with an anger that he had never experienced before, but now that he had unleashed it, there was no stopping him.

“Not even to save all of mankind? How can one demon be worth all of this?” God’s voice roared back.

“Look at him right now! Just look! Crowley is going to fight Gabriel and Beelzebub with nothing more than some busted car part, and you have the nerve to say he is the cause of humanity’s downfall? He is their savior and protector! He and I, we are the only ones fighting for the earth. We’re the only ones fighting for what is right!” He gestured to the frozen scene playing out before him: Gabriel about to unfurl his final wings, The Prince of Hell raising his cursed bow and Crowley, still in human form, brandishing a bent piece of metal with as much menace as he could muster.

“Surely you know you cannot win against them. But if you somehow make it out of this alive, Gabriel will see you punished for siding with a demon, and he will not show mercy.” God said with a knowing arrogance.

“I would rather face Heaven’s judgement and die a traitor’s death than betray Crowley!” He spat bitterly.

“Why would you choose to die for this demon?” God roared angrily.

“Because I love him!” He screamed as loudly as he could, and he immediately gasped at the boldness of his own words. He repeated them quietly to himself. “Because I love him.” He looked at Crowley, frozen in time, standing beside him in triumphant glory; poised to defend him and everything he holds dear. He studied the sharp angles of his face, the cascade of fiery red hair that seemed almost ablaze in the evening sunlight, the intensity in his eyes visible even under his dark sunglasses, the trail of freckles that formed over centuries of sunshine that traced along his cheek, spilling onto his neck and down his clavicle. He sighed, drew in a breath and steadied himself before continuing. “I know who I am and I know where I belong. I was afraid before, afraid of what Heaven would think, about what you would think, but I’m not afraid anymore. I love Crowley, and I have loved him for so long that I cannot remember a time when he did not hold my heart. Where he is is where I belong. For you see, I am not only the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, I am the Principality Aziraphale, and along with Demon Anthony J. Crowley, we are the Protectors of humanity, and we will stand together to defend the earth against anyone or anything that threatens our home. Because that is who we are, and earth is where we belong, and we belong together. Me and him. I would rather die fighting by his side, than live in a world without him. For we are together; we are on our own side. I don’t care what Gabriel thinks, he can lick my ass if he doesn’t like it!” He thought for a moment, or was it kiss?

“That is your decision then, Aziraphale?” God asked flatly.

“Yes. That is my decision.” He stood proudly, chest heaving as his hand still firmly gripped the sword. “Furthermore, if you’re going to damn me and cast me out, could you kindly wait until all of this is finished, because I’m in the middle of something important. I cannot simply die without telling Crowley that I love him.”

“Very well.” God’s voice softened. “And Aziraphale, it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“Oh?” He fumbled for words, unsure how to respond. Just as he attempted to process God’s final words, he felt a wave of intense love wash upon him; sending him reeling and filling his eyes with tears. “Thank you, my Lord.” He whispers quietly and as soon as it began, the bright light radiating from the clouds dimmed, and time began again.

He turns his attention away from the terrors before him, and shifted his gaze towards the slender figure beside him.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley began. “There is something I must tell you.”

“I know.” He says, as he lowers his sword while turning towards the demon. “There is something I must tell you too. And I’m afraid it cannot wait.” He swallows hard before continuing. “I’m sorry, my dear, I’m sorry for being a complete fool and for making you wait. I love you. More specifically, I am in love with you, and I have been for a very long time. I was afraid of what Hell would do to you and what Heaven would do to me. But none of that matters anymore. All that matters to me right now is you.”

Crowley smiles as he removes his sunglasses, revealing his golden eyes. “Took you long enough.” Crowley laughs while reaching out his hand toward him. “Angel, you are, and always have been, the love of my life.”

He reaches towards the demon-his demon and gently threads his fingers between Crowley’s, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Time to finish this?” He asks with a smile.

“I believe it is, my angel.” Crowley says as he raises his tire iron and points it towards the wrathful creatures in front of them. “Ready to die?”

“I am now.” He nods as he grips Crowley’s hand tighter. “By your side.”

......

#ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens #justenoughofabastardtobeworthknowing

167 notes · View notes

monstrousaffections1 · 4 years ago

Text

Fire Root part 3

Olivia walks down the streets, green hood pulled up. Shopping bags full. Enough to last her another week or so. This is what she spends her pay check on. Food, bills and occasionally. Something nice. The money had originally seemed like more. Perhaps because back then. She was living with Lilith. And she had been free to spend what she earned on what she wanted instead of what she needed. Sometimes she had no idea why she even left. She knew why. But�� sometimes she regretted it. Like now for example. Wiping some sleep out of her eyes she yawns. This was the third night she hadn’t been able to sleep. God she was so tired. Droplets of rain speckled the grey footpath. A sprinkle of a oncoming storm about to hit the city with vengeance. And she didn’t want to be caught in it when it comes. Closing her eyes she lets out a sigh. Feeling the wild wind hit her face and push her hood down. Most of the little shops and hotels remain closed today. No one aside for the shopping centre dared brave this wild autumn weather. But that’s only because the employees would get fired if they didn’t show up. The rain is getting heavier. The thunder roars, making her heart quicken. A lightening flash catches her eye up ahead. She starts to run, but the bags weigh her down. Another gush of wind blows her hair into her face, she yells and picks up the shopping bags, holding them to herself. Finally reaching the zebra crossing she stops; home is just across the park. Normally she’d go around the footpath. But…

The stop sign spins in the wind and thunder makes the ground shake. Her heart stops for a moment. And for a second she’s sure she died. But then the fear catches up. And she knows she’s alive. Bursting into a sprint she runs across the road and into the park. Racing for home. Her boots splash in the wet grass as she runs. The rain blinding her eyes and soaking her through and through, pelting and stinging her face as she tries to make sense of her direction. She couldn’t see clearly. Which way was home!? Thunder booms directly above her. She keeps running straight. Just go straight. Finally her eyes catch the streetlights glinting just over ahead. She runs for it. Seeing just in time the curb and leaping over it, right into the road. A car screeches to a stop and honks furiously. She doesn’t stop to apologise. But as she races to the line of houses, she takes a glance back, and briefly catches a glimpse of the old woman’s face behind steering wheel. Olivia’s eyes widen and, in that moment, of blind fear. She runs right into a fence. She shrieks as she ricochets off the fence and falls flat on her back on the footpath.

Staring at the clouds as the milk bursts upon impact with the ground. Cans rolling down the hill and the fruits and vegetables soiled by the dirty ground. Jars smashing upon impact. Slowly. She sits up, groaning in pain. Just there. Sitting in the rain. Watching the jar of coffee roll away along with the tinned peaches. The tin dog hitching a sled ride on a slab of stake and the bananas surfing the rain water all the way to the drain. “…Fuck.” The car door opens and the old woman steps out, opening the umbrella, “Olivia!?” She calls out, starting to rush over. Olivia scrambles to her feet and bolts. “Olivia! wait!” She had hoped Sister Agnes wouldn’t recognize her. But today wasn’t her day. The nun watches the girl disappear into the rain. Reaching her house, Olivia runs inside and slams her door shut, locking it. Dripping from head to toe she pulls the curtains closed and flicks on a light, walking to her shower, leaving wet footprints on the floor she kicks off her boots and peels off her socks, throwing her hoody onto a chair and strips herself of her clothes, hopping into the warmth of the shower. She shivers. The warm water contrasting to the freezing cold just outside. As she warms herself. She thinks. ‘Will they find me? I screwed up so bad. What if they get me again? I’m such an idiot what was I thinking?’ If she was caught she’d be sent back to St Albertus. And like Hell she’d go back. She was Never going back. Turning up the heat she hisses as the water begins to burn. But she remains under the spray, tilting her head back, letting it run over her head and face. Relaxing, she shivers again. She turns around and lets the water spray upon her neck, the hot water taking away the growing ache that is beginning to develop in her upper spine. She frowns. ‘If they come for me, I’ll have to kill them.’ Now thinking rationally, she begins to scrub a soapy sponge on her arm. ‘Or, I can get Lilith and Azazel to take care of it. They’ll be less likely to get caught. And will be more officiant.’ She smiles. Of course, this is only as a last resort. It’s highly unlikely she’d get taken back to the Nunnery at this age. But… she’s still a registered runaway. Oh well.. hears the hoping Sister Agnes keeps her trap shut.

The rain pelted noisily down upon the roof of the Cathedral, the wind howls and a slight draft sneaks through a crack in the old stone that makes up the foundation of the ageless building. The only light comes from the flickering candles that have been placed carefully, one after the other, in swirls, lines, if viewed from above, you would see a flower, circles, and roses, flame and waves. The demon looks down at the bottle of sacrificial wine in his hands. A soft smile on his lips. Looking up at the sky he sighs. “I hope the display gets your attention Grandpa… I made it specially for you.” He gestures to the candles that surround him. “So, I just wanted to ask you. What do I do now?” He runs a hand through his fur. Looking around at his work. “I know you probably don’t normally hear from people like me.. and you probably don’t want to hear from someone like me. But I need… I need something... right now... after all that’s happened... your pretty much the only one around who has any figment of a idea of what’s going to happen next.” Plucking a lose feather from his wing, he stares at the soft bit of down. With a flick he ignites it and watches as it sizzles and turns to soft ash in his hand. “Grandfather… I know I don’t belong among you and the others. But I don’t quite fit much with my brothers either... or anyone for that matter.” He shakes his head, blowing the ash away. He yawns. Rubbing his eyes. “I just need to know who I am… where I belong.” His ears prick as the door creaks loudly. With a powerful flap of his wings, he ascends. Landing on a beam of the rafters just as a sopping wet figure staggers inside and struggles to shut the door against the storm raging outside. Malakh tilts his head, curiousness grasping him as he backed into the shadows, using the darkness to conceal himself, wrapping his wings around himself, tail curling around the beam.

Mason shakes the water droplets off his umbrella, leaning the item of watery protection against the wall. Eyeing the candles with uncanny suspicion he carefully steps through and over them. ‘Did the volunteers do this?’ Sitting down in the pew he shuffles along. Opening his bag he looks for his bible ‘Seems like a fire hazed really..’ bowing his head he presses his forehead to the leather bound book. Concentrating all his will power into the spiritual object. “Lord. Please protect Olivia when she goes on her shifts. I know she won’t listen to me. She’s stiff necked like that.” Malakh tilts his head, raising a brow with curiousness. “I know she is a sinner, O lord. But she knows not what she does. Please help her to turn from her dark path. And guide her to your light. Lilith’s hold is strong on her. But I believe she is not beyond redemption.” Mason opens his eyes and raises his head, sitting up straight he gazes upon the stained-glass painting of Jesus upon the cross. He smiles. Knowing his prayers will be answered one way or another. ‘Oh well, if it’s subtle I’ll just ask Gabriel for advice.’ He planned on catching up with the Archangel later anyhow. A nice chat over coffee always got the gears turning in his head. Enabling him to focus on his studies. Something soft brushes his hand. Mason blinks as he looks down. An orange feather. Picking it up he studies it. ‘A bit big for a bird feather…’ frowning with puzzlement he stood up, looking above at the beams. “Hello!?” he called. Stepping out of the pews he searches around the ceiling. “Is someone hear?” Malakh smiles. The jig is up. Mason gulps, picking up his bag he’s about to leave when movement in the dark catches his eye. The ginger teen stares as two ginormous wings slowly open, casting a shadow down upon him. ‘An angel.’ he thinks. And his breath leaves him. His can feel his heart trembling in his chest. Angels always carried a intimidating feel. But this was different. It didn’t feel… Holy. The boy took a unconscious step backwards as the dark figure moved along the beam, into the candle light.

Malakh leaped from the beam as the boy chose to run. Gliding down he slammed into the younger’s back. He hadn’t even made it to the door. Mason opens his mouth to scream but the air has been knocked out of him. Pain burns in his mouth as his teeth crash together when his chin collides with the red carpet. The weight of the demon upon him sets in. Pinning him to the floor. ‘Lord Help! God! Please have mercy!’ forcing his voice through his heaving and gasping form he wheezes out weakly “Uriel!” Malakh tilts his head, raising a brow with amusement. “Ah jeez kid, calm down, your too young to have a heart attack.” He laughs, tail lashing back and forth wildly. Mason tries to squirm but weight is put on his head, pinning him down. “aah!” he yells out in fear, eyes looking at the demon who smiles. Humour written all over his face. “Awwww your so cute haha.” Malakh laughs and lifts his weight off of the mortal, sitting back. Mason squirms out from under him, turning around and staring at the demon who crawls towards him with a playful gleam in his turquoise coloured eyes. The young man scoots backwards till he feels his back hit the door. The demon looming over him. Malakh tilts his head, raising a brow. “What’s wrong?”

He gulps, feeling breathing become slightly quickened. Beads of sweat dripping off his forehead. “W-who are you…” the demon fluff his wings delightedly. “I’m glad you asked- I’m hear to ask the Lord for guidance.” He puffs his chest, looking proud of himself. Mason blinks. “but.. y-you’re a demon..” “yes, and?” the mortal takes the time to scrabble up the wood of the door to his feet, the demon also rising to his own feet, standing half a foot taller than himself. Mason can’t help but stare up in awe. He’s never seen a demon like this before. None of those he’d encountered had been so… gentle. But then again. He’s never met many demons before. Only two in his entire life. And they had got him drunk and pretended to steal his soul as a practical joke. Malakh smiles, and leans over the boy a little, leaning one arm by the smaller’s head. Raising his hand, he lets a claw extend. Sharpening to a point. Mason’s eyes widen. The hair on the back of his neck standing up and his heart beating a million miles per-hour. He winces and clenches his eyes tight when demon moves. Only to push the human’s glasses back up his nose to where they are suppose to rest. “Have you ever thought of tying these on? They look like they fall off a lot.” Opening his eyes Mason almost wants to confirm that his eyes won’t be pulled out but.. he doesn’t want to give the other ideas. But when he feels the demon’s tail wrap around his ankle, he knows he’s going to be hear a while.

#mafia #Demons #gangsters

2 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 5 years ago

Text

Of Blades and Broomsticks Pt. XVII

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

Read it on AO3 here.

----

A crowd had gathered in a tavern, but there was little overlap of voices from the interior. No laughter, no clanging of glasses and steins and cups. No music, but it was packed to the walls, and even a few who opted to smoke their pipes out in the night air hung close to the windows and doors to listen to the speaker rail. On any other night she would probably be ignored and shooed away to let the tavern customers enjoy their food and drink after a long hard day’s work, but this was not that night.

“The fire surged up from the platform in a blinding column that pierced the very skies!” the old woman wailed, “I saw a man’s eyeballs boil and burst in their sockets with the sheer heat coming off of it!”

One woman sitting at the bar gagged and set down her cup at the mere thought of it, and the other tavern patrons kept listening, transfixed.

“I was lucky enough to escape with only these,” The woman pulled her sleeve up from her arm, revealing splashes of weeping blisters and pink and puckered flesh, burn scars all over her skin. Her shoulders bunched up, “But just when the worst of the fires died down, horrible shapes of darkness shot up from the earth, as well! Inky black limbs! Like great serpents! Tore men clear in twain! I lost my dear husband,” she continued, letting the sleeve slip back over her arm, “Our home, which we lived in for nigh on 40 years together... was burned to ash. I have nothing now. Only a warning on my lips, for all of you: There is evil in this world. There is evil and it will come for you and everything you love. Witches. Monsters. The dead, wrenched back up from the earth to walk as great abominations--They’re coming. Will you let your town be like Adlersbrunn? Will you watch it burn?”

“The comtesse will protect us,” one voice piped up and the old woman furrowed her brow, peering through the crowd to see a blonde boy in a blue hooded cloak, not even old enough to grow a beard.

“Your comtesse?” said the old woman, pushing through the crowd to his table. She put her hands on the table before him, her yellowed fingernails scraping across the wood, “Your comtesse will protect you?”

“She’s done it before,” the boy managed, not making eye contact, “The elders say--”

“Your comtesse is just as much a monster as the rest of them,” said the old woman, “The only reason she protects you because she sees you as livestock,” the old woman looked around the tavern, “A peaceful land, a quiet people... I suppose it’s easy to ignore what she is when she gives you that. You send your rapists and your murderers to her chateau, never worry about them again, and it seems a perfectly good arrangement. What would happen if her hunger deepens, I wonder? Maybe she’ll ask for the thieves. For the poachers. Maybe she’ll ask for those who speak up against her. How easy will it be for your neighbors to ignore it when it’s your neck beneath her throat?”

The boy in the blue hood swallowed hard and took a gulp of his cider, giving a glance to the group he had come in with. That hesitation on his end now transformed to that same enthrallment as everyone else in the tavern. Almost everyone else.

Gabriel watched as the old woman went on about horrible black tentacles and walls of flame and scanned the room. The glamour Moira had set on him itched--well, itched wasn’t the right word. He could see and hear everything clearly, but still had the sensation of having his head submerged in something thicker than air. He had to keep his distance from the crowd. Gabriel looked like a normal man, but if a careless hand brushed against his head they would feel not the cloth of his hood but the smooth outer rind of pumpkin. He wondered if people could smell the pumpkin on him. Gabriel’s eyes flicked away from the old woman to a figure dressed in black and scarlet in the corner of the tavern, his eyes obscured by the wide brim of his cavalier hat. He had chosen a similar position as Gabriel, albeit in a mirrored position--back to the wall, close to the exit, easy to keep an eye on the entire room. There were points when Gabriel could feel the man’s eyes on him, though he didn’t get a chance to see the man’s eyes himself.

“I’m not asking for money, good people,” said the old woman, “I’m not even asking for a place to stay the night. I’m only asking... that you do not let the tragedy at Adlersbrunn repeat itself. Protect yourselves. Don’t even give them the chance to make the first move, if your situation permits it.”

A murmur rolled through the tavern. Some, like the boy in the blue hood, were speaking quiet hesitating words to their fellow patrons--things had been good, hadn’t they? Things had been good for a while now. But the word ‘Livestock’ had struck a nerve with nearly everyone in the tavern. Adlersbrunn was far enough away so that the horror story was just that--but seeds of doubt had been planted, that much was clear.

The man in black and scarlet got up and Gabriel followed him with his eyes as he passed through the door.

Gabriel got up himself and stepped close to the door.

“Blessings on you all--god knows you’ll need them,” said the old woman as Gabriel passed through the door and she followed him out. They put some distance between themselves and the tavern in silence, the old woman hobbling grumpily at his side before they reached a copse that provided them significant coverage.

“If you weren’t a queen, I’d say you should join an acting troupe,” said Gabriel.

“My people invented theater. Play-acting sprung up almost as early as language,” the old woman said, with the shakiness of age completely removed from her voice as she straightened herself up from her previously hunched position. She frowned and muttered, “Stinks of metal around here. The sooner we get back, the better.”

“I don’t like this,” said Gabriel, as Moira cast off her glamour, the wrinkles on her face disappearing to reveal her true sharp and narrow features.

“I didn’t say you would like this,” said Moira, snapping her fingers and taking the glamour off of his own head, his pumpkin head casting an eerie orange light on their copse.

“You want to start a war,” said Gabriel.

“I want to find your witch. You say your first job as a witch hunter is to find out the truth of things, isn’t it?” said Moira, shaking her frazzled gray hair into a sleek red cropped cut, “Should these people not know the truth?”

“I’d say there’s a decent amount of distance between ‘knowing the truth’ and ‘being incited to panic,’” said Gabriel.

“You said yourself the comtesse was damned.”

“And you said she walks a line between two worlds.”

“Very soon none of us are going to have the luxury of walking that line. She can’t just play house with her little human pet. I have to make her see that--” Moira suddenly cut herself off, “We’re not alone.”

“The man in scarlet--” Gabriel started.

“I saw him too,” said Moira, looking around the copse. With a flick of her wrist she ignited a small sphere of yellow light over her hand, lighting up the copse. Gabriel walked around the copse as well, looking for a cavalier hat poking out from behind the trees. He found could see better in the dark with the new form the witch and Moira had cursed him with. There was a rustle of leaves overhead and Gabriel looked up to see the man in black and scarlet perched on a tree limb just above him. Now looking up at him, Gabriel could make out more of his features: dark skinned and handsome in his fine clothes, but shrewd and cold in his expression. Gabriel could hardly blame him. They had just been slandering his employer for most of the night, anyway. Gabriel could finally see his eyes now, as well--yellow. Glowing. Not human. No trace of fear even at Gabriel’s own true and horrible pumpkin-headed appearance. As soon as they looked at each other, the man hiding in the tree suddenly dissolved into red mist and there was the sound of fluttering wings and a screech as a massive bat--its wingspan as large as Gabriel’s own arm span---took off out of the copse.

“Eyes on wings,” said Moira, watching as the bat flew off as fast as it could.

“I take it we probably shouldn’t let him get back to the comtesse,” said Gabriel.

“No,” said Moira, the glowing yellow sphere in her hand turning purple, “No, we shouldn’t.”

She said something then. Something in a tongue-before-tongues that made Gabriel’s pumpkin head buzz, and the purple sphere hovering over her hand stretched and distorted and suddenly exploded into hundreds of crows, screeching and sweeping upward after the bat.

“Tear him apart,” Moira said softly, as the crows chased after the bat, their dark wings blotting out the stars.

-----

Jesse’s campfire crackled in the tense silence as he gauged the situation. The spymaster kept her two crossbows on both of them, her eyes flicking away from Jesse only briefly to make sure Pharah wasn’t moving toward her musket. The horses they had since blanketed and tethered watched the proceedings with dark glassy eyes, occasionally nickering nervously.

“Always a pleasure, Sombra,” said Jesse, still keeping his hands up.

“Afraid I’m here on business,” said Sombra, “Now. The Flame of creation. What do you know about it?”

“The flame of who, now?” said Jesse.

“Don’t play dumb,” said Sombra, poking the crossbow bolt more firmly against his chest, “The thing that burned down Adlersbrunn. The magic.”

“He wouldn’t know anything about it,” Pharah piped up.

“I’ve got this,” said Jesse.

“No, you clearly don’t,” said Pharah, slowly rising to her feet.

“Did I say you could get up?” said Sombra, she looked back at Jesse, “Who is this?”

“A friend,” said Jesse.

“And we all know things turn out so well for anyone who comes close to you,” said Sombra, flatly.

“I came on my own—” said Pharah, “I mean, yes, he invited me, but I’m here because of what you’re talking about. I was there when it happened. I was captain of the guard. He just showed up a day later.”

Sombra arched an eyebrow. “Captain of the guard? Seriously?” she glanced back at Jesse, “How much smoke did you blow up her ass to get her to come along with you?”

“She saw some shit,” said Jesse, “She wants to protect her town. I told her she might have a shot at tracking down the monsters that wrecked her town with me. Which is true.”

“Trouble is drawn to you,” Sombra conceded. She lowered her crossbow from where it was pointed at Pharah, but didn’t lower it from Jesse.

“I’ll tell you everything about what I saw there—” said Pharah.

“You don’t have to do that—” started Jesse.

“If you stop pointing those weapons at us,” said Pharah.

Sombra looked thoughtful for a few moments before lowering her other crossbow from Jesse.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Sombra said, strapping one of the crossbows over her shoulder.

“Are you a hunter, like him?” said Pharah.

Sombra snickered. “I was,” she said.

Pharah gave a glance over to Jesse.

“We can trust her,” said Jesse, stiffly, “Trust her to be an asshole, at least.”

“We could discuss this in a far nicer place,” said Sombra, “You’re in the Comtesse’s lands--”

“Of course we are--” muttered Jesse.

“And there’s a lovely inn a ways north of here,” said Sombra, thoughtfully, “The owner owes me some favors---”

“Who doesn’t owe you favors?” Jesse snapped.

“You never were good at pricing your own skills, were you?” said Sombra with a sympathetic head-tilt before turning to Pharah. “Wouldn’t you like a feather bed? Something befitting of the office of guard captain and vagabond babysitter?”

Pharah gave another glance to Jesse in case he was sending her any “Please don’t agree to what she says or we will both die” signals but upon looking at him he just looked sullen.

Pharah looked back at the spymaster, “All I want is a way to stop that flame magic that destroyed my town,” she said, firmly, “Can your comtesse help with that?”

“Well that’s more complicated,” said Sombra, “But my comtesse has many years of experience in facilitating the... intricacies of two different worlds. If at least one of us hears the whole story, I’m sure we can help you in some way.”

“Show me your neck,” said Jesse.

“What?” said Pharah.

“Oh come on,” said Sombra.

“Neck,” said Jesse, his brow furrowed, “Or we’re not going anywhere.”

Sombra rolled her eyes and tossed back her hood, revealing a head of chin-length dark hair swept back from her face. She made an exaggerated gesture at her neck which was free of any marks, before bringing her hood back up.

“What was all that about?” said Pharah, glancing at Jesse.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jesse.

“I’m going to worry about it,” said Pharah.

“Probably the smart thing to do,” said Jesse.

The horses suddenly snorted and restlessly thudded their hooves against the ground.

“What’s gotten into them?” said Pharah, moving to stand up.

“Hey! Nice and slow,” said Sombra.

Pharah kept her hands up and her eyes on Sombra as she stepped over to the horses to try and comfort them, but her own bay rouncey let out a frightened squeal.

“Jesse! Help me with them!” said Pharah, trying to avoid having her foot stepped on while trying to take the reins.

“Do you hear that?” said Jesse, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah,” said Sombra, looking up as well.

Pharah was still distracted by the horses and wasn’t really sure what to listen for, but eventually the sound was inescapable. A dull roar of the calls and quorks of crows. Pharah glanced up to see a dark shape sweep across the gaps in the forest canopy, the only markers of its visibility were its wide wingspan blotting out the stars and the yellow eyes at its front, glowing like stars themselves.

“Friend of yours?” said Jesse, looking to Sombra.

“Shit...” Sombra said under her breath. They all covered their ears as the mass of crows swept overhead with a deafening swarm of caws. She noted their direction and frowned.

“Better go rescue your buddy,” said Jesse.

“Her buddy?” said Pharah.

“’I can see through the eyes of crow and hare and hound,’” Sombra repeated the words of the queen to herself.

“What did you just say?” said Jesse but Sombra ignored him and suddenly shoved past Pharah to the panicked horses.

“They’re coming from the north,” Sombra put a hand to the bay rouncey’s neck and whispered in its ear, “Calm.”

The rouncey stopped beating the earth with his hooves and looked at her. “Good boy,” she said.

“How did you just--” Pharah started but Sombra was already casting off its blanket and hopping up astride it. “That’s my horse!” Pharah protested but found herself looking down the stock of Sombra’s crossbow again.

“It’s nothing personal,” said Sombra, turning the horse around.

“They’re flying. You won’t catch up to them on horseback,” said Jesse.

“I’m not going to where they are, I’m going to where they came from,” said Sombra. She undid the tether and heeled its sides with a ‘Hyah!’

“Are you kidding me?!” Pharah called after them as Sombra took off into the dark.

“Come on,” said Jesse, undoing the other tether and climbing up onto his own courser, “Won’t go as fast but there’s room for two.”

Pharah huffed, picked up her musket from next to her bedroll and shouldered it before climbing up onto the horse behind Jesse.

“Do you have any idea where she’s going?”

“Nowhere good if a vampire was flying away from it,” said Jesse, urging the courser forward to keep Sombra in sight.

Pharah was quiet for a few seconds, her arms awkwardly around Jesse’s waist as they rode and she weighed his words.

“A what?” she said.

-----

The sun had set, but the wagon rumbled on and the monster snored, using the cloak one of the cultists had given him as a blanket. The road they rolled down had finally started to crawl inland from the coastal cliffs, and they passed through rolling green hills in their journey west. Mercy was frowning over the runes in the Vitae book and taking notes on them and their possible translations on little leafs of paper she had ferreted out from the library. Her charcoal pencil occasionally scratched out of place when they hit a bump in the road but she would smudge out the mistake with her thumb and do her best to scrawl it out correctly. Junkenstein kept driving their cart, his knee bouncing with his own manic stream of thoughts, and Genji’s own moans of boredom had quieted some time ago.

Mercy kept her voice low as she mouthed out the incantation on the page, holding the book in one hand and keeping her other hand at the level of her head, spreading her fingers.

Little flames no bigger than candlelights bloomed on her fingertips. She turned her wrist slowly, steadily, watching as the light of the flames streaked like gold ribbons, overlapping with each other into a wobbly gold ring of light and flames. She then traced out a rune within that ring of yellow-gold flame with her fingertip, and she flinched her hand back as the ring flipped and swiveled and spun into a fist-sized sphere of light, hovering, apparently of its own accord, over her hand.

“Oh hello, there,” she murmured, leaning in a little. She could hear whispers from the flame, just like the book had been whispering to her, then it fizzled out and disappeared.

“Hm,” Mercy furrowed her brow and looked back at the book. She felt Genji’s eyes upon her, and she glanced up to see him not moaning about his boredom on the floor of the wagon, but instead lying on his stomach, chin resting in one hand, watching her with fascination. He seemed to catch himself as soon as she made eye contact and cleared his throat and pushed himself up to a cross-legged sitting position.

“I was—I was just—um—You’re very good at that,” said Genji.

“Not really,” said Mercy, “If I could get the little flame to stay for more than a few seconds, then maybe I’d be good at it.”

“What sort of spell was that?” Genji tilted his head.

“Well from what I can translate—and I really hope I’m translating it correctly—it’s supposed to manifest healing power from my body—“

“From the flame of creation,” said Genji.

“Gramercy, we’ve barely had the wagon a day—can we not burn it down?” said Junkenstein.

“It’s a flame of creation, Jamison, I don’t think it’s going to burn down anything if I don’t want it to,” said Mercy, before turning her attention back to Genji and her book, “At least I hope not. Anyway, I just don’t think it’s very practical to keep slashing my palms open when I need to heal someone.”

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” asked Genji, “Not the palm-slashing, of course that hurts—I mean the flame itself.”

“No,” said Mercy, “I can feel it…. moving within me sort of? I think everything that happened at Adlersbrunn woke it up. But it’s not distinct, it’s not like… gas. It’s more like it’s stitched into me… like my heartbeat, or when my arm’s asleep…” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, “Well, you’re 600 years old—you’ve never heard of it?”

“My master largely helped me explore the extents of my own abilities—shape-changing and calling the storm forth from my body. He helped my mind cope with the sudden… awareness of everything. If he ever taught me anything about what you have… I may not have been paying attention,” said Genji, scratching at his temple.

Mercy huffed.

“But that was well before I met you! Or was really aware that you had an ancient fire magic from the dawn of time,” said Genji.

“Well I didn’t even know what it all entailed, really,” said Mercy, “All I knew was spinning up paltry little fireballs and--and...” she caught herself and her stomach tensed.

“Witch?” Genji tilted his head, “What is it?”

“Genji, there’s something I have to tell you,” said Mercy. She glanced up to see Jamison looking at the two of them over his shoulder, made eye contact with him, and Junkenstein quickly turned around and started humming loudly to himself in the universal language of ‘Don’t mind me I’m not listening (except I probably am).’

Mercy just inhaled and closed her eyes.

Genji? she spoke in his mind.

He was at the outer doors of her consciousness in an instant. Feels like forever since we’ve spoken like this. I’ve missed it. His voice in her head was warm, flickering around, oddly vulnerable-feeling.

I suppose it was just force of habit after Adlersbrunn, thought Mercy, Not that we had much of a chance to get into the habit of it to begin with.

It’s all gone by very quickly, hasn’t it? We’ve only known each other a short time, but we’ve helped make a big monster, dragged a goddess back into this plane... made you leave your house... Oh gods, I’ve ruined your life.

You didn’t ruin my life, Genji. They threw rotten vegetables at me back in that village. They treated Jamison like a madman and a toymaker. They probably would have killed me eventually, if the crops failed or anything else inconvenienced them and they needed an excuse. And Jamison probably would have gone mad if he was stuck making the same things over and over for the rest of his life. I feel like... I actually have a chance to make my place in this world instead of shuffling along, keeping my head down and surviving. I’m glad you’re in my life. I’m glad I made that contract with you. Which is why--This is why I need to tell you---

The wagon suddenly shuddered to a stop and Mercy had to flail to keep from rocking onto her side with the sudden stop.

“Jamison?” Mercy broke out of her and Genji’s dark shared space and opened her eyes, “What’s going on?”

“There’s a giant flock of crows chasing a big, winged... thing,” said Junkenstein.

#witch mercy au #gency

23 notes · View notes

phantomwarrior12 · 5 years ago

Text

Save It For The Living

Prompt: Save It For the Living by Smash Into Pieces

Words: 1,542

Warnings: Swearing, reader death, a shit ton of angst

Summary: The ones we love the most are the hardest to let go.

A/N: Hey folks!

Two fics inside of two weeks, that’s gotta be some kind of a record for me. xD Anyway, here, have some straight angst.

Please leave a like/comment to let me know your thoughts!

Enjoy!

~ Phantom

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

Wish I could see you happy

Get on with your life without me

Think of me as something beautiful

Not the bitter end

I'm the reason why you're feeling life is broken

So hear me

I don’t want your love

Save it for the living

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

"Damn it, Y/N, hold on!" Gabriel scrambles for the archangel blade, fear gripping hold and he can see the blood seeping from your wound.

"Aw, you still have a soft spot for that particular mistake?"

"Shut up, Lucifer!" He blasts his older brother back a few feet and it grants him enough space to retrieve the blade.

"Whatcha gonna do, baby bro? Fight me or save the girlfriend? Man, that gaping hole in her side really doesn't look good." The Devil taunts, peering at you with something akin to amusement.

"Go to hell." You choke out, applying pressure to your stab wound.

"I run hell, sweetheart. I've been there more than enough times."

Gabriel steals a glance over his shoulder at you, concern etched into every inch of his features.

"I'm okay. Kill the bastard." You assure him with more confidence than you have.

"Hang in there, Y/N." He gives you a short nod, focusing his attention on his older brother.

"Oh, come on, Gabriel. This is pointless. You know I'm going to win, baby bro. Might as well throw in the towel and try and save your whore."

"My whore can take care of herself. You, on the other hand, are going to wish you had someone watching out for your soon to be very dead ass." Gabriel twirls his blade, circling with Lucifer.

"Call me a whore again and I'm going to gank you both." You bite back, managing to prop yourself up on one elbow.

"Sorry, sugar." Gabriel apologizes, a playful lilt in his voice, his gaze never leaving his big brother.

"You should be," your eyes skim the surrounding room, no doubt hoping for cover if too much grace is thrown around.

"You know, with Sam and Dean both upstairs, you won't have the Winchesters swooping in to save the day. Little Cassie is trapped in the Empty, and Jack, well, without his grace, he ended up just like those sorry excuses for surrogate fathers, in the ground. When I kill you, you'll stay that way."

"You overestimate your abilities, Lucifer. You may have taught me everything I know, but you've never been the better trickster."

Lucifer's eyes widen for a moment, spinning just in time for the real Gabriel to bury the blade in his chest.

"That is for trying to kill me, you dick." He twists the hilt of the archangel blade and the light behind Lucifer's eyes flares in a show of brilliant white and blue and fades. Gabriel lets him drop to the floor, the shadows of his wings painting the floor beneath him as Gabriel steps over and rushes to your side.

"Y/N--"

"I'm still breathing, feathers, calm down." You assure him, wincing as you try to sit up.

"Don't try to move," he kneels beside you, concern bleeding through whiskey as he assesses the extensive damage, "Hold still," he reaches for you, surprised when you stop him.

"Don't."

"Sugar, you're dying. I need to heal you," he argues, confusion replacing concern.

"I'm done."

"What?" He stares down at you in disbelief, "What do you mean done?"

"I don't want you to heal me, Gabriel."

"You're not making any sense--"

Your features soften, "It's time to let me go, feathers."

"No, you're disoriented, let me help--"

"Gabriel," you interrupt sharply, taking his hand in yours, trembling fingers entwining with his, "Please, just hold me."

The archangel starts to protest, cutting himself short only after his eyes find yours. He isn't sure he knows how to breathe beneath the weight of your request, the silent plea in your eyes that he prays you don't mean suffocating any glimmer of hope. It feels as though an eternity has passed before he relents, shoulders sagging in defeat before he gathers you into his arms, agony lacing his voice as he speaks, "All right, sugar. You win."

Golden hues flare when his hands smooth over your skin, a firm, yet delicate hold as he cradles his favorite soul. Once, it was calming--borderline reassuring--to watch the burning embers ignite beneath his touch, almost as if the flames are fed by his proximity. He was never sure you were aware of it, if the racing of your heart and the crimson in your cheeks told you exactly how you felt, just as it told him. The archangel almost wishes he could've shown you how brightly your soul glowed when he touched you, when his grace merely whispered across your skin from the other side of a room, when his wings wound affectionately around your frame when you dozed off on the couch with a lore book draped haphazardly against your torso.

He wishes you could've seen the world as he does, seen the electric sparks in all living things, the glimmering lights beneath flesh as ordinary people do ordinary things. It's a beauty to behold, but, most of all, he wishes you could've seen his true form in all its glory. He wishes he could'vs shown you the golden feathers that line his wings, the celestial behind the vessel, the being that has fallen, irreversibly, in love with you.

Yet, now, with your soul flickering, wavering, fighting to stay alive, or to let go, he aches for a time before the joy left your eyes. A time when you were surrounded by friends--Sam, Dean, Castiel, Jack, Bobby--your family. When they finally passed, when the archangel was all you had left, he was forced to watch, in agony, as you slowly lost interest in the life the two of you had fought so hard for.

You missed them, more than anything in the world, you missed the people who had made life worth the fight. Lucifer may have dealt the final blow, but you had died, with them, years ago. He can see that now. His ability to keep you young, to keep you at his side--it was a curse more so than a blessing.

"Sugar--Y/N," his voice cracks, his hand pressing against the gaping wound in your side as he fights back tears.

"It's okay. I'm ready, Gabe," you offer a weak smile, the pad of your thumb brushing over his cheek and he inclines his head into your touch.

"I'm not. I know it's selfish--please, let me heal you."

There's a tenderness in your gaze, the shattered shards of your heart aching for him, "No. I've surpassed my lifetime, I've--" a cough tears through your frame and Gabriel tightens his hold around you, grace seeping beneath skin to ease the discomfort.

"Please, don't ask me to let you go." He leans his forehead against yours after you regain your breath.

"That's exactly what I have to ask of you, Gabriel. It's been a good life, one that most can only dream of. Not many can say they spent the better part of fifty years with an archangel that was willing to smite hoards of demons to rescue his wife from hell."

A small smile spreads tugs at the corner of his lips and he swears he can feel the relief rolling off you like waves, "I told you, the title was only technical. Angels don't have wives, we have soulmates."

A coarse laugh, more of a hollow wheeze, fills the quiet room, "You really wanna argue 'bout that now?"

"Hey, it's my last chance to prove you wrong." The smile flourishes across his features and he can read the telltale signs of amusement in your eyes.

"Always have to have the last word, don't you, feathers?"

His heart soars at the nickname, pounding in his chest as he swallows the lump building in his throat, voice faltering as he speaks, "You know me, there's a reason they call me Mr. Right."

His gaze darts down towards your chest, the spark of your soul fading, the thrum of your heart failing and he sets his jaw. He can feel your eyes on him, staring up at him with concern and he summons all the strength he has left to force the agony from his gaze.

"You'll be okay without me," you promise, "I'm just upstairs. You can visit, Gabe."

"I know, I'll just miss you, sugar." He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, tears slipping silently down his cheeks.

"I'll miss you, too." Your eyes lock with his, "Always remember, Gabriel, I love you."

"I love you, too, Y/N."

There's a shadow of a smile in your lips before your chest falls for the last time, y/e/c falling shut as your head sags against his shoulder.

It takes a moment and Gabriel crumbles, his frame curling around yours, wings encircling his trembling form as the tears fall freely. He isn't sure how long he holds you, but, at last, he picks you up, carrying you from the abandoned church.

He gives you a hunter's funeral. He knows what it means and he knows he'll never be able to bring you back, but it's what you wanted. So, he stands just beyond the pyre, flames dancing before whiskey orbs as the hole in his chest crumbles into a chasm.

He's on his own, once again and he hates it, but, he'll carry on. For you.

"Goodbye, sugar."

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

Taglists are open! Send me an ask/message to be added!

Gabriel Squad: @thewhiterabbit42 @erisunderthemoon @stuckoutsideofthebox @nuvoleincielo @lyselkatz @high-church-of-the-holy-dick @fand0maniac @lovelyhexbag @shaylybaby2032 @soul-fandom Forevers: @heaven-hell-imagines @a-mess-of-many-fandoms @currentlyfangirling99 @bofa-deans-nuts @emiwrites3reads

#gabriel spn #gabriel x reader #gabriel #spn #supernatural #phantom writes

67 notes · View notes

manjehaal · 5 years ago

Text

Ignite the Stars: Chapter 6

Read on A03

Adrien didn’t like being back to his usual self. Him, the farmer boy, with his cuts and his bruises that were hidden when he donned the mask. Now he looked like that frail boy who couldn’t hold his own against the monsters without the help of Laure. Like the insignificant child that was thrown around in school by the older students, relying on the aid of Nino to get him through. Like that little kid, scared to reveal his unique abilities and strangeness to his own family, in fear that they would shun him for not being the commoners that they wanted him to mimic.

When he merged with Plagg, he had a chance to embrace those things that made him strange and powerful, feeling for the first time in his life that they weren’t bad. That they weren’t abnormal, but that they were just special.

Plagg was nestled on his shoulder, vibrating on his collar bone. Not transforming his meek body, but keeping close. Attached to Adrien just as Adrien was attached to him. Finding safety in the warmth of a pitiful human.

“Plagg doesn’t usually accept just any holder, not without putting up a fight at least,” she told him, motioning to the kwami sitting on Adrien’s robed shoulder. “I’ve tried to interact with him over the years but he’s not as trusting as the other kwami.”

“Is there a reason?” Adrien asked, scooping Plagg into his hand and setting the sleeping creature on his lap.

She sighed, and there was a sad quirk of her lips. “Perhaps he still isn’t over the loss of his previous holder.”

“My father?” Adrien asked, not needing to ask.

It must have been a horrible loss. For Laure, sure. From the things she had said, it seemed her and Adrien’s father, Gabriel, had once been close. Closer than siblings even. An unstoppable and formidable pair.

But to have a companion such as this, a kwami, must have been much deeper of a companionship. Adrien could already see it, at the weight of the small body on his leg, how that bond could be. How to constantly have another being beside you, and then transform and become a part of you regularly, could be difficult to let go of.

If Adrien was lucky, he hoped perhaps he could remind Plagg of his time with his previous holder and earn his trust.

“Your father,” she confirmed, looking at the ring on Adrien’s finger.

Sensing the tension of the room, Adrien changed the topic. “Do you have a Miraculous?”

She shook her head. “As I’ve said, being gifted a Miraculous is very rare, especially during the time of the Jedi Order. A Jedi had to exhibit a great deal of strength and discipline to even be considered. And then, the masters of the Jedi council would correspond and vote on the proposition. After that, it would be up to the kwami to decide if they would accept their proposed guardian.”

Adrien reached to touch Plagg’s velvet back, running his thumb over the creature affectionately, wondering if Plagg wanted him as his holder or if he got privileges for being his past holder's son.

“Everything has changed, Adrien. The old ways have long passed. Plagg will not allow me to use his power, but he trusts me. He trusts me because your father trusted me. And so, he trusts that I have chosen well when I decided on you. Eventually, Plagg will decide if he accepts you or not. Until then, he will go with you. Stay loyal to him and he will stay loyal to you.”

Adrien responded with a firm nod, knowing loyalty came easy for him. And it was safe to say that he was already attached to the kwami. He wanted more than anything to be liked and accepted by him, basking in the thought of the freedom and life that the kwami could give him, but also being drawn to the little creature, wanting to be his friend and hold onto him.

He cared for Plagg. Just as he cared for Artoo and Threepio. Just as he cared for Laure. Just as he cared for the girl in the hologram. Call it a character flaw perhaps, that Adrien could trust and care so easily, but Adrien couldn’t help it.

“He has never let his guard down like that for me. You should be honored.”

* . * . , *

. . . *

* . .' * , . . , *

. * .'

' . . * * .'.

. ' ' . . ' .

. * , * ' *

* . *

Caline Bustier had stood in her home, blinking at the flash of green light that had pierced the room. It was unfamiliar to her, to see a kwami appear before her eyes, unlike Gabriel, who must have woken up to this sight each morning.

Plagg dropped forward, resting his tiny head in the palm of her hand, not sparing her a second’s glance.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she told him, reaching for a slice of camembert to offer the kwami, as a peace offering, perhaps. “I know how much you hate the suns.”

The suns were risen now, at the strength of the day, warming up the hut through the fraying curtain by the entrance. It was a shock he remained still, since last time she had exposed Plagg to the blistering suns of Tatooine, he had lodged himself behind her bookshelf, not reappearing until well into the late night. Even then, he wouldn’t unpeel his eyes all the way and hardly had looked at her.

This time he responded with a slight huff, but no more. He waited, arms crossed, ready for whatever Caline would demand of him. He looked like a puppet, just hovering there like he was tied to a string, with glazed over eyes, and a sagging body. He seemed almost depressed. She had never even considered that a kwami could be depressed.

“Who’s the kid?”

“His name is Adrien,” she told him, offering another small piece of cheese. “Adrien Agreste.”

Plagg’s eyes sparked at the name Agreste, but then his entire expression soured. He had been clear since Gabriel’s fall that he would never offer himself to another guardian again, despite what the remaining members of the council suggested. Plagg resented Caline for leaving his kitten on Mustafar like that to die, protesting that the transformation would have saved him.

Perhaps it was cruel to not tell him that Gabriel has survived the accident, but it was possibly crueler to tell him the truth. Plagg put up a bold face, but she knew the truth would break his heart. She knew that he might even seek him out and try to talk some sense into his stray kitten. Herself, and the entire council, had agreed that they couldn’t have that.

Over the years, Plagg has warmed up to her presence slightly, but that didn’t always keep the heat from Plagg’s cataclysmic eyes, accusing her the most heartless of crimes.

My kitten was dying and you tore me away!

In time, Plagg grew slightly less calloused over the issue, but Caline knew she had to tread lightly. The idea of replacing a kitten never sat well with Plagg whenever he had to do it. This time it felt even more wrong.

The only reason he considered Caline’s offer was due to the boy’s last name.

The name Agreste was a double-edged sword for Plagg. While it pointed to years of war on the side of a good guardian, with a warm heart and unique conviction, it also pointed to those last few days of the war, when Gabriel’s heart turned cold and Plagg was betrayed as viciously as Emilie had been.

“He has passed every test, Plagg. He’s strong. He’s a perfect match.”

The kwami rested on the table, handing her a face that spoke a sigh. “So was Gabriel.”

“Adrien’s different,” she told him, offering another piece of cheese, which Plagg refused to her utmost shock. Yet, she continued. “He’s soft-spoken, selfless, and he doesn’t seek out conflict. He has everything Gabriel had but he knows how to hold back. He knows how to put out the flame before he burns down the entire village.”

“So he’s boring!” Plagg mewled, shooting away with the cheese Caline had left him.

“Plagg!” she retorted, marching after the kwami. “I’m saying that he has restraint. He has rage and he has the capacity to harness your destructive power and use it effectively, but he knows when to stop.”

The kwami hardly listened, but she went on.

“Look, I know you feel that I failed Gabriel.”

“Because you did.”

“But trust me on this, Adrien is our only hope. Please, go see for yourself. Go test him as I have.”

The kwami stared away for a moment, thoughtfully eating away at his cheese. Then he sighed loudly, shrinking onto the corner he was nestled in.

“Fine.”

* .

* '

* *

Plagg liked the fiery ones, even if he shouldn’t. The trouble they caused would fill him with pleasure. He was thrilled by the ugly trail of destruction left in their wake. It was as if Plagg was fulfilling the calling of his purpose. It was no wonder that so many of his kittens had fallen in some way. It was no question that the personality capable of harnessing the Cat Miraculous clashed heavily with the personality required to be a Jedi Knight. So often, his holders would either not fit the role and bore the kwami to death, or be influenced to break through the boundaries of the Jedi all together. Plagg always had more fun with the latter, even if their bond was shorter-lived. Most of them didn’t fall dark, but walked away from the Order. He often wondered if the Jedi would give out the Cat just to see if they should trust a Jedi or not. Just to weed out the bad ones early. It came as no shock that none of his holders were well-favored by the higher ranking Jedi Masters.

The point being, Plagg had to be sure he balanced out his chosen, and the same went for young Adrien. A little too much fire and Plagg may be assisting in a massacre. Not enough fire and Plagg may be bored out of his mind and want nothing more than to leave.

And then came the issue of the Ladybug.

It was a common tradition that they chose the Ladybug and the Cat around the same time, to be sure the sides don’t clash but complement each other. Gabriel’s Ladybug had complimented him well, but she had an early departure. Plagg was well aware that her death had been one of the catalysts that had caused Gabriel's fall. She had been like a little sister to him and he had never been the same.

As for this Adrien character, Plagg had to ignore tradition. Pairing him with a Ladybug would be a hopeful guess this time, but if they didn’t get it right there would be no one to bring the galaxy back in balance. There would be no one left to liberate the Jedi Knights.

So begrudgingly, he let his body rest on the sill of Adrien’s bedroom window, willing himself to listen and give the kid a chance.

. + . . . . . .

. . . *

. * . . . . . . + .

. . + . . .

. . . . . . .

. . . +. + .

. . . .

. . . * . . . . + .

+ . . . +

. . + .+. .

. . . + . . . . .

. . . . . . . . ! /

* . . . + . . - O -

. . . + . . * . . / |

. + . . . .. + .

. . . . * . * . +.. . *

. . . . . . . . + . . +

Adrien removed his eyes from his sleeping kwami and focused them on the Artoo unit instead. It became easy in all the commotion to forget why he had needed to speak with Laure in the first place.

However, something still itched at him from Laure’s stories of The Clone Wars and the way she had sadly spoken of the rise of the Empire. And the Jedi knights, such as his father. He couldn’t hold the question back.

“How did my father die?”

An uneasy expression passed over her face, and for a moment, she looked like she wouldn't tell him, but just as he let the tension drain from his shoulders, Laure rose her face to speak.

“A Jedi named Darth Papillion aided the Empire by hunting down and murdering the remaining Jedi Knights,” she told him, her eyes not meeting his. “He betrayed and then murdered your father. “

Adrien looked down, overwhelmed at the thought of his father dying in such a horrible way. He had always assumed, as a dealer of spice, that his father perished in some sort of collision or accident, or killed for failing to pay a debt. Knowing that this Darth Papillion was responsible for targeting his father put the whole loss in a new perspective. He couldn’t help but be filled with fury at the thought.

“The Jedi are now close to extinct. Papillion, or well known as Lord Hawkmoth…”

“The Emperor,” Adrien stated, eyes alight with fury.

“Indeed,” she said, not wishing to spark his anger further but understanding Adrien needed to know the risks of the darkness. “Papillion was seduced by the dark side of the force.”

“The Force?” Adrien asked.

She smiled, happy that he asked. “The Force gives the Jedi their power. An energy field created by all living things. It's everywhere. In you and in me. In your friends and family. In Plagg. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It holds the galaxy together.”

“And the miraculous?”

“The miraculous were discovered by the Jedi years ago. Most Jedi are not granted a miraculous, but those that are, are giving them for a purpose. While the Force gives power, the Miraculous extend that power. Only the most highly ranked Jedi Guardians possess them. They are meant to keep the force in balance. Such as yours, that harnesses the power of destruction. Another Miraculous is its counterpart, that possesses the power of creation. The two must balance each other out.”

“But Laure, I’m not a highly ranked Jedi Guardian.”

She laughed softly, nodding her head in agreement. “Well, perhaps not yet. But allow me to teach you and I’m sure you will do very well. You were chosen, after all.”

Adrien nodded, about to ask what Laure meant by that when R2D2 interrupted the conversation with a series of chaotic whistles and beeps.

Laure rose to meet him, kneeling down to look at the droid. “Let’s see if we can figure out what that droid is after and where he came from.”

Laure had to do very little before the hologram materialized in front of them, showing the girl in all her glory once more. Adrien was once again pulled from his thoughts so that he could focus on the girl in front of him.

“General Bustier," her smooth voice spoke. "Years ago you served my father in the clone wars. Now he pleads for you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father’s request in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and I’m afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour."

She paused, breaking the steady eye contact she had accomplished thus far. For a moment, you could almost catch the fear in her eyes.

"Help me, Caline Bustier, you’re my only hope.”

The image disappeared and Laure sat back thoughtfully, looking at the place where the girl had just been.

He moved his eyes to see that Laure was looking at him expectantly, containing a bit of light in her tired eyes.

“You must learn the ways of the Force if you’re going to come with me to Alderaan.”

“Alderaan?” he asked, incredulous. It was completely out of the question. His uncle would be furious if he followed Laure to a planet that far away from the outer-rim. Or anywhere for that matter. Despite the swell of excitement bursting behind his ribcage he forced himself to shake his head. "I can't go to Alderaan, Laure. I want to come more than anything but I won't leave Tatooine without Etienne's permission. I feel obligated to stay."

"Your dedication to your family is admirable Adrien, but you aren't a child anymore. You should be free to make your own choices."

Adrien turned for the door, hiding his face that was clearly betraying his commitment to his aunt and uncle. He wanted nothing more than to run as far as he could with Laure by his side, but he couldn’t help the weight of responsibility.

“I can’t get involved. I have work to do,” he said sadly “It’s not that I don't want to help. I do! But I'm needed here. I have responsibilities."

Laure's smile went soft, understanding his dilemma but also picking up on the pressure that was put on him. “That’s your uncle talking.”

“My uncle...” he said, his mind wandering, mentally preparing himself for the punishment he would get when he returned. “How am I going to explain this?”

He shook his head, turning on his heel and heading toward the exit, but he couldn't help but offer his assistance. “I can take you as far as Anchorhead. You can get transport there to Mos Eisley.”

She nodded, solemnly. “Of course, Adrien. I understand."

Adrien slipped through the orange curtain, suddenly being stopped in his steps by the scent of death in the air.

* . . * * . . . * ..

. * . . . . *

*. * . * * * .

* * . * . . * .

. .. * . * . .. *

* * . * *

Bursting out of hyperspace, a large Star Destroyer pierced the black abyss, scraping through the starry black and pointing toward the ominous space station that hovered just in view. Hardly different from a moon with a distant naked eye, but now, as the craft neared the battle station, it became a new cage for the overambitious princess of Alderaan.

Several floors beyond the princess, there was a conference room filled with pompous authority. Men and women of various levels of roaring hubris defending their individual level of reasoning, attempting to prove that their claims were superior. Some had the utmost faith in the competence of machines and space stations, grasping at the concept of invoking fear. Others cowered and spun, certain the rebels had an advantage, that they may get the upper hand against even his majesty, Lord Hawkmoth.

Both arguments had Mayura fuming, as she stood at the end of the table, focusing her mind on the approaching Destroyer. Her Lord regarded her telepathically as if asking if he’d have to put up with the same denseness as the times before. Mayura could only send him a sigh, latching her hands behind her back and making an effort to look grave. It took everything in her, including the tightness of her latched fingers, to keep from slamming a few of those verbose simpletons into the already dented barrier.

Admiral Bourgeois was going off on a tangent when the Emperor strode toward them, crossing his arms at the sight of the tense conference room, frozen still like statues at the new presence. He turned his head toward Mayura, giving her an unreadable expression of ice blue. But she read it perfectly, feeling the weight of his exhaustion, only elated by the turn of events that the Alderaan princess provided for them.

In a tizzy of fear, a few of the admirals began again to worry about what threat the rebels posed. If perhaps, if they could dissect the plans, they might have an advantage. They might be a threat to the station.

“The plans will soon be back in our hands,” Lord Hawkmoth said smoothly, “I am quite certain we have the means to get our asset to talk.”

Bourgeois sat upright, narrowing his eyes at several of his fickle companions. He was known to have a haughty head, often blinded by the power of his station. If Mayura had a say in the matter, she would have obstructed his air supply many long years ago, if not for the Emperor’s requests.

“Any attack made by the rebels would be useless,” Bourgeois exclaimed, “It shouldn’t matter what they have obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe. I would suggest we use it against their measly cells of rebellion.”

“Don’t be so proud of this technological terror that you’ve constructed, Admiral,” Hawkmoth said with reproach in his tone. “The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force.”

Admiral Bourgeois seemed as if he might laugh by the smile that came across his lips. His extended time aboard the station without the supervision of neither Mayura nor Emperor Hawkmoth had left him ignorant to the power of his superiors. Mayura had to compose herself to keep from putting a fist around his large neck.

“Don’t try to frighten us with your sorcery, Lord Hawkmoth. Your pitiful devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you secure the stolen Death Star plans or given you insight enough to find the Alliance’s hidden base-”

Mayura gasped in delight at the curl of Hawkmoth’s fingers, extended a black glove forward as an invisible hand around the Admiral’s neck. Bourgeois startled, eyes bulging as he reached to pull on his throat, unable to remove the heavy force that pushed it. The other admirals looked down at the sound of choking, biting their own lips in an attempt to keep themselves from the same fate as Bourgeois. Mayura’s only complaint was that the Emperor had decided not to leave the task to her.

“Your lack of faith is exasperating, Admiral,” he said coldly, letting his hand straighten again. Admiral Bourgeois' face hit the table with a beat, followed by the uneven breath of a daunted child. He heaved, keeping his eyes away from Hawkmoth, already turned away from him, showing nothing but the back of his silver helmet and the amethyst cape that fell down the length of his back. Still not offering Bourgeois an eye, the Dark Lord began walking toward the end of the room. “Learn your place, Admiral. Next time, I won’t be as generous.”

“This quarrel is pointless,” Mayura said to the rest of the admirals seated.

Then Hawkmoth spoke. “Lady Mayura will provide us with the location of the rebel fortress by the time this station is fully operational. We will then obliterate the Alliance with one swift stroke.”

' *

* . * . , *

. . . *

* . .' * , . . , *

. * .'

' . . * * .'.

. ' ' . . ' .

. * , * ' *

* . *

#miraculous ladybug #Ignite the Stars #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Plagg #Caline Bustier #Hawkmoth #Mayura #Gabriel Agreste #nathalie sancoeur #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Ladybug #Adrinette #Ladynoir #Marichat #Ladrien

1 note · View note

wormy-business · 5 years ago

Text

When the Highest Fall

Chapter 2: The Descent

Read chapter 1 here

Read on AO3

Word Count: 2584

Footsteps echoed in the enclosed space of the Archangel Gabriel’s office as he paced back and forth across the hard floor. His hands fiddled nervously with his white scarf, his mind racing with questions that had no conceivable answers. He reached into his shirt collar and brought his beloved crucifix out to rest atop his suit, though he clenched it tightly between his hands. His brow was furrowed in a way that made new creases form in his forehead, with a frown so deep it set new lines in his cheeks. Despite the paramount warning he had just received, he couldn’t calm his mind. The frustration was making him angry, and his grip on his necklace became white knuckled and shaking.

From nowhere in particular, a light began to shine on Gabriel, and it stopped him completely. Every single facet of his being was invaded by warm, radiant light, and for a second he felt like his brain preformed a complete reset.

“Gabriel.”

The voice that spoke was familiar, but in the kind of way when you aren’t sure exactly who’s speaking, except Gabriel knew exactly who was speaking.

He fumbled briefly, hands dropping to his sides. “A-Almighty!” He stuttered, unsure of what to even say to Her. It had been so long since their last direct conversation, however Gabriel didn’t have to search for words for very long.

“Are you upset with me, Gabriel?”

“I, upset? Oh, no! No, of course not, Your Holiness, I would never be-”

“You shouldn’t lie to me, Gabriel. You should know better.”

“Forgive me, Almighty I-”

“I’m disappointed in you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel felt his heart drop down into the pits of his stomach. His eyes went wider than they ever had before, and his throat got tight enough he stopped breathing.

“I’m going to have to have a talk with Michael about all of this.”

Gabriel hardly registered the light fading from his body, or the colour draining from his face. He wasn’t sure how long he was standing completely unmoving in his office, all he knew was that he suddenly heard a voice call from behind him.

“Gabriel.”

He spun around on his heels, locking eyes with Micahel. She looked, in a way, sad. An expression he hadn’t seen her take in thousands of years, not since the first war.

“Let’s go.”

She turned sharply, her heels clicking as she walked away, and Gabriel followed her obediently.

“What is this all about?” Gabriel asked as several angels turned away from him.

“I think you should know.” She responded sharply.

They walked in silence until they reached a large room that looked down upon the celestial kingdom of Heaven. He was alone with Michael, until he felt another presence manifest in the room. She was shining bright, nearly blinding both archangels.

“You have lost your faith in me, Gabriel.” The voice should have originated from the light, but instead seemed to come from multiple voices in all corners of the room.

Gabriel fell to his knees, he couldn’t find the strength to stand as Her words echoed in his chest.

“You question my plans and my desires, and I have heard how you curse me.”

“I would never, Almighty! I admit, My Lord, I am frustrated among this mess caused by the eastern Principality and the demon-”

“You must take the blame, Gabriel. You are not the only one confused, but you are the only one who feels entitled to answers. You hold no entitlement to the knowledge of my plan.”

Gabriel was silent. He wasn’t sure if he should beg for forgiveness or try to explain himself, and his thoughts were racing so fast he couldn’t pick out any words to say.

“Michael, do as I have instructed you.” The light was gone as suddenly as She had arrived, and Michael bowed to where She once was.

“Gabriel, stand up. It will make this easier on both of us.”

He stood slowly, hearing a click as a panel behind him opened. “Michael, please, don’t do this.”

She took a step towards him, and he took a step back.

“You have lost your faith, Gabriel.”

“Never! Michael, I’m begging you!”

“I cannot go against Her word, Gabriel.”

Two steps forward in her heels, two steps backwards in fine leather shoes.

“You’re my sister!”

“Not any more.”

“Please! I’m scared!” Gabriel shouted as he felt Michael place her hand on his chest. He began to rach up, to hold her arm in an attempt to secure himself, his heels kissing the edge of the platform he stood on. As his fingertips brushed Michael’s arm, she pushed back. He felt the shove, sharp and deep in his chest. He lost his balance, his hands desperately clutching at the air as he fell into a freefall.

Gabriel was staring up at the face of his sister, and she watched him as he began to plummet from the clouds. Filled with a sudden burst of adrenaline he deployed his wings, all three sets he was blessed enough to have been given, but they could not stop his fall. He began to turn in the air, unable to control his own body as it was cast down from the Heavens. He tried to beat his wings against the air current, only to feel the smallest and lowest pair snap. He screamed in agony for the first time in a long time, his throat immediately becoming hoarse and raspy. He crossed his arms in front of his face, as if to brace himself for a landing that began to feel like it would never come. As he moved his hands away, he began to burn. It hit his face first, and he watched as from a lake of fire the flames rose up to engulf him. He turned several more times in the air to no avail he ended up in the same position as before. He was making a headfirst spiral into the fires of hell. He felt his clothes being burned away, and his white angelic robes became stained with blackened ash. He screamed again as his body ignited within the fire, he could feel it tearing at his wings, limbs and face. He was clawing at his own skin in a feeble attempt to stop the pain, and for a brief second he saw he was about to make impact.

Beelzebub shot up in their bed, sending a number of flies up into the air. They were sweating, and dirty black sheets clung to their skin. Slowly they released their grip on their own chest and cursed as they stood up. What was going on with these nightmares? Why so many all of a sudden? They had nightmares pretty frequently, but ever since Crowley they had been getting worse, and now they were having nightmares of that day? It made their stomach churn in the most unpleasant way. With a snap of their fingers they were dressed, and not even a second later someone was knocking on their door. A second snap turned their bed back into a desk, sloppily piled with papers, files, and folders.

“What do you want?” They called out, adjusting their sash in a mirror.

“My Lord,” Dagon’s voice replied as the door to Beelzebub’s office creeped open. “There’s something you must see.”

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, Dagon.”

“I’m afraid this is rather urgent business, Lord Beelzebub. There’s been a fallen.”

Beelzebub made a quick, sharp turn on their heels, staring at Dagon with an intensity she hadn’t seen in years. “Who?”

Footsteps echoed down the hallowed halls of Hell’s office space, demons clung to walls to avoid being in the path of the fuming prince and their assistant. There was a mass of demons gathered around a single door, and with a swift motion of their hand, beelzebub threw them all aside.

Screaming. Beelzebub’s heart sank when they heard it. They saw a figure thrashing in the lake of hellfire, and several other demons gathered around to try and view the newly christened demon. The form was moving to vigorously for Beelzebub to get a good look at them, and they stomped their foot on the ground out of frustration, quickly gaining everyone’s attention.

“Dagon! Get them out now!” They barked the order, and within the second Dagon has managed to grab hold of the figure and pull them out from the blazing lake of fire.

Beelzebub loomed over the figure, feeling the knot in their chest grow larger.

“Everyone out.” They spoke, perhaps a bit too quietly for their peers to understand, and when no one seemed to make a move for the exit they shot several feet into the air. Surrounded by a mass swarm of flies they screamed at the onlookers, “what are you waiting around for?! Back to work!” Which was all was needed to be said for the other demons to flee the area, leaving Beelzebub alone with the newly Fallen.

As their feet touched the ground they heard soft whimpering coming from the figure, who was now laying in a fetal position on the ground. As they stepped closer they could tell the position was more so to keep themselves hidden than anything, but that wasn’t going to stand.

“What did you do?” Beelzebub asked softly. They already knew it was him. The second Dagon had told them someone fell, they knew.

Gabriel looked up slowly, and the prince stepped forward quickly and ripped off a rosary that was burning into his forehead. He tried to protest, ut Beelzebub had already thrown it back into the lake of fire.

Neither of them spoke. They both stared, wordless, at each other. What do you say to someone in that situation? What is there to say with words that isn’t already being conveyed by Gabriel’s look of hurt, of betrayal, and of Beelzebub’s look of disappointment, and fear.

Gabriel reached a hand up and grabbed the sides of head as he was overwhelmed by a sudden and intense headache. Blood was dripping down his face from a gash he’d received across the nose during his fall, his skin was burned and looked nearly bubbling, and his robes were black as ash. Beelzebub touched him gently on the shoulders, then guided him to his feet. They let his arms hang around their shoulders for support, and they began slowly walking him back to their office. Demons stared, and several whispered as they watched the two in tandem. Once they were safely in the confines of Beelzebub’s office, the door slammed shut and then faded into a stone wall.

“Zzit down.” They gave the soft spoken order, their desk a bed once again. “You’re remembering, aren’t you?”

Though Beelzebub was talking, Gabriel could barely hear them above the ringing in his ears. For a brief moment, they looked different. For just a second, they looked radiant, their skin smooth and soft, their hair neatly kept, and rays of pure golden light raised up from their head. Then the second was gone, and they looked just as they had before.

“You,” Gabriel started a sentence with no ending, reaching a shaking hand out to Beelzebub.

“What’zz wrong?” Beelzebub asked, genuine concerned laced in their voice.

Their face was, flickering. Back and forth between the radiance and their true hellish form. The ringing in Gabriel’s ears became louder, so loud it made him double over. Faces of angels he had never known before, or rather, the faces he had forgotten, flashed in his mind and replaced the visions in memories of the demons.

Suddenly, his head shot up, his hand resting on Beelzebub’s cheek. He blinked, the ringing gone, and in a volume much louder than he had intended but still qualifying as a whisper he said, “Ramiel”.

He let out a cry as Beelzebub slapped him sharply across the face. He winced, his eyes shutting tightly, hand raised to his cheek where a red welt was already forming.

“I’m sorry!” He whimpered, pressing his chin to his chest.

Beelzebub backed down, though their brow was furrowed tightly in the center of their forehead.

“You can’t call me that.” They said sternly. “Ramiel izz dead. That angel died the zzecond Michael cazzt me down.” Beelzebub turned their head away from Gabriel just as he had moved his head back up to look at Beelzebub. “Zzpeaking of, what’zz your name now?”

Gabriel blinked, and then blinked a few more times, and then rubbed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Michael, what name did she give you?”

“She, she didn’t. She just, threw me out.”

Beelzebub saw as Gabriel’s hands tightened into fists at the mention of Michael, the way he spoke through clenched teeth about her, and he smelled overall like anger. His anger was a mix of fire, cinder, the burning rubber of a jammed printer, and an overflowing cap of printer ink. It was an odd combination yet, Beelzebub found it oddly alluring. They stepped forward, tracing their fingers on the outline of Gabriel’s cut. His blood stained the tips of their fingers, and he stared at them, confusion plastered on his face.

“What are you, ow!” Gabriel pulled back when Beelzebub touched a more sensitive area, only to have them pull him back closer.

“It’ll heal. Dezzpite everything, I muzzt zzay I’m excited to zzee how you’ll look.” Beelzebub lightly tapped his nose, leaving a bit of his blood on it. They then raised their finger to their mouth and licked Gabriel’s blood from them.

“That’s, where is all this coming from, Bee?”

“What did Michael say to you?”

His scent flared up again, and Beelzebub took a moment to breathe it in as the newly fallen spoke.

“She didn’t say anything! I, I was, and she said she was just doing as told. Bullshit! She threw me back, she pushed me out! I was faithful, I was always faithful!”

The angrier Gabriel became, the stronger his scent was. It hung in the air, sick and sweet, and Beelzebub was the only one around to drink it all in.

“She looked me in the eyes, and she pushed me down.” He grumbled, his fists tight and white knuckled. His eyes were burning. Their usual gentle lilac pigment now a fiery mix of orange, red, and yellow. They seemed to shimmer and shift, the colours sliding over each other and boiling to the top of his irises in asymmetrical fashion.

“You had always been so, well behaved.” Beelzebub spoke in his ear, his provocating tone soft and sultry.

“I make one mistake!” Gabriel burst as he shot up from the bed, now pacing around Beelzebub’s office. “I ask Her one simple question and She tears me down! I never said i was entitled to know, I just wanted answers!” He was nearly screaming as his wings unfurled from his back. They broke through his skin and lit up the office. They crackled and sparked, extending out to the walls, and Gabriel took to his knees.

Beelzebub stood in amazement, their eyes wide with wonder. They had never seen a pair of wings look so delicate, yet so fierce and incredible on a demon. Smoke rose from the two pairs of wings that had burst from Gabriel, wings made of the fires of hell, they smoked and burned with the same intensity and rage Gabriel held in his blackening heart, sparked by the betrayal of the fall, and fueled by his frenzy.

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #go gabriel #go beelzebub #good omens fanfiction #go fanfiction

7 notes · View notes