#man though i am so afraid that crowley really might turn out to have been revaan this whole time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jadziajay · 7 months

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a scene from my current wip, which i am calling a reverse-reverse au!

essentially, this collab with my new friend sasha asks the question: what if vinylatte were the ineffables, but nina were much more akin to angel!crowley and maggie to demon!aziraphale? nina still owns her coffee shop, and she brings sweets over to aziraphale sometimes :) this is one such time...

[...] “Here you are, Az,” she said, and shifted the box in her grip. She found that nicknames were a good way of sounding more human, on the whole. That and a healthy sprinkling of curse words. “All your favourites. Strawberry and lemon and those fuckin’ weird blackcurrant ones.”

“Oh!” said Aziraphale. “Thank you, Nina! Just set them over there, if you please.”

He gave this directive from beneath a veritable mountain of books – piles and piles of them, some stacked as high as his head, others pouring out of brown boxes. It almost looked like he was just moving in, but of course that was impossible, because he had always been here if you took the straightforward view of reality that you were really supposed to, post-Antichrist. Nina picked through the mess with her habitual grace.

“Restructuring again, then?”

“Oh, yes,” sighed Aziraphale, and stood up. He had on a sweater vest in cream argyle, and his glasses, which he removed to look at her. “Nothing for it, I’m afraid. Just got in a shipment I’d been waiting on for months and now I’m all turned around.”

Privately, Nina thought that this was an issue that might have been solved by an organisational model such as the Dewey decimal system, rather than alphabetical (if you were lucky) by whatever Mr. Fell felt like on a given day. She laid the box on his desk, a shock of white among the brown, and debated a miraculous intervention.

She liked him, was the problem. It was shockingly difficult to dislike Aziraphale, and Nina had tried. She loved all of God’s creatures, naturally, and had something roughly equivalent to the gruff protective instinct of a big sister for humanity, but that in no way meant that she had to like them, and she had taken that to heart somewhere around the Crusades. Sometimes, though, there came a human like Aziraphale that threatened all her hard work at distance.

Here was a man who came along to rent out the corner shop that had sat gathering dust for forty years and refused to sell a single book there because he loved them too much to let go – a man who sewed his own elbow patches onto authentic vintage coats, who took his tea with four sugars and honey, who read his Bible and only took the bits he felt were relevant to living well. Here was a man who did good, not Good, and was just enough of a bastard about it to be worth knowing. Nina couldn’t possibly feel anything for him but a begrudging warmth.

“How much?” he asked, tilting his head toward the box of macaron she had spent the better part of two hours filling to order.

“Nope,” she said, and marvelled at herself. She shook her head sharply when he went to protest.

“Oh, really now, I insist.”

“Keep your money, Mr. Fell,” Nina said, with a thread of divine power in it – mostly because she didn’t have the patience to do this back-and-forth for another ten minutes, and he was so fucking English that he would. He blinked, slowly, owlishly, and put his pocketbook away.

“Well,” he said, at length. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“What can I say? I’m a right angel, me. Anything else?”

She watched him fidget – he folded the arms of his glasses, tucked them into his pocket, and smoothed out a series of nonexistent creases in his trousers. It was a bit like watching a baby duck faffing around with its feathers, and Nina tried very hard not to find it endearing. She wondered sometimes if he was one of theirs that got lost in the system somewhere, but Heaven didn’t up and lose things, unless you counted the Antichrist, which you shouldn’t, because he wasn’t, and so there was nothing to have lost. (She sort of wished she couldn’t remember that; it gave her metaphysical headaches to think about.)

“I’m having a bit of a get-together,” he said eventually. “A- a ball, of sorts, if you like. Just a little something for the neighbourhood, to liven things up. The shopkeepers’ meetings do get terribly repetitive, after awhile, and I know they aren’t your… thing, really, but it would mean ever so much if you came just this once.”

Nina levelled the sort of stare at him that she generally reserved for the Archangel Gabriel. It was appraising in the way that Heaven was best at; not quite cold, but with a depth.

“Will there be alcohol?”

“But of course,” said Aziraphale. A spark of mischief caught in his eye, winnowing the anxiety that had been roiling there down to nothing. “Do you really think I’d ask anyone to deal with Mister Brown sober? No, my dear girl, that would certainly fall under cruel and unusual.”

She almost laughed. It was a soft huff of a thing laid under a smirk; more than most people ever got, and he knew it, too. He didn’t wait for a further answer, reaching into the box nearest him and withdrawing from it three leatherbound copies of Anna Karenina.

“Oh!” he said, and clicked his fingers. “And you’re welcome to bring Maggie along, of course. How is she, the dear? I don’t think I’ve seen her in… well, in quite some time!”

“How should I know?” said Nina, nonplussed. Aziraphale gave a small, awkward smile that read, more than anything, politely confused.

“Well, she is your wife, isn’t she?”

There was a profound pause. Nina experienced a complex mixture of emotions over the space of about a second, of which she identified both an animal fear and a sharp, unfortunate want.

“What,” she said, and then “no.” And then “why would you– never mind.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, and looked down.

#vinylatte #nina x maggie #ninamaggie #ineffable husbands #not really but they will be in the finished fic i swear!!#aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #my fic #:)

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ourcwnside · 7 months

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☯ + aziraphale asking to be brought to hell (Azi or crowleys pov whichever strikes Inspo first )

Send me '☯ + a scene from my characters canon' and I will drabble it from my character's POV. | Accepting

The angel sits, staring out across the vast stretch of water, watching the sunlight dancing across the surface. It's beautiful. All of it, not just the view laid out before him, but every last piece of Her glorious creation. His hands tremble and his eyes well with tears; when will he be allowed to behold such beauty again? Will he, ever? Does he even deserve to, after what he's done?

There is the sound of approaching footsteps, and Aziraphale turns, entirely unsurprised to see Crawley.

"Ah, yes. I thought perhaps they might send you."

It's only fitting, isn't it? The demon he was temporarily not on different sides with ought to be the one to escort him to his fate. A deep breath, and he stands.

"Well. I'm ready to go." Liar. Liar. He's not ready, he's never been more afraid---but he's done this to himself, hasn't he? However gravely he has failed as an angel, he can at least accept his fate with grace and dignity. Or, if nothing else, the appearance of such.

"Go where?"

"To hell."

The demon sits himself upon the stone and declares, "I'm not taking you to hell, angel. I don't think you'd like it."

Aziraphale turns fully towards Crawley now, blue eyes still brimming, and wishing that the demon's eyes were also exposed, so he could try to read them, see if this was some cruel joke on the part of hell to give him false hope only to snatch it away at the last moment. But...that doesn't seem like Crawley, does it? Not the Crawley that saved Job's children and flock. Would he really be so cruel as to give Aziraphale hope and then snatch it away? Aziraphale doesn't think so, and yet---

"But...I'm like you now," he chokes out. "A demon."

And Crawley laughs. Laughs and mocks him. Several of the angel's tears finally spill over, the ridicule being the final straw that shakes him loose from his attempts to appear calm and collected.

"I'm a fallen angel!" he cries, and the outburst silences the demon's laughter. Crawley's expression grows serious as Aziraphale expounds in shaky tones. "I lied...to thwart the will of God..."

"Well, yeah, you did do that. But I'm not gonna tell anybody. Are you?"

Aziraphale stares at Crawley and then shakes his head, though his gaze darts about briefly, as though expecting there to be others nearby---more demons, maybe, or even Gabriel, ready to punish him twofold for this new lie (for is a lie by omission not still a lie?).

"Then nothing has to change, does it?" Crawley says it like it's so simple. Almost harmless. But how can anything that would directly contradict the Almighty be harmless?

But then again, how can the suffering of a good man and the deaths of innocent children be harmless?

Slowly, Aziraphale sinks back down onto the stone where he had been sitting. He has questions, so many of them, not the least of which is why a demon would show an angel...well, to call it what it is, kindness. For it is a kindness, to keep a secret that would surely damn him, even when revealing the truth would most certainly be what hell would want, if they only knew.

Why would Crawley show him this...this mercy? What sort of a demon was he? For that matter---

"But...what am I?" the last question is voiced aloud, and Aziraphale looks to the demon for answers, something he would never have imagined doing prior to this moment.

"You're just an angel who goes along with heaven as far as he can."

"That sounds, um..." Aziraphale can't get the words out. He keeps glancing upwards, as though fearful that She is listening.

"Lonely?" Crawley offers; Aziraphale nods. "Yeah."

"But you said it wasn't."

"I'm a demon," there's an almost undetectable trace of melancholy in his answer. "I lied."

And then no more is said. Angel and demon sit, side by side, lonely together, for the first time.

#✦ goes along with heaven as far as he can — ⊰aziraphale⊱#{ longer than I intended but oh well }

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twistedmusings · 3 years

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Wake Up From Your Dream

A/N: I don't even know what I can SAY to this one except...I think I was so angry at not writing that I wrote smut outta SPITE? Can I be so angry with myself that I write Malleus smut to just get something out there? I guess I can. Anyways this ask certainly let my imagination fly q wq

Warnings: Non-con making its way into dub-con, manipulation, impregnating sex and Malleus realizing that family is really important.

You needed to find your way back to Night Raven College.

It has been so long since you’ve been back there, laughing and walking around as if there was no trouble in the world. Nevermind that you weren’t anywhere close to home and nevermind that your family was seeking you out.

As long as there was a possibility of you finding your way home, you had pretended that everything was going to be alright.

You were still a stranger to this world, you had no ties to this world and there would be no reason for you to stay once Crowley found your way back home. It was wonderful making friends with such a variety of people and watching them all grow in their own way. The way you knew you would grow from this experience as well.

Watching Ace and Deuce really come into themselves and their Unique Magic, watching the dorm leaders step into their positions of power and truly start to make a name for themselves that would help them out in their own version of the ‘real’ world. Riddle had gotten a wonderful position befitting of his family name, Leona was actually graduating, Azul was said to open a Monstro Lounge in the Coral Sea while Kalim had started investing time in his father’s trade without having Jamil help him. Even Idia was starting to take strides in his own field!

And you were proudest of Malleus. One simple conversation outside of Ramshackle had turned into a friendship you thought you would never forget. It was so wonderful to see him interact more with students, shyly following after you as you pushed him to talk more to others despite his position. That was what college was for, right? To experience new things and find your future--

You just didn’t think that Malleus would take it that far.

Was it because he was spoiled? No, even though he was born in a monarchy he still did his best to remain kind to others, especially his subjects. You were sure he was going to make a kind king in the future, even if you never got to see with your own two eyes.

You pull the hood over your head as you enter a bath house, the fae receiving you with a curious look and a smile as you hand her 2000 madols.

“Will you be booking a room tonight as well?”

“Just a simple shower and bath, that is all.”

If you were to make a guess, you were in the borders of the Valley of Thorns, a more rural area compared to the now rather modernized capital. You had stolen enough money to get you by for a few trips and you knew that places like these were the best at getting you directions. It had been a bit of a grueling trip, testing your knowledge of the fae language as well as avoiding questions about who you were and why you so desperately needed to make your way back to such a prestigious college. In a sense, you kept it minimal.

You needed to get back home.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

The mantra you kept repeating to yourself was whispered under your breath as you removed your articles of clothing slowly, still looking around to see if anybody had followed you in. But this is what was raising all of the hairs on your body, wasn’t it? This constant vigilance that didn’t let you sleep at night. You needed to relax, no one else would come this far.

You feel the fatigue melt as several days of walking are washed right off your body, a smile slowly creeping up on your face as you wash the dirt and oil from your hair.

It would be fine.

You would make it to Night Raven College and sneak into the Hall of Mirrors before wishing yourself back home. Crowley had said that they had pinned down the world you lived in and only after you make your wish would the connection be broken. This most likely meant that the connection was still intact since you didn’t even get a chance to to look at the mirror before you were whisked away.

Everything was going to work itself out, that’s the most you could promise yourself.

The bath is heavenly, the temperate water cooling you down from the hot shower as you look around.

There were no other patrons.

“Good.”

You lean back and press your head against a soft pillow of towels, enjoying the silence as you feel your worries soften while thinking back to what you would do when you were back home. It had been so long since you’ve seen some of your friends, your family was probably worried sick and you still had your own plans you wanted to get through.

If you had time, you could maybe drop by to see how your first year friends were doing?

Or were they in their third year now?

Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?

Your eyes close as you let yourself relax entirely, almost succumbing to sleep.

Only for a hand to grab your throat, the other covering your eyes as you hear a familiar chuckle that tenses your body up and breaks your heart.

“I am afraid we will have to postpone this shower.”

Tears well up in the corner of your eyes as you hear the sound of footsteps into the area, most likely the royal guard.

“Lilia--”

“You’d do well to stay put lest they chase after you.”

The hands covering your eyes pull back as you see a teasing smile looking down pitifully at your fresh set of tears.

“It has taken far too long to find you, Your Majesty.”

-----

“HUMAN!”

“[Y/N]-san!”

Lilia smiles as he leads you by the hand, the royal guard following close behind as Sebek and Silver join him.

“He might have already woken up, Father.”

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? DO YOU KNOW WHAT MY YOUNG MASTER HAS GONE THROUGH?”

“Sebek.” Lilia looks at his charge, “Quiet. Malleus might still be sleeping.”

Silver takes one peek at you, trying to meet your gaze but pulling away when he sees that the veil Lilia had put on you is blocking anybody’s stares from seeing your face. In fact, the second in command had put you in one of the traditional outfits for fae royalty, complete with a light veil that flowed down from the silver circlet placed on your head.

“Excellent.”

Lilia turns his attention to you and laughs.

“He has been absolutely miserable since you left. It was quite a surprise to all of us when you managed to leave the palace walls. None of us thought that you had really done it, especially him, and it really was a hassle to search the palace up and down to see just where our little human had run off to.”

His voice drops to a whisper as he brings your hand up to his lips.

“I’ll make sure to punish you for that later.”

The older fae leads you along as you finally reach your destination, smiling as he knocks on large wooden doors while pushing you slightly to stand in front of everybody.

An answer he was going to get by the end of the night.

“Malleus.”

No answer. He tests the doors and nods when he sees they are unlocked, opening them as he leads you to step inside so that you both could see the figure drenched in moonlight, looking out the window as if awaiting for an answer.

Lilia waits for his other charge to say anything but shrugs as he looks at you with a smile and a bow.

“We are glad to have you back, Your Majesty.”

The door closes with a loud click as you turn your eyes to look up at the imposing figure, your nails digging into your fingertips enough to draw blood as you try to hold back from screaming and shouting at him to stop acting like such a child. Yet you do not wish to anger him, at least to save yourself from any sort of harsher punishment.

So instead you make your way over to the bed--

Only for the fae to turn around, grab your wrist and slam your back into the rough stone wall. Bright green eyes glare down at you as you wince in pain, still looking away from him but letting out a yelp when Malleus’s fingers grab your chin and force you to look at him in the eye.

“Why did you run?”

He really had no idea, did he?

“Because I don’t belong here--”

Malleus tightens his hold on your wrist.

“We’ve discussed this before, child of man, you belong here just like anybody else, you are my Queen--”

“Malleus wake UP!”

You push against his hold but the fae’s hold gets tighter, most likely leaving a mark. But that wouldn’t deter you, not anymore, you were going to tell him.

“I’m not from this world! Coming to Twisted Wonderland was just an accident! A stupid, stupid accident that no one bothered to fix! And just when we were close to making it right you---you--!”

Shit, you’re crying again.

“I have people waiting for me. Just like you had a family waiting for you. I came to the Valley of Thorns thinking that I was supporting you during your coronation but you just--made a decision entirely by yourself and announced me as yours! Why did you lie to me? To them?!”

Malleus’s hold softens as you finally let your tears flow freely, wishing to wipe them away only due to how weak they were making you look.

“...did you not say you loved me?”

“I did! I did but--Malleus after what you did I can’t--”

He lets go of your wrist only to cup your face as he leans down to press his lips on your cheek, his tongue licking up the warm tears as you grab hold of his wrists to try and push him away.

“Do you miss your family?”

You nod as he moves to kiss the corner of your eyes.

“More than anything…”

The dragon fae hums, letting his lips stay where they were a few seconds longer before chuckling as he pulls you close.

“I see--I really have been cruel to you, haven’t I?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat at his words, hands clutching at his robes as you quickly nod. Maybe this was it, maybe it had taken you breaking down to let him see reason?

Please. Please!

“...A family.”

Malleus’s words are like dripped honey as a thought formed in his head, the thought taking shape and form as his hands clutched you tighter.

“Then we’ll just need to make a family of our own…”

-----

Hands clutch at his sheets as Malleus takes in the shape under him.

How beautiful could you be? How complex? To him it was as if not a day had passed since you first met. What had been mere curiosity had delved into deep affection and blossomed into a love that Malleus would only read about in fairytales. The sort of books that led him to believe in soulmates, in happily ever after’s and the possibility of spending the rest of your life with the one you loved.

And yes, you weren’t a fae, but the power of his magic was grand enough to keep you tied to him for the rest of eternity.

His lips can’t help but seek out yours as he thinks about how he is the one who will decide when you die.

This love hadn’t started out like this. What he felt for you had been a bit more relaxed, a lot softer and dreamier. You had confessed to him after his Overblot incident and he had gladly accepted your feelings. He was still keen on finding you a way home and promised himself to not let any moment be wasted in thinking how you soon would be far away from him.

Every day was spent happily with you, the rest of the school year flying by as you both enjoyed the time you still had together.

But Malleus was still a dragon at heart, a fae that yearned and longed to take and take.

So when thoughts about you leaving started to make their way to the forefront of his mind, not even your constant love and affection could keep him from his instincts.

You would leave him to go back to your world. Go back to the normal and the familiar. As you walked your path, you would eventually find someone that enchanted you the way he had, all ending with you walking down a beautiful aisle to your now beloved.

A person that wasn’t...him.

As the days of his third year started to run to a close, his hold on you had become a lot tighter, his kisses a lot more possessive and in the end he had invited you to watch his coronation as he entered his fourth and final year.

With his announcement of making you his Queen.

“Malleus! Please I can’t--I’m not ready--!”

He let Lilia make up some story about you not returning to Night Raven, fooling Crowley into believing that you had found your future in the Valley of Thorns with him. The announcement of you taking up the role of Queen had been surprising but Malleus had woven the story in such a way that there had been talks of having it printed for others to read.

It was a wonderful ending to your love story, you ending up in his arms. But something was missing…

Malleus was glad that you had given him the answer.

Both of your knees were on either side of his waist, your hands clutching at whatever they could as his cock buried itself deep into your cunt. The veil was long forgotten as his robes and your own are thrown carelessly around the room while you wail and scream at being broken into by such a thick length. The small sight of blood on his cock made Malleus smile as he pushed in further, the tightness that was pushing him back slowly opening up for him as he watched you do your best to fit him inside.

It would be fine, you would be fine.

With a growl he finally bottoms out, two hands holding your hips and forcing you down to take all of him as the tip of his cock pressed right under your womb--

He shivers as you tighten up again, leaning down to lick up the trail of tears on your cheek before eating up your tiny whimpers with a hungry kiss.

“Here...right here is where our family will start.”

A large hand takes yours as Malleus puts it right over the small bulge on your stomach, your eyes growing wide as you realize just how deep inside he is. He kisses you again, not daring to break away as he lets a trail of saliva dangle from his lips to yours, the clear liquid disappearing into your mouth as your body relaxed and your eyes grew hazy.

“Do you love me, child of man?”

It was a simple question, but your brain seemed muddled from his kiss. Dragons tended to excrete a certain liquid as they got ready to mate, the experience painful even within his own species but being eased with the help of saliva, sweat or cum.

And with the way he was pressed against you, his sweat matted on your skin as he let more of his spit drip down his tongue and onto yours...surely the answer would come the more you two worked to start your family.

Malleus hardly gave you any time to recover as he started to move, his eyes entranced with the way he disappeared into you with each thrust. Your mind was still muddled but your body was already eagerly accepting him, your legs wrapping around him slowly before locking him in place as he repeated the question.

“Do you love me, child of man?”

You open your mouth but the only word that comes out is a plea for him to go faster.

Which Malleus gladly listens to.

It didn’t take long for him to start pounding into you at a brutal pace, every thrust having the tip of his cock slamming against your womb as your toes curled from the pleasure of taking him so deep. His cock disappeared inside your tiny cunt, shaft now coated not just with blood but with your arousal as well. The bed creaked in protest while the sounds of the bed frame hitting the wall helped him keep time, Malleus leaning back down to kiss you again as your lips this time part eagerly and sucked on his tongue while your hands clutched his shoulders and horns.

Cries turned into happy moans, your sad and abandoned look now one of pure ecstasy as your pussy flutters and tightens around him, pushing him to go harder and harder so he could---!

“[Y/N]--!”

Your legs close tighter around him as you bury your face on the crook of his neck, your orgasm being ripped from you unexpectedly as Malleus halted his movements with a stiff body. He drops his head on your shoulder as your legs keep him in place.

“Malleus...ah--!”

He groans as he paints the inside of your walls white, the warmth of his cum filling your womb to the point that what you hadn’t taken merely dripped out onto the now stained sheets. Malleus lifts his head to look down at you, smiling as he sees your eyes staring up at him eagerly despite how much you had protested before.

“A family…”

You smile as Malleus nods, your hands going all the way to your stomach as you feel the warmth start to twist your brain even more.

“A family with you…how wonderful…”

Arms wrap around him as Malleus kisses a trail from your shoulder to your lips. He just needed to ask you one last time.

“Do you love me, child of man?”

With a hum, your answer is whispered into his ear as Malleus closes his eyes as he realizes that this is where his happily ever after would finally start.

“I love you Malleus, more than anything else.”

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twst mc #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst smut #twst imagines #fem reader #twst x reader #adult section #requests #//and to those who have been sending me nice messages #//thank you q wq

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twisted-leader-of-something · 3 years

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Week 1 - Classic Horror - The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Author’s Note: Happy October everyone! Here is my promised start of TWST Halloween 2021! Starting off with a classic story, the story of Jekyll and Hyde, one of my favorite psychological horror/thriller books! It may not be super well-known, but it’s well known in the old literature community as most likely one of the first psychological stories about the human condition! So, as celebration of the story I love so much, I will be putting a spin on the classic tale with my OC Quentin! I hope I did the story of Jekyll and Hyde some justice!

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of death and rape, and an ending that. . . Is kind of ambiguous.

Crow’s Dusk is a quiet town.

It’s always been that way, ever since I moved into this small town with my spouses.

I’ve always loved this small town. Despite the fact it’s mostly divided into eight parts and everyone mostly keeps to their part of town, it’s often so calm and quiet in this town, you can take a stroll at night, meet someone new without being afraid of being killed, and meet them again the next day at one of the many schools in this town and become friends. It’s so much different than my home where being murdered was a very real threat.

For the most part, this town doesn’t stand out compared to others that make national news for things like plagues or mass murders despite this small town holding some of the most advanced schools in the country. Sure, we have bar fights that our police gave up on cracking down on, a church whose not really all that serious about it’s work, and celebrities that stop by the town so often or live here that I can call most of them by name. Hell, a world-famous actor came by my house the other day to ask for more sugar and flour and I called him by his first name and offered a drink at the bar next time I saw him.

It’s quite strange, thinking about this town in the grand scheme of things, really.

We’re all so different, and yet, we live in the same area.

It almost makes me-

“Quentin, darling?” Eadwine called from the balcony in a white shawl covering her nightgown.

“Yes, Eadwine, my love?” I called back, walking back to her.

“You’re still dressed, dear. Come inside, it’s almost midnight.” Eadwine pouted in that cute way she always did when she was worried, as she came and took my shawl that I wore. “Have you slept at all?”

“Forgive me. I just was clearing my head after an meeting.” I must’ve said, guilty, as she pouted more.

“Geez. I swear, they keep you so late.” Eadwine said, opening the door to our home and putting my shawl on the rack. “I might have to go to a meeting myself to see what all those late night meeting are about.”

“Well, you know the council, paranoid as always.” I sighed, as I followed Eadwine to the kitchen. “At least I have no paperwork this time.”

“With all these incidents happening, I almost don’t blame them for their worries, my loves.” Another familiar voice chimed in, and sooner after, I felt a warm kiss on the forehead. “I’m glad you got home safe, Quentin my dear. I was getting worried.”

“Indeed.” I smiled as best as I could at him. “I am home. And can eat some wonderful food instead of food from the bar.”

“Then, let’s go eat.” Eadwine smiled. “The fireplace is still going. You can tell me all about the meeting while we cuddle!”

“Yes, yes. No time to waste.” I joked, as I was guided to out living room by the loves of my life.

There was knock at the door. Strange, the paper came in a few hours ago, it wasn’t the milkman or mailman, way too late for them.

Who was it at this early in the morning?

“Ah, yes, coming!” I called, and opened the door to see. . . Epel Felmier. “Epel? What’s the matter?”

“Is Quentin up?” Epel asked very seriously, panting and out of breath.

“Yes, she went to visit the asylum to check on the patients, as she normally does in the morning.” I said, “Why?”

Epel seemed relieved, tried to get inside the house. “I need to use your phone, right now.”

“Epel, please tell me what’s happening!” I said, preventing him from getting inside. “You can’t just say that and expect me to not ask any questions!”

“I can’t.” Epel said, trying to push past me. “Vil said this isn’t something I say to just anyone. It needs to be to council members only.”

“Well you know, so I’d say that’s off the table.” I said, sternly while holding my ground. “You clearly know! Just tell me!”

Epel seemed so surprised he stopped trying to push past me, blinked a few times.

“Fine.” He said, stopping trying to push past me. “But we have to be inside and you have to swear to me not to say a word about this.”

I nodded. “Alright.” And I move aside, letting Epel in.

So, after I sat him down and started to make tea right in front of him, I simply asked. “So, what’s the matter?”

“Old man Crowley’s been murdered.”

“What?” I said, almost dropping the cup I was preparing for Epel. “I’m sorry, are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The lavender haired boy said. “He was found by Yuu while walking Grim.”

“I-I see.” I simply said, giving him his cup that he took and took a drink of.

Crowley’s been killed?

Why?

Who would do such a thing? This town- It’s so quiet and peaceful. Nobody really hates anyone else. Sure, we fight with each other, but we make up soon after. It’s impossible to not in such a small town.

Who would be so mad that they would kill Old Man Crowley?

“Mrs. Eadwine?” Epel asked.

“Sorry. I’m just so shocked. It’s just. . . It seems so strange in a town like this.” I said, as I stood up, fixed my dress. “Yes, you can use the phone. This way.”

“Thank you.” Epel said, as he followed me to the kitchen, but upon seeing a steak I’d made last night. He stood there, watching the steak. I stopped upon noticing, “Do you want it? It will take a few moments for me to get Quentin.”

To which Epel’s face light up, showing a genuine smile I haven’t seen from him yet. “’Eally Ed-wine? ‘Ank you!” He smiled, as he took the meat for himself, and after a few seconds, he seemed embarrassed. “A-Ah. Sorry about that. Got a little to excited there. Where are the cutlery?”

I laughed because of his cuteness, and pointed to the drawer he was standing in front of “Right below you.”

Which earned another smile and a ‘thank you’ from Epel as I picked up the phone, and put in the number to the asulyum.

“Yes, this is Dusk Asylum. How can I help you?” A voice on the other side said. I didn’t know this person, nor did I quite care.

“I’m Quentin Nighty-Sallow’s wife, Eadwine Nighty-Sallow. I need to speak with her right now.”

“Huh? I mean, yes, I can do that as Quentin is free right now, but what is the matter?” The other person on the other side asked. “It’s not often you call.”

“Something has come up in our family. And I need to tell Quentin about it.” I said, which seemed to make the other person on the other side of the line stay quiet for a few minutes but simply make a ‘hmph.’ noise.

“Alright. Please wait a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” The person said, and sure enough, soon after the person came back. “Here she is.”

“Eadwine?” Quentin concerned voice made me soften for a moment. Her voice full of concern. . . It’s so. . . motherly it makes me want to be in her warm, loving embrace so badly. “What’s the matter?”

“Epel needs to speak with you. It’s urgent.” I said, making sure to be serious.

Quentin was silent for a few minutes. “Is he with you?”

“Yes. I’ll hand it over to him.” I said, and made a gesture to Epel to make him come over. He did, and then he took the phone as I stood to the side, making sure to give the two space to speak, but close enough if Epel needed me he could see me.

The conversation was actually quite short. Epel’s side of the conversation went something like this, “Good afternoon Mrs. Quentin. . . Yes, it is wonderful to hear from you, it’s been so long, but unfortunately I didn’t come to talk, I’m actually here for Vil. . . Yes. . . No. Old Man Crowley’s been killed. . . And we don’t know who did it but Yuu’s panicking really badly. . . .Yes. . . Yes. . . When can you get off work? . . . Ah? . . . Yes, he did. . . And, yes, I was planning on it, to help out. . . Really?!” Epel’s eyes lit up. “Thanks a lot Mrs. Quentin! I owe you one! I’ll go be with the others, then! Thanks so much!”

And then he hung up with a smile.

“Everything alright now?” I asked which earned a nod from Epel.

“Yes, she said she’d take care of everything and I should go back home for today to rest from that startling revelation and she’ll pull some strings to let me get off school for today so I can be with Yuu and the others. She’s the best!” Epel smiled happily again, to which I nodded.

“That’s why I married her. Go on.” I smiled. “Go enjoy your day off.”

Epel then nodded, and almost took off out of the house before he stopped. “Ah. Would you mind if we stop by since you, well, know and we have no place else we can be in?”

I laughed and then nodded again. “No, I do not mind at all. But normally Amiel, Azazel and Quentin all come home around twelve to have lunch with me so I don’t feel alone in this big house all day. I hope you don’t mind if we all have lunch together.”

Epel shook his head. “No, it’s quite alright. What’s on for lunch?”

“Amiel asked for breakfast foods since his work has been hard lately. So I was thinking of egg sandwiches since our chickens have been making too many eggs lately.” I smiled, which earned a nod for Epel.

“I see. Deuce will love it then.” Epel smiled, as he turned back towards the door. “I’ll be back then.”

I waved to him as I walk towards him, and as soon as Epel left, I waved goodbye.

“Oh dear. How am I going to make food for eleven people?” I then asked myself, as I closed the door.

I'd never been to an emergency meeting before.

In a small town like this, meeting happened once a month, if at all that month.

So, to say I was nervous was. . . A bit understating things. Though luckily, I wasn't the only one who was a little nervous about this meeting.

"What? The mayor's dead?" Kalim Al-Asim, the head of the Scarabia district said, as if he wasn't informed.

"Yes. He's been killed." Vil Schoenheit said. "Someone stomped him to death."

"What?!" Riddle Rosehearts said. "How?! How do you stomp a person to death?!"

"You'd be surprised how easy it is for some." Azul Ashengrotto sneered, looking at Leona.

"Shut it Octopus." Leona Kingscholar growled at the mafia man. "Our guys said it wasn't them. They are at the bar when this shit went down."

"Moving on," Vil said. "Yuu and Grim need a home now. And, they said that they saw who it was."

The whole room went silent.

"They saw the person who killed Crowley?" Riddle clarified, which Vil nodded.

"Then who was it?" Ortho Shroud, who was standing in for Idia Shroud spoke up.

"According to Yuu, the person. . . Had really black hair. And didn't even look human." Vil said. "They couldn't even tell if was a boy or a girl."

"Eehhhhh." The group seemed to say.

"That narrows nothing down." Leona said. "We have lots of people with black hair and a black cloak."

"We'll be here all night debating who it is if we keep this up." I spoke up. "I'll take in Yuu and Grim. No matter the case, those two need a new home. My house is pretty big. I'll take them in."

"I figured you'd say that." Vil sighed. "Quentin, we can't tiptoe around this. We need that information."

"I know." I sighed. "But Yuu won't talk if they don't feel safe, plus, there’s no point debating this. We’ll just end up putting someone’s head in a noose without evidence."

Vil sighed again. "Fine. You're the master at this, so I'll trust you on this."

Mrs. Quentin’s Mansion was bigger than I thought it would be.

Yes, it was rumored that she was pretty rich, but I didn’t think her house was. . . At least three stories high! From how she normally acts, she doesn’t seem to be quite as rich as her house says she is. She even has a fountain and personal gate in front of her house!

“God, Quentin has a huge house.” Ace Trappola said. “She definitely can house at least you and Grim, if not a good amount of the city comfortably.”

“I know she’s a world-famous psychologist and a diplomat for a royal family, but, it’s strange seeing her house when Quentin is so different than the other council members who are so stuck up with their money.” Deuce Spade said.

“Yeah.” Epel Felmier sighed. “But I like her home. It has a homey-feel to it.”

“True.” Ace smirked. “It’s so much better than Section Mayor Rosehearts house. His house is so clean and proper it makes me sick sometimes.”

“Pffft.” Jack Howl laughed. “You should see Section Mayor Kingscholar's place. It puts all the others houses to shame.”

“Master Draconia’s house is the best!” Sebek Zigvolt piped up.

“Yes, yes. We all know you like Section Mayor Draconia.” Ace sneered, causing Sebek to give a look of shock.

“What’d you say?!”

“Oh, there she is.” Das Alvah spoke up, and sure enough, there was a female figure coming towards them.

A woman with long brown hair, wearing a green and brown dress, surprisingly not so formally dressed. The woman then opened up the gate, letting the young townspeople in.

“Good afternoon!” The woman smiled. “Welcome to my home! I’m happy you all made it safely!”

“Thanks for inviting us!” Deuce said, politely seeming rather embarrassed.

“And thanks for you food~!” Ace smirked, as he walked towards the big house, with a few of my bags in hand.

“Come now, no need to be polite since we all know each other already, Eadwine just finished lunch. Let’s all eat before it gets cold.” Quentin smiled, and gestured the group to come in. And, the group did and Quentin closed the gate behind the group, and lead the group inside the home.

“Hey, Mrs. Quentin?” Deuce asked, as the group came inside the home.

“Yes, what is it Deuce?” Quentin smiled at Deuce and then others.

“Where should we set Yuu and Grim’s stuff?” Deuce said, gestured to the things the others where holding for me.

“Oh, anywhere is fine, really.” The council member smiled. “Eadwine said she’ll pick it up later.”

“Eh?! Is that really okay?!” Jack said, nervously. “This is your house after all.”

Quentin laughed. “We’re here to have lunch and hang out together, not to worry about luggage.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Because we can-”

Quentin sighed. “No, no. It’s alright, really. I know my house is pretty far from town and a lot has happened lately, so it must’ve been hard to get here. There’s no need to worry about things like luggage. We’ll take care of it later. For now, let’s eat and relax for a bit.”

“Yeah~!” Ace smiled, as he set down my stuff. “Quentin’s my kind of Council Member!”

“Alright, if you say so.” Deuce said, setting down my stuff with Epel, Jack, Sebek and Das following suit soon after, following Epel to the kitchen.

"Hey! Amiel! You can't eat all of it!" A masculine voice said. "We have guests coming over!"

"Yeah, so?" Another voice said, as we entered unto the kitchen to see. . . Two men, one with blonde hair, one with dark brown hair. It seems the brown haired man was eating a bunch of food, while two blonde people where trying to stop him. "The chickens will make more!"

"Darlings, please!" A woman with blonde hair said, "The guests are here!"

As soon as the brown haired heard the guests where there, he stopped eating and looked up and upon seeing us, he blinks a few times, and then seems to turn into a prefect gentleman. “Ah! Welcome to our home!” Amiel said. “You must be tired! Come now, let’s all eat!”

The blonde male let out a tired sigh, while the blonde female let out a laugh. Though, it was hard to tell if it was awkward or mischievous in nature.

“Ah~ Thanks for having us~!” Ace said, as he immediately started to eat some of the food.

“Ah! Ace! Be polite!” Deuce said.

“Pffft! Not like you don’t want to do the same!” The red-haired boy said while gathering his food, which made the other boy nervous.

“W-Well, you’re not wrong, but the host is here! Show some respect to them!” Deuce said, as he also started to gather food as well. The others started to follow suit, gathering the food and going into a sunroom, from all the windows in the room.

And, for the most part, the day was spent in that room. I mean, we did explore Quentin’s house, but the sunroom was the place all of us decided to hang out with in for the day. Surprisingly, Ace, Deuce and the others stayed the night. Despite my insisting they go home, they stayed for dinner and we had a party until late into the night.

Which, surprisingly, didn’t really affect our school day the next day.

It became more and more often after the murder of Dire Crowley.

More murders in the streets at night, but now more was happening during the nights.

People where being raped by this ‘Figure in Black’ as the town dubbed them, houses where being robbed in the night as people slept with their valuables being destroyed, people being almost kidnapped by the figure, people being beaten in the streets by this figure, all sorts of bad things happening in the small town. At this point, everyone in this town had seen the figure and distrust was blooming like flowers in spring. Sections of the town where divided, gangs where formed in hopes of stopping this person, wearing black was practically forbidden, and rumors where spread of people possibly being suspects. Nooses where tied on trees, hoping the Figure in Black would happen to be nearby and be caught inside one of them. Innocents where being beaten in the streets in hopes of someone being caught.

It was getting terrible.

Years and years of trust and familiarity all out the window because of a figure we haven’t even seen.

The Figure in Black haunts our streets, and the only thing we know about them for sure is they have black hair, yellow eyes, and look almost inhuman with a walking pattern. . . that seems both snooty and inhuman. Other sources contradict each other, like when Vil’s home was robbed he says the figure was wearing a full outfit under their iconic black coat that went to the floor. While local gangs who’d encountered the Figure in Black says the person wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and when the Figure would fight they’d see skin. Dirty skin, but skin nonetheless. There was just so much in the air about this Figure in Black.

And, honestly, it’s so hard. I can’t do my job like this.

Recently, there had been something left by the Figure in Black at one of the Professor’s houses. Professor Ashton Vargas specifically.

The word, “Narcissist” was written outside of the poor Professor’s house. In blood, according to some.

And, it was a speculate. People from all over town came to see it in person, no matter the section of town you came from, people came to see. Council members, townspeople, all walks of life came to see it.

“Oh Gods! The Figure in Black actually wrote that in blood?! Whose blood is it?!”

“Maybe the person they murdered yesterday. Did you hear? They murder the head priest!”

“Argh! I’m gonna nab that guy myself! And in my territory too! He’s got some balls to pull that shit!”

“I bet it was him! His handwriting is close to the writing!”

“Seriously?!”

“Urgh. I’m not cleaning this up. It’s so gross.”

“The gangs and police are useless. They aren’t even doing anything, look at them. They’re just standing there, dumbfounded. Absolute nimrods.”

“Yeah, useless bastards. What do we even let them around for?”

I’d come by just to speak with the council members there to inform them that Quentin. . . still refused to come out of her room.

Quentin says she’s been sick the past few days, and from the crying and throwing up coming from her room, I’d be inclined to believe her. But, I myself haven’t really been with her in days, since she doesn’t want anyone to visit her while she’s like this. Yes, I’ve fed her, and helped her sleep and things like that, but other than that. . . She’s mostly kept to the bed.

I hate when she’s like this. . .Because I can’t cuddle with her! She gives the best cuddles after she’s back from work! And her boobs are so warm and soft-

“Eadwine?” Riddle Rosehearts said, as the other council members turned around to look at what Riddle was talking about. “Tell me you have good news for me.”

I tilted my head. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by good news.”

“As in, your wife is suddenly better and can help us.” Vil Schoenheit said, putting a hand on his hip.

“No. But she does feel awful for this happening. She’s tried to come out of her room multiple times, but she always ends up going back to bed or passing out.”

“W-Well, that’s much better than yesterday.” Kalim Al-Asim offered, though he himself seemed pretty unsure of what to actually say to keep the mood up.

“Not by much.” Azul Ashengrotto said. “What in Twisted Wonderland did she get sick with?”

“But, there is a silver lining in this.” I stated. “She said she was up really late at night because she couldn’t sleep, and she made up some macrons.”

“Huh? Why was she baking at night? Doesn’t she know that she could get into trouble if she stays up?” Leona asked.

I shrugged. “I asked, but she said she wasn’t thinking straight and she probably used up her luck for a year with not getting hurt by the Figure in Black.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Riddle said, as he took a macron and others followed suit. “That woman must’ve gotten pretty lucky.”

“Despite being sick, Mrs. Quentin Nighty-Sallow makes good food.” Ortho smiled, which Kalim seemed to agree with as he made a happy noise.

“Indeed. I must get her recipe for this. it’s pretty good.” Azul said.

“Meh. Trey does better.” Riddle simply said. “But it’s pretty close, I’ll give her that.”

As the Council Members took the macrons, I looked at the writing on the wall.

Wait. . . That handwriting. It look familiar.

“Ah. I see you’re no better than the other housewives.” Azul teased.

“I suppose.” I said. “But, isn’t the Figure in Black right though?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, Vargas is a narcissist, according to Quentin. It’s well know throughout the town he is pretty full of himself, and Quentin says that it is also called being a Narcissist. While I don’t like the blood on the wall, why would they do such a thing if the town already knows Vargas loves himself?”

The other seemed quiet for a moment, but after a few moments of silence, Azul spoke up. "You're right. This narrows things down."

"It does?" I asked.

"Yes. Since Narcissist is such a lesser known word, even I didn't know what the word meant, only people like Quentin would know it, hence they could use it." Riddle said simply. "We just need to narrow down to Quentin and those close with her, and keep an eye on them, and we'll catch the culprit."

“Well, that’s one way to see it.” I sighed. “But, are we really going to track down every person who knows the word Narcissist?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” Riddle said.

I sighed. It was a foolish idea. But, well, I didn’t have one that was better.

I don’t have much time now. I wish I had more time but. . . She’s done something that has sped up the process of finding out it’s me.

But. . . I haven’t been able to stop her yet!

What am I supposed to do?! It’s only a matter of time before they find out it’s me! My days are numbered!

I. . . I haven’t avenged them! They. . .They! They can’t rest in peace with a woman like her wandering the streets! She can’t be allowed to wander the streets! She’ll destroy everything in this world without mercy!

That monster-she has to erased from this world.

For all those who’ve suffered!

No one know must ever know the truth.

I have to stop her!

I don’t know how, but I will!

I don’t know if I can stop her anymore, but I have to try!

I. . .I did this! I’m the only one who can stop this!

I may not know the difference between what is right and what is wrong anymore, or even have a say in it, but. . . she cannot be allowed to walk the streets.

Winifred must be stopped, no matter the cost!

Mrs. Quentin. . . Hasn’t come out of her room in days.

She hasn’t come out for anything. Food, water, not even to use the bathroom.

Mrs. Eadwine, Mr. Amiel and Mr. Azazel keep trying to get her to open the door and help her, but she’s boarded up the door and she’s begged us to let her out.

I’ve. . . I’ve never heard her sound so desperate. Every time we try to talk to her. . . She sounds like she’s crying. She screams for us to please leave her alone, and that she doesn’t want us hurt. . . But what does she mean by that?

She’s been screaming other nonsense as well.

Talking about a woman named Winifred. . . Saying everything it’s all her fault and she’s so sorry for everything. . . How she should just die already. . . It’s scary.

I. . . I hate to see the woman who took me in act like this. Mrs. Quentin. . . She’s worked so hard as a council member. . . She’s helped out so many people in Crow’s Dusk, and yet, I can do nothing as she rots away in that room.

Mrs. Eadwine also is starting to break. She. . . Can’t listen to Mrs. Quentin cry. She’s become less of a housewife and has wandered town, crying in hopes Quentin will leave one day. Mr. Amiel and Mr. Azazel aren’t much better.

What are we supposed to do? The Nighty-Sallow house is falling apart, and I-

What am I supposed to do?

It’s hard to go home anymore.

Quentin. . . I love her but. . . She’s tearing herself apart.��

I don’t get it!

Why?!

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, QUENTIN?

DO YOU WANT ME TO SUFFER? BECUASE CAN’T YOU SEE?! I’M SUFFERING! IT HURTS! I CAN’T BEAR MUCH OF THIS ANYMORE! IT’S TOO MUCH! I HATE IT! I HATE IT!

DOES IT HURT THAT MUCH?! WHY WON’T YOU LET US HELP, THEN?! WHY ARE YOU WAILING IN PAIN ALL DAY AND NIGHT! IT PAINS ME TO HEAR YOU! WHY?! WHY?! WHY ARE YOU ACTING THIS WAY?!

WHY WON’T YOU LET US HELP?!?!

Ah.

I’d wandered off from town again. I’d gone to Professor Vargas’ house again. I don’t know why, but i keep coming here.

“Urgh. Now’s not the time for this.” I said, wiping away my tears and then I saw it.

The message written on the wall of Vargas’ house.

He still hasn’t washed it, has he? Gods, what a-Wait.

I got closer. That letter i. That’s looks like. . . how Quentin does her i’s. The way the dot is-Wait.

No. No. No.

It can’t be!

There’s no way!

She won’t do such a thing! She’s too kind, yes, she’d get mad at others, but she won’t hurt others!

This doesn’t make sense!

I raced to our home, straight to where Quentin had locked herself up. “QUENTIN DESMONA! OPEN THIS DOOR! RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”

Silence.

“QUENTIN! DON’T YOU DARE GIVE ME THE SILENT TREATMENT! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! OPEN THIS GODFORAKREN DOOR, NOW! OR SO HELP ME GOD I’LL SMASH THIS DOOR DOWN!”

Still silence.

“FINE THEN! THIS DOOR IS COMING DOWN! YOU BETTER NOT BE NEAR IT WHEN I BREAK IT!”

One hit. It moved.

Two hits. The door made a strange noise.

Three hits. The door broke, I could see on the other side Quentin has stacked chairs and tables by the door.

Four hits. The door broke even more.

Five hits. The door was gone, and all that was left was the chairs and tables.

After some pushing they where at one side too. Until I could finally-

And on the floor, there laid Quentin.

Covered in blood.

“Quen. . .tin?”

#twstHalloweenMonth2021 #Twst Halloween Month 2021 #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #[ mun makes content ]

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Within the Circles: Chapter 5 (+ Epilogue)

The final chapter and epilogue of "Within the Circles" have been posted to AO3!

After the harrowing experience, Aziraphale and Crowley start the healing process. But recovery from this sort of trauma is never easy. Featuring the return of Anathema and Newt, who I don't write about nearly enough.

Crowley didn’t want to linger in the awful basement, but there was too much down there that would be dangerous if discovered, more than he could handle on his own. Fortunately, one of the necromancers had left a mobile in the wreckage.

When Anathema and Newt arrived, Crowley—human-shaped again—was still picking his way through magic ingredients, while Aziraphale rested in the corner, wrapped in a red cloak.

“Here,” Newt said, kneeling next to the angel. “You’re not really either of our sizes, but I think Shadwell’s old jumper should fit you, and Tracy had this skirt. It’s not ideal—”

“I think this will do marvelously,” Aziraphale said with a weak smile. “Thank you, young man.”

“And, ah, Tracy also found a pair of sunglasses…?”

They were extraordinarily pink, but Crowley wore them anyway.

Next, Anathema looked the angel over, Crowley hovering behind, ready to throw her across the room at the first sign of magic. “If I had to guess, it’s this one.” She pointed to a symbol drawn onto Aziraphale’s shoulder with Sharpie, then traced again by a blade, leaving bright red cuts. “Power regulation, basically a surge protector. Whatever she was siphoning off you, it was just different enough from a demon to get, mmmph, major feedback.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Newt pointed out.

“It’s all it takes.” Crowley said, shooing the witch away so he could sit beside his husband again, help him pull the jumper on. “I…I’ve seen them fail for…much less.”

A long pause. Crowley tried not to think about the questions on everyone’s mind. It wasn’t any of their business, except in a way it was now. He did his best to push all those thoughts aside.

“I’m just glad no one was badly hurt,” Aziraphale said with a shaky smile.

“Except you,” Crowley grumbled, not even trying to hide the fact that he was fussing. “And one human had a few broken bones, but as I understand, he really deserved it.” No, that didn’t help. There was a pinch of horror around Aziraphale’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything yet. “Here, something’s missing.” Crowley tugged the rumpled bowtie out of his pocket.

“Oh!” his angel’s face lit up. He quickly looped it around his neck, struggling to tie the knot with trembling fingers. Crowley helped—though his own fingers were just as bad—and eventually there was a crooked tartan bow in place below his chin. “Yes. I feel worlds better now.”

Crowley leaned close and kissed him, gently, almost afraid that Aziraphale would break—or that he would. “Just a bit longer, Angel. Few things to take care of. Then we can go home.”

“Of course, darling.”

Aziraphale was holding together surprisingly well, but Crowley knew. All those times he’d been summoned cut him deep, the pain, the humiliation, piling on in layer after layer until they smothered him in darkness—

He wished he knew what to say. Words were too fucking hard.

Crowley stumbled over to where he’d gathered the shit the summoners had left behind. A sack full of Aziraphale’s beautiful feathers, another of his hair. A cooler with vials of blood, faintly glinting gold. A jar of clear liquid marked Angel Tears that almost made him wish he’d let Aziraphale rip the bastards apart.

“What do you think?”

“Based on the prices we saw, a million pounds, at least,” Newt said, earning a glare from the demon. “Sorry. Just…” He hunched back over the computer, and a few seconds later it was an inert hunk of metal and plastic, any information about angels lost to the universe. He started on the phones next.

“Don’t know about the feathers,” Anathema said, “but for the rest…probably dispose of it all in a river. Running water’s a reliable way to neutralize the power. But there’s still a lot.”

“Is that a problem?”

She squeezed his shoulder, tried to give an encouraging smile. “No. We’ll take care of it.”

“Nhhh.” Crowley looked down at his feet. “Thankyou.”

“Thank you for calling.”

He nodded, turning away. “Mmmmh. We’ll take the feathers. Figure out something to do with them.”

“What about that thing?” Newt gestured to a hollow stone column, a deep red glow inside. “Looks…really dangerous.”

“Less than you might think.” Crowley leaned against the energy well. All the power that had been drained from Aziraphale as he was interrogated was stored in there, a flickering amorphous cloud of light. “They used to just let it dissipate into the air, until someone figured out how to collect it. But it’s inert like this, and I’ve got no idea how to activate it, so I usually just…” he shoved at the stone until it tipped over, clattering against the concrete floor. The light inside fluttered weakly and went out.

“Well. That’s alright then. Last of the electronics,” Newt added, tossing a black-screened phone against the wall. “We’ll need some equipment for all that.” He gestured vaguely to the rings embedded in the floor. “Hammer. Prybar. Maybe acid.”

“Or just demolish the place entirely,” Anathema suggested.

Her boyfriend nodded. “If you can think of a way to convince them this is our property, I’ll call those fellows who did the renovations for us.”

“You don’t have to,” Crowley objected.

“I think I do.” Newt looked at the circles and shuddered. “Unless you were thinking of stealing one of those diggers up the street. Then, by all means…”

“Nnnnnn.” The demon rolled his shoulders until they popped. “Think I’ll leave this one to the contractors.”

“And that just leaves…” Anathema nudged the books with her toe—grimoire, spell book, and notebooks full of dangerous information about angels. “How do you all feel about a bonfire?”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale said, staggering to his feet. “Though I’m afraid my weekend plans involve recovering in bed with my husband. I’m going to be quite busy with that.”

“Ahhhh, shit.” Crowley ran his fingers through his hair. “The bed! I…I de-manifested it. Not going to have the energy to bring it back for a couple days.”

The angel snapped his fingers, frowning. “I appear to be out as well. I may have overdone things a touch.” That would be something to discuss later. Three times, summoners had driven Crowley into a berserk rage, draining him even of reserves of energy he couldn’t normally access. Aziraphale had apparently discovered the angelic equivalent and it was…chilling.

The two humans glanced at each other. “We’ve got a spare room now,” Anathema said. “Looks like it’s about to have its first guests.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley said.

“That sounds lovely!”

“Absolutely not.”

“A weekend in the countryside, just what we need.”

“No, no, no, no.”

“Crowley, dear, what is the matter?”

“I am not riding all the way to Oxfordshire in that disaster he calls a car!”

Read the rest on AO3!

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shoujolover-666 · 4 years

Text

A fae’s love

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197677

Characters: Yandere!Lilia, Reader

Summary: Lilia could feel that they were being watched.

A frustrated sound filled the oh so silent room as they threw their phone against their bed, a look of anger was on their face as they ran a hand through soft strands of hair. It was the Halloween Event in Twisted Wonderland, and they saved up quite a lot of summons just for that. They didn’t manage to get any of the cards they wanted though.

Not a single Jade, Vil or even Azul was in sight. No, the only one they got was Lilia.

Over and over again.

Even when they maxed him out, the gacha didn’t stop throwing the young looking ancient being at them.

Really, at first they didn’t mind it at all. Lilia was one of their favourite characters because of how fun, interesting and mysterious he was, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to get him. All. The. Time.

They lied down next to the phone he just threw a few seconds ago, grabbing it before rolling around in a lazy manner. For now… he would probably level him up and put him in his team. His attack stats weren’t bad after all, and the element combination was decent enough.

Still, they had no intention of keeping him there permanently.

While they were trying to calm themself down, they didn’t notice the pair of red eyes following him through the screen.

~ 🦇

Lilia was watching them from the homescreen. It was the only time he had the chance to watch them, for usually, he was busy doing other things usually.

Being with his dorm mates, watching some of the other students or doing whatever task he had been given by the teachers who were like little children in comparison to himself.

But when he was summoned by that strange entity, he was able to take a glimpse at a person who seemed to be the one who was watching over all of them, influencing the child of man in the way they wanted him to act to a certain extent. Something that was quite fascinating to him.

A person who was watching over them from time to time, almost as if they were some kind of god… he wished to know more about them. He wanted to see what they would think of all of them, and he wanted to know in what way they would tick.

That was how he started to watch them from the background, hidden in places in which he guessed that the entity was not able to see him. Lilia was able to feel when he was being watched, which he used to his advantage. The ancient fae started to be around the other students more as he observed Yuu. In a way, he acted way too passive for it to be natural. Almost as if he was simply a vessel for the being who was watching all of the things at the school unfold.

There were times when he was stuck at a strange place, in which he couldn’t do much, he had the opportunity to take a close look at them.

It was fascinating. They were neither unbelievable beautiful nor ugly, but there was something so fascinating, that he couldn’t help but be in slight awe.

A pair of eyes that were shining with excitement. Locks of soft looking hair that he wanted to touch and maybe do something with. Rosy cheeks and a bright smile on cute lips.

“Isn’t it interesting how mysterious I am?”

“Hehe, did you notice? Today I was able to tie my necktie into a prettier butterfly knot than usual.”

He loved talking to them, and sometimes, they even answered with an adorable laugh of theirs. It always made his heart beat in excitement, and he couldn’t help but look forward to those meetings more and more, no matter how sudden they were. With time though, he noticed that they spent less and less time with him, until at one point he wasn’t being summoned anymore. At that, he became annoyed, which he hid behind his usual smile. Certainly they will summon him again, won’t they?

He was wrong. They did not summon him, and he got angrier and angrier each time. They paid more and more attention to the other students than him, and he could feel his blood boil.

How were they worthy when they did not even notice their presence? How were they more deserving of their love than him. At one point, he snapped and decided to take matters in his own hands.

Each time he could feel the pull, he would get in the other students way, so they would only have him in their mind. When it was time for Halloween, he made sure that they won’t get anyone but him.

Like that, they would have to notice him again. To love him again and to pay attention to him.

Lilia could feel the anger, even see it sometimes, but he didn’t care and kept on smiling. As long as they looked at them, he was happy.

That was what he thought at first at least. The longer that went on, the longer he desired to be able to interact with that deity, with that god.

With that goal in mind, he started to research. Day and night, he spent his time in libraries while using his connections to all kinds of people that he built up over the years he has lived to get more magical texts and scrolls.

There had to be something that would let him do the thing he wanted, right?

Time passed, and he got more and more frustrated. His obsession only grew with each day.

Until it finally happened.

A magic spell that required a few living sacrifices to summon a being into his world, into his arms. It was not guaranteed that it would work, or that it would bring him the person he wanted to meet so badly, but he didn’t care.

Sacrificing a few was worth it, as long as he could get to touch them, to talk to them, to take them.

Maybe there were a few people who wouldn’t be missed? The headmaster might be willing to part from a few of his students if he offered him a few favours.

Lilia was numb to killing and death because of the things he did in the past.

War was taxing on the mind, even if it had been such a long time ago. Now though, it helped him with having an easier time to get the things he wanted.

To his surprise, Crowley was not willing to offer students, but he was willing to use contacts of his own.

Well, as long as he got what he needed, he didn’t care.

Like that, he started to prepare the ritual. He was careful, everything had to be perfect. When he had the time, he was preparing the room he would keep them in.

Soft, pillows. Silken sheets. Comfortable beds. A wardrobe with the finest clothes.

Anything less could not be accepted. A chuckle crawled up his throat, which he hid behind his hand before he continued to prepare everything.

Soon.

~ 🦇

They were playing the main story of Twisted Wonderland. Chapter five to be more exact. Their fingers were resting over the screen as they read the text, chuckling over the funny moments while getting angry over moments that they saw as unfair. Every time they played this game, they couldn’t help but feel with the characters and get invested in what they are doing and how they felt.

Still, in the end, they were just fictional characters. And soon, they were sure of it, they would find another fandom to get into and start obsessing over that. It was simply a cycle, and they didn’t mind as long as it brought them joy.

“Finally.”

A surprised look was on their face and they looked around, searching for the source of the voice. It was Lilias voice, they knew it all too well by now, having heard it almost every time they visited the game.

But how? He was nowhere to be seen on the screen, the only characters visible were Vil and Epel!

Screeching was echoing from the walls as their hand suddenly went through the phone, a force seemed to suck them in. They tried to fight against it, but to no avail. Laughing was the last thing they heard, before they lost consciousness.

~ 🦇

Lilia looked at the summoning circle that appeared on the ceiling he was in and grinned from ear to ear, holding out his arms so he would be able to catch them. They landed safely in his arms, and he could feel their sweet scent enveloping him.

It was difficult to describe because of how intoxicating it was to him. The body he held close to himself was warm, and full of life.

They were perfect. So much more than he expected.

With the person still in his arms, he turned around and left the place that was prepared for him. He didn’t care about the mess that he left behind. Crowley would surely clean it himself anyway. Even if he didn’t, there was no time to worry about trivial matters like these, for he had to take care of someone way more important than that little bit of dirt.

The ancient fae walked with them through the halls of Diasomnia to bring them to the room he especially prepared for them, a place where no one else but him and Malleus were allowed to go. Maybe even Silver and Sebek if he was in an especially good mood. None of the fellow students dared to look at them or even dared to ask him who the person in his arms was, for they were way too afraid of him.

Not without reason.

When they finally arrived, he gently placed them on the bed before he traced their lips with his pale, thin fingers, feeling the body heat that radiated from them. Without a second thought, he placed his own lips against the others, one hand was placed on a cheek. Lilia tugged on their bottom lip with his teeth before he bit down, letting the metallic but also sweet taste of their warm blood fill his mouth.

A moan escaped him, it was better than any wine he had tasted, better than even the freshest bottle of tomato juice.

It was addicting, and he never wanted to live without it again.

And he wouldn’t. He would make sure that this being, this entity would stay here in that safe, comfortable place forever. There will definitely be resistance at first, but it was nothing a little curse or spell couldn’t salvage.

He lied down next to them now, pulling them into his arms and caressing their hair. This… finally he had what he wanted. In the past, he felt that something was missing, but he could never tell what it was.

Now that he had them with him, he knew. Finally he was complete.

Anyone who would try to take this happiness away from him would not be spared.

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #yandere!lilia vanrouge #male yandere #reader insert #self-insert #fanfic #yandere

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iprefertheterminsane · 3 years

Text

What I should be doing; Updating my current BFU/GoMens fanfic

What I am doing instead; drafting an entirely NEW BFU/GOMens fanfic

Here it is;

Story Idea:

BFU*Good Omens, but make it scary.

The Unsolved Crew are trying to return to the airport after a successful hunt in London. Shane suggests they follow a scenic route of no discernible town. They somehow find themselves in a town that is not on the GPS maps with weird vibes and, surprise surprise, their rental breaks down. They have all watched enough horror thrillers to know all the cliché-est plot points. What lives in Devil's Dyke? Are the Them serial killers? Is Warlock going to betray them? Shane and TJ are probably going to die. But most importantly; What does it all have to do with Ryan?

-This is Shyan centric. On their way back to the airport, Shane suggests the crew take a scenic route down South Downs on their way back from London with the promise of a beautiful lake. The London shoots had been rife with sexual tension, and Shane does not want the moment to end.

-They find themselves driving into a town instead, suburbania and quaint. The townsfolk frown at them as they pass by. RP Tyler straddles his barking poodle. They obviously don't like newcomers.

-The rental breaks down. The cliche Ness starts to dawn on them

-"Hahaha, next we'll find out this place doesn't have line!"

-There is no line. They all glare at Mark.

-In a fit of nervousness, Ryan starts offline vlogging. Shane suggests they go into town to ask for someone to call the two service and find someplace with line. Surely SOMEONE will recognize them.

-But strangers look away and walk faster away when they approach. Whoever they manage to start scowling or fidgeting, and none of them seems to recognize the duo. Some even claim to know only faintly of YouTube. It's getting unreal. They do not seem to be joking, and get only more upset whenever the Crew tries to convince or tell them otherwise. It is finally pushing dusk. The Crew stops by a beautiful park. There is no one around, but a young boy, who has a look in his eyes they find relief in: recognition.

-His name is Warlock Dowling, and he showed them a copy of his birth certificate to prove it, claiming that it happens often enough that he has to resort doing so. It's so fucking cliche it hurts. Ryan hates this movie already.

-But Warlock is the son of an American Ambassador who lives in the UK, and thus, likely the only child who seems to recognize them and their YouTube Channel. He is not a big fan, but it's a whole site better than literally everyone else. South Downs is a bedtime story, he claims. It's perfect in the way all the towns in children storybooks are perfect. Nobody plays the internet in a storybook town. It is not a prank. Devon is skeptical.

-Warlock invites them to go to the Ambassador's house a little ways down the airbase near the back of the town, (what kind of horror path will they take? Thought Ryan. Both feel like equally bad ideas.) but they decide to go tomorrow. He directs them to a bed and breakfast instead. All the rooms look the same. The lady barely looks up as she hands them their keys. There is electricity in the rooms, meaning they could charge their appliances. For naught of anything better to do, they are filming this entire experience. They somehow convince themselves that Shane is going to die because Ryan is evidently the Protagonist, and since Shane is his Best Friend, he is either going to betray them or die in a heroic act sacrificing himself for Ryan. In a fit of panic, Ryan tells Shane he has a crush on him. Which is great and sweet and all, but now REALLY seals the deal in because now Shane is a love interest instead. Hasnt Ryan heard of the bury your Gays trope?

-"I knew you guys were gonna end up gay" "what why." "they have to kill SOMEONE off and none of us are black and Ryan s the protagonist."

-They don't find Warlock in the park the next day, and are forced to look for him themselves. Walking of course. They find out about the satanic nunnery that caught on fire on a cafe because the waitress explains that they have to pass through that and the abandoned airbase in the back of the town to get to the villa on foot. They all sigh in exhausted manner, not much in the mood for dying.

-Trudge they do anyway. Nowhere out but through.

-The old satanic nunnery is....not abandoned

-They rush inside and find that it is a company teamwork support organization, and they give out paintball sessions. There is electricity. There is a line, even if the company wasnt currently in season. They try to find a worker.

-They find her. Sister Mary is haggard and busy running an entire company and booking sessions all by herself. She is in turns dismissive and annoyed to moderately tolerant....up until she learns of Ryan's name

-She suddenly wants nothing to do with any of them, practically shoving them out her door and face sheet white, mumbling about being busy and how it wasn't personal. The door slams in their faces. Ryan looks like he is about to cry. Shane snaps.

-He breaks the door down, to the shouts of surprise from the rest of the crew, and announces, with the loud, arrogant nonchalance of a white man, that he is not going to budge until she tells them everything they want to know about Lower Tadfield, the South Downs and yknow the fuck what? Neither will Ryan. The rest of the Crew follow his example and dig their heels in, pretending to film her for good measure. They are counting on the fact that she does not have security, and that even if she calls the cops on them, the building is far too suburbania to find very quickly. Mary looks absolutely terrified, and refuses to look Ryan in the eye. She eventually gives in, on the account that they will soon leave immediately.

-The find out that she was an ex convent of the Chattering Order of St. Berryl's, a satanic nunnery. She came back because she had been born here, and oddly enough, the convent meant something to her. A good dozen of the Satanists died due to a lightning storm catching the nunnery on fire the night two babies had been born, and three left through the gates. She's never been afraid of Lower Tadfield. Nothing ever happens here. They don't buy it, but it's apparent she believes what she is saying.

-They demand to use the present line to call for another rental, cancel their airport tickets, etcetera etcetera, emphasizing that they are excited about leaving just as much as she does. With this promise, she allows them to do so.

--They manage to get their raw footage to Cloud and cancel their tickets but just as they are about to call for a new car, the lights start flickering. The building rumbles. Mary looks straight at Ryan and tells them to run. They grab each other s hands and does so.

-There halfway down the road when TJ yelps, and Devon announces they are being chased by something. They decide to run into the woods down further down south to lose it.

-It is dusk. Nobody is happy. At least everyone is alive though, which is something. Ryan remarks that the chase scenes in the movies are exactly as tiring as they make it out to be.

-Mark hears running water, and the Crew finds an occupied cottage on the shoreline of the sea. Their sighs are loud; both relieved and annoyed. Mark starts chanting/praying that they are not serial killers. Shane announces that everyone must be ready to leave at a moments notice, and sleep in the woods of they must, to everyone's agreement.

-The man who opens the door wears glasses and low slung jeans, eyebrow raised rudely. His husband, blonde and plump, tells him to let them come in, and that it is nearly dinner. They are gracious hosts-old enough to be someone's grandparents. Cute and domestic as well. Shane goes strangely quiet when the couple dances in the living room, and Ryan chalks it up to their romantic relationship, for which they share talks. There are unoccupied rooms they could bunk in-five; each of them reserved for the couple's godkids. Despite getting their own rooms, Ryan cuddles with Shane. He is oddly tense, at least until they start making out.

-Ryan wakes at night to voices in his ear, and decides to get a glass of something to drink. Shane is out cold. He finds TJ in the kitchen, looking at his phone. It is a picture of his family-Kate and their daughter. This is hugely concerning, as it is a surefire telltale that TJ might not make it. Ryan promises him they'll get back home. TJ clasps him on the back and tells him not to make promises he can't keep.

-Shane wakes the crew at 4 am and tells them, quietly, to pack up and leave for town. He had found a map, and determined the way to navigate. They are confused but obliging. They do not wake their hosts-in fact, Shane seems to want to make sure they leave without their knowledge. They find their way back into Tadfield by 8.30 am, and it is only as they are having bfast that Shane tells them that there is no tech but the radio-which isn't plugged in. The water runs, but the pipes underneath the sink are not attached to anything. Crowley does not eat, and his eyes were....weird. Too many red flags. And as he searched the room for maps before Ryan came into his room the night before, he had found a crumpled poker card of the Antichrist, and Devon admits to finding one of War, a horseman of the Apocalypse, in hers. Mark taps his fork anxiously, and his eyes spell out what they all could tell. The climax is soon.

- It is not until Ryan walks and spots a bespectacled child of Warlocks age that he realizes he has barely seen any children in this town, and suggests that they follow him to ask whether he knew Warlock. The rest of the crew return to the BnB for some well deserved rest, but Shane and Ryan pursues the kid....into the forest.

-They lose him until HE found THEM. He immediately recognizes Ryan, who had to introduce his best friend Shane. Two other kids appear from between the trees. One of them, a girl, has a large wooden sword. They are surrounded. Shane grips Ryans hand, and asks, half jokingly, is they are serial killers, and if they are intending to kill him.

-The Them claims that it happened like, one time, and they do not plan to kill Shane, but their smile looks too wide to be genuine, like they are sharing a personal joke. The boys start walking away. The Them follows. Ryan asks if they know Warlock. They stop, sharing looks. Brian asks how they met Warlock. Ryan refuses to tell them . The kids get defensive, the way 13 year olds tend to get when they are about to justify doing a notable offense, like staying awake past bedtime The wind picks up, and the kids get visibly relieved. Brian tells them that Adam is coming, in a way that makes them feel like they definitely do not want to meet Adam. They scram it.

-They are being chased again. This time, when Ryan looks back, he sees what looks like a dog but isn't-like something is badly wearing the skin of a dog, like it has too many limbs to fit into four legs, a slobbering maw and hellfire eyes.

-They manage to leave the woods, and almost get hit by a three wheeled blue car. Shane bangs on the door and it opens for them, and Ryan shouts at them to step on it. It is only when they get to a quaint little cottage at the other end of the town do they acknowledge their saviours-a bespectacled, brown skinned woman and a jittery boyfriend.

-The woman is American. She recognizes them immediately, and says that she is a huge fan of True Crime. It is the most mundane , normal conversation they have for all of 2 days. They enter Jasmine Cottage. Shane slumps.

-there is a horseshoe above the door, and runes etched into the wood. The smell of incense burns strongly, and a redlined conspiracy board in a corner of the kitchen.

-The woman calls herself a professional occultist. A witch, basically. Which is...fine. She is at least honest and blasè about it, which made someone in this godforsaken town at least. Shane spots a picture of the Antichrist on her pinup board, the same one as seen in the poker card he's found in AziCrow's cottage. Anathema notices, and admits that it's complicated. They are confused, angry and terrified, and mentions their encounter with Adam, and everything else they'd had to suffer through as they are stuck in the village. Her facial emotions change from shock, to calculating, to confused, to skeptical, before finally ending In blank. She claims that it is very unlike Adam, as he usually does not go about scaring people from out of the village. He had welcomed her in just fine, and the town had followed short after. Shane asks about the Antichrist and Horsepeople symbolism. She waves that one away, claiming how it wasn't important and that 'They wouldn't believe her anyway.' She offers Meet to drive them back to their Inn, and they accept.

-They get back to the village; as they open the door to their rooms, knowing that the rest of the Crew is waiting for them, Warlock is also there. He takes a single look at them, and raises an eyebrow. They tell him what happened. Warlock frowns. Tells them the only reason they'd been hounded In such a way if Adam wants something from them, and TJ puts his face into their hands.

-They ask if they should lock the door. Warlock tells them not to bother-it won't stop him anyway. Devon asks the possibility of leaving this very night. Warlock shakes his head, but looks contemplating.

-That night, Shane gets kidnapped.

-Ryan doesn't see the culprit, but something tells him it's the Them, and the Hound, and Adam. He runs into the woods. The night is cold and still, but the trees shake like they could be alive. Ryan yells angrily into the void, asking Adam what is it that he wanted, that it's him they actually want, to let Ryan go. He faces the Hound, a slobbering, monstrous nightmare. Ryan thinks he is going to die. There is a boy sitting in a dilipidated throne above a chalk pit with blood red eyes.

-Two headlights pierce through the gloom. The trees still. The hound sits, and Crowley steps out if the Bentley.

-Aziraphale is in the car. Warlock peers over his shoulder. Crowley stomps over and tells Adam to come down-that his game is over, and it stopped being funny for quite some time. Shane stumbles out of the woods, dazed and terrified, and Ryan traps him into an embrace.

-After some chastising Adam admits that he's made a bet with Greasy Johnson in school that Demons and Ghosts are real, and that the Them had managed to convince him that it lives in the woods. He had not believed them, and made them bet that if it was really haunted, Paranormal Investigators would come and make a whole documentary about it. Warlock had showed him a few episodes of BFU, and Adam thought it perfect.

-Crowley scolds him, telling him against manipulating and keeping the Crew here against their will, and Adam looks appropriately chastened. Dawn breaks. The crew emerges from the Inn in a state of panic. Crowley pat's the van twice and it comes to life.

-Someone asked Crowley if the kids really HAD killed people. Crowley waves it away, claiming that it isn't important. In the light of morning, the kids and the dog almost looks normal.

- They decide not to prod any further. Aziraphale apologizes one last time, and tells the that they are welcome in Tadfield if they choose to come again. Ryan and Shane emphasizes that they absolutely will not, ever. Aziraphale nods like he understands. They pack the equipment and leaves the town, possibly England, forever.

-In a few days time, Adam gets an email- a video titled The Horrors of Hogsback Woods, and he grins cheekily to himself.

#BuzzFeed Unsolved #Shyan maybe?#Good Omens #but scary #Warlock Dowling #Anthony Crowley #Aziraphale #Shane Madej #Ryan Bergara #fanfic #fanfic draft #Adam is a little shit #the Them are technically murderers?#tw horror #suspense #ineffable husbands #Devon #TJ Marchbank #Mark

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thyra279 · 4 years

Text

At the Edge of the World

London, Bedford Place, Thursday 19th May 1814

...Aziraphale was running out of time, had perhaps twenty minutes before the end of the evening, and he really must – must – find her.

With practised ease, he inserted two fingers into the little pocket in his waistcoat. Empty. He drew them back out and patted stupidly for the chain, which ought to be poking out of one of his button holes.

It wasn’t.

He looked down at himself. Nothing. Then frantically around the marbled floor to either side of him. Nothing. He made a full circle, then started over again, mind spinning faster yet, and still- it couldn't- it mustn't- piece of the family, a precious part of- of them. He'd been entrusted with it, and now- now- oh how could he be so stupid. He loved it, too, it was one of the good ones, he'd been so proud, his grandfather's beloved-

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, sir, but might you perhaps be looking for this?"

It was a drawl he barely recognised, though he was certain whom the languid voice belonged to before he even looked up.

The young man from earlier, the one with those curious eyes, was dangling Aziraphale's beloved watch in front of him.

"Found it on the floor over there," he added, nodding vaguely towards a part of the room Aziraphale had barely been in. There was just the slightest tinge of pink to his sharp features.

"Oh. Thank you." Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, reaching out. Before the immense wave of relief subsided, the redhead caught the watch in his hand, bringing it close to his eyes to study it. The thin gold chain slid slowly off his slender wrist, serpent-like, to dangle like a pendulum below his spidery hand.

His amber eyes took in every exquisite detail from the tiny golden wings and laurels to the built-up grime in every crevice. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel a little defensive. The watch showed all the little tell-tale signs of everyday use, he knew, but he liked it that way, well-worn and loved.

"Beautiful."

"Erh, yes, quite."

"An heirloom?"

Aziraphale stepped a bit closer, flattening out his palm. "Yes."

"I bet it's very old? Fascinating story behind it?"

"I'm afraid not, no, not at all. It was my grandfather's, though he only had it made, ah, twenty years ago."

"Ah."

“He’s diseased,” Aziraphale added, flustered.

“Pity.”

“...Rather, yes.”

The taller man let the watch slip through his long, thin fingers, confidently gripping the end of the chain before it also dropped through, and raised the watch high, teasingly, in front of Aziraphale. It dangled between them, spinning slowly in the air.

"Well, here you are." He made no sign of handing it over.

Aziraphale blinked at him, forehead creased in a frown.

The man raised an eyebrow and, with the ghost of an upturned lip, gave the chain a little flick with his slim, pale wrist, eyes locked on Aziraphale's.

The chain swayed heavily back and forth between them. Aziraphale looked away for a moment, considering his options, then looked the man resolutely in the eye and caught the watch, stilling it with his own hand. He couldn't help a triumphant little pout, which caused those thin lips to break into an undeniable smirk. Unseemly. Absolutely out of order. Aziraphale pursed his lips further for fear of having them smile in turn, and the smirk grew into just the hint of a sharp-toothed grin.

Aziraphale, eyes growing narrow, gave the watch a quick, firm tug, forcing the chain out of the other's hand. He got a surprised half-chuckle in response, a much lighter, flightier sound than what he'd heard so far.

"Yes, thank you."

I am VERY EXCITED to share this art/snippet preview and shout to the world that my Regency/Victorian AU with beautiful ( 😭 ) illustrations by the wonderful @agardeneden is finally starting up on Friday the 10th as part of the @do-it-with-style-events minibang!

Tune in for:

Gentleman sailor Aziraphale

Bad boy Molly boy Crowley

The Earl of Shadwell

Decades of flirting, love and pining and them against the world

Madame Tracy in a giant wig

Archibald fucking Gabriel

All the tropes you could ever desire and then some

Aziraphale in a Royal Navy uniform and Crowley in... a lot less, frankly

Seriously, if you hate the sound of this, fair play to you, but you deserve to see Aziraphale in his Royal Navy uniform he’s so pretty y’all no wonder Crowley wants to...

...Find out what exactly Crowley wants to do to him by following the story over on AO3 from this Friday onwards!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens art #do it with style events #Ineffable Husbands #aziraphale and crowley #human au #historical au

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 3/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Read on AO3.

January 15th –

He opened his eyes!

He opened his eyes and looked at me!

After hours of waiting in the dark and in the cold, despairing every second and wishing I was dead myself, he opened his eyes.

But it came close to being all for naught because I almost died myself right then and there.

It was good to see him with his eyes wide open, but the golden eyes I loved so much are gone.

These new eyes are white on white, the pupils infinitely dark, the irises torn. They stare without blinking. They look into me, into my soul, it seems. They connect to the love that runs deep within me, to every touch he has ever left on my skin, to every promise we both made.

But they do not recognize me.

Am I, at all, familiar to him?

I don’t want to reject him, whether he knows me or not. But those eyes unnerve me.

There’s so much about them that’s innocent and frightened.

So much about them that’s desolate and dead.

We literally spent the morning just looking at one another.

I would give anything to know what’s going on in his mind.

What does he see when he looks at me?

I want to reach out and touch him, but I’m afraid. I know it won’t be the same. He won’t be warm, won't be comforting. What could be worse than a dead copy of a once alive and loving creature? I don’t know.

But whatever this is, it might be.

He won’t smell like Crowley. He won’t have his cheek, won't have his soothing voice. It’s almost as if I adopted some wild animal and decided to make it my husband.

What have I done?

***

January 16th –

All day long, he tried to move, grunting with the effort of struggling to stand up and get out of bed. He didn’t speak words; he just groaned. I wanted to help him. I wanted to pretend that he was simply convalescing after a horrible illness. I wanted to bathe him and dress him. I wanted to sit him down in front of the television, prop up his feet, and feed him brandy and ice-cream. I wanted to put this chapter behind us and get on with our lives.

I wanted to make believe him dying had never happened.

But I’m not that good an actor.

He behaves exactly the way the old woman warned me he would. He reminds me of a child.

I never wanted children.

This is the ‘in sickness and in health’ part of the marriage package, which I agreed to without hesitation.

Never mind the ‘till death do us part’ portion.

This comes with my vows, and I will honor them.

My love will help him. I know it will.

…

Can I really do this, or am I fooling myself?

***

January 17th –

I’m trying my best to take the bad with the good.

I managed to get him to the living room sofa. His legs were stiff, and he couldn’t seem to bend his knees.

He had been declared dead-on-arrival because of the injury to his neck. But I wonder if anything else is broken. I wasn’t really paying attention to the doctor when he went over the extent of Crowley’s injuries. After I heard the word dead, I tuned out.

I should get a copy of Crowley’s hospital records.

But if his legs are broken, how will I deal with that? Will the potion magically fix everything? It brought him back to life. Could fixing broken legs be more difficult than reanimating a corpse? What is the extent of the potion's effects? Do I need a secondary potion of some kind to repair internal injuries?

Maybe I should call the shopkeeper back and ask.

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

He stumbled numerous times and fell on me. I did my best not to cringe at his touch or accidentally drop him. But those eyes, so close to mine, were like looking into a nightmare. I could see through them to the veins and arteries behind, the blood inside them black and unhealthy.

The fourth time he stumbled, though, I got the feeling that maybe he was falling on purpose so that I would be forced to catch him.

I even thought I saw the shadow of a smile cross his lips.

I watched him as he sat in front of the TV and renewed his passion for The Golden Girls. That show had been one of his favorites since he was a small boy.

He sat so still.

He didn’t swallow.

He didn’t appear to breathe.

The only time he moved was when he looked over to where I sat, I think, to make sure I was still there.

He sat for hours and watched TV.

There was nothing else for him to do.

I fed him salad for dinner, let him stay in front of the television instead of making him go to the dining room table. I didn’t see any reason to move him. He leaned down and sniffed the cold lettuce leaves, but he did not eat.

Neither did I.

***

January 19th –

After a full day of limping him around the house, Crowley is surprisingly steady on his feet. He can make it from the bedroom to the living room sofa by himself. It takes him a while, but he can do it.

His body is still in rigor, but he seems to be getting more comfortable with it.

I should be jumping for joy at his progress. The more mobile he becomes, the less dependent he will be on me. Every day that he improves, even a little, he is closer to becoming the man he was.

But I don’t know how comfortable I am with that anymore.

***

January 21st -

He doesn’t sleep. And now that he doesn’t rely on me to get around the house, neither do I. I know he sees me as a parent-figure, so he won’t hurt me. But he’s such an alien creature. Not like the old Crowley at all.

It’s strange having this version of him around the house.

When Crowley was

Before the accident, Crowley was so independent. He didn’t need me, didn’t need my help with anything.

But now, he needs to be near me all the time.

I understood there would be a change in our dynamic, but it’s such a striking change that it’s difficult to get used to.

I took a shower for the first time in days. I left him in the living room watching TV, but when I finished and opened the curtain, there he was, standing there … staring.

I fell asleep for about an hour afterward, and when I woke up, he was kneeling beside me, again staring at me.

He’s always staring.

What does he think about doing when he stares at me?

***

January 22nd –

I finally broke down and gave Crowley a shower. He didn’t stink, but there was something about him, something that smelled … well, I can't seem to find the words to describe it.

I just wanted it gone.

I’ve seen the injuries to his chest numerous times, but I haven't paid much attention to his back.

When I saw them, I almost threw up.

And he noticed.

He heard me gag.

I gasped, held in my urge to be sick.

He turned to face me, and for the first time, he had an expression on his face different from his blank one … but also different from that smile I thought I saw when I was helping him walk around the house.

He looked hurt.

***

January 27th -

Each day that he improves, I debate telling our friends that he's here. I know they miss us terribly. But in the end, it would be too cruel. He’s not himself anymore. He never will be. Most days, I curse myself for doing this to him. My motives were selfish. I wasn’t thinking of anyone but myself when I made the decision to bring him back.

I wasn’t even thinking of him.

Our lives are unrecognizable. We’ll never travel the world like we'd planned. Who knows if I’ll make it back to my bookshop? Should probably shut it down and have my books transported here. The way things look, the rest of our days will be spent in this cottage.

I have to be okay with that.

But what about Crowley?

If you asked rational me if I think he wants to live this half-life, with no potential to be anything other than a human puppet, who only barely resembles the man that was Anthony J Crowley, I would have to say no. Absolutely not.

But I can’t turn back now.

What am I expected to do? Poison his tea? Smother him in his sleep?

Would attempting to kill him even work?

And what about his soul?

If there is a Heaven, I surely pulled him out of it with my cock-eyed plan. What if there is no going back for him?

I can only hope that my love for him is enough to keep him from hating me when he’s able to comprehend what I’ve done to him.

***

February 1st –

I’ve finally gotten him to eat – bits and pieces mostly, bites of vegetables and corners of bread. It doesn’t seem like he likes it, but he eats it, and that’s good. He eats because I tell him to. It shows that he trusts me.

He’s more self-sufficient now.

He showers and brushes his teeth on his own. He picks out his pajamas and dresses himself. Sometimes he tries his hand at making the bed. He is attempting to be more vocal, but he has yet to say a single thing that isn’t a grunt or a moan.

I’ve been looking up the subject of speech delay on the Internet, trying to find ways to help him learn. I came across one website in particular with fun, creative ideas. I started making flashcards of consonant blends and one-syllable words. I felt so accomplished, so hopeful, like I was actually doing something positive toward the goal of moving us forward. I felt confident that after a little work with them, everything would be all right. I was so excited to show them to him, but then I realized …

… I have no idea if he can read.

***

February 3rd –

I tried calling the old woman at the antique shop in Soho to ask about the effects of the potion, but the phone has been disconnected.

I guess they went out of business after all.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing appears to be broken. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t feel pain.

I was teaching him how to cook, hoping it would bring a bit of the old Crowley back. We used to cook together all the time. Honestly, we weren't all that good at it, but that didn't stop us from trying. We had just gotten the hang of a decent souffle before ...

Anyway ...

I started him small.

I had him grating cheese.

Seemed simple enough. The grater stands on its own, so not much to juggle. But he pressed too hard, ran the grater over the backs of his fingers, scraped off skin. He didn’t so much as flinch. I think it bothered me more than it bothered him. I bandaged it up and, without thinking, I kissed the wound. I looked at him in utter shock …

… and he smiled.

My heart leapt.

It’s so nice to see him smile again.

I never thought I would.

***

February 4th –

I took off Crowley’s bandage, and his wound from the cheese grater is gone! There’s not a trace of it left!

I guess that answers that question.

I should be relieved, but it bothers me, and I don’t know why.

***

February 21st –

Today was the most unexpectedly intense, depressing, and wonderful day all at once.

It started when Crowley woke this morning. He got up before me and tried to make me crepes. I had no idea why. He hadn't tried to cook by himself before, didn't even show an interest in cooking without me. He burned them, himself, and the stove all in one go. The fire alarm woke me, blaring in my ears. I managed to get to the extinguisher in time, but poor Crowley looked heartbroken over his ruined pan of blackened food.

Then, before lunch, he wanted to go outside. I think he was trying to sneak out, but I caught him jiggling the front doorknob (he has yet to master the bolt - thank God). When I caught him, he slammed his hand on the door in frustration and sprinted for the back one. I followed him, knowing it was locked and that he wouldn’t be able to open it. When I reached him, he was trying to wedge his way out of the old cat flap. (Note to self - board up the cat flaps! I don’t know why we kept them. We’ve never owned a cat.)

I patted him gently on the shoulder and asked him what he needed. He stood up and groaned, moving his mouth and wiggling his tongue, making nonsensical sounds. When he couldn’t say what he needed to, he pointed out the window to the garden. I assumed he wanted to check on his dahlias. I’m a disaster with flowers, and, unfortunately, I haven’t been able to keep them up the way he could.

Of course, it's one degree outside. The poor things are frozen solid. They're not even flowers any longer, I don't think, but the frigid remains of what they once were.

But he’d had yet to show any interest in them, either, before today.

I shrugged, repeated that I didn’t understand. He pointed more forcefully, jabbing at the window with his index finger.

“I don’t know what you're trying to tell me, my dear,” I said. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

I've taken him walking around Soho a few times. I've been trying to tie up loose ends, decide if selling the bookshop is the road to take. I wrapped him up in a full-length coat and scarf with just his eyes peeking out. I guess he enjoyed it, but he’d never asked to go outside. He shook his head and pointed again, this time at the dying rose bushes that I hadn’t had time to deadhead. I didn’t get it. I shook my head, and he stormed off to the bedroom.

I followed him there, but he blocked the door.

I could hear him inside, moaning. It was horrible. It sounded like pain and embarrassment and frustration, all rolled together. And I couldn’t help him.

He wouldn’t let me.

I tried to lure him out several times, but he didn’t come out till dinner time.

And when he did, he was dressed in a black Bergdorf suit.

Crowley has dozens of expensive black suits, and he looks stunning in all of them.

But this suit.

This suit in particular.

This suit had been hanging front and center in his closet.

Because it was the suit I had planned on burying him in.

It threw me for a loop, dragging me kicking and screaming back to that day I found out he had died, before I’d decided to try bringing him back, before I knew that I could. I took out the suit to air it. I guess I hadn’t put it back with the others because there it was, standing before me with the living corpse of my husband inside.

The sight took all the air out of my lungs.

“Take it off,” I said quietly, trying not to alarm him, but how was I supposed to explain to my somewhat dead husband that I didn’t want to see him dressed in the suit I had planned on putting him in the ground in?

He looked confused and shook his head, opening his mouth and groaning.

“Please, Crowley,” I begged, hoping he would hear my anguish and understand, “take it off.”

He stomped his foot and shook his head, the way a petulant child would. It should have been cute, but I couldn’t handle it. I've had issues getting used to his looks lo these many weeks, but for the first time since he came back to me, he looked dead.

“Take it off!” I screamed. I ran at him, grabbed the lapels, trying to tear it off his body. He held me, pinned my arms, and I could feel his renewed strength. I hadn’t really let him touch me before, but now I knew that if he wanted to, he could probably hurt me.

I stared up at him, realizing that he was hovering above me, and I was lying on my back on the floor. My heart stopped. He had never looked menacing before. Even in death, he seemed so innocent. But now, he looked like a monster. He had a piece of paper balled in his grasp, and he tried to make me look at it, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from his face – pale and cold and lifeless, regardless of the fact that he was my Crowley.

He stared at me, trying to speak.

It hit me like a pile of bricks.

Speak.

That’s exactly what he was doing.

His lips were moving in exaggerated, grotesque ways that shouldn’t be able to turn sound into words, but they were.

“A … Az … Azi …”

Crowley blinked and shook his head.

“Azir …”

“Aziraphale?” I asked in awe that he was trying to say my name.

Crowley laughed. It was a glorious, hollow, frankly frightening sound, but I couldn’t help smiling when I heard it. He put his fingers to my lips.

I guess he didn’t want me to steal his thunder.

“Azzzir-uh-phale,” he said, smacking his lips. “I … lo … I lov …” Crowley swallowed again, closing his eyes, trying to make the words in his head match the movement of his lips. “I … love … you … Azzzir-uh-phale.”

Crowley tapped again at the paper on the floor. This time I did what he wanted and looked. He had torn off the current page from the calendar and was poking at a box circled shakily in red. I peered down at it.

I could have cried.

“Our ... our anniversary?” I asked, looking into his broken eyes. He sighed, nodding.

It was our anniversary.

He’d wanted to make me breakfast in bed … for our anniversary.

He’d wanted to get me roses … for our anniversary.

My husband had wanted to do something nice for me … for our anniversary.

My husband had spent all day teaching himself how to say, “I love you, Aziraphale,” because there was nothing else he could do for me.

My husband remembered our anniversary ...

... even when I had not.

***

June 4th -

Five months-ish later…

I can’t believe it!

I cannot believe it!

Five months later and we’ve made it! Despite the odds. Despite the difficulties and the heartaches. Despite every time I thought about giving up, here we are.

Happy.

Together.

We spend our days wrapped in each other’s arms. We watch TV. I read books out loud - he sits and listens. Crowley is re-learning how to drive, and I’m on the hunt for a new Bentley. Our lives might not be what they were before, but they’re perfect for us.

We’ve managed to go to the city more, spent a few glorious nights at our flat in Mayfair. We've even interacted with one or two of our old friends. It's a wonder what some foundation and blusher can accomplish! I told them it was a medical miracle, and they believed me.

Because that's what Crowley is.

A miracle!

Okay, maybe I am tempting fate. But maybe fate needs to be tempted from time to time!

His vocabulary has expanded immensely, and a hint of his old suave confidence has come back, along with the muddy accent I so often teased him about.

I am finally at a point where I am optimistic about the future.

Because I’m beginning to think that there might actually be one for us.

***

August 13th –

I woke this morning to a strange squealing noise. At first, I thought it might be the smoke alarm again - odd since we got the cooking situation sorted, I thought. The longer I listened to it, the more I realized it wasn’t the smoke alarm. It didn’t sound familiar at all, so I didn’t worry too much about it. As long as an errant sheep didn’t get hit by a car, there was really no reason to jump out of bed and investigate. After a few minutes of listening to the goings-on outside, I determined that wasn’t the case, so I considered going back to sleep.

But then I noticed that Crowley wasn’t laying beside me in bed.

That isn’t too unusual. He’s normally the first one up on any given day. I just curl back into a ball holding his pillow to my chest until he returns.

He always returns.

The squealing wasn’t really that weird. I’ve thought for the last few months that we might have rats. Or squirrels. Or possums. I’ve heard that same squealing a few times before. But seeing as I can’t find any evidence of rodent-caused destruction anywhere in the house, I haven’t been too aggressive about hunting it down.

My stomach began to growl. I guessed I had been asleep for longer than I thought. Instead of returning to bed, I decided to make some waffles for breakfast. So I got up and went out into the kitchen.

That’s where I found Crowley.

He was crouching on the floor …

… covered in blood …

… biting into the spine of what used to be a raggedy old Maine coon …

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

He grinned his old, sly grin, licked his bloody lips, and said, "Hello, Aziraphale. Can I get you a cuppa tea? I know just how you like it."

He winked at me, and my heart stuttered.

…

I may have a problem.

***

Those are the last words on the page.

A page where the ink is smeared from tears, and the edges crusted in blood.

I haven’t seen Aziraphale or Crowley in decades. They used to send the occasional letter, but those stopped a while ago, and they never call. But something tells me neither of them ever left this house alive.

I’m afraid my time, too, has run out. I came to this house alone. But huddled in the darkest corner of the attic, I hear footsteps coming closer, a sour voice on the wind calling my name …

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

KA-THUNK!!

***

“Warlock Dowling!” Crowley calls, barging into the attic, footsteps heavy on the worn floorboards. “Are you recording another one of those Clip-Clop thingies again?”

“It’s TikTok, Nanny,” Warlock replies, rolling his eyes, “and no. I’m reading a story for my YouTube channel.”

“Well … you done getting a costume together or wot?” Crowley asks, changing the subject, saving face that he actually understands anything Warlock just said. “Adam and his hooligans are gonna be here in a minute. Aziraphale is gonna have kittens if you’re not ready to go Tricks or Treats!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Warlock says, gathering up his camera. He loves Halloween with a passion, but he’d been eyeing this one journal in Aziraphale’s bookshop for some time now. This video he’s been putting together promises to be epic - the crowning achievement of his burgeoning story channel. Most horror story channels get their material from the Creepypasta Reddit, but he has a unique source of original material … when he can get out to Soho, that is. “I’m coming.” He pulls the lapels of the leather jacket he’s borrowing for the evening together in front to tighten it up.

It’s slim fit as it used to be Crowley’s from back in the day, but thirteen-year-old Warlock still swims in it.

Warlock marches to the door under Crowley’s watchful eye. Before he can make his way through, Crowley stops him, slipping a hand underneath the jacket and rescuing an extraneous prop - an antique journal.

“Have you been snoopin’ through Angel’s old manuscripts again?” Crowley asks, wiping the cover clean. “You know how he feels bout that.”

“I know,” Warlock admits sheepishly, “but my audience loves them! I get thousands of hits off his stories! Besides, I put my own twist on them, freshen them up a bit.”

“Do you now?” Crowley asks with an unamused eyebrow notched.

“Why didn't he get them published?” Warlock shifts gears before the lecturing can start. “He’s an amazing writer!”

“He had his reasons,” Crowley mumbles, flipping through the pages. After skimming a passage or two, he puts it down on a pile of similar journals, a shiver sliding down his snakey spine. “Oof! Those things’ll give you nightmares.”

“They should terrify you. He’s murdered you in every single one!”

“Ah, but he does it with love.” Crowley grins wide enough to swallow his whole face. “It’s an honor.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #tricketyboo2020 #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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sam-writesstuff · 5 years

Text

Family (Crowley x reader x Aziraphale)

Requested: Hey! I was wondering if you could write a fic with a teen!reader where she spends a lot of time with Crowley and Aziraphale, they're like protective dads over her. One day the angels/demons take her to try and get information about Crowley and Aziraphale, obviously they rescue her and they don't want her to bother with them anymore because they don't want her to get hurt so she yells at them?? Very angsty with a lovely fluffy ending xo

Warnings: Ignorant family, Slight child abuse.

Word Count: 1899

A/N: I know I said I will post a fic last weekend, but due to some technical issues with my computer, I wasn’t able to finish this ‘til today... I’m sorry🥺School’s kind of dragging me behind with literally everything I enjoy doing;( Learning is important, but I miss the days I can just go anywhere and do anything whenever I wanted to😩 I didn't expect this to be turned into a series... But I guess it is? I hope you guys enjoy reading this!

---

Life wasn't fair.

You learned this way to young. Your mother hated you, specifically because her own life was ruined in the result of your birth. Your father was selfish and ignorant; an arsehole. Weird enough, you couldn't bring yourself to blame either of them. Your mom was a poor victim of society, and your father was a victim to his father. Not enough reason to abandon a child, but the world you lived in taught you things that most people learn in their thirties. When they got divorced, you were handed to your grandmother. When she died, you were handed to your aunt. Handed, like an object. Like a hot potato, keep being passed on and on until the music stopped playing. When you realized that you can decide when to stop your music, you didn't linger longer. You were around thirteen when you first tried to escape from your aunt.

It was freezing that night. The night was so, so cold. Everything moved slowly, but you kept walking. You didn't have much on you, and you weren't sure what you needed to do now. You were lost. You thought walking might lead you to somewhere. Anywhere. It was devastating. London was huge. Even so, not a single place in this city had a room for you. You once saw the news on the tv inside a store use the word 'overpopulation,' and how the world was so crowded. You wondered if that is why there wasn't any place for you.

'God created everyone for a reason, there is a place for everyone in this world.'

Your grandmother was very forgetful. She sometimes forgot that its morning and tried to put you back into bed. Or wake you up in the middle of the night thinking its morning. She sometimes forgot how to use the bathroom. She sometimes thought she was in someplace else and kept screaming. The rare amount of times when she wasn't, she always told you that God created everyone for a reason, and there is a place for everyone in this world. You never took her word for it, but you truly wished for it to be true at this moment. If it was true, now was the time to prove it.

The bookshop across the street was the only place that had lights on. Every other store on the street was closed. You could've gone over to a cafe that was a few blocks away, but you didn't. It was as if you were possessed by something. You were like the little girl that sold matches and the bookshop was what lit up at your sight. That should be the place. That had to be the place. You entered the bookshop and a gentleman with golden hair came out.

"Hello, I'm afraid we are quite definitely clo- oh, dear. Are you all right?"

"I-I'm sorry. The lights were on and I - Ah, achoo!"

"No, it's not a problem. Please, you can sit here."

The man offered you a sit on a chair. Honestly, you didn't know what else you could do but to sit. There was nowhere else for you to go. Nowhere else for you sit. This was at least somewhere.

"Tell me, my child. Where are your parents?"

You hesitated. If you tell him the truth, will he let you stay? Will he care? He might call the police. What will happen to you then?

You were foolish. You thought escaping would help, only to lead you nowhere but to leave you to freeze to death.

"Do you have nowhere to go?"

He asked softly. Soft enough to get an unwanted child talking. No matter how high your walls were, that was all it took to collapse. But you knew this. You tried to avoid a direct answer, still, you couldn't resist the tears that formed in your eyes.

You expected more questioning from him, but he asked you none. Instead, he let you stay in the store for the night. The next morning, he made you promise to come back.

"Angels will watch over you," he said.

You didn't say anything back. Not a typical phrase you think you'd hear from a stranger. What a weird man, you thought. But then you came back because you were desperate. And every time he welcomed you with a warm heart. He seemed glad to see you again. You talked, he listened. He helped you, he took care of you.

"What is your name, my dear?"

"Y/N," you didn't say your last name on purpose. You didn't like it. Those people weren't even your family.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I'm Aziraphale."

Aziraphale. You saw the name before. Yes, you saw it and not heard it. In the bible. In the dirty, old, dark room you and your grandmother lived, she kept a bible. She'd sometimes read it out loud to you. You were too hungry to care. However, to your curiosity, you had opened it before.

Not long after you met Aziraphale, you met Crowley. You were terrified of him at first. You swore you saw him yelling at plants once.

Then one day, Crowley came to your school to see the Christmas play you starred in. You have been working on it for months, and although you weren't the main character, you enjoyed playing your role. You didn't even bother to tell your aunt about it. Instead, you asked Aziraphale if he could come and watch. He said yes, of course. Sadly, on the day of your play, a very important customer to Aziraphale came to the bookshop. Having to deal with him, Aziaraphale couldn't make it to your play. Not knowing that, you waited for him to enter through the door. Your eyes searched among the crowds, but he was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere.

More parents entered, each time waving at their kid on the stage. Some held flowers, probably to give them afterward.

"Uh, my mum is holding a camera," Harry, who stood beside you, grumbled at the sight.

"What's wrong with a camera?" You asked. You couldn't understand. What was wrong with a mum trying to savior a memory of her child?

"It is embarrassing. She'll show it to everyone at the Christmas dinner," Harry stated annoyingly. Almost like asking for sympathy. As if you are supposed to feel the same way. As if you too, had such a caring mother who would come to watch your play and record it for showing off purposes.

"Where is your mum?" Harry asked. It is these simple questions that hurt you the most. All of the assumptions, all of the conditions to be defined as a normal kid. What you hated, even more, is yourself wishing for your mother to enter from that door any moment now, and apologize.

"I-" You hear a large creek when you opened your mouth to answer. The door swung opened and entered a very familiar-looking person. Crowley.

Besides the dramatic entrance, he was a very unlike figure to be seen at a school play. Flaming red hair, wearing entirely black with usual sunglasses; his posture, in general, had a weird aurora. Parents stared at him with questioning eyes and so did you. You queried why he was there, he didn't appear like a parent. He marched over to you, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a large bouquet.

"I am not late, am I?" Crowley said as he looked around the room, "Is the play already over?"

"No," you took a moment before answering him. You were confused. "It hasn't even started yet. Where is Azi?"

"Aziraphale couldn't make it, had an important customer to deal with. Wanted me to tell you how sorry he was."

Disappointed look spread on your face. It wasn't his fault, you knew that. Though, that didn't stop you from being upset. You'll just leave as fast as you can after the play. Your friends will want to take pictures with you but... Well, you didn't have anyone to take the photo for you. If you leave fast enough, you'll be able to avoid all the questions.

"Don't be so gloomy about it. I'm here."

You looked up at Crowley with unbelieving eyes. "You are not going to leave?"

"What? No. Why do you think I came here in the first place?"

Your teacher announced that the play was starting soon, and Crowley went to find a seat. When he did found a sit, he took his phone out. You expected him to be on his phone instead of focusing on your play, but to your surprise, his camera lens landed on you. Later, himself joined other crowds of parents who scooched in the front row as quietly as possible trying to get the best shot of their children.

When the play ended, he whistled loudly. It was the loudest whistle you've ever heard in your life. He had a bright smile onㅡalmost grinningㅡand you've never seen him smile so widely. A proud smile. A kind of smile you've never gotten it before. You ran down the stairs after the final bow, towards Crowley and you hugged him tightly. He seemed stunned by your sudden action since you always hid behind Aziraphale whenever you saw him, but he patted on your shoulder in return.

"This is for you, by the way," he said, handing you the bouquet. Your smile widened at it. The flowers were beautiful.

Your friends ran over to you, wanting to take pictures with you. Their parents followed with their cameras. You looked up nervously at Crowley, but he was already taking his phone out. When all the picture fiasco was done, he took your hand and led you out to his car.

"I know my way home. I can walk home," you said but then hopped onto his car.

"Aziraphale is treating us dinner," Crowley answered fastening your seatbelt.

"Really?" Your face lightened up in excitement. A family dinner. Something you've never experienced before.

"Yes. Do you know your aunt's number? I'll call her," he handed you his phone from the driver's seat.

"I do, but I don't think you need to. Don't worry, she won't care," you didn't take his phone, knowing that she wouldn't care either way. She didn't the day you ran out of the house. She didn't when you came back, so why would she start caring now?

However, Crowley looked rather disturbed. He didn't say anything, and with his sunglasses, it was almost impossible to read him. You were greeted with Aziraphale when you arrived.

"Oh, hello, my dear. I deeply apologize for not being able to-"

"It's okay. Look! Crowley gave me flowers!"

"They look wonderful," he smiled at you softly before turning to Crowley. His face expression changed quickly and his voice deepened in a serious tone. "Did you film her as I asked you to?"

"Yes, yes. I did. Now come on, she must be starving."

After this day, you considered Crowley as your family along with Aziraphale.

You promised to yourself every single day, that one day, you'll give it all back to them. All the kindness they showed, all the things they gave you. You'll pay them back.

You never thought that your existence would endanger them, or that their existence would endanger you.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens imagine #good omens x reader #crowley x reader good omens #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #crowley x reader x aziraphale #crowley #Aziraphale

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mortuarybees · 5 years

Note

human au: how did aziraphale come out to crowley?

short answer: he didn’t, crowley came out to him

long answer:

It looks like this:

Crowley has asked Aziraphale out twice now, and it hasn’t gotten any easier.

“You want to go to dinner?” They’re standing outside the English & Philosophy building, and he shifts nervously beneath the imposing sycamore tree, struggling to hold his stack of books. It’s overcast (isn’t it always?), and in the shade of the tree, it’s dark, almost intimate.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to hold those?” Crowley asks doubtfully, catching a thin paperback as it falls off the top.

“I’m–” he blushes, and Crowley beams at him, gesturing for the stack. He hands some of them over, and–alright, yeah, they’re heavy, but whatever. “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” he says. “Where are we going?”

“Ah,” he frowns, looking at him inscrutably. “I was going to go to my dorm room?”

“Lead the way,” Crowley says, waiting until Aziraphale takes a few apprehensive steps to fall in beside him. “Anyway, yes, I–” he ducks his head, wishes he weren’t holding the books so he could fidget with his glasses or tuck his hands in his pockets, “I had fun, last time. And seeing Romeo + Juliet.” He throws him a sideways look to find him staring openly at him, and he turns his eyes forward, clears his throat, cheeks turning a deep red. This is a victory, as far as Crowley is concerned. “Did you?”

“I did,” he says in a rush. “But you…want to do it again?”

“Said I did, didn’t I?” Crowley says impatiently. “Listen, if you don’t want to, you can say so, won’t hurt my feelings.” It might. Okay, it will, but he’ll put on a brave face and just go back to his dorm and listen to the Smiths and cry for a while, like everyone does.

“I want to,” Aziraphale says slowly, as if he’s afraid Crowley’s somehow leading him into a trap but he hasn’t spotted the spring yet. “If you do. You don’t have to, you know.”

“We’ve already covered this, I want to. If you want to, it’s a date,” he says, warmth blooming in his chest like the sun emerging from the clouds. He likes Aziraphale too much, he knows; it’s strange how much he likes him, completely mad. They hardly know each other.

“A date,” Aziraphale murmurs, almost to himself, with a pleased and barely-there curve of his lips, and Crowley smiles at him. Maybe that’s why he likes him so much. He can admit it to himself: he doesn’t smile terribly often, anymore, but Aziraphale brings it out in him, with wonderfully, naively optimistic declarations in class, jokes he tells with a wince as if he’s anticipating ridicule, his odd, circular logic and how he mouths words along as he reads, sometimes even traces a finger beneath the line like some kind of hunched monk in a dim abbey.

“A date,” Crowley agrees.

(It looks like this:

Crowley won’t meet him until the first day of the one class they’ll share, but he notices him at freshers week. He looks like he stepped out of Dead Poets Society or Oxford in the 1950s, in tweed and honest-to-God wingtips, and he’s like Crowley. Well, broadly speaking.

His pale curls are cut unevenly, as if he did it himself, and he wears clunky glasses too big for his cherub–no, they call them something else, putti, maybe–whatever, his round and frankly angelic face. He clings to some huge paperback like a lifeline, gnawing anxiously at his plump lower lip.

Crowley takes a drag of his cigarette and meets his eye through the exhale of smoke. He holds it for a long moment, and lifts the cigarette to him, in a way that’s an invitation, and a greeting, and a subtle gesture to the rainbow pin on his own lapel. There’s a bright flash of recognition in his eyes as he sees.

And then he turns away.)

Aziraphale is not, as Crowley anticipated, in the nice building with central air and heating. Instead, he’s in the big, historic dorm, which he should have expected. If he’s learned anything at this point, it’s that Aziraphale is committed to a certain aesthetic, and modern architecture and carpeting is not part of it.

“I’ll take my books,” he says, gesturing for Crowley to put them on the top of the stack, and though something in his chest leaps at an opportunity to help, insists that he offer to take them up, he understands Aziraphale doesn’t want to bring a guy he hardly knows up to his room, so he hands them over.

“Are you free tonight?” he asks eagerly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was, in truth, planning to wait until his next paycheck to ask him out again, but he can’t. It’s a Herculean feat of effort to keep from asking him out again the moment their date ends, or as soon as he sees him in class. It’s quite restrained of him, he thinks, to have only asked him out three times in two weeks.

“I am,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink, and fuck, if that isn’t endearing; but then his face closes off, and he straightens his shoulders as best he can with the books in his arms. “Crowley, you…you know I’m not…”

“You’re not?” Crowley prompts when he doesn’t continue.

He bites at his lip, then says quite suddenly, “Crowley, you are…gay, aren’t you?”

Crowley throws back his head and laughs.

(It looks like this:

He sees him around. He’s not looking for him, persay, but it wouldn’t be accurate to say he doesn’t keep an eye out for him, either. There’s a rainbow pin on his lapel, now, small beside his little Stratford-upon-Avon souvenir and charmingly inoffensive Books Not Bombs pin. He could be a lesbian, Crowley supposes, but he doesn’t think so. Sometimes, you can just tell. Lesbians have a boldness about their person that this young man simply does not. Besides, lesbians travel in packs of other sapphics and very occasionally pet straight women they’ve taken under their wings, and he doesn’t seem to have any friends. Wide-eyed and beguiling as he is, he would’ve been adopted by now.

He’s like Crowley. Broadly speaking.)

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonishes peevishly, after several moments.

He bites down on his smile, and pulls his carton of cigarettes out. Aziraphale shifts uncomfortably as he lights the cigarette, and Crowley raises his eyebrows. “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. Do you mind?”

“No, no, go ahead,” he says. “Just. The books.”

“I can hold them,” he says.

“No, I’ve got them,” he says, after a moment. His face is turning very red, and after he takes his first drag, Crowley notices his eyes have taken on a wounded, watery quality. He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders again, avoiding Crowley’s gaze. “Ah, sorry, I suppose, I just thought, your pins, and–”

“Yeah, angel, I’m gay,” Crowley says gently, and Aziraphale ducks his head; the nickname, employed ever since they left the theater, never fails to make him blush. “Almost exclusively.”

“Almost–”

“You’re the exclusively,” he says. “I’d think that’d be obvious.”

“It’s not,” Aziraphale says, his voice soft, and Crowley’s chest squeezes painfully at that. “You know I’m a man, right?”

“'Course I do,” he says. He takes a nervous drag, flicks ash to the sidewalk.

“You’re sure? Because I–”

“Angel,” he interrupts. “Listen, I promise, I know you’re a man. I probably wouldn’t be asking you out if you weren’t.”

Aziraphale brightens at that. “Probably?”

“I prefer men,” Crowley shrugs. “Can’t really say only, but mostly.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, satisfied.

“And you?” Crowley asks, as nonchalant as he can manage.

“Mostly,” Aziraphale echoes. Crowley smiles, knot in his chest loosening.

“Besides,” he says, kicking at a tuft of grass so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Besides?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowely hesitates.

The thing is, Crowley’s never really talked to anyone about it. Not really, not in so many words.

It’s a hard thing to verbalize, even when you’ve read Butler and Boswell and Bland and de Beauvoir and all the rest of the goddamn alphabet of people like Crowley who never stop asking questions, even when it makes his head hurt.

It feels like it would be an underwhelming statement. I feel like a man, but only mostly. Sometimes almost completely, sometimes only tangentially, really, it depends on how I look at it.

He thinks Aziraphale will understand, though. He hopes he will.

(It looks like this:

Crowley is Antonio is their production of Twelfth Night. He’s in the audience of three of their productions, watching with a rapt attention and delight that makes Crowley forget his lines when he looks at him for more than a beat. Crowley wants to believe his eyes linger a little longer on him than they do the other actors, but he’s not sure if he’s…projecting. If he wants it to be true, so he’s fooling himself into thinking there’s a moment after Crowley’s finished saying his lines and the student playing Sebastian has begun saying his that he keeps looking at him, those blue eyes noticing him, over and over.

He’s like Crowley. He’s confident of it.)

“I understand,” he mutters.

“You understand,” Aziraphale repeats, confused. “You understand what?”

“The whole,” he waves the hand holding the cigarette, ash falling. “Gender. Thing.”

“Gender thing?” He says, and understanding dawns in his eyes. “You’re trans, too?”

Crowley makes a noncommittal noise. “I dunno. Sort of? Not really. Just…don’t feel,” he gestures, broadly. “All…not-that.”

“Are you a trans woman?” Aziraphale asks, and he shakes his head, sighs, shifts.

“No, not like a woman, just, sometimes, not like a man,” he says. “A little? Sometimes a lot. Sometimes not really at all. Does that make sense?”

Aziraphale tilts his head, considering. Crowley appreciates this about him, he really does, that he’ll really think about what you say to him, turn it over in his mind, but right now, he’s kind of having a moment, a big one, and he’d really like some immediate, instinctive gratification. “It does,” he says finally. “I understand what you mean. Genderqueer, yes?”

Crowley stares at him, at the nakedness of his expression, the bare knowing, and he knows he does understand. He feels a tidal of relief crash over him. “Yeah,” he says, a crooked smile finding its way onto his lips. “Yeah, that works.”

Aziraphale smiles back, and there’s something like relief in his eyes too. “Still Crowley, then? And–the same pronouns?”

He nods. “Yeah. That part doesn’t matter so much, to me.”

“So, ah,” he shifts, and Crowley grimaces; this was really all he had to say, he really doesn’t know what else he could articulate, exactly, doesn’t know that he’s going to have answers and worries that Aziraphale will stop looking at him with that understanding, that relieved you’re like me. “Dinner? Tonight?”

Crowley grins. “Is seven alright?”

“Seven is divine, dear.”

(human au masterpost)

#today i'm emo about *spins the wheel* the great unrecorded history and Understanding as euphemism for being queer #thank you so much for asking im love them #henry speaks #good omens #human au #ineffable husbands #Anonymous #henry writes

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smalltowndetective · 3 years

Text

TWC Playlists

Thank you so much for the tag @vienocalledmebuddy! I have more coupley- playlists for my detectives and their LIs, and not really any for my detectives themselves, but I do have a couple. So, I’ll put those here, and also those that I have! (Sorry this took me so long!)

Detective Thea Holland

Cinnamon Girl- by Lana Del Rey- There's things I wanna say to you, but I'll just let you live/ Like if you hold me without hurting me/ You'll be the first who ever did/ There's things I wanna talk about, but better not to give/ But if you hold me without hurting me/ You'll be the first who ever did

Soft to be Strong- by MARINA- I believe the world is beautiful/ Only the weak ones are cruel/ I choose to love you without fear/ I choose to love you without fear/ And I guess I've known it all along/ The truth is you have to be soft to be strong/ Finally, I feel the fear is gone/ I found out love has to be soft to be strong/ Soft to be strong/ Somebody hurt me long ago/ And though to heal a heart is slow/ It's just a consequence of pain/ There is no use in laying blame

Felix and Thea

Never be the Same- by Camila Cabello- It's you, babe/ And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe/ And I could try to run, but it would be useless/ You're to blame/ Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never be the same/ Suddenly, I'm a fiend and you're all I need/ All I need, yeah, you're all I need

Lights Down Low- by MAX- Heaven only knows where you've been/ But I don't really need to know/ I know where you're gonna go/ On my heart, where you're resting your head/ And you just look so beautiful/ It's like you were an angel/ Can I stop the flow of time?/ Can I swim in your divine? / Cause I don't think I'd ever leave this place

Porcelain Heart- by Beth Crowley- I couldn't help myself/ watching your moonlight silhouette as we all sat fire side/ I was hanging on to every word you said/ in that moment all I wanted was a chance to love you/ So I handed you my porcelain heart, breakable but not yet broken,/ harboring my words unspoken/ I handed you my porcelain heart, disregarding consequences,/ letting down all my defenses, to my porcelain heart/ You came and stood by me/ your crooked smile brighter than the stars/ And you pulled me to my feet/ whispering the summer time is ours/ and I felt it as we melted into something wonderful

Somebody to You- by The Vamps- All I wanna be, yeah all I ever wanna be, yeah, yeah/ Is somebody to you/ All I wanna be, yeah all I ever wanna be, yeah, yeah/ Is somebody to you/ Everybody's trying to be a billionaire/ But every time I look at you I just don't care/ 'Cause all I wanna be, yeah all I ever wanna be, yeah, yeah/ Is somebody to you

Absolutely Smitten- by Dodie- Handsome stranger, you have made her happy/ The first in a long time/ Did you just whisper in her ear?/ Words she only dreamed to hear?/ Pretty lady, look at how he's smiling/ I think he likes you!

I Wouldn’t Mind- By He is We- Forever is a long, long time/ But I wouldn't mind spending it by your side/ Tell me everyday I get to wake up to that smile/ I wouldn't mind it at all/ I wouldn't mind it at all

Dandelions- By Ruth B- And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime/ And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine/ 'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions/ Wishing on every one that you'd be mine, mine/ And I see forever in your eyes/ I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

Electric Love- By BØRNS- Candy, she's sweet like candy in my veins/ Baby, I'm dying for another taste/ And every night my mind is running around her/ Thunder's getting louder and louder/ Baby, you're like lightning in a bottle/ I can't let you go now that I got it/ And all I need is to be struck/ By your electric love/ Baby, your electric love/ Electric love

Detective Pearl Reid

To Be Human- By MARINA- All the people living in, living in the world today/ We're united by our love, we're united by our pain/ All the things that I've done and I've seen/ Still, I don't know, don't know what it means/ To be human/

Neptune- by Sleeping At Last- I’m only honest when it rains/ If I time it right, the thunder breaks/ When I open my mouth/ I want to tell you, but I don’t know how/ I’m only honest when it rains/ An open book with a torn out page/ And my ink’s run out / I want to love you, but I don’t know how

Nate and Pearl

Something Just Like This- By The Chainsmokers and Coldplay- But she said, where d'you wanna go? / How much you wanna risk? / I'm not looking for somebody / With some superhuman gifts / Some superhero/ Some fairytale bliss/ Just something I can turn to/ Somebody I can kiss/ Oh, I want something just like this

Bailamos- by Enrique Iglesias- Tonight, I'm yours/ We can make it happen, I'm so sure/ I won't let it go/ There is something I think you should know/ I won't be leaving your side/ We're gonna dance through the night/ I want to reach for the stars

The Man Who Lives Forever- By Lord Huron -They said we're all gonna die, but I'll never believe it/ I love this world and I don't wanna leave it/ Said that death is a deal that you cannot refuse/ But I love you, girl, and I don't wanna lose you/ Don't want a long ride/ I don't wanna die at all/ I wanna be the man who lives forever/ I ain't never gonna die and I want you to come

Sweet Boi- By Chevy- Tall and gentle/ Too hot to handle/ You're all that I want/ You're all that I want/ Oh baby.../ Sweet as nectar/ Honey suckle/ You make everything so fun/ Oh boy.../ My sweet boy

Brown Eyes- By Destiney’s Child- I know that he loves me cause he told me so/ I know that he loves me cause his feelings show/ When he stares at me you see he cares for me/ You see how he is so deep in love/ I know that he loves me cause its obvious/ I know that he loves me cause it's me he trusts / And he's missing me if he's not kissing me / And when he looks at me, his brown eyes tell his soul

Like Me Better- By Lauv- I don't know what it is but I got that feeling/ Waking up in this bed next to you swear the room, yeah, it got no ceiling/ If we lay, let the day just pass us by/ I might get to too much talking, I might have to tell you something/ Damn/ I like me better when I'm with you / I like me better when I'm with you/ I knew from the first time, I'd stay for a long time, 'cause/ like me better when, I like me better when I'm with you

You are in Love- By Taylor Swift, Travis Atreo Cover- And so it goes/ You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round/ And he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown/ And you understand now/ Why they lost their minds and fought the wars/ And why I've spent my whole life trying to put it into words

Habibi- By Tamino- Something hides in every night / Brings desire from the deep / And with it comes a burning light / To keep us from our sleep / And as the full star tries his best to make the white pearl shine/ Glances of a new day have arrived/ And though he’s not alone, he fears to never love another / And leave his heart forever with her smile

Detective Natasha Trexler

Dear Fellow Traveler- By Sea Wolf- Dear fellow traveler under the moon/ I saw you standing in the shadows and your eyes were blue / You put your hand out, opened the door / You said "come with me, boy, I want to show you something more" / You spoke my language and touched my limbs / It wasn't difficult to pull me from myself again / And in our travels, we found our roads / You held it like a mirror, showing me the life I chose

the broken hearts club- By gnash- And at first i wasn't sure/ If there's even a cure / For what i'm feeling cuz what i'm feeling’s / Been feeling more and more absurd/ The repeating in my head/ Of every last word that you said / Feels like ever since you left/ You still won't leave me (Bobby breakup)

Adam and Natasha

Green Eyes- By Joseph- We're taking the room for breathing/ You can walk away, I'm not leaving / There's pride in your mouth, you got used to the taste / Can you swallow it now when you hear me say/ Those green eyes are my green light / I'm giving up on control / You see red lights / I see me blowing straight through to you / If we're headed for the cliffside / I'm ready for the fall, if you know me at all / You know I don't need lights to decide/ I'm not changing my mind

Indestructible- By Welshly Arm- Eyes lock with yours, my head distorts/ You pull me in then turn to a ghost/ And now you got me like, frozen in the headlights/ Soft, golden skin/ Kiss like heaven/ You're an open door but you won't let me in / And now you got me like / And now you got me like, oh, oh, oh / Why you gotta' be so/ Indestructible/ Fire in your bones/ Nothing can touch you/ Why you gotta', why you gotta'/ Why you gotta' be so indestructible?/ With a heart that's made of stone/ And nothing can break you/ Why you gotta' be so indestructible?

What kind of Man- By Florence and the Machine- I was on a heavy tip/ Trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb/ You were on the other side, like always/ You could never make your mind/ And with one kiss/ You inspired a fire of devotion that lasts for twenty years/ What kind of man loves like this?/ What kind of man?

Break My Heart- By Due Lipa- You say my name like I have never heard before/ I'm indecisive, but, this time, I know for sure/ I hope I'm not the only one that feels it all/ Are you falling?/ It's you in my reflection/ I'm afraid of all the things it could do to me/ If I would've known it, baby / I would've stayed at home/ 'Cause I was doing better alone/ But when you said, "Hello" / I knew that was the end of it all/ I should've stayed at home/ 'Cause now there ain't no letting you go/ Am I falling in love with the one that could break my heart?

Hurts Like Hell- By Fleurie- I don't want them to know the secrets/ I don't want them to know the way I loved you/ I don't think they'd understand it, no/ I don't think they would accept me, no/ I loved and I loved and I lost you/ I loved and I loved and I lost you/ I loved and I loved and I lost you / And it hurts like hell/ Yeah, it hurts like hell

Even if it hurts- By Sam Tinnesz- It's darkest before the dawn/ But you don't need to do this alone/ No you don't / 'Cause when you get this close, you can feel the heat / Now you're so afraid of what's underneath / Oh, don't/ Even if it hurts/ Even if it makes me bleed/ I'm gonna carry you/ Pushing through/ With the dirt on my sleeves

Rescue my Heart- By Liz Longley- Lie and tell myself I can make it on my own/ Making it alone is lonely/ Twisting and I'm turning, oh, I'm crashing and I'm burning/ So reach out your hand to me/ And come down/ Rescue my heart/ I'll drown/ Without you/ Come down/ And rescue my heart

Where’s my Love- SYML- Cold bones, yeah, that's my love/ She hides away, like a ghost/ Ooh, does she know that we bleed the same?/ Ooh, don't wanna cry but I break that way/ Did you run away? Did you run away? I don't need to know/ But if you ran away, if you ran away, come back home/ Just come home

Detective Mariana “Mari” Gonzales

Older- By Sasha Sloan- The older I get, the more that I see/ My parents aren't heroes, they're just like me/ You just try your best not to get hurt/ I used to be mad, but now I know/ Sometimes it's better to let someone go/ It just hadn't hit me yet/ The older I get (Not a perfect match, but Mar’s relationship with her mother (and kind of her father as well))

Mason and Mari (Haven’t found 10 I liked for these two yet, since their playlist is still a work in progress, but here a few)

Play with Fire- By Sam Tinnesz, Yacht Money- Insane, inside/ The danger gets me high/ Can't help myself/ Got secrets I can't tell/ I love the smell of gasoline/ I light the match to taste the heat/ I've always liked to play with fire/ Play with fire/ I've always liked to play with fire

Make me Yours- By Beth Crowley-I've said too much but I have got to get this out/ Don't blame the timing/ 'Cause the only time is now/ And if we're done we'll go our separate ways/ And say goodbye/ But I think we'll both have our regrets if we do not give this a try (This is very much deep relationship for these two, nowhere near now haha!)

R U Mine?- By Artic Monkeys- Years too late, she's a silver lining/ Lone ranger riding through an open space/ In my mind when she's not right there beside me/ And satisfaction feels like a distant memory/ And I can't help myself, all I/ Wanna hear her say is "Are you mine?" / Well, are you mine?/ Are you mine?/ Are you mine? Woah, ah

Like Lovers Do- Hey Violet- Ooh, love is just another four letter word/ But that never stopped nobody/ Ooh, either way we lose/ Just like lovers, just like lovers do/ I see you watching me/ Eyes on your target/ Mix drinks and smoke rings, it's already started/ Let's roll the dice and we'll both make our moves/ Playing like lovers do

Nicotine- By Panic! At the Disco- I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you/ So I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do/ Yeah, you're worse than nicotine, nicotine/ Yeah, you're worse than nicotine, nicotine/ Yeah

One Woman Man- By John Legend- Damn, I used to be so cold/ Would never ever get too close/ Didn't ever wanna lose control / But from the moment that I tasted/ I knew that I would have to chase it/ You said hold up, I want you to be/ A one woman man/ Want you all to myself/ Don't want nobody else/ All your loving

I might add Rosalva’s later, when I actually figure out her playlist haha!

I’ll tag @lividlyinlove,@sosolenoo, and @gloynporslen and whoever else wants to do this! (Doesn’t have to be 10! Not all of mine reached it haha!)

#twc playlist #detective thea holland #detective pearl reid #detective natasha trexler #detective mariana gonzales #this is way too long I'm sorry

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lineffability · 5 years

Text

for whatever we lose

[In-Canon ‘Human’!A/C] based on this post words: 3.3k setting: post tv show ending summary: With the Apocalypse averted and their respective sides tricked, Aziraphale and Crowley can finally be left to their own (de)vices--only, you can’t trick God, and she always has the last word. So they forget who they were. And they forget each other. It’s all ineffable from here on out.

; For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea - e.e. cummings

PROLOGUE

Aziraphale was dreaming. This was odd, as he was not asleep.

Aziraphale. What have you done?

Had he possessed a body, in this dream, Aziraphale would have licked his lips and cleared his dry throat. Instead A Million Eyes were wide open, and he couldn’t tell if they were his or Hers, and he couldn’t Think either, because it was all drowned out. It had been a long, long time since She had spoken to him. Six thousand years to be exact, that day in Eden when she had inquired about his Sword and he had lied to Her face. Which, in retrospect, she had known. And forgiven.

But he had betrayed Her again. And this time, oh, he wasn’t sure--

You have to make it up to me, Aziraphale. You have to pay a price.

“Oh I-- I will! I will! I promise, I--”

Remember.

Then he woke up.

__________________________________________________

PART I // for whatever we lose

He woke up in his bed. It was half past eight, and he had to open the bookstore at nine (well, technically, anyways) which gave him just under half an hour to get up and ready and have breakfast. That did not leave him enough time for scrambled eggs and fresh orange juice, a realization that very much displeased him. Aziraphale whined and rolled out of bed.

Fading memories of a rather odd dream haunted him, but as he slipped out from under the covers they slid off him as water slides off ducks.

Barefoot, he trod into his kitchen, put on the kettle and got dressed as he waited for the water to boil. As he always did. He made scrambled eggs anyways, and fixed his bow tie and brushed his teeth and took the flight of stairs down into his shop half an hour late, opened the store half an hour later still, and sat and hoped no one would enter through the doors. He read a book, and started another one, made himself a cup of cocoa in the afternoon and glowered at the rare occasional customers until, unnerved, they left.

As he always did.

Until one day, an hour before (official) closing time, a tall, dark man entered his store.

“Oh, I am afraid that we will be closing in half an hour,” Aziraphale started, but did not continue as the man came towards him in big strides. He had a slightly odd way of walking, Aziraphale decided, as if he might slide off the face of the earth sideways if he wasn’t careful. Sashaying, one might call it.

“Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale did not immediately respond, as he was deep in thought, staring at the stranger’s face. His eyes were concealed behind sunglasses despite the cloudy weather, but the rest of his features were sharp: a thin nose, a pointy chin, pronounced cheekbones and spiky ginger hair. He was sure the man was a stranger, was sure he’d never seen him before in his life (because he would have remembered him, if he had), but there was something about his face and posture that reminded him of someone, nonetheless.

Who? He could not remember. It must have been a long time ago.

“Mr. A. Z. Fell?”

“Oh! Yes, that would be me.” Aziraphale smiled a welcoming smile, which even surprised himself. Of course, he was warm and welcoming to everybody in general, but in the bookshop, somehow, he more closely resembled a dragon guarding his hoard.

The stranger slightly cocked his hand to one side. “What’s the A. Z. stand for?”

“Pardon? Oh, the sign, right. That’s my name. I mean, of course, the sign has been there for generations. It just happens to also fit my initials. Er.”

The man raised a brow, behind dark sunglasses that he still had not taken off, until he continued.

“Aziraphale Zachariah Fell. That’s my name.”

Right. That was his name. For a moment there, he had confused even himself. He wondered if he was getting old. Because for just a second, it truly had felt as if he had not known. Not known about the sign that his ancestors had fixed to the outside of the store, not known what the initials of his own name stood for. This weird feeling, the feeling he had not been able to shake off all week, took a hold of him yet again. He touched the bridge of his nose, but remembered he was not wearing his reading glasses. He must have misplaced them.

For a moment Aziraphale feared that the stranger would burst into laughter. But he contained himself, asking instead, not without mirth: “Aziraphale?”

“Oh, my parents were…very religious.” He gave him a crooked, apologetic grin.

A look spread across the lanky man’s face that Aziraphale could only describe as surprised delight; wrinkles appeared around his eyes and it almost made Aziraphale blush, though he wondered what had prompted this reaction--surely not his old-fashioned name. (It had been that, but much more so it had been the look on his face, a helpless sort of amusement that Crowley couldn’t help but find endearing.)

“I mostly go by Raphael, though. To friends, I mean,” he added after a moment, feeling awfully stupid. (Aziraphale, he’d decided a long time ago, didn’t quite suit him.)

“I see,” Crowley replied, a smile still playing around his lips. “Mr. Fell.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to reply, but for the life of him could not think of any adequate reply. Who was this man, anyways? He had sauntered right into his shop and right up to him and somehow Aziraphale had told him about his parents’ religious beliefs without even knowing his name. Or anything else, really.

“So, you are…?”

“Ah.” As if he had been waiting for this moment, the man straightened and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. He might as well have been presenting to an entire audience. “Anthony J. Crowley, merchant of various goods, at your service.”

So this was what was going on, was it? Merchant. Aziraphale squinted imperceptibly. A book buyer. Nasty lot. Always after his pristine first editions, his life’s work--well, really, not just his. Most were inherited, though he had acquired the one or other treasure, in his lifetime… Feeling rather emboldened, Aziraphale decided to pay back what had been dealt to him. “So, what does the J stand for?”

“I’d rather hoped you’d ask about the ‘merchant of various goods’ part, honestly.” The man paused, but received no reaction. “No? Oh, alright. It’s really just ‘J’. Anthony Jay Crowley.”

“Well, now we’ve got that sorted out,” Aziraphale said with an amount of delight that seemed just a little too angelic to be entirely nice, “I am very afraid to inform you, my dear Mr. Crowley, that I don’t sell any books. If that is why you are here.”

Crowley stared at him behind his sunglasses, perplexed. “You own a bookstore.”

“Well. Yes. I mean--” He paused. I don’t like selling my books, he wanted to say. I love them too much. It feels like selling a part of myself. I’d much prefer to keep them all, if that were possible. Instead he said, “I prefer to sell them to individual buyers.” Because they only buy individual books. Singular.

“Why?”

“I just do.” He clasped his hands in front of his belly and sealed his lips tightly shut. Determined, he stood there, like a mother bear ready to protect her children.

Crowley, apparently, sensed that he was about to jog headfirst into a stone wall. His shoulders slumped. But he was not yet a man defeated. Aziraphale stayed on his toes. “Alright, alright. Cool stuff. No worries. But then, I assume...you buy them?”

Aziraphale’s face brightened. “Indeed!”

“You collect them?”

“You could say that.” Aziraphale’s chest grew various sizes, his aura positively shining. “I consider myself to be somewhat of an expert. My interest particularly lies with books of prophecy and, uh, Bibles with printing errors…oh, and Oscar Wilde!”

“Oscar Wilde,” Crowley repeated, pensively, before cocking his head. “Printing errors?”

“Oh, yes! For instance, there is the Adultery Bible, in which--”

Suddenly Crowley moved in closer, cutting him short. He lowered his voice as he spoke again, his face close enough that Aziraphale could make out the contours of his eyes through the shades. (Really, there was no need for that, they were alone in the store.)

“I might happen to be… in possession of one of those books you take such an interest in.”

“What? But, how-- Might I ask, who do you work for?”

“Oh, I work for myself.” Crowley straightened. “And if you want to ask where I get my goods from, you’d do better not to. Let’s call them Of Unknown Origin. Capiche?”

A moment of silence.

“So… are you interested?”

Another beat, during which Aziraphale tried to convince himself that he was not actually considering his offer. Of course he wasn’t. He gasped.

“Absolutely not! How-- Why-- I’m, I’m shocked!”

Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale was sure that, behind his sunglasses, he was rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. I get it. You’re boring. Should’ve known the moment I walked in here. One of the Good Ones.” His tone turned mocking at the last words, upper lip curling.

“Now that’s just awfully rude; there is no need for such behaviour.”

“Whatever.” The man called Crowley lifted a hand, already turning. Then he stopped in his tracks, shoulders slumping, and a groan escaped his lips. For a second Aziraphale was confused, but then he registered the source of his newest discontentment: It was raining.

It had started to rain heavily, and water was splashing off the streets and running into the gutters. One step outside and you’d be soaking wet. Crowley cursed under his breath even as he began walking towards the door.

“Ciao.” He gave a little wave.

“Wait!”

“Oh?” Crowley turned, but was unprepared for what awaited him. There he stood, the round little man with hair as white as a cloud, and was extending his arm towards him--holding an umbrella. Crowley gaped at the thing.

“Take it. It’s raining.”

“I-- Yes, I can see that, it’s raining, yeah, wet stuff, seen it before,” he brambled, still incredulous. Haltingly, he took it. Wedged it under his arm. Opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it. Closed it. Opened it again. “Well, thanks, see you around,” he mumbled, just above a whisper, and then he was out the door, under the umbrella, making for his car as if the devil was on his heels.

He drove through the pouring rain as Queen blasted from his speakers. Really, he wasn’t in the mood. Should’ve checked the CD beforehand. This strange encounter did not quite leave him alone, and he replayed it in his head countless times. The white umbrella lay discarded on the front seat. He took it with him, up into his flat, where he immediately turned on the TV and failed to pay even a minute of attention to the things happening on the screen.

Books weren’t even his usual trade. It had been a spontaneous thing, a thought he’d had ever since he’d found that book in his flat a few days ago. The Nice And Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. He could for the life of him not remember how he had come into its possession. It must have happened ages ago, some collateral damage from one job or the other, and he’d misplaced it, and only now stumbled upon it again. Either way, it looked like it was worth a good sum of money, so asking questions about its provenance seemed unwise, as long as he could sell it.

Just his luck that the bookshop he’d happened upon and decided to enter on a whim--it had looked promising, all antique and, well, booky--had turned out to be bad luck. And yet…

And yet, he couldn’t get that stupid face out of his mind. Those piercing blue eyes that had went from Soft to Fierce in a heartbeat, the hand that had offered up protection against the rain when he had done nothing to deserve it, nothing at all. Well--he’d have to return the umbrella, at least.

After all, the shop was promising. It was stuffed to the top with books that smelled of Age and Money, the kind of books without cover but with gold lettering. Sometimes a little temptation was all Good People needed to turn into Not Quite As Good People, after all.

With this thought in mind Crowley fell asleep, on his couch, with the TV still blaring in the background.

He woke up where he had fallen asleep. Grimacing, he straightened his neck and stretched out his limbs. A glance at his phone told him he had fifteen minutes to get ready, which was all he needed. He got up, turned on his stereo (one clap), changed into fresh clothes while somehow simultaneously brushing his teeth, and was out the door--but not without mindfully turning off the music (two claps). As he always did.

Crowley had dreamt again, and he was sure it was a dream that he’d had before, just recently, but the only thing he could remember from it was the word Demon, and now that gave him no clue whatsoever.

By the time he got into his Bentley he was holding a steaming cup of coffee, which he managed to drink without spilling a drop while speeding through busy London streets. He’d forgotten the umbrella, so he could not go back to the bookshop. That’s what he told himself, anyways. He also ‘forgot’ it the day after. And on Friday. On Saturday, after having thoroughly watered and terrorized his plants, he finally grabbed the white umbrella and stormed out the door.

He almost kicked a lamp post when he arrived at the shop and saw the Closed sign on the door. He drew his head back and glared at the sky. Then he looked at the door again, at the handwritten sign with the office hours, and the sound that escaped him almost sounded like a hiss.

“You’re supposed to be open, bastard,” he growled to himself, wondering why he was so upset, and then the door suddenly opened and he found himself face to face with the enigmatic Mr. Fell.

“Mr. Crowley?” Surprise was written all over his face. He pointed to the sign on the door. “We’re closed.”

Crowley glowered. “You’re supposed to be open. Look.” Frantically, he pointed at the door, as if it was not the man’s very own shop door, with his very own sign in his very own handwriting.

“I do take my liberties,” Aziraphale simply said, lifting his chin. “I was just on my way to get scones.”

“Scones?”

“I was feeling awfully peckish. So I thought, what is one more hour of opening the shop against the promise of fresh scones?” He beamed, and his eyes dropped to the umbrella that Crowley was clenching so hard his knuckles were turning red. “Oh! My umbrella!”

“Came here to return it,” Crowley pressed out between his teeth.

“That is awfully kind of you, Mr. Crowley. Thank you.”

“It is yours, so…” Crowley shrugged. “You’re really closing the shop for scones? I’ve never gotten their appeal.”

“You must not have tried the scones of the nice little bakery down the street, then! They just opened, but I must say they really make the most lovely, buttery-- why, let me tempt you to one, then!”

Crowley almost fell backwards into the pavement. This man had to be the most trusting, naive and genuinely nice person he had ever met, and it was almost driving him insane. He stared at him, and couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I mean, well, not tempt, exactly.” Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. “Invite?”

So they had scones, and coffee, and a glass of Chardonnay. It came so natural that they both wondered why they felt as if they had known each other for a long time, when in fact it had only been a few days since their first meeting.

Only when he was back home in his empty flat, feeding his pet snake, did he remember that his objective had been to tempt the shop owner with his shady book selling deal. Instead, he had somehow ended up being the tempted one. Crowley huffed. Well--he guessed he’d have to go back.

There was no bell above Aziraphale’s door. This was because a bell alerted you to entering customers, and Aziraphale did not want to be alerted. In his best case scenario, the would-be-customers had already left the shop by the time he came round to the front. So as he rounded the corner to the front of his shop with a cup of tea in his hand he was not prepared for the person lounging (really, there was no better word for it) on his desk.

“Hi, A.Z. Fell.” Crowley grinned, hopping off the desk and circling round to him. “Fine morning to acquire some books, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Crowley, I’ve told you before, I am not--”

“Not even…” He produced a book, nicely bound in protective cloth. “The Nice And Accurate-- oi!”

Aziraphale had taken the book right out of Crowley’s hand, staring at it as if he’d discovered the Holy Grail. “I’ve seen this before,” he whispered to himself as he retrieved the book and lay a shaking hand on its cover. Then, “No, no, I haven’t. I can’t have. I must have…” His head shot up. “Where did you get this?!”

“I told you, I don’t disclose--”

“Crowley!” Surprised, Crowley lifted his hands. Aziraphale looked exasperated, and then, as he realized how he’d addressed him, scandalized. “Oh, I’m sorry! It’s just, this book, it’s... It’s rare.”

“I imagined.”

“No. You really don’t. When I say it’s rare, I mean it is… unique, possibly.”

“Shouldn’t tell me that, if I’m the one selling it, should you?”

Aziraphale froze. His eyes grew wide, and he was on the verge of swearing.

“Tell you what.” Crowley leaned in, voice soft. “The price stays the same--if I can interest you in acquiring more interesting books in the future. And in not asking too many questions. Trust me, don’t. That’s never worked out well for anyone.”

“I…” Aziraphale hesitated. “No, I can’t. You’re.. you’re a criminal! Aren’t you?”

“Ehhh, definitions. It’s just a hobby, let’s say. Besides, what are you, an angel?” Crowley lifted his hands to his sides, waving them through the air as if mimicking a wing beat.

Aziraphale felt very torn, because, yes, a part of him did feel--well not like an angel, certainly, but still like a Good Person. On the other hand, this was not hurting anyone, was it? And this book--as well as any other rare books--they would be in good hands, with him. If he thought about it like that...

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.

“What, yes? You are an angel?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I will buy the book. I will agree to your condition.”

“What.” It sounded more like a squeezy little wot, the sound he made. Then Crowley smiled, widely, incredulously, almost thrilled. “I knew there was a spark in you, angel!” He took off his sunglasses, revealing startlingly bright eyes. (Like honey, Aziraphale briefly thought, averting his thoughts from the morally ambiguous deal he was about to strike. I like honey.) Crowley offered up a hand, and Aziraphale took it. They shook on their unspoken arrangement with a firm grip--lingering just a moment too long, averting their gaze just a second too late.

The wheels of fate, expertly jammed, began to grind down on the crow bar holding them in place.

[to be continued]

#good omens #ineffable husbands #a/c #aziraphale x crowley #my writing #inefficable #my omens #i cannot belive i wrote this all in one go #god i hope it's not too messy #didnt have much time for editing bc i have to SLEEP #but wanted to give you this now #FWWL #for whatever we lose

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gaslightgallows · 4 years

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First lines meme thingie

I got tagged by @teadrinkingwolfgirl!

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

I haven’t read anyone else’s fics in ages (mea culpa) so I’m really doing this to remind myself of what WIPs I’m supposed to be working on. XD

Tagging! @firesign23, @rivendellrose, @cigaretteburnslikefairylights, @pendragyn, @kiwimeringue, @timetravelbypen and anyone else who’d like to play!

The Patience of Angels (Good Omens)

“Right,” shouted Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of the First Circle of Hell, “shut up, you lot!”

The rabble quieted down, but not without trouble – Hastur had to set a few unruly demons on fire before Beelzebub could finally make themself heard without screaming. They settled into the chair at the head of the long, long table, with Hastur at one elbow and Dagon at the other, and surveyed the assembled with resigned disgust (which was the most neutral emotion Beelzebub could summon).

Every demon with any scrap of authority was there, every prince and duke and a bunch of other ranks besides, by Satan's own order. Except for Satan himself, of course. He hadn’t been to a board meeting in a year, which wasn’t like him – he usually at least came to the once-a-year all-staff meetings. But the boss was still sulking and licking his wounds after that business in Tadfield. Beelzebub supposed he had the right to sulk; after all, six thousand years of planning had been flushed straight down the toilet, all because of one disobedient brat.

There was something marvelously poetic in that, somewhere, but Lord Beelzebub did not possess a poet’s soul. (Though they had possessed a few poets, over the centuries, but they hadn’t picked up much in the way of insight.)

Sideways (MCU, Stoki)

Loki was not expecting to see Captain Rogers again – vastly preferred not to see him again, in fact, along with the rest of the Avengers – and when he did, the first thing he thought was that wasn’t sure about the new beard.

Thankfully, Captain Rogers couldn’t see him, so he didn’t have to concern himself with the captain’s feelings on the matter.

In theory, the less Loki had to see or hear or be aware of Earth, the better. In practice, he'd learned enough about humans to realize that it was at least prudent to keep tabs on Midgard and its infuriatingly stubborn inhabitants. Unlike Odin (not quite late, not quite lamented, safely and comfortably sequestered away in the most inconvenient corner of the palace dungeons), Loki did not have the ability to see and hear all things within the Nine Realms, so he’d had to take the Gatekeeper into his confidence.

Heimdall was... he wasn’t entirely sure what Heimdall’s opinion on the matter of Loki pretending to be Odin was. He recalled the first time he took the throne—

‘Took.’ It was given to me, justly, by Asgard’s own laws of succession and by order of... the queen.

—when Heimdall obeyed his commands up until the moment Loki relieved him of his duties. He knew better than to make the same mistake twice; Heimdall had guarded the Bifrost for longer than Loki had been alive, and he’d learned a thing or two about the watcher’s loyalties. With the true king alive but incapacitated and Thor having abjured the title, who was there left to be king, save Loki?

And it clearly didn’t matter to Heimdall that Loki was technically supposed to be dead.

Upon the Mountains, Like a Flame: Chapter 10 (MCU)

"Are you truly going to prevent Loki from using his magic to defend himself?"

"I have said that I will. It is the only possible way of ensuring a fair fight, especially if Loki and Sigyn are to face Theoric together. Unless you wish to make it that easy for Loki to defeat him. His power has grown--"

"No," said Frigga, "he hasn't." She sounded tired. "He had help. From whom or who, I know not, but I do know the scope of our son's power."

Odin stopped his disgruntled pacing and turned to face her, and suddenly Frigga felt very cold. "Are you certain? We have never been entirely sure what manner of power to expect from one of his... lineage."

"If Loki had learned by nature how to shield his appearance and his identity from us both, he would have used it – and crowed about it – long before now. As it is, he can transform himself into any number of animals in order to bedevil his brother, but we always know it is him. And before you ask again," she continued, "no, Sigyn did not help him. This manner of magic does not belong to her."

Odin conceded that point, at least. "Sigyn's preference would have been to slip away from Asgard between dawn and morning and never look back. And you would not have been able to find her, I think, any more than I would have. And yet... she stayed."

"For Loki."

"For love of him," Odin sighed, feeling old, as he had when Loki had pleaded for Sigyn's hand in marriage. "They make a frightening pair, those two.

The Art of Weaving (Sequel to “The Art of Spinning”) (MCU)

“He lacks compassion.”

“Lacks...” Thor stopped dead in his tracks. “Father, he spent a month caring for Mother and wouldn’t leave her side even when I wanted him to come to Svartalfheim with me. He helped me free Jane from the Aether and find a way to defeat Malekith that saved the last of the Dark Elves from slaughter, when you and I would have gladly let them all die.”

“And what has been the result of those good deeds? A long-dead race returned to the Nine Realms, upsetting the balance of power even further, and my heir abandoning his birthright to waste the next century in the company of a woman who will be gone in a blink.”

Thor remembered his brother’s parting words, the tight, sorrowful embrace, and the lock of hair Loki had given him. “He gave up his chance for freedom. He accepted responsibility for his crimes, even though we know now that he was being manipulated. What more would you have from him?”

“Nothing. I am grateful to have my youngest son back. But I would have my eldest reclaim his place as well.”

But Thor shook his head, and stepped away from his father’s fond hand. “I can never be the king you want. Loki can. He is like you in ways that I am not.”

Odin went suddenly still. “What do you mean?”

“I lack your ruthlessness.”

L'éternité de la damnation, l'infinité de la jouissance (Crimson Peak)

It had been two years. Two years of independence and travel and writing and of seeing the world. Her life would never be normal again, but at least now it felt charmed instead of cursed. At least during the day.

At night, she still dreamed of red-soaked white nightdresses, and of Lucille Sharpe haunting the crumbling halls of Allerdale. She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth, and visions of Thomas screaming in hell.

She didn’t know if he deserved that. He had done terrible things, but how many had been of his own choosing? He had not been a good man, but he had so desperately wanted to be.

Demon in My View (Good Omens)

Normally, Aziraphale was loath to part with any of the books in his collection – though he was not above going against his own grain for people whom he knew would love and cherish the tomes almost as much as he himself did – but in this case, he was delighted to make an exception.

"No charge. No, I absolutely insist. After all, my dear boy, they were meant to be yours."

Adam thanked him politely, and then asked, "Do you still have that wicked flaming sword?"

Aziraphale winced a touch at the adjective but let it pass. "No, no, I'm afraid not. I was required to give it back."

"That's not fair. It was yours, Crowley said it was. And you did help save the world with it. They should give it back to you."

"Well, perhaps they will, one day."

And His Feet Were Made of Clay (Good Omens)

The bookshop of A.Z. Fell was closed. It was the middle of the day and every shop surrounding it was open for business, but most passersby didn't seem to notice the bookshop, and the ones who did weren't surprised that it was closed. In fact, if you examined the diaries of London citizens going back to eighteen hundred, you would find countless entries complaining about the fact that Mr. Fell and Co. (Aziraphale had added the 'Co.' in the eighteen-forties, when he realized he needed to start pretending to be his own son.) never seemed to be open, and that when they were, the very nice gentleman inside was always curiously reluctant to actually sell you anything.

The thing that Aziraphale had always liked most about his corporation was that it looked human. It lacked basic human needs and drives, but it could simulate and perform those functions with perfect adequacy, and really, that was beside the point, because it looked human. It looked unique, the way humans did. Looked like God the way humans did, and the way angels most emphatically did not. Angels had been created by the Almighty with a variety of ineffable functions in mind, and what they looked like when they weren't cramming all their eyes and wings and wheels into a chunky bipedal casing with odors and fluids reflected those functions.

Humans, as near as Aziraphale had been able to figure out in six thousand years of watching, had no preordained function. God had made them because they were fun and that was enough, and he rather liked that about them. Envied that about then, even. (Envy wasn't something he was supposed to admit to, but he lied to himself about so many other things that he simply couldn't have this one on his conscience.)

Although if they did have a function, he was convinced that they existed for the sole purpose of making more of themselves.

A Pause From Thinking (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

“Doctor, I appreciate the courtesy call, but it this is some sort of human mourning ritual, I’m really not interested.”

"I didn't think you'd be interested in mourning. I just thought you might want some company. A loss is a loss, after all." Julian poured out the whiskey and handed Garak a glass. "Here's to terrible fathers."

Lots of Rules and No Mercy (sequel to “I Say, Why Not?”) (Tron)

It was about a month after Alan was first able to communicate with his security program that Tron made the request—not out of any doubt in his user's abilities, but out of respect for the human he looked to as both creator and guardian angel.

"His name was Ram," said Tron, the words appearing on the screen beneath his angularly-rendered face, his voice coming through the headphones like an echo of Alan's own voice. "We were in the MCP's holding cells together for a while. He was just an actuarial program, but he was good at the games and..." The blocky, pixelated face didn't convey one-tenth of the emotion Alan was sure he could hear in the program's tight, gruff voice. "He was a good friend."

"I'm sorry." Alan felt silly, even after a month, apologizing and offering sympathy for the erasure of a program. He was a software engineer after all—he'd been writing and rewriting and erasing programs since high school. It had never been that big of a deal before. "I'm sorry, Tron."

Tron seemed to gather himself together. "Alan. Can you resurrect him?"

Alan stared at the face on the screen, unsure of what to say. He knew Tron couldn't see him or his expression of dumbfounded shock, but the silence said enough. "Forgive me," Tron murmured, seeming to bow his head in the way that made Alan the most uncomfortable. "It was impertinent of me, I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's not that," Alan blurted out. "It's just—I wouldn't know where to start," he added, trying to ignore the uneasy thrill of his creation's simple faith in him.

The Goblin Emperor’s Garden (The Goblin Emperor)

It became Maia’s habit, following the drama of his first Winternight as emperor of the Elflands, and once his wife-to-be decided that he no longer needed quite so many dancing lessons, to hold small intimate suppers one evening a week in his private dining room in the Alcethmeret. Sometimes he entertained several people, sometimes only a few, but nearly every week, Csethiro Ceredin was at the table.

If it was only the two of them at supper, she sat opposite him, where he had the privilege of listening to her speak until the small hours of the morning on all manner of topics, while he forgot about his meal and tried not to drown in her brilliant blue eyes. If there were others at table, she sat at his right, and though she had other social obligations on such evenings, it was worth it to Maia, to be able to sometimes, quickly and surreptitiously and not always entirely secretly, squeeze her hand under the embroidered tablecloth.

His secretary and all of his nohecharei always noticed, and he suspected that they desperately wanted to tease him about it. His nephew Prince Idra also always seemed to notice, and as he and Maia grew closer, Idra did not hesitate to tease him.

“You should be careful,” Csethiro playfully warned the prince, one night after the rest of the guests had taken their leave and the three of them were alone at table, lingering over dessert. “For someday your uncle will find you a wife, and you will make just such a fool of yourself, and he will be as shameless in laughing at you.”

Idra and Maia both blushed, stamping their utterly dissimilar features with a moment of family resemblance. “If I am so fortunate as to someday have such a wife as to be worth making a fool of myself over,” said Idra, half-bold and half-shy, as only a fourteen-year-old boy could be, “I should thank my uncle profusely for his choice, and not mind the teasing.”

“Well spoken, cousin,” Maia said gratefully.

#gaslight blogs about fic #first line meme #good omens #mcu #space vikings #star trek deep space nine #crimson peak #the goblin emperor #tron

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deans-baby-momma · 4 years

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Rebel Without A Cause-Epilogue #2 (The End)

A/N: This is it guys. The final installment of Rebel Without A Cause. Thanks everyone for reading, reblogging and commenting. And if you haven’t already check out The Padackles Link and Falling To Temptation. Those are the only two I have ongoing at the moment, although I am slowly working on the sequel/prequel to Past Haunts called Wounded Hearts. It’ll be out later this year, probably toward the end of summer.

While eating dinner a few days later, Dean brings up the subject. "Mags, can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Maggie laughs causing Dean to roll his eyes. "Of course you can, babe."

"You ever, ahem….think about us having a baby?"

Maggie smiles as she looks at her husband. "Only every single day."

Dean smiles widely at her, the love he has for her obvious. "Quit taking your birth control. Let's make a kid."

Maggie smiles and nods in response. 'This is happening!' she thinks to herself. 'Dean wants to have a baby with me.' Her insides quiver with excitement and anticipation at the thought.

A few days later, right before a concert, Dean corners Maggie in their bathroom. "Tonight, after the show. I'm gonna pump you full. Make you all round with my kid," he whispers in her ear and then nibbles on her earlobe.

"Dean it's only been three days. I'm not going to get pregnant three days after I quit taking my pill."

Dean growls as he lays a trail of kisses down her neck and across her shoulder. "Then I'll just fuck you until you are. Every night if I have to. And in the mornings too."

Maggie whimpers and feels her knees go weak at the prospect. Her and Dean's sex life hadn't simmered at all since the wedding. They still had sex multiple times a week, after the shows, sometimes before too. Dean hadn't once let on that he was bored or needed more to be satisfied. But knowing now that they were trying for a baby made Maggie's libido intensify. She can’t wait until after tonight’s gig.

From the side of the stage, Maggie stands with Rayne and watches as the Winchester Sex Bombs take the stage and listen as the crowd goes wild. Maggie knows it will only be a matter of time until her husband’s band is touring the country and even possibly out of the country.

“We’re trying for a baby,” she tells Rayne, casually. She looks over at her best friend to gauge her reaction. Rayne turns to Maggie with her eyes wide and her mouth dropped open. “WHAT?!”

“Dean and I are trying for a baby,” Maggie repeats. “I stopped taking my birth control three days ago.”

Rayne pulls Maggie down to her and hugs her tightly before letting go and jumping up and down excitedly. “Best news ever! I’m gonna be an aunt.”

If anyone had told Maggie that Dean Winchester had a breeding kink and that it would be so hot, she would’ve suggested having a kid a long time ago. Dean grunts in her ear as he pushes his hard cock into her welcoming cunt with force. “Damn baby, I can’t wait to see you full of my baby. Knowing I fucked a kid into you. Goddamn, I love you.”

Maggie has already had four orgasms, one on his fingers, two on his tongue and one just from the filthy diatribe coming from his lips. She is closing in on a fifth one and he is still pounding into her with no end in sight.

“Dean!” she screams as that coil deep inside her breaks and her vision goes white. “Oh my god, Dean. I can’t take anymore,” she whines but Dean disregards her statement and lifts her leg to drape over his shoulder.

“Yes, you can. That tight pussy is going to take this whole cock and every single drop of cum I give it. You’re going to be so fucking full, you’ll be dripping for days.”

Maggie’s eyes roll back and Dean begins a punishing pace as his thrusts get harder. “Fuck, Mags. Your pussy is so good. Squeezing me tight. Come on baby, play with your clit for me.” Maggie reaches between them surprised at how soaked she is. Dean chuckles and says, “I love it when you squirt all over my dick.”

Rubbing small circles over her sensitive nub, Maggie can feel another orgasm making itself known and she marvels at the phenomenon. She has never had this many, ever. She wonders if she could combust with desire. “Oh god, Dean. You feel so good. Fuck me full, babe. Put a baby in me.”

Dean somehow finds the stamina to begin thrusting into her even deeper, harder, and faster. The headboard of the bed begins colliding with the wall with each plunge. Suddenly Dean stills, buried deep inside his wife and she can feel his release throbbing out and coating her walls and cervix. The feeling causes her to have a small orgasm that makes her head spin.

“Well if that didn’t do it, I don’t know what will,” Dean chuckles as he rolls off her and pulls her to his side. “I love you, Mags.”

“I love you, Dean.”

Five weeks later, Dean and Maggie learn that one of their many lovemaking sessions was a success when the plus sign shows up on the test stick. It just so happens to be the same day that Dean gets the call that the Winchester Sex Bombs are wanted on a 25-city, 10 state country-wide tour, as the headliners.

“Dean Henry Winchester, I swear to fucking God. I refuse to let you turn this down,” Maggie states when Dean voices that he is thinking about throwing the opportunity away. “I am not going to be the reason you don’t get to live out your lifelong dream. Your kid and I will be just fine. Go rock the country and come back to us. We’re proud of you, Daddy,” she says with a smile.

Dean returns the smile in earnest. Hearing Maggie call him Daddy makes him feel proud. He is going to be a father. But he also doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her pregnancy and being out on the road will make him do just that.

“Baby, why don’t you come with us? I mean for the first few months anyway,” Dean suggests. “We can be together and I can help you through whatever you need. Please? I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You’ll be regretting that when I’m bent over the toilet, puking up the dinner we just ate,” Maggie says. Dean denies it with a shake of his head and he pulls her to him and places his large palm over her non-existent bump.

It is on the road that Maggie hits many firsts. The first time she denied Dean sex because her boobs are sore; her first mood swing over some inconsequential little thing; her first bout with morning sickness that lasted all day and into the night, making her miss the concert. The heartburn alone was horrendous but then the aversion to her favorite foods caused the first argument of their married life.

“You just ate this last week,” Dean says as Maggie covers her nose and mouth and backs away from the plate of lasagna. “It’s your favorite.”

“I know,” Maggie says nasally. “But it smells weird.”

“It smells weird she says,” Dean mocks as he takes a bite of his food.

“What did you just say?” Maggie looks at him admonishingly.

“What? Everything smells weird to you now, Maggie. First it was the chicken, then it was the cake. Now it’s the lasagna. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m pregnant, you asshole!” Maggie screams as she retreats to the bedroom of the suite, slamming and locking the door. Dean looks after her and realizes where he fucked up.

Both Maggie and Dean are relieved when the second trimester arrives. Maggie’s sexual appetite is back with a vengeance, she no longer feels sick all the time and her favorite foods are her favorite again. Her only complaint, and Dean’s pleasure, is the weight gain. Maggie hates seeing the numbers on the scale going up every time she goes to the doctor. She had spent so long working to get the extra pounds off that it saddened her to see higher numbers. Dean, though, is pleased with the way Maggie’s body is filling out and is not ashamed to tell her.

“Look at how that ass pops!” Dean says one night as Maggie is getting out of the shower. “And Mags, those boobs! Makes a man want to bury himself between them. He sure would die happy.” Maggie laughs and rolls her eyes at her husband’s words and hurries to wrap the towel around herself. Dean might like looking at her growing body but Maggie avoids it like the plague.

Maggie has also become a permanent figure at the side of the stage once again, and the baby seems to really enjoy listening to its father rock the house. “Man, Rayne. The little one is really at it tonight!” Maggie tells her best friend as she places a palm against her bump. Rayne slaps her hand away and replaces it with her own. “Hey, buddy. You like listening to daddy and Uncle Sam play?” Rayne bends down to talk to Maggie’s belly.

The third trimester, though, sets everyone back a step when Maggie gets diagnosed with preeclampsia. Her doctors order her to stay home and rest. So while the rest of the band go on tour, Maggie and Rayne settle into the Winchester house in Lebanon, Kansas. Rayne insists on staying with Maggie to alleviate Dean’s worry and concern. Everything is going good until one morning Maggie gets up and as soon as she stands her water breaks, gushing over the floor and soaking her nightgown. “Rayne! Call Dean...it’s time.”

The cab ride from the airport to the hospital seems to take forever as Dean anxiously sits in the backseat, next to his brother. When Rayne had called this morning to tell him Maggie was in labor, Dean jumped out of bed and hurriedly got dressed as he called their manager, Crowley and the rest of the band to tell them the good news. Thankfully, Crowley was in a giving mood and told him that he would postpone all shows until further notice while Dean flew home to welcome his kid. That was three hours ago and Dean is nervously afraid he has missed the birth.

“Dude, calm down,” Sam says as Dean begins bouncing his knee. “You aren’t going to miss it. If I know Rayne, she will be demanding Maggie keep her legs closed so that the baby doesn’t come out until you’re there.” Dean threw a glare at his younger brother but he knew Sam was right. Rayne would do whatever it took so that Dean wouldn’t miss out on the birth of his first child. He was going to have to have a chat with his brother after all this was over. Sam needed to marry that girl.

The taxi pulls up to the hospital entrance and Dean rushes out of the vehicle, leaving Sam to take care of the fare. He practically runs up to the receptionist’s desk. “Margaret Winchester. She’s having my baby. Where is she?”

By the time Sam joins him, Dean has the room number and a badge to allow him entry into the labor and delivery floor. They both get on the elevator to take them to their woman. With each floor the car passes, Dean’s nerves become more frazzled. ‘This is it!’ he thinks to himself. ‘I’m about to become a dad.” The thought brings a smile to his face. He can’t wait to see the little one.

After he relieves Rayne of her duties, Dean steps up to Maggie who is laying in the bed, her hair matted to her sweaty forehead. “Hey, baby. I’m here. I’m here,” he coos.

“About damn time. Get this kid out of me,” Maggie growls and grabs his hand, squeezing it as another contraction hits.

Hours later, Dean goes out to get Sam and Rayne and bring them to Maggie’s private room to meet the newest Winchester. When Sam and Rayne walk in, Maggie turns her head and smiles.

“Uncle Sam, Aunt Rayne. Meet Everly Rayne Winchester.”

@pink1031 @spnbaby-67 @winecatsandpizza @joseyrw @kricketc29 @tftumblin @markofdean79 @sandlee44 @michellethetvaddict @lyarr24 @travelingriversideblues-x

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