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thepencilnerd · 3 years

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Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.”

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap.

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks.

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead.

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around."

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!”

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul.

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail.

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull.

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this.

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this.

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this.

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night?

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases.

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked.

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone.

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey.

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit.

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.”

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!”

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.”

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.”

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”

This time around, his demands were very clear.

“Pay attention to me.”

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water.

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee.

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked.

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day.

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss.

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas.

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress.

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight.

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life.

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world.

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying.

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light.

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him.

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts.

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask.

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him.

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping?

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?”

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly”

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows.

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates.

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one.

Did he clean his room?

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it.

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge.

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning.

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour?

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them.

“She’s always early when she’s excited.”

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare.

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?”

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks.

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

“Hello—woah!’

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go.

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!”

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…”

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!”

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two.

“EDAMAME!”

“NOT PASTA!”

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being.

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust.

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail.

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff.

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest.

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked.

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb.

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm.

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit.

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side.

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.”

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar.

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities.

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.”

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness.

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty?

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends.

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?”

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection.

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall."

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #dramione imagine #draco x hermione #theo nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #dramione fanfic #incorrect dramione quotes #hermione x draco #post wizarding war #crack fic #dramione headcanon #harry potter #hp quotes

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disastermages · 4 years

Text

A Different Kind of Gusu Trio

"It's only for a year, A-Li" That's what her father had told her when he and her mother told her that she would be attending Gusu Lan's lecture. Her skin had paled and her stomach had dropped. It had always been planned that she would attend the lectures when her brothers were old enough to accompany her.

A whole year without either of her brothers next to her when she hadn't been by herself since A-Cheng could walk on his own. The thought of it hadn't sat well with her when they'd broken the news and it didn't sit well with her when she'd set off a few days ago, A-Cheng and A-Xian both crying as they'd hugged her goodbye.

"It isn't goodbye forever, I bet you two won't even notice I'm gone." She'd said, brushing A-Xian's nose with her finger and petting A-Cheng's head with her other hand. Fears gnawed at her as she forced herself to climb into the boat. Would they keep each other out of trouble and not squabble like she asked? Would they behave themselves so Mother wouldn't get angry at them? Would they eat enough without her there?

Those same fears still chew and tear at her nerves as she stands by herself at the gates of Cloud Recesses, her eyes down cast until someone shoves hard against her back, their laughter loud and mean as her knees hit the ground.

Jiang Yanli doesn't look back at first, she can't, her eyes are stinging too hard and she can already hear her mother's reprimand in her mind.

But then there's another, louder voice cutting through the laughing and strangling it out. Jiang Yanli turns and freezes as she sees them, Nie Mingjue holding Wen Xu by the collar, both of their faces red and angry. "Do you think you can pick on others just because they're alone and you're not?" Nie Mingjue demands, shaking Wen Xu as he speaks, not looking at Jiang Yanli as she pulls herself back to her feet, her sword held unsteady in her hand.

She means to tell him that it's fine, it was probably her own fault anyway, but the words are frozen in her throat.

There's more shouting, Wen Xu reminding Nie Mingjue that his father is excellency and that he'll do as he pleases, Nie Mingjue declaring that he doesn't care, that he had no right to do what he'd done. The longer it goes on the more words that build up in Jiang Yanli's throat until another, calmer voice cuts through all the arguing.

"What's going on here? Mingjue?" Lan Xichen stands tall, his eyebrows knit together as he looks across the scene in front of him, from the way Nie Mingjue releases Wen Xu's robes to the dirt stains decorating the lower half of Jiang Yanli's own, his usually smiling face turning into a fine line.

"Young Master Wen shoved Lady Jiang into the dirt." Nie Mingjue says plainly, nodding his head towards her as her grip tightens on her sword.

Rage takes over Wen Xu's face, his glare whipping between the three of them. "That's a lie! She tripped on her own!" Jiang Yanli swallows and forces herself to loosen her hold on her sword as Lan Xichen turns his eyes on her.

"Lady Jiang," he says patiently, and Jiang Yanli tries to bow, but her arms are caught and lowered as Lan Xichen takes another step forward, "which is the truth?"

A moment of silence passes as Jiang Yanli holds her sword with both hands, her throat still tight, but loosening just enough to say, "I was pushed." She's careful not to say any name in particular, after all, she hadn't exactly seen who had pushed her, she had only heard them laughing at her.

"I see." Lan Xichen says, clasping both of his hands behind his back before he turns away from Jiang Yanli and back to Wen Xu and Nie Mingjue. "Young Master Wen, my uncle tells me that this will be the first time in many years that the Lan clan of Gusu has hosted disciples of the Wen clan." The smile comes back to Lan Xichen's face as he speaks and Jiang Yanli only bears the weight of Wen Xu's glare for a moment before Nie Mingjue is putting his body between them.

"Please allow me to impart two of our rules now, do not bully others and do not harass female cultivators." Lan Xichen's tone is kind, but it leaves no room for argument and only then does Jiang Yanli feel the stinging in her knees stop. "Any further disturbances will result in disciplinary action."

The words alone sent a chill down Jiang Yanli's spine, she'd only heard of Gusu Lan's punishments and decided long before her arrival that she'd do anything she could to avoid them. Another moment of silence passes between the four of them before Wen Xu turns away with a growl and stalks back down the mountain, the Wen disciples following after him soon after.

It’s only when they’re all out of sight that Nie Mingjue steps out from in front of her, his shoulders relaxing as he turns to look at Lan Xichen. “Since when does Zewu-Jun spend his time reciting Lan sect rules at other people?”

The rest of the tension breaks as Lan Xichen’s smile becomes genuine as he stifles a laugh. “One must know the rules well before they can begin to find the loopholes in them, Mingjue.” They both laugh then and even Jiang Yanli can feel a smile pulling back onto her face before she can school it into something more serious.

“Thank you both for your help, I’m sorry to cause such trouble.” Jiang Yanli says, bowing before either of them can reach out and stop her again, the laughter dying on her lips when she feels a hand on her shoulder and a warm presence at her side.

“Lady Jiang shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” Nie Mingjue says firmly, his arms crossed over his chest when she looks up again, hoping that the surprise isn’t too obvious on her face when Lan Xichen nods in agreement.

“I doubt we’ll be hearing any apologies from the Wen.” Lan Xichen says, taking his hand off Jiang Yanli’s shoulder with an exasperation that she’s sure she wasn’t meant to see, but it makes her smile all the same.

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are still talking as they turn and walk towards the stairs, and Jiang Yanli lingers at the bottom, wondering if she’d be allowed to follow or if they’d already decided to move on from her. It takes her a moment too long to realize that they’re waiting for her, only following along when her name is called.

In their first month, Jiang Yanli had simply thought they’d grown protective of her, one or both of them lingering around her constantly in case Wen Xu had entertained any other thoughts of tormenting her.

By their third month in Cloud Recesses, Jiang Yanli had come to understand she’d thought wrong. Somewhere between the second and third month, they’d stopped calling her Lady Jiang when it was only the three of them, settling for just Yanli instead. It wasn’t proper, but Jiang Yanli had decided she wouldn’t care.

They had both sat near her during classes and during meal times, asking after her brothers on the days that letters came, and she had done the same, smiling widely whenever it led to trading stories back and forth.

“I don’t believe you, Lan Wangji is such a sweet boy.” The surprise is clear in her voice as her eyes widen. Maybe sweet isn’t the word, polite, maybe, observant, certainly, but even so, Jiang Yanli can’t believe it when Lan Xichen tells her he’d gone through a biting phase when he was small. The first time she’d met him, she’d wanted to pinch his cheeks in a fit of missing her own brothers.

“It’s true,” Nie Mingjue says, setting down his teacup with a laugh of his own, “Huaisang and Wangji were both biters, it’s the first thing we had in common.”

“Wangji and Huaisang bit others for different reasons,” Lan Xichen interjects, but doesn’t interrupt, leaning forward to refill their tea cups before he continues, “Huaisang bit to get his way, Wangji bit when he wanted to be left alone.” As if to emphasize his point, Lan Xichen rolls back his sleeve to the elbow, exposing a tiny bite mark on his inner forearm, the scar having turned white and hard to see over the years.

“Uncle brought us along to a meeting and told me to make sure Wangji didn’t wander off, I had only been holding him for an hour when he decided he didn’t want to be touched anymore.” Jiang Yanli has to raise a hand to her mouth to hold back the giggle that comes, imagining a much smaller Lan Xichen with an even smaller Lan Wangji attached to his arm and not letting go.

“A-Cheng went through a phase where he would run off any chance he got, he would always kick and scream whenever I managed to catch him.” She smiles at the memories now, but they’d been terrifying then, chasing him through the streets as fast as her legs could carry her, hoping that he wouldn’t fall into the lake.

“Better than all the animals A-Sang sneaks into Unclean Realm.” Nie Mingjue says with a shake of his head, emptying his cup again, Jiang Yanli refills their cups this time.

“I thought you said he stopped.” Lan Xichen shares a look with her and Jiang Yanli can only smile.

“He stopped for six months.” They’re all quiet and serious for a moment before the laughter comes again.

Six months into their time at Cloud Recesses, Sect Leader Lan deems them ready enough to go on a nighthunt together under his supervision, though the Wen disciples all but demand to take the lead on the hunt, getting them lost and halfway into another town before Lan Qiren takes back control of the hunt.

The hour is too late to consider returning to Cloud Recesses, and after a lengthy lecture, they’re brought to an inn to pass the night, and after Lan Qiren has turned in for the evening, Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen are snuck into Nie Mingjue’s room, a bulky Nie sect robe draped over Jiang Yanli to keep her from getting caught.

“I have a surprise for both of you.” Nie Mingjue says before he produces two pots of wine from behind his back with a grin on his face. Jiang Yanli’s mouth hangs open as she turns to look at Lan Xichen, he’s not frowning but he’s not smiling either.

“We shouldn’t drink on a nighthunt, Mingjue.” Lan Xichen says, though he doesn’t sound firm in his decision at all.

“But we aren’t on a nighthunt anymore.” Nie Mingjue reminds the both of them, sitting down at the table and opening one of the pots before filling three cups. “The Wen made sure of that.” Nie Mingjue’s words seem to strike something within Lan Xichen, the fine line of his mouth easing into a smile again, though there’s an edge of mischief to it now.

“So they did.” Lan Xichen says, always able to find a loophole in the rules he’d grown up by, Jiang Yanli envies him for it sometimes.

Both Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen pick up their cups at the same time, toasting to each other before they turn to her. Jiang Yanli only hesitates for a moment before she picks up her own cup, neither of her parents get drunk easily, she should be fine, shouldn’t she?

Letting herself relax, Jiang Yanli toasts to both of them before she downs the cup behind the sleeve of her borrowed robe, laughing at the both of them when they look at her with wide eyes. It’s easy to ignore the burn of the wine in her throat when it feels as though she’s getting away with something.

Nie Mingjue is the next to drink, looking at Lan Xichen as though he were daring him to do it now, and Lan Xichen doesn’t back down from the challenge. He downs the cup in one go and within the next second he’s face down on the table and both Nie Mingjue and Jiang Yanli are on their feet, leaning over him.

“Mingjue,” Jiang Yanli says, having gotten over how strange it sounded to call him so casually after the last few months of the both of them insisting upon it, “doesn’t the Lan sect have a weakness to alcohol?” Her hand is on Lan Xichen’s back now, the other resting on his shoulder while Nie Mingjue tapped his fingers against Lan Xichen’s cheek.

“I didn’t think it would only take a cup.” Nie Mingjue says, more confused than defensive as he wraps an arm around Lan Xichen’s belly, lifting him up easily and letting his head loll back. “Help me get him into the bed.” Jiang Yanli nods as she rises to her feet, keeping one hand on Lan Xichen as they walk him to the bed, pulling the quilt back when they get there, just like she’d done for A-Cheng and A-Xian back home.

She steps aside to let Nie Mingjue take off Lan Xichen’s boots before she folds his arms over his chest and pulls the quilt up to his chin, smiling to herself when she hears him begin to snore lightly.

Back at the table, Nie Mingjue refills both of their cups with a shake of his head, though the smile on his face is clear. “Do you think everyone in the Lan sect has that reaction?” Jiang Yanli asks as she sits back down, easing the borrowed robe off her shoulders and setting it to the side gently, the wine was already starting to make her feel warm.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen a Lan drunk.” Nie Mingjue confesses, turning halfway to look at Lan Xichen as he sleeps. “We’re going to have to tell him that he snores.” Jiang Yanli laughs into her cup at that, looking up once more to make sure her friend was still sleeping soundly in Nie Mingjue’s bed.

She and Nie Mingjue keep their voices light and quiet as they keep drinking, two more cups for Jiang Yanli as the warm, fuzzy feeling starts to set in, and the rest of the bottle for Nie Mingjue who doesn’t seem bothered at all. It lasts for about an hour when Lan Xichen sits bolt upright in Nie Mingjue’s bed and makes to get up, but he stumbles and catches both of their attention.

“Zewu-Jun, you should lie down,” Jiang Yanli scolds lightly, standing up and wobbling on her feet for a moment, Lan Xichen is half way back to the table by the time the world stops spinning and she can put her hands on his arms to stop him from going out the door.

“I promised Wangji I would bring him something back.” Lan Xichen says it as though it’s the only thing he needs to explain as he pushes past Jiang Yanli, moving quickly towards the door, only to be stopped by Nie Mingjue’s hand on his wrist.

“You bring Wangji presents all the time, he’ll be fine if you skip it this one time.” Nie Mingjue says, not letting go of Lan Xichen even when he pulls.

“We can always stop on our way back,” Jiang Yanli tries, “I’ll help you look.”

Something sour crosses Lan Xichen’s face then, his arm dropping for just a moment. “Uncle won’t want to stop on the way back.” He says petulantly before he wrenches his wrist out of Nie Mingjue’s grip and nearly falls out the door as he leaves.

The world screeches to a halt as Jiang Yanli and Nie Mingjue look at the door and then each other before they set off after Lan Xichen the next second, no longer caring about hiding Jiang Yanli underneath another sect’s robe.

Being as drunk as he is should’ve slowed Lan Xichen down, but he’s gone with a flutter of white as they round a corner, hissing his name in a desperate attempt not to wake up the entire inn.

“Xichen!” Nie Mingjue whisper-shouts, pulling apart curtains as though he expected Lan Xichen was only leading them in a game of drunken hide and seek.

“Zewu-Jun!” Jiang Yanli whispers, squinting to see into the darkened dining room when a trail of light coming in catches her attention. “Mingjue.” She calls, her eyes widened as she stares into the empty street.

“Fuck.”

They spend the next two hours chasing after flashes of white and glints of a silver headpiece, Jiang Yanli’s lungs burning in her chest as she bends forward on her knees to catch her breath. It might have been easier to find him if they had split up, but Nie Mingjue had rejected the very idea of it, refusing to leave her alone in the dark for even a moment.

“If I had known he was going to be like this, I wouldn’t have even bought the wine.” Nie Mingjue says, propping against a tree as he grumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. Straightening herself up again, Jiang Yanli puts a hand on his arm and tries to smile as best she can.

“We’ll find him,” She promises Nie Mingjue that because they would, they would find Lan Xichen and bring him back to the inn and put him back to bed, she would make sure of it.

Nie Mingjue looks as though he’s about to say something when something else catches his attention and his eyes widen, lifting up an arm to point behind her. “There! He’s right there!”

Jiang Yanli turns and gathers her skirts in her hands, running ahead of Nie Mingjue when she sees Lan Xichen kneeling before a merchant’s cart, inspecting their wares as carefully as he could while still drunk.

“Yanli!” Lan Xichen calls, smiling widely and waving with his free hand as she approaches, “I’ve found something for him!” Sighing, Jiang Yanli can’t help but smile back as she comes to squat down next to him, eyes on the wood carved rabbit held preciously in his hand.

“I think that’s a very nice gift for your brother, Zewu-Jun.” Jiang Yanli says, partially an appeasement, partially truth as she tapped her fingernail against the ear of it.

“Xichen!” He corrects, fist closing over the rabbit tightly and making her chuckle.

“Lan Wangji loves all the rabbits you bring him, Xichen.” She tries again as Nie Mingjue finally catches up to them, not nearly as enthralled with the wooden rabbit as the both of them were.

“Is that what you’re getting for him?” Nie Mingjue pants and Jiang Yanli shoots him an apologetic look for making him chase after her too.

“Yes!” Xichen answers cheerfully, reaching for his money pouch and seeming to have forgotten that he’d left it in Nie Mingjue’s room.

“I’ve got it.” Jiang Yanli says quickly, mumbling with the merchant for just a moment as they negotiate the price and Nie Mingjue pulls Lan Xichen away, his grip tighter to keep him from running off again.

They walk back to the inn slowly after that, Lan Xichen between the two of them when he suddenly slumps forward and Nie Mingjue has to scramble to catch him.

“It must be after nine.” Jiang Yanli says quietly as she helps Nie Mingjue load Lan Xichen onto his back, keeping one hand on him as they start back up the hill again.

“I’m never going to let him live this down.” Nie Mingjue says, a bit too loudly as he adjusts his grip on Lan Xichen, glancing down at her with a grin on his face as the inn comes back into view, along with a familiar shape dressed in white who hadn’t seen them quite yet.

“I’ll deal with Sect Leader Lan,” Jiang Yanli says, pushing at Nie Mingjue’s arm, “take Xichen in through the kitchen and he won’t see either of you.” This was another game she’d played at home, distracting her mother with inane questions and conversation so her brothers could sneak back in and dodge punishments and lectures.

By the wild look in his eyes, Jiang Yanli can see that Nie Mingjue means to argue with her, but she pushes at him again and shakes her head. She could do this.

Another moment is wasted looking at each other for confirmation before Nie Mingjue goes, looking back as though he were still uncertain. Swallowing and lifting her chin up high, Jiang Yanli continues up the hill and towards Sect Leader Lan, but not saying a word until his eyes light upon her and he calls her name.

“Lady Jiang! What are you doing out at such an hour?” The admonishment is clear in his voice, but Jiang Yanli can only pretend to look ashamed in front of him.

“You see, Sect Leader Lan,” Jiang Yanli isn’t actually looking at him as she speaks, her nails digging into her palms, “during this time of the month, I cramp very badly and I can’t hold still, my physicians back home have always recommended that taking walks could alleviate such pains.” Her poor health was well known, but not discussed within the cultivation world, what’s one more thing wrong with her?

The next time Jiang Yanli dares to look up, she sees confusion, and then horrified understanding passes over Sect Leader Lan’s face like a summer storm, quickly and then gone when he pulls his face into his normal expression of neutral disdain.

“Very well, Lady Jiang,” Lan Qiren says finally, shifting uncomfortably in front of her, as though he were trying to put distance between the two of them. “See that you aren’t out too late.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Lan.” Jiang Yanli says, bowing so he can’t see the smile that crosses her face. She’d like to think that XianXian would be proud of the trick she’d just played, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on the satisfaction before she has to walk past Sect Leader Lan and into the inn, praying he doesn’t follow after her as she meets Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen on the stairs.

The two of them manage to put Lan Xichen to bed in his own room and sneak back into theirs before Lan Qiren makes his way back into the inn, and Jiang Yanli just barely manages to collapse into her bed before he sends a female disciple in to check her room.

Lan Xichen is ill tempered and sickened the next morning, vowing to them in secret that he would find a way to neutralize the effects of alcohol over breakfast. Nie Mingjue and Jiang Yanli don’t stop themselves from laughing at him.

The next six months of their time at Cloud Recesses pass by them more quietly than the first, regular classes turning into exams and physical exercises turning into sparring matches as they reach the end of their year of study. Jiang Yanli even manages to win a handful herself after Nie Mingjue had pulled her aside and taught her moves he’d shown to his own brother when he refused to wield a saber.

They sneak out past curfew to sit in the meadows and watch the stars, all three of them laying close together while Nie Mingjue counts out the constellations they can see before he claims that Nie Huaisang is better at astronomy than he is. They’re only caught once, and Jiang Yanli had avoided punishment only because Nie Mingjue had blocked her from Lan Qiren’s view.

At the end of the twelfth month, Jiang Yanli knows she’s altogether ready to go home and dreading having to leave her friends. They would still see each other, at sect meetings and conferences, but she wouldn’t be allowed to run free with them like she had, she was still betrothed to Jin Zixuan and people would talk.

Frowning to herself, Jiang Yanli forces herself to start packing, starting with her robes and then moving onto the trinkets she’d ended up with on their excursions to Caiyi Town when a knock drags her out of her thoughts and forces her back into the moment. “Come in.” She calls, hoping her voice isn’t as tight as it feels as the door slides open.

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue both step through the door, boxes held nervously in their hands as they look back at the door, afraid they’d be ejected from the women’s dormitories at any moment. “We both wanted to bring you something before you left,” Lan Xichen starts slowly, holding his own box out to her, thumbs pressing into the sides of it as he looks over to Nie Mingjue as if asking for confirmation.

“Just something in case you ever feel like visiting either of us.” Nie Mingjue explains with a wave of his hand, “With a chaperone, probably.” That gets a laugh out of Jiang Yanli, remembering the night out in the meadows when Nie Mingjue had announced what he’d thought of her arranged marriage and the Jin sect as a whole. He’d pretended to be hurt when she offered to leave him off the guest list.

Stepping forward, she opens the boxes slowly, not because she doesn’t trust them, but because she thinks she knows what’s inside them already. Knowing doesn’t take away the surprise of seeing them, though, and Jiang Yanli can feel her heart squeeze as she opens both boxes, starting with Lan Xichen’s and then Nie Mingjue’s. Entry tokens, for both Unclean Realm and the Cloud Recesses, they had meant it when they said they wanted her to visit after the lectures were over.

Jiang Yanli doesn’t even realize she’s crying until one of them calls her name, her fingers lingering on both of the tokens. “Thank you both,” She says, leaning up on her toes to wrap an arm around each of their necks. For a moment, she thinks she’s maybe gone too far, but then two different arms are wrapping around her back, the bigger one squeezing both her and Lan Xichen.

She wouldn’t be allowed to run free with them after she left the lecture today, but she’d always remember when she could, and they’d always steal whatever moments they could at sect meetings and cultivation conferences, it was another promise they’d made together.

#the untamed #mdzs #jiang yanli #lan xichen #nie mingjue #yanli goes to cloud recesses with nmj and lxc au #if any of yall can think of a better au name hmu #ill put an ao3 link in my rb to my mainblog

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benedictscanvas · 4 years

Text

all the wrong places [4/7] - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: It only takes a moment for Spencer to realise that he doesn’t just want to marry you someday, he wants to marry you as soon as he possibly can. But since he can’t come up with a solid plan, he turns to his BAU family for help in planning the most important day of his life so far. Is that a mistake? Most definitely.

Warnings: Series probably aren’t meant to be exclusively fluffy, but this one practically is! I need some fluff in my life, damn it! There may be some mention of regular Criminal Minds things, some language but mostly just good ol’ Spence lovin’

a chapter every day for seven days! (20-26th July 2020) so please drop an ask if you’d like to be tagged <3

---

Chapter Four - Could We Confer?

It seemed that this had become a game to everyone except himself, like they’d forgotten that the whole point of this was that he wanted to ask you to marry him and that was a pretty serious endeavour.

Everyone in the BAU had become aware of his plans, because there was no way Garcia and Morgan could keep the Bruno Mars story to themselves. In fairness, Spencer couldn’t wait to tell you the story once he’d finally popped the question. Morgan had told Rossi, who thought it was hilarious and did nothing to hide that, whilst Rossi himself told Hotch. Even Hotch laughed. He hadn’t come up to Spencer to tease him about it like so many of the others, but there had been a few particular looks.

Now, at Rossi’s house for a dinner that you weren’t able to come to, it was the favoured topic of conversation.

“Y/N having a girls’ night with her school friends is actually perfect,” Derek said mischievously, raising his eyebrows at Spencer, “Because now we can decide who gets to help Spencer with his proposal next.”

“Yes!” Garcia clapped her hands, “Three people down, three to go. We should take bets.”

“I’ll go next,” Emily chimed in, “I’ve got an idea that I really think could work. If you’re placing bets, you better place them on me.”

Spencer gawked at them all.

“Guys,” he said, just as Penelope got her phone out to write down everyone’s bets, “Come on. This is ridiculous. I don’t want any more help.”

“Have you got a plan, pretty boy?”

He stumbled over his words. He had already said no without even having to say the word.

“And do you want to propose to Y/N in this decade?”

He didn’t bother trying to answer this time. There was no point. But Emily had thrown something at Derek and was turning to him instead.

“Don’t listen to him, Reid,” she said kindly, “Think about it. You’ve got me, Rossi and Hotch left to ‘give you advice’. Isn’t that a little reassuring? You’ve got all the idiots out of the way.”

She looked directly at Derek when she said idiots and he scoffed, holding a hand to his heart in mock offence. Rossi was already shaking his head, however.

“Reid does not need advice from a three time divorcee,” he asserted firmly, “No way.”

“I’m not getting involved either,” Hotch said blankly, holding his hands up in surrender. Spencer smiled at them both gratefully.

“Just me then,” Emily said excitedly, pushing forward on the couch until she was sat on the very edge of it, directly facing Spencer, “You want to hear it?”

He knew his options. Or, rather, his lack thereof. She took his silence as permission to continue.

“Picture the scene,” she said dreamily, a hand held out in front of her, “Fairy lights adorn the conference room. There’s candles on the table-”

“Fire hazard.”

“Let me finish! Candles on the table, with all the normal lights turned off and its dark outside because its after work, see? Then we get Y/N to go out to get something for Hotch from his car, because she’s too kind not to, then when she comes back, we’re all holding candles!”

“Emily…”

“I said, let me fucking finish. We’re all holding candles and then she walks past all of us and we give her a rose each, so by the time she gets to Spencer in the conference room-”

“You got this from The Office, didn’t you?”

“No!” Emily said indignantly, “I got it from a video on Youtube of cute proposal ideas, how dare you?”

Spencer let out a lengthy sigh, as did a few of the others.

“So your idea isn’t even your own?” Derek tsked, “Way to let the side down, Prentiss.”

“Oh yeah? And what about your idea, huh? Your idea ended up with him down on one knee with Y/N thinking he was tying his laces!”

“At least I didn’t send a flash mob to Quantico.”

“Well, at least I knew that Y/N can’t stand fancy restaurants like the one JJ sent him to.”

“Hey! Let’s go back to the literal flash mob, shall we?”

And so it continued. A four way argument where absolutely no one was winning, but the other three men were quickly gaining new headaches. It wasn’t as if Spencer knew how to stop this argument. The only thing he could think to tell them was that all their ideas were shit, but somehow he didn’t think that would defuse anything adequately.

“You know what we should do?” Dave suddenly said, loudly and firmly enough that the bickering ceased instantaneously, “We should show Y/N the video of that proposal and see what she thinks.”

“But that’d clue Y/N in on the fact that Spence was going to propose, wouldn’t it?”

“And he wouldn’t be able to use the idea anymore!”

“Just to be absolutely clear,” Spencer said, even though it had become clear his opinion was neither wanted nor needed in the conversation of how to propose to you, “I was never going to use the idea anyway.”

Emily glared at him but he just shrugged. He really didn’t think he was the one being unreasonable here.

“At least we’ll know how good Prentiss’ idea was?” Dave suggested.

“I could do it,” Hotch piped up for the first time in a while, having been watching his team’s antics with fond disapproval, “I could suggest that I was going to propose to Beth, what did she think of this idea?”

“I thought you and Beth broke up?” Penelope stage whispered and Hotch rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly.

“We did, but I haven’t told everyone that yet, Penelope,” he said pointedly and she put a hand over her mouth as she sank further into her seat, Derek putting a comforting arm around her, “Before any of you say a word, she was given a job offer in Hong Kong, it was mutual, I am fine.”

Surprisingly, he actually did seem reasonably fine, so no one had the guts to push the subject, at least for the night. Instead, Emily started taking bets on whether Hotch’s plan would work, on what your response to the proposal would be, on every random thing she could think of. She was very good at swindling the tipsier members of the team out of their money.

Spencer sat back and sipped his lemonade. He found comfort in the fact that their plan had nothing to do with him this time, and he could focus on finding the perfect proposal without worrying about their incessant meddling.

For a day, at least.

---

For a group of profilers, they were not the most subtle people on the planet. Hotch was playing his role perfectly, by simply not acting any different to usual, but the others were being...weird. Maybe it was just because Spencer knew what they were planning, knew how much money each of them had riding on your answer, but they all seemed to be treating you with some extra kindness in the thirty minutes before wheels up.

As if being nice to you would help you choose the option that would benefit them in a made-up test that, as of now, you had no fucking clue about.

You’d been called in dreadfully early for a case and were on the jet by five thirty in the morning, but still Morgan had already made you a coffee and both JJ and Penelope had commented on how nice you looked that day. You were wearing your worst shirt. You knew, because Penelope had previously told you that it was your worst shirt.

“What is with everyone today?” you asked Spencer after the jet briefing, sat next to him at one of the table seats. He didn’t look up from the file he was reading.

“I have no idea,” he said easily, “I find it best to just ignore them when they’re being weird. Getting involved never does me any good.”

“Wise words from my genius boyfriend,” you teased, earning a small smile even though he still wouldn’t look at you. The smile wasn’t just from the compliment though, because nowadays he tended to smile every time you referred to him as your boyfriend, if only because he was imagining how it would feel to hear you refer to him as your fiance - as your husband. The thought made him giddy.

You had to say yes first, of course. Didn’t stop him thinking about it.

“I am very wise,” he hummed. You didn’t reply, choosing instead to cuddle a little closer to him, resting your head just beneath his chin so he could rest his weight on it. He tilted to rest his cheek on top of your head for just a moment before returning to the previous position, “Your hair is so soft, angel.”

“Thank you, hun,” you murmured, closing your eyes for a moment. Unfortunately, that was just the moment that JJ nudged Hotch with a force that sprung him into action.

“Actually, Y/L/N, I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion on something, if you don’t mind?” Hotch said quietly, seeing as you had your eyes closed. You opened them readily at the question, only slightly annoyed at your quiet Spence time being disturbed.

“Oh, ‘course Hotch. What did you need?”

“Well I’ve asked everyone else I think, but I wanted your opinion too,” he said slowly, as he scrolled through his phone to find something. You didn’t move from your position leaning against Spencer, even if you normally would when talking to your boss, but since it was five thirty in the morning and you should still be cuddled up with Spence in your bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Okay…”

“I’m thinking about, well,” he hesitated a little, “Proposing to Beth. Sometime. Soon.”

“Oh wow!” you said happily, finally sitting up in your chair, much to Spencer’s dismay. You made sure to control your reaction, seeing as you knew Hotch wouldn’t want the fuss, “That’s amazing, Hotch. I’m really happy for you.” “Thank you,” he said sincerely, “What do you think of this? For the proposal?”

And with that, he shoved the phone towards you and pressed play. The entire team waited with baited breath as you watched. Spencer too, even if he was still pretending to be busy with that file he’d finished reading so long ago. You didn’t say anything while you watched, brows furrowed, facial expressions giving nothing away.

The video finished. You leaned back into your chair. Silence.

“So? Thoughts?” Hotch prompted, because apparently he was invested now too. Spencer didn’t remember him betting on anything, but nothing would surprise him at this point.

“Honestly, Hotch? Not my favourite. It feels a little contrived, you know?”

“Right, okay.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping, sir,” you said seriously, “But also, it’s not very you. Most important part of any proposal? The fact that you’re the one who’s proposing to her. The fact that she’s the one you wants to marry. Nothing else matters that much.”

“So just to be abundantly clear,” Hotch said, pushing it now, “You do not think this is a good idea.”

You frowned.

“Sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, I just think a proposal should be about how much you love each other rather than all the extra bits. But that’s only my opin-”

“Bullshit!”

Emily was the one who shouted it, top of her voice, startling Spencer so much that a couple of the notes in his file fell to the floor. He didn’t bother picking them up, too busy staring at Emily in horrified shock. Everyone else was doing the same.

“I’m sorry Em, my opinion doesn’t even matter, really, it’s all down to what Hotch thinks.”

Emily was quiet, clearly realising the stupidity of what she’d just done, too wrapped up in how much money she had just lost to Derek in the corner with the shit-eating grin. She stood from her chair, trying to keep her resolve and not die of embarrassment.

“It’s just bullshit,” she said, so quietly they could hardly hear her, before scurrying off to the coffee machine without another word. Everyone stared after her with wide eyes, and the guilt on your face was palpable.

“I really am sorry, Hotch,” you whispered across the table, “I’d never want to lie to you, that’s all.”

“Don’t be, I’m glad you told me. I was pretty against the idea anyway, but it was Emily who showed me the video in the first place.”

You nodded your head in understanding, still sparing glances towards the curtain Emily was now behind. You turned to Spencer, who had finally picked his notes up from the floor and was back to his file, albeit with a new heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“You think I should go apologise? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, Y/N,” he said firmly, putting his arm around you when you still didn’t look convinced, “It’s early and Emily’s cranky. She’ll have a coffee and calm down before you know it. See if you can get an hour’s rest before we land.”

You nodded, curling yourself back into Spencer’s chest, bringing your feet up on the seat. When he looked down at your closed eyes, he knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep worrying about Emily being mad at you, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He just pulled you closer.

When he caught eyes with Derek, he sent him a strong glare as Derek held his hands up in surrender.

I’m going to murder you all, Spencer mouthed at him with great precision, watching as Derek bit his lip in response.

You love us really, he mouthed back jokingly, but Spencer’s glare only narrowed as he felt you cuddle in closer. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and looked back at Derek, noticing that most eyes on the jet were on him now, most looking rather apologetic. He looked each of them in the eye as he mouthed at them:

I’m going to murder you all...very slowly.

---

taglist (ily all <3)

@mrs-dr-reid @soda610 @alexxcorona113 @thupidalethea @may-beforejune-afterapril @ilovesupersoldiers @hurricanejjareau @stardream14 @mortallythoughtfulgurl @aperrywilliams @saranyx @anotherspencerreidblog @thegayestdestielshipper @burkgolden @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @zozoleesi @baumindss @sargent-barnes @halseysunset

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff

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raendown · 4 years

Link

I was bribed in to this by @rookie-d and @sleepysenseis and I regret nothing. Show some love to Rookie’s art for this au as well!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1893 Rated: G Summary: Owning and running a bakery with his husband isn't exactly where he thought life would take him but Tobirama wouldn't trade this for the world.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Patissier-pation Award

The familiar chime of a bell greeted him first as he walked through the front door, eyes down to inspect the mail he had gathered on his way in. Mostly junk, a couple of bills, and a letter that he would bet his entire bank account had come from Hashirama. He would know those graceless spiky letters anywhere. Off on some nature retreat for the past month, there was little doubt this letter would be filled with the same rambling nonsense as the last one had been, lengthy descriptions of the woman he had apparently fallen in love with at first sight.

Under the hum of halogen lights and the ever present smell of baked goods Tobirama could hear a slight groaning sound that made him smile. Instead of going to look for the source right away he continued to flip through the mail until he had sorted junk from bills, slipping behind the till counter to put everything in its right place. Running their own shop was hard work some days but always worth it in the end. While he was there he tidied a few receipts from the day before and used a nearby rag to wipe off a bit of icing probably smeared around by a customer’s child. Only when he was satisfied that everything was in order did he finally turn to look at the plush couch set just a little ways apart from the rest of the seating area. During peak hours the various armchairs and stools were usually filled with people taking a few minutes to enjoy the treats they had just purchased.

Since right now was not peak hours the only person to be found was Madara, stretched out across the couch that Tobirama had quietly purchased just for moments like these. A fond smile touched his lips as he watched his favorite idiot rub at a full belly with furrowed brows.

“How many of those tarts actually made it on to the shelves?” Tobirama called out to him with a lightly scolding tone.

“Most of them!” Madara shot back. Then he groaned again while both hands paused to delicately cup his stomach. “I could have sworn I only ate a few. Just to taste test. Quality checking is important!”

“I see.”

The argument might have been a bit more believable if Madara didn’t use the same one every time he overindulged in his own products. He was the one who initially came up with the idea for the two of them to open their own bakery and Tobirama supposed he should have known then that doing so would lead to regular episodes like this one. His husband was an amazing patissier but he was also his own biggest fan. Or his stomach was, at least, and Madara had never been known for denying whatever his stomach wanted.

“Did you by any chance happen to find time to finish the Sarutobi order before you took your little snack break?”

“Of course I did,”’ Madara huffed. Generously sacrificing one hand for a moment, he pointed imperiously towards the order counter where there indeed were three boxes with the shop logo printed on the front stacked neatly together and tied with ribbon. Inside there would be a dozen cupcakes each with, if Tobirama was remembering currently, blue icing and rainbow sprinkles arranged to spell out the recipient’s name. A fairly simple order. He wasn’t surprised Madara had finished the whole thing while he was gone, though he was surprised there had been enough time left over to gorge on the tarts he’d put in the oven before he left.

Since he trusted his partner Tobirama didn’t offer the insult of going to check the order. Instead he mentally checked it off his list of things to do before heading in to the back to go wash his hands. There was still another order he needed to get a start on, although most of it would have to be finished tomorrow. He was fairly sure they wouldn’t have enough icing until their shipment arrived the next morning.

A quick peek in to the fridge on his way by confirmed his suspicions. Although they still had a tub each of pink and white, yellow was running low and the red was all but entirely gone. If he tried to decorate anything he might have enough to use red for a couple of accents but certainly not enough to cover several dozen cookies in the pattern the order called for. It was a good thing all this wasn’t due to be picked up until late tomorrow.

Hands clean, Tobirama tied an apron around his middle and began pulling out the ingredients necessary for making his specialty gingerbread, one of the quickest selling items on their menu every winter. When he was younger he never would have believed that life would take him here. As a child he’d mostly been obsessed with science and little else. Most of his career dreams had centered around NASA or biochemical research, plans for changing the world with his magnificent discoveries. Now he co-owned a bakery with his husband and spent most of his days rolling dough or decorating cakes, all in between manning the till and watching children’s faces light up as they picked out which treat they wanted to take home. It was hardly the auspicious career he’d always imagined but it was a good life, full and happy, one that he wouldn’t trade for anything. Not even for the trips to outer space he used to dream about.

So lost in his own musings was he that it felt as though he’d only just begun mixing the dough when he looked down and found row upon row of perfectly shaped cookies all laid out before him. Some were made to look like people, some like trees, and others still were laid out in thick flat sheets with which he would later build a house. Gingerbread was always quite fun to work with. A quick count told him that he already had everything he needed as well as a couple of spares in case one or two of them burnt in the oven yet there was still just a bit of dough left over.

With a whimsical smile he reached for his tools again and began to shape a new pair of cookies.

Baking gingerbread didn’t take all that long, almost as much time as it took for them to cool once they were back out of the oven, and as he packaged everything to keep it safe for tomorrow he set his final two creations aside. It may have been a whim but he’d never sent anything out of this kitchen that hadn’t received his full effort and he wasn’t about to now. There was, after all, just enough red icing left - not to mention plenty of black.

Madara was still draped across the couch in the front shop when Tobirama came out to check on him, one of their fancier order boxes in hand. The bellyache appeared to have passed and instead pulled the man down in to a light food coma. Long dark lashes fluttered against pale cheeks when Tobirama bent to stroke one of them, rousing his husband from what looked to a very peaceful if possibly undeserved nap.

“Mnng? I wasn’t asleep.”

“Your snoring tells another story.”

“T-that wasn’t snoring! I was just humming a song under my breath!”

Lifting one eyebrow, Tobirama shook his head. “Mhm, very convincing.”

“Shut up! What’s that? I didn’t think we had anything else going out today. Did I forget something?” Madara frowned and his eyes grew distant as he went over their orders for the week in his head.

Rather than let him suffer Tobirama simply placed the box in his lap.

“You forgot to greet me properly when I came back from running errands but I’ll forgive you for that just this once. These are for you, if you’ve still got room in your belly.”

“Oh?”

Always intrigued by the promise of more sweets, Madara plucked at the edge of the box to pull the tab keeping it closed out of its slot. He lifted the lid with an almost childish expression of anticipation that morphed in to a graceless full-mouthed gawk when he spotted the gift inside. Much to Tobirama’s horror, he caught sight of what looked to be tears gathering in his husband’s eye.

“Is that...us?”

“Yes it is.”

“We’re holding hands. And you gave yourself a little fur collar just like your favorite jacket!”

Tobirama rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. He really liked that jacket. “A little extra detail never hurt anyone,” he murmured as though in protest.

He was mortified to see Madara cradle the cookies in one palm so he could use his other hand to gently stroke the little red icing lines marking where Tobirama had tattooed his own face during a rebellious youth. The number of times Madara had given those marks the same gentle attention were uncountable and it never failed to draw a little color in to his cheeks, embarrassed that his heart could be so softened by such a simple gesture.

“Just eat them and go back to moaning about your belly,” he grumbled even as he leaned in to the touch. Madara huffed at him in amusement.

“What brought this on, hm? I feel like I’m being rewarded for something.”

“It was a whim and nothing more.”

Something about that seemed the right thing to say as Madara puffed up like he’d been complimented, as though being gifted cookies made out of leftover dough were the greatest gesture of love.

“Thinking about me, were you?” his husband asked with a sly undertone.

“I am always thinking of you,” Tobirama admitted. It was true so he saw no reason to deny it.

Madara blinked once. “Oh. Well...I’m always thinking of you too. So there!”

Both of them blushing and flustered, two silly little gingerbread men still held ever so carefully in one of Madara’s palms, Tobirama was eternally grateful there were no customers in the shop to witness the disgustingly sweet scene they were surely making. With a rough clearing of his throat he pulled away and cast his eyes anywhere else in the room.

“Right,” he said gruffly, “eat your cookies. I’m going to go take inventory so we can call in another supply order tomorrow.” Spinning on his heel relieved him of the sight of his beloved husband cradling such precious if silly gifts but it did not spare him the sound of a quiet voice trailing after his rapid footsteps.

“I love you.”

Tobirama wrinkled his nose against the wave of mushy feelings in his chest until the urge to turn around and throw himself down on the couch with his partner had faded. He stepped out with purpose, with dignity, with every intention of going to make himself useful for the rest of the afternoon. But he did pause in the doorway to the kitchen long enough to turn his head to one side.

“Love you too,” he murmured.

It felt like capitulation but, then, Madara had already won his heart many years before and the life they’d built together would always be sweeter than any treat he could bake for himself.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #modern au #bakery au #fanfiction #yes the title is a pun #would you expect anything less???#i considered two other puns as well xD

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morrisondauthor · 5 years

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“A Righteous Burden”

The date July 22, 2009 is a date that I will never forget. It was a cloudy Wednesday afternoon and while I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to Pastor Ballard’s Bible study, I was excited about choir rehearsal because our choir director Mr. Hankinson had agreed to play a song that I composed myself. I’d been trying to get him to use one of my compositions since I began writing music. I wasn’t much of a gospel lyricist so Mr. Hankinson wrote words for the music, and they were amazing. I couldn’t wait to sing the song with the choir for the first time and I really couldn’t wait to sing it for the church that following Sunday. However, it wasn’t my music that made July 22, 2009 memorable. It turned out to be the day I experienced a miracle.

“You’re not gonna change my mind,” Kareem said to me while putting on his Jordans. “I’m done with school, Ant.”

“Why now?” I asked while looking at myself in the mirror to make sure my tie was on right. “Baby, why would you drop out of school right before our senior year?”

“Because it’s pointless. I’m not goin’ to college or doin’ anything important so I don’t see why I should waste my time.”

“So, being at school with me is a waste of your time?”

“That ain’t what I meant and you know it. Anthony, I’m just done with that shit. I’m done with it. I’m a grown ass man. Fuck…I mean, forget school. I got other stuff I need to be worried about.”

Kareem Taylor had been my boyfriend for a little over a year but we’d known each other since elementary school. He was my best friend up until sixth grade, which was when he began picking on me and hanging out with the bad boys at school. I later figured out he picked on me because he liked me and even though I liked him, too, neither of us built up the nerve to do anything about it until the end of our tenth-grade year. I wrote him a letter basically telling him that I wanted us to be boyfriends. He came to my house after school that day and gave me my first kiss. And just like that, we were together.

“You mean like running the streets with Taz and your other wannabe gangster friends?” I asked him. “Is that the other stuff, Kareem?” When he looked away from me and shook his head, I reminded him, “None of your homeboys had your back when you got arrested last October. I had to beg my mama to bail you out.”

Me (Anthony Tibbs)

“You’re just gonna keep hittin’ me with that, huh?”

“Yes, I am!”

“Why are you yellin’ at me? I didn’t raise my voice at you so why are you doin’ it to me?”

“Because I’m tired of you making the wrong decisions! It’s like I don’t even matter to you sometimes.”

“Okay, you’re trippin’. When have I ever treated you like you don’t matter? You’re the one yellin’ at me and shit. We were just all cuddled up and kissin’ a lil’ while ago and now you’re sweatin’ me. Is this because we keep our thing on the low or somethin’?”

“That has nothing to do with what I’m upset about. I’m upset because you would rather drop out of school and play wannabe gangster than finish your education and rise above that mess. After what happened to Ahmad…”

“I’m not tryin’ to have this conversation right now.” He picked his cell phone up from my nightstand and put it in his pocket.

I stood in my doorway to block him and said, “Kareem, if you love me then you’ll sit down and listen to what I have to say.”

He stared at me for a while without saying anything and then let out a loud exhale before sitting down on my bed and saying, “I love you so I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Kareem Taylor

I sat down beside him and continued, “After Ahmad’s death, I feel like I lost a part of you. We could be watching TV together or eating or cuddling and sometimes it feels like I’m only with half of you. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a sibling because I’m an only child and I don’t want to make you upset, but I wish you would talk to me about what you’re feeling.”

Kareem’s older brother Ahmad was murdered after he tried to stop some gang members from killing his best friend. The incident happened just two blocks away from my house and I was the person who broke the news to Kareem that night. We’d only been in our relationship for about a month when it happened. It was the first time I’d ever seen Kareem cry and I felt his pain the moment he felt it. I was there for him and I did my best to help him get through it but I knew my best wasn’t good enough. Ahmad took care of Kareem because their mother had a drug addiction and wasn’t home consistently. I always felt that Kareem lost himself when he lost his brother and it broke my heart.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked me after a lengthy silence. “I miss my brother every second that goes by. I don’t like bringin’ him up because I don’t wanna bring you down.”

“It won’t bring me down, Kareem.” I grabbed his hand before asking, “Do you ever cry when you’re not with me?”

He got a little choked up as he answered, “Sometimes. The worst moments are when I hear his voice in my head and I’ll forget for just a moment that he’s gone. I cried so much that I threw up the last time that happened.”

Tears began to build in my eyes as I squeezed on his hand and told him, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“It’s like I understand that he’s gone forever but I still expect him to come home for some reason. I feel like he’s still out there.” A tear forced its way down the left side of his face as he continued, “It wasn’t his time. I can’t see it any other way. He stayed out of trouble. He went to school and got his license to be a barber. You can’t convince me that it was his time to go.”

I managed to keep myself together as I put my arm around him and told him, “I pray for Ahmad every time I think about him. And I pray for you, baby.”

“I know you believe in that but…it doesn’t do anything for me. It won’t bring him back. I’m not sayin’ that to put down your beliefs. It’s how I feel.”

“I know. But baby, you have to understand that life goes on. That’s why I pray for Ahmad.”

He looked at me and said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“When we die, I believe our existence lives on in everything we ever saw, experienced, touched and loved. Your brother may not be here physically but he does still exist because you knew him your whole life and you’re here. You’re a direct witness to his existence and so am I. His friends knew him and they’re here. All of the people who knew him through the barbershop are still here. He has crossed over and I pray for him because it’s my way of letting him know I witnessed him while he was here physically and that I continue to witness his existence through you. Baby, I pray that he is at peace.”

“I appreciate that but I don’t see it that way. The way I see it is three Lafayette Street niggas killed my brother and his best friend over some bullshit and today is the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

He wiped his eyes and replied, “Don’t even worry about it.”

“Kareem, I know you’re not thinking about joining a gang, are you? Your brother wouldn’t want that. He was against violence and drug dealing!”

“I ain’t him and I never will be.”

“You can’t do this.”

“I don’t have much of a choice. Nobody wants to speak up and tell the cops who did it. You said all those people who got their haircuts from my brother witnessed him, right? Well, I bet some of them know who killed him and they ain’t sayin’ shit.”

“Kareem…”

“No, Anthony. I’m doin’ this. Taz is already in OBF and so are a lot of the other niggas we’ve been hangin’ around. After I get jumped in today, I’ll be OBF, too.”

“And what about us? Huh? Do you think I’m gonna be with you if you’re out robbing and killing people?”

More tears filled his eyes and rolled down his face as he asked me calmly, “You’re gonna dump me?”

“If you let those boys jump you and you call yourself a member of that gang, yes, I will be done with you.”

“You just said you pray for me.”

“I do and I always will but I don’t have to be with you to pray for your soul. I mean it, Kareem. I love you but I will not tolerate you being in a gang. Now, I am going to church for Bible study and choir rehearsal. First Lady Mary Louise Ballard will be serving dinner at seven-thirty. If you love me and you want to be with me, you’ll be at the church tonight for that dinner. If you’re not there…then I guess this will be last time I ever talk to you.”

He continued to stare at me for a while and after wiping his tears away, he stood up and tried to hug me but I wouldn’t hug him. He quickly kissed two of his fingers and gently put them to my lips and then left my bedroom. I waited until I heard the front door to my house open and close before I allowed myself to cry. It took me a little while to pull myself back together but I did pull myself back together and I made it to Bible study on time. However, my mood was ruined by the time choir rehearsal began. All I could think about was Kareem. I just knew Mr. Hankinson was going to notice how off I was.

“Anthony Tibbs,” he called out as he stopped playing the piano. “Are you purposely singing flat? Because if so, I’m going to need you to not do that.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said.

“This is your music, young man. You better sing to it the right way.” He looked at his watch and then told us, “It’s time for a break.”

I stepped down from the choir platform and made my way over to him and asked quietly, “Can I ask you something personal, Mr. Hankinson?”

“You know you can, child. You’re the only person who can talk to me about personal stuff.”

“When you and Mr. Leverett have arguments, how do you work it out?”

His eyes widened and a smile formed on his face as he asked me, “You and that boy had an argument? Aw, that’s so cute.”

“It’s anything but cute.”

“Child, all you can do is pray and hope that the Lord will pave a way. A lot of the hypocritical folk that attend this church will tell you that you shouldn’t have a boyfriend in the first place.” He laughed a little but got serious and asked me, “What did you argue about?”

“He wants to do something very stupid and dangerous and I told him if he does it then we’re over. I shouldn’t have told him that, huh?”

“No, you did the right thing. Anthony, you are young. You still have a year of high school left. You’re smart and you can sing your behind off. I’m not gonna tell you that you’re too young to be in love because that would be bad advice. But I can tell you that if he’s the one then he’ll realize he’s the one and he won’t do that stupid and dangerous thing you argued with him about.” He gave me a look and then asked, “Have you and him been…you know…active?”

I blushed and told him, “We have and we’re safe.”

“Good. Because I did not want to have to give you the talk after we leave here.”

“So, you’re not going to lecture me anyway?”

“Nope. As long as you respect yourself and he respects you, then I’m good. Just make sure you pray to the Lord for forgiveness.”

“Wow, I would’ve thought you’d be the last person to say something like that.”

“Not because you’re gay, child. Ask for forgiveness for having premarital sex. Don’t think just because it’s not legalized yet for our kind that it’s not a sin. Besides, it’s gonna be legal everywhere soon enough if Obama gets a second term.”

I laughed and said, “Thank you, Mr. Hankinson.”

“Mmm hmm, child. Now go ahead and work on that voice so we can get this rehearsal together.”

“Yes, sir.”

I loved that I could talk to Mr. Hankinson about being gay. Just like many other black churches in America, most attendees ignored the fact that their church had a gay choir director. Besides my mama and my grandma, Mr. Hankinson was the only person who knew about my relationship with Kareem. I learned a lot from him and his partner, Mr. Leverett. I was never ashamed of being gay but I was a little worried about how Christians viewed homosexuality until I had discussions with Mr. Hankinson and Mr. Leverett. They helped me understand the importance of following the actual teachings of Jesus and that no man’s word or judgment would ever overpower the word and judgment of God.

While I was still worried about Kareem, I let what Mr. Hankinson said to me that day comfort me. I sang my song with the choir and then we rehearsed a few more songs before calling it a night and heading to the church’s reception hall to eat dinner. I made my plate and while pouring some sweet tea into one of the cups filled with ice on the table, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and when I saw it was a text message from Kareem, I took a moment to take in a deep breath and then exhaled. I opened the text and when I saw he wanted me to come outside, I ran out of there as fast as I could. And there he was standing at the bottom of the church steps. Judging by the fact that he didn’t have any bruises and was wearing the same clothes he’d had on at my house, I knew he hadn’t joined the gang.

“I met up with Taz,” he said as he looked up the steps at me. “I started walkin’ with him towards the spot and…I saw this boy and his little brother over in the park. The little brother had scraped his knee and the big brother gave him a hug to keep him from cryin’. He didn’t tell him to toughen up and he didn’t yell at him. He gave him a hug. I swear it was like I was lookin’ at me and Ahmad. I just…” He got choked up but managed to continue, “I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it, baby.”

“See, I told you, baby,” I said as I descended the steps. “Ahmad is still with you. He always will be.” I made it to him down on the sidewalk and hugged him. After a while, I pulled back and told him, “I love you, Kareem.”

“I love you, too. Thank you, baby. I thought about everything you said to me earlier and you’re right. I can’t let my brother down because he never let me down. He wanted me to do somethin’ with my life like he was tryin’ to do, so I gotta do better. But baby, there’s somethin’ I still need to know.”

“What is it?”

He got choked up again as tears filled his eyes. He cleared his throat and then asked, “Are you gonna be here for me when I need you?”

“Kareem, no matter what happens between us, I will always be here for you. I promise.” I hugged him again. After I wiped his tears away, I asked him, “Are you hungry?”

He smiled and replied, “I’m very hungry.”

“Well, let’s go inside so we can fix that. The First Lady cooked some chicken and rice and gravy…” I began walking back up the steps and he followed me.

Looking back, that day truly was the turning point in our relationship. We were already close but we became closer that day. When that summer ended, we started our final year of high school. I talked him into talking to one of the counselors at the local free clinic and she was able to help him better deal with the trauma of losing his only brother to violence. He attended my church every Sunday and even sometimes on Bible study Wednesday. The more time we spent together each day, the more people caught on that we were more than friends. He lost a lot of his friends but he gained more by befriending the many people I was connected to. We graduated and moved down to Atlanta where I attended Georgia State University and he attended Atlanta Technical College while also working part-time in construction.

It’s been ten years since that day and he and I have been married since 2015. We have a small but beautiful home in a decent Decatur neighborhood and even though I’m still paying on my student loan debt, we’re doing great financially. I’m an accountant for several small businesses, including Kareem’s growing construction business. He currently has twenty-five employees—twelve who are ex-convicts who needed employment—working for him. We have plans to one day buy a bigger house and adopt a kid or two but for now, we’re still enjoying each other like we did when we were teens.

I wake up every morning thanking God for blessing me with the love of my life. And every day, no matter how hectic that day may be, I say a prayer for my husband and for his brother. Ahmad didn’t get to see how his love saved his little brother, but I let him know through my prayers that it wasn’t his burden anymore to look out for Kareem. He could rest easy knowing that the time he did spend on this earth was just enough for him to do what he was put here to do: take care of his baby brother and show him the power of unconditional love.

[Disclaimer]: Pictures used do not reflect the sexuality or personality of people in the pictures. They only serve as visual examples of the characters.

#D.A. Morrison #short story #drama #love #highschool #teens #religion #faith #belief #witness #death #grief #black lgbt #lgbt fiction #fiction

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dfcfanfics · 4 years

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Probably Not the Best Miraculous Prompt of the Day

Stuck In A Bakery (With You)

To Adrien, one nice (and unexpected) side effect of his budding relationship with Kagami was the visible change that it brought about in Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He couldn't quite put his finger on why it was happening, but it was obvious that the unease he'd felt between the two of them was fading rapidly. Her nervousness around him, her tongue-tied words that only seemed to happen around him, her erratic behavior at times... all of them were noticeably decreased. She'd begun reaching out to him more actively as a friend, asking to spend time together... and, frankly, he couldn't have been much more delighted about that.

Case in point: this afternoon. Here he was up in Marinette's bedroom, playing video games with her, and at times he had to remind himself that he didn't have his Chat Noir mask on. The two of them were joking and teasing and bantering the way that she'd often done during his Chat visits; it was obvious that she was perfectly comfortable around him.

I could get very, very used to this, Adrien smiled to himself, before cringing when his online avatar got obliterated by Marinette's rapid assault.

"Hah! Best five-out-of-nine?" Marinette grinned.

"I'll try... but somehow I doubt I'll be winning five in a row," Adrien replied with an equal smile.

Abruptly, his phone rang. Marinette watched his face fall when he saw who was calling, and sighed to herself.

Darn it, she thought. Today was so nice, and I'll bet that's his father's assistant summoning him home immediately.

Although... wait a minute, she wondered, watching Adrien talk back with visible alarm on his face. He does NOT look happy. Has something happened?

She had no idea just how wrong her initial guess had been.

~-----~

Downstairs, Adrien sat with Marinette and her parents in their kitchen.

"Nathalie just informed me that Mayor Bourgeois just made an announcement," began Adrien. "Due to the coronavirus outbreak, all public schools are being shut down for at least two weeks; possibly longer, depending on how things go."

"Oh, dear," Sabine replied. "That includes Francoise Dupont, obviously. Tom, what are they saying now?"

Focused on the television, her husband replied without turning away from the screen. "No students have tested positive yet, as far as they know," he called, "but this is a necessary precaution."

"Hmmph," Marinette pouted. "I understand why they're doing this, but now I won't get to see you for weeks!"

"Longer than that, I'm afraid," replied Adrien, looking pale.

"Oh?" she gasped.

"One of my father's business partners has informed him that he's tested positive. That means that my father's been exposed," explained Adrien. "That doesn't mean that he has it, of course, but he's going into self-quarantine until he's been tested... and he's insisting that I should not join him."

"What?" Sabine frowned, as did Tom, rejoining the group to hear this clearly.

"Oh, I can hear his arguments already. My son is too valuable to risk this way and the future of our business and blah dee blah," relayed Adrien, looking downcast. "Apparently, my bodyguard's on his way to pick me up now... with a packed suitcase in the back of the car. They're sending me to stay with some distant relatives in San Marino until things are more under control in Paris."

Tom stared back at him, with thunder behind his eyes.

"Adrien?" he asked, in a low voice. "Please call your father, and hand me the phone."

~-----~

Marinette and Adrien huddled together, whispering to each other as Tom spoke rapidly in the next room, Sabine by his side.

"San Marino?" Marinette fretted. "I'm not even sure where that is."

"I've been there once or twice," Adrien gulped. "Second cousins on my mother's side. Nice enough people, but... my life is here, you know? My family, my friends. ...You."

"I..." mumbled Marinette, absorbing his last word. "I want what's best for you, of course. But couldn't the virus surface there just as easily as it did here?"

"Of course. In which case I suppose they'll keep playing Whac-a-Mole with me, moving me around somewhere else until we run out of relatives and places," worried Adrien.

The volume of the conversation in the next room rose, though not quite enough for the kids to make out most of what was being said. "Dad does not sound happy," Marinette noted. "I wonder what they're talking about?"

"That's a very good question," Adrien said. "My father isn't known for lengthy discussions."

Tom hung up the phone, and he and Sabine spoke quietly between themselves for a few moments. Once that concluded, the two of them returned to the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Marinette asked them.

"Adrien..." Tom said in a gentle voice, "I am not in any position to tell you what to do, obviously. Your father has your best interests in mind, of course, and he's never actually met Sabine and I. But I have spoken with him, father to father... because I cannot believe it would be easy on him to simply send you hundreds of miles away."

"I'm... not always sure about that. But what did you talk about?" Adrien asked.

"If you would like to go with your father's plan, your bodyguard will arrive here in a few minutes. But if you would rather remain in Paris... well, Sabine and I have a spare room we can set up."

Sabine watched their jaws drop. "It would be... well... your own self-quarantine at our house for a couple of weeks. Tom said that your father would only agree to it if you agreed to stay indoors and away from the outside world. And, of course, they'd call you several times a day to keep in touch about what's going on."

Adrien looked rather stunned. "You would let me stay here?" he asked.

"It seems easier on you and your father than shipping you away," Tom mused. "We'll feed you, of course. I'm not sure what we'll do about clothes for you... somehow I don't think mine would fit you."

"Not much chance of that," smiled Sabine, admiring her portly husband. "And we might ask you to help out with some of the baking preparation; Marinette can show you how, since she'll be home from school, too."

"It's completely up to you," Tom advised him. "I just don't like the idea of your whole life being uprooted in an instant, if we can help you avoid that."

"What do you think?" Marinette asked Adrien, nervously.

Adrien thought for a moment... then smiled back at her.

"Best five-out-of-nine-thousand?" he asked. "It seems that we have some more time on our hands."

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #prompt #if you stop covid-19 they'll just send covid-20 #gabriel agreste's A+ parenting #maybe I should just crumple up this virtual paper...

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ladyreapermc · 4 years

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Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 14/17

Author’s notes: we’re getting closer to the end. I’m thinking I’m just gonna post the last three chapters daily so it can end on Monday. Also I wrote two possible finales for this and I still have no clue each one to go for. Make your bets on what’s gonna happen!

Summary: Keanu and Lilah meet at the set of John Wick. Rom-com shenanigans ensues

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Wordcount: 2385

Warnings: a lot of yearning, a tiny bit of angst, but nothing too serious.

As Keanu stepped into the airplane that would take him to Tokyo, his chest felt tight and heavy and his head was a jumble of confused thoughts. He knew he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep the entire flight. Not that he ever managed to sleep in red eyes anyway, but in any other situation he would at least be able to distract himself with the book he brought along or with inflight movies. Tonight, Keanu knew the only thing he would manage to do was think about Lilah and the fight they had.

This was the one thing he did not miss about relationships, about letting people that close to him. The ability they gained to hurt him. Not that Keanu didn’t do his fair share of hurting. He was quite aware he had been very petty bringing Pierce into the entire mess, but Keanu just couldn’t help himself. He lashed out when he was scared and when she mentioned Oxford, terror and dread overtook him.

They had known each other for about two months. Had been dating, really dating, for not even a month properly, but the thought of losing Lilah was terrifying. Right now, just knowing that he would be away from her for a few days, especially with all the uncertainty that hung over them, made Keanu feel like he left a piece of himself behind in New York. No matter what he did, he couldn’t shake that feeling.

He let out a heavy sigh, making the person sitting next to him look over. He just flashed a quick smile of apology and went back to stare out of the window of the plane. Keanu still couldn’t believe he was this hopeless in love with her after such a short time.

Sure, he realized his feelings had been running deeper than just infatuation that first night they argued about her father, but he didn’t really realize he was in it this deep. Not until tonight.

Keanu should have been more careful. He should have been smarter than this. He had been here before. He had given his whole heart and it had been wrenched out of his chest, smashed and torn, leaving him reeling and barely able to function.

When he picked himself up from that mess, Keanu promised he wouldn’t allow himself to fall like that again. He had been mostly successful at it; keeping his shields up and people would eventually turn away. There was always affection and care for whoever Keanu decided to date, but he never let it progress into something else. He had that pattern fine-tuned down to an art in the last decade. Sometimes it felt as natural as breathing.

He still couldn’t quite understand how Lilah managed to break through that. It took Keanu by surprise, but not really. He saw the warning signs and had every opportunity to turn away, but he didn’t. Because Lilah had been such a breath of fresh air with her honesty and openness and earnestness. With the way that she never asked of him more than he was willing or ready to give. How she accepted him and liked him for what he was, not what she wanted him to be or something she made up in her head. Not many people did that, and Keanu found himself letting his walls down just enough for Lilah to sneak under the wire and lodged herself so deep it suddenly felt like she had always been there and he was just discovering it like a buried treasure.

And now Keanu was scared shitless because he didn’t want to lose her, but he didn’t know what to do either. Because part of him wanted to be with her no matter the cost. That hopeless dreamer that he thought he had lost so long ago didn’t care about the damn age gap or what the rest of the world would think of it. Keanu would move to New York or England or wherever the hell she wanted, if that’s what it took. Because he needed Lilah in his life.

The saner part of him, the one who had loved and lost knew it wasn’t healthy, not for himself and not for Lilah. This part of him knew that he couldn’t interfere with this choice in any way, at least not any more than he already did by offering to pay tuition and helping her through it. Keanu shouldn’t even have done that. He had hadn’t been aware of the weight her father’s wishes had on Lilah’s decision. The second he pushed her Keanu wasn’t being any better than her father was. And that was the last thing he wanted.

At the same time, the thought of Lilah giving up something that was obviously her dream broke his heart and every fiber of his being was screaming him to fix it; to make it better. Because he loved her, and it killed him to see her hurting like this. But Keanu knew that wasn’t what Lilah needed. She didn’t need a hero. Someone to fix things for her. She needed someone to be there for her, no matter what. So that was what Keanu was going to be. The supporting partner she needed, even if the uncertainty of her choice was almost driving him crazy.

With a new sigh, Keanu picked up his book from his jacket pocket, snorting at the cover. He had left home in such a hurry that he forgot the book he had separated to take with him so he stopped by at the airport bookstore to pick something else. The second he laid his eyes on this, he knew he needed to take it. It was Keanu's way to stay close to Lilah even miles apart.

He settled a little more comfortably on his seat and started reading The Shining. Keanu went through almost half before his eyes demanded a break and he put it aside again, smiling because he could almost hear her at every page; her thoughts on this or that scene. She had gone into a lengthy discussion on this book and Stephen King’s work in general, as well as her love for horror books and movies. He had never really thought about it as she did, as an exploration of the human psyche. It was an interesting take.

When he finally landed in Tokyo, Keanu fought the urge to call Lilah, check how she was doing. This was the moment to give her space, let her come up with her answer on her own. Instead, he decided for a text to let her know he arrived safely. He did the same for the rest of his family as he headed to his hotel.

Keanu was exhausted, physically and emotionally and as soon as he got to his room he pretty much passed out. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept for eight hours straight in the past few months, but he woke up to the sound of his phone, his publicist name flashing on the screen. It was time to get ready for the first round of photocall and interviews.

The thing Keanu hated the most about doing press for a movie premiere was that there were always so many things happening at once. He would come out of something and head straight into another with barely enough time to eat or have a smoke or check his phone. And that was how most of his days in Tokyo went in the time he had there. He only managed one afternoon free and he used it to buy some gifts for his friends and family.

Despite all, Keanu really enjoyed the trip. He had always been much fonder of Eastern culture and philosophy than Western. It was also quite nice to meet his fellow cast members for 47 Ronin again. As well as the director. Debuting the film in Japan, considering it was a tale of Japanese culture just felt fitting. The right kind of homage.

But as he headed to the airport at the end of his fourth day, Keanu was anxious to get back since he couldn’t get his head out of New York. Part of it was his worry about how much he was hindering John Wick’s production by being away. Even if it was just for a week. Chad and Dave assured him that they had come up with a plan, so they wouldn’t get too behind schedule and both of them understood that this was the sort of commitment that Keanu couldn’t say no, but he was still worried.

Keanu also couldn’t wait to get back to Lilah, see how she was and if she made up her mind about anything yet. Since they were in such different time zones and his schedule had been so full, they hadn’t managed to speak directly to each other. Only a few text messages throughout the day and he hated it. Apparently, he had grown used to their daily phone calls.

He settled in one of the seats in the airport lounge, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he heaved a long sigh as he waited for his flight to start boarding. Keanu was exhausted. All he wanted was to sleep. Fortunately, his publicist managed to book him a better flight this time, but he was probably gonna get to New York in the middle of the night. He was almost drifting off when he got a call from Karina. Doing a quick calculation on his head, Keanu winced at how early she must be up to be calling him.

“How come I had to hear from Kim that you’re dating someone?” she asked as soon as he picked up and Keanu rolled her eyes fondly at his baby sister.

“Well, hello to you too dear sister. How are you doing? I’m good, thanks for asking.”

“Oh, screw that!” she said with a huff. “Just give me the details because all Kim told me was that you met her at the set, was head over heels and being an idiot about telling how you felt.”

Keanu chuckled, pushing his hair away from his face. He really needed to call home more often. They were both a little out of the loop.

“I can’t talk much,” he said with a quick glance around. Everyone seemed to be minding their own businesses, but Keanu knew that didn’t mean anything. “So yes or no questions.”

“Fine,” Karina huffed. “She’s an aspiring actress?”

“No.”

“Good. She’s probably not dating you to advance her own career,” she said, and Keanu let out a long sigh, his argument with Lilah coming to mind.

“Definitely not that.”

They went back and forth with a few questions, Keanu chuckling slightly at Karina’s growing frustration, but he wasn’t crazy to talk about his personal business in a crowded airport. Even if he was in a private area.

“I wanna see her,” Karina said, and he winced. Keanu should’ve known that was coming. “Come on. Pictures. I know you have them”.

With a sigh, he pulled his phone away from his ear to browse his gallery, trying to pick one picture of Lilah to send Karina. Keanu smiled to himself because he noticed he had quite a few. She was fond of sending random selfies, which he really appreciated.

He picked the one they took on the mirror, maybe his favorite picture of them so far and sent it to Karina.

“She’s beautiful,” Karina said after a moment’s pause. Keanu smiled and just hummed in agreement. “Way out of your league.”

“If you’re gonna be an ass I’m gonna hang up,” he threatened with a snort.

“No, no!” she said chuckling. “I liked her Matrix shirt.”

“Me too,” he admitted with a smile. Keanu had really loved to see her with that shirt. Almost as much as he liked seeing her in one of his.

“Oh, man! You’re so in love!” she teased, and Keanu could feel himself blushing. He lowered his head, letting his hair block his face from view. “I can hear it in your voice. I can see in your face in that picture.”

“Yes,” Keanu breathed out. There was no point in pretending otherwise. His family knew him too well anyway.

“She makes you happy?”

“Very,” he said with a smile and he could hear his sister smiling on the other side too, as well as his phone beeping to signal low battery.

“Good. That’s all we all care about. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Keanu said, noticing his flight was about to board. “I gotta go. Talk to you when I get home.”

The flight back went a little better. Keanu actually managed to nap a little, but every inch of him felt stiff and ached when he finally landed in New York. His phone had died mid-flight and since he didn’t really want to give the entire airport a view of his dirty laundry by digging through his carry-on for his charger, Keanu hailed a cab instead of calling the car service he usually used.

The driver was a nice guy who recognized him immediately and asked for an autograph, which he didn’t have the heart to refuse. When the man asked for his destination, Keanu hesitated, checking the time before letting his impulsive side win over. He gave the driver Lilah’s address. It was late and he should be heading home, but he spent five days without seeing her. Keanu needed this.

Jean looked really surprised when she opened the door to see Keanu standing there and he gave her a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry about the hour. Is Lilah…”

“You didn’t get her voicemail, did you?” she asked, her expression shifting into a grimace and Keanu’s heart stopped in panic.

“My phone died. What happened? Where’s Lilah?”

“Her brother was in a car accident,” Jean explained. “She left for Miami earlier tonight.”

A lot of feelings went through Keanu at once: relief that nothing happened to Lilah herself, worry for how she must be. From what all her stories, she was really close to her brother, but the thing that was stronger was the need to get to her. Make sure she was ok.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

x(tbc)x

Go to part 15

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ericsonclan · 4 years

Text

A Feast Fit for Kings

Summary: The Ericson Pirates must sneak into a fancy party to steal food when their own supplies run low.

Read on A03:

The crew gathered around the deck, confused by what Louis would have called them up for. They talked amongst themselves when Louis dramatically threw back his coat, standing on top of the ship’s edge and causing the crew to quiet down.

“Alrighty, crew! I’ve called you here today to tell you of the great adventure I have in store!” Louis exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. The youngest boys gasped with excitement as they began hopping up and down.

“What’s the adventure this time, Lou?” Marlon looked up at Louis while Rosie hit her paw against his leg, demanding that his attention be on her.

“We are going to a ball!” Louis shouted, lifting up his hands in hopes to raise up everyone’s enthusiasm.

Ruby and Brody seemed excited, talking amongst themselves about it, but Violet definitely wasn’t. Her eyes focused on the deck with a grumpy expression, her arms crossed. “I’ll pass.” she mumbled, turning to leave when Louis spoke up once again.

“Wait!” Louis shouted, reaching out his hand. “We’re going to the ball to steal food!”

“We’re broke again, aren’t we?” Aasim’s eyes shot up at Louis, the annoyance clear in his voice. “Yes.” Louis mumbled, taking off his pirate hat and twirling it in his hands. “But!” he held out a hand, “With this plan we will feast like kings!”

“Food!” Willy screamed, grasping the sides of his head and high-fiving Tenn with so much passion that it nearly knocked him over. Sophie also seemed really excited about the prospect of food, beaming with an excited smile. After a lengthy description of the plan that was far too long considering that it boiled down to the crew stealing food and hiding it in their clothes, Louis stood impatiently waiting for the crew’s vote.

“It sounds like a pretty shitty plan.” Violet grumbled, still not willing to go to a ball on such a loose plan.

“I don’t know.” Sophie smiled over at Violet. “From what I’ve heard this crew has done crazier plans and succeeded.” She hoped that the crew would go with the plan. Sophie was down for it if it meant getting some good food. “I say aye!”

There was silence for a few seconds before one by one the crew agreed.

Louis jumped down graciously, landing on his tail coat and tripping before turning towards Aasim and Mitch. “Okay, lads! If you’d follow me, we can prepare for the evening.”

“Why the fuck are you calling us lads?” Mitch snapped, walking forward to follow Louis who led the guys to one of the sleeping quarters.

The girls followed Clementine who led them to the other sleeping quarters. Before beginning, each group went to their hammocks and opened the chests below to grab the right outfits to begin their transformation. The girls quickly began to change, putting on outfits that had the most pockets and hiding places for food.

Sophie casually threw off her shirt and went down to reach for her new one when she heard Brody gasp. Sophie felt her stomach drop. For just a moment she had lost herself in the thrill of a fun evening and had forgotten about the scars.

“Soph, your back...” Violet whispered in horror at the sight before her. Her voice cracked with emotion from seeing the overlaying scars that plagued her friend’s back.

Sophie’s body tensed at the comment. Every muscle in her body felt tight, an overwhelming fear filled her stomach. Reliving the day that she got the scars. An awkward tension filled the room before Sophie answered. “There’s no great story behind it.” Sophie tried to force a smile, hoping to play it off, but it was clear they weren’t buying it. Sophie felt her throat tighten at her next words. “I disobeyed this captain’s order and paid the price.”

The room fell silent. The mood had changed from what was once a giddy, bubbly excitement at the prospect of the ball to the tense reality of Sophie’s scars. Each girl tried to come up with some way to change the subject but failed to find the right words. Suddenly they heard someone from across the hall scatting.

“Do be do ba, do bee da doo...”

“Mitch, you can’t wear that!” Louis’ voice broke the tune.

“Why the fuck not?” Mitch shouted back.

“Because it has no pockets for one thing and the cut of the shirt is so low you’d be dropping more food than carrying!”

“It’s just not practical, Mitch.” Aasim’s voice rang out.

“What? Like your fancy outfit with the handkerchief?”

“It’s cravat!” Aasim snapped back, taking a huffy breath “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Ok. Ok. Guys, let’s calm down.” Marlon’s voice was level as he tried to deescalate the situation. “Mitch, we have to get food for this to work, so can you please just change?”

A few seconds passed before Mitch responded. “Fine.”

---

After 20 minutes had passed everyone stood on deck ready for the evening. Prisha and Aasim quickly went over the strategy that they had made even though they knew that probably half of the crew wouldn’t even follow it. The crew talked excitedly on the way to the ball. Sophie talked with Willy, each of them dreaming about which food they hoped they’d find at the ball. Tenn added his own favorite foods here and there when a break in the conversation appeared.Mitch and Brody were talking about something that had to do with the argument he’d had with the other guys and Aasim also seemed to be getting drawn into it.

When they arrived at the location the crew carefully made their way through the front, sneaking into the ball with ease. Their eyes widened in awe when they realized Louis wasn’t kidding when he called it a feast. Platters of meats and cheese filled the tables. Breads of all shapes and sizes covered each and every inch of open space. Bowls upon bowls of fruits were laid out around the room while servers walked by with fancy drinks. It really was quite the spread.

Mitch snagged a drink when a server went by, downing it in a single swig. Letting out a satisfied sigh, he turned to the rest of the crew. “Alright! Let’s get to work!” he announced before making his way to the nearest table with the younger boys. Willy and Tenn were busy sneaking food into AJ’s afro as Mitch stored some in his upper pockets, his eyes scanning the room to make sure no one was watching them.

Prisha and Aasim immediately put their plan into motion, methodically taking the food that would be the easiest to steal and store. Violet turned to the nearest food at the table before her and grabbed a few items only to drop them on the floor. “Shit.” Violet angrily whispered under her breath. Depth perception really was her worst enemy at times.

Ruby made her way to the fruit bowl that stood next to Aasim, glancing around before grabbing the side of the bowl and tossing the entirety of its contents down her shirt. She spent a few seconds shifting the fruit around in her shirt until it was hard to tell if she had stored anything in there at all. “No one would dare to check here!” Ruby winked playfully at Aasim. Aasim felt his face overheat. This situation was far too overwhelming for him.

Clementine, Brody and Sophie were by the meat and cheese taking turns snagging different cuts while the other two watched their backs. Brody frantically searched the table, panicking and throwing pieces of cheese in her pant pockets when Sophie gave the signal to stop; someone was nearing the table. Brody slammed hard against the table before she leaned her back against Sophie’s. The pair tried to smile normally in hopes that the man wouldn’t notice them. Clementine leaned on the table, snatching a roll and tucking it away while they waited for the man to leave. When he did so, Sophie turned around, grabbing up a whole platter of meat and hiding it away in her outfit. Giving a thumbs up to the other two, they made their way over to another table where they took turns swiping bread and other baked goods.

After a half hour the crew regrouped, checking to make sure they had snagged enough. Everyone looked pretty normal with the food safely stored inside their outfits except a few. Willy’s was especially bad; it looked like his pants were bursting at the seams in some places.

Prisha looked over at Mitch whose shirt was bulging with food. It seemed to prominently be around his chest area. Prisha snorted. “Nice moobs, Mitch.”

Mitch mockingly repeated the sentence then snapped back, “Shut up, Prisha! I bet I got more food than you anyway.”

Before she could respond, Violet let out a frustrated growl, cussing angrily under her breath as she took out her stash. “What kind of fucking idiot am I? I grabbed a bunch of wax fruit!” she groaned as she tossed a wax apple aside. It bounced on the floor, stopping at Mitch’s feet.

“Stupid assholes and their fancy fake fruit.” Mitch grumbled in agreement.

Suddenly a few guards walked by, causing Louis to panic. “Quick, everyone! Act normal!” He whispered, proceeding to lean aesthetically against a wall, his hat tipping slightly from the weight of the food hidden inside it. The rest followed suit, all striking unusual poses.

Willy instantly sat down, gasping in horror as he grasped his butt. “My buns!”

“Which ones?” Louis looked over with a mixture of concern and confusion.

Immediately Willy sat up to reveal two large dark colored splotches on each of his cheeks. The crew didn’t have time to react, however, as the guards had taken notice of them thanks to Willy’s exclamation. Their faces squinted in concentration before changing in recognition as they realized who they were. “You there! Hold it!” A guard shouted while he unsheathed his blade.

“Holy shit! Run!” Louis shouted, picking up the nearest of the younger boys and sprinting off in the direction of Ol’ Kickass. The rest followed close behind. Violet passed out the wax fruit to Sophie and Mitch who immediately started throwing it to distract the guards. Violet’s aim wasn’t the best. Most of her hits were connecting with the ground rather than the guards, but Mitch and Sophie were able to get a few good hits in.

“Eat it!” Sophie grunted, tossing a plastic banana that whacked one of the guard’s directly in the face. Mitch gave a proud smile and high fived her before pelting another guard with more wax apples.

As they scrambled back onto the ship they quickly got ready to set sail, but not before two of the guards jumped on deck. Aasim and Marlon fought them back while the others tried to get the anchor pulled up and the sail put down. Marlon and Aasim shared a look and smiled at each other. They tag teamed one guard, sending him off the side of the ship. Before the other guard had a chance to react, they kicked him over into the sea to join his fellow guard.

Only when they had gotten a good distance between them and the town did the crew stop to celebrate. They really did steal a meal worthy of kings. Each member continuously dug into the meal. Multiple hands snagged the different assortments of meats and cheeses. Marlon and Omar had even managed to steal a few drinks. Bottles clinked together as the crew celebrated another successful adventure.

“Here’s to many more to come!” Louis announced, standing up proudly in front of the crew who cheered in agreement, laughing and talking until the night turned to morning.

#fanfic #a pirate's life for me au #twdg louis #twdg sophie #twdg mitch #twdg violet #twdg prisha #hijinks and shenanigans

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journalxxx · 4 years

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And They Rested on the Seventh Day

[I read the Good Omens book and watched the Amazon series, and enjoyed both a great deal: however, this story doesn't strictly follow the canon or characterizations of either. It's a bit of a mix of the things I liked the most from both versions (for clarity, this considers basically the plot and ending from the book + few selected elements from the tv series. Also Tennant. Definitely Tennant), topped with purely made-up bits of headcanon and character interpretation. The final result is that it’ll probably feel full of inconsistencies and OOC moments, but oh well. I had to take a few ideas off my head.]

To think that it had all started as a hobby of sorts. A wild bet on and against himself, just for the fun of it.

Crowley hadn't thought much of the job he'd done in the Garden of Eden, at first. To be fair, he was still convinced that most of the responsibility for that big mishap fell on God Herself and Her inexplicable - pardon, ineffable - decision to dangle juicy bits of edible forbidden knowledge right in front of people who had literally been born yesterday. Honestly, what else could have happened? Crowley was sure one of the two humans would have given in to curiosity anyway, sooner or later: his intervention had simply sped up the process.

But Crowley’s superiors had been positively enthusiastic about it. God’s new and supposedly best creations, twisted and corrupted and exiled in less than a week since the beginning of the world? An astonishing success for the dark forces, they had said, very well done Crawly, you shall hereby be hailed as The Tempter (a title that would be handed out very freely in the centuries to come, in fact, since he had basically invented a whole new and very busy line of work for the entire Underworld). They had been so keen on putting his supposed talents of persuasion to good use that they had assigned him on permanent Earth surveillance duty, keeping an eye on things and easing the slippery slope of other innocent souls to the abyss. A simple enough job, he thought, and he wasn’t at all displeased with the idea of spending most of his time away from Hell. The place was, well, hellish.

He had been quite surprised to meet the Guardian of the Eastern Gate there as well, apparently tending to the exact opposite task as Crowley’s. What were the odds, uh? But in Aziraphale’s case, Crowley couldn’t help but feel that the new office was meant more as a demotion rather than as a reward. The angel didn’t seem exactly… suited to field work, so to speak. He was definitely the kind of guy who’d deal better with paperwork or with performing celestial harmonies or with whatever those guys up there got up to, these days - rather than with acting as an incognito emissary of the Light. He was simply too soft-hearted. It clearly pained him to witness the daily struggles of mankind without being able to relieve them, if not in a very roundabout and indirect way. He would have gladly handed out miracles and blessings as promptly as he had relinquished his flaming sword, Crowley thought, if he hadn’t directly been ordered to stick to spreading ‘positive influence’.

He was a queer one, Aziraphale, but overall rather amusing to have around. And after the first mostly accidental meetings, Crowley had started to notice several very, very interesting things about him.

First of all, the angel was a sinner. And a rather nonchalant one too.

The first sin Crowley noticed was pride. Now, pride was objectively quite intrinsic to all angelic beings, to some extent, with their perpetual holier-than-thou attitude and their unbending illusion of absolute righteousness. Aziraphale wasn’t an exception. He could have very well avoided Crowley, if he really thought so lowly of him and his shady dealings, but he didn’t. He met him, he primly and oh so very graciously tolerated his company, he pointedly corrected his faulty views on creation and the universe with the self-satisfied attitude of a conceited schoolmaster. It made Crowley’s skin, well, crawl. And he had this ridiculous habit of pointing out, at randomly fitting points during any discussion, that he, Aziraphale, was an angel and he, Crowley, was a demon, and therefore blah blah. He did that really often, inexplicably so. It wasn’t like either of them was going to forget what they were, after all. And it wasn’t like he needed to repeat that at frequent intervals to make sure that some undefined and distracted external audience was aware of their standing in the universe either. It was just plainly dumb and irritating. Crowley had taken to address him as ‘angel’ more often than with his proper name, out of sheer sarcasm. Sadly Aziraphale hadn’t taken particular notice.

Another very glaring sin Aziraphale keenly committed was gluttony. Oh, what a glutton he was. The first time Crowley had met him ‘socially’, he had been astounded to notice that Aziraphale actually ate. If his body was anything like Crowley’s, and Crowley was sure it was, it was conveniently free from most of the intentional design flaws God had installed on humans after Adam and Eve’s escape, such as illness, hunger and tiredness. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley needed any sustenance or sleep (although Crowley had quickly taken a liking to the latter activity - but he was a demon, Aziraphale would have pointed out with his most slappable face, so he was allowed as many indulgences as he wanted). Even the most gluttonous human had some sort of excuse, what with needing to eat to survive and, while one was at it, he may as well do it decently, to build the temple of his body in the best possible way and so on and so forth. It was a very flimsy and poor excuse, considering the sort of folks who usually resorted to it, but humans clung to such moralistic drivel like limpets. Aziraphale didn’t even have that tiny pretext on his side. He ate (and drank) without any need to, and he did it often and with much gusto, out of sheer pleasure. If that wasn’t the epitome of gluttony, Crowley was an anteater.

And, after a few centuries, a hint of greed began to emerge too. It was a very specific sort, aimed at very specific material possessions, namely those that had to do with writing. Aziraphale had been inordinately proud when humans had begun to carve their funny little thoughts and grocery lists on very impractical clay tablets, he had called it a revolutionary intuition, surely sparked by divine goodwill. Crowley’s reaction had been more along the lines of a whole-body shrug. Aziraphale was fond of reading and, when it became possible, he even started collecting reading material. Papyrus, parchments, scrolls, anything he could find. When books started to become a thing, the angel ogled them like misguided shepherds ogled golden calves. He acquired them very sparingly and with a trace of guilt at first, when books were rare and their production was lengthy and expensive and holding onto some tomes for his own personal enjoyment effectively diminished the amount of knowledge available to the world at large. But after the press was invented, oooh boy. Yes, the excessive and self-serving accumulation of literary material goods was definitely among Aziraphale’s faults.

But that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

In fact, for all his preaching and sternly-worded proclamations of faith, Aziraphale had perplexities. That much was glaringly obvious. Ineffability perplexed him, even though he unerringly presented it as the ultimate argument against Crowley’s own perplexities, whenever they ventured to discuss celestial politics. It had been perplexing him, at least to a certain extent, since the apple incident, Crowley was sure of that. And that was odd in itself. Crowley had believed that, after the Rebellion, Heaven had been purged of any angelic creature who wasn’t a hundred percent committed and trusting in God’s cause, but Aziraphale seemed troubled to a visible degree, at times. Crowley had known Aziraphale only very superficially before falling, and he couldn’t quite say if his doubts were a recent development or not.

So, a peculiar idea started to slither in the corners of Crowley’s oft bored mind.

What if, he thought, what if I could make this angel fall?

The premises for the evil deed were all there. Aziraphale already committed almost half of the deadly sins of his own accord, whether he knew it or not. And he had reservations, however intimate and rationalized, about God’s plan. That was all it had taken for Crowley himself to fall, after all. Just a couple of reservations and hanging around the wrong people. Crowley could provide both of those factors very easily.

It was, admittedly, mere speculation. Crowley wasn’t even sure it was possible for angels to fall after the Rebellion - something had seriously shifted in the balance of the universe back then, everyone had noticed. But the concept was absurdly inviting. Who else, after all, aside from the Morning Star Himself, could boast coaxing angels into corruption? It would be a stunning accomplishment in any demon’s curriculum, wouldn’t it? Forget about apples and tempting feeble human minds, that would be real bragging material. The more he thought about it, the stronger the itch got. In addition, despite his earlier doubts, Crowley had discovered himself quite naturally adept to that whole temptation business. He had thought his success with Eve a bit of a fluke, born of very favorable circumstances: deep down she already wanted that fruit, and so did her companion. They were already leaning towards disobedience, and all Crowley himself had to do was just to give the both of them a little nudge in that direction.

But then, he had found out that that principle was valid for all humans. Every human, literally every one of them, was inevitably attracted to Evil, at least a little bit. In some cases he had to resort to some delicate manoeuvres and subtle approaches to nurture that twisted tendency, in others he simply had to knock on an open door. A very easy and straightforward job, indeed.

But would it be that easy with a full-fledged angel? Presumably not. How should he go about it, then? He supposed that approaching Aziraphale with a rapid fire of existential questioning would be slightly too on the nose. Besides, ineffability. How did you even question that? It’s a brick wall of suspended disbelief and logic denial. No, theology speculations weren’t the right answer, only the most mind-numbingly boring one.

Crowley decided to roll up his sleeves and start with the basics. Adding the remaining deadly sins on Aziraphale’s list of misconducts would be a solid start, he deliberated. Whittling away at a soul’s integrity bit by bit was all the rage back then, in terms of temptation tactics. He’d slowly erode the angel’s rectitude as if he was your average human, and then he’d see where he could go from there. And he would take it nice and easy, spreading his influence over centuries, millennia if necessary. He wouldn’t risk ruining his chances by revealing his hand too soon. He had picked the most promising one among the four remaining sins, and he had started plotting.

He could still remember the indescribable sensation he had felt when he had succeeded, sometime around 1000 AD. It had indeed taken centuries of discreet suggestions and proposals, refuted firmly and scornfully at first, but with less and less passion over time, until Aziraphale had finally given in to the Arrangement, with nothing more than a curt and tense nod. Crowley had offered his assistance first, obviously. He was already about to head to Byzantium to tend to his own business, so he thought he may as well take care of Aziraphale’s too. Just an innocent favour, free of charge. Obviously, if for fairness’ sake the angel felt like returning said favour in the future, Crowley’d be obliged, but really, no pressure whatsoever.

Unexpectedly, unlike all the previous times, the angel had accepted. It felt like a minor victory in itself, even though it was only the first step. Naturally Aziraphale followed him, although not quite as discreetly as he thought. And he followed Crowley the next time as well, and the third- the third he didn’t.

Now, that felt like a triumph. Crowley’s skin had begun to tingle in sheer excitement when he had ascertained that the third time he had offered his assistance to Aziraphale, the angel had simply trusted him to carry out the task as requested. Not that Crowley wanted or could avoid doing what he’d been asked - their respective head offices may be careless about smaller details, but they were fond of keeping scores. If the holy work hadn’t been performed, Heaven would have noticed, therefore Aziraphale would have been reprimanded, and Crowley would have lost that hard-earned trust. What was notable, however, was that it had taken only two trips for the angel to trust completely a demon to perform honest, divine work. It was foolish of Aziraphale not to check that he would, it was lazy of him not to perform the job himself, as he’d been ordered, as he’d undoubtedly report he had. It was deception to his superiors, it was negligence, but more importantly, it was sloth.

It was a heady rush of adrenaline after a long period of forced calm, the kind of exhilaration a skilled hunter feels after waiting for hours - centuries, in that case - for the prey to fall into an aptly placed trap. It was indeed possible to tempt an angel, and he, Crowley the Tempter, the Snake of Eden, had managed to do it. It was riveting. That sensation of well-earned success alone would have been enough to brighten his days and put a spring in his step for the next century, but the best was yet to come, and it was something Crowley wasn’t even planning of.

He had been joking when he had suggested that Aziraphale should be the one to carry out the next bunch of long-distance duties for the both of them. He wasn’t expecting him to accept by a long shot, definitely not so soon at least - but he did. Sheepishly and uncomfortably, Aziraphale had listened to Crowley’s instructions and headed off with a half-muttered promise to ‘see what he could do’. That was a surprise, although Crowley didn’t believe for one second that he would see the job done. An angel (and not just any angel, Aziraphale), doing Satan’s work? What a joke. He’d chicken out of it before dawn, for sure, and either later inform Crowley that he had met with obstacles, or pretend to have forgotten about the whole conversation. And indeed, after seeing neither hide nor hair of the angel for the next month, Crowley assumed Aziraphale had just done that. The demon had then made the hundred-kilometre trip to take care of the business personally, only to find the couple of married lovers (married to other people, that is) already in the throes of the deep reciprocal passion that had been haunting them for the past three years, their families in turmoil and their small town in the middle of nowhere now enjoying the best bout of spicy gossip since that peculiar incident with the shepherd and his sheep forty years earlier.

Crowley was absolutely flabbergasted. That was much, much better than he’d even dared to expect. He felt like he’d basically already done it. It was going to work. If it had taken so little effort to convince an angel to tempt humans instead of blessing them, it was only a matter of time before Aziraphale eventually succumbed completely to Crowley’s scheme. Only a matter of time! He’d keep working on it, slowly and patiently, in a world that would soon start moving forward at an increasing and unimaginable pace, treating Aziraphale like his personal pet project, tackling one sin at a time. What was left? Lust, envy, wrath - oof, wrath was going to be a tough one, wasn’t it? The strongest negative emotion he’d ever seen Aziraphale display was ‘mildly peeved’ - but it would definitely, definitely work. He wouldn’t rush it, he’d wait for the perfect occasion to land in his lap and he’d seize it, to drag the angel to ruin in careful, calculated steps.

That night Crowley had gotten fantastically, gloriously, immeasurably drunk, and had dragged literally the entire village into his personal celebration, thanks to the inexplicable appearance of a good dozen abandoned carts on the main road, filled with jugs of excellent wine from the local vineyards. The huge, impromptu party that followed would have put Bacchus himself to shame, and it provided the village spinsters with enough gossip about the many depraved deeds that had been consumed on that night for the next 378 years, give or take.

That was roughly a thousand years ago.

Funny, Crowley thought as he was sprawled on an unimportant bench in an unimportant road of Lower Tadfield, Oxfordshire, feeling and looking like a puppet with cut strings. Funny, Crowley thought as he was looking up into the cloudless and starry sky of a world that hadn’t ended, how much things can change in just a thousand years.

Aziraphale stood up when two round headlights appeared at the end of the road, and glanced curiously at Crowley when he didn’t do the same. Slowly, with immense effort and groaning like a metal crane bent by a gigantic hand, Crowley gathered his strewn limbs and rearranged them vertically as well. The angel and the demon climbed on a bus that wasn’t going to Oxford, walked past an unresponsive conductor that wasn’t asking for tickets, and spent most of the trip sharing a bottle of wine whose quality vastly outmatched its price tag and whose capacity had long since exceeded the promised 750 millilitres.

The repetitive scenery of the the dark English countryside let Crowley’s mind wander back into the past. It occurred to him that it had been roughly 600 years since the last time Aziraphale had set foot into his house. You could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times the angel had ever accepted to visit his ‘den of iniquity’ (Aziraphale’s words, c. 310 AD), and always very briefly. They had always preferred meeting in public venues anyway, until Crowley had decided that Aziraphale’s bookshop definitely counted as one and had taken the habit of dropping by for the occasional drink.

The invitation had slipped out of Crowley’s mouth easily, unthinkingly, while they were waiting for the bus. And, honestly, how could he not offer hospitality in such circumstances? All of the angel’s earthly possessions, including his very house, had gone up in flames. What was Crowley supposed to do, let him go to a random public bathroom, lock himself into a cubicle and miracle the inside of it into Croesus’ mansion? Seriously. Just because he was a demon, it didn’t mean he was utterly uncivil. Still, Aziraphale had taken up on Crowley’s suggestion with less hesitation that he’d expected. At that point, all Crowley could do was hoping that Hell hadn’t sent reinforcements after Hastur and Ligur’s failed attempt at ‘collecting’ him, and an apartment to invite Aziraphale into still existed in the first place... Oh, well. Worst case scenario, they’d hijack two cubicles.

“How long do you think we have,” Aziraphale said quietly, interrupting the disorganized flow of Crowley’s thoughts, “before they’ll decide to come after us?”

“Heaven and Hell, you mean?” Crowley answered slowly, syllables sticking to his tongue. “I don’t know, a while. I bet they have some serious internal mess to deal with first. Disappointed warmongers and whatnot. Bigger priorities than us.”

“But they will sort that out eventually.” Aziraphale stretched his arm towards Crowley, hand open in a muted request for the bottle. “And then what? I doubt they’ll leave any rogue agents be.”

“....Eh. They might, you know? The kid- whoops.” Crowley let go of the bottle when he felt Aziraphale’s fingers brush his own, but the glass slipped from both their grasps. Aziraphale blinked, and the bottle froze in midair a few centimetres above the floor. He calmly bent down to fetch it as Crowley continued. “The kid told us not to worry.”

“But do you think he has the power to grant us protection from both Reigns?”

Crowley shrugged. “He’s the boss’ son. And he just stopped the bloody apocalypse, if you haven’t noticed. He has power, all right. That’s good enough insurance for me.”

Aziraphale hummed pensively, his gaze lost out of the window. Crowley watched him take a measured sip, and then clean distractly the neck of the bottle with a handkerchief. His movements were quiet, harmonious, steady. Everything about Aziraphale was, and always had been. Crowley’s whole, brilliant temptation plan was centered on the expectation that sins would change his angelic nature, that they would change him. Instead, what had happened was the exact opposite. As the decades and centuries went by, as their meetings grew less and less ‘business’ oriented and turned into genuine divertissement, Aziraphale wasn’t changed by the sins: the sins were changed by him. A tasty nibble of food wasn’t a temptation any more, but a moment of genuine appreciation for the little, blessed pleasures God still allowed mortals to experience. His elegantly-worded notions about the order of the universe ceased to be a prideful display of superiority, and instead became an engaging debate capable of building dialogue between spiritual opposites. His love for books wasn’t a selfish desire of accumulation for accumulation’s sake, but an intellectual connection to the history and minds of the humans he was meant to protect, from all times and cultures. His acceptance to share duties with a demon wasn’t sheer laziness, but a very tangible olive branch offered to a former sworn enemy. Deeds that would have tarnished any human soul, made it revolting and beyond repair, hadn’t even dented the core of Aziraphale’s goodness. If anything, they had enriched it: like the light patina of a vintage Bentley, those sins adorned Aziraphale’s very soul like unique and distinguishing traits, all the more intriguing to a discerning eye.

And the most baffling thing was that Crowley hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t noticed that his plan, ostensibly always in motion and always waiting, waiting, waiting for the next occasion to move further, was gradually being shoved into the most forgetful corners of his mind. He hadn’t noticed he’d stopped plotting against his enemy, and had instead started just coexisting with him. It had taken him so goddamn long to notice he’d stopped considering Aziraphale as an inconvenient obstacle to be removed from the world Crowley was meant to submit, but that the angel had rather become one of its most interesting and worthwhile features.

It had taken him until the end of the world to realize that.

As it turned out, Crowley’s flat hadn’t been obliterated by the forces of Hell. Yet.

“Make yourself at home.” Crowley said as he jogged from room to room to make sure there were no former colleagues of his lying in wait anywhere.

“This is where you live?” Aziraphale asked, peeking curiously from the entryway. Crowley interrupted his inspection just to make a face.

“Oh no, I’m just appropriating the humble abode of a millionaire manager perished in the latest fish tornado. He won’t need it anymore, will he?” Aziraphale gave him a dubious glance. Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, this is where I live. What kind of question is that, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, you know, just wondering.” Aziraphale answered, visibly relieved. “I wasn’t really expecting your home to look like this.”

“And why not?”

“Well, it’s… rather neat and minimalistic.” Aziraphale hesitated. “It almost reminds me of the Upper Offices. Although it is quite darker, I suppose.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale pointedly. Deafening silence was the only appropriate reply to such a statement, so he let it stretch leisurely until Aziraphale couldn’t help but look away.

“Are you going to come in anytime soon or…?” Crowley eventually said, gesturing around vaguely.

“Yes. Thank you.” The angel finally unstuck from the threshold and followed Crowley into the study. “I really appreciate your hospitality, by the way. I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow, I’m sure it won’t be hard to find a nice spot for me to move in.”

“Oh, no rush. I barely use this place.” Crowley waved at him dismissively, his attention suddenly caught by the ansaphone. It wasn’t blinking exactly as he had left it. It definitely should be blinking exactly as he had left it. “Uh, right, the bedroom’s over there. If you don’t feel like sleeping, there’s the…” There was the tv, which Aziraphale hardly ever watched. There was the computer, which surely he didn’t even know how to plug in. There was the hi-fi, boasting an impressive collection of contemporary artists 95% of which the angel probably had never heard of. It suddenly occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale wasn’t the easiest guest to entertain.

“You don’t happen to have any books lying around, I suppose.”

Crowley shrugged. “‘Fraid not. But there’s some food in the fridge, if you want.” He offered lamely.

“Oh. Thank you, but I think I’ll be catching some sleep tonight as well.” Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “I haven’t had a day as intense as this one in a long while. It takes a toll on you even when you’re indefatigable.”

“You’re telling me.” Crowley mumbled, watching Aziraphale head off into the corridor. He waited until his guest was reasonably far from the study before checking the new recorded message. He regretted it very quickly.

“What’s that?” Aziraphale inquired loudly, when the unmistakable noise of demonic torment and horrified screams erupted from the speakers. Crowley hurried to silence it with some chaotic button-mashing and removed the cassette from the machine. A single, fat worm fell from the tape.

“Ugh.” Crowley grimaced, shoving the whole device into the trash can. All right, his mistake. He should have dealt with Hastur when he had the chance. But then again, what was one more demon free out there wanting him dead when he had already earned the eternal grudge of both Heaven and Hell? “Nothing. Nothing to be worried about.”

“That definitely sounded like something to be worried about.” Aziraphale insisted, rather alarmed.

“Nah, just prank calls. I really need to find out who invented them and offer them a drink, now that’s some first-calls deviousness-” Crowley hurried to the bedroom before Aziraphale could decide to investigate the matter personally, and stopped abruptly when he saw the angel sitting innocently on his bed. “Uh. That’s my bed.” He felt it was important to state that fact aloud.

“Yes, I gathered. Excellent mattress, I must say.” Aziraphale replied genially, until Crowley’s silence prompted him to stand up hastily. “Oh, sorry, you pointed me to the bedroom and I thought you meant I could…?”

“No! I meant that you could make yourself a bed and get settled!”

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, I just thought…” Aziraphale paused, looking at the object of the argument confusedly. “It’s a very large bed though. It looks like four people could sleep comfortably on it, so I thought-”

“I roll around a lot when I sleep, all right?” Crowley retorted with anger, with tangible and very obvious anger, and with absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever. “Look, just- miracle yourself some furniture, here or wherever you want, or sleep on the sofa, or anywhere that isn’t my bed.”

“All right, all right!” Aziraphale frowned and raised his hands defensively. “I’ll take the sofa then.”

Crowley collapsed face-first on his reconquered berth as soon as Aziraphale left the room, his sunglasses conveniently teleporting to the bedside table before they could bore into his skull. He felt positively destroyed. He’d give anything for another century-long nap, he hadn’t had one of those in a while. But it would be rather imprudent in the current circumstances. He’d have to make do with a dozen hours. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, welcoming that exquisitely human sense of physical relaxation that came with dozing off. He let the beginnings of sleep dull his senses and his mind, sweetly and mercifully-

“My, such luxuriant foliage…”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open. “NO!” He bellowed, hurling himself off the bed and into the corridor with barely enough coordination not to trip on his own feet. “Stop it! Shut up!”

“What-” Aziraphale startled as Crowley suddenly appeared before him, arms spread in a clear effort to physically separate him from the potted greenery. “W-What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Leave the plants alone. Don’t look at them. And above all don’t talk to them.” Crowley ordered as he grasped the angel’s shoulders and steered him bodily out of the room.

“But why? I was just admiring the-”

“There’s nothing to admire here. Everyone’s just doing what they’re supposed to do.”

“But-”

“My house, my rules. The plants are off-limits.” Crowley snapped his fingers and two robust metallic doors materialized out of thin air to seal the area from the rest of the house. Crowley shoved Aziraphale past them, while he lingered on the threshold just long enough to glare at every single plant in the room.

“Don’t forget whose opinion really matters here, guys.” He hissed, his teeth bared. His warning was met with a collective, deferential shudder.

“...Crowley, are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing him worriedly. Crowley looked at him like a naked Bedouin sitting on a glacier in the Arctic might look at someone asking him if he’s cold. The doors locked with an audible clang.

“...Yeah, I’m just peachy.” He eventually muttered, rubbing his eyes and heading back to the bedroom. He lay down again and closed his eyes, enjoying a grand total of ten second of peace before Aziraphale’s footsteps reached the room. Crowley sighed. “...What?”

“Actually, I think I would like to sleep here, if it’s all right with you.”

“Do whatever you want.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind-”

“What do you think ‘do whatever you want’ means, Aziraphale?”

“I’m guessing it means that I have free reign over any part of your house that doesn’t include your bed or your plants.”

Aziraphale’s miffed tone got the tiniest smile out of him. “Yep, you got it. See? Wasn’t difficult.”

Crowley felt reality shift around him. Curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked to the side. The bedroom had conveniently enlarged just enough so that Aziraphale’s newly created bed could fit. It was a small, single one, all wood and fin de siecle linens and puffy pillows and creamy tones. It clashed with the existing decor something terrible, but Crowley barely took notice. He was more concerned with its owner, sitting somewhat rigidly on it and glancing around the room nervously. Suddenly Crowley understood why he’d chosen to sleep there.

“Relax, angel. No one will be coming after us.” Crowley couldn’t help but offer, lowly. “Not tonight, at least.”

Their eyes met. After a beat, Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. You are probably right.”

Aziraphale was still sitting up when Crowley closed his eyes. He hoped that the other could catch some rest, but he wouldn’t mind too much if he didn’t. Even a demon could use a guardian angel to watch over his sleep, after all.

Aziraphale did sleep that night, for a good two hours and a half. It may not sound like a lot, but considering that he hadn’t rested since that quick twenty-minute nap in 1732, it felt immensely refreshing anyway. Upon rising, he had to admit that creating his own bed had proven to be a wise choice: in his sleep, Crowley had somehow managed to scatter his considerably long limbs all over the mattress, effectively covering a flat surface that must be at least three times as large as that of his own body. Admittedly he looked quite endearing, arms and legs making a decent impression of a windrose and snoring away with his mouth open.

Aziraphale spent the rest of the night keeping himself quietly busy. He checked all the news from the radio and the tv, from which he gathered that Adam was mending reality with impressive speed and ease, considering how suddenly his powers had bloomed. It was truly a blessing that the boy was far more mature than anyone had credited him for. To think that Aziraphale himself had seriously entertained the notion of eliminating him… No, that guilt wasn’t going to leave him anytime soon.

The angel then proceeded to tidy up what little there was to tidy up in Crowley’s apartment. Some spilt water here and there, and a ragged, dark set of clothes oddly abandoned on the threshold of the study. They didn’t look like the type of get-up Crowley would choose for himself, and it certainly wasn’t one Aziraphale had ever seen him wear, but then again the demon had a thing for experimenting with mortal fashion. Aziraphale also repeatedly wrestled with the impulse to take another look at Crowley’s plants, entirely because of his exceedingly suspicious behavior. He didn’t do it, though. That would have been extremely impolite, almost traitorous. Utterly unworthy of his status. Although- no. No, he wouldn’t.

He even managed to find a few books, tucked away under the sofa or on top of unreachable shelves. They were atlases, maps, photography magazines, all focussed on naturalistic topics: pictures of panoramas from all over the world, animals, plants, even remote stars and galaxies. Aziraphale wasn’t an especially avid consumer of such publications: he vastly preferred both the written word and man-made illustrations, which did a much better job of conveying the divine spark of creativity God had blessed humanity with. However, as he was leafing through those pages and seeing ruins of cities he had inhabited, cute yet clumsy species he had discreetly saved from extinction, masses of gas and dust he had shaped into celestial bodies, he couldn’t help but slip into a lengthy bout of nostalgia for the halcyon days of creation. He wouldn’t be surprised if Crowley kept those books around for the same reason.

When he heard some muffled noises coming from the bedroom, Aziraphale decided to make breakfast. His noble endeavor, however, was thwarted by the complete lack of any sort of raw or packed ingredient in any cupboard of the house; the fridge, instead, offered a vast selection of gourmet brioches, fruit juices, bacon and eggs, pancakes and all sorts of scrumptious dishes that looked as if they had been cooked mere minutes earlier. Well, it would be a waste not to partake, he deliberated. He’d just finished setting the table when Crowley finally joined him with a half-yawned “‘Morning.”

It was a most refreshing and welcome change of pace, being able to chat of everything and nothing over a hearty meal again, instead of covertly panicking over the very real possibility of Doomsday disrupting the next weekend, as well as all the others that would never follow. The last week had been exhausting for the both of them - especially for Crowley. For all his trademark devil-may-care attitude, it was really quite easy to notice when the demon was genuinely distressed: from his eyes, thin slits of darkness in a pool of gold that Aziraphale could always see through the glasses and that darted left and right more quickly than usual, to his gestures, that lost their swaying languor in favor of nervous, reptilian jerks, to the sudden explosions of anger and aggression that were just as dangerous as the roar of a kitten. All of that was gone now. His cutting temper was still dulled by the lingering drowsiness, and soft, unguarded smiles curved his lips in response to Aziraphale’s casual chatter. The ruffled hair, the creased clothes and the lazy nibbles at his brioche spoke of the unhurried comfort that came after overcoming a trying ordeal, and they filled the angel’s heart with genuine tenderness. There were, truly, beauty and goodness in all the things and entities that existed, even in those who supposedly tried their hardest to antagonize them.

“Oh, you may want to take those to the cleaners.” Aziraphale pointed at the folded rags he’d put on the sofa, once he was finished with his breakfast. “What ever did you do to those poor clothes to ruin them like that?”

“Ugh, throw them away.” Crowley replied with a disgusted grunt. “That’s Ligur.”

“I see.” Aziraphale said, having never heard of the brand. He agreed that the quality of the tailoring was rather shabby, so he did as he was told. “Well, I was thinking of dropping by the bookshop this morning - or what’s left of it, anyway. Who knows, there may be some intact books among the rubble…”

“Mmmh. I guess there’s no harm in checking.” Crowley didn’t look terribly convinced. “Mind if I come along?”

“Oh, not at all.” Aziraphale replied, pleasantly surprised. “But don’t you have more urgent things to do, instead of helping me carry around charred tomes?”

“Right now, not at all. I’m pretty sure I’ve been fired, so I happen to have a lot of free time on my hands.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and in a blink he was as elegant and well-groomed as ever.

“You aren’t going to keep performing your duties then? No more tempting innocent souls or spreading negative influence?” Aziraphale inquired as they stepped into the lift.

“Are you? Even if your boss doesn’t care?”

“Why, of course. Being a harbinger of the light is the very reason of my existence! It’s more than a job, it’s my very nature!”

“Aren’t you a model employee?” Crowley deadpanned. “Well, first and foremost, I think I’ve earned myself a vacation. Now, that isn’t to say that I’m going to pass up on any opportunities to have some fun if the occasion arises...”

“Of course you aren’t.” Aziraphale smiled, stepping out of the building. “Shall we take a taxi or- Crowley?” Crowley had abruptly stopped in his tracks, staring at something in the parking area-

“Oh!” Aziraphale eloquently commented.

Crowley jogged to what was, without a doubt, his car. Not the scorched ball of molten metal and rubber he’d been forced to abandon at Tadfield Airbase, but his cherished Bentley in all its former glory and vintage elegance. The demon stared at it in evident disbelief, his brows so high that they almost disappeared into his hairline, his mouth shaped into a perfectly round O. He admired it, ran his palm along the chassis, hopped all around to inspect it from every possible angle - including under the bumper and over the roof.

“Did you do this?” He eventually managed, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the car and the angel.

“No, it wasn’t me. But I’ve heard that yesterday’s disasters are being reverted. Maybe this is part of it.” Aziraphale suggested as Crowley opened the door and basically dove head-first into the car.

“It’s exactly as it used to be! Custom leather seats and all! Even my CDs-” Crowley took one from the dashboard, one whose cover was a wordless black void with a glass prism refracting white light into a rainbow. He inserted it into the radio and a cheery band started to sing very enthusiastically about riding a bicycle. Crowley’s exhilarated mood seemed to dampen ever so slightly. “...Yep. Just as they used to be.”

“It looks like Adam knows what he’s doing.” Aziraphale smiled, knowing how much that little miracle meant for his friend. Then, a thought struck him. “Maybe…”

“...Maybe.” Crowley agreed, understanding him at a glance. “Hop in. Let’s go and see.”

Aziraphale’s empathetic joy waned very quickly when it was obvious that Crowley’s driving style wasn’t at all affected by the recent demise of his old vehicle.

“Out of curiosity, how did the fire start?” The angel asked, trying to think of anything but the absurd number on the speed gauge.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Serves you right for quitting on me as you did though. Seriously, did you really have to pick the busiest day in the last six thousand years to leave this plane of existence? Where did you even go?”

“To Heaven, of course. And I didn’t exactly choose to leave, if you must know. I was… summoned.”

“Oh, you don’t say?” Crowley sneered. “Well, guess what? My lot summoned me too, but I ignored them because I had more important stuff to do, namely saving the bloody universe-”

“Also because they would have welcomed you less than enthusiastically, I imagine-”

“On my own, because someone ditched me without one word of warning-”

“That’s not what happened at all! It was… an unfortunate accident.” Aziraphale burst out, halfway between affronted and embarrassed.

“What kind of accident?” Crowley frowned inquisitively when Aziraphale didn’t reply. “Oi! What kind of accident?”

“...Promise me you won’t laugh.” Aziraphale begged. Crowley merely raised an eyebrow in response. The angel sighed. “Well, the thing is… I was in my bookshop, and I opened a channel to Heaven, to see if I could… talk them out of the whole universal annihilation thing-”

“Talking people out of war. Yeah, solid plan. When has it ever not worked in the history of wars?”

“It made sense to try, at least. Anyway, Shadwell walked in-”

“What the heaven was Shadwell doing in your bookshop?”

“I don’t know- could you please stop interrupting me? As I was saying, Shadwell saw the ritual and… I fear he mistook me for one of your lot. He got rather worked up and…”

“He killed you?” Crowley guessed, genuinely impressed.

“Oh no, no! He just… started pacing here and there, muttering strange things, and… well, he got a tad too close to the summoning circle - the passage was still open, you see, and…”

“And?”

“I sort of… stepped on it. While I was trying to keep him away.” Aziraphale paused. “By accident.”

Crowley didn’t reply. He looked at Aziraphale, then back at the road, then at the angel again. His mouth twitched.

“Don’t.” Aziraphale warned him. Crowley’s face had already become a quivering mess of aborted expressions that devolved very quickly into hysterical half-snorts.

“Oh sure, go ahead and- don’t take your hands off the wheel!” Aziraphale squealed when the demon did exactly that, holding his sides and throwing back his head as he burst into a boisterous laugh. Luckily, the car seemed to be endowed with all the common sense Crowley had never had and it kept avoiding pedestrians autonomously.

“That’s so stupid.” Crowley gasped, making a show of wiping away a non-existent tear. “That’s so bloody stupid. How can anyone possibly be so stupid?”

“Oh, I don’t know. In the same way one can misplace an Antichrist for eleven years, I suppose.” Aziraphale’s jab sadly didn’t manage to penetrate the waves of hilarity Crowley was exuding. “Judging by Shadwell’s behavior, he must have presumed my disappearance was due to his own… peculiar powers.”

“Oh, is that what he’s been doing with his finger all day yesterday?”

“Well, yes. What did you think he was doing?”

“I don’t know! I thought you had tried to possess him and fried a bunch of his neurons… And it’s not like he had that many to begin with-”

“Now you’re just being needlessly nasty.”

Crowley shook his head, still giggling like a child as he put his hands back on the steering wheel, just in time to park the car as they reached their destination.

“Huh.” He simply said as he climbed out of the car, studying the building as if he’d never seen it before.

“Ah, bless that boy!” Aziraphale glowed as he excitedly walked back and forth along the front of the bookshop. A rapid survey of the inside as well confirmed that his earthly abode was just as he’d left it, books and all. Actually, there seemed to be a few extras too.

“Ohoh, this is the kind of reading I could be convinced to try.” Crowley grinned, leafing through the flashy illustrations of one ‘Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea’. “Look at this beast! This stuff is inspirational! It makes you wonder why the hellhound didn’t turn into one of these beauties.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply. Yes, everything looked just as it did before, but… “Something’s off.”

Crowley glanced around the shelves in surprise. “Really? Is anything missing?”

“No, no. The place is fine… physically. But there’s a strange feeling in the air.”

Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes. “Are you going to start gushing about ethereal flashes of love again? I thought London was impervious to those.”

“It’s not love.” Aziraphale frowned, trying to focus on the odd sensation. It was different from what he’d felt in Tadfield: Adam’s love for his hometown was a deep-rooted, all-encompassing and aged feeling, a quiet yet powerful acknowledgement, indissolubly weaved into the very matter that composed its streets, its woods, its soil. What the angel was perceiving in his bookshop was more akin to an explosion - sudden and short-lived, yet extremely intense. “I think it’s the opposite of that.”

“Ooooh, you mean spooky? Nice. I love spooky. Still can’t feel anything though.”

“It’s… anger, I think. Rage. And…” Aziraphale paused. The sensation glimpsed in and out of his head swiftly, as if it was moving, pacing, speeding around the place almost like a physical entity, phasing through him and leaving a trail of suffocating heat-

BASTAAAAAARDS!

Aziraphale forgot to breathe. For the following seven minutes, approximately. It happened relatively often, for the most varied reasons. The most surprising thing was that this time it made his chest hurt. “...Grief.”

Crowley stood perfectly still. Very slowly, his features relaxed into what would have looked, to anybody else, like a perfectly natural neutral expression. He gazed around the shop and strolled away from Aziraphale to look out of the nearest window with equally studied nonchalance.

“Must have been one of your neighbours. It was a pretty big fire.” He said, his back turned to Aziraphale. “You know, mothers forgetting babies inside flaming buildings and all that.”

ALL OF YOU!

Aziraphale’s heart thrummed in sympathy with that whirlwind of emotion. By sheer force of habit, he blessed that painful feeling and the creature that had generated it, for nobly bearing the sacrifices that God’s plan required. Considering that Crowley didn’t instantly turn into a screaming, bubbling puddle of goo, Aziraphale guessed that God, in Her infinite wisdom, must have refused to validate that particular blessing, and he sent Her his heartfelt thanks for that as well. Aziraphale let the silence stretch for a while, quietly contemplating that powerful echo. Even when Crowley finally turned to face him, his expression still blank and his hands casually tucked in his pockets, neither of them spoke. It occurred to Aziraphale that his intent staring may have been interpreted as some sort of challenge only when the demon admitted defeat, sighing in annoyance and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, what do you want me to say? Mh?” Crowley asked, spreading his arms. “What do you want me to say that you don’t already know?”

It was a fair point. It was also (it being Crowley’s ruffled demeanour, his flat tone, his casual evasion) so strikingly familiar and typical that it warmed Aziraphale’s heart enough to finally distract him from the lingering negativity of the ambiance.

“...Would you like some hot cocoa?” The angel offered with a kind smile.

“Far from me to twist the knife into what you undoubtedly consider a major flaw in your character,” Aziraphale said as he slid in front of Crowley a steaming cup of chocolate that the demon hadn’t exactly accepted, but that he hadn’t exactly refused either, “but why were you upset so deeply? It’s not like I’ve never been discorporated before.”

“‘It’s not like I’ve never been discorporated before.’” Crowley parroted him, without acknowledging the existence of the beverage. “I swear you say the most idiotic things sometimes.”

“Well, I’m just a tad confused about your reaction, is all-”

“Why would I care about you being discorporated?!” Crowley burst out. “I thought you’d been destroyed! You try to call me - urgently - and I can’t answer, I try to call you and you don’t answer, and then I arrive here and you’re nowhere to be found and everything’s on fire - on fire! The one thing that can damage you! What was I supposed to think?”

“But… You thought it was hellfire?” Aziraphale asked, confusedly. “Why would there be hellfire in my bookshop?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It may have had something to do with the fact that I myself had almost been murdered a scant ten minutes before-”

“You were what?!” Aziraphale gasped, aghast, his own cup freezing halfway towards his mouth.

“Yeah. That was probably it, now that I think about it.” Crowley snarled, tapping his fingers on the table. “You became unreachable five minutes after I received a visit from a couple of pissed-off demons trying to ‘collect’ me. I thought that Hell had decided to settle the score with you as well, while they were at it.”

“My dear boy, I had no idea…” Aziraphale trailed off. He gasped again when the gravity of the situation sank in fully. “Heavens, you said almost murdered?! Oh no… No, this won’t do…”

“Oh, well… Maybe ‘almost murdered’ was laying it on a bit thick.” Crowley admitted, his temper finally subsiding. “They were pretty pissed off, but they didn’t even get close to the murdering part.”

“Thank God for that. But how did you manage to escape from them?”

“Oh. Remember that thermos of holy water you gave me fifty years ago?” A malicious smile spread on the demon’s face. “Good insurance indeed.”

“..Are you trying to tell me that-”

“Oh yes.”

“You’ve smitten two demons?!” Aziraphale gaped.

“One, actually. The other one managed to escape, but I’d say I was rather-”

“I’ve never smitten a demon!” Aziraphale added, suddenly facing a minuscule existential crisis. “And that’s supposed to be my job!”

“Really? How odd.” The only demon Aziraphale had interacted with in the last six thousand years replied. Still, the angel was too caught up in his own thoughts to pay any attention to sarcasm.

“Do you have any holy water left?”

“Uh, no, I’ve used it all up-”

“Then you’ll need some more. Lots more. It could save your skin if Hell decided to strike again.” Aziraphale stood up and headed towards the kitchen. “Here, give me a moment-”

“Hey, hey, calm down, I don’t need it right this second!” Crowley stammered, pointing at the other’s abandoned cup. “We can worry about that later, your cocoa is going cold-”

“It’s no matter, I need just two minutes-”

Exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds later, Aziraphale handed to a mildly astonished Crowley the biggest and sturdiest piece of tupperware he owned, filled to the brim with the precious liquid.

“Did you just make all this?”

“Well, yes. Blessing tap water isn’t exactly a lengthy or complicated process.”

“You can make literal gallons of holy water in two minutes, and it took you a hundred years to decide to give me two cups’ worth of it last time?!” The demon complained, without moving to grasp the container. “How very generous of you!”

“I didn’t know what you were planning to do with it! I was concerned!”

“Of what?!”

“That you might… mishandle it and get hurt! You wouldn’t give your sharpest kitchen knife to a five-year-old child just because he asked for it, would you?”

“I would. Anyway that’s a very unflattering comparison and I resent it.”

“Well, yes, here’s more holy water than you’ll ever need, hopefully.” Aziraphale impatiently held out the pitcher towards Crowley’s chest, who positively jumped back holding his arms out defensively.

“Wait wait wait wait! Your cuff is wet! Have you even dried your hands? Are you trying to kill me?”

“What- That’s just normal water! I blessed the one in the container after sealing it! Do you really think I’m that outrageously clumsy?”

“Considering that you’ve discorporated yourself through sheer clumsiness just the other day, yeah, kind of.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s- look, if you want it, it’s here. If not, do whatever you want.” Aziraphale put down the plastic carafe on the table primly, and then he finally set down to sip his cocoa. Crowley eyed the container from every possible angle, clearly expecting to find some traitorous droplet rolling down its sides, then he poked the lid gingerly.

“I don’t trust this thing not to burst open by accident before I can put it somewhere safer. Got any tape?”

Aziraphale fetched some packing tape from the cupboard and handed it to Crowley. He stood beside him, watching him secure the lid meticulously for a couple of minutes. Now that the idle bickering wasn’t distracting him any more, Aziraphale found his own soul attuning again with the background thrumming of the demon’s past anguish. It felt only natural for Aziraphale to squeeze the other’s shoulder warmly.

“You know, I’m very proud of you.”

“...Uh?” Crowley squinted at him as if the angel had just sprouted a second head. That is to say, not as if he’d done something utterly impossible, but merely something very random for no reason whatsoever.

“For showing up at Tadfield, even after all this. You were hunted down by your own brethren, you suffered a painful loss, and yet you reined in your wrath and braced your sorrow and still found the will to fight for this world. It was very brave, and selfless.”

“Uhm.” Crowley answered, with a strange dumbfounded look that instantly raised a few doubts in Aziraphale’s mind.

“That’s… that’s what you did, isn’t it?”

“Uuuuuuuuuuh- Yeah. Yeah, yeah, of course.” Crowley floundered with the elegance of a beached whale. “That’s what I did… eventually- which is to say- yeah-”

“‘Eventually’? What do you mean, ‘eventually’?”

“I mean- not right away, I needed a moment to... You know, my human operatives never managed to locate the Antichrist, so I was… kind of lost as to what I should have been doing in that moment-”

“What did you do?”

“And even if I had known where to go, what were the odds of me, all alone, averting the apocalypse? Realistically speaking-”

“What did you do, Crowley?”

“Well, since you were no more, and the Earth was going to be no more very soon regardless of what I did, I thought… you know, I may as well enjoy one last bottle of scotch in that old-fashioned pub in Hollen Street-”

“...Good Lord.” Aziraphale covered his eyes with his hand, his tone falling as flat as his expectations. “You were going to get hopelessly drunk and do nothing whatsoever about Armageddon, weren’t you?”

“Hey, don’t you dare use that tone with me! Not when I was the one who had to convince you to do anything in the first place! You were merrily going to let the sea bubble and all the creatures, great and small, be vaporized in a blaze of divine glory, remember?”

“For an entirely different reason! I was simply trying my best to follow God’s plan! You never cared a trifle about that! You only ever cared about your earthly pleasures - such as getting drunk while the whole world goes up in flames, apparently-”

“Look, what was I supposed to do?! I didn’t even know where to go! If it wasn’t for your book-”

”My book? What book?”

“Well, not your book, the American lady’s book. Agnes Nutter’s Something Something Prophecies.” Crowley resumed plastering tape all over the already foolproof lid. “I found it here while I was looking for you and I took it, because why not? And then I was leafing through it at the pub and I found your notes about Adam and the airbase and- and then this strange thing happened, you know? I opened the book on a completely random page and the very first prophecy I read was… I don’t remember how it went exactly, but it was… obviously aimed at me. In a very specific way. And it said that my ethereal companion hadn’t vanished, but I’d meet him again at the place of the final confrontation, or something like that, and I’d just read on your notes that everything written on the book is invariably true, and I thought…’Oh.’”

“Oh.” Aziraphale echoed.

“Yeah.”

While Crowley’s peculiar tale depicted a somewhat less virtuous attitude towards pain and unfavourable odds than what he’d first envisioned, Aziraphale had to admit that there was something undeniably noble in the idea of the demon abandoning his drunken stupor and speeding across the country on a flaming car the moment a few key indications and the promise of reuniting with his best friend reignited his hope. There was something undeniably touching about it on a very personal level too.

“Well... I suppose I can’t- that’s enough tape, don’t you think?” Aziraphale said gesturing at the carafe, which was by now mummified under layers of ugly brown tape.

“Uh. Right.” Crowley blinked at the container as if he’d just become aware of its existence before sitting down to finally take a sip of his own cocoa. As he sat back as well, Aziraphale took care of heating the beverage up to a pleasant temperature with a thought before it reached the demon’s lips.

“I was saying, I suppose I can’t blame you for taking a moment to… gather your thoughts, so to speak. I must confess that I myself haven’t acted quite as promptly as I could have in the last days.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes. Admittedly, by the time I called you, I’d been aware of the Antichrist’s whereabouts for… a little bit.”

“Yeah?” Crowley frowned. “How little, exactly?”

“Oh, roughly… twelve hours, I think.”

“Twelve hours?!” Crowley sputtered. “We could have got to Tadfield twelve hours earlier?! Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d have spared ourselves with a twelve-hour advance?”

“Well-”

“I wouldn’t have had to drive my car through a bloody wall of fire, for one!” Crowley threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “What have you even been doing in all that time?”

“I was… considering the situation. You’ll admit I was in a rather delicate position, and I felt that I had to choose my actions carefully.” Aziraphale argued. “Eventually I decided to tell you, and the upper offices as well. It seemed like a good way to help our cause without, you know, openly obstructing Heaven’s plans.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What else did you decide?”

“Nothing. That was what I came up with, and so I-”

“And it took you twelve hours to decide that?” Crowley groaned, covering his face. “Quick thinking really isn’t your thing, is it?”

“Well, there’s no reason to dwell on recriminations.” Aziraphale stated briskly. “Everything turned out just fine, in the end.”

“If by ‘fine’ you mean that ten million demons’ and ten million angels’ best laid plans and efforts went completely into smoke for no purpose other than postponing the inevitable battle for another… I don’t know, one or two thousand years - then sure, everything’s just dandy.” Crowley muttered to his cocoa. “Do you seriously believe this was all God’s plan? All of this for nothing? What’s the bloody point?”

“You know I can’t answer that question. But I wouldn’t say this was all for nothing. From my very limited and imperfect perspective, for example, I can clearly see at least two creatures who have ultimately benefited from this whole Apocalypse ordeal. But I’m sure there must be many, many more.”

“And those would be?”

“Adam, for one. Armageddon truly brought out the best in him. Didn’t you hear him talk with the Horsepeople? His words were so humble and simple, yet such an inspiring embodiment of all virtues! Prudence and temperance above all, and then justice and courage-”

“Yeah, yeah, just wait until he reaches puberty and then we’ll see where all those virtues will go.”

“Still, you have to admit that, for someone who’s supposed to be the literal spawn of Evil, his spirit is remarkably untainted. I’m sure he wouldn’t have turned out like this without going through the process of human life, or if he had come into existence among demons in the depths of Hell. Maybe this was all this proto-Armageddon was about: offering a chance of redemption to what would have otherwise been unredeemable spirits.”

“Mmmh.” Crowley crossed his arms with evident skepticism. “And who’s the other one?”

“Why you, of course.” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back a smile at Crowley’s stunned silence.

“...Sorry, what?”

“Isn’t it obvious? As I said, during the past week you have displayed an admirably selfless side-”

“Watch it, angel.” Crowley muttered. “Keep casting aspersions on me and no miracle will be able to fix what I’ll do to your collection of Bibles.”

“Oh, don’t be a child about it. It’s perfectly understandable, considering how much time you spent around me. I am a Principality, after all-”

“Excuse me. I must have misheard.” Crowley raised his finger, then he leaned towards Aziraphale across the table with a malevolent squint. “Are you by any chance telling me that you’ve been trying to inspire goodness in me?”

“Maybe.” Aziraphale gave him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t hold much hope to succeed, but I’ll admit I was rather curious. A few good deeds now and then, less evil ones performed in person, after yours truly accepted to carry them out for you… I wonder if all that could tip the moral scales at least a little bit, so to speak.” Aziraphale let out a small laugh in response to Crowley’s stunned silence. “What? Haven’t you been trying to do the same since we met?”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised so much that they almost disappeared into his hairline, and he opened and closed his mouth soundlessly like a fish gasping for air before he managed to put together a reply. “I- You- you knew?”

“Of course I knew! Why else would a demon associate so freely with a sworn enemy?”

“But- then- why did you keep seeing me?!”

“Because there was no way you’d succeed, obviously. An angel being corrupted, in this day and age! And me, of all people! No offense, but the mere idea is laughable.”

“It’s no more laughable than a demon being redeemed!”

“I disagree on that. Demons used to be angels, after all. Evil is an acquired trait for your lot, and who’s to say your innate core of Goodness isn’t still there, ready to be unburied?”

“No. No no no, all right, this is much more than ridiculous. This is blasphemous. You thought you could pave the road to the redemption of someone who’s been irrevocably deemed unforgivable? You thought you could single-handedly overturn a sentence of eternal damnation issued by the Almighty Herself? You thought you knew better than God?” Crowley spread his arms in outrage. “And they said Lucifer had too high an opinion of himself!”

“I never said that God was wrong.” Aziraphale raised his hands defensively. “Your punishment was amply deserved. But that happened thousands of years ago. Some things have changed. Some demons may have changed too. And God has always been way more forgiving than your lot credited Her for.”

“You are out of your mind.”

“But… Oh, you must see my point! Think of the lives you saved- think of the whole world you saved!”

“Literally none of that was done out of goodwill. Especially not for the humans. I just like what they’ve done with the place, therefore I want it to keep existing. For myself. It’s entirely selfish. End of the story.”

“And,” Aziraphale pressed on, leaning towards Crowley as well, “you rebelled!”

“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, I did. That’s what I’m saying, it isn’t the kind of thing God just gets over with-”

“No, I don’t mean against God! You rebelled against Satan! If you had reported to Hell about the baby swapping as soon as you learnt of it, they still could have found a solution- tailing the hound, for example. But you did not! You sabotaged them, you went as far as to fight other demons-!

“Out of self presevation! No one in their right mind would keep working for someone who’s just going to slaughter them at the end of the job! I was doing anything I could think of doing to save my skin! You know, selfishly! How are you struggling to grasp this basic concept so much?!”

“And then you fought Satan himself!” Aziraphale proclaimed, undeterred by the growing heat of Crowley’s answers. “You did not run, you did not turn sides-”

“As if you could just run from the boss. And fighting is a bit of a strong word, isn’t it? The kid didn’t let even the tip of his horns out of the pavement-”

“That hardly matters, what matters is the intent! You held your ground, proud and determined, ready to fight him ‘til the bitter end, armed only with the one thing you loved most in the world in your hand-”

“Oi, oi, oi!” Crowley sputtered. “Lay it on a bit thicker, will you? Where did that- You can’t just-”

Crowley’s confusion gave Aziraphale pause. The demon was growing considerably red. Oh dear. Could he ignite out of sheer rage? That would be a first. “I really don’t think I’m exaggerating. You were ready to die fighting him, we both were.”

“Not that! The thing- the ‘thing you love the most’ thing, what even-”

“That too. At least I had a proper weapon, but you only had that… what was that, a piece of your Bentley? I’m sure it had a huge emotional value for you, but in terms of offensive capabilities… Talk about David and Goliath…”

That shocked Crowley into silence. “...Oh. The car.” He eventually managed. “Yeah. The car. Yeah.”

“Yes. What did you think I was-” The answer struck Aziraphale before the question was finished. He had only two hands, after all. “...Oh, Crowley-”

“All right, that’s IT!” Crowley suddenly shouted, shooting up on his feet and banging his fist on the table. The sunlight filtering from the window behind Crowley was blocked by the magnificent pair of wings that spread from his back, casting a looming shadow above the sitting angel. The rest of the room grew inexplicably darker as well as the demon towered above Aziraphale, mouth twisted and teeth bared in an enraged snarl. He pointed towards his wings. “Look. Look at these, do you see them? Not a single white feather. Not a lighter shade of grey anywhere. Do you see them? Black. Charred. Tainted. Not by fire, or tar, or soot, or mud. By God. God changed them. Changed everything. And you can’t fix God’s work. You can’t get a bloody word in edgewise, actually. Believe me, we’re the ones who tried. Now,” Crowley bent downwards still, his back arched like a predator ready to strike, his nose mere centimetres away from Aziraphale, “I don’t know what gave you the impression of being smarter than the highest order of the universe, but I think we can agree that whatever little self-empowering game you’ve been playing hasn’t changed anything. Right?”

“Right.” Aziraphale replied without the slightest inflection, as he was starting to feel like he’d overstepped some boundary. Not so much with the universe as with his friend.

“Right. So quit yapping about goodness and selflessness and whatnot before I show you exactly what’s the difference between the two of us.” Aziraphale remained respectfully silent. Finally Crowley straightened up as his wings disappeared and the room cleared up again. The demon fixed his jacket, scowling at the surrounding shelves as if they had personally offended him. “Keep the water, I don’t need it. I have plenty of other tricks up my sleeve. Bye.”

“What? Wait! Where are you going?” Aziraphale startled, hurrying after Crowley as he walked off to the front door.

“Away. I’m busy.”

“I thought you were on holiday.” The angel almost bumped into the other as he stopped and turned on his heels abruptly, another snarling reply ready to fire. “And I was wondering if we could have lunch together at the Ritz.”

“Why? So that your ethereal influence can polish my spirit a bit more?”

“Really, now. You know me better than that.” Aziraphale gave him his most conciliatory smile. “No point in saving the world if we don’t get to enjoy it, right?”

Crowley hesitated just long enough to let Aziraphale know that he was well aware of being played. And then he did it anyway. “...Right. But you’re paying.”

“Of course.”

“What do you think would happen to us, if we were to die from now on?” Aziraphale asked, several hours and a lucullan lunch later.

“Well, aren’t you a bundle of laughs lately?” Crowley deadpanned. He was enjoying the fine afternoon breeze and the idle quacking of the ducks in St. James’ Park too much to embark in such grim elucubrations.

“I think it’s a legitimate concern. I don’t see either Heaven or Hell granting us a new body after all the trouble we’ve caused.”

“I guess not. But I think we’re covered at least until Adam remains on Earth. He didn’t even have to snap his fingers to make you a new one.”

“You have remarkable faith in that child, haven’t you?” Aziraphale graced Crowley with an obscenely proud smile. The demon grimaced and waved at him dismissively.

“Faith has nothing to do with it. Faith is blind and deaf and groundless. Adam has put up a pretty effective and tangible demonstration of his powers. And he likes us. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you get discorporated, just knock on his mind and he’ll fix it.”

“But he won’t be here forever to help us. He’s still a mortal, just like Jesus.” Aziraphale insisted from above his newly acquired copy of Treasure Island. “What about afterwards?”

“I have a better question for you.” Crowley enunciated importantly, shifting to lean on the bench just a tad more composedly and deciding to change the topic. “What about his afterwards?”

“...You mean what will happen to him after his death? Well, won’t he just go back where he came from?”

“To Hell? Really?” Crowley leaned towards Aziraphale conspiratorially. “Do you really think that Satan will let anyone, including his son - especially his son - potentially endowed with the power to rival him, into his own Reign? Do you have any idea of the trouble it could cause? Demons have a strong tendency to question the authorities, you may have noticed.”

“I… I suppose you do have a point.” Aziraphale had to agree, visibly struck by the realization. “But where would he go then? Surely not to Heaven… The Antichrist in Heaven, could you even imagine it?”

“Not really, no. But there’s another possibility.” Crowley tipped his glasses forwards, staring pointedly at the angel from above the dark lenses. “If neither Reign will want him, he may… you know, carve his own place for himself. A new one. Create his own path.”

“What?” Aziraphale slightly leaned away from Crowley in sheer shock. “A third faction? For the love of God, Crowley, don’t even mention it! Aren’t things already difficult enough with two parties at war? Another schism, whether within Hell itself or from the outside, would only compromise the balance of the universe even further!”

“Looks to me like a third faction has been existing for a long time now.”

“Pardon?”

Crowley gestured vaguely all around. “How would you call the six billions humans currently living on this planet, and all the others who came before them?”

“They’re not a faction. They’re-”

“Sort of cattle, when you think about it-”

“Creatures.” Aziraphale corrected him sternly.

“Creatures that both our lots have been merrily cannibalizing for the last six millennia for the sake of our own petty squabble-”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that your lot has been indeed cannibalizing all the poor souls you could snatch.” Aziraphale pointed out primly. “We, on the other hand, have been educating them. Guiding them. Nurturing them. Cherishing them-”

“Oh yeah, those words sound so much nicer, don’t they?” Crowley sneered, barely repressing the impulse to hiss in annoyance.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you see no fundamental difference between what we do and what you do?” Aziraphale asked in dismay. “Do you really, honestly believe Heaven and Hell to be on equal moral ground?”

“All I’m saying is that it’s really easy for me to imagine these guys,” he insisted, pointing at a random couple of passersby who clearly did not appreciate being pointed at by a perfect stranger in the middle of a heated argument, “getting fed up with both our and your interferences sooner or later, and it looks to me like they may just find their own champion in our dear Antichrist.”

“This is ridiculous! We needn’t talk about such a hare-brained notion any longer.” Aziraphale asserted firmly, then a thought struck him and he eyed Crowley suspiciously. “I do hope you aren’t planning to put strange ideas in that child’s head.”

“Putting ideas in his head?! He has enough ideas of his own to build a brand new universe from scratch! He doesn’t need mine!”

“Good, because the last thing everyone needs right now is another Rebellion.”

“Why? Are you scared he might have better luck than we did?” Crowley couldn’t help but smirk.

“Of course not. It’s just… not the right way to go about it.”

“Asking questions and demanding a little more respect and straightforwardness from your boss isn’t the right way to go about solving a problem? ‘Cause that’s what we did-”

“You raised your hand against God.” Aziraphale’s glare was more scalding and cutting than his sword had ever been. “You took up arms against Her and your own brethren, and you did it first and without provocation, and don’t even try to justify that.”

“I-” Crowley started, but bit his lip not to continue. He hadn’t taken up any arms, surely not first, he thought. He hadn’t, but others had. Others on what he hadn’t realized yet would permanently become ‘his side’. And by the time he had finally grasped the severity of the rift that had formed between those new sides, it was already far too late for reconsiderations. He turned his gaze away from the angel, and focussed instead on a couple of black swans elegantly brawling for the possession of a floating chunk of bread. The park was oddly quiet, and their irked squawking was the only sound the demon could hear for several minutes.

“My point is,” Crowley suddenly said when he spied Aziraphale’s mouth moving to speak, because he would not let him have the last word on that topic even if it killed him, “that if one feels that he isn’t being treated fairly, you can’t really blame him for trying to look after himself. At least we can agree on that, yes? Yes.”

Aziraphale’s silence felt like a hard-earned victory. Neither Heaven nor Hell would be impartial when the moment to judge Adam would come, and if the Antichrist was to be shunned by both sides, wouldn’t it be only natural for him to-

“Is that why you rebelled?” The angel asked, eyes fixed on the book open on his lap. It took Crowley by surprise, how delicately Aziraphale had uttered that ‘you’, so very different from the spiteful ‘you’ of the rivalling group. It was a very personal question, the most personal question the angel had ever asked him.

Crowley didn’t answer. Aziraphale didn’t ask again.

“Well,” the angel sighed after a long silence, “I guess my point is that we’d better be extremely careful not to be discorporated in the future. Our sudden reappearance in our respective head offices might have rather unpleasant consequences.”

“You just can’t stop worrying about it, can you?” Crowley remarked, a tad mockingly. “I guess it comes with spending your entire existence as an upstanding Heaven citizen. Never really got on God’s bad side, have you?”

“Well, there was that little mishap with my sword...”

“Psh, I’m not talking about misplacing your toys. I mean Her really bad side. I’m talking about going openly against Her will - like you may very well have done by averting Armageddon-”

“Excuse you, I firmly believe I’ve been doing nothing but serving the Greater Good during these trying times.” Aziraphale countered, rather piqued. “And the Greater Good is God’s will by definition, so I don’t see why She should be in any way displeased by my actions… I believe.” A flash of uncertainty crossed the angel’s features, but he shook it off immediately. “Besides, everything that happens anywhere and at any time is part of Her plan, and therefore part of Her will, and therefore good.”

“Well, excuse you, but by that ridiculous logic the Rebellion was part of Her plan too, and therefore good, and therefore none of us should have been banished and doomed to eternal spite and damnation. And yet.”

“No! That is an entirely different matter, and-” Aziraphale stopped talking abruptly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. “Let us not talk about politics. It never ends well.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.” Crowley crossed his arms belligerently, but he didn’t push the argument further. Not that specific argument, at least. “Anyway, I still don’t see why you’re having kittens over this disobedience thing. If you think God Herself has no beef with you, what’s the matter? What’s the worst thing your seraphic superiors could do to you, uh? Call you back up to head office and confine you to a boring desk job where you couldn’t possibly hinder their holy machinations? Oh boy, oh dear, mighty scary punishment-”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about, Crowley!” Aziraphale interrupted him vehemently, hands tightly clasped in his lap. It took Crowley frankly too long to figure out the meaning of his troubled grimace.

“...You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am! Desk jobs and bureaucracy will be the last of your worries if you end up within the grasp of a cohort of vengeful demons! They’ve already tried to destroy you once-”

“No, no no no, you don’t get it, it’s fine. I’m not in danger!” Crowley exclaimed, stretching the truth roughly to the size of Australia. “They’ll never manage to get their hands on me. The top brass wouldn’t come up here just to retrieve a small fry like me, they’ll just send a couple of brainless grunts now and then. And I’m not calling them brainless as gratuitous slander, they really are unbelievably stupid. Not even remotely a threat.”

“You’ve destroyed a demon! One of your own kind! They won’t overlook such an act so easily, for sure!”

“All right, listen. First of all, demons killing other demons isn’t nearly as outrageous as you think. Happens every other day. One day you’re chatting with Valak from Heat Management about the new strain of flies Beelzebub’s sporting and the next day, poof! Someone tells you that he’s been shoved into a furnace by a pissed-off Count because of a broken thermostat. Not even worth a slap on the wrist.”

“Still,” Aziraphale hesitated, “your case is clearly different. It’s outright treason! They’ll send some skillful operatives-”

“The ones they already sent were the skillful ones! Dukes of Hell, no less! And I dispatched both of them literally in five minutes! Want to know how?” Crowley stood up and started pacing back and forth in front of the bench, gesturing wildly to re-en-act his epic tale of cunning and strategy. “All right, here’s how. The holy water you gave me, right? I poured that into a bucket and put the bucket on top of the door of the study, which was ajar - what are you looking at? Get lost!” He added, glaring at a couple of nearby kids who had interrupted their aimless running around to stare at him as he stood poised on the tip of his toes to position an invisible prop on top of an invisible surface. The brats scampered away immediately. “Anyway, Ligur opened the door and bam, one Duke of Hell melted into nothingness, just like that. And the second? Well, actually I did have a plan involving holy water for him too, but that one didn’t really fly - but then!” Crowley pointed at Aziraphale suddenly and enthusiastically enough to make him flinch. “You called, and I - brilliantly - got inspired by that and trapped Hastur into my phone! ...For a while - but the point is that it was just that easy.”

“Why, wasn’t that ingenious of you?” Aziraphale said, his eyes shining with such disarming and honest admiration that Crowley completely lost track of his thoughts.

“I- well, yeah, I guess I-” He started, before his brain rebooted and he smacked his forehead in frustration. “No! No, it wasn’t! It was dumb! That’s my point! A bucket on a door, Aziraphale! Two Dukes of Hell tricked by the sort of pranks that some dumb human toddlers- Oi! Why are you still here?!” He suddenly shouted, as his gaze fell on a bush that did absolutely nothing to hide the same couple of brats he’d just shooed away, still spying on his little pantomime. As they ran away again, Crowley took care of summoning a couple of ringed snakes and sending them on their heels, just to provide that extra zest of entertainment that their afternoon clearly lacked.

“Ehr, you were saying?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing the hissing grass with mild concern.

“I was saying that my esteemed colleagues have the tactical prowess of drunk baboons, and they don’t even bother to keep up with what’s going on up here. A child with a mobile phone could outsmart them. So no, they’re never going to get me.” Crowley plopped back on the bench heavily, crossing both arms and legs and deliberately channeling a good three decades of macho cinematography in his stance. “Not on my turf.”

“That’s reassuring, but it doesn’t quite put all my worries at rest. Don’t you think we should at least keep a close eye on each other for a while?”

“How so?”

“Oh, just seeing each other. More often than once a decade, I mean. Exchanging information, checking that we’re still around in one piece.”

“And if we aren’t? What if one day I just disappear, uh? Are you going to march into the depths of Hell armed with your non-existent army and your lost sword?”

“I was thinking more of a tanker filled with holy water.”

Crowley snorted. “That would be a sight.”

“So? What do you say? Once a month? Once a week? At least until things get calmer.”

“Oh boy, I don’t know if I have all this free time to ‘keep an eye’ on you. I’ll have to check my agenda.”

“You’re still on a self-proclaimed holiday.”

“And do you have any idea how time-consuming that is?”

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale

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cchellacat · 5 years

Text

The Hot Tub

@marvelousmeggi requested: “There’s people here.” “I could just pull you bikini bottoms to the side. No one would notice”

Wintershock Darcy/Bucky.

18+ smut ahead.

Darcy had been running on fumes for days. The air was hot the breeze was hotter and every dam time she turned around there was always someone needing help with something. The worst part was that because of conflicting schedules and missions she hadn’t seen her boyfriend in person in over a month. All she wanted as to go back to her apartment and crawl inside the freezer.

“Janie, I’m done for the day. I’m going back to the apartment to change and call it a night, okay?”

Jane looked up from the white board and frowned.

“Didn’t you get the email?”

Darcy looked at Jane with consternation.

“What email?”

“The party out on the deck. Tony ordered a ton of food for a cook out and enough alcohol to drown Thor. How is it possible that you didn’t know about it?”

Darcy groaned, she’d skipped Tony’s email this morning thinking it was another fun filled request for more silly string and a bunch of cat videos.

“Fuck, okay, what time?”

“I was going to head down in an hour, I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Don’t look so glum hun, I think it’s just what we all need to unwind after this week.”

Darcy agreed and left quickly, determined to get changed and out to the pool before all the good spots in the hot tub were taken.

By the time she made t out the deck Tony and Steve were already bickering by the grill over how to best cook the sausages. She gave them a wide berth not wanting to be drawn into the argument, she played referee enough around here and she was determined that if she couldn’t have her boyfriend’s face between her legs then she would reduce the stress with a lengthy soak in the hot tub.

The sight of Natasha already there brought her to a halt. The red headed assassin greeted her with a smile.

“Hey Darcy, you look nice.”

“Nat… When did you get back?”

“About a half an hour ago, don’t worry, he’s fine,” she told her with grin. “He’s just stopped to shower before coming out.”

On the outside Darcy smiled with relief as she stepped into the water but on the inside she didn’t know if she wanted to scream or shout or cry. He was a back, which was great, but now she’d be stuck here for the next few hours instead of in her bed with his cock buried so deep in her cunt she saw stars.

She knew the moment he arrived from the way all the hair on the back of her neck stood, the feel of his eyes roaming over her. She tilted her head back ad looked up, Bucky hovering over her, semi lecherous smirk painted on his lips as he eyes her bikini appreciatively. When he sank into the water she launched herself into his lap, her legs straddling his, her knees resting on either side of his hips.

“Bucky, fuck I missed you Baby.!”

“I missed you too Doll face. Give an old soldier some sugar?”

Her whole body lit up at his words, at the twist of his lips and the wiggle of his eye brows. Swear to god, he was such a dork sometimes.

Between the heat of the tub and the heat of his body, she felt like she was burning up. It didn’t stop her from kissing him though, it started innocently enough, both of them exploring the other with their lips, truths exchanged in a flurry of licks and touches. His large hands, cupped her ass under the water, pulling her in flush against him as he bit his lip, some secret he kept all to himself as he rested his forehead against hers.

“Jesus Doll, I missed you.”

“I missed you too soldier.”

He groaned lowly as she rolled her hips over his, the unmistakable bulge growing harder as she ground her hips against him teasingly.

“Maybe we could sneak off, go back to our room?” She asked hopefully.

“Doll, look out there, tell me either of us would manage to get past that lot without being stopped a half dozen times.

She scanned the deck and the only entrance back from this side of the building. Damn t he was right, they’d never make it. Their well meaning friends would have them pulling into one conversation or another and they’d be stuck here either way.

The ache in her core intensified as his hands pulled her tightly into him, his hardness twitching against her.

“Bucky, don’t tease, not fair.”

“Who said I’m teasing?”

“There’s people here, like, twenty feet away, anyone could wander over here.”

“I could just pull you bikini bottoms to the side. No one would notice.”

The thrill of the idea and the seductive glint in his eye had her belly flip and her pussy clench. Christ on a cracker was he for real? They couldn’t do this, could they? Out in the open, a few feet from their friends? But it was so tempting, and she wanted him so badly.

Bucky traced the edge of the bikini with smooth fingers, plucking as the hem, eyes full of mischief and the heat of desire.

“You sure you could keep quiet Sarge?”

“Me? Doll, I bet you’d be the one that couldn’t keep it down.”

Darcy grinned back at him as her hands pushed at the band of his trunks, pushing them down experimentally, till they were low enough on his hips she could free his cock. It sprang up and she watched his face as he bit his plush bottom lip as her hand grasped him, stroking him a few times, just to see what he would do now they were so close to actually crossing the line. He surged forward, capturing her mouth with his and she felt the sharp tug as he did exactly as he promised, pulling her bottoms to one side, two thick fingers seeking through her folds, knowing exactly how to fan the flames higher as he stroked her gently, finding her clit, a perfect rhythm pressing against her as he circled the swollen nub over and over till she thought she’d come right there, and then his arm shifts her, lifts her just enough and his cock replaces his fingers and she has to bite back the deep moan the feel of him hard and hot against her induces.

“We’re really doing this..?” she grits out even as he pushes into her, the blunt head of his cock slipping easily through her folds and with one sharp upward stoke he fills her completely. She holds her breath, trying not to whimper at the feel of him filling every inch of her, her walls rippling and clenching around him.

“Fuck Darce, you’re so tight…”

“Bucky, shut the hell up and make me cum.”

It’s torture, exquisite torture, they have to go slow, not draw attention to what they’re really up to. He delights in watching her face while she rocks onto him, her pussy gripping him tighter and tighter with each slow shallow thrust. Under the water she rolls her hips in tiny circles, his hand on her hip keeping her from making any motion too obvious. She doesn’t know how he can hold himself still like this, not pound up into her, but he controls himself even as she takes her pleasure on him.

But it’s not enough, she needs him to fuck her, really fuck her, not this long draw out teasing. She’s near tears, her head on his shoulder, clinging to him, looking for all the world as though she’s only curled up in his lap for cuddles and then he rolls his hips up, as though sensing her desperation, a snap and he grinds into her clit, she bites his shoulder to stifle the cry threatening to break free of her throat and then she feels him tense the soft grunt he makes shooting straight to her core and he does it again and again.

“Fuck, fuck, please Bucky, hurry.”

“Doll… fuck, need you to cum for me Doll, need to feel that pretty pussy cum around me, cum baby doll.” The words, his command, made her head spin and her clit throb even more.

His flesh hand reaches under the water and finds where they’re joined and strokes at her nub, tiny thrusts from his cock as he fucks her in time with the rhythm of his fingers send her reeling, till suddenly, she’s there, right on the edge. And then he whispers into her ear, tells her he’s always wanted to fuck her where everyone could see, so they’d know she was his and she explodes. Air rushing from her lungs as her pussy clamps down on him hard, her walls trying to pull him in further, keep him there and never let go. When he’s in her like this she never wants to let him go again. It always feels like he’s come home, and she wants to keep him inside her forever. He jerks against her, hips stuttering and then both his large hands are on her hips, gripping her tightly as he comes, buried deeply in her cunt, painting her walls white, the heat of him filling her, drawing a tiny mewling cry from her lips even as he kisses her, keeping her silent. They stay like that, her shuddering and squeezing him as he continues to thrust shallow strokes, both of them wanting to prolong the feeling for as long as they could.

Darcy can’t believe they just did that. Bucky smiles at her and places a gentle kiss on her forehead. His hands stoking her sides, before he shifts again, sliding out of her. She whimpers under her breath at the loss and almost jumps at the feel on his thumb deliberately drawing through her folds as he tugs her bikini back into place.

“Tease.” She huffs irritably, the rumbling chuckles the reverberates in his chest has her snuggling closer. She swears she’s only going to close her eyes for a minute ad she relaxes against his chest, his heart beat a grounding thrum under her ear. Eyes closed, she feels herself drifting in the heat of the water and the strong arms wrapped around her keeping her close. She’s vaguely aware of others talking around her, the rumbling response Bucky must give them as he lets her drift, on the cusp of sleep, but she ignores it all and just concentrated on feeling him against her. She is so dam glad he’s home.

@the-ss-horniest-book-club

#drunk drabbles #wintershock #Bucky/Darcy #lemon #smut #ladies of the hbc #hbc drunk drabbles #the hot tub

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riselioness · 4 years

Text

Some thoughts on TROS, including things I enjoyed

It’s two weeks since I first saw TROS (I’ve had a couple more viewings since then), and I’ve been doing a LOT of processing since then (haven’t we all!). I’m disappointed with many aspects of it, but there’s also a lot in it I enjoy, and some things I love. I think I’m now at a place where I’ve largely made my peace with what TROS is as a film, and am both able and keen to enjoy it (I have a high tolerance for ridiculousness in Star Wars, which definitely helps). I’ll probably be sharing some less positive articles/meta in time, but I wanted to start in a more positive way. So I’m going to get my main criticisms out of the way first, then share some of my favourite things about TROS.

From the start TROS was set an impossible task: close out the entire Skywalker saga, conclude major plot threads and character development, and reunite and invigorate the fandom after TLJ and Solo. It's abundantly clear that there was no real overall plan for the sequel trilogy, and without this how could the film possibly succeed? There are some things in TROS that could/should have been incredible if developed over the course of the three films: the Emperor's return, Finn's being Force sensitive, Leia's Jedi training to name just a few. But the way these things were handled in TROS was sadly lacking.

I've been rooting for Bendemption for some time, and the fact that he ends the film on the Light Side is one of the major reasons why I'm able to enjoy TROS as much as I do. However, he doesn't get a redemption arc so much as a redemption U-turn. Given his progressive and deliberate embracing of the Dark in TFA and TLJ, TROS had a LOT to do to set up and justify a convincing turn to the Light, and I don't think it did that. I do buy his turn, but that's in large part due to me reading into it headcanon that's consistent with the film but not contained within it (more on that later).

Ben having such an abrupt change of heart (for ambiguous reasons), and dying so soon after, means TROS barely scrapes the surface of redemption, and doesn’t even touch on the long, long work of reconciliation and rehabilitation. Why did Ben turn back to the Light at that moment, when he’d had so many other chances? If he’d lived, how would he have dealt with facing the consequences of his actions? Even though he’s (presumably) genuinely repented of his violent, manipulative and abusive behaviour towards Rey, how (if it’s even possible) would he reform to such an extent that there would be even a possibility of a healthy relationship with Rey? In failing to address these questions, TROS fails to provide a believable or responsible picture of the messy, painful and lengthy process we try to sum up with the word redemption.

I’ll leave any in depth commentary on representation in TROS to those better qualified than me, and just say here that the sidelining of Rose Tico (as the first major POC woman protagonist in the SW films, and especially given the horrific racial abuse Kelly Marie Tran was subjected to) is inexcusable, and the people responsible should be ashamed of themselves.

Despite all these things and many more, there was plenty in TROS that I liked or loved. I’ve enjoyed it more with each viewing, and I hope this continues. So in that spirit, I thought I’d share some of the things I loved (in attempted chronological order):

REY. REY REY REY. I flipping love her, and overall I’m happy with where she ended up as a character by the end of TROS. Am I completely happy with her characterisation? No. Do I think it could have been done better, for example if any women at all were involved in writing her? Absolutely. Do I still love her with every bit of my fangirl heart? You bet I do.

Literally every single hug and friendship moment in the whole film (wish I could remember more specific examples, awks).

Finn's absolute devotion to Rey (which I read as deep platonic friendship rather than unrequited love). The moment where she actually tells him what’s worrying her

Iain McDiarmid was great. As a prequel girl I got a real kick out of him quoting that line from ROTS.

Rey and Poe's argument at the start of the film (shame that tension is brushed under the carpet for the rest of the film).

"Dark science. Cloning". For some reason, that line and Dom Monaghan's delivery crack me up every time, despite (or perhaps because of) the Very Serious Moment.

Rey's little smile after she heals the sandworm, pleased with and proud of what she's done.

BABU FRIK. His heyheeeeeeeeeys get me every time.

Hux’s “I’m the spy” reveal was bonkers, but very enjoyable.

The fact that Rey doesn't try to redeem Ben. The way I read it is that when she senses Leia's presence she remembers that it's Leia’s son she's just mortally wounded, and that once she had hope that he would join her on the Light side. In healing him she allows him one more chance to make the right decision, but she doesn't try to influence him. Instead she leaves him to choose for himself, and you can see just the flicker of hope on her face that Ben Solo might come back after all. It was hugely important to me that after TLJ, when she literally closes the door on him, she didn't spend TROS trying to redeem him. Is Ben’s turn sudden and unexplained in the film? Yes. Is Rey’s part in it made clear? Nope. Can I read it in a way I like? Heck yes.

The scene with Kylo/Ben and the memory of Han Solo. I was on tenterhooks all throughout it, and the moment when he hurls his lightsaber into the sea is probably my biggest punching-the-air moment after the throne room scene in TLJ.

Every frickin' second of Ben Solo screentime we get after this. Sprinting alone across Exegol to her in his Hot Jedi Boyfriend outfit. THAT LOOK before the lightsaber manoeuvre. His little bow before he absolutely destroys the Knights of Ren. Limping and crawling to her and the way he tenderly holds her before healing her. The kiss - somewhat despite myself. I read it as a back-from-the-dead-heat-of-the-moment-potential-start-of-something kiss, when she saw the Ben she thought she saw in TLJ. My headcanon is that had he lived they wouldn’t have fallen headlong into a relationship, but rather would have taken time to get to know themselves and each other, and for Ben to do A LOT of reforming, before potentially starting something. Doesn’t that sound like riveting cinema (I wish). You can tell, from the fact that my feelings in this paragraph are inconsistent with my thoughts about Bendemption at the start of this post, that I am VERY conflicted about Reylo.

The fact that it's very clearly Rey who saves the galaxy (with the help of the Jedi before her). When Ben was racing to join her, I was worried that his part in the showdown might lessen her agency, strength and power, but in fact he was the one who got damselled.

Rey’s yellow lightsaber!

Rey calling herself a Skywalker - I've got mixed feelings about it now, but first time round it really worked for me.

There are plenty more things I liked, but these are the ones I’ve got for now. My feelings on TROS are and will probably remain distinctively mixed, but I’ve found it pretty therapeutic to share both my main concerns and things I loved. If you’ve made it this far, thanks for bearing with me!

#st #tros #tros spoilers #conflicted about reylo #my thoughts #tell me yours!

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marshmallowgoop · 5 years

Note

(Part 1 of 2) Controversial? Oh, no. I forgot tone is hard to discern on the Internet. I wasn't angry, just puzzled. I think I thought this way because my admiration of Satsuki's character (after the reveal of her noble motives) made me gloss over the finer details of her cruel, villainous behavior. Furthermore, her smile here seems related to how she seemed happy to have tea with him later in the episode, a reversal of how cold and distant she was earlier.

(Part 2 of 2) As for “pain”, who knows if the process was super painful? Iori could have used anesthesia. Still, it’s very disturbing for just how extreme it was. You relating it to your fanfic moment was a good choice to illustrate this point.

Anonymous asks: Honestly, the Uzu thing seems to be a deeply polarizing thing! I’ve never read it as Satsuki forcing Uzu to blind himself implicitly or explicitly through her influence. From him meeting her, her lunge with the teacup handle, she was assessing him and his response disappointed her given that she didn’t come to watch. And he understood what she had seen in him that night and his overreliance on his uniform’s abilities led him to blind himself for the sake of the plan. I argue for his agency in this instance and for Satsuki’s reaction to be a complex one that included a pleased sort of surprise at the forthrightness, ingenuity, resolve in his rededication to the cause he displayed. Even when I believed she was a villain this is how I read it, especially considering that this is one of our first glimpses into the incomprehensibility of the cast but also that her quiet affection for those closest to her. Her reaction isn’t perfect yes but arguably she’s emotionally fucked up as well.

I’m enjoying this discussion by the way. I hope it comes across that I’m not looking for an argument!

I should note that I didn’t mean “controversial” in a bad way!

I was just surprised, is all. My first post discussing the Uzu incident is probably one of my more popular essays, and I hadn’t received any disagreement for my argument before. So, to see multiple comments understanding the scene differently now was just not something I was expecting.

I mean, I have plenty of Kill la Kill opinions that I know are controversial, and I’ve even noted in the past that I could respond to most anything said about the series with an image that reads, “I’ve written—or can link to—lengthy rebuttals” because I recognize that a lot of my thoughts on the show really aren’t widely held. I just didn’t realize that my Uzu statement was one of those thoughts!

But I don’t at all mind disagreement! In fact, I’m often kinda sad that I don’t see folks disagreeing with me much. I enjoy listening to what others have to say about things I like.

I do apologize if I came off as snappy in my response, though. It doesn’t excuse coming off as angry if I did, but it really wasn’t my intention to sound mad; I’m just very passionate ^^; I’ll work to be better on that front.

Now, I do have a few more things to add here, and warning, it’ll get pretty personal. But, basically, I think the whole situation is a lot more complicated than I’ve probably expressed in my short posts.

So. I kind of relate to Uzu, in a way. Yeah, I’m not at all a delinquent like he is, but I totally get feeling like you’re not good enough for your family and are kind of a disgrace to them. While my family might not have a konnyaku shop for me to shame, they do have a history (on both sides!) of smart, educated people that I can dishonor by not being particularly intelligent—and I’ve felt over and over that I’ve done just that. Sure, I got a college degree, but that’s really expected here; after all, my grandfather earned a Master’s (and considering he was a black man doing so in my country decades and decades ago, I can only imagine how difficult that was), and my parents both graduated with degrees in engineering.

Growing up, I felt constantly pressured to be smart, and much like Uzu, I felt constantly compared to an older sibling. My mother even stated explicitly at a parent-teacher conference, right in front of me, that she thought I wasn’t as smart as my older sister. So, I put it upon myself to be smart. I took all these difficult honors classes in high school to look smart.

But at the end of the day? Those classes were too much for me. I was a miserable wreck. I really hurt myself.

Just like Uzu did.

So, here’s the point of this overly long anecdote. Satsuki and the other Elites, as well as Shiro, are another family for Uzu. And like many families, such as Uzu’s very own blood family, there’s pressure placed upon its members. I don’t deny that Uzu definitely made a choice to sew his eyes shut because he absolutely did, just as I definitely made a choice to sign up for classes that would be the cause of horrible emotional suffering in high school. Satsuki didn’t beat Uzu over the head to go and do something that drastic to get stronger, just as my parents didn’t force me to register for the hardest classes possible. We’re all responsible for our own actions, as Ryuko would say, and I dislike putting blame solely on someone else for decisions we made of our own free will.

Plus, there are a lot more factors at play, too. There are so many more reasons that Uzu would want to be strong than to please Satsuki and the others, just as there was a lot more influencing my desire to be smart than my family.

But I think it’s undeniable that family is extremely significant. Would Uzu have been so driven to do what he did, had he not been following a leader who absolutely does not tolerate failure? Who calls him “pathetic” and insults him even when Soroi is the only one watching—and even when his self-confidence has already been bruised and his image marred?

Satsuki: I’ve no time for losers, Sanageyama.

Satsuki: Pathetic.

In another situation, Ira nearly killed himself when he lost to Ryuko and Senketsu in episode 9. That’s partly just how Gama is, but Satsuki’s leadership is most certainly encouraging that sort of behavior. Just look at how awful the scene I posted above is! If losing brings you that, I mean….

In any case, I argued in my other posts that Satsuki drove Uzu to sew his eyes shut, and that’s exactly what I’m getting at here. No, Satsuki didn’t make Uzu do anything, but just like how my childhood environment of a mother who frequently reminded me of how similar I was to a sister of hers who didn’t have the family smarts (and whom she considered to be about as intelligent as a bag of bricks) drove me to overly challenge myself in high school, Satsuki’s regime undoubtedly drove Uzu to be as strong as he possibly could be—no matter the costs.

But unlike my situation, I feel that Uzu’s was manipulative. My parents didn’t just say nothing as I threw myself into something I couldn’t handle. They actively told me not to take those difficult classes. But Satsuki? She knew Uzu was 100% going to lose, and she lets him go make a total fool of himself anyway. Compare this to Ryuko and Senketsu in episode 3, where Senketsu is still a pretty robotic, unemotional baby, but he still tells Ryuko straight out, “Hey, we’re probably not gonna win this thing.” He lets her know exactly what she’s getting into.

Senketsu: Ryuko, I feel I should warn you. Your opponent is more powerful than you are.

Satsuki doesn’t let Uzu know exactly what he’s getting into, though. And that’s because she doesn’t really want to. When Uzu loses, she’s well aware that he’ll do whatever he can to to be worthy of fighting in her war again. And that’s exactly what Satsuki wants: good, useful tools for her battle.

Now, of course, Uzu, like Ryuko in episode 3 and like myself, probably would have just done whatever he wanted no matter what anyone else had to say about it. I bet he totally would have challenged Ryuko to a duel without Satsuki’s blessing. But I think there’s definitely a level of manipulation here that’s not present in Ryuko’s situation or mine, and Satsuki even admits to using such tactics later. She purposely led Ryuko to believe that she killed Ryuko’s father in order to push Ryuko to be stronger, and, in the same way, she purposely allows Uzu to fight a doomed fight to push him to be stronger. It’s… kind of cold.

And while I’m here with the Ryuko and Senketsu comparisons, there’s actually something quite interesting about the placement of the Satsuki-sees-that-Uzu-sewed-his-eyes-shut scene. As it turns out, the moment plays directly after Ryuko irons Senketsu in an interaction so sweet that this adorable music box variation of “Before my body is dry” serves as the background music (starting at around 1:08 here).

And… the two scenes are actually kind of similar?

In both cases, a character had inflicted pain on themselves to be stronger. Senketsu let himself be torn up so that he and Ryuko could win against Uzu, and Uzu sewed his eyes shut so that he wouldn’t be overreliant on his sight in battle.

But Ryuko and Satsuki have wildly different reactions to their friends getting hurt. Just compare Ryuko’s troubled expression and “sorry about that” to Satsuki’s smile:

When Ryuko realizes that her method was a painful experience for Senketsu, she’s hurt and regretful, and she later apologizes to Senketsu before attempting the tactic again.

Ryuko: Sorry about this, Senketsu.

In contrast, when Satsuki realizes the drastic decision Uzu made to be stronger, she’s impressed and pleased and doesn’t seem at all concerned with how painful—both physically and emotionally!—the procedure had to be for him.

The fact that these two similar scenes are presented one after another only serves to highlight the coldness and cruelty of Satsuki’s rule. She’s not at all behaving as a friend would with Uzu, as Ryuko does with Senketsu. And while the pain both boys endured was arguably very much worth it—after all, Senketsu even states directly that he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy that moment with Ryuko if he didn’t get hurt, and Uzu becomes leagues more powerful and learns an important lesson in humility for his actions—Ryuko is notably affected by the costs of their good outcome in a way that Satsuki really, really isn’t with Uzu.

So. This all got super out of hand for what I was (seriously!) intending to be a short response, but the gist is that, personally, I find Satsuki’s actions in the episode to be… not the nicest. I’m not saying that her reaction is outlandish given her situation—it’s really, really not—and I’m not even saying that Satsuki doesn’t care about Uzu. She does! Heck, Uzu himself seems to recognize as much in the episode when he points out that Satsuki had to be holding back when she attacked him (which implies that she doesn’t truly want to hurt him).

Uzu: I assume you were holding back.

I am making some assumptions in my analysis; I do believe that the sewing had to be physically painful, and I also feel it’s emotionally painful in that Uzu is literally blinding himself and making it impossible for him to enjoy things he used to (such as drinking tea, which becomes too much for him after the procedure). But no matter how painful Uzu’s situation, it definitely is drastic and extreme, and Satsuki’s reaction to it comes off as unfitting from a friend.

Which I think is sad! Satsuki values and loves Uzu. She doesn’t want harm to come his way. And yet, she drove him—at least on some level—to sew his eyes shut.

And all she can do is smile.

#argentdandelion #kill la kill #satsuki kiryuin #uzu sanageyama #Anonymous #replies #ramblings #spoilers #klk spoilers #injury mention #whoops this got to be a bit much huh ^^;

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