#my singing monsters tickle community

[julemmaes]

Robyn

Rowaelin Month, Day Ten

A/N: I'd planned on posting them in order, but you get what you get. Idk when the other prompts will come tbf. I hope soon. Anyway, I managed to write over 6k words today and I'm pretty fucking proud.

This is just fluff over fluff, so yep enjoy!!

Word count: 3,047

Rowan was unbelievably late as he sped through the streets of Orynth.

So late that the school had called not only him, but also the front desk of the place where he worked when he hadn't answered the call on his personal phone. Sorscha, his assistant, had entered his office with an embarrassed smile on her lips, as if she didn't want to tell him that he had forgotten for the umpteenth time to pick up his daughter from school.

Lorcan had joined him, for some strange reason, but Rowan had stopped bothering when it came to his best friend. He'd been trying to figure out how he reasoned for years and had come to the conclusion that there was no logical sense in the actions of the man sitting next to him, who was currently singing at the top of his lungs to one of the songs on the Frozen CD - which much to the chagrin of both of them, had gotten stuck in his car radio months before, forcing them into hours of torture.

He would never deny that the songs were all quite catchy, but after the sixteenth time Rowan had had to listen to Let It Go at maximum volume, his positive opinion of the film had begun to waver.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Rowan noticed with deep regret that the only cars still there were those of the teachers and school staff.

They both got out of the car, Rowan walking quickly towards the entrance while Lorcan dragged behind him.

He greeted the caretakers sitting at the entrance, who returned a big smile. A smile that grew even wider when his large, imposing friend entered a few moments later. He stopped to talk to the old ladies and Rowan walked down the corridor he knew led to Robyn's classroom.

He could hear muffled voices from inside the teachers' room on the left and the one he knew belonged to Miss Galathynius coming from the right. He looked out over the classroom, spotting the two people sitting at a desk.

As soon as his daughter saw him, her eyes widened and a huge smile flashed across her face.

No words. No "hello, daddy!" or "I missed you!" from the little girl.

Her teacher turned as she leapt out of her chair and ran towards him, hugging his legs and looking up at him. Rowan smiled at her in turn, running a hand over her hair that was shot in every direction.

"Hello, little bird," he murmured to her. The child's smile widened even more if that was possible.

The woman a few feet away from them pulled herself upright, crossing her arms over her chest and offering a sincere smile to the child, who hid behind his thighs.

Rowan was about to tell her that Robyn was shy with everyone like this, ready to defend his daughter's behaviour as he was used to doing in front of every adult, but he was beaten to the punch.

"It's good to see you, Mr Whitethorn," she said, extending a hand. Rowan shook it without hesitation. "Actually, I just wanted to write you a letter regarding Robyn," she continued, never taking her eyes off the little girl. "Nothing serious," she hastened to reassure him when Rowan grimaced, "quite the contrary. Robyn is remarkably good. One of the best in the class, though I shouldn't offer that information so bluntly."

Miss Galathynius winked at him, but he couldn't process what he'd just been told.

"Sorry, could you-"

The little hands clamped around his trousers tightened a fraction more and Rowan looked down, trying to figure out what was bothering his daughter, but then something happened that he hadn't even dared to dream about in recent times.

"You're here!"

The little girl broke off and ran away from him in less than the blink of an eye.

Rowan turned just in time to see Lorcan grab Robyn in mid-air, spinning her around as he brought her to his chest and showered her with kisses. The loud, incessant laughter that erupted from her seemed too much coming from that fragile little body, but he never tired of hearing it.

"Why hello baby!" said Lorcan laughing in turn, starting to tickle her until she begun to rebel and he was forced to let her slide to the floor. Robyn was still laughing at the top of her lungs and nearly fell to the ground as she squealed left and right, letting herself be pushed around by the closest thing to an uncle she had ever had.

When Rowan turned back to the woman, she was wide-eyed and her lips slightly parted as she watched the massive man dressed completely in black and the menacing face turn into a completely different person the second he had seen Robyn.

He chuckled, "I know, it's not every day you get to see a little girl be so comfortable with a brute like that."

Lorcan, who was listening to everything, looked him straight in the eye and without stopping smiling and playing with the little girl, mouthed to him to fuck off.

"Well, yeah. You caught me a little off guard." she confessed, still shocked to hear how Robyn was having a full conversation with Lorcan. They couldn't hear anything of what she was actually saying, but even just the fact she was talking to someone seemed to have Aelin unsettled.

She returned her attention to Rowan and let out a breath that sounded more like a giggle, "I've never heard her laugh before."

He nodded, blushing a little at the teacher's surprised but relieved tone.

"I'm sure the dean warned you about the problem she has," he said in a low voice. He grimaced at her poor choice of words, "I mean, not problem, but the difficulty she finds in interacting with people she doesn't know."

Liar, he told himself. Robyn hadn't spoken to anyone but him and Lorcan since the day Lyria had died. It wasn't a difficulty, but a response to the trauma that prevented her from speaking to anyone who wasn't part of her immediate family.

"I know, I know. We've been looking for solutions together." she informed him. "I give her a white board every morning. Come on, I'll show you." she turned to the desk they were sitting at earlier and raised the magnetic board, on which a few words were scribbled on. "I'll write here what she might need. Yes. No. I need to go to the bathroom. I'm thirsty. I'm hungry." she read, listing the various options. Rowan gaped. "We've only just started going over the alphabet for a second time, so she can't really read or write yet, as I imagine you know, but the little drawings next to each sentence help her."

She continued talking, but he couldn't quite follow.

The woman in front of him - aside from being breathtakingly beautiful - had done as much as she could to help her child with communication.

"Mr. Whitethorn-"

"Rowan. Please, call me Rowan." he said, clearing his throat once he realized how hoarse it sounded to his ears. Lorcan walked up to them at that point, still holding Robyn in his arms and positioned himself next to him, letting their shoulders touch in a comforting way.

"Call me Aelin, then," she smiled at them both. Then she made a small grimace, turning to Rowan, "I wanted to ask if it bothered you, that I sought a solution like that. Maybe I put her in distress, embarrassed her. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I wanted to solve this on my own. I really wanted to discuss it with you, with your husband too, to avoid misunderstandings. Maybe we could arrange a meeting."

He was about to tell her that she had given him the exact opposite of annoyance, that he had been more than pleased that she had helped Robyn this way, when her words finally registered.

Lorcan, beside him, had opened his mouth wide and his lips were slowly bending into a mischievous smile.

Rowan furrowed his brow, "I'm sorry, what?"

Aelin's smile seemed to falter. "A meeting? With you? To talk about how to handle the situation," then she shifted her gaze to Lorcan, "You're more than welcome to join as well. I didn't know Robyn had two dads, I apologise for assuming Robyn had a mum and dad. That was very rude of me-"

"I love this," Lorcan whispered, laughing in shock. He turned to Rowan with eyes that sparkled with amusement, "I would definitely be the top."

Rowan looked at him with an expression of complete shock on his face, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Robyn gasped, opening her eyes wide and bringing a hand to her mouth, pointing then to Rowan's.

"Yeah, sorry, love. I shouldn't have said the bad word." he apologised, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He turned back to Miss Galathynius, "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but we're not married."

"No need to lie, sweetie. I'm sure Aelin," he gave her a knowing look, "doesn't mind at all about our relationship status."

Aelin nodded, "Well, yes. That doesn't change anything. Mr..." she turned to Lorcan, searching for a name.

"Salvaterre."

"Mr. Salvaterre can still attend. The fact that you are not yet married is no reason why you cannot both be present at the meeting. You don't have to worry, we are a very tolerant school and if anyone bothers you, you can come directly to me."

A sound of sheer glee escaped Lorcan.

Aelin continued, "I mean it. I was pleased to see both of you today. I was also pleased to see Robyn smiling so much." she concluded, looking the little one in the face.

Rowan took a deep breath, bracing himself, "No, I meant, we're not a couple. We're not gay. He's her uncle."

The woman's blonde eyebrows shot up and a second later she turned almost as red as the dress Robyn was wearing as Lorcan shook his head muttering something very much like 'you're no fun', which made Robyn giggle.

"Why did you even get off the car?" he asked him exasperated.

Lorcan shrugged, "Because I missed my little bean, you monster." he replied, clutching Robyn to his chest. The little girl clutched Lorcan's shirt in her chubby little hands and Rowan huffed, shaking his head.

Aelin brought her hands to her face, leaning against the desk behind her. She shook her head, her face still hidden, "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

Lorcan let out a dry laugh, "Don't worry about it. It was fun while it lasted." then he turned to Rowan again, who was still trying to recover from the idea of being involved in a relationship with his friend, "You're really no fun."

"Yeah, no fun dad." repeated Robyn.

Silence fell over the class. Rowan looked at her with wide eyes and blinked once, twice. Robyn was staring at him with a sweet scowl that mimicked so much that of the man who was still holding her, but Rowan couldn't get over the fact that his daughter had spoken while Aelin was still beside them.

He was about to talk, noticing how Robyn had started squirming in Lorcan's arms, when there was a knock at the door.

They both turned, Aelin peering over Rowan's shoulder, and saw the figure of a petite girl with black hair and eyes standing in the doorway, watching them with her head slightly bent to the side. She had a tag on her t-shirt that was too colourful to belong to someone who didn't work in a school with children, so he guessed she was a teacher herself. Besides, Rowan felt like he'd seen her elsewhere. Probably every day when he picked Robyn up from school, he said to himself.

"I know you're not supposed to eavesdrop but I stopped by earlier and heard you were a couple of dads," she said by way of introduction. "I just wanted to reassure you that the school is an extremely safe place. I'm the one who did most of the interviews with the parents," that's where they had met then, "and one of the questions that is asked is just about the tolerance of the people who will be attending the school."

Aelin watched her, remaining silent the whole time and putting on an amused smile, nodded, "That's what I was telling them. How tolerant the school is. They make such a cute couple, don't you think, Elide?"

Rowan turned to her, arching an eyebrow, silently asking her what she was doing. The woman, as if she could truly understand what he was trying to convey to her, nodded her head towards Lorcan, who Rowan only then noticed was standing weirdly, his eyes fixed on the woman in the doorway.

He grinned, deciding to take his revenge right away. "Oh, yes. Thank you so much for the reassurance," Rowan began to play along as well. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lorcan turn towards him, dropping Robyn to the floor, who made a disapproving noise at being dumped so suddenly. "We are happy to know that this school is a safe place for our daughter. And for us."

Elide offered him a blinding smile, "Good. I'm happy to hear that you are pleased so far. And I am happy that Aelin is the one who is taking your daughter's class. She's the best one here."

Rowan didn't know her yet, but he knew the thing Elide had just said could only be true.

"Well," she said again, giving them an apologetic smile, "I really must go now, but if you need anything, you can find all my contact details on the website. Have a nice day!"

Aelin and Rowan said their goodbyes, thanking her. Lorcan took a while to recover, but when he realised he was staring into empty space he ran towards the door, almost stepping on little Robyn, who was moved by Aelin.

"We are very much not gay, miss!" he shouted into the hallway. Aelin, now beside him and with a hand on Robyn's shoulder, cackled. With Lorcan's infinite luck, someone walked by just then and gave him a stern look. "Oh, shut up ma'am. I'm an ally. The best ally."

Rowan shook his head as Lorcan launched himself in pursuit of the poor teacher and burst out laughing when he heard him shout, "I'm not homophobic! I'm willing to suck someone's cock if I have to prove it to you!"

Aelin opened her mouth wide before bursting out laughing in turn.

Robyn, seeing both adults so happy, giggled too and Rowan bent down to pick her up. The little girl laid her full head of white-light hair on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

She was tired and Rowan really needed to get her home to sleep.

He glanced at Aelin and reduced his lips to a thin line, "I'm sorry about the commotion, I'll try not to bring him into the building again. Even if it means tying him to the seat."

The soft laugh she gave made something tighten in his chest. He frowned.

Aelin didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him, "Don't worry, Elide is crazy about fools like him. If he says the right things, we might start seeing each other outside of school too."

Rowan nodded, now too caught up in the thought of having to take Robyn home to focus on anything else.

They agreed on when to hold the parent-teacher meeting and then he grabbed Robyn's backpack, walking towards the exit.

He was thoughtless as he reached into his pocket for his keys and balanced everything else - including the girl - on his other arm, but when Robyn's hand brushed his cheek, he looked down and his eyes met their twins. Green against green.

"What is it?"

The little girl's voice never stopped making him smile. Each time was like the first time she had said dada.

"I really like her."

Rowan frowned, "Who?"

"Miss Aelin." she whispered, almost as if she was afraid they might hear her.

He smiled at her, "Yeah? You like her?"

"She's nice to me."

Rowan had to put her down as he opened the door and let her get into the back seats by herself.

"I'm glad she's treating you well, love," he let her know, buckling her in.

He hoped she'd tell him more about her new teacher, but like any kid her age, the topic of conversation couldn't last for more than four lines apiece, "Where's Uncle Lorcan?"

Rowan snorted, "No idea, little bird."

Robyn nodded, "Elide is pretty too."

And as if those words had summoned him, Lorcan appeared beside the car, making them both scream. He entered the car in a heartbeat and turned to his daughter, who was still settling into the seat. "Do you know Miss Lochan?"

But before she could answer him, Rowan had entered the car in turn and smacked the back of his head, which made the Robyn giggle, "You're not using my daughter as your wingman. Now stop it and buckle up."

Lorcan gave him a gentle push, before doing as he was told and for once he was happy he'd convinced him to do something.

Or at least, Rowan thought he had convinced him.

"What if I left you a note to deliver to Miss Lochan, Rob? Would you be up for it?"

Rowan knew, even without looking at her, that she was nodding emphatically.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he murmured, "Could you stop calling my daughter Rob, please? You'll give her an existential crisis."

Lorcan clicked his tongue against his palate, "Rowan, I'm not giving her a damn thing. We live in this new world, okay? Your daughter could be called Simon and still be a beautiful princess. Grow up and educate yourself before you talk shit."

"Aaaah!" shouted Robyn, "Bad word!"

Rowan sighed and shook his head, but still he was smiling.

This was his life. Had been for the past two years.

And he wouldn't change it for the world.

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[rosileeduckie]

When You Scream in Space

Part 1

...a ghost story by older astronauts, meant to scare but also meant to warn. The infiltration of an intelligent creature ravenous for human laughter. They’d probably joked about such a monster hiding under their bunks. But now... this monster was all too real.

I’m back with bigger projects than ever 😁 This is the first of a multi-part fic, which sees Sanders Sides crossed over with Among Us. So the boys up in a spaceship with a dastardly imposter aboard. It’ll be long for being stretched out but also long within each chapter, especially when compared to my other fics. It also might be a little more intense and cinematic. I hope you all enjoy it, and look forward to the next parts to follow!

SFW. Potential warnings: this could be a horror story. Take that as you will 😁. Sanders Sides/Among Us tickle fic.

Word count: 4,371

~*~

Part One: The Stowaway

Ironically, it was hard to find a moment’s peace in space. Sure, pausing by certain viewing stations and windows offered a peek into that inky blue-blackness and its handful of distant twinkling stars that almost made one feel like they were being drawn into the deep dark quiet of the cosmic ocean. But, always too soon, the spell would be broken. Communications would crackle to life with the request for a meeting or assistance in another wing of the ship, or the ship itself would sputter for help when the left engine (because it was always the left one) would grind to a humming halt, or the lights would buzz and flicker before out and then into the dim red glow of emergency mode. Easily fixable, and frequent enough that it was never quiet. For as much as the movies liked to exaggerate the intense quiet of space—which, granted, could be found, though not as often as someone could be heard singing from one hallway or bickering with crewmates from another—quiet moments were few, and they were rarely the scream-sucking, floating-alone-in-space kind of quiet. Virgil knew this and was glad. From all the flights he’d been on, he found he didn’t much care for silence.

For the crew as a whole, it was their first flight. However, a few members were more familiar with one another, to varying degrees. Logan and Remus had completed their training on Earth, in North America and Europe, respectively, and had ended up working together in Earth’s nearest low-gravity research station. Meanwhile, Roman and Janus had graduated from their training together in the Jupiter colonies and proceeded to intern together on one of their planet’s moons under more prestigious scientists. When it came time for a new extraterrestrial mission to embark, those four were the ones whose names came out of the hat—well, helmet. They met aboard the Jupiter-Earth Outpost of Astronomic Navigation to run simulated flights and build morale as a team. After those few collaborative months, set patterns and habits had been developed that saw each scenario run smoothly and efficiently. With his natural affinity for technology and encyclopedic knowledge of ships’ inner workings, Logan was the clear candidate to man the computer room, monitoring the ship via security feed and fixing any glitches that could be overwritten with code—anything from doors suddenly locking between bays to resetting vending machines that suddenly didn’t recognize the face of the user. Janus was the designated medical research technician, ever in the lab and ready to address health issues if necessary (but more often sampling things plucked from passing asteroids. He had no complaints about that). Roman and Remus could usually be found together, trading duties of manning navigation and weaponry every few days. That said, weapons were only needed in the rare case of a sudden and thick asteroid field, and the ship had its coordinates input at the start of a flight, so Remus and Roman had lots of downtime to annoy one another. With as uncommon as it was for their specialized roles to be called upon, the four mostly served as flight crew, each day revolving the more commonplace jobs like delivering food and incinerating trash. Virgil and Patton joined the mission late, taking part in only one test flight with the full crew before the mission officially began, but they were proficient and wasted no time slotting in nicely with the group. Virgil filled the much needed role of engine master, as those were set much farther apart from the other main sections of the ship and so a long trek even in low-gravity. It didn’t help anyone’s nerves that nearly every test flight they ran included a sputtering engine as a potential disaster, but having Virgil there as dedicated engineer made the whole crew feel better. Then Patton happily adopted the role of electrician and gopher, fixing lighting emergencies so fast that they were no longer a problem, and merrily popping out of the ventilation ducts to deliver a tool kit and chipper conversation to any crewmate that asked him to do so. By the time they finally left the gravitational reach of their home planets in their small but hardy exploration vessel, 54ND3R5, they were a well-oiled machine.

After only being nine days into the mission (Earth days, as the colonies on Jupiter had been established by humans, so that was the calendar that was familiar), there was already a routine that bordered on boring. Sleeping happened in three and four hour shifts, with meals marking the turnover between. Any light was simulated without a familiar sun, so ‘day’ and ‘night’ weren’t a convenient schedule to keep to. Still, the crew shared meals and wished each other ‘good morning’ when their mini-computers indicated it was so back on Earth. A little normalcy like that helped to keep their spirits up.

Virgil was supposed to be sleeping. It had been he and Logan’s shift to, with the understanding that they would be woken if an emergency arose that demanded their expertise. When Virgil left his bunk, he’d seen Logan was fast asleep, glasses askew on his nose for how fast he’d fallen into slumber. Virgil wasn’t so exhausted. He was of a restless kind, and being out in space didn’t help his already scant sleep schedule. So, quietly so as not to rouse Logan, Virgil rose to wonder about the ship. Even nine days in, it was infinitely more interesting to rememorize the different bays than to lay awake.

Once again and often, Virgil counted himself lucky that spaceship technology had advanced so far as to simulate gravity aboard a deep-space vessel, as it was much nicer to take a walk than a zero-gravity swim. (He could have taken a swim instead if he wanted, just by deactivating his own suit’s little gravity field, but certain areas of the ship did also have their own gravity generators—mostly where sensitive work was done, where long hallways and ladder shafts didn’t, to make transit from one end of the ship to the other more efficient.) Virgil’s boots thudded against the metal floor with each step, the only sound other than the distant and familiar bickering of Roman and Remus. Virgil came to a stop. In front of him, the hall diverged to a T, and the sign on the wall before him flickered to life to indicate his current location, first in English, then in Russian. The first day, Virgil had been perplexed about that deference until he realized the flag on his arm was of that northern Earth country. During his sleep shift that first day, Virgil had also been in the hall, discreetly and expertly hacking into the mini-computer in the forearm of his suit. Firstly, to adjust the translator to include alternative language options, and, secondly, to shift his suit color to purple. He liked purple. That part didn’t require hacking—any of the crew could change the colors of their suits if they wanted, though they all clearly had their favorites (red for Roman, yellow for Janus, green for Remus, light blue for Patton, dark blue for Logan, and, now, purple for Virgil)—but, until Virgil could actually read the communications device he wore, he couldn’t exactly adjust his preferred settings. Even after that, the only thing Virgil couldn’t control on his suit was the ID number that lit up on his shoulder, just under the Russian flag, when tapped. Well. That, and the fact that his suit didn’t quite fit.

To the right, a little further down, was the navigation bay, where Virgil had become fond of spending free time so as to spectate Remus and Roman’s near constant debates. They were two very impassioned individuals, and could get riled up in opposition about nearly any topic presented to them. Most of the time, Remus was only antagonizing Roman because he liked to see the red-wearing astronaut’s theatrical reactions, and Virgil knew this because of the conspiratory mustachioed grin Remus would throw him every time Roman spun around in his chair to point a finger at him, eyes bright with indignation. There was so much talk between the two that Virgil almost never had to take part, other than being the physical embodiment of an objective third party Roman or Remus could wildly gesture to and assume was on their side. Listening in on their bickering was fun, but it also made Virgil appreciate his workspace down at the engines, quiet and lonely. It was easier to focus there. He was too easily distracted with other people around while he worked, albeit no one else had expressed the same issue when he would lurk nearby. After all, that was the only time their talking to themselves could turn into conversation, even if it was one-sided. They didn’t hold it against Virgil. Maybe they didn’t like silence anymore than he did.

Virgil didn’t turn right. He went left, following the map’s direction that, he already knew, pointed him toward the electrical and electronics section of the ship. Normally, that was Patton and Logan’s department, but, with Logan asleep two hallways down, only the spacefarer in teal would be there for a long while. The talking from navigation had faded out. Aside from the thud of his own footsteps, Virgil could hear Patton singing even with the door to his station closed.

“And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time, ‘Til touchdown brings me ‘round again to find I’m not the man they think I am at home Oh, no, no, no I’m a rocket man Rocket man, burning out his fuse up here alone~”

With a quick scan and affirming chirp of Virgil’s wrist monitor, the door to the electrical control room opened, and he stepped inside. Patton was seated cross-legged inside, a tangled mass of wires draped across his lap, cords trailing off into the corners of the room with seemingly no end. He looked up, smile beaming beneath his huge glasses, when Virgil appeared and tried to wave, only for a few stubborn wires to keep his arm from being lifted past his chest.

“Hi, Virgil!” said Patton, waving with his other hand. “Just a second; I’m a little tied up here.” He chuckled a little sheepishly, smile still on his face as he undid the loops around his left hand, humming all the while.

Virgil nodded, stepping forward as the door shut behind him. Patton was another he could be around with no pressure to talk, about which he would have been relieved. Except for the fact that Patton, bluntly, drove him insane. From their first meeting, that had been the case. Patton was so endlessly friendly, always smiling and cracking jokes, especially when the crew was all together. He delighted in getting cackles and chortles from Remus and Roman, and even was proud to get fond eye rolls and stifled chuckles from Logan and Janus. He always looked to Virgil, too, when his jokes landed for the rest of the group, but Virgil always found more intrigue in looking at his dehydrated meal than at Patton or anyone else. It was hard to concentrate around other people. When Remus shot him a grin or Roman beamed proudly or Janus chuckled quietly or Logan hid a smile in his hand, Virgil had a hard enough time focusing. But Patton, being around Patton was the worst. His smile never went away, and he laughed so easily, as easily as he made others smile and laugh around him.

The door was shut. The nearest crew members were halls away. Virgil took a breath, feeling his muscles stretch and contract impatiently within his suit. He wasn’t exhausted. He was hungry. And Patton, with all his joy, was too good a meal to pass up on any longer. He was done with quiet. The steps he took forward now were heavy where they thudded against the floor, and, as he moved, his posture shifted, his body adjusting to no longer having to hold that tiny, thin human form. He was too hungry to focus anymore on holding that form. All he could see was the image of the imminent future he so longed for: Patton pinned to the floor, writhing and red-faced and wheezing. From the back of his suit, where his shoulder blades had been, Virgil’s tentacles, violet and each as thick as a human thigh, spilled out, wriggling in anticipation as his still sort-of human fingers were extending and twitching.

Whistling, Patton finally popped his hand free and patted it against his right, using both to push himself to his feet. “There we go!” he declared, turning to Virgil with his hands on his hips. When he saw the monstrous form of his crewmate that now loomed before him, his smile fell. Then it grew until it nearly split his cheeks. “I knew it.”

Lumbering to a stop, Virgil tilted his head, the skin of which had gone smooth and sallow with a lilac hue. “Aren’t you afraid?”

Patton stepped over the bundle of wires, standing toe-to-toe with Virgil as though the latter hadn’t suddenly grown a head taller than him. “No.” Before Virgil’s eyes, Patton began to change, too. With the ease of interfacing to change the color of his suit, Patton’s very skin flickered—from fair and freckled to sapphire and scaly to fuchsia and fuzzy to green and glittery, and then back again.

Perhaps the only thing that could distract Virgil from hunger was curiosity. And that curiosity was certainly sparked by the familiarity of another stowaway. Sitting back on his haunches to be at eye level with Patton, Virgil tilted his head, a small smile growing on his own maw. “You’re like me.”

With an eager nod, Patton sat as well, facing Virgil and even going so far as to scoot closer to him, even if it meant he had to look up. “Where’re you from?”

“Gargalactus,” Virgil replied.

At that, Patton’s eyes really shone—Virgil imagined he could make them literally shine if he wanted—and he said, “Oh! A hop, skip, and a jump from me!” He pushed his glasses up his nose with a chuckle. “Knismeia.”

Virgil nodded. His planet and Patton’s had amiable trade arrangements, whether that be for goods, labor, or relationships. Perhaps they were like Earth and Jupiter, just in the future: settled by one people that evolved based on terrain and community until they looked completely distinct. When comparing Virgil’s limited ability to disguise himself and persuasive mental powers to Patton’s chameleon-like powers, they certainly looked different. But that was only because Virgil’s planet had evolved into an aquatic one where Patton’s had become one of hot jungles and deserts. He had to disguise himself from larger creatures that would hunt him overhead; on his planet, Virgil was the thing hunting. Still, Virgil had a feeling they could get along now that they were on the same page, no longer pretending to be humans.

“So,” Patton said, leaning to one side and the other, blatantly trying to see the physical traits Virgil had been hiding up to that point. When Virgil waved a tentacle at him, Patton waved back with an apologetic chuckle and continued, “A gargalactian. You must be on one of those hitchhiking missions to terrorize a ship’s crew and send them back witless to their home port.”

“It’s advertised as an all-you-can-eat buffet where I’m from,” Virgil said, feeling his stomach gurgle impatiently when Patton laughed. “What about you? What are you doing here?”

“I am on a mission,” Patton huffed, resting his chin on his hand. “And it was supposed to be such a boring one.” He held out his arm, pointing his mini-computer toward Virgil, giving it a shake and making it light up with symbols that Virgil recognized albeit couldn’t quite read when he tilted his head to one side. “Sneak aboard an alien ship, assume the identity of a crew member, collect samples of their emotions over the course of the flight, hop off before they notice anything amiss.” With a sudden burst of energy, Patton sat straight up, smile beaming. “You’ve made that so much easier, by the way. My infiltration targets are never so quick to trust me, but you made them so agreeable.” He tapped his temple. “Very cool.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and looked down. It wasn’t praiseworthy; it was just a hunting tactic, to use pheromones and suggestion to make targets feel calm and safe. Still, he couldn’t imagine sneaking aboard a ship without it, relying entirely on performance and deception like Patton must have.

“Really,” Patton insisted, reaching out to touch Virgil’s arm with a grin. “It’s so cool. This mission was going to be so boring, and then you showed up! I mean,” Patton sat back, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing furtively between Virgil’s face and hands, “you’re probably pretty hungry by now, so I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get the first meal you could and peel out.” If he was actually flustered at the thought of being Virgil’s meal, Patton didn’t show it for more than a second, instead raising his brows and meeting Virgil’s gaze. “But, if you’re interested, we could make this fun for both of us.”

Virgil steepled his fingers and nodded, indicating that he was listening intently.

“We could work together,” Patton forged on. “I won’t tell them who you are or what you’re really doing here, you do the same for me. Instead of one meal, you get to hunt a whole crew. And I get to catalogue emotions more interesting than ‘bored’ and ‘tired.’” Patton held out a hand. “Whaddiya say? You want in?”

After a moment of consideration, Virgil took Patton’s hand and squeezed. He could see the split-second flash of terror in Patton’s eyes when the bespectacled spacefarer thought, for a moment, that Virgil was going to deny the offer and pounce. But Patton relaxed when Virgil’s form shrank back to human size, tentacles folding into his suit and claws retracting into his fingers. “Deal,” said Virgil.

Patton was practically bouncing on the spot when Virgil released his hand. “I have a plan.” Virgil had to wonder how long Patton had been working on said plan, and he himself felt a moment of apprehension when Patton’s smile darkened. “But we’ll need bait.”

~*~

Absolutely giddy, Patton sped through the ventilation ducts, quick as a comet with his suit’s gravity field deactivated and a few extra shapeshifted limbs to propel him along. He’d done plenty of infiltrative studies in his years working in the field as a collector. But that one, he’d known from the start, would be different. Oh, the humans were fascinating as ever, but the emotions he recorded from them weren’t different from those of any human ship he’d snuck onto before. Virgil, though, had intrigued him from the start. Patton had never encountered a human with emotions like Virgil’s. He was reserved, but, more than that, he was coiled, like he was ready to spring at any time. This wasn’t some hysterical human; this was a moon desert cobra. All the pieces had come together upon learning Virgil’s true identity, and, along with becoming clear, things had become exciting. The promise of chaos he and Virgil could weave together—going from the humdrum emotions of homesickness and mild irritation and occasional humor to the anxiety and terror and suspicion and elation that would come from being the subject of Virgil’s focus—that would be delicious.

Listening to make sure no one was near and hearing only Logan snoring faintly from the bunk room across the hall, Patton opened the vent cover, slipped out, and replaced it. He stood alone in the storage compartment, taking breath to calm his ecstatically racing heart. After so long not having to overact to earn a crew’s trust thanks to Virgil’s abilities, Patton would really have to commit to sell this event and get the game rolling. When his breathing was steady and he could keep from smiling for more than ten seconds, Patton woke the monitor on his wrist, tapped out a message, and sent it to Virgil. Showtime.

Within seconds, Patton’s communicator lit up. The sound didn’t transmit to his device right away, so loud and shrieking that the tech had to adjust to not overload the speakers. Once it did, though, the sound came through clear as a guiding star. Laughter, desperate and wheezing, poured out, filling and reverberating in the storage area and followed a millisecond later by an echo as the sound came through Logan’s arm computer as well. Along with the sound, intermittent with the sound of the hitting and kicking of the metal floor and cries for help, the device displayed the source of it, showing Virgil’s location as a small purple dot on the ship map from which the message broadcasted. When he heard Logan scrambling to his feet in the next room, Patton dashed into the hall to meet him. Logan’s face was pale and his ears were tipped with red, his mouth in a hard line. It was perhaps the most emotion Patton had seen from him, and he couldn’t wait to read over what his computer had captured from the tech specialist in that moment. The two of them shared a look of recognition and anxiety before taking off down the hall with the same destination in mind.

Along with being able to change color and simulate gravity, the crew’s space suits had lots of other nifty functions. One of which was the personal recording log. It was something that didn’t exist in a shared folder in the ship’s computer data, but only within the internal memory of an astronaut’s suit technology. Meant to hold things dear—messages from loved ones back on the home planet, favorite songs, sounds of comforting places like the ocean or beside a campfire, things like that. Virgil had made good use of his that day by pressing record only after he had Patton had moved into the security room next door and locked themselves in, Virgil had lain down, and Patton had dug his fingers into Virgil’s sides. The audio that had been collected minutes before while Patton played Virgil like a string instrument—and collected some emotive data while he was at it—was what played over the communications channel now, while Virgil was probably still laying on the security room floor and waiting for someone to arrive to “save” him. Logan had pulled ahead of Patton as they ran, and Patton allowed himself a smile at the plan already going so well.

At the hall intersection, Patton and Logan met and all but collided with Roman, alone, who was coming from the corridor leading to his usual station. It wasn’t until they all ran past the electric control room that they found Remus—coming from the other end of the hall, that turned to eventually lead to the medical bay. Janus was right behind him. The five astronauts congregated outside security, and, with minimal coercion, Logan was able to force the door open.

Inside, the room was dark. The overhead lights were low to conserve energy, and the computer screens dimly glowed black in sleep mode. They were only bright enough to illuminate the heave of Virgil’s chest within the shadows. It wasn’t until the rest of the crew stepped inside and the door sensors caused the lights to flick on that they could all see the smile painted across Virgil’s face, the twitch in his limbs. Janus ran to him, kneeling by his head to check his pulse and breathing with his hands and monitor.

From the back of the group, Patton watched, wishing he could record visuals as well as emotions for Virgil to see what good work they’d done. As Janus worked to determine Virgil’s vitals, the rest of the crew stood on edge, their shoulders high and the hairs on their necks standing. Amidst all the dull flights they’d run during training, there had been a few more exciting ones—of course, none that anyone would ever hope to encounter, like an asteroid piercing the hull or having to fight the gravity of a new star to keep from being pulled in and incinerated. Those were possible, but unlikely, a legal battle avoided in just mentioning them. The scenario much more possible was told like a ghost story by older astronauts, meant to scare but also meant to warn. The infiltration of an intelligent creature ravenous for human laughter. They’d probably joked about such a monster hiding under their bunks. But now, Patton could see realization dawning for them, this monster was all too real.

Janus tapped a sequence into Virgil’s armband, his brow furrowing when the purple-clad astronaut twitched away from his touch and croaked out a giggle. “He’s stable,” Janus said, looking to the crew still clustered at the door. At his nod, Roman stepped forward to help Janus pick up Virgil, one lifting his ankles and the other under his arms. Seemingly unaware of his surroundings, Virgil squirmed, continuing to giggle and bat at their hands as they carried him into the hall where he could fall into zero-gravity and be easier to move to the medical bay.

Patton was careful to keep his face as fearful as those around him, though, internally, he marveled at how convincing Virgil was in his performance and felt a pang of jealousy that Virgil had certainly seen the aftereffects of his meals so often as to perfectly replicate them.

With a nod of thanks to Roman, Janus exhaled deeply and turned to the rest of the crew, a hand keeping Virgil from floating away. “I’m going to tend to Virgil,” he said, sounding calm and steady but glancing quickly between the faces of those standing around him. “Everyone else, go to the cafeteria and wait there. Do not be alone. When Roman and I join you, we will all have a meeting.” Janus looked over his shoulder at Virgil when he giggled quietly, suppressing a shudder. “There’s something among us.”

~*~

Taglist:

@cefsticklestoo

@lessangrypapercollector

@kanene-yaaay

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! I think someone who once asked changed their username, so I’m sorry if I didn’t include you!

[demivampirew]

Say no to this.

Henry x Reader (wife) x Reader (the other woman)

Triggers: Angst; cheating, breakup, divorce (and crying).

A/N: This was inspired by two songs from the musical Hamilton: Say No to This and Burn, and it’s told from the perspective of the characters (Henry, Reader (Wife), Reader (the other woman)

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist 

Having the chance to portray one of his favourite characters is an honour for which Henry will forever be thankful. Yet, he must admit that having to spend time apart from his family was not an easy task. 

He sat on the bed in the dark hotel room, only enlightened by the moonlight. On his phone screen, he saw the picture you’ve sent him earlier that day of you and your daughter playing, you dressed as a princess and the six-year-old as a dragon. “Oh, your mighty witcher, come and save me, please,” read the message under the picture. Henry missed dressing up in costumes and running around the house with his little angel, who would laugh uncontrollably every time he caught and started to tickle her.

It’s been over two months since he left for work; 60 plus days without feeling the lovely touch of your hands on his face, too much time without feeling the warmness of your body against his.

He laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour, unable to sleep when his phone announced that he had a new message.

“Are you awake? I can’t sleep,” y/n wrote. She was a friend he made on the set of the show - she worked as a personal assistant for one of the recurrent directors of the show and she was staying at the same hotel that Henry. “Yes. Can’t sleep either. Come if you want,” he replied, thinking that some company would help him to feel less lonely.

Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door. Henry opened the door and invited y/n to come in. Once inside, she faced him and smiled as she showed him the content of her bag: a PS and The Witcher 3 game. “I know you’re more into pc, but l don’t have a gaming pc here, so we will have to play with this, okay,” she said grinning.

“I remember you saying that you were good at this,” y/n while rolling her eyes, teasing him. “I am, but in the pc,” Henry defended himself with a playful smile.

They played the game for two hours before she suggested that it might be time for her to leave. Henry tried to disconnect the console from the tv but she told him to keep it, for now, so he could keep practising.

“Well, good night. I hope you can have a good sleep and tomorrow enjoy your free day,” y/n told him. “Same for you,” he said goodbye, but neither of them moved. They stared at each other for a long minute in silence. Henry’s hands reached for her face bringing it closer to his, culminating in a passionate kiss, while her arms embraced him.

Her naked body, covered only by the bed-sheets rested on the mattress as she slept. Henry looked at her for a moment and then walked towards the bathroom. He washed his face on the sink and then stared at the mirror, finding it hard to recognize the person that was reflected in the mirror. “I promise you that I will be forever faithful to you, my love” he once promised you, his lovely wife, and now the words echoed inside his mind, as stabs on his heart.

How could had he broken the promise he made you? Did he not loved you any more? No, that was sure of that, he loved you more than he had ever done. You no only made him happy and supported him through tough times, but you also gave him the thing that he treasured the most in the world: his daughter. But, he had to be honest with himself, for the first time in a long time and admit that things were not as they used to be. Before the birth of the little girl, you used to be inseparable. You would go with him everywhere in the world, game and laugh and made love every second you could. Now, you were parents; your lives centred on the precious angel and work and were often too tired and since the kid would like to sleep with you, often lacked intimacy.

The worst part of all: he wished that he could say that it was a one time mistake, but it became an affair that lasted for months.

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You hated yourself. In the past, you’d constantly criticized “the other woman” for being malicious women who stole men from others. Now you had become one of them. Well, no completely. Sure, you were carrying an affair with a married man, but you weren’t a fool, you knew that you would never be able to “stole” anyone and he would never leave his wife for you; he never made such a promise and you knew him well enough to know that he loved his family more than anything in the world and he was being vulnerable due to the distance between his true woman and him. Were you a bad woman for being with a taken man knowing that he was in such a delicate emotional position? Maybe, but to be completely honest, so were you. Months before you met Henry, your fiancé cancelled the wedding because he had fallen in love with somebody else. You were feeling lonely and undesired and you had developed a crush on him before that first night. So, you didn’t find the strength to fight the desire and succumb to the temptation.

Every night you’ve spent together, with his strong arms embracing you as his lips caressed your body, felt amazing no matter how wrong it was. And, even if your heart ripped every time you remembered that he wasn’t truly yours - and you were reminded of that constantly, since there was no a single time in which he hadn’t unconsciously said his wife’s name as he reached climax, you couldn’t find it in you to put it a stop.

You knew that this would have a bad end. No matter the outcome, someone would get hurt. 

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That day, your sister offered to take care of your six-year-old so you could have some time to yourself to process things.

Desperate to get some distance and to be alone, you rented a small cabin outside the city.

The sun was coming down when you lifted a bonfire outside the place and sat in front of it with a box that you’ve carried there moments before.

Your fingers caressed every picture - of your first date, your first anniversary as girlfriend and boyfriend; vacations, birthdays and even your wedding. Every photo would get wet with your tears before you threw them into the fire. All objects that reminded of the love you once shared, ended up becoming ashes. Letters, poems, teddy bears, roses that you dried; everything. The only surviving things were the pictures you shared with your daughter, but you would make sure to send them to his mother because you didn’t want to see them any more, the pain was too great.

Finally, you took from your pocket the pictures you printed before to look at them for one last time. They were screenshots from a celebrity news website and the headline read “The Witcher star Henry Cavill is seen kissing a mystery woman”, followed by paparazzi photos of him with someone on the balcony of his hotel room. Angrily, you crashed the prints and let them burn into they became nothing.

With nothing more to do, you watched the flames, as you let your tears fall, feeling completely and utterly broken.

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The production was over. After the news crashed, Henry had to continue filming, pretending that nothing happened, while some people looked at him as if he was a monster. Could he blame them for that?

When the article about his affair was published, his brother Charlie was the one who delivered the bad news - his stepdaughter had seen it and told him about it.

He didn’t know what to do. He called his wife over and over, but she never answered. All-day long he tried to communicate with his love, but every time without luck.

 Y/N tried to call him, too, but this time he was the one who ignored the call. He had nothing against her. Henry knew that she could no be blamed for his mistake, but he couldn’t talk to her right now. His wife was his priority.

Unfortunately, the only response he got from her was from her sister, two days later, letting him know that she was going to file for a divorce and she never wanted to see him or talk to him again. That she would only allow him to contact her, through her or another family member and elusively for things related to their daughter. She was going to share custody with him, but he would have to pick up and leave the girl on her sister or parent’s house.

Now, months later, he driving to his sister-in-law’s house to pick up his daughter and to leave the divorce papers that he had to sing.

There were no words to explain how much it hurt him to lose the woman he loved deeply. The only consolation was that his family continued to show him love and support as they always did. And, his daughter, unaware of the reason why her mommy and daddy decided to go separate ways, still love him enormously and would fill him with joy every minute of every day that he had her.

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It was obvious that there was no going to be a good end to the affair - it never does. You knew someone would get hurt, but you’d never imagined that it would be all three of you.

Terrible didn’t even begin to explain how bad you felt. Of all the three of you, you were the one who got it the “best”, since luckily the pictures only showed your hair in a bun and your back, so only a few close people knew that it was you and they were polite enough to keep the secret to avoid you getting harassed. Although, just in case, you dried your hair and got a new haircut.

Henry’s wife filed for the divorce after she found out about the affair. He let you know via text when he put an end to things and told you he could no longer see you. Even if there was no chance to get back with her, he couldn’t be with you because he loved her too much and you reminded him of the mistake he made. As he suggested, you continued working for a few more weeks there to avoid people finding out that it was you, but later quit.

That was by far the worst mistake that you’ve ever made. So much people got hurt; a girl now has two parents that can’t be in the same room, two people who loved each other who can’t be together because the ghost of you would always be present to remind them of the mistake and a person who’s affection was never truly corresponded and caused the break of a family.

Therapy has been truly beneficial in helping you heal and leaving the past in the past.

Today a new article about Henry was posted online. It consisted of pictures of him and his cute girl buying a Christmas tree and he was laughing at his daughter's funny faces.

[hawkland]

Destiel fic recs (round #4) + commentary

Time for another (mostly) Destiel fic rec round-up post before my bookmarks get out of control! This one’s a mix of longer and some shorter fics (or series thereof), no particular theme except I guess a lot of angst, hurting Cas, and all the other things that tickle my Id. Several Season 9 human!Cas divergence fics, plus some later season angst-fests and rewrites.

In the Shadow of your Wings by Enochian Things (Salr323) (52k) The first of two fics by this author which I absolutely fell in love with! Canon-divergence from the end of Season 11. Cas finds himself blasted to Naples, Italy by the banishing sigil in the bunker and he stumbles — almost literally — into a sexy, delightful Italian Man of Letters, Luca. When he makes his way back to the bunker and finds Dean still alive, he tries to confess his feelings but Dean panics and shuts him down. Cas goes back in Italy soon thereafter and ends up beginning a relationship with Luca, much to Dean’s chagrin. Meanwhile Sam is still missing and it turns out there may be some dangerous individuals who are out for Cas more so than even the Winchesters. 

I loved everything about this fic so much - Luca is an amazing OC, the Naples and London locations are wonderfully evoked and took me straight back to places I’d been. The angst, the pacing, the plotting and the eventual Dean/Cas getting together are all amazing and this is definitely on my re-read in the future list.

The rest of my recs below the cut!

My heart is beating from me by Enochian Things (Salr323) (55k) The other fic by this author that I literally inhaled in one day! Season 9 Human!Cas canon divergence. It’s been months since Sam and Dean have heard from Cas, and when they do, it’s in the form of a wedding invitation. Cas is getting married to Daphne - the woman who “rescued” him and named him Emmanuel when he’d lost all his memories post-Leviathans. It seems Cas went back to her while on his own and they’ve rekindled their relationship...whatever it is. Dean just knows something isn’t right about her, so he sets out to investigate and try to figure out WTF Cas is doing before it’s too late. 

This story is so, so good! The case Dean gets Cas to come along on is unique and provides a neat investigation subplot, but what’s so especially wonderful is the explanation the author gives of who Daphne really is — and why she’d been so cool about just having a strange man with no memories move in to be her “husband” (and then want to marry him for real a couple years later, after he’d vanished from her life!) In fact it’s so brilliant I’m basically accepting it as my Daphne headcanon from now on and I don’t want to spoil it. The fic is also great in exploring Cas still struggling with understanding human emotions, customs and etiquette, Sam is A Very Good Friend, and Dean is, well, Dean. (I’m just sad this author hasn’t written more SPN fics because what they have is just brilliant.)

The wilderness. by orange_crushed (8k) Wonderful, shorter Season 9 canon divergence fic by an author who consistently makes me happy. Human!Cas leaves the bunker with a few things to get off the ground from Dean and directions to connect with Garth...but he ditches that plan to try to find his way on his own. It’s wonderfully detailed about the basic struggles of survival, finding work, making ends meet and trying to make some new friends...and why it’s important for him to prove he can make it on his own before he’s willing to welcome Dean (back) into his life.

I Through My Window See by deHavilland (26k) This is an interesting one, written well before we had canon human!Cas in Season 9. Canon-divergence in which Cas remains human after they avert the apocalypse in Season 5. Sam and Dean set him up in an apartment in Sioux Falls and then...just kind of abandon him there. He spends most of a year just barely existing before a visit from Sam finally stirs him out of his inertia and depression, to eventually get a job and also start hunting on his own. This is an interesting read, if just to see an author exploring the idea of human!Cas abandoned by Dean a few years before it actually...ended up becoming canon! I love how Cas is written in this (it’s a story much like the next one on my list that I thought does an amazing, realistic job of capturing what depression feels like), but I do have some issues with Dean. It’s never fully resolved or explained why Dean was being such an ass so I honestly wasn’t totally sold on the ending - I wanted some more out of Dean, some more explanation or apology or something. It’s a story that would have been great to have a sequel from Dean’s POV but after all this time, that will just have to exist in my brain, I suppose! Still worth a read because it’s excellently written, Cas becomes totally bad ass again by the end and it’s always fun to read early SPN fic speculating on future developments.

I Shall Not Want by domesticadventures (20k) I found myself inhaling a bunch of wonderful short ficlets by this author the other day, but this is the one I had to stop at to rec. It’s another Season 9 divergence fic, of a sort - Cas is newly human, for the sake of the story there’s no Abbadon to worry about, Sam is healed...and Sam wants to move out and get on with his own life. Cas and Dean are both struggling with adapting to their new lives and it’s a hauntingly rich and stark portrayal of depression, inertia, and the slow healing process of accepting and adapting to change. I also liked that this story gives us a Dean who is a little more aware of his feelings for Cas and they both struggle to reach out to each other - for once it’s not sexuality causing a crisis of identity but all the other shit they are coping with.

Don't Sing Love Songs by ireallydidthistomyself (17k). I’m not normally a big fan of baby/toddler!Jack fics - I like the angst that he was forced to grow up too quickly, and in general I’m not big on kid!fic in fandom. This author’s work is a big exception to that. They’ve written several stories along a similar theme: Cas raising Jack on his own/in secret for years, Dean only finding them or coming back into their lives later on. But this is the version of that idea that really packed the most punch for me and was incredibly emotionally satisfying. Dean finds Cas after 6 years, where he’s kept Jack mostly isolated and safe from the world. But with Dean allowed back into his life, Cas may be inviting grave danger upon Jack as well. This one ripped my heart out but managed to make it all better by the end.

Better Ways to Kill Our Time by always_a_birthday_girl (8k) I don’t know why I torture myself reading Dean-in-the-Ma’lak-box AUs, but I do. I think because it’s pretty much my biggest nightmare/horror and for some reason it’s cathartic while terrifying? Anyway here’s one where Dean goes through with his plan, Cas crashes and burns for most of a year, until Dean finally starts doing what he promised he wouldn’t: praying to him. Cas figures out a way to communicate back and over the distance, they manage to have certain conversations they should have years before. It’s painful but lovely and there is a happy ending, so it’s well worth the read!

Time Flows Like Water and We're Drowning by triedunture (7.9k) A little break from the later-seasons stuff I (mostly?) read, featuring a seriously hot (but angsty) Cas/Endverse!Cas/Dean threesome. When Zacariah’s plan to show Dean the future doesn’t change his mind about taking on his “responsibility”, he sends Endverse!Cas back in time to try to convince Cas instead, showing him what he’s to become. I don’t think Zac expected it to turn into a threesome, but it’s hot and beautiful and sad and wonderful all at once. 

hachikireru by vaudelin  (23k) At one point I went on a wallow-fest of reading a bunch of sad 14x20-15x03 divorce-arc fics. Just to hurt myself more, I guess. I know this fic’s been recced around a lot (at least on fail_fandomanon) and I can see why! After leaving the bunker, Cas ends up in Sioux Falls to visit Claire. She’s busy tracking down leads to find Kaia’s killer and he decides to go along with her on one such hunt. But what they find is an unexpected supernatural threat targeting those with broken hearts. Well. I think you know where that might be leading. This is a wonderful casefic with lots of character moments between Cas & Claire and then Cas & Dean, working through their pain and angst and just...it’s a very satisfying read.

Moriah Codas: A Trilogy by Toomanyfandoms99 (11k total) A series of 3 shorter fics spinning off the events of 14x20, developing a slightly divergent universe the author’s written where Cas does have his wings back and has helped resurrect a few of the angels (Balthazar, Gabriel, and Samandriel in particular). This series is absolutely heartbreaking — Cas is completely broken by Jack’s loss, has “fallen out of love” with Dean after he was ready to kill Jack, and sees no way back to what he’d had and felt before. He’s determined to just let the Empty take him...but not until he and his assembled squad of “avenging angels” clean up the mess Chuck has created, smiting zombies and taking out super-powered monsters across North America. 

Cas’s motorcycle gang/angel squad is so fucking awesome (I want a happy fic where they do this!) and this is BAMF!Cas at his finest. I just have to include a quote:

He set down the empty glass, and Gabriel said, “well, dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to kick some zombie ass. Since they have chosen to amass in Carthage, we are here to take out as many as we can without causing this town to flip the fuck out. Are we in agreement?”

“I expect,” Balthazar grinned, “a full-on bar brawl. Do not disappoint me.”

“Cassie, Driel,” Gabriel addressed the duo, “how are we with weapons?”

“I have enough machetes in a storage facility uptown to film a Jackie Chan movie,” Castiel said.

But it’s also utterly and completely heartbreaking, so don’t read this one if you need a happy ending. If you do read, check out the author’s other later-season coda fics and fic series as they are all really great.

to mend what is not broken by gothyringwald (2.6k) This last short one I’ve mentioned before, but I just have to rec it again! It was my gift for the 2021 Hurt Comfort Gift Exchange and it’s everything I wanted, and more. Sweet and caring Dean, wounded but still prideful Cas, and some lovely wing!kink/wing!care that pushes all of my button just right.

Anyway, that’s it for now as I think this is long enough. If you enjoy my recs, could you let me know? I try to not just list titles but give some commentary...as it helps me re-find stories I enjoyed the most, too!

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.2 (BAON)

Summary: Jeff has a lot to think about and what better place to do it than at the bar with his best buddy, Stretch?

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The night wasn’t as young as it used to be, but to be fair, neither was Jeff. After a few hours of sitting on a bar stool, his tailbone would be more than willing to testify on that.

He leaned back against the bar in an effort to take some of his weight off of it, grimacing as he watched the dance floor. Colored lights flashed to the thrumming bass beat over the gyrating dancers and out in the thrashing sea of sweaty human bodies there was a head that was above almost all of them. Stretch towered over most humans and never was it more obvious than right then. The lights reflected off his smooth skull, a living disco ball, and around him other humans were laughing and cheering as they danced.

Edge would be having a conniption right about now and Jeff was a little bemused to find his anxiety having an internal dance competition of its own. Currently it was at ‘chachacha’ levels, watching all those Humans grinding up on Stretch. He didn’t want to think anyone here would hurt Stretch, intentionally or otherwise, but the threat of low HP always loomed. His trust in humanity took a pretty big dip a few months ago outside a Chinese restaurant and he had the scars to prove it.

Jeff took another sip of his drink. His straw crackled against the bottom of the glass as he finished it off, leaving only lonely ice cubes behind and he set it back on the bar as he settled back in for a little spare contemplation.

If he were honest, wasn’t a huge fan of the club scene even before he started dating Antwan. Not that he didn’t like going out but his problems with it were twofold. One, bars sucked to go to alone and back then he didn’t have a lot of real estate in the friend territory and two, it cost money. His disposable cash in those days was a lot like a pink unicorn: nonexistent.

Being friends with Stretch took care of both of those problems but a third loomed up to take their place like an unwanted acquaintance. Put bluntly, Jeff could not dance and until Kevin Bacon showed up to give him a few lessons, he probably wasn’t gonna learn how.

Not that he really minded that much. Guarding their drinks and listening to the music wasn’t a bad way to spend the night.

Besides, Stretch didn’t seem to care if he wasn’t up to evacuating the dance floor. He mostly let Jeff sit at the bar where he tried to look like someone with deep and mysterious thoughts to process instead of the person he actually was, far more likely to accidently spill his drink into his lap than anything else. On either side of him were other people doing the same, a row of wallflowers watching the dance floor with wistful envy.

Mostly Stretch left him to it but sometimes he’d bounce his way back and haul Jeff out for a song, any song, fast, slow, techno-bop, dubstep, didn’t matter to Stretch, he was an equal opportunist when it came to friendly torment and if Jeff felt a lot like Frankenstein’s monster tromping around next to Stretch’s lithe booty shake, eh, that was okay. Sacrificing a little dignity for a friend’s fun times was part of the package.

As far as he knew, Stretch didn’t go out to the clubs often either, but if there was one thing Jeff had learned when it came to Stretch, it was there were no half-measures. If he was in, he was all in, and that included drinking, dancing, and on the weekends, the occasional explosion caused by a thermal reaction. Truly a wide variety of hobbies came into play when hanging out with Stretch and going out to the bars pretty much guaranteed something interesting would happen.

Like the time they met those guys who’d come into town for the last beat poetry night. One of them mentioned liking Stretch’s Intergalactic Beastie Boys t-shirt so Stretch convinced them all to swap shirts and then swapped them around again, until they were all three shirts removed from the one they’d arrived in. Pants were a harder sell and if Stretch were ever hard up for money, he might take up selling ice to penguins because in no time they were all out on the sidewalk, firmly dismissed from Grillby’s over their rampant laughter drowning out the poet’s rambling about the burden of solitude. The Waffle House they ended up at had a less stringent dress code and all of them crammed into a booth to eat greasy breakfast food at two am in their boxer shorts. At least those were all their own and his plain cotton boxer briefs were no match against Stretch’s ‘wanna tickle my pickle’ pair.

He was pretty sure all those guys still followed Stretch on twitter.

He wondered what Edge had thought of Stretch wandering home in an entirely new wardrobe, minus pants. There was no way he didn’t notice, Edge was very intent on fashion, even Stretch’s version of it. Knowing him, he probably made Stretch strip right in the living room and soaked both him and his clothes in Lysol before burning his boxer shorts. The old-new t-shirt Jeff ended up with was hanging in closet even though it was two sizes too big for him. Antwan stole it sometimes for lounging around the house purposes and seeing him in it was always a cheap thrill.

Huh, now that he was thinking about it, he’d gone to the bar more this past year than in his whole life before. Not just with Stretch either, Blue and Papyrus had brought him along for karaoke a few times and that was an experience right there. Their singing was like a vocal interpretation of his dancing and just as painful for witnesses.

He’d even had a drink a couple of times with Red. Well, he’d been a tag along with Antwan but still. Red was still vaguely terrifying, but Jeff had gotten the occasional glimpse under his onion layers. He knew a little of what Edge and Red went through before they came here. His knowledge pretty much barely skimmed the surface, they’d both been soldiers and they might’ve gotten out alive, but not entirely unscathed. Knowing Red’s HP was similar to Stretch’s and he’d still survived? Perspective was a hell of a thing and it paid to look at Red from a slant.

Speaking of perspective, he was definitely liking the music. They were a local band and this place was close to the college, a good spot to hopefully get noticed and work their way up. The bar itself had probably been here for fifty years, the bartop pitted with scratches and scars from college students of yore, the stools definitely up for reupholstering.

It was really no surprise to find out that Stretch knew the current owner. He knew loads of people, wriggled his way into their lives a lot like he’d wriggled into Jeff’s. Only difference was, he didn’t usually let the other person wriggle back and yeah, okay, that metaphor was going in weird places, but the meaning stood. Stretch was good with shortcuts and he knew a lot of people, but he wasn’t necessarily friends with a lot. Jeff was pretty happy to be on the short list.

Knowing people came in handy, too, and bringing Stretch along always came with added perks. Catty only asked him to listen to the bands on the list to get a feel for their sound, but he’d be able to bring her a better report than that since they were going to go meet the band after their set was done. It would give him a chance feel them out, see if they were even interested in participating in the Midnight Monster Jamboree, as Catty had slyly dubbed it. After everything went down in California, they needed some serious good will.

The Monster community had been found not at fault for what happened right away, but Antwan told him court cases would be dragging on for a while yet. When Humans died, other Humans wanted someone to pay, and Monsters were easy scapegoats for unreasonable anger. His team was working their butts off on it, Antwan coming home at night so very tired, mostly falling into Jeff’s arms to sleep and yet still so grimly determined. Jeff couldn’t do much about all that, but he could try his damnedest to get their big public relations event off the ground.

The idea was to have a huge event for Humans and Monsters together and for it to be held in New New Home. Asgore thought that some of the problems with Humans might be a result of them thinking Monsters had something to hide, so what better way to show them who Monsters really were than a chance to see into their supposedly secret lives.

Jeff was on the lowest rung for planning and even from his view, it looked like a nightmare. Security details made up of both Human and Monsters, background checks, food, entertainment. Access was going to be extremely limited and the guest list was daunting; there were going to be some big names in politics and entertainment. That circled back to his job, getting some local bands together for the opening shows. Partly good public relations, but also an earnest desire to help out a few struggling locals with the kind of exposure most groups could only dream about. That was so like Monsters, trying to help others in the midst of helping themselves, but it sure was a lot of damn pegs getting shoved into so many slots.

He didn’t even want to know what Edge’s current schedule looked like.

There was a soft thud behind him and Jeff turned to see the bartender was bringing him another drink. The guy was probably somewhere around his age, unless you were gauging it by his world-weary expression, which probably put him at about right around three hundred.

He must’ve known Stretch, too. When they saw each other, he youthened to a spry two hundred and seventy after a complicated series of fist bumps. As an added bonus, he’d been keeping their drinks topped up and as someone who usually couldn’t even get a bartender to see him much less pour him a drink, Jeff sure did appreciate the VIP service.

He started reaching for his drink, but a sudden tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned around. A guy he didn’t recognize was standing there, not too bad on the eyes and weirdly nervous, enough that Jeff thought he might actually be trying to pick him up before he noticed the guy was holding something out.

“Did you drop this?” the guy said, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. It was a wallet and Jeff automatically checked his back pocket even as his eyes told him it wasn’t his.

He shook his head and the guy nodded, but instead of asking anyone else or handing it to the bartender, he wandered off towards the entrance.

Okay, that was odd. Jeff shrugged mentally, lots of weird people at the bar, maybe he was going to give it to the guy at the door in case whoever lost it noticed when they left.

He forgot about it as Stretch came back from the dance floor, sweat gleaming on his skull and face. That always gave Jeff a little pause, what exact purpose did sweating serve for a skeleton? Maybe he’d ask sometime when he was less busy with work. If Stretch didn’t know the answer to something, the journey to find out tended to be entertaining, and possibly less explosive this time around, although he wouldn’t put the chances at zero.

Stretch grinned at him, still panting, and picked up his own drink, gulping down half of it in one swallow. Jeff couldn’t remember was it was. Stretch tended to order more for the name than the taste, so it was probably something like a slippery nipple or a total screaming orgasm. Whatever it was, a skewer of fruit was floating in it and Stretch fished it out, pulling the cherry off the end with his teeth.

“so what do you think of the band?” Stretch asked, perfectly audible even over the loud music. There was another point of interest; when your voice was produced by magic, it didn’t always obey the rules of sound. “gonna give catty the thumbs up?

“I like it,” Jeff shrugged. He could barely hear his own voice, trusting that magical hearing worked the same way as speaking, “but I’m not the greatest judge of music. That’s why I bring you along.”

Stretch chuckled and propped his elbows on the bar, slouching back. It put him almost at head level with Jeff and the shirt he’d almost certainly borrowed from Edge pulled tight across his ribcage. “think i’m a better simon cowell than you?”

“No, you’re more Paula Abdul, and anyway, two heads are better than one.” Jeff played with the straw in his own drink. “Jokes aside, this is important, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“you’re not gonna mess it up.” Stretch scoffed. He bit a chunk of pineapple in half before polishing off the rest of his drink. “how even? you’re doing double-duty as it is. henry said once they’re finished, we can meet them backstage. i’ll have a chat with them, we’ll see if they’re assholes, and good to go! besides, it’s not like security isn’t gonna give ‘em a good, hard rundown, anyway.”

It was the truth and he knew it, but there was always that niggling little doubt in the back of his mind, that somehow he’d find a way to mess it up, and that would be it. This was so important to the Monster community and his chance to finally payback some of what’d they’d given him. He could do this, Jeff told himself, and he’d do it right.

The band started a new set, something with a low, growling bassline and Jeff turned back to watch, only to freeze as Stretch suddenly spoke again, the single word clear as a bell in church.

“jeff.”

The name caught his attention as much as the tone, Stretch never called him Jeff, it was always Andy or kiddo or whatever nickname was currently floating his proverbial boat. The last time he’d called Jeff by his actual name, he’d been lying in a parking lot in a pool of his own blood. The taste of hot metal was strong on the back of his tongue as he turned back to Stretch, his heart pounding, and some cringing part of him expected to see that friendly face instead as the one that appeared sometimes in his worst dreams, a deathmask with one socket dark and blank, the other strobing orange with grim intensity.

But Stretch only looked like his normal self and when he spoke again, each word was calmly measured and deliberate. "i don't feel right. i think we should go."

Somehow, that was even more alarming, and his worry quickly overshadowed any lingering bad memories that were vying for his attention.

“Sure,” Jeff said, “right now.” He hopped down from the stool. Stretch pushed off from the bar and staggered, leaning hard against Jeff and thank fuck he was light because his height already made it awkward to hold him up. He started to call for the bartender, maybe there was someplace they could sit down in the back while he called Edge, when another guy came up next to them, helping hold Stretch up. Then another on Jeff’s side and he started to protest that he didn’t need help when a voice growled close to his ear.

"Don’t look at me. Keep your mouth shut or I'll kill you."

It was followed by the sensation of something hard butting into his ribs and this could not be happening. This did not happen in the real world, this wasn’t a Jason Bourne movie, there could not be a gun pressed to his side right now. Even his own fear was sitting on the sidelines, pushed out by disbelief as Jeff stumblingly followed the guiding arm around him leading towards the door. The crowd reluctantly parted and next to them, Stretch was shuffling along, his eye lights blown wide and fuzzily diffused. He started sagging, his skull lolling back on his shoulders and around them were murmurs, people starting to notice.

“Hey, what’s going on? Stretch?” From the direction of the bar, and Jeff glanced back wildly to catch the bartender watching with dawning concern. There was no time to say a word, to even mouth a desperate ‘help’ before he was forcibly swung back around and pushed through the door.

The cold night air was like a slap in the face, sobering, and fear was starting to sink its teeth in past his disbelief. The guy next to him was keeping back out of his line of sight and he could only barely see the one on Stretch, dark hair, taller, burly, did he have a gun, too, who were they and why—?

By the entrance, the bouncer looked up in surprise as they walked past. “Hey, Stretch, you guys, okay?”

“Fuck off!” The man holding onto Jeff barked and the gun swung towards the bouncer. There was a beat of incongruous silence broken by the strains of music coming from inside the bar, then a girl screamed, the waiting crowd scattering.

“Fuck! Get them in the car!” A different voice, loud and panicky and he caught another glimpse of dark hair before he was shoved forward again. He stumbled, almost falling to his knees among the cigarette butts that scattered the asphalt, and the memory of another parking lot was strong, the swell of panic gagging him.

He didn’t resist as he was pushed towards a van, the side door sliding open and then he was inside it, collapsing across the backseat.

Weight dropped directly on top of him with a clatter of bones and Jeff grunted, trying to push Stretch off of him enough to sit up. Only to lose his balance again as the van squealed away from the curb, the tangle of his own limbs catching with Stretch’s limp ones.

A new voice barked from the direction of the driver’s seat. “Get their phones, hurry up!”

Rough hands grabbing at them, and Jeff instinctively tried to recoil, but there was nowhere to go. His phone was yanked from his pocket and Stretch didn’t say a word, only breathing with a slurry snore into Jeff’s ear. There was the sound of a power window going down, of tires squealing against asphalt and the inside of the van was too dark to see.

Not that it mattered. Rough hands hauled Jeff upright and the person they belonged to was wearing a ski mask like a fucking heist cliché. Jeff choked back a hysterical laugh, but even panicked amusement took a backseat when ski mask demanded, “Okay, both of you need to strip.”

Jeff only stared in mute horror, barely comprehending as a duffle bag was suddenly thrust at them.

“Change into these,” Ski Mask ordered, “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

There was a pun there, Stretch would have been able to think of one. Would have if he wasn’t lying slumped across the seat. His sockets were still open, but his eye lights were dim and unseeing, the lights were on and no one was home, not quite a pun but it’d have to do.

“Please, don’t hurt him,” Jeff said. He tried not to look at the guy with the gun as he carefully opened the duffle and pulled out the clothes inside, choosing his words with the same care. “He’s…he’s fragile, just a punch and you could kill him. Please.”

“Then don’t make us do anything that’ll get him hurt.”

Good advice from a shitty source.

Jeff scrambled into the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants in the bag, then helped the other…what, kidnapper? Asshole was the strongest contender in his head and that was what Jeff went with. Helped Asshole #2 get Stretch change into his. The guy was brusque but not ungentle, at least, and the second they were finished, the van pulled up next to a dumpster. A fourth asshole sitting in the front seat hopped out, tossing all their clothes plus the bag into it. Four against two, not including guns, not the best odds. Like Jeff would have been much help even if it were mano a mano. He sure as hell wasn’t a fighter past panicked desperation and he wasn’t about to hinge Stretch’s life on that.

“Now, sit back and relax,” said Asshole With A Gun. “You two behave and no one gets hurt, okay?”

Jeff knew a lie when he heard one. He nodded anyway and huddled into the seat, one arm looped around Stretch to offer what feeble protection he could. His skull resting in Jeff’s lap was a familiar weight from movie nights and Netflix marathons. His unconsciousness was not, but he was alive, they both were. It was a place to start.

Jeff kept silent, petting the smooth curve of Stretch’s skull as he watched the streetlights flash by and waited to see what came next.

tbc

[verfuzz-22]

goofy ahh weird cringe tickle art i drew for the first time

im prob gonna regret this in the future lol

[alilbihh]

hocus pocus — 1

masterlist  previous part  next part

pairing: maknae line x reader

summary: jungkook wags his tail and his eyes look like truffles. jimin drinks blood out of juice boxes and bendy straws and tries to wink but ends up blinking both his eyes closed. taehyung likes the ocean and all kinds of art and apologizes to rocks. you don’t know if they want to take you out the date way or the assassination way and somehow you think it’s both. 

genre: werewolf!jungkook, vampire!jimin, hybrid!taehyung, witch!reader; crack (lmao); humor (??); poly!au (in the future!)

words: 6.3k

a/n: this is entirely self-indulgent. this will benefit no one but me and will have 3 parts. thank u

This kind of patience better earn you a great seat in heaven, you think offhandedly.

"Please help me! The test was only announced today and I don't have much time, I need a potion that gives me photographic memory!" Says a desperate looking girl, hands clasped together as she repeatedly whispers a mantra of pleases under her breath, as if worried she'd push you over the edge if she were to say it any louder.

Little does she know she's, metaphorically speaking, already pushed you. Hard. With no remorse. Probably followed by a series of stabs to the back.

"Please, I would do anything!" She looks frantic. The only time you've seen her unclasp her hands was to pull desperately at her hair. She's pretty, you'll give her that, the kind of pretty that makes people more easily soft and influenced to her desires. But you're no sucker, and you're certainly not soft.

"Anything?" You whisper, leaning forward a bit. She nods, hope pooling in her round, pretty eyes.

"Anything!" You're not really used to people interrupting you during your free time. She at least has the decency to keep her voice down in the library, but you have a feeling the librarian and usually easily irritable students would easily succumb to her puppy dog eyes and let her scream all she wants.

You don't tell her that there is no such thing as a potion for photographic memory. You don't tell her that, even if such a thing were to exist, it would have drastic long-term side effects. As in, death.

"Anything anything..?" You lean forward a bit more, the female eagerly mimicking the action. You stare into her pretty eyes, the honey gold of her skin. "...even study?"

The female deflates, shameful as she twirls at a strand of her hair. This girl is just one of the many reminders on why you should never have been known as the campus witch in the first place.

You also should have just stayed in bed, despite the uncharacteristically calm day you've been having. You should have slept through your subsequent assignments and uncountable morning classes; but Jungkook had pulled the sheets out from over your head that day almost knowingly, reminding you how much you're paying for tuition. Curse that familiar of yours.

(Jungkook's voice also seemed to be the one to coax you into giving the girl a discount on your widely known all-nighter potion; which really just mostly consisted of a monster and some ground coffee beans, but she didn't need to know that. But you're still definitely, definitely not a soft witch.)

Three years ago you started a shop of your own, one typical of a witch like yourself. All herbs and tea leaves and scented candles and crystals, ground sunflower seeds and fruits and, later on, potions; the thing that's gathered the most attention in your community, from both supernatural beings and, as harry potter so delicately put it, muggles alike.

On Sundays, you sit behind the shop's counter on the red cushioned bean bag chairs that Jungkook likes so much, taking in the low hanging vines of your small, dainty little shop, the smell of old parchment and the sound of fluttering pages, the shelves of books barely anyone but yourself reads but are familiar and comforting nevertheless.

On Sundays, people stop by; sometimes for tea, mostly for potions, and one time someone asked for a potion to help him get laid but even so, business is buzzing, Sunday or not.

On Sundays, you tolerate Jungkook's grunts and groans of boredom, the boy taut as violin strings until he starts arm wrestling with the plants and reading books by the corner, his long hair obscuring your view of his features as he bounces all over the place.

In the corner by the bookshelves sits a fish tank you'd gotten over a year ago, courtesy of Jungkook, now barren of fish of any kind. (The male managed to get a goldfish at some point. He named it ironman. It died a week later, now buried in Yoongi's greenhouse, and you coaxed some flowers into sprouting around its grave for his sake. Mostly lavender, reminiscent of your familiar. Lavender helps you sleep. Lavender soothes small hurts.)

Sometimes, if you're lucky, you'll hear little snippets of a singing voice, murmuring when he thinks no one can hear him — and you can almost feel the creaking of the floorboards and bookshelves ceasing, the books shifting about in their spines halting at the mere sound of it —  as if even the walls are straining to hear the tiny little sounds of your familiar's voice.

And although Sundays are meant for that, meant for all of that, on one particular Sunday you find yourself out of faerie tears to mix into your concoctions. An odd ingredient it is, but important nevertheless. And you know just the faerie willing to hand over some more.

"Yoongi!" You squeal as you enter the greenhouse, messenger bag over your shoulder, glass vials inside of it clinking together as you walk.

The greenhouse isn't big— not as big as Yoongi would have liked it to be, anyway— but it's tall enough to make room for trees of all sizes. Certain panes have been removed on its walls to allow the branches to carry through towards the sky, as if Yoongi would rather tear the place down than tear off a branch. Vines curl around your feet as you walk, tickling at your legs, and the plants greet you softly as you pass, (except the roses. They don’t like you too much and they tend to gossip quite a bit).

You tip your head up to stare at the hazy sky through the glass. It's humid and will probably rain later, another late summer storm.

You hear a grunt.

Hunched over a flowerbed sits a tuft of black, the endearing sight bringing a smile to your face that remains even as the male in question notices your amusement, frowning as his brows furrow and his nose crinkles.

He stands up as gracefully as his little faerie ass can manage, wiping the accumulated sweat on his forehead away with the back of his hand, a streak of dirt on his cheek and, somehow, on his nose. "Yes?" He mutters, grumpy and all, despite his patience as you move to grab an empty vial from your bag.

You stretch the empty glass expectantly, "I'm in need of some faerie tears, my good man."

The man waddles towards you in typical Yoongi fashion, inspecting the vial for a second before his gaze shifts to you, eyes squinted. "You know I don't cry," He says stubbornly.

"Oh, please. You’re one of the softest boys I know. Didn't you take theater in high school? The tears don't have to stem from real sadness, you heathen."

His cheeks redden at your reminder, grabbing the vial from your hands with a huff. "I just messed with the lighting for a while. Fixed the sound. It's not like I acted, damn you."

"But still! You gotta feel some sort of.. kinship. Come on. I'm not asking for much!"

"You're asking for my bodily fluids. It seems like quite a bit to me."

You hide your smile with your hand as you watch the male grunt and grimace, trying to get the tears out by sheer force. His body is shaking a bit at the strain, and you finally laugh when he lets out the breath he'd been holding with a dramatic, Yoongi flair. "Can't do it?" You ask through laughter.

"Shut up." He shoves the vial onto your chest. "Anything else for you to humiliate me with?"

"Huh. I am in need of some pixie dust, now that you mention it."

"Hobi probably has some of that, he's full of pixie friends." You, personally, aren't a fan of those tiny little rascals. The ones around your hometown were known for trouble, pulling at your ears and pushing objects off tables.

Though you suppose the ones around your current home weren't all bad. You've caught a few helping motivate your plants by your window to sprout, and sometimes you find petals by your windowsill that weren't there before, all layered with pixie dust. Sometimes they simply flutter overhead, tossing pink dust at passersby, and sometimes you hear them sneezing by your ear, drunk on plum blossoms.

They hang around Hoseok almost regularly, and it's not uncommon to find a few napping on his head and shoulder, warbling softly in their sleep. That merman attracts a whole bunch of creatures, so you don't blame them, really.

"Well. Walmart probably has some faerie tears, anyway. Thanks, Yoongs!" You pat at the now frozen male's chest thoughtfully, the man blinking slowly with wide eyes. You take off into a sprint at his bewildered WHAT? from behind you, laughter on your heels.

"Here, noona." Your familiar mutters as he walks into you finishing some paperwork, your form hunched out of view under the shop's counter, red bean bag hardly a chair for such a feat but at least it's comfortable. He places a cup of tea by the coffee table beside you, still steaming, the smell wafting through the tiny expanse of your homey shop.

"Thanks, Guk." You murmur in response without looking up, but you still catch his tail let out a tiny wag at that before he nods and shuffles away, almost like a waddle, and disappears into the closet-sized kitchen, large clothes swallowing his form adorably.

He shuffles back a few minutes later with his own cup, sinking into the bean bag beside you. He stretches the cup towards you after a second of hesitation, "Sorry, but could you heat it up please? Do that thing?"

You chuckle, sitting up straight to drop your papers on the counter before turning back towards the werewolf, "'course." You take the cup, fingers brushing against his, and you see him recoil in his seat as he sinks further into it.

Your fingers cup the mug lightly, and you feel the liquid slowly heat up, becoming darker in color. Your eyes catch his gaze as you hand it back, his eyelashes trembling as he looks down, cheeks dusted a shy pink, taking the drink generously. "Thank you," he mutters.

The moment is interrupted by the gentle chiming of the wind chimes tinkling in welcome as someone opens the door, and you stand up with a groan the second you hear it. Gently placing your cup on the coffee table, your attention shifts to the customer tripping into your shop, the smell of rain and autumn and wonder on his heels.

"Can I help you?" You ask, albeit uselessly as he continues inspecting your array of books without a word, pausing at the poetry section.

Maybe you shouldn't have bought those bean bags. They're low enough to hide you completely from view of anyone if you were to sit and you, being the one to sit by the register, kinda have to do that a lot. You take to standing, taking occasional sips from your tea when you think the boy that stumbled in isn't looking.

The boy suddenly marches towards you. Eyes you for a minute. Blinks profusely. "Morning," he says after a moment, voice soothing and soft, like melting butter and dripping honey. He slides a book onto the counter. Poetry.

"Good afternoon," you answer with a twitch of your lips, "Is this all?"

He clears his throat, his cheeks a bit flushed, "Yes."

You can feel his eyes on you. They flick over you quick and then again slower and then again one more time, dragging like a lip being pulled through teeth. You feel tingly.

With a hum, you mutter the price you know by heart as you stuff the book into a bag. His voice interrupts you.  "Do you sell blood here?"

You blink, catch Jungkook freezing from where he's seated. The boy in front of you at least has the decency to look sheepish after a moment, smiling with just a twitch of his lips, and it's then you notice the ever protruding fangs that line the sides of his teeth.

"Uh, nope, sorry."

"Hm." He hums. "How long has this been here? It's, well. Nice. Must be nice to work here."

You scoff out a laugh, "It has its downsides. Pay is shit, mostly. You're mostly just making drinks and making sure no one is doing anything stupid or trying to hide a body in one of the vanishing bookshelves."

"I already disproved that theory, noona!" Comes Jungkook's interjection from somewhere below you, voice laced with an odd sort of pride. "I sat there for an hour and didn't disappear."

"That... okay." Maybe you would scold him in any other setting, seeing as the bookshelf was completely capable of actually making him disappear — but seeing his pretty, honest eyes, his cupid's bow pulled into a smile, well.. who were you to take that away?

It's only then you remember the strange vampire you still have yet to know the name of was here for a reason. Your eyes stray to the book he'd bought, and you notice he seemed to dwell on which to buy for a bit too long. "Do you like poetry?" You mutter as you hand over his purchase.

"Nope." He grins. "I'll be back!" The boy says it like a promise before closing the door behind him, nimble as a cat and grinning like one, too, giving the dream catcher by the entrance a dangle and, in a blink, he's gone.

"That was weird." Jungkook mutters through the rim of his cup, and you agree with a simple nod of the head. “He was pretty, though,” he adds thoughtlessly. You nod again.

You spend your lunch, as you usually do, in a coffee shop close to campus, Jungkook sipping on a milkshake beside you and Yoongi sitting opposite you both, the latter pumping an unreasonable amount of sugar into his coffee.

"So Hobi's in this wack exercising mood these days. He signed us both up for couple's yoga classes."

Your lips twitch upwards at that before you purse your lips, trying to hide your smile. "That's.. wild."

"Yeah. Worst part is that I don't even mind going that much 'cause I know it'll make him happy. Gross, huh?"

"Super gross, dude."

Yoongi picks up his spoon and promptly stabs at the thick layer of sugar in the bottom of his cup, stirring glumly. "Anyway, how's the shop? Anyone walking in asking for condoms again?"

"Well, no, but I was asked if I sell blood bags."

Yoongi raises a brow, probably more surprised that there's a vampire on campus than he is surprised at the question. "Huh. That is weird. Was he cute?"

"Yoongs, you are not asking me if my vampire customer is cute. Tell me you're not." The man promptly starts to sip loudly at his coffee, avoiding eye contact stubbornly. You sigh. "Yes. Yes he was. Damn you." The man grins.

"He really was, though," Jungkook speaks up for the first time since you all sat down — not counting the little hello he'd whispered to Yoongi — and you watch as he sinks down his seat, smiles this shy little thing, cheeks and nose all scrunched up, trying to hide it as he sips aggressively at his oreo milkshake.

You smile knowingly at him and he all but melts, looking out the window, the tips of his ears a pretty pink.

"That so?" Yoongi says, watching you over the rim of his cup, "I was starting to think you two were cave gremlins incapable of feeling. How nice for you."

You scoff out a laugh, "Easy for you to say, you met Hoseok on Grindr."

"And we are positively thriving, thank you for asking."

"Oh!" The tiniest sound, whispered more to himself than anything but you manage to catch it anyway, your familiar's eyes widening prettily as he spots something out the window as his whole face breaks into a smile, cheeks crinkling at the edges, "It's Hobi-hyung!"

"Where?" Yoongi asks but sees him immediately after, the man in question spotting them through the glass and waving frantically, like he thinks you all might not see him.

Hoseok opens the door to the coffee shop cheerily, both the dulcet soft chime above the door and the usual light he carries on his shoulders alerting others of his presence. There are remnants of pixie dust on his shoulders, strapped to his clothes, glued to his hair. He smells of salt water and chlorine and dried flowers and something like pomegranate, just on the edges. The smile that always seems to be perpetually glued to his face brightens as he power walks towards your table by the corner.

"Hey! What're you all doing here?" He asks with a laugh as he slides on the seat beside his boyfriend, and Yoongi allows himself to be hugged by Hoseok, who hugs everyone.

"We're the physical manifestations of Y/n's inner demons." Yoongi says before Jungkook snorts out a laugh endearingly.

"How're classes, Hobi?" You ask, managing to ignore Yoongi only due to several years of training.

Yoongi groans at your question. Pretends to be annoyed. "His yoga classes or his dance classes?" Hoseok laughs at that, a loud and confident thing.

Hoseok laughs a lot. Dances a lot. Smiles a lot. Sometimes helps his dad teach little kids how to swim. Sometimes sea foam sticks to his eyelashes. Knows nothing about flowers but listens patiently when Yoongi talks about them, when Yoongi talks about his greenhouse and his love for jasmines and sweet sweet bubble tea.

You watch as Yoongi listens to Hoseok's ramblings, very much enamored and very much enraptured, eyes filled with love love love, a shy but fiercely sure thing. He's watching with the same soft, scrunched eyes he tends to be looking at everything with these days; at his plants and his friends and his music, like they're something precious, something to be cherished. You watch and it fills you with a not-jealousy, an almost-jealousy, an almost-want.

You want that kind of love, and yet you stray away from it at the first chance you get.

Yoongi leans in close, whispers something in his ear, and it's then that Hoseok snorts the coffee he'd been drinking through his nose, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones and suddenly they're all laughing, the two sneaking glances at each other. Glances you feel are private, intimate, probably something you weren't meant to see. You look away, feeling as if you're intruding.

Your eyes catch shifting from your peripheral vision, and you turn to see Jungkook moving hesitantly about in his seat, nibbling at the straw of his now empty milkshake. He stops. Purses his lips. Makes eye contact for a second before looking away.

You sigh. "If you clean out the backroom at home tomorrow for twenty minutes, I'll buy you another drink."

Jungkook perks up immediately. "How about if I clean out the backroom for ten minutes?"

"Twenty."

"..Fifteen?"

"Twenty."

"Seventeen."

You consider it. "...Deal."

Jungkook bursts into a celebratory dance as Yoongi tries hard to rein in his smile. You flip the two off before catching Hoseok's eye. WHIPPED, he mouths, enunciating it heavily just to be annoying, so you flip him off, too.

Two years ago, Jungkook entertains a visit to the town's newest herb shop; his expectations low and, despite his pack sending him out to search for medicine, his eyes were mostly searching for amusement.

Witches. A funny lot, all of them. They gather leaves for a living and use brooms as a means of transportation and they sprinkle basil into their soups and they think they know how to — how to herb.

The werewolf approaches the wooden door — printing paper taped to it with 'open' written in sharpie — and in he steps, wind chimes tinkling in welcome. If there was one thing he was expecting, it wasn't this. 

The air smelled like wood and scented candles, paint that's just beginning to dry. Shelves lined the walls from top to bottom with potions and tea and crystals and, well, herbs, and in the far back stood a nearly empty bookshelf, only half the books on the shelves and the rest still sitting in a box not quite in plain sight but not exactly hidden, either, as if the owner hadn't quite finished packing them.

If Jungkook holds his breath just right, he can feel his heart beating in sync with something in the air. Something living. 

Jungkook approaches the counter, searching left and right. No one in sight. "Hello?" He calls out. Flinches when he feels a thud, followed by a very abrupt, very loud—

"OW."

He leans forward tentatively after a moment of hesitation, glancing beneath the counter and, sure enough, there you are. This small thing curled on the floor, rubbing at your head from when you'd just tried to stand. No pointy hat or a big nose or dozens of moles, no evil laugh threatening to tumble out your lips, hidden just under your tongue.

It was just you. Wide eyed you. Sweet smelling you; sugar cookies, his brain supplies even though he didn't ask it to. Sugar cookies and vanilla and dark woods and something like coriander, just on the edges.

"Why were you sitting on the floor?" He asks you, the first thing he asks you.

You look up at him. Stare for a while. Your eyes don't linger on his ears stretched up in curiosity, black fur tipped with brown, or his tail wagging a bit behind him. He grabs at it to make it stop.

"I don't have any chairs." Is all you say, the lilting tone of home in your words. Jungkook laughs that terrible laugh of his, the one with his grin stretched ear to ear, his nose and eyes crinkled terribly. His laugh makes you laugh. Your laughter is terrible too, he notices.

He gets the medicine, tossing a pouch of coins onto the counter, courtesy of his pack. They have a knack at bringing the most inconvenience possible and living as if it were the nineteenth century.

Jungkook thought that would be it. But his father needed more scented candles and his brother needed more tea and his mother whined, like, once, that they were out of basil. And of course there are other shops that sell scented candles and tea and basil, but yours happened to be on his way every time.

True to his word, the vampire does indeed come back.

Despite barely talking to the boy, you know a bit about him from his interactions with Jungkook and what Jungkook, himself, shares with you. There's a dog with angry and very expressive eyebrows as his lock screen. His lips are naturally pouty and his hands are never quite still. Jungkook once stepped into the kitchen with peppa pig bandaids on his knees and despite knowing fully well that it could be any one of your friends, Yoongi is the least prepared person you know, Hoseok was working at that hour, and Jin only carries hello kitty bandaids from down the street, so you have a pretty clear idea of who's responsible.

And despite all that, you know little to nothing about the man personally.

"Noona, he's.. so nice. He's, like, my weekly reminder that I am, in fact, bisexual." Jungkook speaks as he polishes a crystal, sky blue in color and warm in his palm, and you watch him from between the bookshelves, placing your newly ordered volume of Jim Morrison's books through the available spaces.

"That's nice, Guk-ah." And it is, it really is. He's starting to move on and he's happy and his eyes are shining brighter than the crystal in his hands, tiny constellations hidden behind his eyelids, his eyelashes. "Tell me more?"

And so he does. He explains in a tiny voice, a soft one, occasional giggles and nose crinkles and bunny teeth as he talks about this mysterious boy and it all just feels like. So much.

The shop's lights dim the slightest bit. Jungkook doesn't comment on it.

It goes on until you both hear a loud gurgle from the closet-sized kitchen followed by the scent of smoke, and it's only then you remembered the potion you'd left brewing in the cauldron. You trip only once in panic, and Jungkook's laughter echoes through the walls and it follows you the whole way there.

It's a small little thing. A typical witch cauldron in its finest, smaller than average, sitting over your stove and under the kitchen cupboards. They're all filled to the brim with color-coded tupperwares, its ingredients labeled in sharpie in each respective container; because otherwise you wouldn't be able to distinguish the luck potion from the mashed potatoes, the health potion Jungkook thinks tastes like dirt from the apple sauce.

Somewhere between you opening your window to let the smoke out and your attempts at dwindling the damage, your familiar approaches you from behind and looks over your shoulder curiously, ears moving about in alert. "Can you save it? Is it still good?"

"Yeah, no thanks to you." You say in response, but there's no bite to your tone. He bites your shoulder playfully, a tiny howl slipping from his throat. You chuckle, fully endeared.

You grab a nearby measuring cup. You'd prefer glass vials, but they were all being used at the moment, sitting somewhere in your cabinets. You should probably move them somewhere else. Last time they were left alone too long, one exploded and ruined everything else you'd left in that cabinet.

"Do you know if we got any crystal orders recently?"

Jungkook hums at your question, chin propped on your shoulder, his arms still and unsure at his sides. You should probably nudge him off. Some selfish part of you, the bigger part, doesn't let you.

"Um. I think so. Maybe last week? I think you shoved them in a box somewhere." You probably did. It's starting to become a bad habit of yours.

"Dammit."

Jungkook laughs. "What do they do, anyway? Do they predict the future or something?"

"No, unfortunately. Only specific kinds of witches can do that. Divination is pretty hard so I'm pretty sure, like, only Namjoon is capable." You huff out a laugh, "And they're for curses, mostly."

"Namjoon-hyung can do everything so he's the only exception." He pauses. "Except context clues. He's very bad at context clues."

"And taking care of plants," you add. Just last year you'd given him a succulent because you figured it was the easiest thing to keep alive. It died within a week.

You grab a ladle and scoop up some of the liquid from the cauldron, bringing it to your lips before blowing softly. Probably a bad idea to taste test unknown substances, especially in its early stages, but you decide that it's as good a day as any to challenge death, so you swallow some determinedly. It doesn't burn in your throat, just fuzzes and warms a bit on your tongue, so that's a good sign.

"Are we cursing someone?" Jungkook says with a toothy grin before then resolutely, decidedly, adamantly, rests his hands on your hips, twisting his head so his cheek is on your shoulder instead of his chin. You can feel his breath on your neck, goosebumps prickling at your skin, his touch burning even through your clothes.

"No." You say, feeling small. "Not today. Crystals aren't made for that, Gukkie." You mix the wooden spoon through the concoction absentmindedly as you continue, "Plus, curses need a lot of magic. Usually more than one witch. And don't ask Namjoon because I know he would say yes if you asked."

"I think you can do it yourself." He mumbles, nose pressed to your neck.

"Sweet talk isn't going to make me curse someone." You say but your eyes are wide and lovely, as if you'd give in with just a bit more persuasion. "Who do you have in mind, anyway?"

"No one," he hums for a bit, lips pursed, and they tickle your neck a bit in a not-kiss. An almost-kiss. "Yet."

A hearty laugh bursts from your chest and Jungkook giggles along, giggles, the sound delightful and lovely and the cacti on your windowsill hum, leaning into it. You find yourself doing the same. The kitchen gets a tad bit warmer and the lights get a tad bit brighter.

"Any crystal can curse someone if you throw it hard enough." He grins, bright and unreserved. His eyes look like the chocolate truffles he drools over when commercials for it show on TV.

Some days it hurts more than others. This intimacy you have with Jungkook, how safe he makes you feel. How sometimes is hurts just a bit, just around the edges, where it's easy to hide. How sometimes it hurts too much, when the words are all up in your throat and blocking your airway, no space to let your rib cage expand when you try to draw in a breath.

"Guk- grab me some aloe vera roots, please? Please." You whisper, afraid that if you talked any louder the other words would come tumbling out. Your heart sits so big in your chest it's taking too much effort to hold it in place. Hands claw around it incessantly, some squeezing at it and others making it harder for you to breathe.

Jungkook untangles himself from you just as the lights overhead flicker indecisively. His hands don't linger. They feel like they might linger. They hover over your hips for a second, as if he stopped them from lingering.

He says something that sounds like okay, noona but the words get lost somewhere between his tongue and his teeth and only half of it makes it out. You hear cupboards opening and closing—feel Jungkook lingering in the air you breathe in.

You turn around and the werewolf is moving aside your many tupperwares, reading the label of the ones he finds the strangest. He picks up one with a soft pink color, the liquid bubbling unpleasantly. He places it right back, brows furrowed.

"How do you know how to make all this stuff, anyway?" He exclaims with a huff, closing another cupboard with a thud.

"Pinterest. Yoongi. Years of training, maybe. Or not. I think I stopped paying attention after seventh grade."

He laughs a bit at that, a soft thing. Hands you the tupperware with the root you asked for, which ended up being shoved somewhere in the fridge. You really should reorganize your things.

You take trains sometimes.

Faraway trains, hidden somewhere in the deepest part of the city. Trains taken straight out of Ghibli films, splashes of watercolor and pencil art drawn by hand. You take them when you feel like getting away, like outrunning the heartbreak chasing you down, like you want to go somewhere but have no destination in mind. You get off on stops where you don't know where you are.

The train sometimes takes you to farms, where the horizon is burning against the tips of the wheat, setting the world on fire. Sometimes it takes you to towns you haven't even heard of, where everything is homey and everyone knows each other and the flowers sitting on windowsills to bask in the sun greet you softly.

Everything is nice. Calming. You like when the train goes through tunnels, the dark inviting and comforting, a childlike wonder. The sound of the rail wheel on the track almost lulls you to sleep at times, white noise in your ears, and the few people in the train agree — most already doing exactly that, slumped against the seats.

The train skids to a halt. Nothing compels you to get off, so you don't.

People are leaving, a mother sitting in the seat in front of you urging her daughter awake, the old man sitting a few seats back getting up slowly, with kind eyes and laughter lines. You stay slumped by the window, sunlight warming the side of your face.

Amidst your daydreaming and despite the available seats, a man gets on board, spots you, sits beside you. He watches your side profile for a bit, as if waiting for you to complain or call him out on it. You don't, so he gets comfortable in his seat, closes his eyes. His skin is the color of honey and gold.

He looks absolutely horrible. Well, not outwardly—not outwardly at all. He's wearing slippers with little rabbit ears drooping horribly endearingly, a flannel and basketball shorts, two articles of clothing that don't match at all, as if he grabbed them last minute, but he makes them work. You have a feeling he would look good dressed in cardboard and trash bags.

His ears are a light brown color, and on his head sat a pair of antlers, the tip of one broken off a bit.

But his aura. His aura is absolutely horrible. It's gloomy and so unbelievably dark, hovering over his form and twisting into something ugly.

Maybe this strange man is like you. Maybe he likes to take train rides to the middle of nowhere in early mornings, when the clouds are still blurring over the horizon. You catch him staring at it, the horizon; right when you look up and see him looking not at you, but just past your head up to the skies.

You stare, too. The silence stretches, and a voice—thick and smooth like honey—breaks it. You're comparing him to honey a lot, you notice. His voice and his skin. You'll call him honey boy for now. "Blue."

The sky is awfully blue today, only a few clouds hovering overhead. "It'll rain soon," you reply thoughtlessly.

"How'd you know?" You sense a lilting tone of comfort in his tone of voice. He has a bit of a lisp. His eyes are big and open and honest.

"The leaves are turned on their back, the crickets are chirping, there were some colorful streaks on the sky today." You can tell he's processing the words, taking them to heart, listening gently.

"Oh." Is all he says. The silence stretches again. It doesn't last long. "Are you sad, too?"

Your eyes are wide with surprise when you turn to look at him. A grin splits across his face at your unintentional open admittance, and it's so pretty you can't look away.

The man explains he hasn't gotten more than four hours of sleep for the past two weeks. That he hasn't properly interacted with another human that wasn't his roommate and his mom probably since last Wednesday ("Maybe, that might have been a fever dream," he adds. You laugh). That he's been functioning solely through chocolate, granola bars and vitamin gummies—not coffee, no, he can't stand caffeine—and you laugh until he opens his backpack and pulls out, like, thirteen kitkats.

Describing honey boy is some new word you don't know. Like all the gentle love in his heart has manifested itself, is seeping out through his skin. You wonder how many strangers he's charmed in his life.

Honey boy hums a song absentmindedly from beside you, probably unaware that he's doing it. His voice is a deep timbre that fills the silence in a quiet way. His voice is nice and the train ride is nice and for a second it feels like you've run so far ahead from the heartbreak that it's likely impossible for it to ever catch up.

"Do you like the ocean?" He asks after a bit. The train is getting closer to it, to the ocean, and you can see the line where the blue of the sky blurs into the blue of the ocean. He answers before you get the chance to, "I really like the ocean. I would come here a lot with my grandparents. I like how my dad used to chase me around the sand and my mom would sing to me and my grandma would buy me cotton candy from the vendors that walked by and my grandpa would playfully pull at my antlers. And how the pretty scaled mermaids kept the tide gentle when I was learning to swim and it's, just. A cradley sort of place."

The way he views the world is so gentle. "It'll kick your ass, though," you mutter.

He giggles, really giggles, and it comes out as a ehehe kind of sound. It's cute, your mind supplies even though you didn't ask it to.

"It will, won't it?" He says between laughter. "Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"No!" You say too quickly. Clear your throat at the realization. "No, you're not. I like when you ramble."

Pretty pink on his cheeks. He looks small, somehow. "You sound like someone I know."

"That's good. You should have those kind of people in your life or else you'll go mad."

He laughs. The train skids to a stop the same way it always does, but it feels different. The man goes to stand up, hesitates, sits back down. Looks at you, almost as if to ask for permission. "Will I see you again?"

Your breath hitches in your throat. "I don't know."

"Gram says that people that are meant to find each other, will." He looks determined. One of his ears twitch. "See you soon."

And with that he gets off the train, doesn't look back for even a second, is saving that glimpse for when you see each other again. A part of you doesn't think you will. Another finds itself wishing for it.

[minervahopebeyond]

Blood Petals.

Hi, everyone! Just in case I need to clear up some things; Let's start with the code names... I chose them because of what they meant. *Fawn:a young deer in its first year. *Chimera:a fire-breathing monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon behind. *Deer it's obvious (prongs) and *Snuffles: James used to call Padfoot that when they were young animagi.

The second thing is that I changed some of the quidditch schedule to fit the story, It doesn't affect the story at all, but I'm warning you in case someone realize that the dates don't add up with the canon ones.

That being said, enjoy!! Let me know what you thought of this one<3

Chapter 11: Truce.

It was a particular year at Hogwarts. Days passed and the blond boy could still feel the dark atmosphere surrounding the castle. At first, he thought it was him being paranoid but, as time went by, he could still feel it in the air. To think that everything was so near... It sent chills down his spine.

The attacks were increasing. Everyday Draco checked the Daily prophet to see the list of 'missing', wishing that he wouldn't read any names from the people he cares about. He still talked to Severus about his mother weekly, but sometimes it was not enough to calm his nerves.

But you know what was the most weird and backwards thing at school in that year?  Potter being good at potions. It was driving Draco mad. When he asked Weasley about it, the redhead just shrugged and changed the subject. Stupid loyal weasel, always covering scarhead at things. Clearly there was a reason, the green-eyed boy didn't even touch a book all summer, so it wasn't studying.

 Days seemed to be calm besides being very dark… It was like everyday was rainy day. He almost didn’t remember what a sunny day at the castle was. Maybe you could have some days where it didn’t rain but the clouds always looked like they were preparing for a storm. Draco liked to think that, behind the clouds, the sun was shinning as always, that no Dark Lord could stop him from enjoying a sunny day if he wanted to, if he put his mind into it.

That day was a Sunday, but he wasn't playing chess. He was with Weasley outside, practicing for the quidditch tryouts. And if you would had asked Draco, the sun was shinning brightly.

"You look like a troll on a broom, Weasley"

Ron glared at him and took a hand off his broom to show him his middle finger.

"I caught everything you have thrown, you stupid ferret." Draco chuckled.

"That's because I suck as a chaser."

He throwed another quaffle at him that ended up being stopped by the boy's head.

" How graceful."

The redhead got off his broom and grabbed the quaffle. He started walking to where Draco was and hit him in the head with it. The blond boy started laughing and tried to take away the ball from Weasley's hands.

" Weasley cannot save a thing” he started to sing. Ron kept hitting him with the quaffle, it didn't stop him, though.

"He cannot block a single ring,"

 The redhead put his hand over Draco's mouth, but he just kept singing the lyrics from the song. The blond boy pinched Weasley's hand and as his friend whined from the pain, he kept on singing.

"That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King"

 "I could punch you."

"I know."

The redhead looked at him with a smug smile on his face.

"I'm going to get on the team, and I will enjoy seeing your stupid ferret face when we win the quidditch cup."

There it was, he had annoyed Weasley into determination. Good, with confidence he stood a chance.

"Malfoy."

The blond boy turned around and saw Potter standing there with an envelope in his hand.

"Potter. Whatever it is make it quick so I can keep mocking Weasley."

He heard the redhead yelled a 'hey' from behind him, but Draco ignored him. Potter extended his arm and offered him the letter he was carrying. The blond boy took it and started to open it.

"I got that this morning. I guess it's meant to be for you too."

Draco nodded and started to read the parchment.

Dear Fawn and Chimera,

We are happy to hear that you are both alive and well. Sorry if the letter is short but we agree with Chimera that this form of communication is a risk. Fawn, if Chimera doesn't know, teach him our other way of sending messages.

 We miss you arguing around the place all the time.

Snuffles and Deer

The blond boy turned to look at Potter.

"There is another way?"

The green eyed boy nodded at him. He leaned a little closer, Draco could feel his breath on his ear. Fuck, he was blushing and Weasley was looking at him with an amused expression as he raised one eyebrow. Stupid weasel. Then Potter whispered on his ear:

 "The Patronus charm. You can send messages through them."

He was so close. Draco could feel the fucking tickles all over his lungs. If paid enough attention, he could swear he felt the petals moving inside of him. Draco had never been so close to him, so close that if he turned his head, he could kiss Potter on the lips. The tickles got worst.

"Potter, would you kindly remove yourself from my personal space?"

 The dark haired boy looked confused but did as he was told. He knew his face was as red as Weasley's hair, he could feel the heat on his cheeks and Ron was still looking at him as if this moment was the most precious and hilarious thing he had witnessed in his entire life.

"Do you know how to produce one?" Draco returned his attention to the boy in front of him. Those green eyes were looking right at him. Stop you useless daffodils, he just whispered like ten fucking words to my ear

"Clearly I don't know. It's not on the curriculum." Potter shrugged and pushed some of his hair off his face.

"Well, I know how to cast it and I can teach you. I taught it at DA last year too."

Yeah, no. Absolutely not. He would not get private lessons from Potter in empty classrooms or whatever. The stupid flowers would not leave him alone, ever. He turned to the redhead then.

"You know how to cast it then, weasel?" The boy walked towards them, nodding his head.

"Great, then Weasley can teach me and I save you all the trouble, If they ask I'll say it was you who taught me. Problem solved." The blond boy turned around and grabbed the quaffle that was on the floor. " So... Practice?" He said as he turned his head a little to look at the redhead.

Weasley was doing that face he did when he thought that Potter would be mad. The blond boy didn't understand how they could be best friends if the redhead was always so bloody careful of not upsetting him or insult him by accident, most of all because the dark haired boy had so little filter to speak his mind. It should be two-way street.

"What? I, literally, didn't say anything wrong." He huffed. Weasley groaned and put his hands on his face as he took a deep breath. Well, excuse him, he didn't have a manual to understand the prat who lived.

"I am telling you that I helped the entire DA to cast it and you choose Ron to help you, just so can avoid spending time with me? Are you serious?"

Draco frowned at that. Who could understand this nutter? Two weeks ago, he was saying that he only apologized to be polite and now he was mad at him for saying that he prefers to have extracurricular classes with someone that was actually his friend.

"Do you want me to spend time with you, Potty?" He said as he raised his eyebrow. The green-eyed boy sighed and passed his hands over his face. Then he looked at him and said:

"Whatever. Do whatever. Why do I even bother? You are impossible." And he turned around and left both boys standing there.

Weasley sighed too, grabbed his broom, and did a little gesture indicating to follow him. They walked for a while in silence until they got near some trees. Ron laid down on the grass and sighed like he was tired. Draco sat beside him with his back resting on the trunk.

"Ferret you need to see that he is trying. It's exhausting hearing him complain about you when you do shit like this." He said with a calm voice. Draco didn't say anything, so Ron kept talking. "When you outright say that you don't want to be his friend or that you don't even want him near if you can help it... " He sighed. " It upsets him. Harry gets in this weird mood when I'm around because It bothers him that you don't have any problem spending time with me." Suddenly, the redhead incorporated and sat down too. "OH, that reminds me! Harry said to us that you don't speak to him or Hermione because of the blood status. I told him that it was rubbish, but then Mione said that you don't normally speak to her or that you didn't tried to apologize for second year and-"

"Your girlfriend literally punched me on the face, I don't see her apologizing either."

Ron's face went so red at that, he widened his eyes and looked at him and hissed a response.

" She is NOT my girlfriend. I don't know what the bloody hell made you think tha-"

"Please, you are so in love with her! It's so obvious it hurts my eyes, weasel." If he thought that the boy couldn't go any redder, he was wrong. He saw him pulling his knees to his chest and looking away.

"Do you think she knows?" He asked in a quiet, shy voice.

Draco, honestly, didn't have the slightest idea. Gryffindors were so oblivious to things like this... but Granger was the smartest witch from their year, the blond boy supposed she would at least imagine it being a possibility.

"I don't know... I don't hang out with her that much, and she is not as transparent as you are about things.” He took a deep breath before continuing (at least as deep as he could). “And about Potter ridiculous theory, I don't talk to them because they don't want to talk to me. It's like they expect me to beg them for a chance and I'm not like that. And your prat of a best friend knows that this is not about his stupid blood status, he is just playing dumb.”

He looked over at his friend, the boy had this worried look on his face as he was playing with a little rock he found beside him. Draco sighed and laid down. He didn’t want to lose Weasley over the other two thirds of the stupid golden trio. He would regret this.

“Fine.” He said while rolling his eyes, the redhead looked down to where he was. “I’ll ask Potter to help me with the bloody charm, and if this doesn’t get him to like my beautiful personality then I’m out. AND you must promise not to bother me with this again. This is me trying; take it or leave it.”

Ron smiled brightly at him and nodded enthusiastically. Draco rolled his eyes again. They were in silence for a while, he could feel that the redhead wanted to say something. Maybe something about Granger.

It wasn’t about her.

“Saw you blushing over there when Harry got close to you.” And he said it in such a smug way, so Weasley. Draco glared at him. “It’s that why you don’t want him around? Because you fancy him?”

DENY, DENY, DENY.

Draco chuckled and shook his head. ACT ALOOF, IT DIDN’T EVEN CROSSED YOUR MIND. “The stupid tickles were acting up. So, if he talked about him, he also could have a reaction. Great.

“No, Weasley. I just never had a boy whispering things in my ear, it could happen with anyone.” That was a lie because Theo use to do it all the time, and Draco would get nervous or whatever but not that much. That was all Potter.

The redhead didn’t look convinced, but he said:

“Okay, I was just curious.”

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

 This was the weirdest thing ever. He was with Weasley at the entrance of the Gryffindor common room, the stupid petals were moving all over, and his breathing was so shallow he could faint in any moment then.

Weasley got in and he waited there for Potter to come out of the Lion’s Den. He wasn’t feeling good. Scarhead was taking his time and Draco started to think that maybe it was because he didn’t want to see him at all, not even to insult him. One, two, three, four… He tried to breath, but the air was barely getting to his lungs.

What was weird was that he didn’t feel like coughing. The good tickles were there, they were not so soft anymore, but he didn’t have the need to cough. It was like they were pulling him to Potter, like that afternoon when the boy whispered in his ear… they were encouraging him to be near him.

That was not good though, Draco always had problems at controlling himself when the green-eyed boy was there. If he had something pushing him towards him it would be bad. It would be so obvious that whatever truce Draco could manage would be annulled when Potter realize that he is pathetically in love with him. Maybe he would even be disgusted of him. The strong tickles were appearing at the thought when he heard the boy’s voice.

“Ron said you needed something.”

Potter was arms crossed, bored expression on his face. He was clearly pissed off.

“Can you teach me the Patronus charm?” The dark-haired boy snorted.

“I thought you wanted Ron to teach you.” He said as he raised an eyebrow.

“Weasley says that you want to teach me, otherwise you wouldn’t have offered. I thought you were just being polite, like when you apologized for the train ride. I wasn’t going to bother you with this.”

The boy then looked a little guilty. He uncrossed his arms and passed a hand through his hair, leaving it messier than before. Then, he spoke quietly.

“The thing on the train was a mistake and I really am sorry. I kept thinking that it couldn’t be real: you putting your life at risk for us, helping us, just because… I mean-“ He changed the weight between his feet a little. “I know you must have your reasons, but I don’t know them. Everything I don’t know about you is in this grey area and I keep trying to find explanations. That was what the train was about and I’m sorry.” Then he gave Draco a beautiful smile and the stupid flowers kept tickling him, they were a nightmare, he can’t even remember what was breathing like, before all this. “To be honest this month was rather boring without you calling me a prat all the time.”

For Salazar’s sake, Draco was going to die from tickles on his lungs. That was what the newspaper would write as headlines: ‘Ex- Malfoy heir dies from tickles’. He touched his ribs, pet them, like if that would calm down the petals that were inside of him.

“It’s okay, Potter. I know who I am, and I understand why you did what you did.”

The boy nodded at him and seemed to be more relaxed now. Then he spoke again.

“Okay… good. And just to be clear: I didn’t just apologize only to be polite.” Draco chuckled.

“Yes, I got that, Potter.”

“So… when are you free for the lessons?”

[icarus-the-eternal]

The Raid

Archon Braessath of the Kabal of the Black Fang laughed as the prey ran, animal terror pushing them further and faster in hopes of escape. Standing on the prow of his Raider, he lifted a splinter rifle and fired, dropping one of the beasts in a howl of anguish. A cruel smile danced across his lips as his warriors laughed and jeered at the display, jetbikes swooping past to herd the prey on. This had been a pleasurable excursion so far, no rivals to dispute his claim and plenty of fodder for both the slave pens and torture racks. “Such a nice time for a hunt, eh Ahlseth?” His Dracon barely looked up from where she was sharpening her flensing knives. “Perhaps my lord but they are rather poor sport, no fight in them at all.” Braessath chuckled to himself, lowering the rifle and accepting a cup from one of his waiting attendants, enjoying the pleasant burn of the hallucinogenic liquid down his throat. “Where’s the fun in prey who fights back? The easier the better I say.” Ahlseth simply shrugged, irritating in her indifference, so the Archon turned his attention back to the hunt. These mon-keigh were even more primitive than the rest of their simple race, barely above animals, but he did enjoy them so. Perhaps when they returned to Commorragh he wouldn’t sell all of them but would establish his own private reserve. He liked that idea for surely many would pay for the pleasure of hunting without leaving the comforts of home. His revelries were interrupted by a blaring alert on the communications channel. Irritation returning he opened it, swearing to skin the one responsible for disturbing his pleasure. “What is it?” The panicked voice of Bezial, his distant cousin and second Dracon, came through. “My lord- attack- can’t- by the dark o- AAAAGH!” The channel cut out in a harsh static and gunfire, no response afterwards. Braessath cursed and turned about, fur cloak billowing in the breeze. “Turn is about! Call back the hunting parties! We have uninvited guests!”

Jaego broke the extended arm, ignoring the pained screams of the Kabalite warrior as it dropped the knife intended for his eye lens. He rapped it across it’s androgynous features, feeling the crunch of bone and cartilage beneath his knuckles before he tossed it to his waiting retinue. The slavering mutants fell upon the injured xenos with hungry claws and teeth, Jaego chuckling as it’s screams faded beneath snarls and growls. “Eat my lovelies! Eat your fill!” He moves on through the ruined camp, humming softly as he paused here and there to examine a corpse or extract a sample. This particular breed of Eldar was fascinating, having adapted to sustain themselves on the pain and anguish of other beings. He hoped to take a few alive for future study, his fingers itching with the desire to peel apart their secrets layer by layer beneath his scalpels. He’d been surprised when his presence had been requested but this raid had already provided him with plenty of useful data and a chance to test his newest experiments. The xenos had dared to trespass upon a world considered valuable by the goddess, it’s Stone Age human population worshipping her in some fashion. His Gland Hounds were gone, given permission to hunt and kill as they saw fit, so he strode through the ruined camp alone. The sounds of gunfire and battle persisted somewhere nearby accompanied by the shouts of mortals and howls of mutants. The first batch of enhanced fodder had performed within expected parameters so far, though he could already see the improvements he would make next time. A feral roar tore through the air and he barely sidestepped as an armored body crashed to the dirt just past him. The drukhari in charge of the camp was barely recognizable from the strutting, gilded peacock he’d been. His armor was cracked and broken, his beautiful sword broken in half, his lifeblood pooling beneath him. Drogon strode after, the giant Astartes radiating primal fury. Every breath through his vox gril was a snarl, fists clenching and unclenching, the sharpened horns and arm blades of bone coated in blood from use. The xenos tried to crawl away but it was no use. The daemonically strengthened warrior seized his helpless foe and with a guttural snarl wrenched it’s head free in a crack of bone and wet tearing of meat. Jaego felt his twin hearts beat faster, his mouth go dry in the presence of such beauty. He had met all the champions of his new patron and his feelings ranged from indifference to respect in the case of fellow Apothecary Furio. But only the renegade Black Dragon made his blood race this way. He was a monster, a magnificent being of gene-crafted death and fury. Oh how he longed to put him on the table, to explore every nook of bone, knot of muscle, and twisted genetic strand. The wonders he could work with but a loving touch, surely it would be his finest work! He’d carefully secured a few samples of blood and tissue but it was not enough, barely a drop to wet his insatiable thirst for more. Drogon looked from where he had dropped the head, fixing his red gaze on the Apothecary. “The rest will come. We prepare. You fight with me this time.” Jaego felts his blood sing as he set about his work.

Braessath has expected a raid from another kabal, perhaps a few dead and the slave stock stolen, but nothing like this. The camp was in ruins, structures toppled and burned or burning. The slaves we’re gonna, their pens pried open and empty. The bodies of his warriors were scattered around in various states of dismemberment, some barely recognizable pieces of ragged meat and gnawed bone. The attackers had left a sign of their handiwork, the corpse and severed head of Bezial held aloft by his own tendons like a macabre puppet for all to see. Archon surveyed the wreckage over the lip of his raider. He’d dressed in finest Wargear to greet these guests, a necessity among the extravagant Archon’s always seeking to outdo one another. A crystalline mesh of purple and emerald armor beneath a new cloak of shimmering metallic feathers and a gunbelt of infant leather slung low in fashion. Fingers rapped upon the gilded shuriken pistols in their holsters as he considered what do next. “Fan out! Find me some tracks! And someone take that damn thing down!” Warriors moved to obey, tugging at the corpse on display. The corpse began to shake and buzz, vomiting a swarm of chittering insects. The warriors cursed and swatted was the cloud enveloped them, rising into agonized screams as the insects found gaps in their armor and burrowed into the inviting flesh. They danced spastically, muscles seizing in pain as the bugs sought the delicious meat of organs and brain matter. Braessath felt himself revolted and fascinated by the sight as the warriors collapsed and their killers settled to feed. Jaego had spent decades cultivating and breeding this particular species of beetle to use against the Craftworld Eldar. He hasn’t been sure thwy would work on the dark cousins of the species but would be very satisfied with the results.

Every step through the camp uncovered more and more booby traps. The Black Fang lost warriors to more hungry beetles, buried landmines, filth coated spike-traps, even a vat-muscled slab of aggression amplified mutant. As he forces were whittled down so did the Archon’s temper flare till he was boiling with only a third of his original force left. As he raged and ranted only then did they make their appearance. Drogan and Jaego emerged from the surrounding woodlands, approaching the eldar at an easy pace. “How did you like our gifts?” Braessath stepped to meet them with hands on his pistols and Ahlseth at his back. “How about you come taste my appreciation mon-keigh?” Drogon snarled, the vox amplifiers making his voice sound even more guttural. “You have trespassed on ground sacred to the goddess, hunted her people. These affronts have been paid for in blood. Leave now and perhaps we shall let you keep your miserable lives!” With his words the rest of the force revealed themselves from under the psychic illusions hiding them, a bristling force of mortals, mutants, and Astartes all hungry for more xenos blood. The Kabalites seemed to be co side red their odds as their leader merely sneered. “Come on then filth! I’m going to make myself a new pair of boots for your face as the slave pis-urk..” Braessath never finished his sentence, eyes going wide with surprise as the air rushed from his lungs. Ahlseth twisted the knife in his spine and drew it out, letting her former master stumbling a few steps and collapsing in the mud. None of the other Kabalites moved to stop her, rather watching with interest as she removed the gunbelt and buckled it about her own waist. Then she waved cheerfully to the pair of astartes. “As Archon of the Black Fang, I humbly accept your terms though I think that we could be of use to each other. Perhaps we could work out some manner of a deal?”

Upon return to the Vaults, Jaego immersed himself in his work once more. He was no warlord and preferred to leave the glories and distribution of loot to others as he’d already claimed the samples and specimens he desired. He was gazing at such specimens now, the mash of machinery and wraithbone the one called Ahlseth had provided him for future contact, when a feminine voice tickled in his ear. “Keeping busy I see.” He turned to find Fuuko in her mortal form standing nearby, gazing into a large tank bobbing with organic matter and nutrient fluid. “Ah my lady! If you had told me you were coming I would have tidied up or prepared refreshments!” The goddess laughed and shook her head. “I prefer my visits to be spontaneous I’m afraid. How goes your work?” Jaego brightened and launched excitedly into his theories based on data from the raid and the possibilities it opened. The goddess played the good guest, listing intently and nodding where appropriate. As he began to branch into the increased growth cycles of hybridized cells, she interrupted him. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself in my service. I shall leave you to your work and I look forward to more results.” Then she was gone, leaving only the scent of incense in her wake. Jaego turned back to tank she’d initially been watching. It was barely an embryo right now, a splice of stolen cells and gleaned samples but he could envision it’s future form. Humming to himself, Jaego stepped away from the Drogon clone and returned to work.

@fuukonomiko

[be-more-chill-evan-hansen]

BLACK FRIDAY SPOILERS

The following post contains spoilers for the new musical, Black Friday, by Team Starkid. Continue reading at your own risk. 

MY FAVORITE PARTS FROM THE BLACK FRIDAY DIGITAL TICKET + OTHER COMMENTARY (IN ORDER OF HOW THEY APPEAR) WHILE WATCHING IT FOR THE 4TH OR 5TH TIME [contains very harsh and explicit language]

**These points will be brought up in another post (involving the Hatchetfield Universe theories)

The ENTIRETY of the Wiggly jingle at the beginning

Jaime saying “his belly’s so squishy!” while jumping up and down

The tights

“Uncle Wiley, where does Wiggly come from?”

James Tolbert (Team Starkid choreographer-turned-actor) STOLE the show

Curt Mega’s dancing in that song killed me

“DO THE WIGGLE!”

ROBERT AND JAMES DANCING WAS EVERYTHING

**Paul still doesn’t like musicals? (I have a theory of where this show takes place in the Hatchetfield Universe but that’s for another post)

The way Paul looks at Emma when she’s on her Cabbage Patch Kid rant!

“I’m Paul. I’m Emma’s...boyfriend.”//“Well, we haven’t put a label on it yet.”//“But we are intimate.” (Bonus: Emma’s glare)

Paul is still awkward I love him.

“I do not get flashbacks. I remember bad things vividly.”

“Thank you for your service.”//“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Ski-ball sucks.” (I wholeheartedly disagree but whatever)

Grace Chastity is Tom’s babysitter for Tim confirmed

Okay. Okay. Okay. OKAY. 

TOM JUST WANTS TO MAKE IT UP TO HIS SON BECAUSE HE FEELS GUILTY ABOUT THE CRASH I’M SOFT

DYLAN SAUNDERS STILL STEALING HEARTS

WHY DO YOU GIVE DYLAN ALL OF THE HEART-WRENCHING SONGS????? I DON’T NEED TO CRY AT 4AM

THE LIGHTING 

 “Excuse me, miss. Do you think it’s okay for me to park here?”//“Yeah, it says ‘no parking at any time’ but I’m sure the loading trucks can just park across the street. Does that work for you?”

“If I won’t support my drinking habit, who will?”

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. A fuckin’ furry little monster’s gonna make me a pile of cash.”

“Tell me, Lex. Do you know why they call it Black Friday?”//“Because it comes after Thursday?”

“Well, friend-o. I have a feeling that these little babies are going to take you so far into the black that you ain’t never comin’ back.” *long uncomfortable pause*

“Oh, you’re gonna make a killin’. That’s an Uncle Wiley’s Toys guarantee!”

FRANK HUGGING THE BOX OF WIGGLYS

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. Peace on Earth, and lots of money. MONEYMONEYMONEYMONEY just for ME.”

JON’S VOICE AS WIGGLY I CAN’T

“mALL security we got a shoplifter. Drop that doll!” (His voice crack killed me oh my God)

HIS OUTFIT (The first time I saw him I went “Oh my God he’s emo”)

“Where’s my sister?”// “Oh no.” *stares dramatically* “Hannah?” *even more dramatic* “Is that what you’ve been telling me every day for the past four weeks? To pick up your kid sister?” *grabbing Lex* “Oh, I must’ve forgot because I’m so stupid.” Ethan needs to take up drama

“Do I gotta put a leash on you like a dog, or my cousin Oliver?” 

“Don’t pull her.”//*voice crack* “I’m nOt.”

“Alright banana split.” i’m not crying 

“You see this hat? This was gifted to me by a great warrior.” *Lex laughs*/*Ethan turns around slowly* “Don’t you fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’d make a great dad, I’m just sayin’.” (Ethan isn’t a horrible person he’s just misguided)

“My mom’s a bitch!”

Honestly the way Ethan looks at Lex

*in the middle of singing* “That’s not how cameras work, babe.”

Hannah’s dancing

ROBERT’S WIGGLES DURING “We’re missing in action.”

“Dear mom, it’s been real."

“I’d say you did your best, but I’m not a liar.”//“Oh, L-I-E-R, babe.”//“We get it Ethan, you’re a good speller.”

“PS: Get yourself a new trailer, because this one? Is BROKE AS SHIT!”

Robert in skinny jeans. Can Robert wear skinny jeans more often please?

Hannah doing the “smoking” thing with her hands.

“Hannah! What the fuck is this [imitating it]?That better be fucking FLOSS.”

UGH LAUREN AS LINDA MONROE IS LEGENDARY

“That’s called a bribe, sir, and it’s illegal...or it should be.”

“I have four boys. Four beautiful, blond, boys.”

“Do you really think your children are better than everyone else’s.”// “In so many words, YES.”

“I hope you don’t get a Wiggly. I hope you fucking die.”

“Well, my children were accidents.”

“Stop crying, Gerald. I wasn’t talking to you.”

The way Tom and Becky looked at each other when they met again ugh.

Whatever that song is called when the Hatchetfield citizens were gossiping about it like I think it’s called “What Do You Say?” or something?

“Tom’s put on some weight.”

“I heard Tom is seeing things.”

Jon is serving looks.

The dance they did when they said “all the years that had fun” killed me

Curt Mega is a treasure

“It’s cold out.”//“Nothing really.”//“How are things?”//“Haven’t seen it.”

“Oh my, God, it’s a train-wreck.”//“My favorite.”//“Give me my tub of popcorn.”//“Just skip to the fucking.”//“She’d never--.”//“Either way this is torture porn.”

“I think I’ll step in and save her.”// “You don’t have half of a chance, bitch.”

“THERE, she looked at his crotch.”//“He looked at her boobs.”

“I like dolls. I’m just kidding. I don’t like dolls. At least, not like that.”// “I missed you.” *everyone freaks out*

The dance that looks like a beating heart around them I love.

“Did you know if you spend money, your kids will love you maybe.”

COREY DORRIS NEEDS APPRECIATION BYE

“Give us your fucking money. Give us your fucking cash.”

SERIOUSLY I CAN’T WAIT FOR THIS RECORDING

“Do we have any morality.”

“What’s a grown man going to do with 85 dolls?”// “Well, one will stay in the box for posterity. One will be used exclusively for bath time.”

“If you’re going to make with the hysterics, TAKE IT TO MACY’S.”// “How dare you. Are you hearing this, Gerald? Yes, call my attorney.”

“I’ll tickle one doll, and one doll will tickle me.”

The bidding war.

“Get your hands off her.”// “Fuck YOU.”

The lighting slowly gets red when they start bidding.

“$800.”//“$3.”//“Can I use these coupons?”

“Well, if you’re not going to sell me that doll, I guess I’ll just gonna have to take it.”

“If he gets one, I’m getting four.” *Linda climbs the counter like Draco*

So the lighting during “Feast or Famine” is just???? The green and red??? Like holiday colors but at the same time it’s representative of greed and rage???? 

Just all of “Feast or Famine”

“What’s shaking banana, you okay?” I’M HAVING FEELINGS UGH

“What���s up with that grammar. Even I know it’s ‘more badder’.” Ethan no

ETHAN NO

“Give me that fucking doll I’m in a hurry.” Okay, Jeff you freaking gremlin man

WHO BRINGS A KNIFE SHOPPING?? Unless he stole that, too.

“Do you see him? Do you see him? Do you see him?”//“YES, I fucking see him!”

James as “Obama” I’m crying

“I’ll hold onto the little...uh...whippersnapper.”

“While you three devise a strategy, I’ll hold on to the little friend.”// “Shut the fuck up!”

“You’re nothing more than a Harvard Law School community organizing prick!” I’M SCREAMING

“Take one step closer to my fwendy-wend and I’ll rip your fucking throat out with my own teeth.”

“No, he’s mine! Back off or I will send a laser-guided ballistic missile to your house in Denver. You’ll be scraping off what’s left of your kids off the FUCKING pavement.”

“MORRIS. Give me that COCK-SUCKING MOTHERFUCKING COCK-A-DOODLE-DOLL” CURT MEGA IS A TREASURE 

“I’ll bite your dick off!”

THE AUDIENCE (AND MY) REACTION TO MCNAMARA 

*Obama voice* “Oh, I’m gonna vomit.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I let myself in.”// “Into the oval office?”

“Monsters and Men” IS A BOP

*yeets the Wiggly off stage*

“DECK THE HALLS” IS A BOP

I would 100% watch “Santa Claus is Going to High School” unironically

“Jingle! Jangle! If anyone sees two elves in my locker, I’ll get expelled for sure.”

The dancing UGH

Lauren is the cutest elf ever

PART THREE OF LAUREN AND ROBERT DOING A CUTE DANCE TOGETHER

“What the fuck am I watching?”

Becky talking about her ex-husband breaks my heart. I would die for her.

“You say you killed your family. I hope I killed mine.” My heart is breaking help me

Becky and Tom are freaking CUTE

“Take Me Back” is the cutest song ever

All of the times the characters mention other dimensions and stuff??? Each has a different context, but Joey’s character did say that Hatchetfield was a special town earlier in the show so????

All of the making out I’m done

Becky’s leg

“I knew you weren’t Santa.”//“A red tricycle.”//“SANTA!” *starts making out*

“This is the best movie ever!”

Robert has to make out with two people every day.

**PEIP deals with Paranormal, Extraterrestrial, and Interdimensional stuff, so if TGWDLM was Extraterrestrial, and BF is Interdemensional, will Nerdy Prudes Must Die be Paranormal? Will we see PEIP again? [I’M GOING TO MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT THE THEORIES WITHIN THE UNIVERSE]

**“There are many dimensions, sir.”

“You want to send me into the fucking Twilight Zone to have a sit-down with the devil?”

“They will build him his birth canal.” Ew

Sherman Young is so freaking creepy

“Wiggly is good. Wiggly is just.”

“Bring forth the infidels.”

*as Linda walks onto the stage* “MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER”

“I dislike that word, Gerald. Cult. No, it’s a new, exciting religion that I started.”

“I’ve met God, He had nothing nice to say about you.”

“Adore Me” is a BOP

“You’ll kneel before me. Kiss my toe.”

“I will destroy everything, and then I will destroy everything. I guarantee I’ll destroy everything in my path. Unless I get what I--shit, Gerald.”

The followers repeating “I get what I shit.”

THE TIE AROUND JON’S HEAD KILLS ME

“I want you to know what I mean when I say my evil shit, ‘kay?”

TEAM STARKID PLEASE MAKE LAUREN A VILLAIN MORE OFTEN

“What’s shaking banana?” DON’T DO THIS TO ME

Evil Ethan hurts me

Hannah doesn’t deserve this

“I’m in the Black and White now. It’s just like California. It never ends.”

“I swear on my own grave.” I’M

Hannah calling Wiggly out on his bullshit

“Well, Webby is a stupid bitch.” JON UGH

“I’m going to eat you riiiight the fuuuuck nowwwww.” This scene just makes me want to give Hannah a hug

“We don’t get tricked. We’re grown-ups.” GROWN-UPS ARE THE ONLY ONES BEING TRICKED I CAN’T WITH THIS MUSICAL

“Tom, how could you? You let her get away!”

Dylan jumping at an audience member

I know people think that Ethan’s magic hat thing was bullshit but like the syringe missed Hannah so like?? 

“You think that in the Netherlands they care about some toy? Hah! Nah, they’re too busy enjoying their free vacations and free health care.”

Made In America is A BOP

THE SNIGGLES

BIG WIGGLY

I feel like Made in America won’t have the same punch on the soundtrack.

Joey’s falsetto

R.I.P. General John McNamara

“MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Uh, oh, Mr. Prezy-wez. It seems you’ve misplaced your bomby-womb. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will turn up somewhere.”

“We’ve lost Moscow, sir.”

“He baited us into World War Three.”//*Wiggly giggles* “That tickles.”

“Is this what I live for? To be choked in a toy store?”

“Black Friday” is such a beautiful song though

“Did I need her more than she needed me?” I’m crying please stop

“I’m authorizing you to use my firearm.”

“Monsters and Men” reprise is PERFECT

“Kids don’t want that piece of shit.”//“What?”//“They’re all into Fortnight, dude!”

“I mean, you’re like 40! You probably think your life is over!”

“Everyone is dying, and that includes me, too.” Jeff is a lyrical genius but he needs to back off of whatever angsty juice he’s drinking.

“If I fail you one more time, the punishment won’t match the crime, cause there’s no pain that could ever explain how I let you down.”

“I failed you once, and I will fail again.” I cried when I watched this the first time

“If I Fail You” is such an emotional song

“Alright, let’s go.”//“Fuck, yeah! Should I move these boxes first?”//“Fuck, yeah.”

Charlotte? Where did you come from???

“The only man that’ll have her now is Jack Daniels.”

“And you, you little shit.” Says Draco, the little shit.

“A magic hat? That’s ridiculous. Only dolls are magic.”

“Is this some kind of a joOoOoOoke?”

“Answer me, or I’ll cut your mouth open with my FUCKING KNIFE.”

“You’re a fucking moron.”// “Then you’ve been out-fucked by a fucking moron.”

Lauren’s wiggles during “He will wigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle his way into life.”

“Wiggle” is such a silly song but the harmonies and choreography????? Iconic.

ROBERT’S TWIRL???

JAMES’ DEATH DROP????

EVERYONE’S SEPARATE WIGGLES????

The crying when Becky shot Linda.

“Gerald? It’s Gary. Yep, we need to talk about the will. Goldstein!”

The red light that symbolized Wiggly being on fire.

The followers deciding to burn with Wiggly.

“I have this cooky, reclusive Biology professor.” *audience loses their shit*

“What am I supposed to do without my iPhone?”//“Wear a watch?”

“What If Tomorrow Comes” is such a haunting song

Kendall’s voice is so GOOD!

HOT CHOCOLATE BOY?

MR. DAVIDSON?

BILL?

The dabbing

Hannah and Lex hugging

Paul hugging Emma and Bill

The Hot Chocolate Boy and the Cinema Kid holding hands honestly adorable and I lowkey ship

A little bit of instrumentals from “Not Your Seed” in the end-credit music?? (From the lyric “Look what happened, nightmare time.”)

That’s it. It’s very long, but those were either my favorite parts or small things I noticed. Mostly just my thoughts.

[shesthewindandsea]

all the things I would do

Summary: “It’s alright, dear,” she would say. “It’ll be alright.” But there was no reassuring voice and there was no hand to calm her and so instead Crowley screamed and sobbed and cursed everyone above and below that she could name.

A Good Omens retelling of the Greek Myth of Orpheus (Crowley) and Eurydice (Aziraphale). There's nothing above or below that's going to stop Crowley from getting her nymph back.

Beginning Notes: Okay so lets try this again. First off, I literally cannot believe this is actually done. I started it way back in November and now here we are. I’ve been sitting on it for so long I’m so happy to get it off my computer. Now if you don’t know Orpheus and Eurydice is a myth about a human man with a gorgeous singing voice (Orpheus) who falls in love with a nymph (Eurydice). They get married and all the gods are very supportive of their union! Human men though, not so much and it quickly goes downhill from there. I tried to stick to the original myth as much as I could so temporary character death plays a major role in this story but I had to give them a happy ending so it’s worth it, I promise! As always the title is taken from a Hozier song, Talk, and the lyrics are actually mainly focused on the myth! The vibe from the song and the meaning behind it though are very different from my story but it’s still go to listen to so I highly recommend. And if you’re a fan of Sappho then you’re in luck because I have a bunch of Sappho fragments in here as Crowley’s songs because if you’re writing about lesbians in Ancient Greece you can’t not have Sappho. There are two that are straight up Sappho and one that’s a combo. You’ll know it when you see it. I might be writing temp character death but I’m not a monster. Lastly, and most importantly, thank you to @poetic----nonsense who betaed a good chunk of this and is overall just a wonderful human being who I love very much. 

                                                            ~

  “Would you sing me a song?” She asked, as if her nymph’s voice itself were not a song to be wept over, an offering to encourage the skies, the stars, the moon, and the Gods themselves. Crowley wanted for nothing but to feel the question against her lips and taste the honey that dripped from them. As if Crowley wouldn’t leap at the chance to please her nymph.

    “Mm, you’ll have to let me think of one, my love,” Crowley teased and her nymph smiled, hand squeezing tighter for a moment. Crowley tore her gaze away from Aziraphale for a moment to look to the stars poking through the dark sky above the hill, as if they would give her the answers she needed.

   Crowley knew hundreds of songs, the songs she had heard in her days of wandering through villages, mingling among common people. She listened to their work songs, their songs of love, their songs of sorrow sung over open graves. She knew the songs of the Gods — the ones that pleased them and ones that sated them and the ones she wasn’t supposed to know. And Crowley, of course, knew her own songs. Half formed melodies hummed to the trees in the forest. Their roots would dance beneath her feet and the ground thrummed with their movement. She’d whisper words to the waves licking her bare toes as she stood facing the sea and the gulls would cry back their pleasure. She could make flowers bloom and the sun shine and the moon smile. 

    And yet to sing a song of her love for Aziraphale seemed the most daunting task she had ever faced. What words could ever speak of such devotion, could begin to describe the choking feeling in her throat and the fullness in her stomach that only came from being with her immortal wife? The best singer in all of Greece, in all the world, could not even begin to form a single verse that could accurately communicate them. And she was; Crowley was the best singer in all of Greece and yet this ability escaped her. She could but only try. 

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   And so try she did. The only other option was to leave her dear nymph without a song to enjoy as they held hands under the night sky and that simply wouldn’t do.

   “You know many songs, both those of the Gods and those of man, dearest. Do be quick about your decision. We haven’t got all night after all.” 

   Crowley’s mouth twisted up in a wry smile as her wife propped herself up on her elbow, a delicate pink cheek resting in her palm, and yet her other hand did not release its grip on Crowley’s. 

    “Perhaps not. I may not be able to sing for you after all. To think of the perfect song for you requires time that I don’t have. I may have to use my voice to serenade Gaia first, allow me some borrowed time so I may find the right words,” Crowley pondered out loud, while Aziraphale sent her a chastising look. She released Crowley’s hand for a moment to give it a gentle pat in admonishment. Their new rings clinked together softly — ringing in the cold night time air and floating up towards the stars overhead — and Crowley vowed to memorize the pitch for a later use.

   “I won’t hear of such things. Anything you choose will be perfect, so long as you are the one singing it. You could sing of the most morbid and morose things and I would be none the wiser. Your voice makes me forget everything I know.” 

   “Not everything, I hope. I pray you never forget me.” Crowley pinched the pudgy skin of her wife’s palm and before she could raise a fuss, Crowley was brushing her lips over the flesh there, like a petal dancing over the surface of a pond. 

   “I would never. Should you continue to prolong my wait, though, I may consider changing my mind. Do get on with it, dear.” 

   Crowley quickly sat up with a dramatic gasp and a hand to her chest. “Why I never!”

   “Crowley.”

   “Yes, of course, beautiful.” Crowley cooed with a smirk. Even so, she continued to mess about for a few short moments, feigning some important preparation before another stern look from her wife forced her to begin her song.

    The most haunting notes and devoted lyrics slipped like wine over Crowley’s lips. She sang of the sweetest apple being left on the upper-most branch waiting to be sampled by only the most devoted taster, her lover ready to savor its sweetness. Of the flowers — pink, purple, and white — waving in the wind atop a hill only to be worn down by the bare feet of shepherds, trodden into the ground while waiting to be plucked. And everything slowed for a moment — the world stopped spinning, the wind stopped blowing, and the light of the stars traveling across the vast empty darkness froze in its tracks — to listen with all the attentiveness of which they were capable. The utter love and fidelity ingrained in the very essence of even such a mournful tale enraptured all that could hear.

    Aziraphale, of course, in the face of such unwavering emotion, was trapped in Crowley’s gaze like a fly in honey, eyes never wavering for even a moment in an effort to show her godly lover the sincerity of it all. Here are my feelings, laid naked and bare in the grass for you. Pick them apart. I hide nothing from you. 

   She doesn’t need to, though. Aziraphale can feel every note wash over her like the scent of spring riding a breeze or a raindrop trailing its way down one of her oak leaves. And it made her feel like she held the light of Crowley’s love in her hands. Like she could feel its heat and warmth. It was like nothing else she had ever known before.

   As Crowley continued to sing and Aziraphale continued to blossom under her praise, her power flowing through her less like a stream and more like a river. Her fingertips tingled with the force of it. Natural elements around them began shifting as some Aziraphale’s power leaked out of her skin. The grass around them suddenly grew long enough to tickle the skin of their ankles, wrists, the soles of their feet, all unclothed and vulnerable. The air suddenly tasted of anthemion and smelled of fresh fog steaming off a pond in the early morning. 

   And Crowley was just as entranced by Aziraphale’s power and unearthly beauty as Aziraphale was of her voice. So she continued to sing to please her wife, her voice a prayer and the words a dedication trickling like the juice of a peach over her lips and chin. Fire raced under skin every moment she held Aziraphale’s graze, every moment her love appeared more unhuman-like. More like a delicate flower bursting from a human body.

   “And lovely laughing — oh it

   Puts the heart in my chest on wings

   For when I look at you, a moment, then no speaking 

   Is left in me”

  There were a million words, a million combinations of those words Crowley would sing to her in a million different ways if only her breath would allow it. But she was, after all, only human and so her breath ran out and her tongue dried and her cheeks reddened like the setting sun and she was grasping Aziraphale’s shoulders so tightly that she feared she may cause her pain. So she stopped and collapsed into Aziraphale’s open arms.

   “My goodness, are you quite all right?��� Aziraphale asked with no small amount of concern in her voice. Crowley’s head rested on Aziraphale’s chest. She could hear the nymph’s heart thumping softly in her chest while her round, heavy arms encircled her and the weight of them offered a kind of warm comfort that could come from nowhere else.

   “Mm, yeah. ‘M good,” she offered weakly, much too occupied with trying to fit her arms around Aziraphale’s plush middle while keeping her head pillowed on the nymph’s chest..

    “Are you sure? You’re very out of breath.” Her arms moved up and down Crowley’s back in an effort to soothe and relax her, coax her back to breathing slower. 

   “Sure I’m sure. Wanted to keep going is all,” Crowley murmured, finally interlocking her fingers behind Aziraphale’s back and squeezing as close as she could get. Aziraphale refrained from commenting for the moment and just held her close. “Wanted to sing your praises.”

   “Yes, well. You can’t do that if you pass out, now can you?” One hand continued to lightly trace over the pattern of freckles on Crowley’s exposed shoulders where the strap of her chiton had slipped off. The other wandered lower under the fabric, seeking out the soft skin of her back.

   “Suppose so.” Crowley replied, her voice wispy and eyelids growling heavy.

   “Why don’t we head home? It’s getting awfully late.” Without waiting for a response, Aziraphale moved Crowley to her liking before picking her up in her arms. Crowley merely hummed and allowed herself to be carried back towards their forest home, her head resting in the dip between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder while lazily kissing under her chins and behind her ear. 

                                                        ~ 

    The world was still quite dark when Aziraphale woke the next morning. The moon had very nearly finished her journey across the sky while the sun had just begun his, the blackness of the sky slowly giving way to a blaze of fiery colors. The mingled light drifted softly into the room through the window and danced across both bodies still curled together, kissing skin and running its fingers through long strands of hair both red and white, despite Aziraphale’s apparent wakefulness. 

   Of the two of them, Aziraphale more frequently woke first — she did not need to sleep as her human companion did, though this never stopped her from remaining with Crowley until she woke. The cool air of a summer night made Crowley’s warm body wrapped around her own very enticing, so Aziraphale often found herself willing to lay awake, clinging to Crowley’s arm around her waist, until the moon fully gave way to the strength of the sun’s light. Then she would allow herself to probe further, both hands and lips slowly growing more incessant until Crowley groaned her way into the world, horribly burdened with the task of responding to her nymph’s need for reciprocation.

    “It’s only fair,” she’d say, eyes shining with mirth, and of course it sounded perfectly reasonable to Crowley when it was put like that; so she’d press her own smile to Aziraphale’s lips before moving to her cheeks and forehead and chins and down her neck. 

    Now, though, Aziraphale could only smile fondly upon the many memories she had floating around her head as she gently lifted Crowley’s arm from around her. She had different plans for this morning. Yesterday had been such a lovely day, wedding and all, and such an event should only be followed by a perfectly lovely morning of warm air and green grass, beautiful blossoms and fruitful trees to accompany their typical porridge breakfast.

    Of course, this meant venturing out into the wood before light rather than gently prompting the fig trees in the garden to finish their bounty perhaps a bit soon. Crowley became ever so disheartened when Aziraphale meddled with her garden. A mere thought could quickly encourage every flower in the courtyard garden into full blossom. She suspected it was a matter of pride for Crowley — working the soil with nothing but her own hands and stubbornness — though that certainly didn’t stop Aziraphale from offering a bit of helpful advice and encouragement. Crowley didn’t seem to mind that much. 

   So Aziraphale quickly and quietly dressed, not bothering with putting her hair up with all her ribbons and ties, creeping through the house while carefully dodging the floorboards she knew creaked, and out the door. A bit of damp night air weaved through the shadows cast on the ground by the weak light of the moon. Aziraphale had spent many years among the faerie folk of the wood and water surrounding their home, certainly no coincidence by any means, and so she had little fear of those who lay beyond their house, even in the cover of night. 

   She wandered about mindlessly, no particular path set in front of her, instead moving about the trees whispering loving encouragements about how wonderful they were all doing and how beautiful they were and could they maybe spare a few flowers come morning? She knew it wasn’t the right season but wouldn’t it just be wonderful? The grass beneath her feet grew, laughing, as it stretched to caresses the calloused bottoms of her feet. The flowers that tasted light, airy, and sweet when paired with hot water waved shyly up at her as she strode by. The trees whispered amongst themselves across the breeze. 

   It was all so wondrously beautiful. She was tempted, for a moment, to go back to her house, crawl into bed and gently wake Crowley as she always did even if it was, perhaps, a bit early; the stars shone so brightly tonight even in the fading darkness and Crowley absolutely adored the stars. It would ruin her surprise, though, and Crowley did seem awfully tired after so much singing earlier that day. There was also the matter of the surprise. The look on Crowley’s face when Aziraphale led her out into a groove of wild fig trees and oak blossoms was too good to pass up.

   Not yet time to wake her, then. The stars would always be there for her lovely new wife to see another night. But as Aziraphale stood there watching the sky, it became clear that she had not as much time left as she first thought. The stars were starting in blink out, one by one, and the yellow of the sun was largely overpowering the pale light of the moon. It was time to begin her journey back home. And though she felt some sadness leaving the forest behind for now, just as the stars would be there for Crowley every night, the forest would be there for Aziraphale and she could enjoy it anytime she liked — perhaps even with Crowley’s company next time.

  Besides, she had a whole journey back to appreciate everything around her and look forward to waking Crowley soft and slow.

                                                         ~ 

   Aziraphale had made it about half way —  she’d be back just as the moon disappeared and the sun took over — when something suddenly felt very wrong. The air felt thick and heavy; the wind whipped about her, blowing her hair in every which direction and obscuring her sight; everything felt dark despite the growing glow of the sun arcing through the sky.

   Aziraphale never had reason to fear the forest or any of its inhabitants before and even now she did not believe it was one of them that intended harm.

   Mortals, however, were very dangerous. The Gods may have blessed and rejoiced Aziraphale and Crowley’s recent marriage, but the mortals were not so unanimous in their support. After all, the beauty and power of a nymph paired with Crowley’s enchanted singing and playing, there was certain to be resentment among some. Aziraphale feared losing Crowley above all else.

   That wasn’t something she was willing to risk, so she stood her ground, looking for the cause of all the discontent amongst her forest friends. Through the tangled mess of hair flying around her, she could see him, a man, standing there not but a few steps away. He was dressed in luxurious fabrics and his eyes an odd color, some light shade of purple.

  “Come with me,” He spoke plainly, as though discussing the quality of fruit at the market this season. 

   “You,” she started, voice quivering a bit. She wrung her hands in her lap. Aziraphale didn’t actually know the man very well, but they’d met before when Crowley had only just begun courting Aziraphale. Something had always been off with him. Aziraphale knew she had an influence over men to some extent, not one she could control of course, but the way they all looked at her, it made her cringe. Even still, this man in particular, the man with the purple eyes, stood out among them. The way he looked at her was almost predatory. Like he knew she’d be his one day. 

   Like all he had to do was wait. 

   She never bothered telling Crowley about it. Sightings of him were few and far in-between. And what were they to do — a singing woman and a nymph — to confront an obviously well-off man? It was better to live with the relatively minor discomfort than to put both Crowley and herself in harm's way.

   “Come with me,” he said again, soft now in an attempt to persuade her, and he held out a hand to her. “I can take care of you in a way different, better, than the woman with you now.” 

   He took a step forward and smiled like he was hiding something behind his teeth. It made Aziraphale sick.

   “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m here. I’ll take you away from that wretched woman.” He took another step forward.

   “You know not of which you speak.”  

   The man’s smile faltered for a moment. 

   “I will not go-” Aziraphale bit out before he cut her off. Her hands suddenly clenched tight at her sides.

   “If you do not come willing I have no choice but to take you and kill her.” 

   “-anywhere with you.” she sneered and continued on. “Not now and not ever.” 

   Finally the man’s smile dropped away completely. He looked absolutely furious. 

   “You know nothing of our love. I expect you never will and for that I am truly sorry. But you speak of ownership, not companionship. I would never leave her and you cannot take her from me.” Without another word, Aziraphale hiked up her skirt and turned, bolting down the path, hoping to reach home and warn Crowley before that awful man could get to her.

   It didn’t take long for her to hear hurried footsteps come after her. She made a quick decision and turned off the path into the trees.

   She threw an arm behind her with an apology on her lips. Tree branches bent to help obscure the path. The slash of a sword and shattering wood rung in her ears. She could see her home in the distance and began to scream for Crowley, over and over, her voice shrill and breaking. Tears stung her eyes and her heart was pounding faster than it ever had before and her lungs were heaving so heavily that they burned. She heard the man —  shouting, swearing, slashing at the barriers the forest had built for her — somewhere in the distance behind her. She had glanced back for only a moment, but a moment was all it took. 

   She tumbled to the ground. A sharp pain throbbed around her ankle and then it was suddenly giving out underneath her. She let out a shrill cry just before her head cracked against the hard ground.

   A snake bite, no doubt, and a venomous one at that judging by the localized pain and how she very suddenly felt like she was going to vomit.

   Her head hitting the ground certainly wasn’t doing anything to help. The light of the forest was blinding now and everything had begun to spin and blur with such intensity that Aziraphale thought she’d soon be ill. She tried to get to her feet, to get moving again, but she was on the ground again before she could even stand. Both of her legs ached. She didn’t have long. There was nothing to be done for her.

   Oh, but Crowley. All Aziraphale’s worries weighed heavy on her mind as she laid there on the forest floor. What would Crowley think when she wakes to see Aziraphale’s side of the bed long since cold and empty? What would she do when Aziraphale hasn’t returned by mid-day with no clues to indicate her whereabouts? What sort of dreadful things would race through her mind when Crowley found her empty body only a short stroll from their home? Aziraphale could hardly stand to think of such things. To leave the love of her life so soon without even a simple ‘good-bye’ would break her heart.

   And it was with that thought that Aziraphale found a final burst of strength and stubbornness — and, of course, love — and hauled herself up from the ground. She managed to grab a large branch to lean on and began hobbling forward as best she could in her weakened state. 

   The world rushed around her and her head felt like it was floating, like the insides were adrift on a boat that was violently rocking back and forth.

   Sweat dripped down her face and tears flowed freely from her eyes. She had never been so dizzy before and her mouth was very dry and her tongue felt so heavy. Her heart was pounding faster than ever and breathing was becoming very difficult and her entire body was shaking despite how very very hot she felt. 

   The trees and path were blurring and she can hardly see the house anymore — could she have been moving backwards? Had that awful man grabbed her and began hauling her away? Was she already dead?

   It was with one final breath that “Crowley” slipped ever so softly from her lips that her body began shaking something terrible. 

  She fell to the ground with a heavy thud and everything went black.

                                                      ~

    Gabriel ran after the nymph, waving around his pilfered sword in a desperate attempt to hack away the thick branches and thorns that had inexplicably grown up in front of him. The nymph was too far ahead of him. He could just barely hear her feet thumping against the ground somewhere in the distance.

   So caught up was he in his task that he didn’t hear a sharp cry of alarm.

   Eventually Gabriel made his way through the wood barrier and gave chase. When he reached her though, he found himself standing not but a few paces from where the nymph had apparently fallen to the ground. She did not move, even to draw a breath. 

   Not wanting all this effort to go to waste in case he was mistaken, Gabriel cautiously stepped forward. Perhaps it was a trick, a way to lure him closer only for her to strike him.

   He walked until he stood in front of her head. Still she did not move. Using the very tip of his sword, he lifted her forehead from the ground. Her eyes were expressionless and her mouth slack.

   Dead then. 

   Gabriel tutted at her, shaking his head before letting her head fall back to the ground.

   “Truly disappointing,” he thought, “and such a waste of a beautiful creature.”

   He turned, facing away from the dead nymph, and sheathed his sword before venturing back in the direction from which he had come.

                                                           ~ 

   The world was awfully bright when Crowley finally woke that morning. Much brighter than she had grown used to. Sunlight streamed grandly through the window and the birds chirped happily somewhere off in the distance. It must be late, much past the time Aziraphale would have normally woken her.

   She reached out in front of her and her assumption was proven correct — Aziraphale had already risen and left Crowley alone in their bed. She finally opened her eyes, the full unobstructed force of light making her wince for a moment, to see her hand reaching out for empty air.

   It wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence — waking up without Aziraphale next to her — but it did happen once in a while. Crowley generally found this meant her nymph was up to no good. Normally, highly amusing for Crowley in the end, though it left her with a low ache to wake up without a lovely, round body keeping her warm and a soft belly to throw her arm around.

   Normally, Crowley would shrug it off with a mere moment’s hesitation and roll out of bed, stumble into the kitchen in a state of disarray to eat something before getting properly dressed and tending to her garden.

   And normally, Aziraphale was back not long after Crowley had woken, already having had plenty of time to get up to whatever mischief she’d fancied.

   This time it felt different, though. The ache in her belly, that longing for Aziraphale’s back pressed to her chest and solid weight under her arm, hurt deeper. It felt heavy, like she’d swallowed a rock and it was sitting low inside. 

   So Crowley laid there for a bit, just staring at the empty half of the bed. Her stomach ached a while longer in some inexplicable nervous anxiety and she felt a bit cold but really there wasn’t much cause for concern. She just didn’t want to get up knowing she’d have to bide her time before Aziraphale arrived home. Perfectly reasonable.

   Even with no good reason to remain, Crowley languished in bed for a while longer, watching the shadows glide across the wall.

                                                         ~ 

   It didn’t take long for Crowley to realize something had gone wrong. Eventually she did get up out of bed, got dressed, ate, and headed out to the garden. After weeding for a bit, she headed back in for a drink of water fully expecting to catch sight of Aziraphale nibbling on a vine of grapes from yesterday’s dinner while sipping wine and nibbling some bits of cheese. Crowley had never been sure of whether nymphs actually needed to eat, but necessity or not Aziraphale seemed quite taken with it, especially when Crowley grew the food herself.

   Crowley would stride across the room, Aziraphale’s name on her lips, and take her nymph’s lovely pink cheeks in hand, stroking the soft skin while Aziraphale would giggle and flush, tsking at the soil being smudged onto her face. Crowley would bury one of her dirty hands in the short curls at the back of Aziraphale’s neck where they had escaped from the bun she’d done up with ribbon. 

   And then they’d kiss. Aziraphale would taste of bitter red wine and sweet purple grapes. Her hands would wrap around Crowley’s shoulders and eventually wander to where her hair was pulled hastily into a ponytail earlier that morning. And they’d stay like that until Aziraphale would tug Crowley back gently by her hair.

   'I am trying to eat, dear.’ She’d whine. ‘Why don’t you join me for a bit?’ 

   Except Aziraphale’s name didn’t have the chance to leave Crowley’s mouth. The kitchen was just as empty as it had been that morning. She pursed her lips and frowned. Truly, Aziraphale might not have been gone long — Crowley had been asleep when she’d snuck away and Aziraphale could’ve left any time between Crowley falling asleep and her waking up — but midday was quickly approaching, which meant lunch, and Crowley had never known Aziraphale to miss a meal since they’d met. If she wasn’t in the kitchen she must be close by. 

   After inspection of every room in the house, calling her name out and around the edge of the house, and returning to the garden just in case, Crowley headed to the forest. It was the only other place she could think to look. It was, after all, entirely possible Aziraphale was completely fine and had only lost track of time revisiting the place she had spent most of her life. It hadn’t happened before but it wasn’t impossible.

   After finding her admiring some tree somewhere, Crowley would sneak up behind her, wrap her arms around the nymph and scare her a little. She’d jump and chastise Crowley for ‘sneaking up on me like that! Really Crowley, you’re absolutely horrid’ and Crowley would tell her how then maybe she shouldn’t sneak off in the early morning and make Crowley come looking for her. Aziraphale would apologize for making her worry. They’d walk home together and the knot in Crowley’s stomach would unravel and she’d kiss her nymph sweetly on the forehead and they’d enjoy lunch in the back garden where Crowley grew her flowers while Aziraphale talked about what she’d gotten up to that morning. Crowley would try to listen only for her to inevitably get lost staring at just how absolutely beautiful Aziraphale was, get taken in by how lucky she’d gotten in marrying such a stunning creature. Aziraphale would ask what she was looking at and when Crowley told her, she’d get pink all down her neck.

   That would make up for all the worry. It would make up for the lump as big as a pomegranate stuck in Crowley’s throat; she could just barely swallow around it. It’d make up for the way her hands shook and the weakness in her legs. It was unbearable. 

   She wandered down the path a ways, calling out for the nymph (“Aziraphale! Where are you! I can’t find you!”) until she reached the bank of the river that ran down from the mountains and cut through the land. It wasn’t particularly wide or deep, but there was no way across without getting wet and Aziraphale had never been especially fond of getting wet unless they’d set out together to cool off on a very hot day. She certainly wouldn’t have any reason to cross, either. None that Crowley knew of anyhow. 

   Worry was beginning to give way to full blown panic. If Aziraphale wasn’t anywhere on the path then she must be in the woods somewhere and as much as Crowley trusted Aziraphale to keep from purposefully getting in harm's way, knew she’d spent her entire life here before Crowley had swept her up, Aziraphale did tend to attract danger that required a hero’s rescue. Crowley was always more than happy to play that role for her, though she was never quite as happy with whatever series of events proceeded.

   Before Crowley could think, she was sprinting back down the path, singing at the top of her lungs. Crowley's voice had yet to fail her in whatever she used it to do, whether that be serenading Aziraphale with some song or poem of her choosing or singing an angry work song that would scare a particularly stubborn plant into submission. 

   Or to command the very air around her to lead her to Aziraphale when she was lost.

   It hadn’t happened before and it certainly wasn’t going to happen now.

   The line between singing and screaming quickly began to muddle as Crowley was overwhelmed with emotion, tears streamed down her face, her throat was raw and burned.

   The world around her responded as though it had emotions of its own. The wind whipped her hair and clothing around her, pulling and pushing her. The leaves hissed in the branches above. The world was so furious and sorrowful. Crowley had never been so worried in her life. She didn’t want to think of what could’ve happened that affected it so.

   The wind shifted so suddenly that Crowley nearly fell over. Instead of moving her forward, she was jerked to the left off the path and toward a jagged collection of branches that looked like they’d been hacked carelessly apart. Crowley’s breath stopped dead halfway up her throat. 

   She had fought.

   Someone must’ve been chasing Aziraphale and she had fought. Aziraphale had fought for her life. There was nothing else, no one else, that could’ve manipulated nature in such a way. Crowley could only look upon it with horror. She would’ve collapsed right there if not for the wind trying to keep her moving.

   Eventually, Crowley was forced out of her stupor and focused on stumbling through the dense trees as quickly as she could manage, the wind directing her moments as she went.

                                                           ~

    There was no clearing, no soft sunlight streaming through the trees, no gentle breeze rustling the grass; nothing that could make her feel like Aziraphale hadn’t suffered when she died. Everything around her was brown and dead.

   Gods, she’d never get used to that thought. She was gone. Dead. 

   Aziraphale was dead.

   It’d taken Crowley a while to actually get where she was supposed to be going, not that she’d known where that was. She just sort of ran in whichever direction the wind pushed her. But when she saw a crumpled mass of white lying deathly still in the middle of the woods, she’d known this was what she was supposed to see — she knew it was Aziraphale.

   The wind immediately went still and all was silent throughout the woods. They knew what had happened and what was to come. 

   Crowley shrieked her name and it came out a splintering, broken howl. Tears flooded her eyes and flowed freely down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She ran to her wife, the soles of her feet burning with the pain of cuts from the rough forest floor littered with shards of shattered branches. Her legs gave out beneath her. She crawled closer and reached out only for her hand to hover over Aziraphale’s back, the white fabric of her peplos was stained brown from where she lay in the dirt.

   She crawled further up, towards Aziraphale’s head. Her face is flat against the ground and Crowley couldn’t see her expression but the skin of her forehead was showing. Aziraphale has always been fair-skinned, certainly, but now— the color of her skin could only be described as a sickly white. 

   She had to see, Crowley had to see her face. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, drying them momentarily, and took a shaky breath, trying to brace herself. She moved to sit on her heels next to Aziraphale and rested her hands on Aziraphale’s side. Even through the peplos, her skin was so cold, not at all like Crowley was used to.

   It took a few good hard shoves to get Aziraphale facing upwards. She was completely limp, dead weight, left to Crowley to move all the while choking on the sobs stuck in the back of her throat. It was torture.

   Nothing could prepare Crowley for what she would see. Aziraphale’s face was so white and cold. Her mouth slack and her lips a dull, faded pink. Her eyes open, blank and empty, staring up into the endless sky above her. There was no depth or mirth as there always was when she looked at the world around her. There was no endless love as there was when looked at Crowley with that sweet little smile that was just for her and-

   And it broke Crowley’s heart. 

    And she threw herself over-top of Aziraphale’s stomach, squeezing the flesh that had always been there for Crowley to latch onto. She was so cold and still, no heartbeat thrumming in her chest. 

   She could almost feel the ghost of Aziraphale’s hand stroking her back, rubbing her neck, her breath in her ear.

   “It’s alright, dear,” she would say. “It’ll be alright.” 

   But there was no reassuring voice and there was no hand to calm her and so instead Crowley screamed and sobbed and cursed everyone above and below that she could name. 

   She called for Aziraphale, for her to come back, begging and pleading until her voice left her.

   You’ve gone. Somebody’s killed you and you’ve gone.

   Crowley wept and wept until she could weep no more. Her eyes and nose had run dry and swollen as bright red as her own hair. And by the time the last of her tears had dried, the sun was beginning to set. She had spent nearly the entire day in mourning. Not nearly long enough, Crowley thought, but it would have to be enough for now. She needed to use what remaining light she had to get back to the house. Normally an easy task, but she had Aziraphale to carry back with her. Crowley refused to leave her in the forest overnight. She’d sooner sleep here in this very spot. The idea was almost appealing until she remembered that this was the very spot Aziraphale had died, the spot the light had left her eyes, and then it was so revolting that she lost whatever was left in her stomach.

   In the end, the moon had risen and fallen by the time Crowley finished her task. She never went to bed, far too afraid of the cold, lonely expanse left next to her in the bed. Instead, she slept in the fruit garden next to a fresh mound of soil. She still missed the warmth of her lover, but at least here Aziraphale would still be beside her.

                                                         ~

    Crowley never had to deal with grief before, not grief like this. Never for someone as important and special as Aziraphale had been. The only other emotion she knew it to be like was, oddly enough, love.

   Just as consuming, just emptier. It never slowed down, never stopped or let Crowley rest for even a moment. Never constricted by time. It choked her like a vine around her throat, slowly squeezing until she couldn’t breath and her eyes watered. There were moments where it was so much that she could feel the physical weight of her own body being pressed down into the Earth. She could feel the heaviness in her limbs and the way her tongue sat in her mouth. Her legs couldn’t hold her body up and then the ever present unbridled sadness pressing down on her added so much more, she’d eventually just fall. Wherever she was, she’d fall to the ground and cry for as long as it took for her to find enough strength to stand again. Oftentimes it took hours. It was too much. Everything was surreal and at the same time it was like Crowley was just floating numbly, not even feeling the ground beneath her. 

   Then she’d stagger back to the garden. She’d refresh the white oak flowers resting on Aziraphale’s chest. It had been months now and even still every tree produced the tiny white flowers, their way of mourning her, Crowley assumed.  

   Every day she’d go out and pick a fresh bunch. After, she’d just sit in the dirt, silent and staring. She hadn’t sung since she’d patted the dirt down firmly over Aziraphale’s body. 

    She’d done everything right, cut no corners in preparing Aziraphale to enter the Underworld. She’d washed and anointed the body, wrapped it in linen shroud (though she couldn’t bear to cover her face), and placed in the ground atop vine and crowned in garland. Finally, she’d closed her eyes and mouth. Easier than one might think. Her eyes were growing white and cloudy and Crowley couldn’t stomach keeping them open any longer. Then Crowley had sung her to sleep.

   And as Crowley mourned the loss of Aziraphale in her refusal to sing, so too did the world mourn the loss of Crowley’s voice. Even the Gods missed the sound of Crowley’s singing and how it floated up to them on the wind from below. 

   Many of them understood such a heavy loss hurt Crowley deeper than they knew and waited patiently for the day that her songs may return to them. Others, however, seemed a bit less understanding and were growing weary of Crowley’s constant desolate mood. Her voice was her dedication, her way of honoring them, in place of food or drink. Without her singing, she owed them something else, and yet in all the months since Aziraphale had died, not a single note had been sung nor had they received an offering. They gathered together and all came to the same conclusion — something must be done.

   They sent down a messenger one night to confront Crowley as she lay on her back in the courtyard garden with Aziraphale, raking her fingers aimlessly through the soil next to her, the dirt pushing up under her nails.

   Her eyes scanned the stars even as the messenger appeared next to her.

   “Crowley,” they said to her, standing over her, tone without patience. Uriel had never been one to dance uselessly around an issue.

   They spoke Crowley’s name again, this time more terse. Even still, Crowley did not so much as dart her eyes in Uriel’s direction.

   “This is ridiculous. You know what I’m here for.” Uriel fixed Crowley with a particularly withering glare.

   “It’s only ridiculous to you.” Crowley finally broke her silence. “You didn’t know her and now you never will. She could weave the winds of the sea and the mountains together with a whisper. She could send a meadow into full blossom with a snap of her fingers. I’d fall to my knees for her and she’d help me up. And now she’s gone.” 

Crowley propped herself up on an elbow. Her face was carefully still but there was a fire in her eyes. “Tell me again how my sadness means so little.”

   Uriel’s lips drew tight. “The Gods require your tribute, Crowley. Your songs acted as such. Sing or you will find yourself in an uncomfortable situation.”

  “Aziraphale meant, means, more to me than any of you ever did,” she said slowly and resigned herself back to the dirt, eyes directed back up. 

   “Thankless creature,” they sneered the words with venom and Uriel’s collected demeanor vanished for a moment.

   “What is there to be thankful for without her! I can’t go back to the way things were before.” Uriel took a moment to think.

   “If the nymph is what you require, we are prepared to offer a solution,” they finally said. “Retrieve her from the Underworld. I will point you in the direction of the nearest opening.” Crowley’s head darted away from the sky and looked up at Uriel looming over her, hands folded primly in front of their chest. She revealed no further emotion to Uriel, but inside her head was spinning and her stomach was churning.

   “You will know the way when the sun rises tomorrow morning. Remember Crowley, traveling to the Underworld is no trivial journey. You will need all the strength you possess to get there and to come back.” 

   “Of course.” Uriel fixed Crowley with a dubious look as the human woman stood from

the ground, brushing dirt and dust from her chiton, before they returned to the Gods.

 Crowley watched them fade away before returning her gaze to where Aziraphale lay under the ground.

   “Wherever you are,” she started, “I’ll come get you. I’m coming, Aziraphale.” It still hurt to speak to Aziraphale like this, like she was in some faraway place that Crowley couldn’t reach, but that would end soon enough. She knew what to do about it now and there was nothing above or below that could stop Crowley from getting Aziraphale back.

                                                            ~

    Even if it was clear that Uriel hadn’t been Crowley’s biggest supporter when they came down for a visit with a list of demands from on high, they weren’t a liar. Crowley had a bit of trouble drifting off to sleep the night before, but when she woke the next morning, it was just as Uriel had said — she inexplicably knew the way to a portal leading down to the Underworld. She had never moved faster from the bed in all her life. She grabbed something to eat and her lyre, tied her long hair up out of her face, before she was out the door in a flourish.

   Crowley hadn’t felt nearly so happy for many months; she couldn’t help the way her lips began to twitch up in a smile as she began her journey. Perhaps it was a bit premature to feel such joy, but Crowley would do anything to succeed. Nothing had ever been so important before and regardless of whether Crowley failed or not— well. She would soon see Aziraphale again no matter what happened.

   The walk was certainly a long one, the sun rising higher and higher up into the sky, but Crowley passed the time strumming her lyre, humming softly to herself, and admiring the white oak blossoms on the trees, the way the petals floated softly down around her. It could only be made better by Aziraphale strolling next to her, her plump fingers filling the space between Crowley’s while her nymph chatted away.

   It still hurt remembering Aziraphale wasn’t with her now because she’d died, thinking how she’d died all alone. Even knowing that she was on her way to get Aziraphale back, it only eased the pain so much. It was like she had tried to take a deep breath but her lungs couldn’t quite expand enough and she got stuck halfway. Even if she got Aziraphale back, rosey-cheeks and all, it would always hurt a little. Seeing her pale, facedown in the dirt without so much as a twitch to move her — that was an image Crowley would never forget. A wound that would never completely heal over. Knowing there was a chance for her though, it made her feel lighter. 

   After some time, Crowley came to what was, no doubt, the portal she had been searching for. There were no guards or really any other obvious features that indicated she was in the right place. Far too conspicuous that. She’d nearly walked right by it but there was something that told her she had arrived, some energy that pulled her back. Even just standing there in front of it, she felt a bit overwhelmed. 

   It looked like nothing more than a large hole left in the ground, perhaps an animal burrow or the site of a felled tree, the hole the remains of where its roots had buried themselves underground. It made sense, of course, for a portal to the Underworld to be nondescript. You certainly couldn’t have anyone stumbling upon it and wandering in. (Though you could say that’s what Crowley was doing with just a little more purpose to her wandering in.)

   Well, she’d done enough standing around. It was time to do what she had come here for. Crowley took one last fortifying breath and stepped forward. The ground instantly crumbled beneath her feet. The hole widened and she fell with a shout.

   It was like falling out of a dream and into a nightmare. She was in a free-fall between worlds, black and empty and so silent you could hear static, before she fell out of the sky and into the Underworld. Her body smacked into a steep ledge of densely packed dirt. She tumbled over the side, down and down; she couldn’t stop herself. She just fell and fell, trying to reach out for something to grab onto, a root or branch, but there was nothing. Nothing grew in the Underworld and so Crowley fell, the hot dirt searing the bare skin of her face and bruising her limbs, until she managed to claw her fingers into the ground. 

   Eventually, she slowed her fall to a slide and then a stop. She laid there for a moment, trying to catch her breath. 

   Even that simple task was surprisingly difficult. Everything was different down here, including the air. It was thin and murky, like looking through water when you’d just dragged your feet along the muddy bottom. The dirt she’d stirred up in her fall hung around her like a cloud. The deeper she tried to breath, the more difficult it became, like the air had wrapped its wispy hands around her throat and squeezed, choking her. 

   Her throat felt sore and her chest tight with panic and pain and she coughed so much Crowley thought she may actually cough something up. Her face turned bright red and black dots were floating in and out of her sight line. She’d been down here not long enough for a cloud to pass over the sun let alone long enough to find her way towards Hades, and she was about to die here in the dirt choking on the toxic air of the Underworld, a loose grip away from tumbling towards a different death. 

   Well, that wouldn’t do at all. Crowley clamped her mouth shut and did not breathe. The coughs were suffocated in the back of her throat. It burned and her eyes watered, but after a moment she could feel herself calming. She took small, slow breaths through her nose instead and suddenly she wasn’t dying. She let out a sigh and pulled herself up to stand, half lunging. Her legs spread and a balancing hand pressed, fingers wide, to the ground, helped her as she looked out over the world beyond her.  

   The sky was a vibrant orange, as if the sun was going down though there was no sun to speak of. The rest of the land was dark and dead and horrid. The mountains were so blue and dark they looked black. The dirt was grey, ashy, and hot to the touch. Even looking down at her own hands, Crowley’s skin was already fading from a soft brown to grey and pale. She was on borrowed time here. She needed to hurry down towards Hades and Persephone. 

   Gingerly, she lifted her hand from the ground and took a short breath before she shifted her weight forward. Almost immediately she was sliding quickly towards the base of the mountain. It didn’t take long, even with her stumbling and falling and a couple times. The ground was visibly different — a strong grey and black stone that looked as though it had risen up from the center of the Earth — but still it felt no different from that of the massive structure Crowley had just come down from. Even now standing on solid ground, she felt as though she might begin sliding downward, the calluses on her feet rubbing, burning from friction. Still, she had come here for Aziraphale and she wasn’t leaving without her, so she started off in the direction she thought would lead her to Hades. She didn’t know for sure that she was headed in the right direction, but something inside of her pulled her just as it had in the forest. It hadn’t been wrong then so surely she could trust it again down here. 

   It was strange, walking through here with a sense of direction and yet not really knowing where you were. The path led her through a gorge and felt as though it were constantly winding, taking sharp turns and looping around itself, but it only led her straight on. It made her feel like her head was swimming. 

   She felt watched but never saw anyone else nor could she pinpoint the source. It was like something was circling her. The walls on either side of the gorge went up higher than she could see and at moments it felt as though they were narrowing, trapping her. Her mind was fighting itself, half of it telling her to turn around and run back to where she had come. The other half insisted that she could only escape if she continued forward. The entire experience was deeply disturbing. Still, she pressed forward.

   Just as she began to wonder how long she’d been walking for, how much longer it would be before she reached Hades’ palace, the land morphed and the path crested over a dirt hill with the horizon painted with broad strokes behind it. Only moments before, Crowley had stared down a path that stretched on forever and the sunless sky was so far ahead it looked like an orange pinprick in the distance. She frowned, understandably confused, but she ran to the top of the hill and looked down, not at the other side of the hill, but rather over a waterfall and a sheer drop underground. Even though she could hear the water running down, it was as though the hole had swallowed all light itself. Completely pitch black, she couldn’t see a thing past the rim of the hole.

   It took but a moment of decision. Crowley closed her eyes and jumped.

   The hot air from above evaporated, rushing from her lungs and diving out her throat. It felt like her very spirit raced to leave her and hurry back to the surface. The air turned from dry and thin and dirty to wet and dense and sterile. Her entire body shook violently against the sudden sharp temperature drop. The sound of the water roaring filled her head and her mind hurt with how heavy it felt and it was so cold and what was going to happen when she reached the bottom? How much water had pooled there? How deep was it? Would she splash or splat?

   She found out before any worries had time to spiral further. One moment she had been falling and the next she felt solid ground under her feet, like it had rushed up to catch her. The air had stopped whipping around her. It was still and silent. Crowley opened her eyes to find herself standing at what must be the bottom of the waterfall, except there was no waterfall. It’d completely vanished. A misty river of depthless water wound out in front of her. Looking up, she couldn’t even see where she had fallen from. It was as dark as a starless night, the blackness empty and hungry. 

   Crowley was standing on a wooden dock in the middle of the water. Next to her, a cloaked figure stood at the rear of a long papyrus boat with an oar. A lantern sat at their feet, the soft yellow light flickered dimly and illuminated the empty seat in the middle of the boat. Crowley couldn’t see their eyes, if they had any at all, but she felt them looking at her expectantly. 

   “Do you require some form of payment for me to ride?” Crowley asked as she stepped off the dock and into the boat, forgetting any hesitation. It rocked gently with her added weight. The light from the lantern spilled out over the sides of the boat and bounced off the stone walls of the cave. 

   The figure said nothing, but lowered the long paddle into the water though they made no effort to push away from the dock. The ripples from their movement danced across the water almost hypnotically. The boat rode smoothly atop the waves, like a drop of rain sliding over the waxy coating of a leaf. If Crowley didn’t know any better, she’d say they were waving at her, coaxing her. She felt the wordless whispers of many different voices caress the outer shell of her ear. Her gut clenched and she suddenly felt violently ill.

   “Do not look into the water,” a voice said, though Crowley could not say from which direction it had come. She felt the overwhelming urge to look directly into the water despite what she had heard. So she did, ignoring the warning.

   At first she saw nothing but the pale blue water and her own image looking back up at her. The longer she looked, though, the further she leaned over the boat and the more she could see. There were white arms and hands reaching up, grabbing at the sides of the boat. They grabbed her reflection, squeezed her neck viciously. They covered her mouth and yanked her hair. She tried to scream but the hands over her reflection’s mouth muffled the noise, forcing her to swallow it back down her throat. She could feel it rattling around inside of her.

   “Do not look into the water,” the voice spoke again, this time louder and more assertive. The ferryman used the end of their oar to push Crowley back inside the boat. They weren’t at all forceful, but Crowley still ended up flying backwards into her seat, violently shaking the boat from side-to-side. Her throat felt bruised and it hurt to breathe.

   Once she was calm enough, she noticed her lyre sitting at the bottom of the boat. She had brought it with her, she suddenly remembered, but must’ve lost it when she entered the Underworld because she certainly didn’t have it while scaling the side of the mountain or any time after that. She turned back toward the figure standing stock-still at the rear of the boat. Even sitting below them, Crowley could not see their face beneath the shadow of their hood. Their body was entirely covered by their robe. Even as they held the oar, stroking the water more than actually rowing, Crowley couldn’t see their hands. Her mind felt fuzzy and static when she looked directly where they should be. 

   Perhaps this was the expected payment. She was hesitant to sing until she was reunited with Aziraphale, without her it felt almost profane, but playing her lyre — that was something she could do. The rest of the trip, Crowley strummed along and looked dead ahead until the mouth of a separate cave came into sight. It was absolutely enormous, so big that it shouldn’t have actually fit inside this cave. Stalagmites grew from the top of it and Crowley could see a twisting path that almost certainly led through to Hades’ palace. 

   The ferryman lifted their oar from the water. The ripples began to fade back into the water and the boat drifted along for a short while more before slowing to a stop beside a second dock.  

   Crowley, taking her lyre with her, stood from the boat and onto the dock. She gave one last look at the ferryman before setting off down the path towards Hades’ front gates. 

   She didn’t have to walk far. Down the path and around a long bend and Crowley was staring at the set of terribly tall and imposing iron gates with what looked to be a gigantic three-headed dog sleeping in front. 

   She swallowed and continued forward. The ears on one head swiveled in Crowley’s direction and she froze. None of the heads moved but a pair of ears was definitely interested in her. Slowly she pressed on, one step at a time, and humming low in her throat trying to warm up her voice. 

   “Oh deities of this dark world beneath the earth,” she started softly, speaking more than singing. Even so it was undeniably melodic. Two eyes opened, staring her down. 

   “I am not pretending. I wish I were dead.” All three heads were now paying attention to her, but not a one moved. They all watched her as she moved closer to the gate, moving faster now and gently playing her lyre to match her voice.

   “I come not down here because of curiosity to see the glooms of Tartarus,” she continued, fully singing with tears in her eyes. She couldn’t put off any longer now. “She was leaving me in tears, and over and over she said to me: ‘Crowley, it hurts. What's happened to us is just so grim. It isn't my choice, I swear it, to leave like this.’ And in these words I answered her:

   “‘I want to remind you of the good things we have enjoyed. For at my side, many the crowns of violets and roses you have put on yourself, and many the garlands woven from flowers you have cast round your delicate neck, and with quantities of flowery perfume fit for a queen even, you anointed yourself all over, and on soft beds, delicately you have satisfied desire.’

   “You may not know Love down here, but I do: by this Place of Fear, this huge void and these vast and silent realms, renew the life-thread of my loving Aziraphale! After all, one day, when grey and old and full of age, she shall be yours yet again and forevermore. All I ask of you is just a few years of her life. But if the fates deny to me this prayer, then I do not want to go back, and may you triumph in the death of two!”

   And when she had finished, she began again. Cerberus looked at her with mournful eyes as they let her walk past. She rested a loving hand as high on their head as she could reach and their tail thumped loudly, shaking the ground. Crowley couldn’t help smiling a bit as she slipped through the bars of the gates.

   Her voice echoed through the whole of the Underworld and it was so moving and haunting that everything stopped. Danaids ceased filling their pitchers with water; the souls stopped their moaning; the wheel of Ixion suddenly stopped turning; even those unconscious and inanimate objects mourned for Crowley and Aziraphale.

   Every time her song finished, she would start again— violent, frenzied and inconsolable— until she was in the throne room and kneeling at the feet of Hades and Persephone. Hades, a giant woman with dark skin and long brown hair, ringlets falling over her shoulders, held more elegance and cold power than Crowley could bear. She stared down at Crowley. Her arms rested immobile on the arms of her throne. Persephone sat in his throne on Hades’ right side, just as huge and imposing, but softer and lighter and kinder. They both wept.

   Crowley went through her song once more and then stopped for breath. She knelt there, a mere ant in comparison to the Gods she pleaded with, panting with her head bowed and shoulders hunched, her lyre at her side.

   “Please,” she said and looked up at the two Gods. They held her fate in their hands, her entire life. “I don’t know what to do without her. The world does not deserve her, but I would rather spend eternity here than alone on Earth.”

   They both stared at her, cheeks and eyes wet, then at each other, and back at her seemingly have come to some nonverbal agreement.

   “Very well,” Persephone smiled and wiped away his tears. “You shall have your wife back.” Crowley began to stand, mouth open ready to stutter out a string of “thank you”s but she’s cut off before she can start. 

   “However,” Hades started. “You must not look back at her until you both stand in the light of the sun. If you look back at her even a moment before, she will fall back into the Underworld and she will never return to the World of the Living. Do you understand?” Hades looked down at Crowley, her expression stern but open, almost as though she was pleading with Crowley.

   “I understand,” said Crowley, fully getting to her feet. “Thank you very much.” Even with the threat of truly never seeing Aziraphale again painfully etched into her ribs, Crowley was practically vibrating with relief.

   “Be on your way, then,” Hades commanded and raised a huge hand to gesture to the door.

   “She will be behind you the entire time. Lead her back. Remember.”

   Crowley nodded. “Don’t look back.” And with that she turned and headed out the door.

   She didn’t need to slip through the gate, this time they swung open for her. Cerberus sat there waiting for her. They accompanied Crowley and Aziraphale back down the path to the ferryman. She got in the boat and didn’t need to charm them with song or playing for them to row back down the river. 

   Crowley didn’t look in the water. 

   She didn’t look behind her when the boat didn’t shake with the weight of another person climbing in beside her.

   At the first dock, Crowley climbed out of the boat and instead of finding herself standing on the dock, she found herself above ground. The hot, orange light blinded her and the returned sound of the waterfall roaring was deafening, though a comfort. The sudden adjustment needed to get used to the hot, dry, dirty air takes Crowley a moment. She takes a few slow breaths through her nose before moving forward. 

   She didn't hear anything but the wind stirring up dirt around her.

   She heads back towards the mountain, once again following the pull inside of her. The walls still narrow around her and her head still spins with the feeling of being watched. The hot dirt scalds the soles of her feet with each step, like being on a beach with bare feet. 

   Going up the mountain was really a very different experience than coming down and Crowley wasn’t sure which was worse. She was about halfway up and she could see the open portal waiting for her and Aziraphale.

   That is, if Aziraphale was behind her at all. She never turned around to check, just in case her nymph really was there, but Crowley had been growing increasingly skeptical. She couldn’t feel Aziraphale there with her. Crowley’s always been able to feel her. Maybe it was because she wasn’t really alive yet? It was only a part of her that was with Crowley, after all. Or was it this place, manipulating and using her fears against her?

   But she hadn’t heard a single noise from behind. If Aziraphale was really there, she hadn’t said a word, hadn’t breathed, hadn’t made a sound. Aziraphale loved to talk and Crowley loved to listen. The fact that she hadn’t uttered a single word this entire trip worried Crowley to no end. 

   They were nearly to the top now. 

   ‘Should I turn around?’

   The heat grew more intense as they climbed higher and higher into the sky. 

   ‘Just to check?’

   Some dirt escaped from under her foot and Crowley nearly ended up tumbling back down the side of the mountain. 

   ‘What if this isn’t real? I should check.’

   She hauled herself back up and quickly found herself scampering up the last few steps to stand at the top. 

   ‘What if I just glance over my shoulder. That doesn’t really count as looking, does it?’

   She looked directly up over her head up through the portal. She could see the trees and clear blue sky. She could hear the sound of a breeze shaking the leaves and could feel the coolness on her skin. She closed her eyes and basked in it.

   ‘Just for a second.’ 

   She stretched an arm up and she could feel the phantom warmth of the sun on her skin. Everything didn’t feel so hot anymore. She felt like she could actually take a sweeping breath, feel the clean air fill her. She relished it.

   ‘I need to know. I need to see you.’

   Crowley opened her eyes and started to spin around. 

   Then she stopped. 

   She was back in the World of the Living and she was staring at a tree. A real live tree, brown and tree. She could feel the sun on her skin, she felt it. When she reached up through the portal, it must’ve brought her back. She'd been back longer than she thought. 

   She couldn’t bear to actually turn around now. Despite feeling so desperate for it not a moment ago, she couldn't actually bear to do it. Was this all some elaborate ploy by the Gods, cosmic punishment, for her refusal to sing? 

   Instead, Crowley takes a shaky breath and reaches a hand out behind her. 

   Someone takes it. 

   Crowley lets out a weak sob and squeezes. There isn’t really anything to hold, though. She turns around to see Aziraphale, beautiful as ever, of course. Crowley has never wanted to hold Aziraphale more than she did right now. She wants to fall to her knees and wrap her arms around the nymph’s vast expanse of soft belly and bury her face in the fabric of Aziraphale’s peplos and feel the warmth there radiating outward. She wants to relish in the sweet scent of her wife, let it surround and swaddle her. She wants to get to her feet and kiss Aziraphale’s cheeks and chins and shoulders and every single thin white stretch mark climbing up her arms until she can’t anymore. She wants to hold Aziraphale and never let go ever again.

   But she can’t. She’s turned and Aziraphale is there, thank all those above and below she’s here, but Aziraphale still doesn’t have a body. Her image is thin, wispy. Despite all the things that seem to have happened on their own today, Aziraphale’s body has not walked itself over for her to re-inhabit. They need to go home and work on that together. But it doesn’t matter. Aziraphale is here and alive again.

   “I missed you,” Crowley says, weeping. “I missed you so much.”

   Aziraphale beams at her, beams at her like the fucking ray of sunshine that she is, and mouths back to her ‘I missed you too.'

                                                          ~

    They wasted time walking back home together. Aziraphale’s body wasn’t going anywhere, after all, so they may as well enjoy the trip back. The oak blossoms were finally wilting from the trees, celebrating that Aziraphale was back and Crowley was finally happy. 

   And since Aziraphale had no voice to talk, Crowley filled the silence. She picked at her lyre to the tune of the wind and the sound their rings make when they touch. She regaled the tale of her traversing the whole of the Underworld just so she could save her wonderful, beautiful wife after she’d gone and got herself into trouble again. 

   “Really, my love, I don’t believe there’s a single thing that could keep you from getting yourself into some sort of mess,” Crowley mentioned almost offhandedly but with a bit of snark. Aziraphale made a face. Particularly one that said, ‘I-really-want-to-say-something-back-but-I-can’t-so-I’m-just-going-to-look-mildly-put-out’.

   “You’re just lucky there’s also not a single thing that could keep me from coming to rescue you.” Aziraphale seemed to be mostly satisfied with that answer.

   When they finally arrived back home, the sun had set long ago. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure how much time she’d actually spent down in the Underworld seeing as there were no days or nights there, she just knew by the time they got home, she was absolutely famished and exhausted. She imagined once Aziraphale was back in her body, she’d feel much the same.

   Before they could eat or sleep, though, Aziraphale needed her body. And then that body was going to need a good dressing down and washing up. So, Crowley took to the garden and carefully started digging, scooping away handfuls of dirt from Aziraphale’s body. She didn’t want to take any chances using a shovel. It took a lot longer that way, but it was very much worth it in Crowley’s opinion. 

   After most of the dirt was gone and they could finally see Aziraphale’s face, Crowley froze. Aziraphale was alive, she was okay. Crowley knew that. She could feel Aziraphale sitting beside her, could feel her eyes on her, could feel a hand gently resting on her back. Aziraphale tugged on her chiton to get her attention. Looking up from Aziraphale’s cold empty body to where he spirit sat next to her, eyes so alive and full of love and concern — it gave her whiplash.

   “It’s okay. I’m here,” Aziraphale mouthed to her, exaggerating her annunciation so Crowley understood exactly what she was trying to say.

   “I nearly lost you.” The words left Crowley in a rush. “I almost turned around. At the last second I nearly ruined everything.” She hardly knew what was coming out of her mouth, everything felt so blurry and muddled and all the emotion clogging up her throat made it burn and her eyes felt wet again.

   Aziraphale just smiled, soft and a little sad, her hand moving from Crowley’s back to her face. Crowley tipped her head, leaning her into the airy feeling of Aziraphale’s palm.

   “It’s okay.” She mouthed and Crowley cried harder. She wanted to lean into Aziraphale’s arms; she wanted to be held and told a million times ‘it’s okay’. But that couldn’t happen. Aziraphale needed to leave her, just this once more. 

   Crowley wiped her eyes and jerked her head towards Aziraphale’s body waiting for her. 

   “Go on then. Can’t wait all night for you to get comfortable.” Aziraphale sent her a fondly exasperated look before she suddenly disappeared altogether and Crowley had to catch herself as she fell forward.

   It took a moment, an excruciatingly long moment, but eventually Aziraphale sat up from the ground with a huge intake of air, eyes flying open, cloudiness fading quickly, and looked around wildly. She was already much less pale, less cold. Crowley was on her in an instant, in Aziraphale’s lap with her arms over her nymph’s shoulders and pulling her as close as they could get. Aziraphale’s thighs — her legs, her exposed skin — from where her wrappings had come undone pressed against Crowley’s own bare skin and it’d never felt so good or so grounding before.

   “I’m here,” she said against Aziraphale’s lips — they still tasted of summer months and morning dew drops even after all this time. “I’m here. I’m here.” She repeated it like they were the only words she knew how to say. Aziraphale kissed back with as much fervor as she possessed.

   “Oh my dear, my sweet love. Crowley, how glad I am to be with you again. I’ve missed you so much, dearest.” Aziraphale couldn’t hold Crowley close enough. Walking beside her all that time home, not being able to fully touch, not able to speak — it wasn’t nearly enough.

   “You could never fail me, Crowley.” Aziraphale went on, reassuring and soft, trying to sooth Crowley of the worries she had voiced earlier. “You missed me and you were so close. You didn’t want to wait. I understand. But I knew you wouldn’t turn around. I trusted you just as you do me. It’s okay.” Aziraphale herself began to cry as she reassured Crowley. The nymph brought her wife’s dirty fingers up to her mouth to kiss each knuckle, each fingertip. Crowley wept with relief.

     Aziraphale had no concept of time when she was gone, no conscious thought for the months she was in the Underworld. And yet, while there she felt an aching loneliness down to her very core. She missed something so deeply and yet she could not name it. She could but moan for the loss of something she could hardly remember. She knew now what she yearned for was the press of Crowley’s fingers to the rolls of her back and the taste of Crowley’s apricot lips on hers and the enchanting sight of dark spots spreading over her tan shoulders from time in the sun and her golden eyes blinking slowly at her from across the kitchen table as the evening sun flooding the room. She missed Crowley worshiping every inch of her body and her doing the same in return. Walking back with Crowley had been relieving of course, seeing her alive and well was already more than she could've hoped for. But this, touching Crowley, feeling her skin prickle under her touch, it wasn't something she could ever go without.

   “Come,” Aziraphale said, breathless and between placing delicate kisses to Crowley’s eyelids. “Wash up with me. I can't stand the feeling of all this dirt. Then we can go to bed.”

   “Mm,” Crowley responded, still very much distracted. “Sounds good to me.”

   They went down to the river, trading fruit between themselves as an impromptu dinner as they went and sharing indirect kisses (and some direct ones), and washed their clothing side-by-side, hanging them in the trees to dry. They took turns bathing and washing each others’ hair, fingers gently combing through knots and massaging the dirt away. Eventually, Aziraphale simply laid with her back to the bank, her head in Crowley’s lap as her wife lovingly ran her long fingers through her nymph’s white curls and scooped up pools of water with cupped hands to wash Aziraphale’s face and shoulders.

   “Lovely still after all this time, my love. My beautiful nymph. My memorizing dryad. My wife.” Crowley murmured contently as she massaged the plump skin of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale hummed back. Her eyes were closed but she could feel Crowley’s gentle gaze sweeping over her.

   “All the same can be said for you, my dear delicate human. How the gods have blessed me so with your love.” Aziraphale opened her eyes for a moment to meet Crowley’s gaze and smiled. Crowley gave a smile of her own and planted a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead.

   Both would’ve been completely content to lay there all night long, but the night air grew cool and they longed for the comfort of their bed. They put their clothes back on, though still relatively damp but clean, and headed back. At home, they changed into dry clothes and huddled together in bed facing each other with arms slung over waists and legs entwined under the blankets. 

   “Would you sing a song for me?” Aziraphale whispered over the slide of fabric over skin.

   “Ngk. S’pose I’ve got one in mind that might do.” Crowley watches Aziraphale’s sapphire eyes blink heavily at her. So she sang, the notes vibrating through her — down her throat, down her torso, down her arm, and out through her fingertips where they squeeze Aziraphale’s hip so she can feel them too. 

   “You came and I was crazy for you,” her voice steadily grew steadily softer, sweeter, quieter as Aziraphale could no longer bear to keep her eyes open. “And you cooled my mind that burned with longing.” The bright white light of the moon hit Aziraphale’s back and cast her in a halo of godly light. The image burned itself into the front of Crowley’s brain as her own eyes grew heavier than she could stand. Her breath slowed, her body grew loose and she dreamed of nothing but the sight of Aziraphale standing in that very same stunning light as she held Crowley close.

 “I’m here,” she said. “I’m here and I will always be.” 

[tiny-maus-boots]

The Howl pt 13

A/N: thank you always to my beta and bestie. @chloes-yellow-cup

13.

“Now will you listen? Now do you see that Aubrey is with us? Is that not enough for you?”

No one said anything and Stacie shook her head. Unbelievable. Unfuckingbelievable. She sighed and looked down at Aubrey’s reddened face. At least it wasn’t as bad as the last time. This was more like a really harsh sunburn that was already slowly fading. She brought her hand up to trace the line of the vampire’s jaw delicately. Her brow furrowed at the twitch of muscle in her mate’s cheek at the touch. Stacie gave a soft whine and Aubrey smiled at her.

“It doesn’t hurt.” Stacie raised a brow and Aubrey shrugged a shoulder. “Just a sting.”

She gave a slight nod and raised her head to focus on the soft crunch of paws on snow. A growl tickled at the back of her throat, but she tightened her control on her emotions and let out a calming breath. When Wade had risen as a revenant she had been blindsided and it had cost her precious time in shifting. Her pack would be sitting ducks against a creature with the speed and strength of a revenant and she had shifted as quickly as she could hoping that she and Aubrey alone could put the monster down.

And for a minute she thought they would do just that. Take the creature down and put it out of its misery. But then Aubrey went flying and Stacie found herself with her paws full trying to keep herself between that thing and the rest of her pack. She couldn’t think of it as Wade, it wasn’t her friend, it wasn’t a part of her pack. So, she focused on anything but his face hoping that her mate would shake it off and get back in the game.

She was so preoccupied with keeping fangs out of her flesh that she hadn’t noticed another wolf had shifted out of phase until it had leapt on the monster’s back in full furred glory. There was no time to sit and take it all in, there was no time to turn and count the faces around them trying to figure out who was missing in human form. And really, she didn’t need to. Stacie knew who it was without sight or thought.

And now that she was confronted with him face to face, she realized that it couldn’t be anyone but Redmond. He lowered his head in a shallow nod of acknowledgement, but his chest puffed out with pride. He had played this one close, keeping it secret, hoping to take them all off guard at just the right moment. The worst part about the whole thing was that it had worked out perfectly for him.

Showing the ability to shift like that was proving himself equal to Stacie, equal enough to be Alpha. And she couldn’t even take it as a personal challenge because he had shifted then for the good of the pack. To protect their people.

Clever bastard.

Aubrey gave a soft hmm of agreement before sitting up in Stacie’s arms. Cynthia Rose wedged her way through the bodies and dropped a mismatched pile of clothes on the ground at her feet. Her Beta gave Aubrey a considering look then nodded once and held out a hand to help the blonde up. Her mate gave her a questioning look and Stacie raised her shoulder in a half shrug. The vampire was wary, but she extended her still singed hand. Half the pack gave a small gasp of surprise and stepped back when Aubrey rose without much help from CR in a single fluid movement.

Stacie looked at the clothes and grunted when only her tank top had survived her shift and a pair of jeans that were a little too loose in the waist to be her own. She slipped the clothes on quickly and stood at Aubrey’s side. She wasn’t entirely sure where the pack stood just now, everything had happened so quickly and it was so much to take in, but they really didn’t have the time to stop and digest it all. If she waited for them all to get their heads around everything that was happening it would only give Redd more time to gain support to try and take the pack from her.

“I think you all understand now that what we are dealing with is bigger than vengeance for our brother. Right?”

Most of them nodded their heads and a few grunted. CR crossed her arms over her chest and boldly stepped back and to the right, falling into her usual place at Stacie’s side. It was a show of support they needed and was deeply appreciated. Evan, one of her lone wolves eased out of the darkness and gave Aubrey a wide berth before stepping forward to speak.

“There’s more out there. Jessa an’ me clocked at least two during the fight. Just watchin’ us.” He shuddered with the effort of raising his head and meeting Aubrey’s pale silvered gaze. “Friends of yours?”

There was no point in trying to find the vampires now. It was too dark even for them and really, they didn’t need another fight tonight. Aubrey gave a short nod as if she had expected that all along and probably she did. Her mate gazed down at her machete and slid it into the sheath at her back. It made a few of the wolves release a tightly held breath, the weapon just that much more of a threat to make them more uneasy than they already were.

“Vampires, yes. Friends, no.”

Someone gave an amused snort and she heard a murmur of a joke that vampires didn’t have friends. Stacie’s gaze cut across all of them daring someone to say something else. Aubrey stroked a hand down her arm soothingly and squared her shoulders.

“They came for me, it’s good that they saw what has happened. The Lady of the coven will need to address this now that it was witnessed.” The blonde didn’t shrink away from the rise of voices, she stood quietly imposing until the noise died down again. Stacie felt her heart squeeze in her chest when Aubrey let the demon in her fade and faced the pack as vulnerable and real as she could be, showing them the same soft compassion she had shown Wade moments earlier. “They already know that good men can be made into revenants, now they know that good wolves can rise too. I would not have wished this end for Wade…”

A low and deep growl carried on the wind and Redd lunged forward in attack. She should have expected it from him but had stupidly believed that for right now petty squabbles were put aside. Stacie turned with a shift already racing to the surface when Aubrey swung a pale fist in a blinding upper cut that lifted the huge wolf off all four feet with the impact.

Redd hit the ground and rolled a few times. He raised his head and shook it, trying to get his legs under him to stand. Aubrey watched him warily, taking a few steps back closer to Stacie. Cynthia Rose nudged her with an elbow, clearing her throat and Stacie schooled her features, suddenly realizing that she must have been smiling with too much giddy anticipation. The wolf stayed where he was but the growl was a constant warning to Aubrey.

There was a near imperceptible shift in the pack and Stacie sniffed lightly at the air trying to figure out what it was. It was still tense, but the something was different. Aubrey seemed to notice it too, the fingers on her left hand twitched slightly the only outward sign of her insecurity. Angus uncrossed his arms from his chest and jerked his chin at her. His low voice was slow and deep as he spoke but everyone assembled could hear him just fine.

“Earlier you said you’d have to take Wade’s head. Why didn’t you?”

The blonde tipped her head to the side as she eyed him curiously. It was hard to understand what Aubrey was feeling, there were just too many things coming through the connection for Stacie to process.

“When I said that he hadn’t yet risen. After…his rising was traumatic enough.”

A few of the wolves looked at each other, communicating with shared glances rather than words. Angus took a step forward, it wasn’t an aggressive move, it was more like getting closer might help him somehow understand the enigma before him.

“And the end? You held on. Why would you do that?”

Stacie a step closer to her mate and reached out to take her hand. Aubrey glanced down at it and gave a small squeeze of acknowledgment. It didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the pack. The vampire raised one shoulder in a slight shrug. Stacie had known why she held on, she had known why the moment the decision was made and Aubrey had gripped Wade tighter.

“Because she didn’t want him to die alone.” Aubrey didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t have to. Angus nodded slowly as he took all that information in and processed it. “It doesn’t matter that other vampires were here. Let them see the truth for themselves. It only makes our position stronger when we meet with them.”

Redd barked and pawed at the ground to get her attention. He seemed to be stuck in his shift leaving him unable to speak. Something she was profoundly grateful for and maybe more than a little amused by. Stacie’s lip curled back when he took a few steps closer and stood brazenly before them. The wolf gave a determined huff and took another step forward but was stopped by Cynthia Rose’s solid figure blocking the way.

“Listen up. I get that some of you don’t trust us. You think that because she’s not a wolf she’s not strong enough or fast enough to be my mate. You might even think that all I need is another wolf strong enough to tame me. Maybe one strong enough to shift outside of the moon.”

All eyes went to Redd and she snorted at the idea. Stacie brought Aubrey’s hand to her lips and kissed it. Her mate gave her a brief smile and nodded.

“Maybe you’re right. We’ll find out on the blood moon. You all wanted a mating hunt, you’ve got one.”

She had never wanted it to get to this point. Stacie had valued her freedom and had hoped that maybe the pack would just accept her as she was, or just accept who she chose for a mate. But she could see now that it was never going to be that way. They needed the familiarity of ritual and the old ways to feel settled and sure because at the end of the day…Stacie was just as much of an outsider as Aubrey. She wasn’t from around there and she didn’t have a home or people to call her own. She had no roots. How could she expect them to think of her as anything but a stray when everything about her screamed lone wolf? So it had to be like this and she understood that. Accepted it even. But it was going to be on her terms from this point forward.

No one raised a question and several of them visibly relaxed in the face of her dominance. It was what they had been waiting for from her. Stacie looked over the pack and gave a solid nod, for once they were all on the same page. She gave the scorched snow a lingering look, giving herself a second to say goodbye to her friend. Stacie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Aubrey would finish the hunt, they’d end the revenant threat, get justice for Wade and the pack damn well better fall in line.

“Let’s get out of here.”

She climbed into the back of the truck, holding out a hand for Aubrey to take. Cool fingers wrapped around her hers and she tugged. The vampire was practically weightless as she leapt into the bed and settled on the edge. Cynthia Rose clambered in next to them, shoulder to shoulder with Aubrey. The vampire blinked in surprise but gave a shallow dip of her head that CR returned. Bodies piled in around them, crowding the small space with more people than had come with them on the trip out. A sharp yip brought their attention to the back and Redd jumped in with a disgruntled growl at having to wedge into the corner.

Aubrey raised a brow, her voice amused and unconcerned. “Hope you learned more than one new trick, Rover. You’ll need more than that if you think you’re getting your girl back.”

God, she loved that woman.

[smcc212]

Damaged Goods- part 5

“Warnings- Fluff- raising a child.    Smut- bondage, gagged, p in v(at the end)

Word count- 3,009

A/N- I typed this up while drunk, I know I’ve not uploaded in a while but I’ll be better I promise!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged or removed!!!

After you found out you were pregnant, Negan’s reaction was a lot better than you thought it was going to be. He was so excited to be a father and it made you excited to be a mother. He pampered you. It didn’t matter what you wanted. he’d make sure you got it.  Throughout your entire pregnancy, you craved Negan’s spaghetti, and it didn’t matter what time it was he’d make it for you. Whether it was 5:00 pm or 3:15 am, you got it.     Negan would sit and talk to your future baby, tell jokes and sing to it. He was adorable, you could tell he was going to be an amazing father. Now you were in the infirmary, pain ripping through you as you pushed out your and Negan’s baby. You squeezed Negan’s hand as Dr Carson tried to help you through.     “Breathe, (Y/N), breathe. Follow my lead, in-” You both took in a deep breath as sweat and tears rushed over your face. “-and out.” He kept going, walking you through. The pain all seemed worth it the moment your baby boy was in your arms. Both you and Negan stared at him in awe.     “What’re we going to name him?” Negan asked, his voice full of pride and happiness. You both smiled, you were so fucking happy; so proud of yourself for being able to give birth to your beautiful baby boy.     “I like the name Elijah, whatcha think?” you suggested.     “Elijah, I think it’s perfect,” He awed, you’d never seen Negan so happy. It made you cry tears of happiness seeing how he was looking at your son. ** You walked out of the bathroom and saw Negan playing peek-a-boo with Elijah. Elijah’s little laugh filled the room. Negan picked up Elijah and turned to face you.     “Look, Elijah, mummy’s back,” Negan cooed making Elijah giggle. You walked over to both of them, tickling Elijah as Negan planted a kiss on your cheek.     “He’s so cute, aren’t you, Elijah?” You cooed and Elijah smiled making adorable little baby noises.     “Yes, he is,” Negan mumbled, turning to look at you with love in his eyes. Having Elijah changed Negan for the better, he stopped stealing from other communities and now trades with them. He didn’t want Elijah to grow up thinking that bullying was the answer to getting what you wanted. “I love you, (Y/N), and I love you, Elijah.”     “I love you too, Negan, and, of course, I love you, Elijah, more than you’ll ever know.” You smiled down at your baby as Negan wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. You and Negan stood in front of the window, the sun spilling in, dancing over the three of you; your perfect family. ** You stood in front of Elijah, spoon-feeding him. “I wonder where daddy is?” You asked while Elijah babbled as you scooped up more food for him. You heard the door open and Negan walked in, something behind his back. “What’s daddy got behind his back?” You said to Elijah, but it was clearly directed at Negan.     “Something for my little man, I got you-” He moved his arms in front of him. “-a leather jacket, just like daddy’s!” He chirped, making Elijah clap his tiny hands. You smiled looking at the tiny leather jacket. Elijah was a mini Negan. He saw Negan carrying Lucille around on his shoulder and started holding his toys in the same manner. He was so happy to have his leather jacket, he never took it off. It was a fight to get it off of him unless Negan wasn’t wearing his, then he wanted nothing more than to have it off. He wanted to be just like Negan. It made you and Negan so much happier that Negan stopped stealing and killing for resources. Negan just put Elijah in the crib. You stood next to Negan, a smile on your face at how amazing he was as a father. Elijah kept babbling as if he was trying to say something.     “What is it, little man?” Negan asked looking at Elijah.     “Da-da-daddy,” Elijah stuttered. Tears of happiness filled Negan’s eyes. He couldn’t even speak. “Da-daddy.” Elijah kept speaking, making Negan overwhelmed with emotion.     “That’s right, Elijah. Daddy,” You mumbled, pointing at Negan. You were only just able to talk. Your beautiful baby boy was finally talking, and of course, his first word was ‘daddy’. He loved his dad and nothing could change that. You wrapped your arms around Negan. “He’s a fucking mini you, isn’t he?” You whispered to Negan, a smile spreading over your face. Negan’s features were overwhelmed with pride and happiness.     “Yes, he fucking is.” ** “Well done, Elijah! You’re doing amazing in your studies!” You congratulated, looking through his school work. You and Negan had been taking turns teaching Elijah since there’s no school to send him to.     “Thanks, mum,” He smiled clearly proud of himself. “Can I show dad?” He asked excited. He was such a good kid.     “Of course you can, sweetheart.” He picked up his jotter, put on his new leather jacket and ran through to show Negan. You followed behind him and stood at the doorway, watching Elijah excitedly run up to Negan.     “Dad, look at my school work. Mum says I’m doing amazing!” He boasted as Negan looked over it. he hummed in approval as Elijah waited nervously, occasionally looking back at you for reassurance. You gave him a thumbs up and a bright smile. Elijah’s bright smile spread across his face as he looked back at his dad.     “This is fucking amazing, Elijah-”     “Language, dad!” Elijah scolded, making you chuckle.     “Sorry, kiddo. I really need to stop swearing as much as I do, don’t I?” Negan mumbled, smiling as he looked over to you.     “Yeah, you do,” Elijah agreed confidently. You walked over to them, crouching down in front of Elijah.     “How about all of us go for a walk, give you a break from school, huh?” You suggested before Elijah threw his arms around you.     “Yes! I’ll go put my boots,” He chirped, running into his bedroom to get his little boots on. You and Negan got changed before al three of you made your way down to the courtyard. You held one of Elijah’s hands, Negan held the other and both of you were swinging him back and forth. He giggled, his adorable little giggle warming your hearts. All of sudden, Dwight shouted for Negan.     “Negan! Rick’s here, he wants to talk to you!” Negan turned to you and Elijah with sympathetic eyes.     “I’ll be back soon.” Elijah’s smile disappeared as soon as the words left Negan’s mouth. “It’s alright, little man, I’ll be back soon, okay?” Negan reassured him.     “Okay, dad,” He muttered, sadness filled his voice. Negan gave him a smile and a hug before walking away to talk to Rick. You were about to crouch down to talk to Elijah when his face lite up and he ran towards the fence.     “Elijah! Stop!” You shouted, chasing after him. He stopped at the fence, reaching through it. You panicked, thinking it was a walker, but when you got there all the panic left and was replaced with relief. A little, sweet kitten rubbing its head against Elijah’s hand. Suddenly, Negan, Rick and Dwight were there standing behind you. Fear, all that you could see in Negan’s eyes     “What’s wrong?!” He panicked.     “It’s nothing, I thought he was running towards a walker but it’s just a kitten, sorry for making you panic,” You explained.     “Mum, dad can we take him home, please?” Elijah begged, looking at you and Negan with pleading eyes. You and Negan shared a look.     “Oka, sweetheart. Stay here with your dad and I’ll go get him,” You mumbled, walking out of the gate and picking the little guy up. You walked over to Elijah, crouched down, immediately the kitten jumped out of your arms and cuddled up to Elijah. “Looks like you’ve made a friend.” You smiled, looking at your gorgeous child and his new pet cat. “What are you gonna name him?”     “Oliver, he looks like an Oliver,” Elijah mumbled, playing with him. ** You poured out some dry food for Oliver and gave him some water before walking outside to see how Elijah’s training was going. You and Negan decided it was time to start teaching Elijah a little bit about the horrors of the world out there. He was getting to the point to the point now that he wanted to go outside and explore things, so you had to teach him about walkers and why it’s okay to kill the walkers. It confused him after you had spent so long teaching him why murder is wrong, but now you’re telling him he has to kill these ‘people’. After a while, Elijah understood that walkers weren’t actual people, but they were already dead and were now monsters. As soon as you were in the courtyard, you saw Michonne. At first, you thought she was just bringing Judith over, Judith and Elijah had an adorable friendship, but when she walked over to you with such a serious expression, you knew this was about more than a playdate.     “(Y/N), Jesus... he’s uh... dead. There’s a new enemy and we need the Sanctuary to help us,” She said, the emotion thick in her voice. You were taken aback at her words. Jesus was dead. You and Jesus weren’t close, but you got on and you could see a friendship brewing between the two of you. You decided not to get too caught up in your emotions and instead focus on the second part of why she was here. The new enemy.     “What are they like?”     “They walk with the dead, they wear their faces and whisper,” She mumbled. “We’ve got one of them locked up in Hilltop. She said we killed all of her people at first, but now she’s saying there’s a lot more of them. I think we should all be aware of this, that includes Judith and Elijah. I thought we should tell them together.”     “Yeah, let's just get this done,” You agreed, both of you walking over to tell them. As you and Michonne explained what was going on to the kids you could see the fear plastered on their faces. You felt bad that you had scared them but they needed to know the truth and that the world is a dangerous place. After calming Elijah and Judith down, you said goodbye to Michonne and Judith, then headed inside with Negan and Elijah. The three of you spent the rest of the day together as a family, playing with Oliver, using the new cat toys you and Negan had found on your last run together. ** After the war with the whisperers and losing so many friends, all of you spent a lot of time together. However, Elijah, overtime, was spending more and more time with Judith. Now the two of them were young adults and were going on dates and getting to know each other. You and Negan were cuddling up on the couch, a movie on in front of the two of you. The door opened and Elijah and Judith walked in, Michonne behind them. It was crazy how fast they grew up.     “Hey, kiddos,” Negan chirped, not bothering to move anything but his eyes. Elijah and Judith rolled their eyes as you and Michonne laughed.     “We’re not kids anymore, dad. We’re adults,” Elijah complained, making you, Michonne and Negan burst out laughing. “Anyway, the reason we’re here is-” He took a deep, cleansing breath; he was clearly nervous. “I want to move to Alexandria to live with Judith.” You and Negan stopped laughing immediately. Getting up from your position on the couch. You both knew one day Elijah wouldn't live with you, in fact, you were kinda looking forward to it, but you always assumed he’d continue living in the Sanctuary. “I know you guys want me to stay here, but almost all of my friends are at Alexandria, and more importantly Judith. It wouldn’t be fair for her to move here when she only knows us,” He explained. You looked over to Negan and could see how hard he was taking this, so you decided to speak up first.     “Elijah, we’re so happy you’ve found someone you love and you have so many great friends, but you know your dad can’t visit you there only I can,” You mumbled, watching as his face went from excited to guilty. You felt bad so you added: “How are we going to get around that? You love your dad, it’s obvious-” You motioned to his leather jacket, white t-shirt and baseball bat on his shoulders. “-and I know you don’t  want your relationship with him to be strained; he doesn’t want that either.”     “I know, but I promised I’ll visit every other day, I mean unless we have kids,” He explained. Judith turned to look at him, it was clear from her expression she didn’t want kids. “I said unless...” Elijah murmured, trying to win himself back some points.     “We won’t,” Judith said sternly, making everyone, except for Elijah and Judith laugh.     “Works for me,” Negan said quickly, you knew he was hiding his emotions behind his signature smirk.     “Me too, as long as you actually visit us,” You warned jokingly. Everyone cracked a smile. “Well better pack your stuff then, Oliver is going to have to stay here, Alexandria would scare him too much,” You said, getting off the couch and pulling Negan up with you. Elijah nodded and then you set to work.

*

You waved Elijah off as Negan wrapped his arm around you. Tears slowly trickled down your face. Once the truck was gone, Negan turned to you with a devious smirk on his face. lust darkening his eyes. A nanosecond later, both of you were rushing up the stairs; finally, you could be as loud as you wanted. You got in the house, quickly locking the door behind you and rushed into the bedroom. You sat at the end of the bed, Negan stood in front of you.     “You feelin’ kinky tonight?” Negan asked, his smirk growing across his face. You smirked back. The two of you hadn’t had your type of kinky sex since Elijah was born.     “Extremely,” You drawled seductively as you bit your bottom lip. He walked over to the wardrobe and got out all the bondage stuff the two of you kept. You lay back on the bed, your arms against the top of the bed and legs at the bottom, spread apart. Negan walked over tying you to the bed, after you were undressed, a devilish smirk on his face. “We still using red as a safe word?” You checked.     “Yep, but I think we’re going to need to use something else if you want me to stop,” He said, lifting up a ball gag. Your face lit up, you’d only used it once and you fucking loved it. “How about if you nod your head three times in a row, I’ll stop. That work?” He asked.     “Works perfect for me,” You chirped before he walked over and buckled the gag behind your head so you couldn’t talk. He got on his knees in-between your legs, leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around as his fingers worked on the other. Muffled moans escaping, your mouth as saliva dribbled out and down your chin. Negan’s mouth worked it’s way down your body; Negan’s mouth leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses sending heat straight to your core. You squirmed against your restraints as he licked a line up your clit. His tongue flicked and swirled around your bundle of nerves, his thick finger slowly sliding into your tight, wet hole. Soon another finger joined the first, then another on an adventure to find your G-spot. Negan thrust his fingers in and out of you, his skilled tongue never slowing down. your legs began to shake as pleasure rushed through you; burning passion into you, a deep desire for his cock coming into play.

Once your orgasm had passed, Negan grabbed a condom, ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it onto his long, thick erection. He lined himself up then ploughed in. Your muffled scream filled the air as he ripped you open. you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it, and Negan knew that.     “You fucking love when daddy rips you open like that, don’t you?” He mocked, his hand reaching around to rub furiously at your clit. The mixture of his dick pumping and out of you, and the sensation of him rubbing your clit send you over the top. The coil in your snapped, sending a tsunami of heat burning through you. Your eyes rolling back, legs shaking; chest heaving. You cried out ecstasy and Negan followed, his hot, thick seed squirting out of him, but for once not going inside of you.      Negan was tired, as were you, but still got up on his shaky legs and untied your restraints and removed the ball gag. You wiped your mouth and chin, moving your jaw back and forth to try and ease the pain. Negan took the condom off, throwing it in a nearby bin, before getting under the covers and pulling you into his side.     “Well, thank god, Elijah,” Negan joked, out of breath.     “Yeah,” You laughed. “You know, I never thought this would happen when you first saw what mine and Mark’s relationship was like, but thank fuck it did.” You cuddled closer to him, placing a peck on his chest.     “Yeah, I’m so glad you got out of there. It’s crazy to think if I never visited you that day we would never have gotten together and Elijah wouldn’t have been born,” He reflected, planting a kiss onto your temple. “I love you, baby girl.”     “I love you too, Negan.”

Taglist:

@jamiekingofmen​ @khloekiddo​ @negansseventhwife​ @gamingaquarius​ @negan-morningstar​ @chloejanedecker1​

[chucklechampion]

🌷🍀🍄

akdhdksh hey bear whats up

🌷 top 3 lovely people you’ve met through this community?

well saying you would be cheating, so i’ll go with @twordish @shyleesecret and @sinforamin

but theres SO MANY PEOPLE I LOVE WITH MY WHOLE SELF FROM THIS COMMUNITY

🍀 top 3 teases that get to you/top 3 teases to say to someone?

you absolute monster

anything sing-songy, like saying my name or “puuuuuuuppyyyyyyy~”

fuckin g a s p i n g, like just the sound of raspberries is enough to make me go feral so the GASPING beforehand?? FUCK outta here!!

making me admit??? how much i like the spot youre on??? like “this is your favorite spot, isnt it? cmon, you can tell me, i know it is” just AKSHSKSHS

🍄 (NSFW) top 3 kinks you’d like to add into a session?

hhhhhhhhhh

i mean bondage, obviously

sensory deprivation? not necessarily deafened because that’d freak me out (and i love hearing teases alshdls) but a blindfold?? kinda wanna try that holy shit

and this one is obvious, but i really wanna add some exhibitionism into tickling. public tickles?? multiple lers??? being put in compromising situations where i just cant laugh??? hhhhhhhhh

EDIT THIS IS A FOURTH ONE BUT VIBRATOR TICKLES. TICKLING WITH A VIBRATOR. END ME I WANT THAT

[lheott]

LFRP // FFXIV 『Lheott Dragmyr』

THE BASICS ––– –

Name: Lheott Dragmyr. Only goes by Dragmyr.

Age: 38

Birthday: 13th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon

Race: Xaela/Au Ra

Gender: Male

Additional Website: Lheott.carrd.co

Sexuality: Pansexual, but leans heavily toward males.

Marital Status: Single [Not looking.]

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ––– –

Hair: Amber orange like the tips of flames. Bedhead and curly on the tips. Messy.

Eyes: Red as fire with aflame rings along the rim. A blazed that will never die out.

Height: 7 fulms, 1 ilms

Build: Handsome, tall and finely muscled. Not over toned or muscular as some, but enough to gain some turn heads his way.

Distinguishing Marks: Bullets wounds scattered about along their chest and arms, scars along their legs and neck. Nothing too serious. Has a left augmented limb that is glamoured over 90% of the time.

Common Appearance: Roguish comfortable outfits. Somewhat dirty depending on his work for that eve. Mostly enjoys more of the comfortable side of his attire, not too picky with what he wears. If he wishes, even dressing fancy. Mostly to when he takes someone out for the night.

PERSONAL ––– –

Profession: Owner of 'Malignity in Metal'. Magitek engineer. Off tasked as a bounty hunter. 

Hobbies: Cooking, cleaning, reading books and sharping his skills, singing, playing his harp and the piano. Magitek creating, finding unwilling victims to his demented goals, hunting monsters for meat or gain.

Languages: Fluent in the native language of Eorzea, Doman and Xelic. Holds an accent sometimes, other times talks normal, even elegant.

Residence: In his apartment in the goblet. Works as an outsource from it. Once inside, someone would feel rather comfortable and cozy. As if some cottage of comforts. 

Birthplace: Steppe

Religion: None

Fears: Dying alone and afraid. Powerless. Unable to control his fate.

RELATIONSHIPS ––– -

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Both dead. Murdered.

Siblings: Brother, dead (?).

Other Relatives: None he cares for or knows about.

Lackey/Pet: Kaz Ashura

TRAITS ––– -

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ––– –

Smoking Habit: Never Drugs: Never Alcohol: Sometimes, when no one is around or looking.

RP HOOKS ––– –

MAGITEK ENGINEER IN NEED! Lheott is able to provide services if anyone is in need of a small town business. One that has a wide assortments of items. For supplies: https://lheott.weebly.com/malignity-of-metal.html

RETAINER AND MORE Lheott is hiring for any retainers that would like to work under him! Be it from Collectors, gatherers, fishermen. Anyone really! Unskilled? Yes! Hired mercenaries for traveling? Yes! Trained fighters? Of course! As well as those that he needs to ‘test’ certain experiments on. Paid hourly in gil.

YOUR VILLAIN, YOUR PATH Lheott believes he is the means to the end, a soul creator and leader of his corrupted world. If you are interested in more darker eventful role-play with a villainous character, DM me! Be it kidnap, force placement, labor worker, your villain, or forced lackey! Any and all can be done.

FACADE Lheott is one of many mask. Hiding between them as if some snake. He can be kind to one person, and down right cruel to the next. Depending on race and gender, Lheott tends to have different approaches to each one. Either someone rubs his wrong or tickles his interest. It is very unclear and very unpredictable. Overall, he is a being of many layers. Be it from being friendly, to down right villainous.

HATRED FOR XAELA/AU RA Basically as it says, Lheott has a burning hatred for his own kin, mostly against anyone within the Steppe’s tribe or any Xaela in order. If you wish someone to come after you or try and ruin your life, perhaps Lheott is your guy. With consent of course!

WORKERS AND CONTRACTORS If you wish to work under Lheott, either by gaining some gil on the side or am in need, Lheott pretends to care while also taking advantage of the person in such dire events. Depending on what someone would be interested in for such an outcome, it can go many ways. Lheott also activity goes into bars to seek out the most ragged looking fellows, or those that looked as if they need a job.

UL’DAH There are brief moments Lheott will be out and about along the city’s streets. Either observing those around him or looking for a potential test subjects for his experiments. Or, if at all, merely to mingle and be among the 'crowd'. Scouting for potential clients and workers to take on task or desiring something from his own creations. If lucky in his wanting to approach others, Lheott will even walk up to strangers and hand over a leaflet to promote his business front! If seen, do say hi! Yet be warned, Lheott is not all as he seems at first!

ALLAGAN, MAGITEK, AND MORE Unsurprisingly, Lheott has a huge interest in anything technology wise. Either it being of the allagan technology or to the more modern technology done by Ironworks and garleans. There is a desire to know more, and, if by chance, even use it for his own advantage against the masses.

TREASURE HUNTER • ARTIFACT HUNTER • BOUNTY HUNTER Even for being someone that enjoys magitek, he also enjoys the hunt to gain. Either from treasure hunting to tracking down a terrible beast. When he can, even to finding artifacts, searching maps within his gathering, Lheott is always keeping himself busy. Be it from hired onto someone's goals, to his own with assisted 'help'. Either way, there will be a reward at the end.

DARK ROLEPLAY As directed, Lheott is an extremely -extremely- dark character. One that will eat another, abuse, force interactions and much more. If this does not interest you or you believe IC = OOC, then it would be best not to interact with my villain. However, if this does interest you and wish to start a plot, please DM me!

A FEW RULES TO LHEOTT ––– –

Mun is over 30+ of age, Muse is over 30+ as well. Please provide your your age to the mun, as well as your OC if you wish to roleplay with Lheott. Must be above the age of 21+ please. As well as be comfortable and able to provide what may make you uneasy in any part of the roleplay!

I prefer One on one with a character. I am a heavy paragraph- roleplayer and it helps me stabilize my attention. If there is a group that wishes to roleplay with me, do realize I am a lengthy with my paragraphs and to please be patient with me!

I am seeking anything really with Lheott. Mostly, if not seriously, seeking long term plots and darker theme characters. However, even though I prefer still a darker more conflicted plots, As well as business plots and customer ones! Simple interactions, or meeting one another and seeing what happens between them! Be it from Relic finding, searching for something, to treasure hunts!

If you wish to hunt my character, or think he deserves punishment, ask me first. We can work out something between a group or an individual. Do know I will not nor allow Lheott to die. For warning if anyone tries to murder Lheott without my consent, I will end the plot.

I enjoy darker roleplays for the majority of my stories. Or action to conflicting ones. Though I can do some fluff and slice of life if it comes off interesting. I have to have a plot to grasp at, and fully sink into.

I am not shy at all and am very blunt. I will say what is on my mind if I believe its something of an issue. Communication is very key for me to roleplay with you!

As said, I am huge with communication. If there is something I know Lheott will do, I will whisper you if you are ok with the actions. I expect the same treatment back! Lheott, as I said, is a heavy character, please respect that and me as a person!

Bounce ideas with me! I love people that interact with me for a plot. One that will grow and evolve as the character’s interact more. I revel in such plots. And thoroughly enjoy them.

Lheott is not me, nor will -ever- be. Do not think his actions are reflected on my own. Please know the difference.

OTHER OOC NOTES ––– –

I enjoy PVE a lot! More buddies to torment me in dungeons. If you are on crystal, I would love to do dungeons with anyone! I can help with queue if someone is leveling up, and teach others jobs! I enjoy helping others. Here is another post I did in seeking a RP/PVE partner! <HERE> ♥

I do not roleplay everyday! Please keep that in mind.

I am open to roleplay on discord/Skype/In-game. I prefer in-game mostly, and I get slightly distracted through discord/Skype. 

EST times. Sleep is…Odd.

I will give my discord out to those interested! 

I am open to anything! Just nothing that ends in the life of my character. He maybe vile, but unless consented, I do not wish his death.

[Will add more when more arises.]

@mooglemeet @balmungrp @balmungroleplayers @ffxiv-crystal-rp @crystalxivrp

[chojin-cu-chulain]

Power Rangers Morphinverse Thunder Chapter 1

Power Rangers Thunder The Mutiny part 1 Written by Justin Best It was the day of the annual Angel Grove charity road rally. The Rangers were on their ATV getting ready to join up. Jason said, “Man isn’t this great or what?”. Zack agreed, “I know man a great time for a great cause”. Then the other Rangers pulled up. Billy said, “The weather looks nice for today’s automotive experience”. Kim agreed, “Yeah nothing could ruin this day”. Tommy added “Especially now that Rita, and Zedd are gone. Trini asked, “So Tommy my uncle Tao told us he’s thinking of moving him, and you back to Crossworld City is that true?”. Tommy replied “Yeah on one hand I can’t wait to see my old friends back home but at the same time I like it here with you guys, and I don’t want to be gone if Rita, and Zedd come back or someone new shows up”. Jason said, “Hey man no matter what happens we’ll be okay”. Just then five more ATVs showed up, and the rider took off their helmets. Two of the riders were Bulk, and Skull while the other three were a young man, and two young women. Bulk bragged “Hey Dweebazoids take a good look at the team that is going to win this year’s road rally. Me, Skull Randy Chloe, and Laurie are going to take home the trophy, and you guys are going to eat dirt”. Billy replied, “Come on you guys this supposed to be for charity”, Zack agreed, “Besides you guys couldn’t win a race to the grocery store”. Randy retorted “You guys are the charity cases around here”. Chloe agreed “Yeah we’re going to cream you guys at this race.” Then Bulk, and the other put their helmets back on as Bulk bragged “See you later losers”, and they laughed as they drove off. Tommy said, “Man so much for having a good time”. Kim assured “Don’t worry about them lets just enjoy the race”. Trini agreed “Yeah it’s not like anything else can go wrong. Meanwhile on the moon a red light teleported into the moon palace and materialized as Lord Zedd’s physical form. Lord Zedd then said “So those pesky Rangers are having a race. Well why don’t I plant a spike in their tires. But first things first”. Lord Zedd pointed his finger in the sky and fired a laser. Out in space Rita was singing “100 bottles of slime on the wall 100 bottles of slime” when the laser hit their space prison causing it to fly back towards the moon at seemingly impossible speed. Rita cried “What the zynthor is going on?” Squatt replied “I hope we didn’t hit a black hole or something”. Goldar then said “Lord Zedd must still be alive and is taking as back to the palace with his magic”. “Then the space prison landed in the balcony of the palace, and Zedd fired another laser which opened the prison, and released Rita and her minions. Lord Zedd then looked at his minions and yelled “You incompetent morons I gave you one simple mission to destroy Earth, and the Power Rangers you even had the power of Cyclopsis on your side, and you still lost”. Zedd looked at Rita and said, “Especially you Rita you had the Green Ranger, and our son, and you lost both of them”. “Please forgive us all heinous one” Rita pleaded. Zedd replied “No I’m done giving you chances”. Then Zedd zapped Rita with a laser, and teleported her back into the space prison, and shot it again to send it back into space as Rita screamed “No please Zeddy give me another chance noooo” as the prison flew off into the deepest regions of space. Zedd’s minions cowered except for Goldar who just bragged “I knew her plans wouldn’t work oh hideous one.” Zedd scoffed “Ahh Goldar selling out other to save your own skin I knew you were as smart as you are strong. Now we must enact my plan that is sure to destroy Zordon, and his goody goody Ranger once and for all”. “What is it oh evil one?” Babboo asked. Zedd gloated “All in bad time my mutant miscreants but first I’ll create some putties, and a monster to distract the Rangers at their little race”. Finster picked up when he heard this “splendid idea my lord I’ll get to work right away”. Zedd bragged “No need for that Finster I brought some of my own”. Then Zedd fired white lightning from his hands that materialized as a small squadron of black humanoid figures that had white faces with red lips, white hands, and white upside down triangle like markings with red neck ties. Lord Zedd gloated “Behold my Z putties made from super putty that has absorbed large quantities of dark magic. they’ll be sure to give the Ranger quite the rude awakening. Now go my fiendish creations and crush those troublesome teenagers.” Then the Z putties teleported away in red energy. At the command center the alarms went off. Alpha cried out “Aye ye ye what’s going on now?”. Zordon answered “There seems to be a new surge of dark magic from the moon”. Alpha replied “But how? Rita’s imprisoned, and Zedd was destroyed”. Zordon answered “Perhaps he survived somehow in which case we should alert the Rangers to the new threat”. At the race the Rangers were driving their ATVs when they heard their communicators go off. They drove to where they knew no one was looking, and Jason answered “Zordon we read you”. Zordon explained “Rangers Alpha and I detected a strong surge of dark magic. Rita, and or Zedd may have returned be on guard”. Just then the Z Putties teleported in front of the Rangers. “I think we found them Zordon” Zack said. “These clay brains look even creepier than usual” Kim cried out. Zordon warned “Watch out Rangers these may be a new breed of Super Putty created by Zedd to be even more powerful than the previous Super Putties”. The Rangers then punched and kicked the Z Putties, but the Z Putties kept punching, and kicking back. Zack cried out “Man they even hit harder too”. Tommy assured him “Come on you guys we can do it if we work together”. Then Tommy knocked a few of the Z Putties with a flying kick. Trini, and Kimberly did some back flips into some more Z Putties. Zack, and Billy were punching, and kicking some Z putties when the Z Putties charged at them, and Billy, and Zack tricked them into knocking into each other. Then the Rangers circled the remaining Z putties and Jason cried out “Lets do this, guys”. and all at once the Rangers kicked the remaining Z Putties into each other knocking them out. The Z Putties then disappeared in red energy. Zack said, “Man those guys were tougher than usual”. Jason replied, “I’ve got a feeling this is just starting”. At the moon palace Zedd yelled “So those Pathetic Rangers defeated my putties but I’m just warming up”. Zedd then looked at where the road rally was still going on and saw the trophy for the race. Zedd said “Perfect I’ll destroy the Rangers with the very prize they were hoping to win. Pipebrain arise”. Zedd shot out some more white lighting which hit the trophy at the road race when no one was looking and teleported away leaving some green slime. Principle Caplan looked at it and grumbled “Is this one of Bulk and Skull’s pranks?”. The trophy then reappeared in Angel Grove as a humanoind gold monster made of various pipes, and tentacles with a mouth full of sharp teeth on one tentacle and a single human like eye in the middle of his head. The monster was playing with a yoyo when he said “I’m ready serve you oh great Zedd”. Zedd then ordered “Pipebrain I want you to capture all the children in Angel Grove that way when those pesky do gooders try to stop us you’ll crush them”. Pipebrain said “With pleasure oh evil one” and extended out the various tentacles on his body. Throughout the city little kids were playing when Pipebrain’s tentacles emerged from the ground, and pulled them in. At the Command Center the alarms started going off again. The viewing globe showed Pipebrain abducting children all over Angel Grove. Alpha cried out “Aye ye ye Zedd’s created another monster”. Zordon responded “Hurry alert the Rangers at once”. The communicators went off again, and Jason asked, “What is it Zordon?”. Zordon answered, “Rangers Lord Zedd has created a monster from the road rally trophy that is going around Angel Grove abducting children you must stop it at once”. Jason cried out “It’s Morphin time”. Then the Rangers cried out “Dragon”, “Mastodon”, “Pterodactyl”, “Triceratops”, “Saber tooth tiger” and “Tyrannosaurus”, and teleported to where Pipebrain was. Zack mocked “Okay you overgrown paper weight let those kids go or we’ll drop you in the recycle bin”. Pipebrain mocked back “I like to see you try Rangers” then launched his tentacles at the Rangers which picked them up and threw them around. Billy said, “Maybe our blade blasters would work”. Tommy agreed “It’s worth a shot”, and the Rangers fired their blade blasters at Pipebrain. The Rangers and Pipebrain started punching and kicking each other. Then Pipebrain fired lasers from the mouth on his tentacle so the Rangers summoned their power weapons, and slashed and stabbed at Pipebrain. At the moon palace Lord Zedd was watching the battle and said “So the Rangers think they can defeat Pipebrain that easily, we’ll I’ll just have to give him an unfair advantage”. Lord Zedd then materialized a silver orb with a smaller orb attached in his hand and threw it at Earth. Pipebrain grabbed the orb and said, “All right Rangers now for the final lap” and threw the orb on the ground creating an explosion that caused Pipebrain to grow into a giant. Pipebrain proceeded to rampage across Angel Grove. The Ranger then called out “We need Dinozord power now” and Tommy played the flute on his dragon dagger. One by one the Rangers’ zords appeared, and the Rangers jumped into their cockpits. Jason said, “All right you guys let’s put a dent in this creep” and the other Rangers replied “Right”. The Tyrannosaur, Pterodactyl, Triceratops, and Saber Tooth Tiger zords fired lasers at Pipebrain but Pipebrain just laughed and said “That tickles. It’s that the best you got Rangers”. The Dragonzord then fired a volley of missiles at Pipebrain but once again they didn’t seem to even phase him. Jason called out “We need Megazord power now”. The Dinozords then combined to form the Megazord which proceeded to fire lasers at Pipebrain but to no effect. Zack cried out “Man nothing’s even phasing this guy”. The Rangers all called out “We need Ultrazord power now”. Titanus the carrierzord appeared and merged with the Megazord, and the Dragonzord to become the Ultrazord. The Rangers then cried out “All weapons fire”, and the Ultrazord fired on Pipebrain but once again nothing seemed to happen. Pipebrain laughed and said, “Here Rangers let me show you how it’s done” and fired a volley of lasers at the Utlrazord that caused it to explode sending the Rangers plummeting down to the ground. Billy cried out “Oh no the Zords” as the Ultrazord separated back into the various zord components and exploded right before the Rangers eyes. At the Moon Palace Zedd and his minions where laughing and gloating. Squatt cheered “Yeah Lord Zedd we finally got rid of the Ranger”. Zedd smirked and said, “Oh the worst is yet to come watch this”. Then one by one the Zords seemed to disappear into red energy. Lord Zedd said “Now that I took care of the Zords it’s time to take care of the Rangers themselves”. Goldar asked “How are you going to that my lord”. Lord Zedd replied “Easy with these” then Lord Zedd fired lasers from his hand that materialized as six candle holders that were holding red green black blue yellow and pink candles. “And this” Zedd continued as he materialized a light green crystal in his hands. Zedd then yelled “Behold the dark power crystal. When these six candles drain the Rangers powers they will go into this crystal and be mine forever”. Then Zedd ordered “Now Goldar go to Earth and take the Rangers to my dark dimension so that we can begin the next phase of my horribly wonderful evil plan” Goldar replied “Yes oh wicked one it shall be done at once” as he disappeared in orange flames. Goldar appeared in Angel Grove and Kim taunted “What do want now fur face?”. Tommy agreed “Yeah what did you do to out Zords?”. Goldar mocked “Nothing as bad as what master Zedd is going to do to you” and proceed to fire energy bolts at the Rangers that caused them to teleport. The Rangers appeared in Zedd’s dimensional prison inside cage. Trini asked “What’s Zedd up to now?”. Zack replied, “Nothing good I bet”. Then Goldar appeared and said “Welcome Rangers Zedd’s got a nasty surprise for you” as the six candles appeared in the dark dimension. Tommy yelled out “Oh no the green candle”. Jason added “And he’s got some more for the rest of us”. Goldar gloated “Yes Rangers soon these candles will drain your powers and they will belong to Lord Zedd. The Rangers looked down and realized their power coins were missing. “Looking for these?” Goldar gloated. Kim cried out “Oh no our power coins”. Then Goldar placed each of the Rangers coins on the candles and said “Now oh horrible one you need only cast the spell and I will light the candles” Lord Zedd then bellowed out "Mashak Rasha Shamba candles drain the Ranger’s powers”. Then Goldar took the coins and crushed them with his bare hands bragging “You won’t need these anymore Rangers”. Then he lit the candles which started draining the Rangers’ powers as he laughed maniacally. At the Command Center Zordon and Alpha were watching the Rangers on the viewing globe. Alpha cried out “Aye ye ye Zordon Lord Zedd has the Rangers in his dark dimension and is draining their powers”. Zordon assured Alpha “Don’t worry Alpha we just have to get a lock on the Rangers and teleport them back to the Command Center then we can”. But before Zordon could finish the lights in the Command Center flickered off and back on as white electronic forcefield surrounded the Command Center. At Zedd’s palace Zedd gloated “Zordon you pathetic old fool do you think I didn’t think you would try to interfere with my diabolical plan think again”. Zedd continued “Now while the candles are draining the Rangers’ powers and that fool Zordon and his bucket of bolts are trapped it’s time for the next step of my plan”. Scorpina asked “What is it your vileness?”. Zedd replied “Simple I just need to find five teenagers every bit as mean and nasty as Zordon’s little sickingly sweet pipsqueaks are nice and cuddly”. Finster asked “But where will you find such teenagers my lord?” Meanwhile back at the road rally Bulk and his friends were lost. Bulk yelled out “Wait stop”. When all five of them had stopped he yelled “We’ve been driving around the same spot for an hour now which one of you lame brains got us lost?” Skull said “It wasn’t me it must have been Randy” Randy yelled back “Yeah right numbskull it was you. You couldn’t find sand at the beach”. Cindy said, “Are you sure it wasn’t Laurie she was the one who said this was the way”. Laurie retorted “Look who’s talking Ms. Slowpoke”. Then five of them started yelling at each other indistinctly. Lord Zedd was watching them and said, “Look at them arrogant self-centered disrespectful they’re perfect”. Then one by one Bulk and his friends were teleported away from the road rally and appeared in Zedd’s palace. Bulk cried out “What in the world just happened?” Randy yelled “Yeah man, where are we?”. Cindy agreed “If we don’t get answers someone’s getting creamed” They then looked around and saw Zedd and his minions them proceed to huddle up and scream. Zedd laughed and said, “Perfect that’s just what I want from my warriors”. Skull asked, “Warriors who’s warriors?”. Laurie agreed “Yeah we like a good fight but what makes you think we’ll work for you?”. Lord Zedd replied “Oh I have my ways” then shot them with purple lightning that caused their eyes to glow purple as they said monotonously “Hail Lord Zedd”. Lord Zedd gloated “Ahh that’s what I want to hear”. Then he turned to Finster Squatt and Baboo and ordered “I want you three to work on repairing and reprogramming the remains of the Rangers’ Zords into my new Dark Zords for my new Rangers”. Finster replied “Understood oh wicked one” and the three of them walked off. Zedd then ordered “Now Goldar speed up the process of the candles”. Goldar replied “As you wish master” and pushed the candles on the ground causing a fire that was speeding up the melting of the candles until they were completely gone and the Rangers demorphed. At Zedd’s palace one by one six beams of light in red green black blue yellow and pink entered Zedd’s dark power crystal. Zedd laughed maniacally with glee. “Yes yes” he cried out “I will finally have my revenge on Zordon and crush that pathetic planet. Zedd then ordered “Goldar take the Rangers to the outside of my palace I want them to see what I have in store personally”. Goldar replied, “It shall be done my lord” and teleported himself and the Rangers out of the dark dimension. The Rangers then found themselves in the desert on the moon trapped in an electron forcefield. Jason asked, “Oh man where are we now?”. Tommy pointed at the moon palace and replied, “I think I know where”. Kim said “Great Zedd’s palace”. Zedd appeared and said “Ah welcome Rangers I’m glad you could come. You probably want to know what I did to you powers and Zords. Well to answer the first one”. Zedd then teleported Bulk and his friends to his location. Jason asked, “Bulk what are you guys doing here?”. Zedd answered “I’m glad you asked Red Ranger I’ve turd these puny punks into a better stronger and darker version of what you five once where. Zordon picked five teenagers who embodied humanities greatest virtues to become Power Rangers and defend the Earth”. Zedd continued “So I found five teenagers of my own who embodied humanities greatest faults and transformed them into my own personal team of Dark Rangers completely under my control to destroy it as my ultimate revenge on Zordon” One by one Bulk and the others each received a pair of black wrist mounted devices. Zedd called out “Now my Dark Rangers show these powerless pests what true power is.” Bulk and the others then raised their arms and pulled out the keys on one device and inserted them in the other. Randy called out “Lion”, Cindy called out “Phoenix”, Skull called out “Unicorn”, Laurie called out “Griffin”, and finally Bulk called out “Dragon”. Then they were surrounded in green pink blue yellow and red flames that each formed a Ranger suit around them, Zack cried out “Oh no”. Zedd boasted “Yes behold the Dark Rangers powered by your powers and the dark power crystal they are the ultimate warriors of darkness and evil. And they will destroy your pitiful planet starting with you”. Then Zedd and his minions laughed maniacally while the former Ranger could only watch in despair”. To be continued