#and at least one walk in a garden (let’s hope it’s their South Downs cottage garden) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeymoonjin · 3 years

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part of the 2020 sapphest fic fest, cross-posted to ao3

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

word count: 8.1k || rating: sfw || genre: magical realism

summary: jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer.

notes: i apologise if this isn’t up to scratch, i haven’t written an actual oneshot i think since jan/feb (?) so i know i’m rusty. also, this fic contains a trans female jungkook, cis female namjoon and non binary hoseok so i really do hope i’ve done them justice, it’s my first time writing characters with differing gender expressions. please do let me know what you think with a reblog or an ask, it really makes my day and would help a lot as i’m trying to get back into writing. thank you and i love you xxx

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Jungkook feels the gripping pressure around her heart ease with every step she takes down the street, fading into phantom pangs once the tall apartment building falls out of view.

She had never quite gotten used to it; the relief in a lack of something, the bliss of less. Her family’s worries seeped into her bones, soured her tongue when she was home. At high school, and especially at university, the stress of other students buffeted her like gales of wind. The brief moments of respite when she’d walk to the bus stop always felt so fleeting, like a gasp of air that didn’t quite fill her lungs enough.

Now, though, she didn’t stop there. She walked further, sucking in deeper breaths.

The train station lay close to the centre of town, but it was never that busy in the late morning, something she’d known fully well before going.

Her phone buzzes in her front pocket, no doubt her mother wishing her safe travels again. She doesn’t answer it, though. Happiness is a sweet tang behind her teeth, and her respite from obligation is a welcome one.

Her train is already pulling into the station when she steps up to the platform, and she wastes no time in scanning her card and finding a seat, tucked in the least occupied corner.

It doesn’t take long for the cramped blocks of Seoul to open up into countryside, and with it comes an openness in Jungkook’s chest that she only remembers feeling once before, a family vacation to an island that felt so blurry in her childhood memory.

Her gift wasn’t so strong then, but still Jungkook finds herself, over a decade later, seeking out nature as a balm for the mood pollution of city life.

When she’s as far south as the train allows, she disembarks. Not a single other soul steps foot off into the station, and it seems nobody is around.

It’s more a bus stop with rails than a train station, really. A roughly squareish pad of thick concrete sits beside the old tracks, a steel park bench and signpost the only things adorning it.

Around the lonely station is an open plain with few trees. On the opposite side, vast untended fields sprout daisies and dandelions, rising gracefully to low hills in the distance. On Jungkook’s side, a single narrow path of sun bleached dirt cuts through the wild grass, leading her to civilisation.

It’s a quiet walk. Not that she minds, of course; on the contrary, the remoteness of this place settles her and allows her to appreciate the finer sounds that normally get drowned out. The grass and scattered trees rustle gently in the wind. A few birds that roost in the shade of the branches chirp to each other, and the melodic noise brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.

When the small path she wanders along finally leads her to a series of small, traditionally-built houses, she’s unsurprised to find them seemingly abandoned. There’s no signs of life outside, and no evidence of human mood anywhere in her body. Even more than the rundown appearance of the outpost, Jungkook trusts her natural gift.

So when a tug in her chest leads her past the small crop of houses, she doesn’t hesitate. There is something for her here, something she may not yet have the words to explain, but for the first time she’s letting herself follow the currents that run through her veins, instead of trying to live around them.

The path lifts.

Like the train station was the base of a funnel, the land rises into hills on this side too, the extra exertion heating her calves with each step. Eventually, the narrow spine of dirt becomes overgrown with grass, and she’s forced to trample over it, ducking around low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots as the trees cluster around her, welcoming her into the cool shade of the hillside.

The crest of the hill has a jagged notch missing like a chipped tooth, providing a shortcut to the other side. The sun peeks through worn walls of ancient stone. It glares in Jungkook’s eyes, but even that brightness is overwhelmed by something stronger that radiates from the very ground itself. Euphoria.

Though her gift was still sometimes a mystery to her, Jungkook had learnt to distinguish most moods. In her cramped suburbia, she’d generally just been exposed to human feelings and the occasional animal, but she could still recognise the specific energy that plants give off.

Stronger with every step she takes, her soles practically vibrate with the flow of plant life singing out in joy - the joy of thriving, of being taken care of. Her own excitement wells up inside her, and her feet pick up their pace until the thud of grass changes into the slap of heavy soles on rock. She slips through the narrow crevasse of stone at the peak of the hill, breath catching at what greets her on the other side.

Like some kind of paradise, lush colours and fragrances mingle in the fresh air. The slope is much gentler here, and instead of uneven undergrowth and stubborn shrubbery, graceful rows of trees fill the open plains in front of her.

An orchard of plum trees with their pink blossoms rests to her left, rich purple fruits beginning to grow from them. Beside, a thicket of orange trees brighten the landscape with the bold citrus, only a few white flowers remaining on the branches. The green apple trees in front of her are laden with fruit, the branches hanging low. To her right, she even spots the brilliant pink spheres of pomegranate, though surely her eyes deceive her.

There’s no clear path through the foliage, though each row kindly provides enough space for a person or two to wander through, so Jungkook takes one such gap at random. There looks to be a fairly old though well-tended cottage beyond the trees, and even as the ecstasy of the healthy orchards envelops her in warmth, she feels the tug in her chest still guiding her forward.

Her body adjusts to the strong flow of positivity. It clears her mind, opens her lungs; like breathing pure mountain air. She has no idea what she’s really doing - trespassing and approaching a stranger’s house like this - but already the thought of having to leave here and find a place to stay makes her stomach curl.

Between the line of trees she can make out the front-facing wall of the cottage. Made up of wide planks of wood, slightly uneven with all the knots and flecks left on the surface, green creeping ivy runs lines across the edges of the plants like earthy seams. That’s all she can see, though, and the first sign of human life doesn’t come from what she sees but rather what she hears.

Reaching her ears even around the happy murmur of greenery, a bright voice hums a meandering but cheery tune, interspersed with chirped phrases that Jungkook can’t quite make out yet.

She approaches slowly, but impatiently peeks around the trunks of trees for a glimpse at the individual. The movement, the colour, the tint of energy that she feels off of them is unlike anything she’s felt before. Pure light, just as brilliant as it is tender.

She steps forward again, foot snapping a fallen twig. Suddenly, that stranger’s energy wobbles, the freezes in the air altogether. Jungkook pauses, knows she’s caught.

“A visitor?” the new voice exclaims incredulously, almost as if talking to themselves. “Are you human, visitor?”

Jungkook swallows. Whoever it was must not have been able to see her. “Mostly,” she replies hesitantly.

As if that’s the right answer, a joyous hoot rings out through the orchard, and light thumps skip closer. A smile stretches across Jungkook’s face entirely unconsciously, her eyes widening when the person finally darts into sight, hand hooked on an orange tree at the very end of the row.

“A friend, then!” the apparent owner of the house declares. They’re dressed for gardening, though dressed is perhaps overly generous. With bare feet and cropped, slightly curly hair, the only thing the person is even wearing is a pair of overalls, dirt on the knees, the leg cuffs rolled up to their calves and the front only just covering their otherwise naked chest. Every inch of skin revealed down to the elfish slope of their nose is a warm, rich bronze, like the sun itself has sunk below the surface and is instead shining outwards. It matches the high energy that Jungkook feels off of them, making her heart race.

Used to modest - even prudish - city fashion, Jungkook swallows at the delicate shoulders and collarbones that contrast enticingly with the swell of their biceps. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and introduces herself. “And sorry for, uh, intruding,” she offers up with a grimace.

But the stranger waves it off, the movement exposing a flash of something gold on their palm. “Don’t be,” they respond easily, “we haven’t had a guest in years. Name’s Hoseok, by the way.”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook replies without thinking, making the other’s eyes light up even more. “I don’t even… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

#jungkook fanfic #hoseok fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namseok fic #namkook fic #hopekook fic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #namseok fanfic #namkook fanfic #hopekook fanfic

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atinytokki · 3 years

Text

Distant Daylight

viii. New Strategy

“I hope you boys have somewhere to stay the weekend in Panhang,” a voice broke into Yunho’s sleep, and he startled from his position slumped against Gunho to face the cart driver.

Oh, right. They had finally made it out.

“Why do you say that, sir?” He asked respectfully, pulling some hay out of his hair when it poked him as he went to rub his tired eyes. Gambling in the tavern all week when he should be in bed had worn him out.

“Because this cart stops there and returns to So-ai. So unless you want to be right back where you started, you’ll need to get off when we arrive in the morning,” the driver explained, turning around for a moment to make sure he’d been heard.

“But…” Yunho tried to argue, suddenly faced with the fact that he hadn’t made any arrangements and would once again be thinking on his feet. “But we’re trying to get to the archipelago, doesn’t this cart go to Kon?”

“No, young man, it does not. For that, you’ll have to hire a carriage that travels south,” the driver answered with finality, unable to be persuaded on the matter.

Yunho hadn’t been on a carriage since the day he left for the orphanage, and he knew even if they could afford one, no self-respecting driver would take on a pair of street rats.

So he invited himself into the front seat and tried a different angle. The sun was already rising and he didn’t have much time.

“Sir, do you have parents?”

The man gave him a quizzical glance before returning his gaze to the road. “No,” he admitted after a moment. “Not since they were claimed by the mountain.”

Not entirely sure what that meant, Yunho continued on anyway, “From one orphan to another, what sort of place is Panhang? Somewhere a couple of poor homeless children could survive and earn enough for the carriage you speak of?”

When the man eyed him knowingly for a moment, Yunho sat up straighter and did his best to look completely innocent. It was Gunho’s skill, but unfortunately he was still asleep in the back.

“The business of the city consists mostly of fishing and finance,” the driver finally said in a gruff voice. “There are a few wealthy families, but they keep to themselves and won’t be frequently seen in town, not when they can send servants instead. You’ll not be able to steal money off them.”

Yunho widened his eyes and feigned a gasp, acting shocked that the driver would mention such a thing when he and Gunho clearly only secured their funds through reputable and entirely legal means.

“And there’s already some competition between beggars,” the man continued, unfazed. “It’s a bigger town than So-ai. Any luck you had there will not guarantee you survival here. Not with winter blowing in.”

Yunho couldn’t help but pout as the distant rooftops finally came into view. He had never been outside his hometown in all his ten years of life, and the unfamiliar world on the horizon was intimidating.

He would need a new strategy, both here and wherever the road took them next.

But it was no matter; he didn’t fear what was to come. Jeong Yunho loved a good challenge.

___

“We picked the worst time to jump ship.”

Yunho crossed his arms to trap some body heat and sighed in response to yet another complaint from shivering Gunho.

“We didn’t exactly have a choice,” he reminded him, turning yet another street corner as they explored Panhang, looking for anything and everything that could be of use to them. “Can’t go back now.”

A stranger brushing past and jostling him forced Yunho to find a way out of the crowded market. “Let’s try the town hall,” he suggested, turning into the alcove where the stately building was located and hoping the officials hadn’t seen his tricks before elsewhere.

Before they could even open the door, another beggar sidled up to ask for change until he took stock of them and returned to his corner, knowing they wouldn’t share.

“The driver was right,” Yunho groaned, abandoning the idea until later. “It’s too crowded with beggars here, we’ll get no pity for being poor.”

“What about the tea house?” Gunho tried hopefully.

“We passed one a few streets back,” Yunho reminded him. “The owner is outside tending to the garden.”

“Could we afford the inn?” Gunho asked quietly, glancing at the place with longing eyes. “What money do we have left?”

“Half a bag of gold, a couple of silvers, and enough copper coins for one loaf of bread maybe ,” Yunho listed, honest despite not wanting to crush Gunho’s hopes. “It won’t get us lodgings. The most we could do is hire another cart back to So-ai, but that’s out of the question.”

“Well, why is it out of the question?” Gunho mumbled. “If this place is so unfriendly, then maybe it would be better to return…?”

Yunho ignored the comment, trying to avoid the same disagreement that had driven them apart at the orphanage. Gunho clung to what he knew out of habit and a sense of duty, even if it kept him in a dangerous situation, but Yunho was an escape artist, an adventurer, always moving on and up when he could and leaving the dark days of his past behind.

Even so, he refused to leave Gunho behind.

“You see that lighthouse there?” Yunho suggested, pointing past smoking chimneys they were barred access to and over to the seaside. “Let’s climb it for a better vantage point.”

There was really no denying him, so Gunho trailed behind and followed his brother to the eastern side of the city, taking the road to the beach. It only took ten minutes or so to be in sight of the sea, and it was a priceless one.

There was a salty smell on the air, not unpleasant but distinctly foreign to the brothers. The ocean lay before them, boundless and blue— not the pristine turquoise blue of picture books, but deep and full of mystery.

It evoked a similar feeling as seeing the mountains, with its expansiveness instead of majesty, but instead of turning Yunho away, it beckoned to him.

Gunho cleared his throat before he got too far away. “Hyung? The lighthouse?”

“Oh, right,” Yunho mumbled awkwardly, having gotten lost in the view. “Careful on the rocks.”

Together they made their way down to the beach, slow but sure footed on the bluffs as if they really were descending a mountain. This time, the prize at the bottom was worth much more.

Gunho said nothing but turned and gave his brother a smile, and Yunho knew what he was suggesting.

“It’s winter, Gunho, it might be cold…”

Throwing off his shoes and sprinting across the sand anyway, Gunho’s laugh became a shriek at stepping in the freezing water and then dissolved again into giggles.

Yunho had followed suit and pulled off his worn boots to feel the sand under him. Little rocks, shells, and pieces of coral were scattered throughout but it wasn’t painful to walk across provided you knew where to step.

He’d never been to a beach before and had nothing to compare it to, but to Yunho, it was heaven.

“There’s the lighthouse,” he observed, pointing up the coast. “Let’s head that way.”

Gunho looked up from where he was already digging through the shallows for little tidal creatures and nodded.

Being so tall, the structure looked a lot closer than it was, and by the time they drew up to it Gunho was hungry, cold, and tired and had long since stopped splashing in the surf.

“Are we sleeping here for the night?” He asked in a pout, clinging on to his older brother to steal some of his warmth.

“Yes,” Yunho tried to answer confidently, regardless of the fact that it was their only option with evening fast approaching. “Let’s just hope no one sees us.”

The lighthouse appeared to be empty, though the cottage next to it was illuminated by candles in the windows, and the door swung open when Yunho gently nudged it.

“Quickly!” He whispered, beckoning Gunho in and closing the heavy door behind him. A tall metal staircase spiralled up into the lighthouse, so high they could not see the end of it, but there was a small space underneath the curve of the railings that could house the pair of them if need be.

“It’s still cold in here,” Gunho sighed, already pulling his blanket out from the bag he carried.

“We’ll just have to make do,” Yunho answered redundantly, knowing he was powerless to change the situation. “At least we’re shielded from wind and snow.”

Perhaps they could try knocking at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage next door, where a wisp of smoke emanated from the chimney invitingly, but Yunho didn’t trust this town or anyone in it and it was better to hide out in the lighthouse undiscovered.

“You don’t think anyone will come in here while we sleep, do you?” Gunho asked, suddenly pausing as he was about to lay out his blanket.

Before Yunho could respond, the sound of footsteps approaching from outside shocked the pair into freezing in place.

“Behind the door!” Yunho whispered quickly, pulling his brother into the cramped corner just as the door swung open and obscured them from view.

He could barely hear anything beyond the sound of his heartbeat and Gunho’s shaky breathing, but it seemed that a man had entered and was making his way up the steps to the top of the lighthouse.

“It must be the lighthouse keeper,” Yunho surmised when he was safely out of earshot. “The tides have changed and night is coming… he needs to turn on the light.”

“How will you go up and look around if he’s there?” Gunho sighed, remembering the original purpose of coming there.

Yunho bit his lip and peered up the tower hesitantly. “I suppose that… I’ll have to climb up the outside.”

“Hyung, are you insane?” Gunho hissed, taking a step forward and out of his sheltered corner. “There’s nothing but brick to cling onto, you could fall!”

“Quiet!” Yunho shushed his brother sharply before softening and taking his hand, leading him outside to survey the outside of the lighthouse. “There’s a way up, see?”

He pointed to the small window holes that trailed up to the balcony where the light was.

“Please don’t die,” Gunho whimpered, still trying to cling on even as Yunho found his first foothold and pulled himself up.

“I’ll be fine,” said Yunho with a grin, climbing out of reach within a few seconds. He’d only climbed trees and rooftops in his life, but he loved the feeling of it. A chilling wind battered him and his arms shook from the effort of clinging on when his reach didn’t quite meet the height of the next window.

Almost losing his grip when a shiver overtook him, Yunho had to press himself close to the wall and relax his limbs for a moment. He could see Gunho nervously pacing below but continued up the second half of the stretch without calling down unnecessarily.

When his hand made purchase on the railing at the top, he found enough energy to vault over it and land acrobatically on the balcony, a rush of adrenaline granting him some extra wind.

“Easy!” He mouthed in Gunho’s direction, not yelling in case he was heard by the man inside but not above some bragging when he’d made it up in good time with nothing but his own strength.

The view from the lighthouse was beautiful, and Yunho became lost in it again as he surveyed the land around him.

There was, of course, the glittering ocean at sunset which he couldn’t tear his eyes away from and atop his perch he could see more of it, but no land on the horizon. The archipelago was still much further south.

Glancing in that direction, he saw Panhang nestled into the coast and the road the carriage would take winding out of it through forest and farmland to the city of Kon. That was where they would make the crossing, and taste the sea air instead of only smelling it.

Investigating finished, Yunho couldn’t help but steal a few more moments to himself up there. He didn’t mind the heights or the force of the wind, even the snow blowing in from the north.

He would like to let Mother’s music box play up there, soft twinkling carrying on the breeze and putting the entire town to sleep, but he let Gunho keep it safe in his bag until he was ready to climb down.

When some of the circling gulls had swooped too close for comfort, Yunho finally decided to begin his descent.

The light above him came on just as he vaulted the railing and, thankful for good timing, he scampered down with ease and hurried to hide behind the door again with Gunho just as the lighthouse keeper came down and returned to his house.

“What did you see?” Gunho whispered, still wary even though they were alone.

“The road that leads south. If we have trouble getting money in town, I say we start walking on it and hitch a ride if we can. Winter will be a harsh one here in Panhang.”

“We won’t have to steal, right?” Gunho asked in a quiet murmur as he laid out his blanket and sat on it this time.

“I can’t promise that,” Yunho finally responded with a sigh, stretching out next to his brother and covering both of them with his own blanket. “But I won’t force you into anything. I’m looking out for you, Gunho, you can trust me.”

Gunho didn’t answer, but snuggled closer to his hyung, and for Yunho that was answer enough.

___

He thought he’d be at home in the tavern, but Yunho struggled from the moment he set foot inside to find his place there.

“Which way to the pub?” He had asked a boy who was digging up holes in the snow and dirt of his front garden. The treasure hunter, about his age, gave him a puzzled look and simply pointed towards town.

“There’s only one. The Boar’s Head, you can’t miss it.”

It was a snowy day which meant by noon all the tables nearest the fireplace were taken and the place was so packed full of miners on their lunch breaks that it was all the orphans could do to find a seat that didn’t feel like ice on their backsides.

“I want to order something,” Gunho announced while Yunho kept his eyes glued to the men playing dice across from them.

“Gunho, this is a tavern,” Yunho reminded him distractedly, following even the slightest movement of the players. “You wouldn’t like any of their drinks.”

“Not true!” his little brother whined, pointing to the menu on the board behind the counter. “They make soup, too. A thing called chowder. I want to try it!”

Yunho sighed and finally faced him, pressing a couple of coins into his outstretched hand. “Fine. But if it costs more than this, you’re responsible for bargaining.”

Judging by the teary puppy eyes Gunho was currently displaying, he would have no trouble with that.

The tides of the game changed as Yunho looked on. An old woman had joined in the bets and seated herself at the head of the table. From the way the miners looked at her, he guessed she wasn’t well known. Yunho, too, fell for her guise of ignorance when she lost the first two rounds after upping the bid.

Just as Gunho returned with a steaming bowl big enough for both of them to share, the old woman took the pot in a landslide victory the likes of which Yunho had never seen.

He gulped and stood from his seat. The games in the tavern at So-ai were child’s play compared to this. He didn’t stand a chance.

“We’re leaving.”

“But I just got the soup…” Gunho complained with a mouthful already in his cheeks.

“No,” Yunho explained frustratedly. “I mean we’re leaving Panhang— tonight. We’ll just have to take our chances on the south road, we can’t do business here.”

“Well, why not?” Gunho scoffed. “The barmaid liked me well enough.”

“ That woman is a witch,” Yunho whispered harshly, nudging his head in her direction. “She knows every trick in the book and, I’d wager, exactly what die everyone else rolled before they even know it themselves. It’s mathematically impossible, there’s no other explanation. She’s a witch.”

“You can’t beat her? Well, she doesn’t know you, maybe there’s another game…”

“No, Gunho. She could con us out of all our money without breaking a sweat. It doesn’t matter if I avoid her, she can join in at any time,” Yunho insisted urgently, remembering the incident with the tea house owner. “I barely secured enough in So-ai to get us here and this is much more of a gamble.”

Gunho simply looked away and took another bite of the chowder. “Here, have some,” he offered dully, weary of all the business discussion. “It’s good.”

Yunho followed his conscience instead of his stomach and declined. He felt bad enough for Gunho as it was, starving on the streets and moving uncertainly from place to place, driven on by an incompetent older brother with no friends or family otherwise. He needed as much nourishment as his hard-earned stew would give him.

As for Yunho, he’d have to figure out a new strategy.

His stomach was rumbling so loudly the next morning that Gunho insisted they drop by the tavern again so that he could beg another chowder bowl from the barmaid for a poor, ill baby sister that didn’t exist, secretly giving it to Yunho, and Yunho could steal some firewood for the journey ahead.

He saw the witch again, this time in a different form— the body of a younger woman— but he knew it was her by the way she played. Feigning defeat at first and then raking in all the bets, the way he used to play, but with certainty in her wagers due to some nefarious form of sorcery.

Yunho pitied her victims.

“We go by foot until we see a carriage,” he decided when he’d licked the bowl clean and packed it away with everything else.

“I like walking,” Gunho chirped brightly, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Yunho’s head was full of maps and worries, so he was glad to find his brother in a good mood.

They’d evaded the lighthouse keeper until now, but left him a small offering Gunho had found in the snow, a bright red camellia flower. Yunho didn’t have the heart to remind him it would die now that he had picked it.

But the brothers were no wilting flowers. They could move from place to place and gain vitality, not lose it.

That was what Yunho was betting on.

___

“I don’t like walking anymore.”

Yunho stopped where he was trudging through the snow piled on the road for the second day in a row and turned around to see his brother lagging behind.

“Do you want to switch? You carry the firewood and bedding and I carry everything else?”

Gunho shook his head and slumped over in a full-body pout. “It doesn’t matter which bag I take, they’re both too heavy.”

“But we’ve been over this, Gunho,” Yunho reminded him gently. “We can’t get rid of anything else. You have the money and the cooking pots, I have the campsite supplies.”

“Then why can’t we stop now? My feet are tired,” he whined, trying his pitiful eyes on Yunho despite knowing he was immune.

“Because at this rate it’ll take two weeks, not one, to reach Kon,” Yunho repeated for the umpteenth time, surrendering and walking back to meet his brother where he was stopped. “Besides, we just stopped for lunch.”

“Just a small break? Please?” Gunho sounded on the verge of tears and almost dropped his act accidentally as an idea crossed his mind. “I have to relieve myself!”

Yunho resisted the urge to pinch his nose and gestured to the tree line. “Fine, go in the bushes. There’s no outhouse here on the road.”

As Gunho scampered off, Yunho pulled out the atlas again, a bit worse for wear than it had been when they stole it from the library. His life and Gunho’s depended on that thing, so he studied it again, trying to surmise their position and hoping he hadn’t led them astray.

“We’re still on the main path… right?” He muttered to himself when he didn’t see the small village they should have passed by now anywhere in the vicinity.

Doubt overtook him, seeping into his stomach the longer he stared at the map and then at his surroundings. He had made a wrong turn somewhere, and retracing their steps could cost them a day or two depending on how long ago he had made his mistake.

Feeling unsettled in his stomach, Yunho turned to give Gunho the bad news before seeing his brother come hurtling out of the trees, pans clanging from inside his bag as he sprinted over, yelling unintelligibly.

“Hyung, hyung!” He finally got out, breathless. “There’s a carriage, it’s going south. We can catch it if we run!”

“You found the main road!” Yunho gasped excitedly, following behind as he was led through the evergreens and into the open.

There it was, stretching south and slightly more east than they had been headed. If not for Gunho, they’d have continued on the smaller path and eventually deviated so far off course they might have passed Kon as well, ending up so lost he wouldn’t know what to do.

He would be nothing if not for Gunho.

“Hurry, toss me!” The younger boy called, redistributing the weight of his bag and preparing to be thrown at the carriage as it dwindled away.

“Try to land quietly, we don’t want to be discovered,” Yunho cautioned before pulling Gunho into arms and hoisting him up.

Almost missing it, he managed to grasp the trunk rack fixed to the back and turned around to catch Yunho. “Quickly, hyung, it’s speeding up!”

With a few large bounds courtesy of his long legs, Yunho accelerated into a leap, gracefully landing next to Gunho aboard the carriage with the passengers none the wiser.

“We have to whisper or the driver will catch us,” he warned his brother, who was already pulling a blanket out of his sack.

And it was a good thing, too, because snow began to fall not thirty minutes later.

As the two once again shared their shivers, Yunho found himself wishing they’d stayed in Panhang awhile longer.

At least they’d had a roof over their heads.

“The firewood…” Gunho whimpered in realisation when they pulled out some dry crackers for supper several hours in. “How are we supposed to use it on the carriage?”

“We can’t,” Yunho sighed, again forced to be realistic. “We’ll have to eat dry food until we arrive. In order to make a camp we’d have to jump off.”

“It’s a slow enough carriage, we’d be fine,” Gunho pointed out hopefully, letting desire get the better of him.

“And we’d have to wait who knows how long for the next carriage… that, or walk the distance to Kon,” Yunho finished, pulling his brother closer so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment written on his face.

Like he often did when he was sad, Gunho brought out the music box from his pocket and ran his finger along the swan carvings that decorated the outside. They both knew he couldn’t open it or the passengers inside the carriage might hear.

Yunho’s heart felt stale inside his chest, and he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he reached out a hand and Gunho took and squeezed it.

That was all he had to hold on to. Mother’s music box, and Yunho.

___

Yunho liked Kon even less than Panhang.

It was dirty, crowded, and crawling with enemies— be they other beggars and street rats or town officials and navy soldiers.

He could tell already from how high the prices were in the market they explored on the morning of their arrival that they’d be forced to blow all their money on food and sneak aboard a ship instead of pay their way like they’d initially planned.

But as he surveyed the towering masts of the ships practically climbing over one another all crammed into the harbour, he realised he didn’t know enough about sea travel to even figure out where to start.

Yunho would have to do something he had avoided since Sangwoo’s disappearance; ask for help.

In a city of cutthroat thieves and suspicious seamen, it was difficult to find a candidate.

The only people Yunho trusted were those as naïve as he had once been, and Kon had precious few innocent types lurking on its street corners.

Since the orphanage he’d learned he could only trust those he could predict, and rarely could a stranger’s movements and loyalties be predicted more than once.

“That man there,” Gunho pointed in the direction of an old sailor selling sponges and starfish on the street corner, already a step ahead of Yunho despite his shyness around strangers. “Maybe he knows how to get to the archipelago.”

“Indeed I do,” the man spoke up without lifting his head from his work, having heard them whisper about him already.

Cherry red, the two properly approached and bowed to him, smiling back brightly when he grinned and shook his head.

“I assume you haven’t the funds to do so legally?”

Biting his lip, Yunho nodded. Gunho was tugging at his sleeve in a plea for him to reconsider revealing so much, but admitting their situation was a risk he’d have to take.

“Unless you know exactly which island you’re headed to, I’d recommend the Dalhae ferry. It’s less guarded than the Namhae one and will get you almost as far. Backtracking from there to whichever island you intend to stay at should be easier.”

“Thank you, sir!” Yunho praised a bit excessively before turning with Gunho to the docks.

“Now hold on a minute!” The man interrupted them, standing and letting his nets fall to the ground.

Yunho froze in place, afraid that once he turned around, the old sailor would demand payment for his generosity.

Slowly he turned his head and cocked it innocently, seeing Gunho clutch the money bag tightly in his hand out of the corner of his eye.

The old man chuckled and took a seat again. “If you mean to stow away, you’ll need supplies to last you; food, water, medicine— haven’t you ever been to sea, lads?”

Yunho went to shake his head and ask for more information but Gunho was already arguing back.

“But the sea is water, silly! We can drink anytime.”

The sailor stared blankly at them before bursting into a hearty bout of laughter and wiping mirthful tears out of his eyes. “I take it that’s a no.”

Gunho frowned and looked to Yunho for direction.

“Thank you again!” He called to the stranger, who waved them on with continuing wheezes.

“We have no choice then?” Gunho asked nervously, chewing his lip while they bought as much food as they could afford and filled their stolen flasks with fresh water. “We have to sneak on?”

“Everything I’ve seen here leads me to believe that starfish man was telling the truth,” Yunho admitted as he screwed the lid shut and shook it to ensure it was properly sealed.

“You trust people more than I do,” Gunho muttered in the opposite direction, perfectly aware Yunho could hear him but too grumpy now to care.

“I trust people who have nothing to lose by helping us or nothing to gain by betraying us,” Yunho responded coolly, aware that Gunho’s experiences at the orphanage had destroyed his ability to trust other beggars, despite his childish charms being his main act.

“Which category was Sangwoo in?” Gunho shot back, finally turning to face him.

“Sangwoo doesn’t matter anymore,” Yunho grit out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

As always, the argument was forgotten as soon as the two were huddled in the hull of a supply ship bound for Dalhae, clinging to each other for warmth.

It wasn’t as cold as it had been in So-ai or Panhang, but the bilge water that washed around when the boat rocked back and forth was cold enough to chill them to the bones. There was no tasting the sea air.

“I’m sorry,” Gunho whispered as he buried himself in Yunho’s arms. “It wasn’t your fault he left us.”

“We have each other,” Yunho managed to answer around the ball in his throat. “That’s all that matters.”

It seemed that each town they arrived at was more different even than the last.

In Dalhae there were only a few things Yunho recognised.

The stars, for one, were visible again thanks to the island being smaller and less populated than Panhang or Kon.

It was a hillier coast than Kon had been, and at the bottom of the slope where the market was located, dark caves beckoned them, inviting mystery and danger.

“Let’s head that way,” Gunho suggested when they’d successfully disembarked to the jetty without being seen, pointing to the lights of the market and away from the spooky cave system.

Yunho agreed wholeheartedly and found a dry alley corner for them to spend the rest of the night in, too tired to explore another town and beg for shelter.

At least it wasn’t raining or snowing on them.

Just before dawn, a rustling sound roused Yunho from his sleep.

Sitting up straight and peering into the darkness, he watched a figure suddenly emerge and jumped a foot in the air, startled.

“This is my alley!” A voice growled, low and rumbling but loud enough that it woke Gunho too. “Go on, get out! And don’t come back!”

Gunho gasped, but Yunho was already pulling him away, dragging their bags behind him. “S-Sorry,” he stammered, clutching a dusty blanket and backing away in more of a stumble than a walk. “We didn’t know! It won’t happen again...”

The stranger was hardly even visible in the grey light, but a grunt sounded in response and after, only silence.

It may not have looked to be the case when they arrived, but Dalhae was just as full of street rats as Kon had been.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Yunho sighed, setting up their things outside what seemed to be the tavern, always his temporary base of operations.

“I want a few more hours,” Gunho whined, rubbing his eyes and pulling the blankets closer. It left Yunho with only the rubbish heap to lay on, but rather than argue, he pinched his nose and tried to sleep.

It didn’t work.

When the noise in the street was becoming too loud to ignore, Yunho arose and brushed any excess garbage off of him, wandering away to see what was going on while Gunho poked through the pile for breakfast.

It didn’t sound like the regular hustle and bustle of a market, but entertainment of some kind. The crowd reacted with one voice, cheering sometimes, gasping sometimes, always with a buzz of excitement.

Sure enough, when he reached the end of the road he saw a circle of people surrounding something. They were too tall to peer over so Yunho pushed his way through.

Two boys had just finished wrestling in the middle of some type of dirt arena, and money was changing hands between the spectators who stood around.

“We have our winner!” A brightly dressed woman announcer entered the ring and held up the arm of the champion. “Han Changhwa!”

“It’s a street fight!” Yunho realised aloud as the defeated boy stumbled to his feet and pushed his way past.

“No kidding,” the boy grumbled, barely understandable with all the blood in his mouth. “Bet on the other fighter if you want to get paid.”

Yunho was speechless and did nothing more than wince at the wounds on the boy’s face until he hobbled away, empty handed.

“Place your bets on the final round, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer bellowed over the excited crowd from a table for money to be collected, and right and left the audience emptied their pockets to make their wagers.

Yunho dug through his own pockets until he landed on a silver piece and placed it on the table in favour of Changhwa, following the losing boy’s advice and staking his claim.

“It’ll be tripled if you win then!” The announcer told him before returning to the arena.

At her command, another contestant appeared, bigger than Changhwa. Yunho bit his lip with second thoughts. Maybe the defeated contestant had given him bad advice and he’d wasted a silver coin.

The boys wasted no time going head to head when the announcer yelled, “Start!”

Both of them tried to tackle each other, but when neither could gain an advantage, Changhwa realised it first and released his opponent to clock him in the head.

The other boy dodged and returned easily with a roundhouse kick. Just as Yunho was beginning to wonder what the rules were, Changhwa was kicked in the face and fell to the ground. Wiping blood from his ear, he used his slick hands to squirm away before the other boy tackled him.

With the opponent in a bent position, Changhwa could deliver a kick to the midsection without sacrificing his footing and jumped back when the boy got to his feet.

Changhwa was punched again in the nose and Yunho sucked in a nervous breath. In a few seconds he could lose his silver.

Twice more, Changhwa was punched, his arms coming up too late to be of any defence, and not until he lowered his stance and rammed his opponent in the gut did he get him on the ground long enough to put him in a hold.

When the required ten seconds had gone by and the opponent couldn’t wiggle his way out, the match was ended and Changhwa fell back, exhausted.

“Once again, we have our winner!” The announcer yelled over the cheers, hoisting him up and raising his arm. “Han Changhwa!”

Yunho sighed, relieved, and joined the line to collect his money.

Either way, it had been too close and he’d almost lost his coin over it. Betting on street fights was no better than betting on tavern games when it came to probability. Unless…

It had been awhile since he’d brawled with anyone, but if the odds were in Yunho’s own hands, he could be much more confident in winning.

Yunho set his jaw and turned to the announcer.

“I can fight. How do I join?”

“Sign up for tomorrow morning’s games, same place and same time,” the announcer answered distractedly as she distributed everyone else’s winnings. “Make your mark here, a fingerprint will do.”

She pointed to a paper that Yunho signed in a flourish with the proffered pen.

“You can write?” The woman asked with a raised eyebrow. Apparently that was exceptional for a street rat.

Yunho nodded and skimmed the rest of the list. “I can read, too. Does Changhwa advance now that he won today?”

“As long as he shows up for it,” the announcer answered affirmatively before putting away the list and beginning to pack up.

Changhwa was collecting his own earnings and, noticing Yunho’s stare, gave him no more than a forced smile before walking off.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for earning me a few silvers!” Yunho called after him, voice bright with the thrill of possibilities.

It was time to go inform Gunho.

This was it. This was his new strategy.

___

A/N: It was a long time coming but I bring you a long one because the writer’s block is gone (for this chapter at least)! Take your time enjoying it but don’t forget to leave a comment if you did <3

P.S. You may or may not have caught the Ateez member cameo but I’ll reveal that it was in fact a pre-My Way Hongjoong digging up holes in the garden as referenced in Zero to One chapter 6, because this chapter takes place before the deaths of his parents.

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juliandev0rak · 4 years

Note

You've answered multiple of my requests before (which were SO awesome) so I'd like to request another: Main 6 HC reactions to MC filling their jacket with whoopie cushions and surprise hugging their LI?

thank you so much for always sending requests 🥺 😭, they’re so fun to write and i’m glad you’ve enjoyed them! 💗

I altered this a bit to be more generally about pranking the Main 6 with whoopie cushions

Asra

you’ve been in a prank war with Asra for pretty much as long as you’ve known him

the two of you are in constant competition to make the other laugh and when you spot a whoopie cushion at the market you know you have to get it

you’ve got the whoopie cushion hidden in your coat pocket and you’re ready for a surprise attack the second he walks in the door

when he walks in a few minutes later you immediately ambush him in a hug and he stumbles back to catch you, arms wrapping around you

the cute moment is ruined when he leans against your left pocket and a loud farting noise resounds throughout the empty shop

”Asra!” you say in mock horror, leaning back from the hug to take in his surprised face

”I’m pretty sure that wasn’t me MC.” he smiles, immediately disregarding it and launching into a story about his day at the palace

you’re a little disappointed by his lack of a reaction but it does leave you the chance to keep pranking him, a situation you take full advantage of

the whoopie cushion becomes a constant joke between the two of you, each of you hiding it for the other to find in the most embarrassing of moments

Asra declares you a winner, and calls a truce, when you manage to hide the whoopie cushion under his chair at a fancy dinner with Nadia

Julian

you’ve been plotting this prank for days and Julian had, annoyingly, been thwarting your plans

when you saw the whoopie cushion in the market you devised the plan to hide it where he would sit on it, but after days of Julian somehow managing to sit everywhere but where you placed the cushion you’ve decided on more direct action

the two of you are headed out to the Rowdy Raven and as he leans down to pull on his boots you deftly sneak the whoopie cushion into his back pocket, leaving no chance for a prank screw up

you walk arm in arm through the bustling streets of the South End, barely able to suppress a laugh at the thought of your not-so-devious prank until you reach the familiar tavern

Julian greets the bartender and leads you over to your usual corner booth, gesturing for you to sit first

you watch in anticipation as he slides into the booth across from you and sits down just as the bartender comes over with your drinks

the farting noise is immediate and very loud and you burst into laughter, watching as Julian’s face grow bright red in embarrassment

”Well, that was quite something.” The bartender says with a laugh, setting the drinks down and bringing a hand up to clap Julian on the shoulder

“That wasn’t me!” Julian says, putting his hands up in defense

he shifts in his seat and manages to sit on the whoopie cushion again causing you to break out into another peal of laughter, tears running down your face

he looks at you suspiciously and reaches his hand down to his pocket, finally seeming to feel the whoopie cushion

“I’ll get you back for that.” He leans in close to your face, a dangerous smirk on his face

”I’d like to see you try.”

Nadia

you love making Nadia laugh, after all the stress she’s dealt with in her life the sound of her bell-like laugh makes your heart warm

you’ve never tried a prank like this though, and you’re not so sure she’ll find it as funny as you do

but she’s been worried about the courtiers lately and you know she could really use a laugh so you’ve devised your plan, she’d promised you a dinner with just the two of you in the dining room so you snuck in early to hide a whoopie cushion under her usual chair

you’re sitting at your chair primly waiting for her arrival but are surprised to see her walk in with all of the courtiers in tow

”I’m sorry my dear, I know I said it would be just the two of us but we have more business that needs to be attended to right away.” She says apologetically, you're not even mad you’re nervous, frantically trying to find a way to alert her not to sit down

you hadn’t wanted to embarrass her in front of anyone else, least of all the courtiers, but before you can warn her everyone takes their seats

the loud sound of fake flatulence echoes throughout the room and for a heart-stopping moment nobody reacts until suddenly Nadia breaks out into laughter, surprising everyone in the room

she reaches under the chair to find the whoopie cushion and holds it up for everyone to see, none of the courtiers seem to react until they can tell Nadia isn’t upset and after another moment of silence they burst into clearly-forced laughter (except for Valerius who rolls his eyes in distaste)

”What a clever trick, MC was this your doing?” Nadia smiles at you

”I-uh, yes Nadia, I didn’t know the others would be here.” you say, unable to suppress a laugh at the situation

”I shall just have to get you back then.” She grins

a few days later she does just that and all day long you find yourself sitting on whoopie cushions, in the library, at dinner, in your room, even somehow the bench you sit on in the gardens causes a loud farting sound

you don’t know how she manages to pull it off, whether she’d enlisted magical help or simply purchased hundreds of whoopie cushions and had them placed everywhere you might go, either way it makes both of you laugh all day

Muriel

he’s usually pretty shy about showing his emotions, but lately you’ve begun to see him breaking out of his shell, the occasional smile and laugh brightening his face

you do everything you can to make him smile, constantly cracking jokes and puns in the hopes of making him react

when you’re in town visiting Asra one day you spot a whoopie cushion in the market and buy it, hoping it’ll be just the thing to make Muriel laugh

you hide it in your coat pocket and when you get back to the hut that night you rush into Muriel’s arms

he’s taken aback by the sudden hug but his confusion only grows at the loud noise the hug emits

you laugh at his bewildered expression and pull the whoopie cushion out of your pocket to show him, “It makes a farting noise when you press on it, it’s funny!” you explain

”If you say so.” He says, but you notice a hint of a smile on his face

the next morning you sit down to breakfast with him and are surprised by the loud farting noise of the whoopie cushion hidden on your chair

you burst into laughter and watch as Muriel does the same, his eyes crinkling in a big smile

“Did I do it right?” he asks

”Yes!” you reassure him, “You’re a master prankster!”

”You’re so weird…” he grumbles though he’s still smiling at you

“But you love it” you tease, already trying to plot your next prank

“I do.”

Portia

you and Portia have a very playful relationship, always trying to make each other laugh and keep things light hearted

you’ve had water fights, food fights, even joke competitions, but your favorite way to make her laugh is tickling her because she’s incredibly ticklish

after she almost accidentally kicks you in the face while you’re tickling her, you decide to try a different kind of prank

you’ve been planning this little prank since the day you spotted a joke stall at the market, waiting for the perfect moment to put the dozens of whoopie cushions you bought on sale to good use

you arrive at her cottage with your pockets full of whoopie cushions, ready to strike

when she opens the door she pulls you into a hug and is immediately greeted by a symphony of flatulence

she looks at you in bewildered silence for a second before she starts laughing, nearly bursting into tears as you join her

”What was that MC?” she asks after you’ve both caught your breath

”Whoopie cushions!” you hold one up to show her and she takes it from you, sticking it into her pocket

”We’ve got to find a way to use this on Ilya!” she smiles deviously

”I like the way you think Portia, let’s plot.”

Lucio

Lucio’s got a good sense of humor for the most part, but any jokes at his expense send him into an immediate bad mood

you know better than to try to prank him with a whoopie cushion, instead you’ll use it on yourself

you fill your coat pockets with them, making sure you’ve got some on every side just in case, and leave your room to search the palace for Lucio

you find him quickly- walking down a stairwell towards you, flanked by Mercedes and Melchior

”Lucio!” you yell, flinging yourself dramatically into his arms

he catches you and his face spreads into a grin as he wraps his arms around you, the grin abruptly falling at the sound of dozens of whoopie cushions farting resounds throughout the stairwell

”Uh, MC?” he doesn’t seem to know how to react, he looks slightly awkward which isn’t an emotion he feels very often

”It was a prank, Lucio, it was just whoopie cushions!” you explain as he continues to look blankly at you

”What cushions?” he asks, one brow quirking up in question

you explain, holding up one of the cushions to show him and demonstrating how it works

you’re a bit surprised he hasn’t ever heard of them, it seems like the sort of prank he’d enjoy- a point proven when he abruptly bursts into laughter

”Oho, give me some of those!” He smiles gleefully, reaching his hands out to you “I’m gonna get the courtiers so bad at our next meeting!”

you might have created a monster...

#ty for the request 💗#me writing the words symphony of flatulence I AM A SERIOUS WRITER #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel the arcana #portia devorak #count lucio #lucio the arcana #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #portia the arcana

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Rhythm (Good Omens Fic)

@bingokisses - first prompt was “Gentle Shoulder Bump” or “Deep Kiss” - read below to find out which way I went! Also on AO3!

“Angel.”

Crowley held out his hand, palm up.

Aziraphale stared at it. He’d just settled into his chair for the evening, book open, some light instrumental music playing on Crowley’s elaborate sound system.

He missed his gramophone, but he had to admit, the fancy modern speakers were very loud and the music was clear, though lacking the character of hisses and pops he was used to. It was something he would simply have to get used to, part of the process of sharing a cottage – a life – with each other.

Still, Crowley should know perfectly well by now that he didn’t like to be interrupted while reading.

“Yes? What is it?” He looked at the hand, then glanced at the table next to him. Nothing there but his own cup of tea. “Did you need something?”

“Oh,” Crowley lowered his hand a little, smirk falling off his face. “No, I…doesn’t matter.”

“Just tell me, dear fellow. You already have my attention.”

“I just…” he shuffled his feet, thumbs tucked into his pockets. “I…thought we could…dance…”

“Dance?” In the silence between them, the music swayed with a simple rhythm, soft and – now that he had reason to think of it that way – intimate. “Oh, I…” Nothing like the quick, rapid beat of the gavotte, and he doubted that’s what Crowley had in mind, anyway. “I wouldn’t…know how…I’ve never…”

“Look, forget it,” Crowley said in a rush. “We don’t have to. Stupid idea. I just…” His eyes darted away and he fumbled for the glasses hanging on the front of his shirt. “Go back to your book.”

“Crowley—”

“Nh. S’fine.” He walked away, and a moment later the back door shut, just a bit louder than necessary.

Aziraphale lowered his book as the music played on.

The garden path was bordered by gardenias and evening primrose, bright white petals and a thick, fragrant scent. The stood a little straighter – bloomed a little wider – as Crowley stormed past, but he couldn’t find anything to shout at them about.

The garden was a riot in the daytime, lavender and tulips, roses and zinnias, honeysuckle and marigolds. No more plain green plants and succulents, Crowley had charged head-first into flowers, never pausing to think how everything would fit together. He neve paused to think, not ever.

Up ahead, the little wooden gazebo that stood near the center of the cottage grounds. Already he was encouraging the morning glories to twine their way up the sides, but right now it was still mostly bare and pale brown.

His shoes clicked across the wood floor as he paced, trying to find an outlet for his energy. He wasn’t mad or upset, not really, but it was like a blow to the heart, a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t make go away.

Stupid, stupid idea. Angels don’t dance. He didn’t even know why he’d ever suggested it. They’d been in the cottage for a few months, they were finding a rhythm to their life, he didn’t need to go disrupting it with new ideas, foolish ideas that—

“Crowley.”

He turned, and there was Aziraphale, standing at the bottom of the gazebo steps, hand stretched out. From the cottage windows, the slow music began once again, miraculously loud in the quite South Downs night.

Crowley stared at him for a long time, long enough that Aziraphale began to feel awkward, embarrassed. Maybe he’d misread everything entirely. Maybe it was best to leave Crowley alone…

“Don’t.” The demon folded his arms tight across his chest and leaned back against the waist-high gazebo wall. “Don’t force yourself for me.”

Aziraphale let his hand fall, but didn’t look away.

It wasn’t easy. Six thousand years of bad habits, six thousand years of never saying quite what you meant, six thousand years of worrying if the next little step would be too much, would upset the balance, would push the other away. Six thousand years without thank you or I’m sorry or my friend or…

He climbed the steps, feet falling heavily on the creaking wood, and crossed to where Crowley stood, leaning against the wall beside him.

Shifting a little closer, Aziraphale felt his shoulder bump Crowley’s, just gently, a quick warm press, then back to their own spaces. As it had always been, together but separate. He wasn’t sure he preferred it that way. “It’s…I suppose I would be forcing myself. In a way. All of this is very new to me.” He tugged on the soft tartan jumper he had taken to wearing, missing his waistcoat again. It was comfortable, but it wasn’t familiar. Even after all these months, everything still felt strange. “I’m not like you. New doesn’t come easily. But. That doesn’t mean it’s unwelcome when it does.”

Crowley just stood there, staring ahead, jaw clenched. Aziraphale brushed their shoulders again, just gently, and this time didn’t pull away. “Whenever you’re ready.”

There was a long silence. The music wound to an end.

“S’not your fault,” Crowley finally said, still staring ahead, still tense. “I don’t like…it hurts sometimes. Shouldn’t take it so hard. But I do. Not your fault.”

“What hurts?” Aziraphale carefully reached for his hand, gently sliding their palms together, twining their fingers. “When I say no?”

“No, I – I don’t want to – to guilt you. Never. But. Yeah.” He shrugged. “It reminds me that I don’t…that I’m not…”

“Stop that.” Aziraphale dropped his hand and stepped in front of Crowley, cupping his face in both hands. “What are you going to say? That you’re not worthy? Of course you are.” Crowley shook his head, but didn’t try to pull away. “You are. If I am sometimes…hesitant, that isn’t your fault.”

“Don’t – I’m not asking you to…do anything you don’t want to…”

“I know. And I would never ask you to change what you are. We’ll find a way.”

Crowley leaned his forehead down, pressed it against Aziraphale’s, while the angel’s arms wrapped around his neck. “We really are a mess, aren’t we?”

“Yes. We are two disasters, but at least we are disasters together. Now.” He snapped his fingers, and for the third time tonight, the slow song started. “Are you going to dance with me?”

Crowley’s hands slid around his waist, and after one more awkward moment of uncertainty, began to sway, slowly guiding Aziraphale through shuffling, hesitant steps.

It wasn’t energetic, or graceful, or anything Aziraphale had seen in the dances he’d admired across the centuries. But the beat of Crowley’s heart was there – just there, where his ear rested against that chest – and really, what more did he ever need?

They found their rhythm, one step at a time, and the dance lasted long after the music ceased, shuffling across the floor of the gazebo under the burning stars.

(This may be my fastest ever start-writing-to-AO3-Post turnaround - two hours and 20 minutes! Hope you liked it!)

#good omens prime #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #south downs cottage #aziraphale and crowley #dancing #bit of soft angst #fluff and angst #aziraphale #crowley #slow dance #bingokisses #my writing #writing prompt

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allthingsfangirl101 · 4 years

Text

The Duke and Duchess–Peter Kavinsky

When I was young, I was sold in the black market by my older brothers. After years of living in farms, being mistreated, I was sold one last time to the Duke who ruled the lands. He was searching for a young girl who could spend time with his middle daughter, Lara Jean. His daughter was shy and he was hoping by adopting a girl her age, it might help her open up.

Oddly enough, it did. We shared a room and spent every minute together. By the end of the year, Lara Jean was a completely different person. She was lively and talkative. She was happy. Everyone noticed it.

Because of this, Duke Covey felt as if he needed to repay me. On my eighteenth birthday, he told me how he intended to pay his debt.

"Y/N, my dear, do you remember the Duchess Kavinsky? Her land borders our South Border."

I looked up from my pre-dinner soup, nervous with where he was going with this.

"Yes," I said, hesitantly. I sent a look to Lara Jean to see her smiling knowingly.

"Well, her oldest son, Peter, is now of marrying age."

I looked over at Lara Jean but she shook her head, still smirking at me. My eyes widened when she pointed at me.

"Wait," I said looking back at our father. "Are you suggesting. . ."

"I've discussed it with his mother, and we think the two of you would be a powerful match."

"A powerful match," I stuttered. My cheeks burned when I heard Kitty and Lara Jean giggle.

"I know how this sounds," he sighed. "I know that arranged marriage isn't something your generation wants, but. . ."

"It's political," I said under my breath, looking at my food suddenly not hungry.

"Y/N," he cleared his throat.

"It's okay," I said before he could speak up. "I understand. If you and Duchess Kavinsky have already arranged it. . . I will. . . I will go through with it."

I looked up to see my father and sisters staring at me with wide eyes. "Really?" Lara Jean asked, looking between our father and I. "I mean, we barely know him."

"I think Peter is kind of cute," Kitty giggled to herself.

"When's the wedding?" I asked, my voice soft.

"Well," father cleared his throat. "Duchess Kavinsky and I were thinking you'd like nice weather, so we were thinking September."

"September," I said to myself. I hesitated before taking a sip of my tea. I put my cup back on the saucer and nodded. "Sounds lovely."

"Y/N, my dear. I'm not arranging this marriage to force you into it. I'm doing it because Peter is a kind man, who will take wonderful care of you. And you deserve that."

"You don't think she deserves to fall in love like a normal woman?"

We looked over at Margot who had finally spoken up. I bit my lip, nervously avoiding our father's eyes.

Father cleared his throat before reaching over and grabbing my hand. "I understand that this is awkward, Y/N. I also know that the two of you might want to spend some time together before the wedding, so Duchess Kavinsky has invited us to stay with them for the summer. That way, you and Peter can get to know each other before you go through with the wedding. If you two decide to go through with the wedding."

* * * * *

As our carriage passed through our lands and towards the land that belonged to the Kavinsky family, my stomach sank lower and lower. Lara Jean tried to distract me, but it was useless. Father kept sending me looks that I couldn't interpret. And Kitty was the only one talking about the wedding.

I nervously chewed on my lip as we came to a stop in front of a large castle. It was just as big as ours, but it felt different. Looking at it, I didn't see a summer cottage. I saw a palace that I wasn't worthy to step into. I felt more out of place than I have ever in my life. And I was the street rat adopted to be a friend to a shy duchess.

I sucked in a breath when a servant opened our door. I looked around to see my family smiling encouragingly at me. I watched as my sisters went first, followed by my father. I took a shaky breath as the servant reached for my hand.

I took it and allowed him to help me out of the carriage. When I stepped outside, I looked up to see Duchess Kavinsky slowly descending the stairs. Behind her was Peter, who was watching me. I felt my cheeks burn red when we made eye contact. I looked away quickly to thank the servant for helping me. He nodded, bowing slightly as he closed the carriage door.

"Lord Covey," Duchess Kavinsky smiled as they properly greeted each other. I stood slightly behind everyone as she greeted each of my sisters. "I am so delighted you could make it. I hope your journey wasn't too dreadful."

Her comment caused my father and sisters to laugh. I was too focused on making sure I was standing up straight. I resisted the urge to chew on my bottom lip when Duchess Kavinsky's eyes shifted to me.

"Y/N," she smiled as she walked over. I bowed my head, curtseying. When I looked up, she reached forward and grabbed my hand.

"It is so nice to finally meet you," she greeted kindly.

"The pleasure is mine, my lady," I said politely.

"I have heard wonderful things about you, my dear girl. You are even more beautiful than your father described."

I blushed, not really sure how to respond to that. Duchess Kavinsky turned around and cleared her throat as she looked at her son. Peter sighed before walking over to us and bowing his head.

I glanced at Lara Jean as Peter properly greeted my father. He went down the line, saying and doing all the right things. He sent his mother a glance before walking over to me.

I bit my lip as he took my hand and kissed my knuckles. "My lady," he said softly.

When he pulled my hand away from his lips, I nodded, bowing slightly. "It's nice to finally meet you," he said, letting go of my hand.

"You as well," I said politely. We stood there, awkwardly staring at each other as neither one of us said anything.

We looked over when the Duchess cleared her throat. "I believe tea is ready in the garden. Shall we go?"

Peter started to walk away, but he stopped when his mother sent him a look. He nodded before turning back towards me.

"Shall we?" He asked, holding out his arm for me to take. I glanced over to see my father and sisters smiling. I nodded, smiling at him as I accepted his gesture.

With our arms looped together, Peter and I started walking through the grounds towards their garden. I tried to ignore the fact that his mother and my father were walking directly behind us, my sisters behind them.

"Did you enjoy your journey?" Peter asked.

I couldn't help but notice how his voice sounded proper, almost too proper. It wasn't relaxed. It was as if he was putting on a facade. I could tell he wasn't himself.

"Yes," I said, my tone matching his. "I always loved traveling."

He hummed, not saying anything else as he continued to lead me through their gardens.

Throughout tea, Peter and I sat next to each other but didn't talk. His mother asked me questions, which I answered, and my father asked him questions, which he answered.

Lara Jean kept staring at me while Kitty wouldn't look away from Peter. Margot looked uninterested in what was going on.

After tea, Duchess Kavinsky leaned over and whispered something to my father and then whispered something to Peter. I bit my lip when he sighed.

"Well," she cleared her throat, smiling at me. "Your father and I have some business to attend to. Peter, why don't you give Y/N a tour?"

Peter looked over at me and nodded. I couldn't shake the nerves as he did his duty of pulling my chair out. He immediately held his arm out for me, which I took.

We walked through the gardens in silence. It took everything in me to act proper and not say what I really wanted to.

I bit my lip when he led me over to a bench inside a beautiful greenhouse full of roses. He looked at his hands and not at me as he sighed.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. I held my breath as he slowly looked up at me. "This is just. . ."

"Awkward," I finished for him, shrugging slightly. I could feel the facade we were both playing into slowly starting to fade.

"Exactly." He laughed as he ran his hand through his hair.

I turned towards him, a sudden burst of courage. "How about we start over?" I suggested. "How about we break the facade, stop with the pleasantries and try and act normal? We can spend the summer getting to know each other instead of focusing on the wedding."

"I think that's a great idea," he smiled at me. I nodded as we both shifted so we were staring at each other instead of the wall of the greenhouse.

"I'm Peter," he said as he reached his hand out. I smiled as I took it.

"I'm Y/N."

We laughed at how awkward we were both still being. "So," I cleared my throat. "Tell me a little bit about yourself."

"For starters, I'm obsessed with horseback riding."

"I heard you were a champion rider," I nodded. He blushed as he ran his hand through his hair again, something I instantly noticed was a nervous habit of his.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I've been riding since I was young." He stopped talking and sent me a look I've seen constantly throughout my life. It was the look of people wanting to know about my past.

"Go ahead."

"What?" He asked, faking innocence.

"You want to ask about before I was adopted by Lord Covey."

He opened and closed his mouth, hesitating. "It's okay," I sighed. "Everyone wants to know."

I took a shaky breath as I mentally prepared.

"Y/N," he said as he reached over and grabbed my hand. I looked at our hands as he intertwined our fingers. "If it's too painful," he continued, "you don't have to talk about it. At least not until you're ready."

I looked back up at him to see his eyes were soft. I wasn't used to people looking at me the way he was looking at me.

"My mother died in childbirth and my father struggled to raise me and my four older brothers. He was drafted to the Great War, barely a year after I was born. My brothers. . . They tried to continue to raise me, but. . ."

I looked away when my voice cracked. I sucked in a breathe when Peter squeezed my hand, silently encouraging me. I took a shaky breath, studying a nearby rose bush as I continued.

"Back in my village, a boy could make just enough money if they went to the Work House. But, a newborn is worth more on the dark market. So, they decided it was easier to sell a baby than work from sun-up to sun-down. I spent the first ten years of my life being sold and boughten. Once people realized they had no use for a child, they sold me again. Until the Duke of a nearby land began to worry about his daughter. According to Lord Covey, Lara Jean was more reserved than Margot, and it worried him. So, he bought me so she would have someone her own age to interact with. If it wasn't for Lord Covey. . ."

My voice broke as I thought of the situation I could've and most likely would've been in if it wasn't for Lord Covey.

"You would've been sent to the Work House," Peter said softly.

"Or worse."

I didn't have to say it out loud because we both know what would've happened to a girl in the Work House. She wouldn't have done any labor. She would've been there for entertainment.

"Lord Covey seems like a wonderful father," Peter said, not sure what else he could say to me. I nodded, cursing the tears that streamed down my cheeks.

"Yes, he is." I whispered. "He's taken wonderful care of me and treated me kindly. He loved me."

"Y/N," Peter said his voice barely above a whisper. I looked over at him, his eyes soft. He reached up and caught a tear with his thumb.

"I promise, when we get married I will take care of you. I will not mistreat you and I will make sure all who greet us, all who serve us, never mistreat you. I will make sure you never feel unsafe ever again."

I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. I heard him suck in a breath when my lips gently grazed the skin of his cheek.

I slowly leaned back, my cheeks red. We looked at each other before I was the first to look away. He opened his mouth to say something, but his face dropped when he saw me wrap my arms around myself.

He quickly stood up and took off his overcoat. I smiled as he sat back down and wrapped his coat around my shoulders.

"We should go inside." He whispered. I nodded as we both stood up. I smiled as he immediately grabbed my hand and escorting me back to the house, not in the proper way.

* * * * *

Peter and I spent every day together. Besides a few awkward moments where his friends made jokes about the wedding, we honored our agreement to forget about the wedding.

I told him more about my childhood with Lara Jean and he told me about his father leaving. He admitted to having anger towards his father. I nodded, instantly admitting my anger for my brothers.

~•~

"What if you saw your brothers again?" Peter asked one day we had ridden into the woods to have a picnic. "What if, after all this time, they found you?"

I sighed, thinking of them. "I'm pretty sure they would ask for money," I smirked, making him let out a small laugh. I looked away, tears reaching my eyes. His smile dropped as he looked up at me.

He reached over and grabbed my hand. "I don't want this to come across poorly, Y/N, but I'm glad your brothers gave you away."

I looked at him, my confused expression causing him to laugh. "Because," he continued quickly, "if it wasn't for them selling you, Lord Covey never would have adopted you and our parents wouldn't have matched us together. I never would've met you."

~•~

That was the first day he kissed me. As we got to know each other more, a friendship slowly formed. That friendship turned into something more after he kissed me. The more time I spent with him, the more I didn't mind the idea of marrying him.

It was towards the end of the summer and Peter had invited me to go for a ride to our favorite spot. I smiled as he helped me off my horse.

I walked over to the lake, looking up at the waterfall that spilled over the ledge above us. We found this spot one day while riding and it instantly became my favorite place. Peter must have known that because he continued to bring me here.

I noticed Peter acting abnormally quiet as we set up the picnic and ate. "Peter," I said. "Are you alright? You've been acting strange since we left."

He looked up at me and nervously bit his bottom lip. I watched as he stood up and brushed his hands off on his pants. He reached down for me, slightly avoiding my gaze. With his help, I stood up. Our hands were still intertwined as he opened and closed his mouth, hesitating.

"Peter," I whispered, making him look up from our hands and at me. "Hi," I smiled when his eyes met mine.

"Hi," he laughed, a small blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks.

"What is it?" I asked when he sighed and looked back down at our hands.

"These past three months have been some of the greatest," he started with a small stutter. "I've gotten to know the incredible girl you are and I know you will become an even more incredible woman. . . And wife."

When he said "wife", he looked up at me. I smiled as he hesitated. My heart dropped when he let out a frustrated sigh and turned his back towards me.

"I don't want you thinking I'm only marrying you because we have to and it was prearranged," he muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair.

I stepped forward and gently made him turn towards me. I reached up and cupped his face in my hands. I smiled as he grabbed my forearms, not pulling my hands away from his face.

"I'm not," he whispered. "I'm not marrying you because I have to. I mean, it started out that way but as I've gotten to know you. . ."

He pulled my hands away from his face and reached into his pocket as he got on one knee.

"Y/N, I'm in love with you. I'm not asking this of you because I have to. Because it's my duty or political responsibility. I am asking you this because I am truly in love with you. Y/N Covey, will you marry me?"

I smiled down at him as tears built up in my eyes.

"Yes," I whispered as the tears started to fall. He smiled as he slipped the ring on my finger. He stood up, wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned down, pressing his lips to mine.

As our lips moved in sync, happy tears continued to stream down my cheeks. He pulled away, laughing slightly as he cupped my face, wiping away the tears.

"I love you too, Peter."

#peter kavinsky #peter kavinsky imagine #peter kavinsky x reader #noah centineo #noah centineo imagines #noah centineo x reader

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Waiting in the Rain

Pairing: Gruvia

School starts tomorrow and although I’m excited, i really dont wanna go. Anyways, sorry for falling off the face of the earth for a little bit and hopefully more fics with be produced. Hope you all enjoy.

This is set when Gray leaves Juvia for the six months to go to the dark guilt.

Heres your daily cup of angst. Extra angsty.

----

Guilt.

Guilt was something he was no stranger too. Every since he was little he had carried a burden on his shoulders for years.

Watching his master die in front of him and blaming himself for her death was one thing he had learned to let go. It took time but after years of reliving that nightmare, he knew there was nothing he could have done.

He fought that battle and won. He could be at peace with her now.

But there was certain guilt that eats at you. Makes you unable to sleep and eat properly because it’s tearing you from the inside out.

There’s small reminders that carve into your brain, making sure that you know what you did.

His stomach churned for the worse and he couldn’t even describe the feeling deep in his gut as he approached the edge of the town.

It used to be a sacred place for them. He can remember the warmth of the memories and how much he desperately craves for those moments back. He’d give everything.

But now. As he wonders, it’s the complete opposite. It’s dark and cold, numbing to say the least. And if you were to stay longer than five minutes, you might catch a cold from the storm that rages above.

But he keeps going, passing the shops he once knew that were now abandoned. This place had become a waste land, all because of him.

He walks towards a familiar trail, one he hiked for months. But now it felt more like a death march, and he had no business to be there.

The flowers along the path had suffocated from the water pouring down and since no sun had come through in ages, everything had begun to die. And he was one of them.

He thought that leaving would be fine. He was a fool to think so. He didn’t care how drenched he got as his feet stopped at the edge of a lawn, or well a garden of weeds and muddy puddles.

This pain in his chest was unbearable and looking at the small cottage was almost too much to handle.

He would like to say he had never been a victim of heartbreak, but right now, his heart had shattered beyond repair.

His dark eyes found the way to the window and the tears came as easy as the clouds above.

Instead of the dancing and singing he would see, there was nothing. Just complete darkness that swirled on what used to be his home.

He didn’t know how he managed to walk further, to clutch the handle on the back door. But he didn’t go in, he couldn’t.

He had a mission to accomplish and it was a risk to come back here. But he had to know.

He thought that his undercover work would be easy and that he could slip away in the night and she could go on with her life.

He knew this would happen, but yet he still went.

It was for the greater good, yet the one person he vowed to himself he would protect had now received the worst pain among them all.

His hand came up to the glass as he peered inside. The kitchen was spotless but in a way that looks as if it was never used. The pillows on the couch had been tossed to the floor matching the blankets.

And then his heart stopped, his breath caught in his throat and his spine became glossed over with a chilling threat.

He watched as she came out of a room and toward the kitchen.

Sadness.

Despair.

Heartbreak.

All of those were present on her face and her movements were sluggish and each stepped seem worse than the last.

Even through the glass he could see the bags under her eyes and that they were slightly bruised from the pain she had shed.

He watched as she poured herself a glass of water and just, stared at it. Then walked towards the couch.

He saw he pick up a pillow and hug it to her chest as she rocked back and fourth slowly staring at nothing. Her eyes were a void but before they sucked you in and made you question why the stars were even created when she captured the world in her eyes. Now they were black holes, destroying everything in her way.

He knew he was the reason for this. And to make it worse he had to go out and tell her how he felt.

He really left her after he expressed how much she meant to him and now she had caused this.

—

The window was slightly cracked and even thought the rain he could hear her. She didn’t say much but a few sniffles and sometimes a sob.

He would have to leave eventually but he found that it was a daily routine to go and see her.

He’d walk through the town he once called a home, wondering about the people he knew and thinking about where they left when the rain came crashing down.

He had finally made it to the cabin one day, saying to the dark guild that he was making a three day trip south but in all honesty he was going to see her.

He knew he couldn’t show up on the door step or even say anything. It might just break her. But apart of him wanted her to open the door and see him. A part of him wanted her to be angry.

She had been full of so much love, he thought he was unworthy and maybe pure hatred of him could help cure the guilt. If she never wanted to see him again, just maybe he could bare with the pain.

But for some reason he stood at the back door again. Luckily they were tinted and he knew that she didn’t have enough sense to probably even notice him, that’s how broken she was.

He never said a word or gave off that he was there. It wasn’t right nor fair.

But as he waited to see her come to the kitchen, he heard a cry. Not the usual sobbing or sniffles of the past few days and weeks but the type of tears you shed when all hope is lost.

He knew the moment Ur died was when it happened. And now he caused it.

He didn’t know why he opened the door and didn’t know why he ran towards her bedroom. He didn’t know why he was suddenly watching her cry her heart out and how he feel to his knees and hugged her to his chest and kissed her forehead and clung to her like she was his life line.

He couldn’t tell you how good it felt to have her in his arms and he could feel the cold tears soaking his dark cloak and the way her body trembled from a unforgivable cold that had taken over her body the day he had left.

“I’m sorry.” He began to sob into her shoulder and her fingers magically tighten around his shoulder as he held her.

He kissed her cheek and her forehead. Kissed her cold hands and her nose. And his lips hovered over hers, a weight hung over his head.

Still she had made no noise. And he thought that maybe she thought this was a dream. A delusion and that if she dared to open her eyes, he would be gone.

There were shivers as he picked her up. Carrying her towards the living room and setting her down on her makeshift bed. He picked up the blankets and tucked her in.

“You’re not him.” She whispered and her voice was almost damaged from the silence it was given.

Her heart ached in his chest as she think it was him. And she was right. This version of him was a fraud. One used to get close to dangerous people in missions.

“I know.” And he watched as her eyes had fluttered opened for the first time.

She was still breathtaking.

Her eyes traced his face but her expression remained blank and dark.

“I have to go.” He said and her cupped her cheek and ran his thumb softly across it. Her eye closed again as he knew that was the way he used to get her to sleep. A little affection that made her feel safe and at peace.

He got up with quiet feet and left the house once more.

As the days passed by he found himself visiting more and more. Most day he would just watch over her from the outside and he felt like a stalker but he needed to make sure she was okay, or alive to say the least.

But he stopped going for a while. Making sure to keep up his rep in the dark guild.

—

He found himself there again but she wasn’t there. Panic had set in and he began a goose chase around town, she hadn’t moved from their house in ages, why now.

The rain this time felt colder than usual. Almost like her soul was in each droplet. His mind was racing with thoughts but as the rain came down, he knew she was still alive.

His feet stopped as he saw her. He wanted to race to her, pick her up and spin her but he couldn’t. He had already done to much.

“Gray-sama?” Her voice small and hoarse.

He wanted to sink to his knees and cry out towards the sky. But then other voices joined.

“Juvia!”

Lucy.

Natsu.

Wendy.

Happy.

Carla.

They were here. And he watched in pain as Juvia collapsed in Natsu’s arms and her body had no strength left.

“I’m going to kill Gray when I see him.” Natsu sneered. And he deserved it.

He had to leave before he was spotted but one last voice made his heart break even more.

“It seems she’s been out here for weeks.”

Weeks

He hasn’t been back in three months.

He ran as fast as he could. Past the house, past the vendors and past the forest. He didn’t stop going until he was in his private quarters in the guild. Until his knees finally hit the floor.

His fists came down hard on the wooden boards and he let out a scream and thanked who ever made this castle since it was sound proof.

Anger bubbles within him. Angry at Erza for making him leave. Angry at himself for causing that pain. Anger at the world.

But even when his chest heaved and his knuckles cracked with blood, he couldn’t blame Erza.

He could only blame himself. At this point it wasn’t about the mission.

He realized in that moment when he saw her body fall into the arms of her guild mates that he loved her. And he didn’t know why he hadn’t told her.

That living with her and training with her had solidified their relationship and that he would do what ever it takes to have that again.

He craved to have her by his side. He knew she thrived during their time of domestic bliss and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it either.

But how was he suppose to face the woman he loved when he did that to her? Causing her a type of heartbreak and pain that left her body hollow and cold.

He had to shake that feeling off, he had a job to do and now this fueled him. He wouldn’t let these past months of suffering ruin the plan and when they were done and all of this bullshit was over, he was going to prove to Juvia that he deserves to have her heart.

All those moments where she said she loved him wouldn’t die in vain and he vowed from then on to give her the life and love she deserves. If she would allow him too.

He rose from the ground, ready to strike at any moment. He knew Lucy and Natsu would find him soon and the battle would commence. He was ready to put an end to this dark guild plan for good. All for the sake of his love.

—-

He couldn’t believe it. She was running towards his with-a smile.

“Gray-sama!” She cheered but soon she fell into battle mode against Blair.

It happened to fast and soon they were alone. He couldn’t wait as he held her hand leading her to the room. They had barely spoken a word since the battle and she could feel how nervous he was.

“Gray” she said as he opened the door.

He closed and before she could speak, he cupped her cheek and rub his thumb along it. This was their thing, a peaceful gesture.

“Please, just let me.” He almost begged and she nodded as he closed the gap between them.

His lips slowly moved with hers and the kiss wasn’t rushed or steady. It was long and slow and painful. Because he wanted their first kiss to be full of bliss and heated love.

But instead she could feel his tears sliding down his cheek and one hand went to face and the other to his neck. She didn’t want him to feel her pain. She couldn’t allow all that pain she endured to cloud his mind but she knew he couldn’t do that.

“Juvia doesn’t blame you.” She pulled back.

“I know you don’t.” He stated. Because they were wizards and when you fight for your guild, everyone understands. But she didn’t have too.

“But it’s not okay.” He said and finally he had the courage to look her in the eyes.

They were full of life and love and sparkled brighter than before but they carried a depth of pain.

“It’s not.” She agreed. “But Juvia knows you did it for the ones you love and even though she suffered for a short amount of time, you did it so we could have a future and she could never hate you for being strong. Gray, you went on a mission, you never truly left me.” She kissed his tears on his cheek. “Plus, Juvia remembers when you came. At first she thought it was a dream but she knew you always were watching.”

A sob escaped his lips and he held her tight, his hand wrapping into her tight curls as he lost his senses. “I love you so much. And I will never leave you again, I promise.”

His kissed her again and this time it escalated into something deeper. Like a craving they had been held hostage from for so long just wishing that they could be back in their private home together.

He wanted to tell her over and over how much he loved her and as he kissed her again and again, she knew.

---

When he woke up the next morning, the sun was shining bright. Her body was now full of warmth as she snuggled closer to his chest and he felt like he could finally breath again.

They had both suffered for months on end without each other, but now he knew it was worth the wait.

----

Hope you enjoyed!!!!

#gruvia #Gray X Juvia #Juvia Lockser #juvia loxar #gray fullbuster #fairy tail #gruvia oneshots #angst #gruvia angst #natsu dragneel #Lucy Heartfillia #Wendy Marvell #kinda sad but lol #hope you enjoy #thewritingstar

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theres-a-goldensky · 5 years

Text

32 + 6 Good Omens Fic Recs

There have been so many good stories to come out of the Good Omens fandom that I thought I should finally go about making a rec list and give credit to the ones that have given me the most joy.

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

IT chapter 2 list one and two - Reddie

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All fics are completed. All fics are Aziraphale/Crowley.

** denotes a favorite

1. you knew my name on sight by brinnanza - “This wasn’t me, you know,” Crowley says, the words out of his mouth before he’s made the conscious choice to utter them. “Not just the library, but the whole civil war. You know me; I’ve mostly been getting drunk at Bacchanals.”

“I know,” says Aziraphale. (general, 8,300 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale knows Crowley, perhaps even better than he knows himself. This is a bittersweet story about two human shaped-beings who love the Earth, even when it hurts.

2. End with Hope by PepperPrints - In 537 A.D., the Black Knight enters King Arthur's Tournament of Champions, with quite disastrous consequences, and Sir Aziraphale of the Round Table takes it upon himself to intervene -- which, naturally, also turns out to be quite disastrous in itself. (explicit, 15,888 words)

Reccer’s note: Such great pining from Crowley here. This is a really meaty story with a satisfying ending and a gorgeous sex scene, but it definitely leaves me wishing for a modern sequel to see what happens next.

3. Fraternizing by kalpurna - Aziraphale has an unexpected house guest. Crowley disapproves. (explicit, 5,720 words)

Reccer’s note: A curious young angel comes down from Heaven to investigate what things are like on Earth. He asks a lot of very...awkward questions about Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship. It seems to diverge from canon in that Heaven knows about Aziraphale working with Crowley and sort of looks the other way.

4. Some strangeness in the proportion by trailingoff - ‘I assume your punishment involved the destruction of the demon, but I am not aware of the details,’ says the Angel. ‘The description was redacted from your file and labelled “Highly Classified” with a red stamp.’

*Aziraphale is trying to mourn in peace, but the cause of his grief keeps bothering him. (teen, 11,461 words)

Reccer’s note: Heavy angst warning. This one hurt, but in the best way. Angst with a happy ending. Gabriel figures out the best way to hurt Aziraphale: he makes Crowley into another soulless angel. This story contains grieving and suicidal ideation and attempted suicide. Aziraphale does not take Crowley’s passing well.

5. In Style by shinyopals - ‘You can’t get kidnapped by the forces of Hell looking like that!’ insists Crowley. ‘I have certain standards to maintain!’

Letting someone else drive your body is weird enough without them accidentally ruining your look. Luckily Crowley's around to fix things. (general, 2,124 words)

Reccer’s note: I am an absolute sucker for stories about playing with hair or massage or any kind of pleasant, comforting touching, and this is a great one. I liked Crowley’s voice in this, and the whole thing was very sweet and cozy.

6. Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile - “Isn’t this nice?” says Aziraphale with badly feigned casualness the next time Crowley stops by for a late night drink.

Crowley is all set to reply, words lined up in his mouth waiting to go, when Aziraphale adds, “I mean, all of the books and furniture and bottles of wine and things?”

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals. (teen, 3608 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale decides to go all in on courting Crowley, but Crowley is entirely befuddled by what is happening. Some nice mutual pining here, followed by a bit of supernatural, glowy sex.

7. By Definition by idiopathicsmile - Aziraphale has certainly dabbled in the world of carnal delights over the years, most notably in the late nineteenth century, when a certain infernal adversary was enjoying a century-long nap and seemingly the only way to pass the time had been to develop some hobbies. (explicit, 3074 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale is not that into sex, but he’s VERY into Crowley and watching him come apart beneath him. And Crowley is VERY interested in, you know, having that happen. So things work out quite nicely. Even though the physical sensations of sex don’t do much for him, the author does a nice job of showing how Aziraphale still luxuriates in watching Crowley. It’s super hot. Crowley agrees.

8. I am not scared of the elements by sparklespiff - After the loveliest meal of his entire existence, Aziraphale followed Crowley back to the Bentley. He wondered if it would be too forward to try to hold Crowley's free hand, or if he ought to wait for Crowley to reach out. Probably he should wait. Crowley had done the asking, after all, and would better know what he was doing. And anyway, riding in the Bentley was dangerous enough without removing one of Crowley's hands from doing something theoretically necessary for the operation of an automobile.

or: Two occult/ethereal beings with one (1) brain cell between them attempt to end 6000 years of pining. (general, 3609 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale thinks it’s go time after the events of the show, but Crowley believes that Aziraphale has once again put on the brakes. They’re working at cross-purposes, but they both want the same thing. Eventually it all works out.

9. attachment by artenon - 1941. Crowley is hurt more than he lets on from walking on the consecrated ground of the church. Aziraphale takes care of him while grappling with the realization that he's in love with Crowley. (teen, 4455 words)

A bit of mild hurt/comfort. It’s always nice when stories have Aziraphale helping Crowley, because it’s often the other way around. And you can never go wrong with a good h/c.

10. speeding up by tamerofdarkstars - Crowley stopped calculating the minute shifts required to bring his knee into contact with Aziraphale’s and looked instead at the divine being next to him currently licking butter off his fingers.

“Wait. You picked this because you thought I’d like it?” (general, 1725 words)

Reccer’s note: This is one of the shortest fics on the list, but what it lacks in length, it makes up for in utter preciousness. So many pure ‘what if I held his hand??’ thoughts.

11.** Five Times Crowley Fails To Demonically Seduce Anyone, And One Time He Doesn't Need To by shinyopals - 'I need you to tell me how to find a human willing to have sex with me, and then how to persuade them to actually do it in the least unpleasant way possible for everyone involved. If I don’t manage at least one seduction, I’m going to get recalled back Down There.’

Aziraphale stared at Crowley for a moment. ‘I think…’ he said delicately, ‘that we should have that drink.’ (mature, 11,166 words)

Reccer’s note: Oh, the feelings. The feelings. Crowley is forced by Hell to engage in some human seduction, when all he wants to do is be seduced by Aziraphale. The pining. The light angst. The gorgeous ending. Read this story.

12. ** Anywhere You Want to Go by Aria - Aziraphale knew Crowley liked him. He'd known it with a horrible clarity since around 1100, which was at least a thousand years after the first time he'd thought of kissing Crowley, and some eight hundred and odd before it occurred to him that the specific quality of Crowley's regard could be very dangerous for both of them, if they actually admitted their feelings aloud.

It was also two weeks since any of that had mattered at all anymore. (explicit, 9990 words)

Reccer’s note: I wish this story was about 10,000 words longer. The sweet and slow coming together here is lovely. This is a South Downs cottage story, where, after everything, Aziraphale is finally ready to face his feelings for Crowley and Crowley’s feelings for him in return. Crowley’s disbelieving, besotted, overwhelmed reaction is my new favorite thing in this fandom.

13. human childcare for the occult (and ethereal) by suzukiblu - The Dowlings miraculously need a nanny and a gardener at the same time, and Aziraphale suggests they flip for it. Crowley takes one moment to picture Aziraphale nannying anyone and calls dibs. It’s not that Aziraphale’s terrible with humans, he’s just, well. Terrible with humans. Truly, truly terrible.

He doesn’t want to deal with Aziraphale getting metaphorically guillotined or kicking up security’s paranoia, basically. A gardener can be a little odd, and no one will notice or care. Except Warlock, perhaps, as the only other person with any real reason to spend much time out on the lawn, but Warlock’s the one they want noticing so that’ll be fine, Crowley’s sure.

Even if it does make him cringe a little, leaving Aziraphale in charge of the plants. (general, 11,954 words)

Reccer’s note: As with all nanny/gardener stories, you need to mentally erase Aziraphale’s horrifying gardener disguise from your brain in order to enjoy this. But this tale of Crowley and Aziraphale becoming “godfathers” to Warlock and making a cozy little life together at the Dowlings is wonderful.

14. Naps and Other Surprises by out_there - The angel is a surprisingly good kisser. All soft lips and gentle sighs, and the careful graze of fingertips along Crowley's jaw. But there's also the scrape of fingernails at the nape of his neck, the pins and needles shiver it sends down his spine, the slightest catch of teeth on his lower lip. (explicit, 4,312 words)

Reccer’s note: Another slow and cozy fic that starts with Aziraphale slowly and carefully giving Crowley a massage and ends with him slowly and carefully eating Crowley out. Pretty nice day for Crowley tbh.

15 & 16. Ineffable Endearments series by TheLadyZephyr - So far this series includes two stories: Four times Crowley called Aziraphale "sweetheart" without noticing (and One time he did) and Four times Crowley fails to cope with Aziraphale using a pet name (and One time he starts to get used to it)

(not rated, 6,130 words total for the series)

Reccer’s note: Look, if you’re going to do the pet names things, I think you have to really lean into it, and that’s what this author does. It’s sweet how adorably flustered they each get in these stories. So fluffy.

17. An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually by TheLadyZephyr - Crowley was standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking a little lost. Aziraphale eyed the distance between them. Five steps. Five steps, and six thousand years, and a battlefield spanning an eternity.

The story of the little moments over the millennia that shape an angel’s regard for a demon, and the way he slowly, with great reluctance but inevitable surety, falls in love. (general, 7,548 words)

Reccer’s note: I wish more stories would span the centuries the way that this one does. There’s so much material ripe for a good love story in it, and this author seems to understand that. Slow burn that I wish was a little slower, but still left me satisfied, especially the kiss at the end, when Aziraphale literally says “fuck it.”

18. get religion quick (cause you're looking divine) by brinnanza - So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.

It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop. (general, 4,285 words)

Reccer’s note: Why, why, why aren’t there more stories with Aziraphale being sure that Crowley can’t love him? This is wonderful seeing the pining from the other side. And of course Aziraphale is completely wrong and completely silly, but that just makes it better. Stars in my eyes for this one.

19. Wings and How to Hide Them by triedunture - Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends?

Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect? (Mature,10,134 words)

Reccer’s note: Crowley knows that Aziraphale has sex, so he assumes it must just be him he doesn’t want. Aziraphale, meanwhile, assumes that Crowley just isn’t Into That. 6000 years of Crowley pining. I will honestly never get enough of this trope. Not ever. I will die wanting more.

20. the first week of the rest of their lives by Deputychairman - “Port gives the worst hangovers in the world, did you know that?” Crowley slurred when the bottle was all gone. “Don’t know who got credit for that one. Nice drink, lovely drink, shame it makes you want to die in the morning.”

“Such a shame,” Aziraphale agreed sadly, watching Crowley stretch out on his sofa. He did like port. He liked Crowley stretched out on his sofa, too. (mature, 4,618 words)

Reccer’s note: The world doesn’t end, but Aziraphale needs a bit of time to ease himself into the idea of a life with Crowley. Crowley obliges him, as ever. I like the way that the sex feels inevitable here, like they’re just falling naturally into it. I also like that Crowley is the one to ravish Aziraphale first.

21. Not So Blue by pineapplecrushface - Aziraphale presses his suit. Crowley mostly has a lot of questions. (mature, 5,501 words)

Reccer’s note: After the events of the show, things start to change and Crowley doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for it. The way that Crowley comes to recognize Aziraphale’s feelings for what they are was so beautiful.

22. Almost Human Moments by shinyopals - The fact that Crowley's largest contribution to saving the world had been to encourage a scared child was an uncomfortable fact that he was endeavouring to bottle up. He was actually doing quite well at bottling it up because of all the other uncomfortable facts he was currently dealing with that he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to bottle up.

Such as: Hell was going to find him, and make him pay.

After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley broods, Aziraphale thinks, and somehow they manage to muddle through. (teen, 6,701 words)

Reccer’s note: The visceral and immediate reaction that Crowley has to the idea of Aziraphale going down to Hell was so lovely. There’s also some very intense hand holding that really pushes my buttons. The world needs more desperate hand holding.

23. ** Ever After by ArabellaFaith - We all know they're in love. But maybe, now that the head offices are off their backs, Crowley and Aziraphale can actually DO something about it.

A rambling descent into love confessions, sexual exploration, and what it means for these two to live happily ever after. (explicit, 16,450 words)

Reccer’s note: So much sex. So much really, really good sex. Desperate sex. First time sex. Sex with feelings Is there anything better in fanfic? I really don’t think so.

24 & 25. ** It’s Not The End of the World, Dear series by jessthereckless - Series includes two stories so far: Lie Back And Think Of Dinner and Still My Heart Has Wings

After averting the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale re-examine their relationship and reach the obvious conclusion: they're retired, they're in love and they're damn well going to enjoy it. Providing, of course, that they can stay out of trouble. (mature, 20,745 words total for the series)

Reccer’s note: WHY ISN’T THERE MORE MAGICAL SEX IN THIS FANDOM? I want literally earth-shattering orgasms, give them to me, people. These stories are so good, because the author packs so much feeling and sensuality into every agonized scene between them. There’s desperation, there’s so much love, and there’s really weird-but-hot sex.

26. Taking the Liberty by CartWrite - After swapping bodies (but before their respective sides come for them), Aziraphale spends the night in Crowley's flat trying to figure out how to talk, walk, and be convincing as Crowley. Trouble is, he's such a convincing Crowley, he starts to convince himself to... well. Things get out of hand. (explicit, 3,463 words)

Reccer’s note: Is it really masturbation if you’re bodyswapped with the guy you’ve spent 6000 years pretending not to be obsessed with? Asking for a friend.

27. a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian - In their cottage in the South Downs, when Crowley eventually succeeds in getting Aziraphale to use a laptop, it takes Aziraphale literal hours to get past the default Windows screensavers of picturesque locations because 'oh, look, isn't it lovely, Crowley!'

5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse. (teen, 4,727 words)

Reccer’s note: Crowley just being so endlessly fond of Aziraphale fills me with so much joy. And it’s here again. It’s technically five times that he knows he’s in love with Aziraphale, but it’s also five times that Crowley tries so hard to make Aziraphale happy.

28. A Home at the Beginning of the World by stereobone - "Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me." (explicit, 5,867 words)

Reccer’s note: A visit with Anathema and Newt helps Aziraphale realize some very clear things that he’s been missing.

29. Too Generous by rfsmiley - “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

Or: what happened after the [ we all got hit by a ] bus scene (aka "you could stay at my place, if you like")....(teen, 1,501 words)

Reccer’s note: Crowley offers Aziraphale the bed, and Aziraphale suggests that there would be room for two. Contains slinky Crowley, which there should just be more of in the world.

30. His Banner Over Me by pineapplecrushface - Three of Aziraphale's excellent ideas, and how Crowley (very casually) obliges him, as a friend does. (explicit, 5475 words)

Reccer’s note: Handjobs. Just...truly excellent mutual handjobs. \

And finally, because this is my blog and I can, here is a list of my own stories for after you finish all the recs above:

1. The Seduction Malfunction - “Disguise yourself,” Hastur said. “Pretend you’re a priest, or better yet, an altar boy. Their lot can’t resist an altar boy.”

Crowley held in a hysterical bubble of laughter as he imagined Aziraphale’s horrified face at being confronted with Crowley disguised as a lascivious altar boy. He’d feed him soup and give him a good talking to before sending him on his way.

Crowley gets orders to seduce Aziraphale to the dark side. It goes about as well as you might expect. (teen, 5,441 words)

2. Transference - There was always a low level hum of attraction and lust in the air when Crowley was around. In fact, Aziraphale couldn’t recall a single time, after their first meeting on the wall, when he hadn’t watched Crowley dazzle and transfix every poor human that they encountered. He’d even seen Eve give him the eye when he was in his human form, back in the day, and she’d been with child at the time.

Aziraphale couldn’t blame them for falling victim to Crowley’s considerable wiles. He was a demon, after all. Tempting was in the job description. Plus, he’d clearly designed his human form to be utterly irresistible to all humans, from his eye-catching hair down to his stylish clothing. It was overkill, if you asked Aziraphale. But then, he supposed, overkill wasn’t really a thing with demons.

Aziraphale would win a gold medal in Mental Gymnastics. (mature, 4,282 words)

3. Step in the Bright Lights - The angel was holding court on the walking path surrounded by a passel of small children and their bored parents. He wore an absolutely ridiculous magician’s costume, complete with a top hat, cape, black wand, and a painted on mustache above his upper lip that had Crowley recoiling in horror. On a table in front of Aziraphale was a sign that proclaimed: THE AMAZING MISTER FELL AND HIS REMARKABLE FEATS OF PRESTIDIGITATION.

He almost turned right around, but then Aziraphale spotted him and waved enthusiastically, stopping in the middle of a bit involving some handkerchiefs coming out of his sleeve to greet him.

“Oh, look, children! It’s the Amazing Mr. Fell’s very special assistant, Signor Crowley!”

Aziraphale picks up some new hobbies. Crowley has no chill. (teen, 3,311 words)

4. Something To Talk About - He had the sudden and almost overwhelming desire to reach out and take Crowley’s hand. An absurd notion, of course. In 6000 years, Crowley had never shown any inclination towards physical affection for Aziraphale, despite their shared feelings. Aziraphale had long ago accepted that any gentle touch from him would have Crowley stepping hastily away and otherwise ignoring Aziraphale’s attempts. Or at least he had accepted it, until their delicate status quo had been disrupted.

Aziraphale jumps to some very inaccurate conclusions. (explicit, 3,664 words)

5. To Rest My Weary Soul - “Are you saying I feel like this because of my time in Hell? I thought you meant moral consequences.”

“Since when do I give a toss about moral consequences, angel? No, you’ve got a Hell hangover. Must have hit once the adrenaline wore off,” Crowley answered.

“Hell hangover?” Aziraphale repeated incredulously.

Aziraphale's trip down to Hell leaves him worse for wear. (teen, 3,945 words)

Bonus: Podfic by FayJay

6. Taking the Long Way - Crawley nodded down at the sweaty humans undulating in a frightfully uncomfortable-looking position below them. “Mating,” he clarified. “One of God’s better ideas, if you ask me. Looks like it could be fun.”

“Does it?” Aziraphale asked doubtfully. “It’s all a bit sticky for my tastes. I think She had the right of it with plants. Pollination seems much more sensible.”

It takes Aziraphale 6000 years to catch up. (explicit, 6,919 words)

#good omens #good omens fic #fic recs #reclist #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic rec #ineffable husbands fic #aziraphale/crowley

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dogboy-willgraham · 4 years

Note

Hmm...otp of your choosing and misunderstandings/confession? :3c or argument/makeup-cuddling?

(Thank you for the ask, I’ll be doing misunderstanding/confession for Ineffable Husbands)

Aziraphale squeezes the dust rag in his hand. He’s cleaning again. Not because he wants to, or needs to, but because he needs something, anything to do besides think about Crowley right now.

The demon’s been like a flashing light recently. In and present one moment, gone the next.

It’s driving Aziraphale insane, and if he didn’t know better, he’d beg Crowley to explain. But he does know better, and that’s what makes it worse. He knows why Crowley is dropping dinners and wine nights like moths in flames. And Aziraphale tries to tell himself that it’s his fault he’s not told Crowley, but he can’t help but feel hurt, was some random human more important than him?

And Aziraphale squeezes the rag harder, the frustration and pain threatening to pour out again.

But he doesn’t let it, instead, going back to dusting his first editions with a bit more force than he thinks he’s using.

---

Crowley wipes his brow with the back of his dirt-stained hand. England finally decided to be hot for once, quite inconveniently. Of course, he could theorectically make the weather obey his will, but that would take energy that he can’t spare right now.

It might suck balls, but once it was finished, it would hopefully all be worth it.

The demon knows he’s playing with fire, doing all of this before telling Aziraphale the thing, but if he had to go out, he’d rather go out in style.

He grabs the red roses, placing them in between the red tulips.

Crowley might’ve slept through the Victorian Era, but he still picked up on the trend of flowers having secret meanings, saying what he couldn’t say.

He thinks it almost pathetic really, he had it so bad he had to use plants to confess.

At the very least he could hope for is that Aziraphale didn’t see the nervous desprateness of it. That it would charm the angel instead of scaring him off or producing some bad result-

Crowley was drug out of his thoughts by his phone ringing.

Fuck, he was late again. He should’ve been there over twenty minutes ago.

He gets up and miracles himself dressed appropriately and the dirt off of him, not noticing that he’s left the sweat on himself.

“We can wrap up for the day Fern,” Crowley says to the woman in the violets and yellow tulips. “Thanks for all the help,”

Fern turns around, smiling and covered in dirt. “No problem Anthony, always been a sucker for your love-story, couldn’t not help you,”

Fern has been a lifeline for Crowley recently, not that he’d admit. She’d been giving him the confidence to not give up on this whole infernal plan.

“Whatever, s’didn’t have to help,” Crowley hates when Fern talks about it like that.

“Doesn’t look like you could’ve done it yourself. Thought you were going to have a blessed panic attack when you told me what you were planning,” Fern snickers. “And who am I to let this be less than perfect for angel,”

“Don’t sssay that,” Crowley hisses, but it has no power. “Just get some tea or something, I’ve got to rush to the Ritz,” He power-walks into the cottage, out of sight.

“Good luck lover-boy!” Fern calls after him.

---

Aziraphale stares into his wine glass. Crowley is now twenty minutes late.

Envy may be a sin, but how could he not envy the woman who lies with Crowley? How could he not envy the woman who got to feel that forked tongue or thin lips or rough but gentle hands or-

A loud bang breaks him from thought. He turns to see Crowley practically running to him.

“A-angel,” The demon pants as he slides into his chair, trying to sit like he doesn’t care while he catches his breath. “I-I was busy with...something, lost track of time,”

Aziraphale doesn’t fight him on that. “Of course, not a problem,”

The demon smiles, and Aziraphale can feel his heart clench. “So what do you want angel? I’m paying,”

---

By the end of dinner Aziraphale feels sick. He can see the dried sweat on Crowley, the unnatural smokiness of it could smell nice, if it wasn’t for where Aziraphale thought why the demon had been sweating.

How had he pleasured that woman? Did he enjoy it? Did he think of doing it to Azira-

“Ready to go drink ourselves silly angel?” Crowley asked, already pulling his car-keys out.

“I think I’ll walk home,” Aziraphale says flatly.

Crowley seems confused. “Come one, I missed the last wine night and I said I’d make up for it, I even found the good shit from Greece,” He tries.

“I’m not in the mood for it Crowley, maybe another night,” Aziraphale stands up and begins to walk to the door.

“Hey, angel! I know I’ve been a real prick for the last few weeks, but let me make it up to you,” Crowley pleaded running after Aziraphale.

“I’m sure you’re quite busy dear boy, so I won’t interfere,” Aziraphale spits, sounding more bitter than he intends, but doesn’t apologize.

“Really angel, I swear, I’m sorry for being such a cock! I’ve just been really busy and-”

Aziraphale snaps around to stare at Crowley with icy eyes. “I’m sure she requires a lot of your time,” He bites, expecting Crowley to come clean or try and cover it up.

But instead, the ginger only looks confused. “She? Who’s she angel? I’m not following,

“Don’t play dumb Crowley! I know about the woman you keep picking up from your flat building, smiling at her like she’s the most important thing in you life!” Aziraphale tries to sound angry, but instead he sound hurt and sad.

A dawing look of realization begins to cross Crowley’s face. Quickly turning his confused grimace to one of shock.

“You-You think I’m, that I’m, I’m sleeping with her?” Crowley stammers.

“Yes! What else are you doing with her?!” The angel whimpers through the tears that are beginning to slide down his face.

Crowley frowns deeply, saddened by the information. Wordlessly he wraps his arms around Aziraphale, squeezing like it’d push the thought out of the angel’s head.

“Oh, I’m so sorry angel, so sorry angel,” Crowley whispers into Aziraphale’s ear. “I’m sorry that you got that impression,”

“W-what?” Aziraphale croaks.

“I’m going to show you something, I didn’t want you to see before it was ready, but I think it’s about time now,” The demon doesn’t let Aziraphale protest before he’s snapping his fingers, sending the two into the garden in the South Downs Cottage.

---

When Aziraphale opens his eyes. He’s in an unfamiliar place. It smells earthy and wet here, not the polluted air of London.

He looks around, and sees that he’s standing in the middle of a garden of flowers. It’s lit dimly with amber bulbs strung up in crawling vines on a stone fence.

He looks back to Crowley. “What is this?”

Crowley laughs nervously. “I’d like it to be the Eden that never was. Forever happy and loved. But I’m missing something in it,”

“What are you missing?”

“You. It’s always been you. You are everything that makes anything worth it. That’s why I was bringing that woman around in my car, I wanted Eden to be perfect for you,” Crowley blushes and looks away.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale crumples, he buries his face into the demon’s neck and sobs.

“Shhh, don’t cry angel, there’s no need. All is forgiven angel,” Crowley pets Aziraphale’s hair. “Just need to ask you one question,”

Aziraphale sucks back a sob. Looking up with watery eyes and asks, “Yes?”

The demon drops to one knee and pulls out a small black box. “Forgive me if this is too fast angel, but I’m madly in love with you. Have been for six thousand years. I’d be eternally grateful if you would stay with me for eternity,” Crowley admits, opening the black box to reveal a silver ring. The design of a snake wrapped around it with bright yellow gem eyes staring at him.

“So, what do you say angel?”

Aziraphale chokes on his words for minutes, but when he’s collected himself as best as he can, “Yes,” Is all he can say.

Crowley, in a flash, slips the ring on Aziraphale and kisses him like a drowning man finding air.

They kiss for what feels like eternity, but ends in what feels like a second.

“I love you Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers. “I’m sorry for accusing you of such things. Especially when I never told you how I feel,”

Crowley kisses him again. “All is forgiven angel,”

(Thanks for reading!)

#ask #i write #nonny

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i-solmnly-swear · 5 years

Text

In a cottage in South Downs, Aziraphale sat in his armchair completely immersed in the new book (well new to him) that Crowley had surprised him with just that afternoon.

After coming in from a mysterious morning trip to the city Crowley had gently handed him the book with a wink, and an invitation to the lunch he had picked up while there because “You have mentioned these scones from the bakery next to your old shop at least three times this last week, Angel”.

After their tea Crowley had left Aziraphale to move from devouring the scones to the new text, saying he was going to go tend to the garden, as some of the plants didn’t seem to be quite motivated enough.

Aziraphale rubbed his strained eyes and looked around realizing it was starting to get quite dark. He carefully marked his page and set the book aside, stretching as he stood from the armchair and reaching to turn on the light. He realized it was rather late, now that he was paying attention. He wandered into the kitchen, thinking maybe a nice cup of cocoa would be the perfect addition to this cozy evening. He peered out the window into the garden to see if Crowley was still out intimidating the plants as he made his cocoa.

Crowley was pointing his plant mister at the sky almost threateningly. Aziraphale made his way towards the back door to beckon the demon, smiling softly and shaking his head. Just what was he doing? He had just started to push the door open when Crowley dropped the mister to his side and shouted “God, are you listening?!” one hand still stretched to the ever darkening sky. Aziraphale froze, one foot out, door halfway open, and cocoa warm in his hand. Crowley continued to speak, looking at the brightening stars, pulling his outstretched hand back to run through his hair. He was speaking softly enough that Aziraphale couldn’t hear everything he was saying, he could barely make out every third or fourth word but he was sure, Crowley was praying.

Aziraphale is no stranger to prayer, of course. He has been to countless church services, watched congregations pray as one. He has heard humans pray in thanks, in desperation, begging for grace or mercy. Aziraphale has never attempted it himself, of course. After all, he was an angel, and if he needed to get a message sent up, there were channels you went through for that sort of thing (though he had started to wonder if they ever really reached God). He supposed there wasn’t a way for a demon to do this, can’t just call up the Metatron on a whim. It’s not something Aziraphale has ever given a lot of thought to before, and the realization that those who Fall essentially lose whatever connection one could have to Her was... overwhelming.

He watched as Crowley paced the garden randomly spraying plants as he went, keeping up his one sided conversation. This was no memorized prayer from the good book, he wasn’t pleading for divine grace. He was, well, he was asking questions.

Aziraphale’s heart squeezed watching his demon, whose features were quickly being lost in the dimming light. How had this being, who had been an angel, Fall? Aziraphale knew he hadn’t bought in with what Lucifer had been preaching before the Fall, he had been doing just as he was now, asking questions.

Questions he knew others had asked as well, even if not so blatantly as Crowley. Including Michael, and if he was being truly honest Aziraphale had wondered himself, though he hadn’t spoken aloud about them. Was this all part of the ineffable plan? Did God need Crowley to be the demon on earth? The one demon who was more interested in causing general mischief and leaving the humans to figure out the awful bits on their own? The one demon who actually liked humans and the world they had been building for 6000 years? Had he been cast out because he was the only one who questioned enough to question the Plan itself?

Aziraphale sighed, eyes blurry with unshed tears as he watched his demon spray the last plant in the row and run his hands through his hair again. How often did Crowley talk to God? When did he start? He had undoubtedly heard just as many humans pray as Aziraphale, had it been just a way to release tension? Like yelling at his plants? Did anyone hear Crowley’s prayers? Angels heard human prayers, of course, there were whole departments for the listening, recording, and sometimes answering of human prayers. But did the demon’s words fall on deaf ears? With a small twinge, Aziraphale realized this wasn’t the first time he had witnessed Crowleys version of prayer. Before the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, when they met at the band stand before Aziraphale had refused to go away with him to Alpha Centuri, Crowley had cursed the great ineffable plan yelling once again at the sky. Aziraphale had just taken it as Crowley trying to tell off... who? The angels who may be listening? Aziraphale and his faith in the plan? The universe itself? But here, listening to stolen words, he realized Crowley had been talking to God all along. Did She hear him?

The wind shifted and he caught the last words Crowley uttered to the sky

“I may be unforgivable, but if my love for him causes him to fall, I will never forgive you. I’m not... I’m not worth his Fall”

Aziraphale’s heart stopped in his chest, tears finally falling from his eyes. He had known on some level. He was a being of love and could feel the abundance of it when the demon was near, but he had never looked too close, always imagining it was his own love he felt, not daring to hope. Hearing Crowley say the words, and as a challenge no less, made him want to rush out and confess himself to the demon on the spot. Aziraphale held himself still, he knew that this was private, this confession was not for his ears. He quietly turned inside making his way back to his chair, setting down his untouched cocoa, opening his book and staring unseeing at the pages.

Crowley sauntered back inside and draped himself across the back of Aziraphales chair.

“You’ve almost finished” he reached past Aziraphales ear to trace the remaining pages of the open book “enjoying it then?”

Aziraphale hummed in affirmation shivering at the almost contact, closing his eyes, letting himself properly feel the waves of love coming off of Crowley. This was real, and even if the demon could never confess it to him in words, he knew, and there was no hiding from it now.

Crowley chuckled “must be, your cocoa’s cold, you didn’t even touch it, did you?” He cast an affectionate smirk at Aziraphale and the angels heart skipped in his chest. How often had Crowley looked at him this way? How blind had he been? Crowley coughed softy turning his face away, his cheeks flushed.

“Wine, Angel?” He asked as he rose and went to the wine rack.

“We do have a couple bottles of the Châteauneuf-du-Pape you like so much left, but... hmm... perhaps not. Not quite a worthy occasion, is it? Don’t want to waste it...” Crowley muttered more to himself, not expecting the angel, who was presumably absorbed in a book, to be listening.

Aziraphale stood, straightening his bow tie, and walked over to join Crowley at the wine rack. He reached for Crowley’s hand, gently taking it in his own causing the demon to startle and look at him.

“‘Ziraphale?” It came out as an almost hiss, which sent goosebumps down the angels spine. He reached up and gently removed the demons glasses, tucking them into his own breast pocket.

Crowley was frozen, huge golden eyes staring back at him uncertain “Angel?”

Aziraphale lifted his hand to Crowley’s face cupping his cheek,

“You are entirely worth it, my dear” he whispered. Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes and kissed the demon, his lips feather light on the others. “And I don’t just mean the wine.”

Just as softly he pulled away, carefully watching Crowley’s face, waiting.

Crowley let out a pained whine, not daring to move, not daring to look, not daring to breathe.

“My Dear...” Aziraphale ran his thumb over Crowley’s tattoo moving his fingers into soft red hair.

Crowley unconsciously leaned into his touch, shuddered and opened his eyes, “Aziraphale, we cant, I cant be the reason...”

“I won’t fall” Aziraphale was so certain, his faith was absolute. Crowley’s fall was part of Her ineffable plan, they were meant to be here on earth together. Two sides of the same coin, helping shepherd humanity, together.

Crowley huffed and drew back enough to pinch the bridge of his nose, “You can’t Know that, Angel! If there’s any chance..”

“If loving you was going to make me fall I would have fallen years ago, my dear.”

Golden eyes fixed on Blue, Aziraphale smiled and it was so bright it Hurt, but Bless him if he was going to look away for a second.

“Years.. but.. how long? When?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink and he looked down at his toes, Crowley reached out and gently tilted his chin back up so their eyes met again, “Angel...”

“At least since Paris” he waved his fingers in the air almost dismissively, “the whole prison business... But I think maybe even before then.”

Crowley’s heart fluttered, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Aziraphale stopped him with two fingers to his lips.

“But I didn’t, I didn’t really know, not until you asked me for the holy water and then all I could think of was this world without you in it at all and we fought, obviously”

“Obviously” Crowley mocked, though his voice was so very soft.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips “Yes, well... and then, then at the church when you found me and saved the books... and, well, me.” He looked straight up at Crowley, hoping the other could see the sincerity in his own eyes. He watched Crowley’s face, which was displaying such open wonderment, slowly change to the mischievous smirk he knew oh so well.

With inhuman speed, Crowley slipped his leg between the angels, knocking him just enough off balance he could turn them both and pin Aziraphale against the nearest bookcase.

Aziraphale let out a yelp that quickly turned into a moan as the demon pressed completely against him, Crowley’s golden eyes fixed intently on his own.

“You’re telling me,” he said in almost a growl, and oh Sa-Go-Someone(!), if that didn’t have the Angel shivering in his arms. He lowered his voice hoping, just shy of praying, that his angel would shiver again “that you’ve known, definitively, for one hundred and fifty years and Never. Once. Sssaid?”

Aziraphale’s heart was pounding, Crowley could hear it, surely. His breath hitched as Crowley ducked his head and breathed him in, pausing, and gently pressing kisses to the angels neck, his pulse point, his jaw. “I could have been kissing you for one hundred and fifty years?” Aziraphale shuddered in his arms and Crowleys smile turned wicked when his angel started to stutter

“W-well, I-I wasn’t ever quite, ah, ah” Crowley ground his hips against Aziraphales kissing his neck. This was too much too fast and he knew it, but hearing Aziraphale, ever articulate, stumbling over his words had him feeling like he may just combust on the spot.

Aziraphale tried again “I wasn’t ever quite sure of, of y-your own..”, the demons lips on his neck were making it impossible to form a proper response “oh, lord...”

“Angel” Crowley pulled back, his veins turning to ice, how could his angel doubt? Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked at Crowley, desperation and adoration plain in the demons golden eyes, “I showed you surely? Even if I didn’t say it, I showed you! You know how much I..”

“Yes my dear,” he cupped Crowley’s face in one hand, the other still desperately locked in the demons hair “ I do, I know.” He looked between his demon’s beautiful eyes and his lips.

Crowley let out a low strangled hiss and closed the space between them, kissing Aziraphale with everything he was, pouring in every ounce of love, hope, and frustration at this principality’s glacier speed. Worshiping him.

Heart hammering in his chest, Crowley pulled back enough to make sure Aziraphale wasn’t going to tell him to stop, that he wasn’t once again going too fast. The sight before him was better than any heaven he had ever known. His Angel, cheeks pink, bright blue unfocused eyes, and kiss swollen lips starting to pout at the sudden disappearance of Crowley’s own. Crowley’s long fingers were playing in the soft curls at the base of Aziraphael’s neck as he gazed adoringly down at the angel, memorizing every detail. Aziraphale closed his eyes, sighing and leaning in, Crowley met him halfway, reveling in the little moan his angel made. As their lips locked once more, Crowley was absolutely positive his prayers had been heard after all.

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

I want to send a huge thank you to @proficientatfreakness for not only being amazing and beta-ing this for me, but for encouraging this fic and making me want to write more! (seriously everything after the first kiss is owed to your wonderful comments, thank you!)

I had a lot of fun writing this I hope you enjoy it!

#goodomens #mywriting #ineffablehusbands #aziraphalexcrowley

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clumsydarknut · 5 years

Text

The Spirit of the Hero - Chapter 1

My take on the AU by Jojo over at @linkeduniverse . I loved the design and the idea, but did some tweaking to the character ages and origins to better fit my plot. Hope it’s good. Enjoy.

Beginning (That’s this! Hi!) | Next | Most Recent (more to follow)

Link jolted awake. The cold air forced its way into his lungs more than he inhaled it. His heart pounded in his chest as he panted. Wha-? Where-?

Above him was a dark piece of sky outlined by thick branches. As the shock wore off he became aware of the chilled earth beneath him. He grasped at the soft pine needles on the forest floor to bring some life to his limbs. Bending his frozen fingers stung, but at least they still worked.

With some effort he sat up, putting a hand to his head. Soft moonlight outlined a small clearing, rimmed by towering pine trees. Only small tufts of grass poked up through the thick bed of needles and pinecones. Obviously, very few beings had ever set foot here, meaning that whatever forest this was, he was very deep into it. But where exactly is this? More importantly, how did I get here? He squinted at the patch of stars above him, tracing from star to star in the hopes of finding a familiar constellation. None appeared, but very few were visible anyway.

Sighing, he turned his attention away from the sky. His fingers, though cold, were far from frostbitten, and none of the forest dust had seemed to settle on his soft green tunic. With further inspection he found the soles of his boots spotless, and his hair mostly without tangles. However he had gotten here, he hadn’t been here long. What was I doing? Where was I before?

Images of a castle interior flashed through his mind. Warm smiles, laughter, music. Next to him, a woman in pink with beautiful auburn hair. That’s right. The feast. Her awakening feast. The Princess had just given a toast, and then… Link gasped and began searching his pockets. Sword, shield, bow, potions, but where is it? It can’t be gone.

At last, in the bottom of his rupee pouch, his hand clasped around the small wooden box. It’s still here. Good. His relief quickly turned into confusion. But if I still have it, what happened? I was about to make my toast, and… Try as he might, the last thing he could remember was clinking his goblet with his spoon. This is all too strange. An invasion? But I seem unharmed. Magic, perhaps? But I wasn’t wearing this tunic at the feast. What magic would change my clothes but also provide me with my weapons?

The wind licked his face and sent a chill down his spine. Whatever had happened, trying to puzzle it out here would do little good. There was little in the way of shelter. Traversing the woods at night wasn’t ideal either, but the moon was at its peak. The light wouldn’t be this good for much longer.

Link pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his equipment. With another glance at the sky he found south and started off. Though the forest was dark, it was certainly not empty. Crickets chirped and a creek bubbled in the distance. If this was the forest he was thinking of, the nearest town would surely be south. Few pine forests grew so thickly in Hyrule as the ones on the northern border. Of course, that was on the assumption that this was, in fact, Hyrule. He tried to ignore that thought and instead take comfort in the familiarity of forest travel.

Several hours in the forest was not a bother to Link. As a child he had loved exploring the woods. Handy with a sword and fascinated by wildlife, it was one of those many adventures that led to his meeting with Impa. He had never really returned from that adventure. Then again, he hadn’t much to return to in the first place. By then, the wilderness had become more of a home to him than… well, he couldn’t remember much about his life in the village. Both life in the village and life in the castle seemed equally foreign to him.

But I can learn to live in a castle, he chuckled, ducking under another branch. For her, I can learn to live in a castle.

As the moon began to dip the trees began to thin. Pine needle carpets gave way to more underbrush, and animal tracks became more common. He was entering a younger portion of the woods where the trees weren’t quite so tall, letting him see further ahead. In the distance he could see the gleam of water. No rumble of waves, so probably not a river. A lake, maybe? The water source was a good sign that civilization might be nearby. But just as the forest could harbor wolves and monsters, so could towns harbor thieves. He caught sight of a plume of smoke and tightened the strap on his wallet.

Link crept from the tree line into what appeared to be a traveler’s town. The dirt road, winding along between cottages and small gardens, was well worn. The heavy wheel ruts told him it had seen many wagons. Other than the lake, the village seemed absent of any valuable resources. Likely a halfway point between two larger towns. Far enough apart that a rest stop is warranted. There must be an inn of sorts somewhere.

Walking along the path, he quickly found what he was looking for. In the center of town, right on the waterfront, stood the town’s only three-story building. Above the main doors hung a sign bearing “The White Wolfos Inn” in cracked blue and white paint. Propped up in one of the windows, a slate read “Home of Hyrule’s Best Ale!” So I am in Hyrule. He reached for the door.

“It won’t open. It’s after hours.”

The voice made Link jump. Left of the door on a bench sat a young man roughly the same age as he. About a head shorter, he sported a traveler’s cloak, well-worn boots, brown trousers, and leather gauntlets. His golden hair was straight and cut off at the jaw, but wavy tufts here and there made it appear as though it took a lot of work to keep it that way. Across his forehead was tied a deep green headband, and beneath the cloak Link could see what looked like a tunic pieced together with four different colored fabrics – green, red, blue, and purple.

“I tried knocking already, and no luck,” the boy continued, “but I’m not surprised, seeing it’s about three in the morning.” He gestured to the bench. Link took the seat but made sure to keep a hand on his wallet.

“This may seem like a strange question,” Link began, “but may I ask what town this is? I seem to have gotten somewhat… turned around while hunting.”

The boy raised his eyebrow. “Funny you should say that. I’m in a similar situation myself. Then again what other reason is there for arriving at an inn so late at night?”

Link chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.” Both fell silent. A few minutes passed and a slight wind gave Link a chill. He clenched and unclenched his fists and his fingers cried out for relief from the cold.

“Perhaps I will try knocking,” he said at last and got to his feet. He gave three solid raps on the hard wood and paused to listen.

Just as he was going to knock again the door latch clicked and a figure pulled the door open enough to peek through. The other young man got to his feet at the sound. A curly-haired woman holding a lit candle peered through the gap.

“What do you want?” she asked firmly. Obviously this woman was in charge.

“Just lodging, ma’am,” Link replied calmly. Best not to appear suspicious. “There are two of us out here looking for a bed and a warm fire, if they are to be had.”

The woman sighed and opened the door further. Scanning both Link and the young man up and down, she swung the door wide and beckoned them inside. “Come in, come in, jus’ be quick about it. God knows how many more o’ ya will show up ‘tween now an’ sunrise. Every time I open this door it’s another log on the fire and my husband won’t be ‘appy if he ‘as to go cut more before breakfast.”

“More of us?” the young man puzzled. “How do you mean?”

“Oh,” the woman chuckled as she shut the door, “Nothin’ by it young master. There’ve just been a few other travelers arrivin’ tonight after hours. Seems as though that storm yesterday afternoon caught some by surprise and got a fair number o’ people lost.”

“Ah,” Link said. I suppose that’s a lucky coincidence.

The woman led the two of them up to the second floor and down to the end of the hall. “I hope you masters don’t mind sharing a room. We’re hosting a party what got stranded by the storm and so we’re a bit short on space. If it’s any comfort to ya there are two cabinets that lock solid fer any of yer belongings need safekeeping.” She pulled a large key ring out of the pocket of her wool robe and fingered through until she found what she was looking for, poking the key into the lock and giving it a twist. The door swung open to reveal a simple, cozy room with two beds, a hearth, a washbasin, and two large chestnut armoires. “There ought to be firewood, and the bedding is all fresh. Regular pricing is 30 rupees a night wit’ breakfast, but we can discuss tha’ in the mornin’. Would the masters like me to send someone to start the fire?”

“No, thank you ma’am,” the young man replied. “Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

The woman nodded, satisfied. “Well, best of rest to ya. Keys to the room and the cabinets should be on the pillows. If ya need anythin’, housekeepin’ is the door at the top o’ the stairs.”

The woman retreated down the hall, leaving Link and the stranger to settle in. Neither seemed particularly comfortable sharing the space, but both found the alternative – sleeping out front in the cold – undesirable enough that neither mentioned their discomfort. He seems polite enough, Link thought. Still, better lock up my things.

Link took the closer bed and began removing his equipment. The young man set to lighting a fire, giving him the opportunity to stow his more valuable items in secret. Most travelers had wallets, but few had rarities like his magic rod. It was better no one knew he had such an item; locks were only meant to keep honest people honest, as thieves could and would pick locks. A prize like that was one no thief could resist.

He kept a wary eye on his roommate as he too began settling in. When the stranger removed his cloak, Link was tempted to stare. The tunic he boasted was pieced together from four different tunics laced with gold embroidery. Link would have been convinced he was royalty if the four colors weren’t stitched together so haphazardly with thick brown yarn. The boy was also quite spindly. The only thing that told Link they were the same age was the lack of baby fat on his jaw. Something about him seemed familiar, too, but logic kept his curiosity at bay. When the stranger laid a gold-hilted shortsword on the bedspread, Link pretended not to notice. Just another traveler. It isn’t as if my blade is any less impressive.

Link considered locking his blade in his cabinet, but instead propped it against the bed. The silver, ruby-encrusted hilt shimmered in the dim light. If the stranger noticed it, he hadn’t let it show.

Finished settling in and itching for warmth, Link slipped off his boots and crawled into the soft feather bed. Now, with only the crackling fire to break the silence, the strangeness of his situation came to the forefront of his mind. Where exactly was he? How had he gotten here? Most importantly, how was he to get back? Were his friends okay? Was she okay? What of Hyrule? The innkeeper had let them in in the dead of night without a lick of suspicion, so if Hyrule were in crisis, she didn’t seem to know. The frustration of trying to remember what had happened didn’t lend itself to easy sleep, but he was warm. Warm and alive. That would have to do for the night, and he could figure out the rest in the morning.

In the other bed, unbeknownst to Link, the stranger lay plagued by the same questions.

#linkeduniverse #fanfic #the spirit of the hero #love me some canon #all the research #zelda #legend of zelda #fanfiction #fan content

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ineffable-bisexual · 5 years

Text

An Angel’s Wrath (or At Least He’s Trying)

This random head canon turned into a silly ficlet.

I like the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale being Adam’s uncles/godfathers, and he stays with them for a few weeks every summer at their South Downs cottage.

I love writing any kind of kid-fic(let) so I hope you enjoy this loving, ridiculous found family.

———

“You’re in big trouble, Adam Young! Running off like that without telling us where you were? What were you bloody thinking??”

Crowley put Adam’s bicycle into the boot of the Bentley.

“I didn’t count on getting lost!” Adam exclaimed “You’d think a bike trail would have signs posted on how to get out of it.”

“You should have taken Dog, then.”

Adam threw up his arms and huffed. “He would have slowed me down and I wanted to explore! Dog takes his time sniffing everything.”

“Really, Adam?” He was not convinced.

“Really! I’m telling the truth!”

Crowley opened the passenger door. "Get in.”

Adam sighed and got into the Bentley. He blinked when the door shut hard.

Crowley started the car and veered onto the paved road.

After a quiet moment, he addressed Adam in a gentler tone, “A note would have been nice; then I wouldn’t have had to drive all over the village.”

Adam smirked and looked down at his hands in his lap. “The only thing to write on are old books and I can’t touch them.”

Crowley sighed. “That’s not true.” He glanced at him. “Do you not feel welcome here?”

“It’s not that, Uncle Ant. I like it out here; I really do.” Adam looked out of the window. “I just…get bored sometimes.”

“I know you miss your friends,” Crowley said.

“Pepper was going to come with me,” Adam explained, “but then she found out about a young woman’s, uh…empowerment conference thing…and her mum took her there.” He sniffed and glanced back at him. “But it’s okay. She really wanted to go, and I wasn’t going to bug her about it.”

Crowley huffed with a grin. “I wouldn’t either, kiddo. She’s one firecracker I wouldn’t want to step on.”

“She’s not mean, Uncle Ant. She’s empowered.”

“You’re right, lad. I didn’t mean any harm.”

Adam leaned back into his seat. “Just…when I get bored, I get restless.”

“You’re thirteen. It’s understandable.” He sighed. “Uncle Ezra and I can be quite stuffy, can’t we? Well…not so much me.”

He smiled when he heard Adam giggle. “But you can talk to us. I know it’s secluded where we are; it is after all, our retirement. But no need to walk on eggshells, yeah? We’re not that old.”

Adam grinned, and soon they pulled up in front of the cottage.

They got out of the car and Crowley was met with arms around his torso. He squeezed Adam back in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Crowley patted his head. “Never mind. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Adam nodded.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Right, a warning: when I left, Ezra was very upset.”

Adam hated knowing that he had caused them so much stress this evening, particularly Aziraphale, whom he greatly admired for his kindness. Now, he had felt like he had taken advantage of that, and the guilt crushed him.

“How upset?”

“Well, he’s not much connected to Heaven anymore to summon the wrath of God…but it was pretty close. If I were you, I would at least expect the rack.”

Crowley opened the boot and lifted out Adam’s bicycle. “Go put this in the shed.”

Adam lingered for a moment, however, and watched him go inside.

He exhaled and thought about the impending use of medieval torture.

——————

“Crowley?” came Aziraphale’s voice from his study. “Is that you? Please tell me you’ve found him.”

Footsteps rushed to the kitchen and before Crowley could give him an answer, Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, Lord, you’re alone? Where could he be? Crowley, we have to keep—”

“He’s alright, angel,” Crowley calmed him, putting his hands on his shoulders. “He’s putting away his bicycle and he’s in one piece. Appears he got lost trying to find his way back.”

Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. That poor thing…”

—————–

Do angel wings light on fire when they’re angry? Adam wondered.

It’s what he expected: Aziraphale’s wings greeting him, both aflame.

Adam’s hand hovered over the side door that led into the kitchen.

He guessed the rack wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Uncle Ezra would take pity on him and just sentence him to the Iron Maiden.

—————

Aziraphale instantly embraced him when he entered the kitchen, and Adam was so taken aback, the breath was knocked out of him.

“You poor dear! Uncle Anthony told me about losing your way on the bike trail. Ugh! I’ve been after the councilman about proper signage, but no, Mr. Fell, there’s no grant money at this time. What a horrid man! I know just where he can find that grant money and it’s right up his—”

“Angel, please!” Crowley stopping him with frown. “You’re smothering the boy.”

Aziraphale held Adam in front of him. “Sorry, lad,” he said as he cupped the boy’s face. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

He then noticed how wet Adam’s eyes had become.

“Oh, darling, are you traumatized?”

“You’re probably frightening him,” Crowley muttered.

Adam shook his head. “Uncle Ant said that you were very angry,” he said, his voice croaking to hold back his tears. “He said you summoned the wrath of God.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he shot a cold glare at Crowley, who pretended to examine a scuff on his boot.

His glare melted as he turned back to Adam. “My dear boy, never, in my entire existence, have I ever had to summon the wrath of the Almighty.”

“He said something about putting me on the rack, too.”

“It was a joke, lad!” Crowley exclaimed. “I was trying to–”

“Really, Crowley!” Aziraphale interjected. “I would never lay a hand on him, much less punish him with an Inquisition-era instrument!”

Adam wiped his cheeks. “So…I’m not being punished?”

“Damn straight, you’re being punished.”

Crowley and Adam’s eyes widened at Aziraphale’s decree.

“You’re grounded, young man,” he continued, pulling at his waistcoat with authority. “For two—no, three days.”

Crowley smirked and tried not to giggle. They weren’t used to being guardians to a teen, but they were trying.

“Instead of being bored, you can help me in the garden. I’ve got about twenty tulip bulbs that need planting, but the beds need a good weeding first.”

Adam, still unsure of his sentence, gave Crowley a confused look.

Crowley only shrugged, still trying not to laugh.

“Also,” the angel continued, “I’m still sorting my old stock from the book shoppe, and you will help me catalog them.”

“Really?” Adam asked, intrigued.

Aziraphale stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Problem?” he asked, his parental air not letting go.

“No, I wouldn’t mind helping you with that. I love your old books.”

A snicker escaped Crowley and Aziraphale huffed. “Well…really?”

Aziraphale was used to being the only person who loved his books.

“Yeah!” Adam said, and Aziraphale softened as he grinned.

“Well…right, then. That’s your punishment. So…” He cleared his throat. “You must be hungry.”

“Starving!”

“Well, go wash up and I’ll make you one of those bacon sandwiches you like so much.”

Adam left the kitchen and Aziraphale turned to Crowley, who finally released his giggles.

“You’re next, dear boy.”

Crowley laughed harder. “What’ll it be then? Thumb screws? Drawing and quartering?”

“I’ll make you listen to my poetry.”

“But, I like your poetry.”

Aziraphale shook his head with a sly smirk. “My early poetry.”

Crowley grimaced. “You wouldn’t?”

The angel raised his eyebrows and opened the refrigerator for the slab of bacon.

#good omens #fan fiction #crowley #aziraphale #adam young #kidfic #south downs cottage #ineffable husbands #ineffable godfathers #silly

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our-smooty · 4 years

Text

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 4

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags: Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

My Ko-Fi

God did not play dice with the universe. She did occasionally flip a coin, though that was only to help her know which option she really favoured. There was a Plan, an idea of how things were meant to go, but sometimes She liked to step in and fiddle a bit. Other times, She thought it was best if She stepped back and let things take their course.

That was what She had been doing with Earth for the last few thousand years. She watched, and She waited to see what Her children--including the angels and the demons--would do with what she’s given them. She created the Metatron to speak for Her, to add even more distance, and things went as they did for a very long time.

She had Her favourites, of course. Mortals, angels, demons, there were always a select few She enjoyed looking in on when the fancy took Her. Of all of them, Her Crowley and Aziraphale were the most interesting. How they adapted, how they grew around each other and became so intertwined that even She could barely tell their auras apart. How they, or all the would-be protectors and destroyers of Earth, really understood humanity and Her creation.

Which was why, when She decided to look in on them again a while after everything, She was gravely concerned. It seemed that they had carved out a little life for themselves, and She was happy for that. But there was discord as well. A large amount of sadness and pain had begun to emanate from them both and it only took one quick look to see why. Oh, Her poor children. So worried about doing wrong when they were incapable of it. And there, just as She glanced over, were two more of Her children, both misguided in their endeavour to uphold what they thought was right.

This wouldn’t do. Those two, the former not the latter, had been through so much in the name of Her Ineffable Plan. They deserved a break and She would not allow anyone, even Her angel Gabriel and his demonic counterpart, to interrupt their well-deserved peace.

God hadn’t been down to Earth in a formal capacity for millennia. She dropped in once or twice a century to try some of the food, and listen to the music; to walk among the people and truly get to know Her creations. But it had been a long time since She revealed herself in Her glory on the mortal plane. This would be a special treat for all parties involved, if not marginally terrifying. Better to choose a more comforting form, one that wouldn’t make Her children quake in fear ( even if that may have been Her goal, just a little bit, when it came to Beezlebub and Gabriel; they had both been led so far astray).

She saw Aziraphale open the door, saw Crowley come up behind him take in the twin grimaces on their antagonist's faces. There was no more time to waste watching, She knew, and in a flash of Holy light, God was back on Earth, just a few meters down the block from one South Downs cottage.

“Crowley,” Beezelbub growled, looking right past Aziraphale. Conversely, Gabriel’s icy gaze was training on the angel, something restrained and dark hiding there. Crowley wanted to step in front of Aziraphale, to shield him from both their former bosses, but Aziraphale was taking up the entire doorway and refusing to budge even with Crowley’s insistent tugging at the hem of his jacket.

“Angel…” Crowley begged, but Aziraphale wouldn’t budge. “Angel get back!”

“Gabriel, Beelzebub. What a… surprise,” Aziraphale said in his best customer-scaring pleasant-but-cold tone. “To what do we owe this visit?”

“Don’t play games with us, Aziraphale,” Gabriel drawled in his usual, unaffected tone. “You know exactly why we’re here so cut the shit.”

Honestly, Crowley wasn’t sure why both of them were on their doorstep, only that it wasn’t good. Had it really taken Heaven and Hell a decade to figure out the switcharoo they pulled with the hellfire and holy water? Or were they finally tired of all the self-indulgent miracles the two had been performing and where here to put a stop to it?

“I assure you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Beezlebub took a step forward, their flies buzzing around all four parties in an incredibly vile fashion. Crowley reflexively tugged at Aziraphale again even though he knew it was pointless.

“Don’t be smart with me, angle,” the way they said it was so unlike how it sounded coming from Crowley’s mouth, and it made him twitch, “don’t you think we know everything about what you’ve been doing?”

“Did you forget about the back channels?” Someone, Crowley wanted to punch that smug look off of Gabriel’s face. “We know the--frankly disgusting--things you’ve been discussing. You know that creating more of those Abominations is forbidden. I didn’t think you’d stoop so low, but I’m not surprised.”

Crowley’s jaw tightened and his teeth began to sharpen into fangs instinctually. He felt Aziraphale stiffen as well, his hands clenching behind his back in a rapid rhythm. This was not what either of them had been expecting to happen, at least, not in this way. Maybe they shouldn’t have banked so much on their ruse keeping the Powers that Be away and sorted out an actual plan. Considering who they were dealing with, there probably wasn’t much they could have done outside of trading bodies permanently and that was not an option.

“Well I never…” Aziraphale blustered. It was hard for him to get the words out, and Crowley wasn’t in the state of mind to even try. Gabriel looked like he was going to try and barge his way into their home at any second to dispatch Heavenly justice, and Beezelbub just looked thrilled about the entire thing and Crowley had no idea what to do. He tried to grip onto Aziraphale tighter, to keep him close, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You both better come quietly this time and no ‘funny business’. God knows how you managed to get out of your punishments last time, but it’s not going to happen again.” Faster than either of them could react there were restraints around their wrists. Beezlebub was smirking waving their hand and adding fabric gags to the works. Both were tied too tightly, making Crowley squirm uncomfortably as his lips were pressed into his fangs. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be faring much better, wiggling frantically against the bonds.

“We aren’t using hellfire and holy water this time,” Beezlebub hissed, pushing past Aziraphale to grab Crowley. Behind them Gabriel did the same with the angel and Crowley watched as Azirpahale flinched at the unwanted touch. Oh Somebody was this how things were going to end? They’d barely gotten to make up, he hadn’t even gotten to kiss his angel in 2 days. “If we can’t destroy you outright, we’ll just make you wish we could.”

Crowley knew about the Pits of Hell. He’d been a few times over the years for various reasons (and sometimes no reason at all, Hell just liked to torture their employees and they were very good at it) so he knew what to expect. But Crowley had no idea of what Heaven would do to Aziraphale, could only imagine it’d been much, much worse than his own fate what with how insidiously harsh Gabriel and the other angels could be. He tried to struggle against his bonds and Beezlebub’s grip, desperate to save Aziraphale if not himself, but to no avail.

“Stop squirming you--!” A polite cough interrupted The Prince of Hell’s insult. All four beings on the steps snapped to attention immediately--it was impossible not to recognize that voice. Crowley wasn’t sure if they were about to be saved, or even further punished.

Gabriel was the first to recover, turning around to fully face the person-shaped Almighty without letting go of Aziraphale. “Lord, it’s such an honour that you would come here to personally witness the punishment of these tra--”

God held up a hand, the face of the corporation she was wearing impassive. The grip on his arms began to slacken and Crowley realized Beezlbub was gawking at the figure in front of them. To be fair, Crowley would have been doing the same if the gag allowed; this was the first time any demon had been in the presence of the Almighty since The Fall.

“I have already seen what’s going on here, Gabriel. Under whose authority are you exacting this punishment? Because no one has consulted me, or the Metatron, on this matter.” Gabriel looked nervous. Eyebrows rising high into his hairline, Crowley felt himself begin to, impossibly, hope.

“They intend to create an Abomination, my Lord! And you decreed after the Nephilim--”

“Silence, Gabriel. And Beezlebub close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” If their situation had been less dire Crowley would have giggled at the way Beezlebub’s mouth clicked shut on command. Instead he stared in awe at the unimposing, but undeniably powerful form in front of him.

“Now, if you had done things properly, and put forward your request for the Angel Aziraphale to be punished, you would have discovered, My Archangel, that My feelings on the matter are very different than yours. And as for the Demon Crowley, I was under the impression that Hell had made an oath to keep their distance, and a Demonic Oath is not something to be broken willy-nilly.” Crowley did make a hysterical noise at that, muffled as it was. Aziraphale glanced back at him and they shared a mutual look of “what the fuck is going on?”.

“Furthermore,” She continued, “if you had taken the time to check, you would have seen that there is no Law against the fraternization of Angels and Demons in any capacity. So tell me then, why you have accosted these two in their own home, and why you have been spying on them?”

Gabriel sputtered, chocking out half-words and phrases while trying to make himself look as small and apologetic as possible. It was hilarious to watch, but not as funny as the way Beezlebub was squirming under God’s benevolent stare.

“And you, Beezlebub. I will not pretend to order you about, but I want you to know that I am very disappointed. Is this really the kind of thing Hell is using it’s resources on or is this just a petty grudge you two have against these poor boys?” Beezlebub shrank and mumbled into their shoes. Crowley couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he had a pretty good idea. Taking advantage of their distraction he shuffled forward under his shoulder was just barely brushing Aziraphale's. His angel looked back again and this time there was a sparkle in his eyes.

“You will release them at once, and you and any other members of Heaven or Hell will never attempt to interfere in their lives again. Have I made myself clear?” Her tone was that of a scolding mother and it brought back all sorts of memories from before Crowley’s Fall. He’d often gotten into trouble and received similar reprimands. “You will answer Me.”

“Yes, Almighty,” Gabriel grovelled, staring down at his outdated shoes. Beezlebub did some more mumbling and grumbling but it seemed to be enough for God because She nodded decisively.

“Good. Now away with you both. I would like to speak with them Myself and I will not have you spying.” With a wave of Her hand the Archangel and The Prince of Hell were banished back to their separate realms. Crowley and Aziraphale stood motionless, still bound and not entirely sure what was about to happen next.

“Well, that’s taken care of! Oh, sorry, My dears, let me get those for you.” She gestured and their bindings disappeared. Immediately Aziraphale turned in towards Crowley just as Crowley’s arms opened, ready to receive him. God said nothing as they clung to each other; let them have a few moments to come to grips with the fact they had nearly been separated again and lived.

“I cannot stay long, as <y presence here often disrupts Things. Are you alright, My sweet Aziraphale and My star Crowley?” She asked. Aziraphale shuddered and nodded, obviously trying to pull himself together enough to say something. Funnily enough, Crowley was able to find his voice first, though it was shaky and off-pitch.

“Why d’You care? Dropped me into a pit of boiling sulphur not 6000 years back didn’t You?” Aziraphale made a shocked noise, his hands fluttering up to cover Crowley’s mouth, but it was too late. Crowley had spent a long time sending angry not-prayers Her way, and he wasn’t going to miss this chance to say some of them in person.

God looked pensive for a moment. “Your Falling is one of My greatest regrets, Crowley. You were so inquisitive, but also very kind, which is why I needed you down on Earth. I needed someone unafraid to ask hard questions. Besides, you would not have been happy in Heaven, you were not like the others.”

“That’s not an apology.” He wasn’t sure where this bravery was coming from, maybe he’d finally gone over the deep end. Either way, this was happening.

God smiled. “Would you accept any I have to give?”

No he wouldn’t, and the fact that she knew that made him want to pout. Luckily Aziraphale had found his words in time to stop Crowley from staying anything too stupid.

“Thank you, Lord. You help has been much... appreciated,” he said, wringing his hands and glancing behind him past Crowley and into their home.

“But?” She asked, amused. Aziraphale flinched while Crowley grinned, proud of his bastard angel.

“But only, I do think Crowley and I would like to sit down and recover from the whole ‘once again facing our d ooms” thing, so if I could be so bold as to ask if You had any other er, business with us?” It was phrased politely enough, but anyone who knew the angel would know that tone. Of course, She knew Aziraphale completely, but She also seemed to understand.

“You will be able to rest soon enough. I only wanted to make sure you were both safe, and to let you know something very important.” Crowley scoffed and tightened his hold on Aziraphale almost protectively.

“Another Great Plan?” She smiled and Aziraphale paled. Crowley couldn’t help himself from asking questions.

“No, nothing like that. I only wanted you to know, that you do not have to be afraid of being punished by Heaven or Hell. Or Me. You have My permission to live here, on Earth, as you like. However, you like.” She smiled beatifically, while also giving them a wink. “I won’t keep you any longer. Goodbye, Aziraphale, Crowley.”

And with that, God turned around and strolled down their front path and out to the street. As She walked along the roadside and eventually out of sight Crowley and Aziraphale remained frozen in the doorway. Again Crowley was the first to recover enough to speak.

“Did God just… did She just--?” he stuttered, his legs shaking from the slow wearing-off of the adrenaline that had kept them both standing. "Did she just give us permission to--?”

“Be fruitful and multiply?” Aziraphale finished, his voice airy and slightly unfocused. “I believe she did.”

A beat. Then Crowley unwrapped his arms from around his angel, instead bringing his hands up to grab at Aziraphale’s shirt collar. “Angel, if you don’t take me inside right now and fuck me, I’m going to scream.”

It was kind of a jump, going from fighting over how they could never have that, to jumping into bed without even discussing the logistics of things, but Crowley didn’t care. God Herself had just told them it was OK to do the one thing he thought he'd never be allowed to do, and that it would turn out alright. He had enough faith left in Her not to second guess this blessing.

“Oh dear, are you sure? We haven’t really talked about this, and it’s such a big step…” Immediately Crowley was stepping back. Of course, he’d misunderstood, he’d jumped the gun like always, he’d gone to fast. Aziraphale noticed and took initiative, keeping Crowley close with a hand on his lower back and leading them both inside.

“Don’t pull away dear, I only wanted to make sure. You were so upset before, and I know what She said but if you need more time I--” But Crowley was done waiting, and he mashed their faces together messily. Aziraphale made a noise of surprise, then quickly caught up to speed, taking Crowley’s face in his hands and cupping his jaw. “Really? You want to? With me?”

“Yes,” Crowley whined, rubbing their hips together insistently. “I do want to, but I didn’t think we could. But we can and I swear to Somebody we can talk more later.”

Aziraphale didn’t argue, he couldn’t really with the way Crowley was begging. They were both still a little shaky, which presented a problem when Crowley was essentially trying to wrap himself around the angel like the snake he was. It only took a few minutes before it was obvious they either had to move somewhere where they could lay down, or do it on the floor of their front hall. The second option sounded appealing to both of them just for the immediacy, but they’d spent hours picking out sheets they both liked, and it would be a shame not to use the bed at every opportunity.

“Upstairs,” Crowley ordered, taking the angel by the hand and dragging him up to the second floor. The narrow cottage stairs were Hell to get up while Aziraphale was behind him trying to undo his belt but Crowley managed. At least their bedroom was the first room at the top. The door was open and the bed was made, their usual bottle of lube waiting on the bedside table innocuously.

“Crowley,” the murmur of Aziraphale’s voice was sweet as honey and twice as thick. “I want to--”

“Yes,” Crowley interrupted, miricaling the buttons and fastenings on Aziraphale’s waistcoat open. “Whatever you want, I want it like that.”

“On the bed. Trousers off.” Crowley scrambled to do ask he was asked, thankful for the solidness of the mattress underneath him finally. By the time he got comfortable his skinny jeans and shirt had disappeared to Satan-knew where, and he wasn’t wearing any pants. Aziraphale eyed him appreciatively in the same way he’d size up a delicious brunch spread and it made the demon’s whole body tingle. He arranged himself in a way that he hoped was appealing, legs spread open and his arms outstretched.

“Don’t keep me waiting, angel,” he rasped, wiggling his ass against the sheets a little. The only other sounds were the fast wooshing of Aziraphale’s breath and a faint ticking from the grandfather clock in the hall. “Want you in me, if you don’t mind.”

With a snap Aziraphale was naked too, exposing his cock to the cool air and making Crowley’s cunt clench with anticipation. A vagina seemed like a good idea for this sort of thing and he’d already had one because it looked better with his skinny jeans. It was the least effort to make the changes to his Effort this way, to tweak things to be on, more or less. “Oh Crowley, so pretty… like a flower--a rose.”

“Sssshut it!” Crowley hissed, thrusting up and down against the air. He was making his needs perfectly obvious but Aziraphale was going so slowly. “You can compliment me later but right now I want to celebrate the fact we aren’t fucking dead by shagging until I can’t walk!”

Finally Aziraphale got onto the bed, his knees coming to rest along the backs of Crowley’s thighs, their sexes nearly touching. “I intend to hold you to that, love. But for now, I’ll give you what you want.”

The Aziraphale was holding his member at the base, guiding it towards where Crowley wanted it most. Had it really only been a few days since they were last together? It felt like another 6000 years. The tip gently nudged between his folds and it was familiar and good. Normally he preferred to drag things out a bit to get them both to the point of begging, but Crowley knew he'd lose his marbles if he had to wait even a second more for Azirpahale to be inside him.

“Get. On. With. It.” His growling was made less intimidating but the fact each word came out with just the hint of a whine. Maybe he should flip them over, really give the angel a run for his money. That was his plan until Aziraphale began to move forward, stretching Crowley out in that way that made him ache inside. He could remember the first time he’d seen Aziraphale’s Effort, and how gobsmacked he’d been; trust the angel to have a pornstar cock without even an ounce of shame about it.

“You’ve very wet, darling,” Aziraphale cooed, bending over to kiss along Crowley’s collarbones. “So beautiful, my lovely boy. Always ready for me.”

“Aziraphale--!” The angel’s hands were drifting down to Crowley’s chest, his waist, his thighs. Skirting around his clit with butterfly presses as he finally shoved himself inside with a perfectly rough thrust. “Yes, Aziraphale, more!”

Aziraphale hushed him, though he was making little gasps of his own every once and awhile. “You deserve everything, my starlight.” He’s playing with the hair at the base of Crowley’s neck, a rhythmic winding and unwinding that perfectly complemented the clenching of his stomach. Crowley mewled at the praise, spreading his legs wider and grabbing Aziraphale around the shoulders. The angel smelled like sweat and their garden and his favourite tea; all things that made Crowley’s throat tight and his eyes wet. To stave off the incoming sob he turned his head and connected their lips in a hungry kiss.

It wasn’t going to take long for either of them to cum at the frantic pace Aziraphale was setting. But that was fine because they had nowhere else to be, and nothing else to do other than to enjoy each other. They could spend years wrapped up in bed together if they wanted, though their mutual acquaintances might come looking for them after a while. Especially once their newest godchild was born, at least.

Which reminded Crowley what they were actually doing here. This wasn’t run-of-the-mill sex, this had a purpose. When Aziraphale came he was going to… and Crowley would… Oh he couldn’t even think it without his whole body flushing. Later he’d probably laugh at himself, how excited he got over such a normal, human thing, but in the moment it only made him moan harder. Knowing Aziraphale was going to cum inside him, and it was going to take and make something that was both of them mixed together. Satan.

“Let me--fuck!--let me ride you,” Crowley gasped, pushing at Aziraphale’s shoulders and trying to shift them. “Aziraphale let me--please!”

“Yes, yes.” And then they were flipping, Aziraphale’s cock miraculously staying inside him the whole way and wasn’t that fantastic? Crowley started a good pace, slower than before but with much more grinding. His clit--maybe a little larger than a standard human’s but he was a demon after all--could rub against Aziraphale’s pubic bone if he slowed down a little and got the angle right. It made the angel groan and lift his hips to give Crowley all the room he needed to work.

Like a ship's mast broken in a storm, Crowley tipped forward onto Aziraphale’s chest, hips and legs still working hard to bring them to completion. Strong but soft hands wrapped around his waist to aid in their movements. Sex had always been something Crowley enjoyed, even before he and Aziraphale had finally gotten together, but it had never been like this. Like pleasure was bursting from the seams of his corporation, and then love was filling up the cracks. He found his mouth level with one of the angel’s nipples so he kissed it, a weak action to express the overwhelming surge of emotion.

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s nipples were always very sensitive and Crowley knew that. “Crowley you’re so good. I-I’m going to come darling, I’m going to come in you--!”

Crowley felt, actually felt, the angel come inside him. There was wetness, and throbbing, and Crowley rode him through it into his own orgasm, which hit him so hard he actually screamed. He may have slowed down time too, just a little, to extend their pleasure beyond what would normally be possible. By the time he let things go back to normal, he was shuddering, curled up on the angel’s chest with Aziraphale’s hands in his hair, stroking softly. Everything was hot and damp, but in a way that was enjoyable rather than disgusting.

“Are you back with me, dear?” Aziraphale asked softly, continuing to pet at Crowley’s curls. “That was a wicked trick, turning off time like that. You’ve worn yourself out.”

“Ngk.” There was a burning in his legs and a breathlessness in his chest that was just this side of unpleasant. Maybe stopping time to prolong one’s orgasm was a little much for the human form he wore. “Angel?”

“I’m here, dearest. What do you need?” Aziraphale, ever the gentleman bastard, grinned. “You feel very good, so loose and relaxed around my cock.”

It was then that Crowley, in his post-orgasm glow, realized that Aziraphal was still hard inside him, rocking very gently as to not overstimulate the poor demon. The moment Crowley became aware of it, it was like he couldn’t get enough, whimpering pathetically into Aziraphale’s light smattering of chest hair with renewed arousal.

“You know,” Aziraphale started and his voice was soft but also had a dark, foreboding twinge to it, “it can take some couples many times to, ah, conceive. It would be in our best interest to, well, to give it a go as much as we can. Unless it’s too much for you.”

Maybe it was too much, but Crowley liked too much. Too much alcohol, too much speed (of the driving, and the illegal substance variety), too much Aziraphale. He loved it all, craved it even. Determined to show his angel just how on board he was Crowley ground down weakly. Not enough to get anything done, but enough that Aziraphale would feel it.

“I can keep going,” he mumbled, barely able to get more than a few thrusts in before his tired legs gave up. “I want it.”

Aziraphale smiled down at him and placed a kiss on Crowley’s head. “Good. Let me just--” Aziraphale tipped them sideways this time, then rolled Crowley over more so his back was against the angel’s chest. This time his cock did come out, and Crowley made a little noise of discontent as he felt come and his own slick leak out over his thighs. “Just a tick dear. Lift your leg? Good boy, thank you.”

If the angel kept going on like that Crowley wasn’t going to last, which was alright, because the demon would let Aziraphale fuck him for as long as he liked. Crowley would be happy to lay here and receive anything Aziraphale wanted to give him and to bask in the attention and love. Especially after thinking they were done for, especially after having to face the idea that one of the last conversations he would have had with the most important person in his entire was mostly an argument. The tears came back again and this time they ran down his face freely, soaking the pillow. At least he was facing away and Aziraphale wouldn’t see them.

Then Aziraphale was guiding his cock back inside and Crowley was throwing his head back against his shoulder. If possible, it felt even better than the first time. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was the extra lubrication from Azirapahle’s cum, or the oversensitivity, but he felt like he was floating outside of himself, tethered only by the grounding span of Aziraphale’s hands around his waist and the occasional jap to his sweet spot. Everything felt so good and perfect, like pieces slotting together to become whole again after an eternity apart.

“Love you,” he cried, unable to keep all of his messy emotions from spilling out. Crowley was a mess of tears, and sweat, and pure adoration. “Aziraphale I--oh shit--I love you!”

“Mmm, so sweet for me Crowley. I adore you, I want--” Aziraphale whined when Crowley clenched down at the praise. “I want to--to make you--you’ll look so good, carrying our baby--oh God, Crowley!”

Their previously slow speed began to devolve into something more rapid and desperate as they both reached their peaks. Aziraphale, ever mindful of Crowly’s pleasure trailed a hand down his chest and belly to grind his palm against Crowley’s clit. Not that it was strictly necessary; Crowley was going to come from the wet slide of Aziraphale inside him anyway. He forced his eyes to open and his head to fall back so he could both be as close to the angel as possible, and watch the moment when Aziraphale filled him with his come.

“An-gel,” he gasped, watching the way each thrust made a little come ooze from his swollen cunt. “Angel I--please come with me--Come with me!”

Divine Ecstasy, or something close to it, shot through him in blinding waves as he came. Aziraphale shouted as well, wordlessly clinging to Crowley and once again coming inside him. Crowley was shaking violently, his eyes rolled back and it looked almost violent even though it was exactly the opposite. He was carried away inside his mind and all he could feel was pleasure and love and peaceful, beautiful completion.

When he came back to himself his face was pressed into the pillows and he was making the most embarrassing little noises with each breath. Behind him Aziraphale was mumbling little nonsense phrases peppered with praise. Crowley focused in on that even though his body wanted him to focus on the fullness he could feel down below and the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t pulling out. He must have remembered from a few days ago, when Crowley complained and that send a thrill of confused, loving arousal through him.

“Ngh,” he forced out weakly, just to let Aziraphale know he was conscious and alright, more than alright even. “Az…?”

“M’here, Crowley, I’ve got you.” The demon sagged and flopped a hand down to his stomach over the concave expanse of his hips. Some strange emotions welled up inside him and he found himself crying again. Aziraphale must have heard the sniffles because he turned Crowley around and tucked him underneath his chin. “Shh, dear, it’s alright.”

“I’m OK.” He was, really. Things were just getting away from him a little bit. “M’happy and I love you.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale smile against his temple. “Oh good. I-I,” a pause while the angel took a deep breath, “I thought I was going to lose you again Crowley. First during our fight and then when Heaven and Hell showed up on our doorstep.”

“Me too,” Crowley whispered, tilting his head up. “I thought I fucked everything up and you were going to leave me, and then they showed up and--” Aziraphale quieted him with a kiss, hummingbird quick and soft.

“I know dear, I felt the same. But it’s ok now, and I’m sorry for pushing you before. I think--I believe I understand what you were worried about a little bit better.”

Crowley made a little noise of contentment and settled back down onto Aziraphale’s chest. “S’ok, it all worked out in the end.” He took one of Aziraphale’s hand and held it over his belly. “Besides, you know our kid’s gonna be half-demon right? You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“They’ll be half-angel too, you know,” Aziraphale laughed, flattening out his hand over Crowley’s non-existent belly. “They’ll be something completely new.”

“Something we made,” Crowley agreed. “Can you believe it? I don’t think I can.”

Aziraphale’s hand wandered down, past Crowley’s stomach to between his legs. It was too sensitive, and just sensitive enough. Crowley whimpered pathetically and clung to his angel’s shoulders, not sure if he should pull away or try to get closer.

“Well my dear, I guess I haven’t done my job well enough then, have I? I’d better work a little harder to get you do believe it.” Limp with overstimulation, Crowley could only moan and take everything Aziraphale give him, which he did gladly.

#fanfic #good omens #gomens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale #crowziraphale #tw mpreg #pregnancy

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cleverwolfpoetry · 6 years

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Psycho-pass Movie Novel Chapter 4 - Final Part

Sorry, sorry, sorry for making you wait for so long, it may take me some time but I’ve not stopped working on Psycho-pass novels at all. Two jobs and a family are not easy to handle. Anyway, here we are with the final part of chapter 4.

As always, the sentences in italics are the characters thoughts.

The line of vehicles had been arranged in a huge elevator as it was. It didn’t give the sense of being on the top of a building, that huge elevator. Large as a soccer ground, it was climbing steeply the city tower, heart of Shambala Float. When the elevator came to a stop with a loud sound, the top floors of the city tower opened up to the eye with their magnificent view. The sky gardens of Krita Yuga. A lot of green — not artificial, but real plants growing everywhere. One could tell at first sight they were real because of the taste of the refreshing air.

In the pictures: the huge elevator and the sky gardens of Krita Yuga.

The rest after the cut…

Positioned across the large courtyard, the Chairman’s official residence was a compromise between the colonial style and a medieval palace. Got off the car, Tsunemori’s group stepped into the Chairman’s official residence. Rather than human soldiers, security drones made in Japan were overwhelmingly larger in number. Under Nicholas’ guidance, she advanced all the way to a special parlor.

“Excuse me”

Walking through a thick door made of the best mahogany wood, she stepped firmly onto a luxury carpet.

Chuan Han, the SEAUn’s Chairman, was already sitting at the head of the table far from the entrance.

“I am Tsunemori Akane, Inspector at the Japanese Ministry of Welfare’s Public Safety Bureau”

“I am Chuan Han”

Han went to offer his hand to Tsunemori who was standing up. She answered with a rather unconvinced smile.

“Surely I didn’t think that the Chairman would have met me personally”

“The thing is that I am very interested in you”

“Ah…”

Han sat down. Then, he invited Tsunemori to take a sit too.

A dictator, leader of the military clan — . Though she had been told so, she hadn’t realized straight away*. An intelligent elderly man, well-trained for his age and dressed in a custom-made suit that really suited him.

“Our Shambala Float. How is it? I would really like to hear your impressions as an inspector from Japan, birthplace of the Sibyl System”

“I think that even with limited machineries and materials, you’re searching for the best way. However, you still have many things left to do…”

“Ah ah ah, this is harsh”

Han laughed in a businesslike manner.

“…this time, I’ve been told I can receive your help in the international investigation?”

“The man you’re after, I heard he’s a terrorist who’s supporting the guerrilla, isn’t it?”

— the fugitive Kougami Shinya.

“…we have such a suspicion but…”

“About the measures against guerrilla in this country, I simply want to repress it. I don’t call that an investigation”

Even while laughing, Han was intimidating her with an inner glow in his eyes.

However, Tsunemori also stared back at him without flinching.

“Won’t I receive help?”

“…of course you will, you’ll receive unstinting aid. Only, the situation of this country and even its foundation are different with the ones of your country. I hope I can get your understanding at least on that”

“…I understand”

“In case you go out of this special district of Shambala and visit the key facilities, always act together with the guard that’s been arranged here”

“Together…with the guard?”

“Is it a nuisance?”

“No…”

Han looked towards Nicholas,

“I’m counting on you. Treat her right”

“Leave it to me”

It had been arranged that Tsunemori would stay in the residence for foreign important guests located in a corner of Krita Yuga’s sky gardens. Despite its name of vip guest house, hers wasn’t a place where people with a status of heads of state or ministers stayed for the night, but a relatively modest sleeping quarters for the retinue. RELATIVELY MODEST* — . And yet, it was doubtlessly the same class one could find in the suites of first category hotels. A loft structure built in a cottage-style mainly made of grained wood. She could enjoy the city view from the big windows.

The self-moving suitcase had reached the room first.

“Open case”

At Tsunemori’s words, the suitcase opened on its own.

The contents were scarce, the bare minimum. However, Tsunemori noticed a pouch she didn’t remember placing inside that case and let out a doubtful “mm?”. When she picked it up to examine it, she saw it was accompanied by a card with Karanomori Shion’s kiss mark.

On the card, the sentence “open it if you’re in trouble”.

“Geez, Shion-san…”

She appropriately took off her shoes and clothes and lied down on the bed.

“Ha…”

Tsunemori opened the documents she had previously prepared in Japan on her portable terminal. Visual and written data got displayed one by one on the holographic monitor.

— Chuan Han. Former General of the Army. The Shogun leading the military which has fought for the hegemony on the union.

He gained the support of Japanese Government on condition that he created a special district governed by Sibyl within SEAUn’s territory and overwhelmed the rival powers. He founded the newborn Parliament.

However, the voice opposing to the political power obtained through the military force hasn’t stopped, and the situation within the territory is unstable as ever. Even in the special district of the maritime Shambala Float, the arrangements for a strict defense are ongoing by means of a collection of unmanned weapons…

The terrorist group who entered Japan illegally…after all, I guess they are members of the antigovernment guerrilla. Han’s power base lies just in the Japanese Government’s support. The distant Sibyl System is the one supporting Shambala Float. Military drones. So, has Tōkyō become a target of retaliation terrorism…?

At that moment, the room interphone announced a visitor.

“Excuse me, may I come in?”

“Ah, yes”

A young girl dressed in modest maid clothing stepped into the room. She must have been around 14 years old, right? A healthy brown skin and lovely round eyes. She was wearing that collar showing she was a latent criminal.

“I am honored to look after you. My name is Nyan Yō. If you need anything, I’m at your service”

“I am glad to meet you too”

“I can surely arrange your meal immediately. I don’t have to care about access restriction so, if you let me link to your portable terminal, I also shall be able to receive your order through that. Even late at night me or my coworkers will meet your requests. Besides, I was told by Nicholas-sama that in case you go out, as long as it’s a building classified as restricted or ‘the other side of the bridge’, there is no problem even if you move by yourself, Tsunemori-sama”

“I see”

“As the restriction on buying and selling of alcoholic products is going to start in a week thanks to the System’s influence, if you want to try some this is the right time. For the time being, you can control entirely the room features with the touch panel on your bedside table. If you need a holo avatar…”

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“It’s a personal question so, is it right for you?”

“If I can answer…”

“This…life you’re leading at ‘Shambala’, is it happy?”

After smiling in a slight melancholic way, Yō answered.

“…of course”

“But, that collar… it must be a menace for you. In the worst case it could even take away your life*”

“If I can keep my psycho-pass stable enough I will be safe, isn’t it so?”

“…I’m sorry. Manners here are different from Japan’s, I can’t get used to it no matter what…”

“No, don’t apologize like this…”

“Does it mean that you approve a domination by means of Sibyl System? Even if it was that collar?”

“The inhabitants of this island, every one of them is really thankful to Chairman Han who introduced the Sibyl System”

“…”

“…not so long ago, there were no safe places everywhere in this country”

Night came on. The real investigation activity would have been tomorrow. Tsunemori had decided to eat dinner in the busy quarters of Dvapara Yuga lower stories. The bustling streets extended outwards from the base of the city tower. That was the place for middle class citizens with good hue and psycho-pass rather that for the wealthy class. It wasn’t as much a mess as the ‘outside’ of the city on the water but it was rather disorderly.

Tsunemori let her guard down if only just a little at the night view of the new refreshing country. Even the huge images casted by the Japan-made hologram devices had a rich exotic charm and the religious mood was quite strong. A combined atmosphere of labyrinths and a lot of towers — the lower story was like encircled by walls. Even though it should have been a cramped space, the view of the holograms was open and distorted the sense of distance.

She roamed absent-mindedly around the bustling streets.

What a hot country — .

The hot air of the daytime still remained on the floor surface of the mega-float. She wiped lightly the sweat formed on her forehead and entered a street with stalls all lined up. There were some stalls selling food and others selling small furniture and accessories.

Tsunemori didn’t enter a restaurant but an eatery with a cheap appearance. She mingled with the local people and ate South-eastern Asia’s typical dishes. A Vietnamese spring roll* made of shrimps and vegetables. A salad with coriander and an acidic dressing. Curry with chicken and potatoes. The curry had a taste different from the Japanese one, the red pepper paste and coconut milk had been dosed with just the right balance. Even if she was tired, that dish tasted like she could eat as much as she liked.

— this heat makes me thirsty.

The sweaty shirt was sticking to Tsunemori’s skin. As in the upper stories the air conditioning was impeccable, it was not probable that this sensation could be tasted there.

Tsunemori, who had finished her meal, bought a bottled beer at a stall. She was slightly surprised because the old man of the stall used an anachronistic unfamiliar utensil called ‘bottle opener’. There was a small park on an elevated ground that allowed to look down on the bustling streets, Tsunemori leaned against a railing there and drank directly from the bottle. A cold beer. The carbon dioxide fizzed in her throat and a refreshing taste popped inside the chest.

“…”

May I have gotten drunk — ? Tsunemori looked at the ghosts*.

Kagari Shusei, Masaoka Tomomi, Funehara Yuki had gathered around her before she could notice it. Everyone sent to Tsunemori an affectionate glance that seemed to ask her ‘Are you well?’ ‘Are you happy?’

If Kougami Shinya was here, things would be completely like in the past— .

(ah…that’s right)

— maybe in my subconscious I was comparing the Division 1 I had been initially assigned to with the present Division 1.

A good team. The Division 1 from the times Tsunemori was still a newbie. Even now, somewhere deep in her heart, the feeling that they were the best team at those days was still remaining. Even after the Makishima case had been solved, she couldn’t get rid of that feeling. If Kougami, Kagari or Masaoka teamed up with the present Ginoza become an enforcer, what kind of job would have they done?

“That’s not good…isn’t it?”

Unintentionally, I can’t but think about things fallen apart.

Livening up, she swallowed the remained beer.

NOTES TO TRANSLATION:

*Though she had been told so, she hadn’t realized straight away: a little explanation of this sentence cause it may sound not clear. In Akane’s mind, Han’s interest for her doesn’t make sense. Why should a politician, leader of the country, dictator, etc., be interested in a common woman like her? At that moment, she doesn’t understand the reason and smiles unconvinced. Then Has tells her that he wanna hear her opinion about Shambala…well, there may be other reasons to be interested in her. After all he is one of the brains of Sibyl, but we can only make suppositions about it.

*RELATIVELY MODEST: I guess that after 4 chapters you already know why it’s written in capital letters. Same reason of all the other parts: in the book this sentence is written with dots above the kanjis.

*it could even take away your life: I’d like to point out this sentence in the text. Instead of using the verb 殺す (to kill), the author used the verb 命を奪うtake away your life (literally to steal your life). I like to think (but it’s just my personal thought) that it is a way to underline how Akane is always attentive to life and how she keeps it as precious, as her grandma used to say to her.

*Vietnamese spring roll: in Japanese namaharumaki (生春巻き), in Vietnamite it’s called Ram. Ram is always made from whole shell-on shrimp or chopped deshelled shrimp and some green onion, wrapped in rice paper and deep fried. Ram, like most specialty food items from central Vietnam, are not widely available in Vietnamese restaurant overseas. (from Wikipedia).

* ghosts: the word used in the Japanese text is 幻 (まぼろし) that means both ghost/ phantom and illusion/vision/dream. Both of the meaning are really fit for the situation.

Thanks for reading and always supporting me!!!

For more psycho-pass translations you can browse the indexes on my website.

#psycho pass translations #psycho pass movie novel #chapter 4 final part #tsunemori akane

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