#HAIL SATAN I FUCKING FINALLY GOT IT FUCK

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Eddie hated this and he'd just started.

See, he was so proud when he made it, when he got his first office job. He saw what decades of physical labor did to Wayne's back, his hands, and he wanted to make his uncle proud. So he kept applying and applying and getting ignored and rejected and finally, finally he got a job in a pretty large corporate. Not exactly something prestigious, but hey, it had potential. The experience counted and all that.

He thought maybe workplaces would be different, that the good ol' high school dynamic would fuck off, but no. He was sitting at his desk, trying to fill in paperwork after a taxing phone call, but all he could focus on was whispering from the neighboring cubicle that was ostentatiously loud. He didn't know who sat there yet, the guy had been on vacation for the two weeks Eddie was in the company. From the stuff he was hearing, he was getting introduced anyway and not exactly the way he'd have liked to be.

"Can you believe they actually let him work here?" It was Carol, of course it was, the office gossip and mean girl knockoff. "I mean, he doesn't even look decent! Did you see that hair?" Okay, that hurt. He actually pulled his hair into a neat bun every morning, but you can't please some people. "And he has tattoos, what would our customers think if they actually met him, plus you should have heard the rumors about his past-!"

But just as he was about to slam down the pile of paperwork and either take an extended smoke break or gently ask Carol to go fuck a polar bear, he heard another voice. Bored and wonderfully bitchy.

"That's absolutely fascinating, Carol. Please tell me more, what could this guy possibly have done? It must be something juicy. Did he perhaps fuck his boss during the Christmas party and then lie about it to his boyfriend of five years? Oh wait no. That was you. Silly me."

Eddie had to bite his pencil to stay quiet, but his whole chest hurt by trying to keep the snickering in. And then the offended gasp. "I- you promised you wouldn't-!"

"I didn't promise shit, Carol. You just came to me, cried your eyes out - bad move by the way, invest in some waterproof mascara for god's sake, mascara in wrinkles doesn't good on anyone, and yes, you do have wrinkles - and tried to play the victim. Except I heard your small proposition to the guy before so it didn't really work out. But it's fine, you know," and oooh, the tone was smug, so bored, Eddie loved this guy already, "Tommy saw you as well and had a good time with Nicole to get even. So there's nothing to worry about. Now tell me, what did this horrible Eddie Munson do to summon wrath of such a righteous woman such as yourself?"

Eddie heard a sharp sound as Carol got up from the desk. "Fuck you, Steve Harrington," she spat out and sped past Eddie's seat. He just gave her a small salute.

When the sound of high heels faded, Eddie leaned over the cubicle wall and knocked to draw the guy's attention. And yeah, maybe he was a little bit biased because he'd just obliterated a textbook definition of a shrew, but this Steve was fucking gorgeous, light brown eyes looking at him, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

"Oh hi," said Steve and offered his hand, shaking Eddie's. "Sorry for that. I'm Steve Harrington and whatever deepest, darkest secrets you're hiding, I don't care, I'm pretty sure I've heard them all. What did you do? Shave your head in school? Join a cult? Cut dolls apart and chant hail Satan?"

That had Eddie laughing again, but he still had an introduction to make. A proper one. "Nice to meet you, Steve. Eddie Munson, and I'm worse than your darkest nightmares. I sometimes wear socks in sandals."

Steve's eyebrow twitched. "Oh, Carol was right, you are a monster!" he muttered. "Speaking of monsters..." His head leaned to the side, towards Carol who was angrily carrying her coffee mug, her mascara running again.

Before he could catch himself, Eddie leaned over the wall and whispered as loudly as he could muster. "Can you believe some people wear dotted dresses with stripes on their stockings? We can't all be born with taste, I guess...tragic."

And again, maybe Eddie was just biased, but Steve's laughter was so pretty that it actually made dealing with Carol's bullshit worth it.

#steddie #steddie au #steddie drabble #corporate au #coworkers au #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things drabble #yeah so I'm crazy busy and kind of not doing too well #so this is not proofread #but I wanted to put something small together so here you go

[esthermitchell-author]

"Risen To Grace" (A Fan Fiction Based on Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett)

Western Front -- December 24, 1914

Could there be anything more miserable than a trench in the middle of the -- pardon the pun -- godforsaken winter? Crowley grimaced, rubbing his arms with chilled hands. He hadn't been warm in days, and he hated the cold with everything in him. He'd never minded it all that much, before. Now, he loathed it to his very bones.

"Never fucking doing this again," he muttered to himself. He shouldn't even be here. Wouldn't be, either, but he heard whispers Hell was sending Hastur to "deal with" some potential threat to Hell's big plans for the war, and Crowley got a very familiar, sinking feeling. Somewhere, out here in the trenches, was an angel who didn't belong here any more than tits belonged on a frog.

An angel who probably thought he could stop the whole war, single-handedly, and was going to get himself very inconveniently discorporated for his trouble.

"Oh, angel, what am I going to do with you?" Crowley muttered to the empty air, then swore under his breath. His human contact, who claimed he might know where to find someone matching Aziraphale's description, was a week late in getting to their rendezvous point here on the Western Front. If the bastard didn't show up in the next three minutes, Crowley was going to demonically intervene his arse straight into Hell and let them sort out whether or not he belonged there. Would serve the lot of them right.

"Captain Crowley!" He turned at the hail, to find his human contact -- a sergeant in the British army named Young -- hurrying toward him. "I found him, sir!"

Finally. Angel, you are in so much trouble. "Where is he?"

Sergeant Young frowned in worry. "May I ask what you want with him, sir? From what I hear tell, he's kept the better part of the First Battalion alive, almost single-handedly. They call him the Angel of the Bois de Ploegsteert, over that way."

"Of course they do," Crowley muttered, rolling his eyes behind his dark glasses. His angel was supposed to be tucked away safe-and-sound in his bookshop in Soho, not out on the front lines, in the trenches of the war to end all wars. To Young, he replied, "My business with him is none of yours. Now, where's he at?"

Sergeant Young looked worried, still, but shrugged and didn't question him further, turning to lead Crowley down the trenches toward an angel who was in a Heaven of a lot of trouble.

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

By the time they reached the trenches occupied by the 1st Battalion of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, night was falling hard, and the dark sky was littered with bright pinpoints of stars. Crowley tipped his head back to gaze up at them, letting their distant light bathe a part of himself he rarely acknowledged. He always liked looking up at the stars. They were reminders that he hadn't always felt chained to a bottomless pit.

"Hello, my lovelies," he whispered to them, now, and swore he could still hear their twinkling song, even though he knew that was just a whisper of memory. God hadn't let him hear his stars since he fell.

"What's that, sir?" Sergeant Young inquired, breaking his communion with the stars.

Crowley shook himself and turned his attention back to the human who stood there, now looking thoroughly confused.

"Nothing," he hissed. "Now, where's he at?"

"Doc Fell's CCS is over there." Young pointed toward a tent set back a little way from the main trenches.

"Right." Crowley started toward the Casualty Clearing Station set up in a canvas tent hidden behind woodland shrubs, then realized Young was keeping step with him. Oh, right. "You're dismissed, Sergeant."

The man fell back with a relieved expression and headed back the way they'd come originally. He seemed a decent enough human. Crowley briefly wished him well in surviving the war. Himself, he had an angel to rescue.

Ducking into the tent, the first thing Crowley was hit with was the noxious odor of death, blood, and disease. Satan preserve him, it was like being in the plague-ridden streets of London during the 14th Century, all over again. Crowley grimaced. He really didn't like the 14th Century, or any reminders of it. In fact, he wished heartily that he'd chosen to sleep through it.

"Oh, be a dear and put him over there. I'm afraid my hands are rather full at the moment." The familiar voice reached Crowley even above the other din of the sick and dying, and those attending to them. He'd pick up that voice anywhere, no matter the noise around it, and he wasn't about to start considering what that meant.

Clamping a hand across his mouth and nose against the putrid smell of the place, Crowley made his way down the row of stretchers, until he caught sight of a curly shock of white-blond hair.

"Here you are. Do you know, I've been looking all over the Western Front for you?"

Aziraphale looked up from the human on the stretcher, his cerulean eyes full of surprise. His hand remained clamped against the shoulder of the man, holding a folded wad of bandage against what must be a pretty severe wound, given how fast that bandage was turning red.

"Crowley! I haven't seen you in forever. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Aren't you supposed to be minding your bookshop?" Irritation and concern twisted together in Crowley's chest and made their way into his voice.

"It's temporarily closed," Aziraphale explained, his attention back on his patient.

"Closed."

"Temporarily."

"While you..."

"Do what I can to stem the loss of life." He sounded sad, and tired. As if what he'd already seen of this war drained away some of his light.

No. No, angel. I won't let you do this to yourself. But what could he do, really? His angel was a healer. He couldn't turn away from someone in need any more than Crowley could contain his endless supply of questions. Besides, last time they saw each other, Aziraphale told him he never wanted to see him again. No doubt, he wasn't going to feel any more charitable once he found out why Crowley tracked him down, again.

"Angel..."

Aziraphale discarded the bloody cloth into a basin of already bloody water, and pressed another to the wound, then glanced toward a young man passing by. "Bring me sutures."

The man -- really, little more than a boy -- nodded and rushed away. Aziraphale turned back to the man now moaning in pain on the stretcher, his voice gentle and full of so much kindness as he murmured, "I know it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm going to try to fix it."

Crowley didn't ask why Aziraphale didn't just miracle the wound away. He already knew. They'd been through this. The night wee Moraig was killed by the grave gun, in Edinburgh. If Aziraphale went around miracling away the wounds of an entire war, not only would he no doubt overextend himself, but Heaven would certainly have something to say about it. Still, the gaunt hollows of his face... Crowley tried again, his voice softer with painful understanding.

"Aziraphale."

This time, the angel turned to look at him. The pain, and the brimming of tears in those beautiful, cerulean eyes, nearly broke Crowley. This was worse than when wee Moraig died. Worse than watching the Roman soldiers kill his only human friend for no reason than Jesus asked people to be kind to each other. The sight of tears -- frustration, grief, and pain -- swelling in Aziraphale's eyes sent a frothing hatred through Crowley for this entire fucking war.

A hatred he could do nothing about. He didn't have the power to stop an entire war any more than Aziraphale had the power to heal one. He opened his mouth -- to say what, he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. Before he could say anything, the young stretcher-bearer was back with a suture kit, and Aziraphale had turned away, back to the business of saving a life.

"Crowley, please hold his legs down. This is going to hurt, but I don't have the time to numb it proper. He's already lost too much blood."

The demon didn't even think twice about complying with the instruction. Aziraphale had asked him for help, and if this was the only way he could help... He clamped his hands onto the wounded soldier's ankles and pressed them into the stretcher, watching as Aziraphale withdrew a needle from the pack, measured out suture, and began to painstakingly stitch the soldier's shoulder back together. The sound of the wounded man's screams as Aziraphale worked quickly to mend his shoulder would forever be imprinted in Crowley's mind as he and the stretcher-bearer kept the man from thrashing against the necessary cruelty of the angel's stitching.

Once the man's shoulder was stitched and the wound properly bandaged, Aziraphale nodded Crowley away from the whimpering man and stepped around the stretcher, with a murmured instruction to the stretcher-bearer, "Give him some morphine, and get him on the first cart to a base hospital. His war's over."

Crowley followed the angel as he headed for the other end of the tent, where he poured clean water into a basin and washed his hands thoroughly. The whole time, Crowley watched. He watched humans bleed all over the place, watched them writhe in agony, watched when one of the attending medical personnel shook their heads and covered yet another body. And the whole time, he watched Aziraphale, as well. Watched his soft, sweet angel look as if the weight of the entire world rested on his shoulders, as if he was an inch from breaking down, but determined to make a difference.

There wasn't even a shadow of the soft, hopeful angel who believed in magic, or the goodness of people, in the lines currently road-mapping pain and weariness across the angel's face.

"What did you say you were here for?" Aziraphale inquired, before flashing him a tired smile Crowley knew was meant to cover everything he already read on the angel's face. "It's lovely to see you again, by the way. I haven't seen you since..."

"Let's not talk about that, angel." Crowley looked away, his voice hoarse in spite of his effort to sound normal. He didn't want to think about their last meeting. It hadn't gone the way he'd thought. Instead of getting the holy water he'd wanted to have on hand if Hell came knocking, he'd only managed to alienate his angel. So he'd gone to sleep. For the entire rest of the century.

It seemed the most appropriate response to the situation, at the time. Now, he wasn't so sure. He should have been prepared for this, prepared to talk Aziraphale out of getting involved. But he hadn't been, and instead, not only had humanity dragged his angel into the middle of their attempts to destroy themselves, but Aziraphale had gone and put himself on Hell's radar in the process. He cleared his throat and tried to sound bored. "I got wind of a big problem, headed your way."

That tired smile turned wry. "They're all big problems, around here."

"Not this kind." Crowley glanced around, making sure no one was listening, and dropped his voice to a quiet hiss as he said, "The Hell kind. Hastur's looking for you."

"Me?" Aziraphale sounded baffled. "Why on earth would Hastur be looking for me?"

"You're mucking about with Hell's plans. Apparently, there's some big plan attached to this war, and you hanging about, healing people, has the Dark Council frothing at the mouth for your blood. I heard Hastur is supposed to eliminate you."

Aziraphale was quiet as he dried his hands. Looking down at his blood-spattered clothes, he suddenly murmured, "Their lives are so fragile, but they're so willing to give them up to keep others safe."

"Angel..."

"I'm tired of patching endless wounds. It's Christmas Eve, you know."

Crowley's brow furrowed. Something about Aziraphale's tone disquieted him. The angel wasn't even acknowledging the danger he faced. His eyes had that faraway glaze they got whenever he was concocting some incomprehensible while simultaneously dramatic plan to do good. "Yeah."

Aziraphale's attention turned his way, and Crowley wasn't sure if he was relieved to see the twinkle of light-hearted mischief back in those cerulean eyes, or worried as all fuck that his angel was about to do something terrifyingly dangerous to his own health. "Maybe there's something I can do to help them. Even if just for a bit."

"Angel, we don't have time for--"

But Aziraphale wasn't listening, already striding purposefully toward the medical tent's flap.

"Shit," Crowley muttered under his breath, taking off after his angel. He did not like the tone of Aziraphale's voice, or the determined set of his face.

Out behind the medical tent, Crowley stopped dead, a terrified chill washing over him as he watched Aziraphale's forehead begin to glow.

"Angel, no." He tried to scream it, but his horror wouldn't let his voice climb above a disbelieving whisper. "You can't."

"Nonsense." Aziraphale's voice was strained, but his expression was resolved, as he slowly slid the brightly glowing corporeal representation of his halo from his head, wincing in pain as he did. Crowley turned his gaze away, both because the gleam of the halo was like being stabbed in the eyes -- even with his shades on -- and because the pain on Aziraphale's face made him want to beg him to stop, and he knew the angel wouldn't.

Glancing Aziraphale's way again, he saw the angel mouth words over the halo, then release it with a light toss into the air, letting it float upward through the night sky until it bathed the entirety of No Man's Land in soft, angelic light -- twinkling like a bright star.

"Aziraphale," Crowley choked out, fear lodged in his throat. "What the Heaven do you think you're doing?"

A peaceful smile slid over Aziraphale's face, and his blue eyes gleamed like the stars as they turned his way. "Wait and see."

Wait and see? He already bloody knew what Aziraphale just did -- they both did. An angel blowing up their halo was tantamount to a declaration of war against Hell. Mostly because angels only blew up a corporeal manifestation of their halos in the presence of overwhelming demonic odds. But still...

"Angel, have you lost whatever--" Before Crowley could finish the thought, the corporeal manifestation of Aziraphale's halo burned out and crumbled from the sky in what looked like a shower of twinkling starlight. Then, out of the dark hush that fell in its wake, came a deep voice, singing in German. Silent Night. A bloody Christmas carol. On the battlefield.

Soon, other voices joined it. Then, with a start, Crowley realized one of the voices was singing in English. The singing was now coming from their side of the field, as well. Really close, too.

"What the Heaven...?"

"Exactly," Aziraphale murmured from next to him. "A gift. From Heaven."

In less time than it took to start the whole fucking war, men on both sides were singing. Then they started calling out to one another, across the span of No Man's Land. As Crowley watched in stunned amazement, men began climbing out of their trenches on both sides, crossing to meet in the middle of the barbed-wire laden No Man's Land, shaking hands and talking, laughing. Pretty soon, they were improvising gifts out of whatever they had on hand, and someone had organized an impromptu soccer game in a clear patch of ground.

Crowley whirled toward Aziraphale, unable to contain the shock running rampant through him any longer. "I thought... How did you do that?"

Aziraphale merely smiled. "There's more than one way to blow up a halo, dear boy. In the presence of demons, it's an act of war. But with a little grace, we can all rise above what blinds us.  Merry Christmas, Crowley."

Crowley's shock melted away, and he threw his head back and laughed. Why the Heaven was he even surprised? This was Aziraphale. There wasn't a being in all of existence capable of more grace, or more love for humanity, than his angel.

******

A.Z. Fell and Co Bookshop, Soho, London -- 1941

Crowley studied the wine sloshing in his glass as he swirled it around. It was a good year, but he couldn't get the color -- like blood -- out of his mind, tonight. Nearly losing Aziraphale twice, after realizing just how much and why that was an unacceptable risk, had him contemplative. Knowing his angel risked exposure to help the likes of him tonight sent a softness through him he wasn't sure how to deal with. Combined with the wine in his glass reminding him of blood, he couldn't help thinking about the war out there, around them. That brought to mind the last war -- "The war to end all wars" they'd called it. Yet, far too soon, the humans found a new and terrible way to kill one another.

"Can you believe we're back here, again?" He muttered to Aziraphale, not looking up from his wine.

The angel made a small sound of confusion. "We always drink here. It's safer."

"Not the bookshop," Crowley hissed, shaking his head before taking a drink. The alcohol did its familiar burn. He barely felt it, anymore. "War. You'd think they got all that killing out of their system, last time. Instead, they just keep finding newer, more effective ways to kill each other."

"Crowley..."

He glanced up, letting his gaze burrow into the beautiful blue eyes of his angel. They were so calm, so happy, now. But he could still remember a time they'd been filled with tears, teetering on the brink of destruction. He took another, larger drink, trying to burn away the memory. It wouldn't go. Finally, he rasped, "Remember Christmas, 1914?"

Aziraphale's smile faltered for just a second. "The Christmas Truce. Yes."

"You blew up your halo for that. Risky, angel. That's what it was." He'd nearly discorporated on the spot when he realized what Aziraphale intended. Of course, he'd thought the angel was blowing up No Man's Land, maybe to prove a point to the humans that they were a bunch of idiots for running around doing their best to off each other, or just generally declaring war on Hell. He hadn't known a halo could be used to create peace, too.

Crowley shuddered at the familiar taste of fear, and chided, "You could have set off a war between Heaven and Hell, you know."

Aziraphale smiled indulgently at him. "Don't be silly. I knew exactly what I was doing. Besides, you were the only demon there, and you weren't going to tell anyone."

Crowley chuckled in truth, warmth flowing through him in a heady rush at the absolute trust in his angel's voice. The humans didn't have it half right.

Some things really were worth dying for.

******

A.Z. Fell and Co Bookshop, Soho, London -- December After Thwarting Second Coming

Aziraphale hummed a Christmas carol to himself as he finished winding a long strand of tinsel and tiny colored lights down the banister and attached it carefully to the wrought iron with a little tap of his fingertips against the decoration.

He loved Christmas. Not just that it represented Jesus' first arrival on Earth all those centuries ago, but the peace and goodwill it fostered in humans. The bright colors, the beautiful carols, so full of hope and happiness, and joy. The decorations, and togetherness.

He drew in a deep breath and his smile widened. And the food. He loved the food, of course. Right now, the whole shop smelled of the mulled cider, hot chocolate, and freshly baked cookies he'd made for the party he'd planned. Now, he just needed to get the invitations out...

"For Satan's sake," groaned a familiar voice from behind him. "Angel, you promised..."

Aziraphale turned, casting a gleeful, loving glance at the demon who stood paused with his hand hanging in midair over the horse sculpture on the front counter, dark glasses held loosely in his long fingers as he stared in a blend of horror and disbelieving amusement at the ten-foot tall tree, studded with a mish-mash of ornaments Aziraphale had collected over the past two hundred years since Christmas trees became a thing people did.

"It's tradition!"

"So's riding a blessed camel across the desert to give a baby useless shit he won't ever actually get to use., but you don't see me rushing out to rent camels, do you?"

Aziraphale huffed out a sigh that was one part annoyance and three parts pure indulgence. He couldn't stay mad at Crowley when he was like this. His lovely demon still struggled with the concept it was okay to just enjoy holidays. He didn't take it personally. He knew Crowley preferred to pretend he was annoyed by or bored with everything, instead. Aziraphale saw the little sparkles of happiness in Crowley's eyes -- as blinding as starlight -- and knew his demon got far more enjoyment out of pretending to dislike things while indulging Aziraphale's utter abandonment to the joy of every human experience.

"Here." He retrieved the box of invitations he'd spent yesterday evening writing up from the desk and dropped them in Crowley's hands. "If you're going to carp, make yourself useful and deliver these. Then you don't have to look at the decorations."

"Better idea." Crowley dropped the box casually on the table beside himself and, before Aziraphale could protest the misuse of stationary, Crowley had him wrapped up in long, strong arms, his mouth making soft, heated passes over Aziraphale's, sinking deeper with each pass. Aziraphale wasn't about to deny him. He leaned into the kiss, one hand clutching the demon's side, the other winding around his neck to burrow in silky strands of collar-length red hair.

Aziraphale lost all track of time, lost awareness of everything except Crowley, until a voice somewhere in the background finally drew his attention. Easing from the kiss, he caught the smug smirk on Crowley's lips and the devilish gleam in his eyes. Flushing happily, he turned his attention to their visitor, and was immediately flustered by the sight of the angel standing there.

"Oh. M-Muriel. What brings you here?" He fought the old, ingrained urge to flinch away from Crowley's touch in the presence of another angel as the demon practically draped himself over Aziraphale's shoulders in what had become a familiar arrangement over the months since they reunited -- one of Crowley's arms draped over one of his shoulders, and Crowley's head resting on his other shoulder. Currently, the latter involved Crowley nuzzling at his neck and jaw.

Muriel, for their part, seemed utterly oblivious to the display, beaming at the two of them before hurrying toward the tree, practically squealing over each of the ornaments. "Oh, they're amazing! You have so many! I didn't expect this many!"

"Told you, he's been collecting them for centuries." Crowley left off his teasing nuzzles to call after Muriel.

Aziraphale watched them in consternation for a moment, then whispered to Crowley, "How does Muriel know I put up the tree today?"

Crowley shrugged and sighed as he straightened. "I told them, angel."

"How?"

"Not now. Months ago -- while you were gone."

Aziraphale flinched at the reminder, biting down on the instinct to apologize again. He'd apologized so often, now, and Crowley long since told him to stop apologizing, that they were good, and he didn't need to feel guilty. Still, he couldn't help the soft, dismayed sound that left him.

"Angel, don't," Crowley murmured, nipping his ear and nuzzling the side of his head. "It's just an explanation, okay? Muriel called me one time. They were reading something and didn't know what Christmas was. I told them I was the wrong person to ask, but that you always decorate the shop around this time every year." Crowley sighed, then. "Sorry. I forgot all about it, 'til now."

Aziraphale smiled softly, reaching out to smooth his hand over Crowley's chest in a light caress. "No apology necessary, love. You did just the right thing. Like always."

With that reassurance, he moved toward where Muriel stood, holding a small ornament that looked like a cobbled-together boat, made out of an unused bullet. Their expression was perplexed as they looked up at Aziraphale. "I don't understand what this is supposed to be, Mr. Fell. What is it?"

Aziraphale took the small ornament from Muriel's hand and felt a sad smile tug at his lips. "This was a very special gift, from a time when war ravaged the world, but for one Christmas Eve night, there was peace and brotherhood among men..."

He heard the front door open and close, and knew Crowley was off to deliver the holiday invitations. Aziraphale's smile widened as he recounted the events of that night over a hundred years ago, when an angel and a demon brought peace to an embattled humanity, if only for a little while.

It was, after all, his favorite Christmas story of all, if for no other reason than it was one of a very few he got to spend with his beloved demon. He was looking forward to many, many more.

THE END

#good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #azicrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #crowley #fanfic #go fanfic

[onecantsimply]

Ok, request:

Wake, Faye and Alfred + s/o that likes singing when they’re alone and gets embarrassed through hell and back if they get caught

(+bonus if s/o likes singing hella dark songs like Body by Mother Mother or Amygdala’s ragdoll by ghost)

Got it got it- Coming right up-

-- Wake --

Wake finally got home after an irritating day of finding out one of the Mother Goose members had died. It was a surprise when he came home to some singing. Especially to a song with such lyrics no less-

"Per Aspera Ad Inferi" - Ghost

"Are we worshiping Satan now?"

The way you jolted made him snicker, especially when you turned to him with wide eyes and a stammer.

Wake didn't mind. In fact, he thought he should've waited till you stopped. But, now that the opportunity's passed, he thought it wouldn't be too bad to tease you a little.

"You know, it wouldn't be bad for you to start singing while I'm around. It would make for a plenty well stress reliever to hear your voice."

The stare you gave him. That hundred mile stare was the thing that finally made him chuckle.

He gave you a compliment and comforted you after, however.

Wake was just glad to hear something peaceful after such news of his coworker dying in battle to an odd man.

He spent the rest of his time with you, silently counting on hearing your singing whenever you were comfortable.

-- Faye --

She had also gotten home from a rough day, just to hear you wheezing and singing something with a few laughs.

Her curiosity was now piqued. She peeked into the room you were in.

"Bark Like You Want It" - Sir Mix-A-Lot

Boy, she was ready to bark just to catch you off guard lmfao-

But she waited till the end, staring at you like a creep HH-

"Woof."

The way you turned to her. The way you turned to her with that slightly disgusted stare with shock and embarrassment.

It sent her in a laughing fit.

"Honestly I hope you get slapped by one of your little organization friends."

"Not too far from it, I almost got punched-"

"Good-"

"Harsh-"

Faye was laughing about it all day, annoying you about it.

But after she got over it, she wanted to hear more. So she was annoying you about it, pestering you about it. She wanted to hear what you were like when you were seriously singing.

-- Alfred --

It was a day of going home after having to be the bodyguard of the all too annoying Chris Highton. It was not to his comfort when he heard you practically worshiping Satan in the other room. He thought he'd have to do a prayer until he saw you just singing in the other room while reading something.

"Hail Satan, Archangelo... Hail Satan... Welcome Year Zero."

Alfred didn't even bother to keep listening. He just questioned what the hell you were singing while you drank some of your water that he hoped was holy water.

Judging from how you choked on it he was right.

You immediately turned back to him to tell him that it was just a song that slipped into your mind. Then you questioned when he got home. He blandly answered of how he got home a minute ago.

Why the fuck was he so dry lmfao-?

You told him that it was just a song, and that he had no worry of you worshiping Satan- He took you at your word.

But then a minute later he wanted you to sing something else for him to relax while he was relaxed in your arms.

You said no lmfao-

Painful-

#Alfred JTR Jikenbo x reader #Faye JTR Jikenbo x Reader #Wake JTR Jikenbo x Reader

[beatleswings]

A Tekken trollpasta I initially shared to @boltun-tkn as a joke but posting it here for y'all to read.

Tekken Cursed Game

So I went to a yard sale and they were selling video games. This guy told me of this old Tekken game he wanted to give away for only $5. I am a HUGE FAN of Tekken and I would own anything with it. So I had to take it. But before I paid the guy, he said to be careful because this game is "cursed".

I don't know what that guy was on so I just bought the game and after we got home, I immediately ran to my room and put the game on my old Playstation. Then the start up happened and it was normal but then somehow...the game started to glitch.

And I started hearing scary noises from the game. And then it cuts to Kazuya after he threw what appears to be Heihachi off a cliff, volcano, whatever…

Yes, that scene was on a loop and then he said, "Fuck you". I don't know why he said that and then I notice his eyes turn hyperrealistic and red and he said "fuck you" again, this time in a demonic tone.

Then the player select scene showed up and everyone had hyperrealistic eyes. and for some reason the announcer sounded demonic and evil.

Then my Playstation started to set on fire and I quickly put out the fire. and then Kazuya pops on my screen and says in a demonic voice "I'm inside your TV" I yelled out for my mom because I thought Kazuya wanted to kill me.

I quickly took the game out and put it back in the case but still, the game was on the TV. BUT HOW?!?! I just removed the game.

The game was still playing even though I removed the game?!?! And that demonic sound was still playing. I went fuck it and just played the game. The last part was somehow set in hell. Why Hell of all places?! Was it because that’s where Kazuya threw him? Anyway, I had to finally fight Heihachi Mishima. And he kept kicking my ass and at one point he said "I will feast on your blood". I don't remember Tekken being this messed up and scary.

Then Heihachi kept saying "666" "hail satan" and speaking backwards, I think or maybe just ridiculous gibberish. When I finally beat him, I throw him in the lava again and he screams. then the game starts to glitch again and then it's sped up but with flashes of the characters with bloody eye sockets.

and then the TV goes back to normal. I was so scared, I almost pissed my pants. I decided to throw away the cursed Tekken game and set it on fire. After that incident, I didn't want to play Tekken ever again. But then...I heard a new game was coming out. Not sure if I should play it.

#yes it's supposed to be poorly written and stupid #lmfaoooo #my crap attempt at a trollpasta #and it all started from that gif of kazuya sakjsakjsakjasjk #read and hopefully you enjoy this cursed shit i wrote #tekken #my dumb posts

[prettybillycore]

tag 10 people you want to get to know better!

(I’m so sorry if I tag you and You’ve already done this, not on purpose I swear!)

tagged by: @whoringrove 💗

relationship status: taken by @rubybinxx in a polycule (aka we are polyamorous!)

favorite color: blue or green

song stuck in your head: currently “Be Gay, Do Drugs, Hail Satan” by Super Cassette. It came up in my recommended and my brain went 👁👁

time: 2:51 am

dream trip: I really want to go to California again. I have been once before and it felt like the home I was supposed to have. I also wanna go there so I can finally hug my bestie @dontbelasagnax. I’m not good at traveling though so it would have to be a road or train trip. I can’t really fly at this point in my life 💀 the one other place I really want to see is the palace of versailles in france

last book you read: Margret and the Mystery of the Missing Body by Megan Milks. I actually just gave a talk on this book for my MFA program. It is deeply painful yet weird as all hell. Highly recommend if you like fantasy and are in the mental place to hear about mental health issues from the perspectives of fictional characters

last book you enjoyed reading: I feel like I need to break out of the “books I read bc school” category but basically all the reading I do at this point is reading for school. During my undergraduate studies, I read “Homie” by Danez Smith. I think about it almost everyday. It is an incredible poetry collection about race, gender, sexuality, family, and overarching queer experiences. A must read in my opinion.

last book you hated reading: also for school (who’s surprised). It was “dreams of being” by Michael J Seidlinger. I got the chance to meet the author and he was fantastic! His book was just wayyyy out of what I normally read and didn’t keep my attention.

favorite thing to cook/bake: top of the stove cookies!!!

favorite craft you like to do in your free time: genuinely crafting sims is so fun to me I do it a lot. I also like to write and paint.

my most niche dislike: based on peoples reactions when I’ve said this in the past, I’m going to take this as my most niche dislike— I hate Metatron the most out of every supernatural villain. I would rather sell my soul to both Crowley and Lucifer (and have to watch them fight it out) than be in a room alone with Metatron unsupervised for 5 minutes. I would feel more safe with Chuck in a room. I fucking hate this angels guts and I could write a full length academic paper on why.

opinion on the circus: clowns and such are alright but the way circus animals are treated sits so wrong with me

do you have a sense of direction: absolutely I do not. Ask literally anyone I’ve ever driven. I can’t find my way anywhere without help 🥲

Tagging:

@dontbelasagnax @rubybinxx @bilqis-of-sheba @ratboydefenselawyer @biillyhargroves @billyhargroveficrec @billys-bitchh @eddiethehero85 @harringrovepeach @sunsetpixels

#billy hargrove #strangers things #supernatural #steve harrington #dean winchester #spence reid #harringrove #harringrove x reader #someone love me #nice to meet ya #i love yall #about me #this is so cute oml #books and reading

[automatismoateo]

Christian couple feels its appropriate to send a letter to us about being saved by the Bible. Need some help with my response. via /r/atheism

Christian couple feels it’s appropriate to send a letter to us about being saved by the Bible. Need some help with my response. Finally got one! Need some help with my reply. These people felt it necessary to stamp an envelope and send to our house, so I feel it’s only the Christian way to send one back. Personally I don’t agree with that lifestyle, I think you should keep it behind closed doors. What if we were Muslim and sent this to you? How would you feel? Fuck these people, seriously. Help me roast this loser, nicely. I’m an anti-theist atheist member of the Satanic Temple, for reference. Here’s the letter: Dear Neighbor, My wife and I live in your neighborhood. We wanted to get your opinion on this question, Do you think it's possible for us to enjoy life forever? Many would answer that question by saying it sounds unrealistic. But please consider what the Bible says at Psalm 37:29 which says, "The righteous will possess the earth, and they will live forever on it." So according to this verse, righteous people will live on earth for how long? Did you notice it says, Forever! So, the Bible promises that people can live on earth forever in happy peaceful conditions. Does that appeal to you? Do you think we can really believe the Bible's promise? Millions of people have found that the more you learn about the Bible the more you trust it. We engage in this activity because we are genuinely interested in our neighbors. Our work is not commercial. It is our hope that someday soon we will be able to talk to you personally to demonstrate a free home Bible course. Or you can go to our website JW.org and click on Try our Bible Course which is a free interactive course that will help you build your own faith in the promises God has made. Please feel free to get in touch with us at the above address. Also important to note these people do not live in my neighborhood. Edit: fantastic responses. Were all heathens and o appreciates that about you. I knew this was a great place to be! Hail Santa! Submitted April 13, 2024 at 05:09PM by picklebroom (From Reddit https://ift.tt/kpElndJ)

#reddit

[lex-munro]

[Suicide Squad Scrap] Princess pt. 16

self-indulgent batjokes-flavored SS/BvS/JL, installment 16.  this universe’s Ratcatcher is a sassy young Gotham native with the meta-human ability to speak to certain species of small mammal.

more references to past Constantine/King Shark (i can’t help that i find it hilarious).

the piece as a whole is rated Mature for pervasive language, varying degrees of violence, use of controlled substances, sexual references, questionable ethics, and themes of mental illness.  set from Flag’s POV, with references to Birds of Prey, but not compliant with The Suicide Squad.

***

“We got the north patrol,” says Ratcatcher.

“Didn’t see west patrol,” says Lawton, “but we got two of the sniper nests.”

Digger scampers into the alcove.  “Got the western patrol,” he reports.

They wait.

Nothing happens; nobody else joins them.

“Wha—where the hell’s Jones?”

“I, er…lost ‘im.”

“How do you ‘lose’ a six-foot-four lizardman with fangs?” Flag demands.

“Look, I ducked into an alley to have a quick piss, all right?”

“Fuckin’ idiot,” huffs Lawton.

“It’s all those damn energy drinks,” Flag grumbles.

“Oy!  At least it’s not lager anymore, yeah?  Intervention well received!”

“Heard you cried when King Shark read his letter to you,” Lawton says.

“Man’s got a poet’s soul.  ‘Me sad when you fall down like idiot instead of stabbing people’ hits deep when you’re hungover.  Said the only thing that ever made him sadder was when his boyfriend went to hell for like a month without a word; broke up with him over it, in fact.”

Flag tries to hail Croc on comms, but all he gets is static.

Lawton heaves a sigh.  “It’s gonna bug the shit outta me, tryna figure how they took a guy like Croc quietly.”

“Must be blowdarts, yeah?” Digger says, like that somehow makes sense.  “Saw this old guy once—four-foot-nothin’, made of pitch-black wrinkles, white hair, and spite—he could take down a kangaroo from fifty yards, completely silent.”

Flag shakes his head.  “Well, that pretty heavily implies an active enemy presence beyond guard posts, and one that might take prisoners if you look interesting enough.”

“Fuuuuck, I look so Muggle,” whines Ratcatcher.  “They’ll kill the fuck outta me.”

“What’s Muggle?” Joker asks.

“What’s—even my old ass knows what a fuckin’ Muggle is,” says Lawton.  “You ain’t seen or heard shit about Harry Potter in the last twenty years?”

“I don’t really follow celebrities outside the Gotham crowd.”

“Celebr—”

“That doesn’t matter!” Flag snaps.  “We got places to be.  And a Muggle is just a normal person.  Muggle, Normie, Vanilla.  This don’t change shit—we still stay low and quiet and assume they’re gonna try and kill us if we get spotted.”

“I mean, it changes a little,” says Ratcatcher.  “Now we gotta keep an eye out for the luggage while we’re poking around.”

“Heh, luggage,” chuckles Digger.

Joker leans around the edge of their hiding place.  “Mm.  Hm.  Hmhmhmmmmm.  Boomie, that door marked ‘maintenance’ should head down.  You verify the door to the compound.  Gun-Bunny, go get those last two snipers out of our business.  Snack-Pack, send some crunchies to verify the main servers.”

“I look like a fuckin’ Jell-O cup to you?” Ratcatcher gripes.  (“Tapioca,” Digger sasses, which earns him a boot to the shin.)  Nevertheless, as Digger wrestles with a heavy-duty cellar door, she sends two rats into a nearby vent.  (“No, I dunno what fuckin’ floor—just follow the wires.”)

Flag checks the intel tablet again.  Lawton should be able to get a line on the final sniper nest before Digger ever makes it to the compound’s entrance.  The hitman’s gone by the time Flag glances up.

Meanwhile, Ratcatcher is back in their little alcove (tying her shoe and complaining about being thirsty), and Joker is staring at the maintenance hatch while counting.

Ninety seconds later, Digger checks in on comms.

~Got a fuck-off big door here.~

“Two feet early,” says Joker, mostly to himself.  “Twins?”

~Locked up tight,~ says Digger.  ~Deffo the right way.  Bright side:  at least Satan’s got good intel.~

“Does it look computerized?” Flag asks him.

~Absolutely.  But no sign of an access panel on this end.~

Flag turns to Joker.  “If we get you to an access panel, can you hack it?”

“I look like a hacker?” Joker asks, confused.

“You hacked Harley’s nano-charge.”

Joker shrugs.  “Human factor.”

“What?”

“Found somebody who knew how and threatened ‘em until they did it for me.  It’s called ‘delegating,’ Flag.”

Ratcatcher sighs.  “Well, thanks to the jackhammer, I got a shot at it.  But drone recon said the access panel for the door is on the roof, totally separate from the server farm and all the central processing.”

~Take your time,~ Digger says.  ~Shut door ain’t goin’ nowhere, and I brought a Red Bull.~

“Blech.”

~Nah, it’s the peach kind, Arcee.~

“Huh.  Only one doesn’t taste like ass.”

“That’s not what ass tastes like,” Joker says authoritatively.

They all pause to either look at him askance or bleach their brains.

“So, the roof,” Flag says.  “The roof of this building.  In plain view of the lookout post halfway up that building,” he adds, pointing to the lone administrative office tower on the next block.  “Where there’s people with guns who shoot on sight.  While we’re trying to do a stealth job.”

“Gonna need a diversion, for sure,” Ratcatcher says.

Joker shrugs.  “Only four of ‘em up top, plus the four on the door of this place and whatever’s giving Gun Bunny trouble.”

~I heard that.  All snipers taken care of.  Two roofs away, on my way down so I can follow Arcee back up and give cover.~

Joker nods and shoves his coat at Flag.  “I’ll distract the lookouts.  Flag, you escort the little lady into the building.  Give a yell when you need me to make my move.”  And he just strolls his way across the street.

Irritated, Flag drapes the trench coat over a nearby hydrant to free up both hands.  “Furry friends first, then me.  Stay back until it’s clear.”

.End.

#fanfic #scraps #Suicide Squad #canon divergence #universe alteration #fic series: princess

[adaisychain4azathoth]

daisylog vi: the sword, the beast, and the absentee tenant

DON’T YOU KNOW LITTLE FOOL? YOU NEVER CAN WIN USE YOUR MENTALITY, WAKE UP TO REALITY in this episode, Soror Angelteeth succumbs to the venom-laced sword wielded by the adversary, grows their wings, tames (and befriends!) the beast, AND DEMOLISHES THE VERY HOUSE OF GOD because they moved out somewhere far away and i haven’t talked to them in a while and idk where they went so i just assume that they’re over me

UPG aside, hey! how are you? i’ve been riding the wave of whim in the past couple days. got out of a funk, lit a candle in my brain and have felt more inspired to write, no thanks to Pondering my religious trauma. the less is known about it the better (for obvious reasons) but to frame it with floral and darkened prose: A figure in my early life who had the potential to be prominent for years to come planted within me a seed of darkness that would haunt not just me but my family, specifically my mother, and I had been taught as i grew to detest such things that I had previously been imbued with for a temporary, terrifying lapse of time. I had to briefly introspect at moments concerning this, throughout the 3 years of my psycho-spiritual operation. I confronted my own demons, literally, and had to HOTWIRE the FUCK out of my psyche. long story short, I’ve looked back on these events, where I was then, and compared it to now. in my agonizing stupor, I realized I wasn’t as religious as I thought, and when I was confronted with a Christian egregore, it shook me. that motherfucker had FANGS. it WANTED me. it HUNGERED for me, and not in the way of my own creations: it sought to punish me for whatever reason. regardless of what that interaction truly was for me, it shifted a lot of things in my brain. that God is now absent. hidden and rejected. and his house, now abandoned, lies in ruins before me. VOIDMAW has lifted its head up to my call and crawled on all fours to my inner temple. it accepts what it must do. it accepts to offer what i require from it. the Minotaur, whose mirror image was once my Accuser, is now the Priestly Beast of XAOS. Its role as my Mouthpiece has been finally realized.

maybe the Labyrinth wasn’t so bad after all.

in other news, I borrowed my mother’s NIV bible for literary purposes. for inspiration, to glean things i haven’t before, and actually get a feel of the things i’ve been taught by blood to adhere to and been taught by myself to fear. while silly this action is a big step for me in that i have moved on from my pain. i have moved on from... all of it, really - the things that plagued me so. hail satan btw :3

#dtti:htnf #chaos magick #hail satan

[simeons-sinful-saint]

EAS

(OM) Brothers x GN!Reader

Synopsis: A storm is a brewing, and the brothers are unprepared for it.

WC: 1.2K

Note: So this is very America centric, bc we have the tornados. Trust me, I’ve lived through many of them lol I saw the trend on TikTok of people rating EAS through the world and I had this crack head idea. So I hope you enjoy lmao

“Ugh, why can’t we go out MC?” Mammon whined throwing himself onto the couch.

“Dude, it’s pouring out there. Just because you’d be ok in it doesn’t mean I would be.”

The cracks of thunder and lightning were far off in the distance, and you all were stuck at your parents’ house. Luckily, they were away at a friend’s house. You doubt that they’d be back anytime soon.

“Isn’t there anything else to watch on the TV? The Ruri-Chan marathon isn’t on anymore.” Levi was flipping through channels unable to pick anything.

You tried looking at the TV guide he was running through, “What about Jurassic Park? That’s a good movie.”

“Oh! Is that the one with the dinosaurs?” Mammon suddenly got up and tried to take the remote from Levi.

“Get off me you idiot!”

“Can you guys shut up? I’m trying to read here.” Satan sounded very annoyed, and you don’t blame him. Honestly, the brothers’ antics get on your nerves each time.

Lucifer was in the other room, so he couldn’t help you break them up. Honestly, there was a lot happening. You had those two fighting, and you have Beel cleaning out the fridge. It meant you had to replace all of that food before your parents got home.

You can already feel the headache develop.

Suddenly, the TV froze.

“What the fuck MC? Why is it broken—“

“Just shut up Mammon!”

Your worst fear came true. The loud alarm started ringing through the living room causing all of the boys to jump.

You could only sigh.

“MY NAILS!” Asmo shrieked as nail polish now pooled out onto the coffee table. You could still hear Belphie’s soft snores from behind you. Of course, he wouldn’t wake up during this.

Beel and Lucifer ran into the room.

“MC, what is happening?” Lucifer tried to sound calm, but obviously the warning was pretty terrifying.

The screen turned black, and white letters across the screen read: Emergency Alert System.

The alarm was followed by ringing making the brothers, besides Belphie, cover their ears.

Then of course it began…

The National Weather Service in (City) has issued a Tornado Warning for…

“What the hell is a tornado?!” Mammon yelled.

“It’s a rotating column of air that causes a lot of damage when touched down on the ground.” Satan wasn’t helping.

“Guys just calm down. It’s just a tornado. They’re very common here.” You tried to give them reassurance but that only fed fuel to the fire, “umm…besides, we don’t know if it’s an actual tornado heading towards us.”

At 9:31, National Weather Service Doppler Radar indicated hook signatures most common in tornado sightings. A funnel cloud had been spotted touching the ground by emergency experts.

Damn it.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?!” Levi was holding on to Mammon, well at least they stopped fighting.

You groaned, “Guys, no one is going to die. We just have to take shelter.”

This storm has a history of producing ping pong sized hail. Locations affected were…

“Oooh hail sounds scary…” Asmo was grabbing on to you. You could feel him shaking, “MC, what’s hail?”

“They’re pellets of frozen rain that you don’t have to worry about. It’s just going to ruin my car…”

Take cover now. Move to an interior room of the lowest floor in a sturdy building. Avoid windows.

The alarm beeped a few more times before stopping, warning still on the screen. It was going to repeat itself any minute.

“We have to go to the basement,” you said, “It’s safest in there.”

“But MC it said an interior room—“ Satan couldn’t finish his sentence.

“That’s for houses that don’t have basements!”

You grab the radio used for emergencies like this, “Come on. Into the basement!”

“MC WE’RE GOING TO DIE!” Mammon was crying at this point.

“We’re not going to die, Mammon. Follow MC’s instructions.” At least Lucifer was helping you. Beel went back to the kitchen.

“No Beel! There’s a fridge down there with ice cream you can eat!”

He turned around and finally went downstairs. You started counting heads and realized one was missing.

“BELPHIE!” You bolt back upstairs to see he finally woke up.

“what’s going on…” he yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The tornado sirens from outside started blaring. You could hear the panic from downstairs with Lucifer yelling at them to keep quiet.

“No time! Basement!” You almost pushed Belphie down the stairs, running down yourself. Everyone was just standing around not knowing what to do.

“So now what?” Satan asked. You turned on the radio and set it down on the washing machine.

“We wait.”

—

“I’m bored!” Mammon yelled.

“Tough shit! We don’t have the all clear yet, so we can’t go upstairs.”

“What do we do if your house gets blown away?! All of my luggage?!

“That’s not going to happen Asmo! Everyone, just remain calm. We don’t even know how powerful the tornado is. It probably is nothing. Small ones happen all the time here.”

“What if it isn’t small?!” Levi was still freaked out, basically now huddled into a corner.

You sigh, “That’s for me to worry about, not you guys…”

“Listen to MC. Obviously they know what to do. So, stay quiet.” You mouth the words ‘thank you’ to Lucifer. Honestly, he, Satan, Beel, and Belphie were the only ones that weren’t driving your anxiety through the roof.

“How do we know it’s near us?” Satan asked.

You thought about it, “Well, it kind of sounds like a train, but it’s mainly just the thunder you here. Really no one really knows since ya know…no one wants to be in one. They just say they roar.”

Lucifer hummed, “They said people saw one. Was it by accident?”

“No, there are people called storm chasers whose entire job is to follow activity in a thunderstorm like this.”

“WAIT, PEOPLE CHASE THESE?!” Levi and Mammon screamed.

You nod your head, “It’s dangerous work, so they get paid a lot.”

Something then changed in Mammon’s eyes, “Well when you put it like that—“

“No!” You and Lucifer yelled.

“This ice cream is really good, MC.” Beel already finished your parents ice cream and now moved onto yours.

You pouted, but it was for the greater good. You didn’t want Beel to wander back into the kitchen nor did you want everyone annoyed by his stomach, “I’m glad.”

Belphie was happily asleep next to him. At least he wasn’t panicking.

“Ok, can you guys please be quiet? I need to hear the weatherman.”

Finally, everyone calmed down and paid attention to the radio, “If you are in the (City) area, you have the all clear. But make sure to stay tuned in.”

“Well, ya heard him,” you started heading upstairs.

“MC DON’T!!”

You turned around to stare at Mammon, Levi, and Asmo, “Guys…it’s fine.”

Opening the basement door, everything was fine. None of the windows were broken, and there wasn’t much hail outside. Your car had been spared.

“I guess it really is okay…” Mammon said as the others came up. The TV was back on to the regular program. Levi was about to grab the remote until you swiped it from him.

“Nope! We’re watching the local news!”

Mammon and Levi groaned. But for now, there was a calm after the storm.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #lucifer #mammon #levi #leviathan #satan #asmo #asmodeus #beel #beelzebub #belphie #belphegor #obey me Lucifer x reader #obey me Lucifer x mc #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #obey me Levi x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me Levi x mc

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette: Stone Cold

Ok so i love this prompt but it took forever to get to. And as soon as I did its like suddenly I was swamped with everything. So frustrating. But I finally finished it. And I love it. @vixen-uchiha​

              Marinette was six-years-old when her parents died in a car crash. She had been at school when the vice principle, Mrs. Valmontes, stopped by and pulled her out of class. The little black haired girl had known something was wrong instantly as Valmontes had smiled just a little hard at her and much more gently than what she was known for.

           Still, she had been really surprised to see Office Raincomprix, her classmate Sabrina’s dad, waiting for her in the principle. Marinette always thought he was really nice; always jolly and quick to lend a hand to the teacher at the end of the day if he got to class early to pick up Sabrina. However, he too, seemed rather despondent when Marinette entered the room. His partner, a rookie named Lorna, looked really sad too.

           They took her down to the station where she was led to one of the back offices. Sabrina’s dad waited with her there. And then woman name Susanna LeFlont, who Marinette would later learn was a grief counselor. Then they told her.

           Susanna held her as she cried and begged and called them liars, until she couldn’t cry anymore. And then they gave her a stuffed animal, and said they would try calling her relatives to pick her up.

           They came back an hour later, saying they got ahold of her parents’ emergency contact…

           Marinette’s Uncle Jareth Dupain.

           She had frowned when they said his name because to her he had never been Jareth Dupain. No, he was always her cool Uncle Jagged. So it took her a second to remember that his real name was Jareth Dupain-Stone, her father’s younger half-brother. Marinette even briefly remember her dad mentioning having to change their emergency contact after his mom, Gina, passed away a few ago.

           He was only 20 when Marinette born and he was always a budding Rockstar so he wasn’t around too much. And 6 years later he was the biggest rockstar in the world. Still, that didn’t stop him from rushing to the police station, Penny hot on his trail, and pulled his sweet niece into the biggest hug he could.

           Jagged took his niece to the hotel room to get her settled and had Penny go back to the bakery to get some of her things. He didn’t think it was a smart idea to take her there yet; not when the wounds were still so fresh.

           Still as the twenty-six year old Rockstar stared at the small form cuddled up to Fang, he realized for the first time that he was all Marinette had in the world; the only family she had left. The only family he had left.

           So he knew, despite the lawyers taking days to contact him regarding who Marinette’s guardian would be, that it was him. Jagged was the person Tom had entrusted to protect and watch the most precious thing he had the entire world; his daughter. And he wouldn’t let his brother down.

Tom had always been the best big brother anyone could have. And when Jagged’s own father, Tom’s Stepfather (as tom’s own father had suffered a heartache when Tom was a teen), had walked out, Tom had stepped up. He showed Jagged, who was still called Jareth at the time, how to be a man. He believed in Jagged’s rockstar dream when Jagged didn’t even believe in them himself.

Jagged would do right Tom, by Sabine; he would do what they would do if the situation was reversed and they were given Jagged’s kid to care for.

He would raise Marinette as he own. And though he knew would never come close to being the father that Tom Dupain had been…

Jagged would damn well try to be.

…

…

Jagged Stone, Shattered Roses, Nightmare’s Hail Mary, Unmasked Dragon, True Born Rejects, and Emancipated Mirrors were some of the biggest rock band in the world. Whenever, they went on tour together, they were the epitome of what people thought Rock Stars were. They were loud. They partied all night. Groupies hung around everywhere. To them, it was paradise. When all the bands were invited to go on the Kings of Neverland tour, with Jagged Stone headlining, they expected very much the same as they were used to. Jagged always had the most Rockin tour bus. His parties were legendary. They came to expect it.

However, when Neon Savage (front man of the Shattered Roses), Austin Knight (Leader of Unmasked dragon and lead Guitarist), and Niklaus Bane (Lead vocalist of True Born Rejects) showed up with beers and all other sorts of alcohol the day before their opening concert for the tour, they came across something very unexpected.

Or rather someone.

A little Asian girl with pigtails in her Blue hair, a tiara on her head, in a rainbow tutu paired with a black too large Guns N Roses shirt, her hand on her hips, no shoes, and a rather large crocodile next to her.

“What’s with the ballerina?” Austin asked. He had dyed silver hair done in a stereotypical emo style, grey eyes, and too many piercings. He was slim and tall.

           Niklaus sighed in relief, “Oh good, you see her too!” He had curly blond hair, dark brown eyes, and wore mostly black. He had ripped jeans and a red tie. The tie was as red as the whites of his looked. “Why is your hair blue?”

“Because Uncle said I could,” She answered and pointed a figure at them, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Savage scoffed, “You got that twisted, kid.” He was a bulk guy, with long dark hair, and a severe expression on his face. His arms were covered in tattoos. He played in a metal band, and it was obvious. “Where’s your mommy?”

“Dead,” The little girl said bluntly. “I live with my Uncle Jagged now. This his tour bus, and you’re not supposed to be here.” She glared at them. “Fang, Stranger Danger!”

           What happened next was a bit of a blur. One minute they were fine, the next they were being chased around Jagged’s tour bus by a rather vicious crocodile while pint-sized twerp laughed.

           Lucky for them, their yells for help were overheard by Penny and Jagged who had been working in back, “What’s going on?” Penny asked as she ran in.

“Mates, what the h. e. double hockey sticks is going on?” Jagged asked right on his assistant’s tail.

           Austin, who had jumped on top one of the shelves, gave Jagged a confused look, “Better question; what the hell did you just say?”

“Ooohhhh! There’s five bucks for the swear jar!” The little girl taunted.

           Jagged glared at rockstar, “Watch it! A Kid’s in the room!”

           Savage glared at his longtime friend, “Who the fuck do you think set Fang on us?!” He cast a dark look at the crocodile. “Stranger danger my ass! I’ve known you sent you hatched, you overgrown cheap pair of boots.”

“That’s ten buck for the swear jar!” The girl said.

“Ten bucks?” Austin frowned. “Kinda of steep for just two swear words.”

“I swear to God-” Savage growled but was cut off.

“Chill, mate,” Jagged said. “This is my niece Marinette.” He gave her a loving smile. She beamed up at him brightly. He had been taking care of her for a year now. “I told ya about her.”

“You didn’t say she was Satan!” Austin whined. Fang had bitten him, the slowest of the three, quite a lot, and he had a giant hole in his jacket.

“I’m not Satan,” Marinette huffed. “I’m a ballerina, princess, Rockstar on my way to a tea party with Duchess Rosy Sparkles, of the Unicorn Fairies. And guess what, you’re not invited!”

“Oh that’s just mean,” Niklaus complained.

“She sicked a mini dinosaur on us,” Savaged hissed.

“Yeah, well, now she hurt my feelings.”

           Jagged sighed. The guys were some of his closest friends, and by the look up the “entertainment” they brought, they were ready to raze it up like always. But things had changed. Jagged couldn’t be that guy anymore. “Marinette’s staying with me from now on,” He reminded them. “No parties on the tour. She has a bedtime. And doesn’t need to see “us” at our finest, no matter how Rockin we are.” Jagged shrugged. “Spread the world, my bus is off limits.”

The rock stars grumbled a bit but didn’t leave. They could hang with Jagged without presence of booze, weed, loud music, and groupies. It would be a little weird but they’d managed. Jagged was their friend; they’d known him before any of them became famous and stayed close well after. They hadn’t been there for him as much as they wanted to after Tom died; too many commitments, too many required appearances in different countries that had taken them away. But they were there now. And if being there for one of their best friends meant regularly chilling with a six-year-old, then they’d deal.

Savage grunted, “Austin, get rid of the booze.”

“By ‘get rid of’, I assume you meant put back in my tour bus,” The silver haired guitarist corrected.

           Niklaus raised his hand like he was a student in class, “I get the whole no alcohol thing; that stuff will kill ya. But what your feelings on pot?”

           Jagged just sighed. It was going to be a long summer.

           The three musician, and even the other Rockers on tour, slowly but surely got used to the seemingly near constant presence of a six-year-old around Jagged or running around backstage. And the swear jar was a serious thing. It didn’t count when they were singing on stage but off it and anywhere near Marinette and they found themselves forking over five dollars for ever swear word. It added up a lot. And quickly.

           Jagged’s tour bus, instead of being the Party palace it used to be, now was the chill zone. It was also the cleanest of all the tour buses. No empty beer bottles everywhere. No one random passed out anywhere. No having to watch out for throw up. No rabid fans, as Jagged had increased his security to Tony Stark worthy levels.

           All they had to do was mind their manners and remember that Marinette was very impressionable at her age.

“OH screw you!!!!!!” Savage roared as he jumped up and frantically mashed buttons on his controller. “I’m not losing!”

           They had been babysitting Marinette all day while Jagged did an interview Buzzfeed.

           Austin snickered, “Says you.” His character raced past Savage’s. Only for something to hit him and send poor little Yoshi spinning out of control. “Did you- did you just blue shell me, bitch?” He hissed at Niklaus.

“Nooo!” Niklaus said sarcastically. “Hey!!! Not nice, brat!” He told Marinette after a banana caused him to slip off the ice.

           Marinette smiled easily, but there was a determined look in her eyes. Her hair was jelled into a faux-hawk courtesy of Ashley Crimson, from lead singer for Emancipated Mirrors, an all-girl punk rock band.

“Die, scumbag!” Ashley roared as her racer zoomed by. She was a vivacious redhead. Her and her bandmates got used to being some of the only girls around that weren’t either working for one of the rock stars or were scantily clad fangirls who do “anything” to get backstage.

“You’re going down, twerp!” Savage told Marinette.

“Bite me!” She snapped back just as Jagged and Penny walked into the tour bus.

           Jagged crossed his arms, “What did you morons do to my sweet little niece?”

“Nothing!” Niklaus, Ashley, Savage, and Austin chimed together.

“Savage taught me to throw a punch, and or kill a man.” Marinette smiled happily. “I helped Austin set up a glitter bomb in Nightmare’s Hail Mary tour bus. Niklaus and I are banned from Chuckie Cheese. Ashley and I spray painted her ex boyfriend’s car. Cleo and I got arrested. We disturbed the peace!!” Cleo was a pink haired girl who played drummer from Nightmare’s Hail Mary. She had to rush off for her own interview. “Oh and we’ve only been Playing Mario kart for an hour but they each owe like a hundred bucks to the swear jar.”

           There was silence as the words were processed.

“And not one of us taught her how to keep a freaking secret?” Ashley face palmed.

           Jagged just sighed.

…

…

           For the next few years that was Marinette’s life. Austin, Niklaus, Savage and Ashley became pseudo Uncles and Aunt to Marinette.

She spent most of her childhood on tour with her Uncle; going from to place, concert after concert. Marinette was homeschooled and didn’t mind it. Jagged went on tour with a bunch of different people over the years and she got to meet all sorts musicians; Clara Nightingale, Ed Sheeran, Adam Levine, Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco, Taylor Swift. Her favorite were the award shows though. Through them, she got to meet all her favorite actors. And was inspired to start designing on her own clothes after seeing so many fabulous looks. She got to model and do some acting. In her free time, she ran a very popular fashion blog/youtube channel.

The press had always loved her. To them, she was Marinette Stone (Jagged didn’t want her real name released to the media). She was always on the best dressed list, frequently seen with various celebrities, and could be found on the cover of various magazine.

However, when Marinette was eleven, she begged her Uncle to let her go to school with other kids. She was getting older and she wanted to have some type of normal childhood. It took him a year to agree. Her uncle Jagged had become quite protective over the years.

So Marinette went back to Paris. She cut her hair, used her given name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her Uncle bought a grand penthouse not too far away from her new school, and whenever he was gone her bodyguard, a sweet woman named Harlow who was former CIA, was in charge of her. She started at her new school with a smile on her face.

Not long after, she became the hero Ladybug.

Everything was great. She had friends, a normal social life, went to school with other kids her age. She wasn’t constantly being followed around by paparazzi. She still ran her fashion blog and had frequently updates. It was perfect.

It took two years for it to go bust.

The reason’s name was Lila Rossi.

And she was the biggest liar Marinette had ever met. And Marinette had grown up in the entertainment industry.

Lila made wild claims that the other kids just ate up. A simple google search could refute all of them. The ones Marinette could stand was always about Jagged. Like her Uncle, or an airline, would be reckless enough to let a kid race on to an airport to save a cat; not that Jagged had ever own one. Fang was territorial.

Lila made her out to be a bully, and slowly Marinette lost all her friends. Her only one left was Adrien, her partner Chat Noir. The blond and Marinette had modeled together a few times and he had recognized Marinette despite her new looked but he kept it a secret. Because of their history, Marinette developed a crush on the other and Adrien was quick to lose his crush on Ladybug once he found out it was his dear friend behind the mask.

When Marinette was exiled to the back, Adrien was quick to join her (much to Lila’s fury) and nothing could change his mind. Mostly because he was sick of Lila always touching him despite his vocal protests, and Bustier not doing anything about it.

Soon Marinette things started being messed up or destroyed; her homework, her sketchbooks and pencils, her jacket. She was tripped and called rude names. Her cellphone, (Well one of her phones. She had two; one she used as Marinette Stone. One for Marinette Dupain-Cheng; a number only her classmates had.) was filled with mean texts.

Bustier caved to demands and had her excluded from class trips and events due to being a negative influence; again Adrien decided not to go either, and Lila was Akumatized once he said this. Marinette hadn’t been surprised. Bustier always ignored the bullying and harassment clearly happening in front of her. Still, Marinette decided to start recording her classes a hidden camera on her desk, on the corner of the celling and even on top of the whiteboard behind Bustier. It was just in case anything took a serious turn.

Still losing all her friends because of a few promises and dreams of glitz and glamour had been a wakeup call. Her Uncle had warned her. Her Aunt Penny, who Jagged had married with Marinette was ten, had warned her. So did Savage, Ashley, Cleo, Austin, Clara, and Niklaus. They told Marinette to watch out for fake friends and gold diggers, coattail clingers and desperate wannabes; people who would sell out every secret she had to the paparazzi behind her back just for five minutes in the spot light. So called friends who would do anything to get ahead, to get famous.

And it was clear that’s who most of her ex-friends were. Even Lila learned the hard way. When she told Alya about her mom meeting with some important celebrity about their Go Green initiative, this wasn’t a lie as it would turn out. However, the glasses-wearing girl posted it online, despite Lila legitimately asking her to keep it a secret. Lila got in big trouble with her mom apparently.

The teacher, Bustier, was awful but she always had been. Marinette ignored it in the past because at least she had her friends. But if that witch told Marinette to be a better example one more time, it was over.

           Everything came to a head after Marinette got expelled, granted she was brought back after evidence that it was impossible for her to have cheated surfaced, and the bluenette decided enough was enough. She finally gave in and told her Uncle everything.

           Jagged was pissed. He cursed up a storm; enough to fill the swear jar ten times over and buy Marinette a car.

           It took a while to get him to calm down. And to convince him that Marinette could handle it. She had a plan.

           Still, she remembered that Uncle was a wild card.

           Friday, during lunch, Marinette was eating in the cafeteria, when suddenly the lunchroom doors burst open, “Marinette,” Jagged called as he entered, trailed by a happy Penny and bodyguards “Where’s my favorite little fashion designer?”

           Marinette just sighed.

Adrien smirked at her; looking way too amused. The jerk must’ve known. She had thought it was strange that he wanted to eat in the cafeteria. The two rarely ate on the school grounds, opting and preferring to go to local restaurants rather than deal with terrible food and pesky classmates. Still Marinette didn’t mind as long as they away from her classmates. And they did.

Kagami, Aurore, and Claude gave her perplexed looks.

           The students in the cafeteria went wild. Girls and guys screamed, and tried to get pictures. Jagged ignored them and went straight to Marinette’s table, walking passed where Bustier’s student at lunch. Alya shook Lila’s shoulder and pointed at Jagged, and loudly asked if Lila could get her an interview. Lila looked horrified.

Jagged beamed when he reached Marinette, “There you are, you’ve been ignoring my texts,” He accused. Which to be fair, Marinette had been. Her Uncle had been coming up with way too many revenge plots to be healthy. “I decided I need a new look for the VMAs; something rockin, something tasteful, something to show remind the world the amazingness that the Rock Gods have blessed them with.”

“I’m at school,” Marinette told him.

           He smirked, “Then Learn to answer a text,” The Rock star shrugged. “But fine; we can talk later. How about at my concert, yeah. You and your friends” he motioned to the kids at Marinette’s table, “Can have backstage passes. We’ll talk then. But I really want you to wow me. Maybe get a matching hat for Fang too.”

“Fang?” Adrien asked innocently. Still Marinette could practically hear see the script he was reading off of.  “Is that your cat?”

           Jagged gasped as if insulted, “Cat? Do you think I’d ever own anything as ordinary as a cat? Me? Jagged Stone?! I should be insulted, mate. I hate cats, always have. Never owned one, never will. Fang’s a crocodile. Marinette’s knows. Fang loves her.”

“That is strange,” Kagami shot Marinette a smirk which caused Marinette to nearly hiss at the betrayal. Kagami knew too?! “Lila said you did.”

“Lila?” Jagged asked. “Who’s Lila? I don’t know a Lila.”

“Lila Rossi?” Aurore offered. “The Ladyblog practically swears in an interview that Lila Rossi saved your cat from being hit by a plane or something.”

           Jagged scoffed, “What a loud of bull! Any journalist that believes that is not worth the pen they write with.” Gasps were heard. “But I heard that rumor. Didn’t know where it was from. Thanks for letting me know who I should sue. This Ladyblog and Lila Rossi will be hearing from my lawyers.”

           It was a photo finish as to who fainted first; Alya or Lila.

           Lila went home right after that. This caused the reactions of the class to be split. Half the class still defended Lila; refusing to believe their golden ticket was lying. The other half was ready to burn her at the stake; they had carried her books, done her homework, wrote her notes, nearly everything for her.

           Marinette just sat back and watched with amused eyes. If they thought this was bad, they hadn’t seen anything yet.

           That weekend Marinette Stone released a video on her blog about bullying. She had been mentioning her own trouble with bullying for months and people had asked her for more information.

           The title of the video was:

           Bullying Stone: The Expose

           In it Marinette revealed that at her school she went by Marinette Dupain-Cheng, her real name, and had a new look. She told about how much she liked school at first. And they what changed; that it all started when a new girl arrived and started telling lies about celebrities about Marinette. She told the story of how she was expelled; and just how many procedures were broken when it happened.

           Marinette used the recordings she had of class, and even showed up the horrible texts she got.

“As you can see the teacher does nothing,” Marinette frowned. “It’s all happening right in front of her and she does nothing. In the next video, you’ll see someone being sexually harassed, in front of the teacher and she doing nothing about it. And then what victim blaming looks like. Again, as a reminder, all these videos and pictures are unedited.” She had offered to blur Adrien’s face but he declined, and even appeared in the video too and talked about his own experience.

           At the end of the video, Marinette looked straight at the camera, “Anyone can be bullied; famous or otherwise. If you’re being bullied; speak up. Tell your parents, your Aunts, your Uncles, your siblings, your cousins, teachers who you know will actually do something about it. I waited too long to tell someone. I regret that. They thought what they were doing was hurting me.  They thought I’d be miserable without them. They thought I’d cry and break and come crawling back to them. They thought wrong. You can bully Stone but it takes a hell of a lot more than that to break it.”

           The video went viral in an hour. And people were angry. The people who knew Marinette and loved her were beyond furious. Jagged, even more so, as he hadn’t seen the videos before, read the texts.

           Marinette Stone’s phone blew up with texts and calls. She was tweeted and retweeted thousands of times. And she got far too many, ‘You want me to kick their asses for you. I can kick their asses for you,” texts. But she had known she’d get them.

           The Ladyblog was ripped for lies by celebrities who been lied about on site and fans.

           Gabriel Agreste, Adrien told her, was pissed about what had been happening to Adrien, in front of a teacher no less. Lila Rossi fired. And if Lila ever had dreams about working in the fashion industry, they were over.

           Savage, after berating her for not kicking Lila’s ass, told her he and the gang (Austin, Cleo, Ashley, and And Niklaus) was coming over for some Mario Kart and artery clogging fast food.

           When the call disconnect, Marinette got a text from him.

Why did you sic Fang on them?

And that’s a five for the swear jar!

           Marinette couldn’t stop laughing.    

#ml salt #ml fic #ml salt fic #marinette dupain cheng #Marinette deserves better #adrien deserves better #adrien agreste #alya salt #class salt

[haileyyanneupton]

❄ small - one chicago au ❄

Hailey Upton and Adam Ruzek have been friends for as long as they can remember. When Hailey changes schools to be with Adam in her junior year, she’s introduced to a new group of people who feel strangely like home.

pairings: jay halstead x hailey upton adam ruzek x kim burgess kevin atwater x vanessa rojas kelly severide x stella kidd

warnings (chapter specific): swearing

masterlist | series masterlist

❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄

❄ four ❄

A little over a week had passed since Jay and Hailey had gone out for coffee and pancakes to work on their assignment, and each of them had decided that they would keep their poems a secret from each other until they had to present it to the class. Secretly, it was because Hailey hadn’t actually started the poem and had nothing to show him — meanwhile, Jay had already worked through at least half. It wasn’t a bad thing; she just hadn’t been able to find the right way to get it down on paper yet. Her plan was to keep collecting as much as she could about her literature partner; the group milkshake date seeming like a relatively good way to do so.

“Yo Upton, Rojas! Are you two coming, or are you just going to keep dragging your feet like slow pokes?” Stella called out to the two as they trailed a few steps behind her and Kim.

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Vanessa rolled her eyes as she tutted. “Calm your farm, Kidd.”

Hailey only chuckled as the Stella and Vanessa both fought for the passenger seat of Kim’s car, Hailey not minding the back as she climbed in and waited for someone to accompany her. Eventually it ended up being Stella who called heads on a coin that came up tails, leaving her to take the seat beside the blonde.

The girls had all gone in Kim’s car while the guys went in Adam’s, all driving to the same place not too far from their school. It was a Wednesday afternoon and the upperclassmen had been given the afternoon off, allowing the group to finally go out as Adam had suggested a few weeks previously. Hailey’s mouth was already watering at the prospect of a banana milkshake — it was the only banana flavoured thing in the entire world that she liked. She had been buzzing with happiness all day as she awaited twelve o’clock to come; the second it did, she had almost launched herself out of her seat in pre-calculus.

The drive to the milkshake parlour was short, but nonetheless fun. With Fifth Harmony blaring from the radio (courtesy of Kim), the words to Dope were being shouted by all four girls as they pulled up in the parking lot, finding a space right beside Adam’s car as they all jumped out and raced inside where the boys had saved them all a table.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Kelly teased, earning a roll of the eyes from both Stella and Vanessa. "Took you all long enough. Did the car break down or something?"

"We were enjoying our drive here and listening to music, thank you very much."

"And?"

"And. . . we got stuck behind a railway crossing."

"Knew it," Kelly smirked, a mischievous look in his eye as the girls all headed to the counter to place their orders.

As Kim and Stella debated which flavour they would get, Hailey couldn’t help but notice the way that Vanessa was awkwardly hanging back in an empty space smack bang between the front counter and the table that the boys were sitting at. Everybody else seemed blind to it — but Hailey was perceptive. She could see the way that Vanessa studied her feet as if they were the most interesting things in the world, the way she tried to retreat without anybody noticing. Although Hailey didn’t know why, she wasn’t about to let it go unaddressed.

“Hey.” Hailey’s voice was only loud enough for Vanessa to hear as to took a step towards her. “You not getting a milkshake, V?”

Vanessa frowned ever so slightly, her eyes sad despite the fact that she tried not to let it show. “Nah. I — uh — I don’t really feel like one.”

Hailey knew that wasn’t the reason. There was something else. As she thought back over the day briefly to try and work out what could have upset her friend, it suddenly hit Hailey with as much force as a freight train. She felt almost dumb for not realising it sooner, her heart aching for Vanessa as she glanced back over at the girl.

“You can’t —“

Vanessa silenced the girl with a small nod — one that begged her not to go on about the matter. Vanessa couldn’t afford it.

Before Hailey’s brothers had moved out and gotten jobs, her family had been in a similar situation. Obviously it wasn’t the same — Hailey had never been bounced around foster homes — but regardless, the Upton’s were living paycheck to paycheck. Hand me down clothes were all Hailey knew, whether it be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt from her brother or a Spiderman hoodie from Adam, she was always dressed up in somebody else’s leftovers. She didn’t mind too much about that part, but she could remember the first time that she went to school without lunch. She remembered the first time, the second time, even the third time — after that, it all just blurred together. It all just became the usual for Hailey who at the time, was still in third grade in elementary school. As she grew older, things got even just the slightest bit easier — Adam’s parents would always put an extra sandwich in their son’s lunchbox for Hailey, or they’d send both children with a ten dollar bill to pay for a hot lunch if they wanted. When her brother Nate moved out — he had always been there for his youngest and only sister — things changed for the better, financially. He was making good money as a mechanic. He could afford to pay for Hailey’s tuition at a fancy private school, he could send a hundred dollars or so to Anne to cover the groceries; he even started sending Hailey money so that she could buy herself what she could afford to be a teenager. Was it a lot? No. But did it make the difference? Absolutely.

Glancing down at her wallet, Hailey spied the two twenty dollar bills she had shoved in there that morning before leaving for school, the green paper sitting untouched until she took one into her hand, closing her fingers around it so that nobody else could see it. In one swift movement, her hand dropped down to her side and her fingers became interlaced with Vanessa’s as she sneakily and subtly transferred the money from her hand to the brunette’s, leaving the girl with wide eyes as she snapped her head around to face Hailey.

“I-I. . . You didn’t have to —“

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

The small smile on Vanessa’s face dropped for a second as she looked Hailey dead in the eye. “I’m not a charity case you know. I just. . .”

Her voice trailed off as Hailey squeezed her friends hand lightly.

“I know that, V. I know. And I’m not treating you like one. I’m lucky enough to have people look out for me and lighten the load when I need it — you deserve that too.”

“But I’m not going to be able to pay you back Hailey — you know that right? I don’t have a job and I can’t —“

“Vanessa, that’s not what this is. I don’t want you to pay me back. I just know what it’s like to feel like you’re missing out because of something so shallow as money, and now that I’m in a position where I can make your day a little better, I’d like to do so. God knows you’ve done plenty for me since I showed up.”

“I gave you an apple slice, dude!”

“It’s more than that,” Hailey chuckled lightly, her lips curling upwards as she saw Vanessa stare down at the twenty dollar bill with sparkling eyes. “Besides — you do not want to miss out on one of these milkshakes. They’re literally to die for. I would run through the fiery pits of hell, being tortured by satan himself to get one of these milkshakes.”

Vanessa shot the girl a lopsided smirk. “I dunno, Hails — walking up to the counter sounds like a lot less effort.”

Hailey only rolled her eyes with a grin as Kim and Stella finally stepped away, allowing the two other girls to order their drinks before returning back to the table where they would be bought out to them. Hailey took her usual seat between Vanessa and Jay (even when they weren’t in the art room, apparently their seating arrangement still stayed the same). As their milkshakes began coming out, Jay smirked in Hailey’s direction as she took her first sip of the banana flavoured beverage.

“What?” Hailey quizzed, arching a brow as she crossed her arms across her chest expectantly. “There a problem?”

“No. Just . . . observing.”

“You’re observing my milkshake drinking habits?”

“I’m observing your reaction to ordering the most basic drink on the menu.”

Hailey scoffed, openly laughing in the boy’s face as she turned to face him. “That’s rich coming from you, Halstead. You’re about as basic as they come.”

Jay only chuckled with a shake of his head as Kelly cleared his throat dramatically, calling for the attention to be bought upon him. Stella groaned from his left, her forehead resting against the table. Hailey let a small smile of amusement cross her lips; Stella wasn’t normally one to be embarrassed by Kelly’s antics. In fact, normally she joined in — but today, it was different.

“I have an announcement,” Kelly proclaimed, tapping the end of his fingernail upon his milkshake — Hailey thought he looked like a dork, but she also knew he gave absolutely no fucks. “You all must listen very, very closely!”

“Alright, alright, man. We’re listening. Out with it already!”

Kelly shot a lighthearted glare over at Adam who wore a grin in response.

“After much deliberation, there has been a mutual confession between the wonderful, amazing, beautiful, talented, badass —“ Kelly paused for a second to dodge Stella’s fist which was heading straight towards his groin. “— incredibly intimidating Stella Kidd and I. We — uh — we’re. . . “

“What this dumbass is trying to say is that we’re together.” Stella interrupted Kelly as she lifted her head up from the table ever so slightly, her chin resting upon her hands as everybody else broke out into a grin. “I told him we should tell you guys today, but I didn’t expect for him to make it into some kind of theatrical fucking performance.”

“You should have known better then that, Stell. It’s Kelly we’re talking about. King of Dramatics.”

“Yeah, I’m realising that now.”

Hailey was happy for the new couple, but she wasn’t as invested as she could see everybody else was. Apparently, Stella and Kelly had been making heart eyes at each other since freshman year, the rest of the group waiting for one of them to make a move on the other. Hailey knew there was something between them but figured that they were probably just close like she and Adam were — she couldn’t even begin to count how many times people had assumed that she and the boy she had grown up with were dating. Nonetheless, it became evident that Kelly and Stella were much more comfortable with their secret coming out; their hands fell into each other’s as they laughed alongside one another.

Sitting and watching, observing if you will, something suddenly became very apparent to the girl. It was one of those things that once she saw it, she couldn’t un-see it — the sight bought a small, fond smile to her lips as she stayed silent, simply watching. Well, she was — until Jay interrupted her thoughts.

“What are you staring at?” Jay asked, a small smirk on his face as Hailey leaned back slightly so that she could speak only just loud enough for the boy to hear.

“Do you see what I see?”

“Uhhh . . . ” Jay furrowed his brows slightly as Hailey let out a chuckle, shaking her head.

Without realising it, Hailey inched her way closer to Jay as she pressed her back against the cushioned booth they were in, her shoulder brushing against Jay’s as she grew even quieter. The freckled boy hadn’t seemed to notice either, despite the fact that they were practically sitting on top of each other at that point.

“Look at them all,” Hailey couldn’t help but let out a small snort as one hand rested against her thigh, the other holding her banana milkshake close to her chest. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

“I still have no clue what we’re talking about here, Hailey. Give me something to go off of.”

“Right, right,” Hailey grinned up at Jay sheepishly. “So there’s Kelly and there’s Stella. Totally head over heels for each other, yeah?”

Jay nodded soundlessly, a puzzled expression still plastered upon his features.

“Then there’s Vanessa and Kevin. Now I don’t think they realise it just yet, but they’re totally going to be a thing.”

The boy’s eyes widened in realisation. “Holy shit.”

“Wait, just — just wait . . . ” Hailey held up a finger. “Now — look at Adam and Kim.”

If it were at all possible, Jay’s eyes grew even more as he too became fixated on the scene in front of them, the evidence now slapping him in the face. His mouth hung open wide as the corners of his lips turned upwards into a smile.

“I smell a bet coming on.”

Hailey grinned widely once again, a mischievous look on her face as her and Jay’s eyes locked. “You’re on, Halstead.”

“Twenty bucks says Burgess and Ruzek will get together by the end of the year.”

“Please,” Hailey scoffed lightly, folding her arms over one another before taking a sip of her milkshake. “Thirty says they’ll be together by the end of the month.”

“Ah, so you’re a risktaker.” Jay’s trademark smirk met Hailey’s gaze. “I’ll make sure to make a note of that for my poem.”

“Not a risktaker, per say — I just know Adam is an impatient, idiotic dumbass who can’t help himself.”

The mention of Adam’s name caused the boy in question to snap his head over to the blonde, a scowl etched into his features as he shot a playful glare over at the girl, Hailey not backing down from her words even the slightest bit. Before she knew it, everybody was back to their own conversations with people jumping in and out where they wanted to, leaving Hailey to do what she did best — observe. It wasn’t like there was something she was looking for or trying to understand; Hailey had just always been the kind of person who would sit and listen rather than interject herself into the conversation. She found that she learned a lot more that way — people would often tell you their darkest secrets if you let them do the talking.

She would never admit it, but somehow, her eyes kept finding their way to Jay as if his face was a magnet and they were calling her. She studied every part of him closely, taking note of how the corners of his eyes creased when he laughed, counting the freckles that looked as though they had been methodically scattered across his skin in the most perfect way.  Hailey noticed his little quirks and even jotted a few of them down in the notes app of her phone, like how he tilted his head slightly when he didn’t understand something or was asking a question or the way he would run his tongue his bottom lip when he was thinking of something. Every little thing that made him unique soon compiled into an extensive list that Hailey had saved to her notes, ready to use when she eventually found the right way to complete her own literature assignment.

It wasn’t long before everybody packed back into the two cars, this time the order being switched up and mixed around. Hailey had gone in Adam’s car, because, well — duh — meanwhile, Vanessa switched places with Kelly and Kevin who lived closer to Kim and Stella anyway. While Jay and Adam talked each other’s ears off, Hailey was sat in the back seat with Vanessa who looked absolutely wrecked from their day.

“You look exhausted, you poor thing,” Hailey smiled halfheartedly over at the girl.

“Yeah, I am.” Vanessa yawned tiredly. “I was up half the night studying for that precalc test we have.”

“You’re like, the smartest one in the entire class, dude,” Hailey said, looking at her friend with an incredulous look. “You don’t even need to study!"

“Still doesn’t hurt to make sure I know what I need to know. And to make sure I know that I know what I know so that I can make sure you know what I know.”

“I think I just had an aneurysm trying to understand that.”

Vanessa grinned. “You’re welcome.”

The two girls shared a laugh as Vanessa leaned her up against the headrest behind her. Turning to Hailey slowly, the girl wore a small and gratuitous smile as her hand fell into the blonde haired girl’s hand, earning back her attention with the small yet simple gesture. Vanessa was a very physical person — she loved hugs, she loved holding hands with her friends to show them her love and appreciation — Hailey, however new to the group she was, was no exception.

“Hailey. . . I hope you know how much what you did today meant to me.” Vanessa began, her accent coating her words as her eyes fell to her lap. “I got moved to another foster home on Monday and. . . I know it sounds stupid, but asking for money before the first cheque from the state comes in is a big no no if I want to stay somewhere for longer than half a week."

Vanessa’s voice was low and quiet, only loud enough for the blonde sitting beside her to hear as Hailey’s heart squeezed tightly. She hadn’t missed the giant smile on Vanessa’s face as she was handed her Oreo milkshake, or the way her her mood had completely brightened in giddy, goofy happiness as she bounced around and made fun of Kevin. Hailey, despite her tough exterior, would secretly do anything to make the people she cared about smile. Absolutely anything. Without ever second guessing herself.

“I didn’t want you to be left out.” Hailey’s response was at a matching volume. “Feeling like the outsider all of the time. . . It’s not fun. I get that. That’s why I’m so endlessly grateful to have made such good friends here.”

“You? The outsider? That’s hard to imagine.”

“Three words, V. Three words.”

“Hm?”

“Private girls school.”

“. . . Yeah, say no more."

Everything that Hailey had said was the truth. She knew what it was like to be the outsider, she knew what it was like to feel like the ground beneath you was always shaking and about to give out on you no matter what you did. No amount of duct tape would hold it together, and given the fact that Vanessa had just had to uproot her life — again — Hailey could sympathise with what she was going through despite the fact that she would thankfully never understand it fully.

Hailey sighed lightly as she gave Vanessa’s hand a small squeeze. “I wish you could live with me.”

“Can I?”

Though Vanessa was clearly joking, as seen by the smile playing at her lips and her humorous tone, Hailey really did wish she could bring Vanessa to live with her — perhaps just not at her house. With her father. And her mother, who was always excusing the former’s behaviour. Always.

“I’m not sure you’d like it very much at my house.” The blue eyed girl let out an exhale as she spoke. “There’s a reason I spend so much time at Adam’s house.”

“I get it.” Vanessa’s eyes held sympathy towards Hailey. “But hey. . . we’ve got each other, right? We’ve got these two doofuses in the front seat, we’ve got Stella and Kim and Kelly and Kev. And one day we can all run away together and forge a home in the woods using our very minimal survival skills that would definitely not suffice to stop us getting eaten by a bear or something.”

At the sound of Vanessa addressing him and Jay, Adam turned around from the driver’s seat as he pulled up at a stoplight before directing his words to the girls in the back seat.

“Hey! I was a Cub Scout when I was younger, you know! ” He said, his chest puffing out ever so slightly in pride. "We’d be just fine in the woods."

“Adam, shut the hell up,” Hailey laughed as she looked at him incredulously, rolling her eyes at the boy. “You did Cub Scouts for two months and then you quit when you couldn’t get a single badge because they required you actually putting work into them. All you wanted to do was sit there with a juice box and a cookie.”

“Says the one who got kicked out of Girl Scouts for threatening to set a girl’s hair on fire!”

“She deserved it.”

“She was traumatised!”

“Good. I don’t like her. She tried to steal my backpack."

“It was ten years ago, Hailey.”

“It was my favourite backpack!"

❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄

aaaaaa! I apologise if this isn’t great I really struggled trying to write this one I don’t even know why 😂

thank you so much to @ruzek-halstead for proofreading! after writing this for so long I definitely lost the ability to do so, so marcia — you’re a literal lifesaver 🥰

tag list: @ruzek-halstead @lissethsrojas @sammywiths @butterflies44 @upsteadheart @shawnscheeks @puckluck28 @karihighman @thetwit @azu1ang3188 @juu-series @justanotheronechicagofan @stinaax @stayupton @fullwattpadmusictree @anna-justice

ps: if anybody ever wants to be added to the tag list, just let me know! it’s so easily done!

#chicago pd #one chicago #chicago pd au #alternate universe #hailey upton #jay halstead #kelly severide #adam ruzek #vanessa rojas #stella kidd #kevin atwater #kim burgess #au #cpd

[copias-thrall]

Can we get an NSFW head cannon with the papa’s+cardinal about which love potions they give their fav sister of sin?

Hi, anon! What a saucy ask! Here we go …

*dubcon*

Papa Nihil: [Ed. I’m going to deviate a little here] He once discovered a potion to bring back lost love from a traveling priestess of Hecate. He was dubious at first, but she gave him a vial with just enough for one dose, which he then surreptitiously put in Sister Imperator’s tea. It worked like—well—a charm. By late afternoon, Imperator was in his office, nothing under her habit but racy red lingerie with garters and a riding crop hidden up her sleeve. She’d made him prostrate himself and kiss her patent Mary Janes while asking for forgiveness. She then made him worship her by having him eat her out on his desk with strict orders he was not to touch himself. Once she was satisfied, she had him kneel at her feet in the nude. Then—as she counted out his Hail Satan’s full of ungrace—she whipped his hard cock with her crop as his penance until he begged her for release. She ordered him to get up and stand against the wall, where she gave him a quick and perfunctory hand job, making him lick his spend off her fingers.

That night, Nihil bought every last drop of potion from the priestess. The priestess left on the next full moon with the warning to use the potion only to coax the cold ashes of their love back into an ember—all of which went into one ear and out the other. Papa is not known for self reflection or a willingness to change his behavior, so he simply got used to putting a drop in her cup every morning. They had a swinging good reunion … until he stopped dosing her (surely she must love him again by now!). No longer under the thrall of the potion, she became suspicious, and when she found the vials …. She became spitting mad and flew at Nihil in a righteous rage, nearly slitting his throat with a wicked letter opener. 

Three Ghouls had to pull her off him! 

In addition to dumping out the contents of the bottles, she made Nihil her slave for the same duration to really hit home what he’d done. (He was smart enough not to tell her that it was actually quite enjoyable for him, especially when the crop made more appearances for correction.) Now, he likes to think they can look back and laugh about it, but everyone else seems to notice her eye twitch when he recounts the “escapade.”

Papa I: He just wants to feel that first blush of ardent, youthful love again. His potion is less about creating false feelings and more about amplifying what’s already there. He invites you to his chambers for a quiet meal, the wine goblets both laced with the draught. After the meal is eaten and the wine is drunk, Papa I leads you to his bedchambers, where he slowly undresses you, reverently. Despite his ostentatious, ceremonial vestments, Papa I isn’t a man obsessed with fine things, so under your habit you’re dressed in simple, cotton undergarments (you tried wearing mesh and lace once, but he only perfunctorily complimented you, then took them off). As he slips off your bra and panties, he makes sure to run a light touch over your nipples and your ass. It makes you shiver, your skin goosepimpling. As he bends to help you out of your panties, he places a chaste kiss on each ankle bone. Then your calves. Then the inside of your knee. Soon he’s kneeling, hands traveling up your haunches, so he can reach first the inside of your thighs before placing a kiss to the lips of your cunt. He’d probably even be happy to eat you out like that, but you pull him up by his vestments—eager to remove them—and the two of you share a deepening kiss before tumbling onto the bed. 

He makes love to you slow and close, whispering praises into your skin—and then the feelings hit you like an explosion. He must feel them too, because all of a sudden you’re both gasping and clutching at each other for dear life. You feel such overwhelming love for this man! The sun rises and the moon set with him, and even if you got excommunicated from the Church, it would be ok as long as you had him by your side. Your climax is a soft, quiet thing even as his has him stuttering and moaning out. Soon, he’s covering your face in kisses, and you realize that he’s crying; so you make sure to kiss each and every teardrop away.

The next day you feel like a truck backed over you. Papa I is clearly in no better shape the way he’s curled in on himself next to you. The feeling from the night before seems just within reach—even if trying to capture it again is like trying to hold fistfuls of sand. Papa is shaking, and you realize it’s because he’s crying, so you roll him into you, letting him bury his tears into your shoulder.

Papa II: His chosen love potion isn’t about making you love him at all—it’s about making sure you don’t love anybody else. He’s going back on tour soon, and he can’t stand the idea that you may fall into another’s arms while he’s away. It’s the night before the before, and he has you strung up in cuffs, your toes just about touching the floor. His teasing is making your twist and turn about, but to no avail. A gloved swipes at your nipple.

“And what’s this?” he asks.

“Yours, sir!” you gasp.

“And this?” he asks again as he squeezes your ass.

Again you respond that it’s his. He repeats his question as he teases every inch of your body. He finally gets to your pussy, tracing a leather finger down each lip before plunging in between your folds.

“And who belongs here?” as asks, now close into your ear as he fingers you.

“Only you, sir!” you cry out.

For once you don’t try to get away as he fondles you close to orgasm. Close to orgasm. He removes his fingers from your clit and his body from yours just when you’re close to tipping over. You wine and try to twist toward him, but he’s just out of reach. There’s a crack on your behind, and then he’s asking you to stick out your tongue. He produces the bottle and puts two drops on your tongue before ordering you to swallow.

He leaves you then, only coming back intermittently to bring you close to climaxing, before leaving you again. You cry and beg for him, but he’s not swayed; he’s never swayed. The next time he comes back, it’s with a brother of sin—one you’ve openly expressed thirst for. The guy is pale, the whites of his eyes showing. Papa II pushes him toward you.

“Well, go on, boy. Seduce her.”

He gives one, last, nervous look at Papa, before he’s in your space. His hands hover before finally settling on manipulating your nipples. And it’s all wrong, it’s not him—not Papa. All you can feel is a strong revulsion toward this boy. You try to twist and squirm away from him—the look on his face pure misery—until Papa II calls out Enough. He dismisses the Brother you once found so appealing—who all but hightails it in a cloud of dust—and comes over to pet and coo at you. He praises you and calls you his good girl. He covers your cunt with his hand.

“Now, my pet—whose are you?”

“Yours! Only yours, Sir!”

His finger slips into you, rests there.

“And whose commands do you follow?”

“Yours, sir!”

His finger begins to move, just a little.

“And if I command you to let a Ghoul administer this potion to you every 48hrs? Will you do so without resistance or complaint?”

“YES, SIR.”

His other hand grips you by the jaw and forces you to meet his two-toned gaze.

“Yes. I think you will.”

After that, he brings you to a screaming climax before he lets you down and fucks your pliant body. He’s nothing if not a stickler, so—after some aftercare and nap—he has you sign an amendment to your contract. You could have told him that his measures were unnecessary, but some part of you is thrilled that his affection for you hasn’t waned.

Papa III: He is all about sexual pleasure. Love schmove! Lust is his sin, baby, and he doesn’t need to worry about someone beating their chest and rending their garments because of him. He just wants to make you feel good. He won’t say how he acquired it—and he uses it sparingly enough—but he has a love potion that can connect lovers intimately. He explains that you both have to take it and exchange … fluids … to connect, but when you inquire as to how it works, he just wiggles his fingers and singsongs, Magic. He places several drops on his tongue, and you stick out your tongue, but instead of putting some on your tongue, he draws you into a deep kiss. He practically sucks your tongue into his mouth as his twists and tangles against your soft palate.

When he pulls away, spit strings still connecting the two of you, he says, “What? Did you think I meant other kinds of fluids?”

You slap at him, and he pretends that you’ve wounded him terribly, causing you to giggle. The two of you begin to hastily undress each other, hindered only by both of you pausing to nip and suck at each other’s flesh as it becomes uncovered. Soon enough you’re both naked and tangled in the sheets and each other. Papa III is a generous lover on his worst days, but tonight the two of you are eager to feel each other through this supposed bond, so the foreplay is a little rushed.

Even so, you’re still wet and ready to go when Papa urges you on top of him. You brace your hands on the heated skin of his chest as you sink down on his hard cock. And that’s when you feel it—a sudden spike of pleasure that you’re positive is not your own (being filled by his cock is always nice, but it usually takes a little more stimulation to get you as amped up as you suddenly feel). Your surprised moan is almost drowned out by the guttural one Papa III punches from his gut. You meant to ride the fuck out of him, but the feeling of his pleasure has your back arching and your head lolling sloppily.

Papa is suddenly upright and in your space, sucking at the exposed line of your neck. Your nails dig into his arms as he bounces you on his cock, and you feel the echo of the pained pleasure of it. Papa moans at the echo of your pleasure at his, and it’s not long before the two of you are raw nerves. You thought you’d both be going at it like rabbits, but the pleasure loop is making it hard for either of you to do anything but grind at each other in slow, deliberate circles. You have no idea how you’re barely moving and yet still such a vibrating, live wire.

The echo is getting closer, louder. You don’t think you’re moving at all, but still your arousal ratchets up and fills you from your curling toes to your open, silent mouth. You thought you’d be able to tell the difference between your pleasure and his, but right now you just feel. You’re like a balloon, and your latex is beginning to stretch and strain. Eyes rolling back, all you can feel is the unrelenting pulse of pleasure as Papa pants and mewls into your skin.

The bubble bursting seems inevitable, but it’s still a surprise when you burst, and somehow this is the best and the worst part of the whole experience. It’s almost too much to feel, too much to comprehend, and you seize up as the white-hot, blinding light knocks all sense and thought from you. Someone’s screaming bloody murder—and at some point you realize it’s you—but fuck if you care. Who even knows what sound Papa III is making, but you’re dimly aware of him mouthing at your shoulder.

It’s hard to tell how long the feedback loop goes on for, but when you begin to regain your senses, you realize that you’re on your side and clasped tight into Papa’s chest. And that’s as far as you get before the exhaustion hits you, and it makes sense—you are feeling everything double after all.

Copia: The problem Copia has is that before Ghost, he wasn’t in such high demand. He was by no means celibate, but the sheer volume of offers just weren’t there. At first, he reveled in the attention—rolled around in it, and rubbed it all over himself—but the shine soon wore off when he began to realize some of his lovers only found his position with the clergy attractive. His wake up call was when—in the middle of heated foreplay—one of his conquests accidentally touched his pudge on the way down to his cock, and they recoiled in disgust. After that, Copia couldn’t stop seeing all the little tells when a lover wasn’t really into him.

Obviously, on tour it doesn’t matter—the groupies are only there for the night, and even the hopeful initiates only really require one taking. But back at the Abbey, it’s a different story. Copia is now hyper aware that any Sibling who shows interest could be faking it. Which is why he uses a love potion on you. You, who were all blushes and ducked heads at first, but are now heated glances and lascivious touches. He just needs to be sure, so he finds a love potion meant to amplify feelings. 

Now, was that 2 drops or 3 …?

You show up at his quarters for a nightcap. It’s been a busy week, and the two of you have only had the briefest of interactions, so this is a welcome invitation. For some reason the drink goes straight to your head, and soon you’re looking at Copia like he’s a tall glass of water in the middle of the desert. You want him desperately, and you manhandle him into his bedroom. The desire to own him, to show him that he’s yours, overwhelms you. You order him onto the bed as you fish around in your drawer for your cock and a bottle of lube. He complies as you buckle your cock around your hips.

As you climb onto the bed, you press him down into the mattress. With lube-slick fingers you test his hole and prep him appropriately as he moans in pleasure. You drape yourself over his back to hiss into his ear, “You’re mine, Copia,” before you push your cock into him. He lets out a moan of ecstasy even as you push his face down into the pillow. Gripping his hips tight, you make sure your angle hits his sweet spot as you thrust into him. He’s scrabbling at the sheets, but you’re relentless in showing him how much you own his body with your cock. The closer he gets, the more grabby you get. Copia is panting and trembling—you can tell he’s close—so you turn on your vibration.

“You make me so fucking hot,” you growl.

With the help of your hand, he’s soon cumming hard—you following close on his heels. Even after your orgasm, the intense feelings of ownership don’t subside; you’re clutching Copia to you and rubbing your juices all over his skin. “Everyone should smell me on you,” you grumble as you try to meld into his skin while grabbing at his flesh. You end up falling asleep like that.

When you wake up, it’s to profound embarrassment—how could you act that way? Of course you don’t own Copia. Why did you do that? He’s still dead asleep, but when you try to leave the bed, he wakes enough to draw you back to him. Feeling guilty, you try and bring up the night before with him—but he just snuggles you closer and says that he could never be mad at someone whose affection for him was true.

#asks #the papas #cardinal copia #love potion #dubcon

[langdxn]

salvation part iv: miss mysterious | outpost!michael x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Michael’s pregnant wife hides in the Outpost while the witches battle her husband. Who lives and who dies?

WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, childbirth, breeding kink if you squint, implied deaths and a slight meddle with the original Outpost timeline.

WORD COUNT: 2k

A/N: I’m getting so involved in this timeline, I never want it to end! I’m squeamish and I’ve never had a baby so the childbirth scenes here are nowhere near as graphic as they probably could be, plus I don’t know exactly what happens but I hope it’s understandable. Inspired by Miss Mysterious by Set It Off.

part i // part ii // part iii // part v

“Wh— did that... did that chair ju—“ Brock was cut off by your strained screams of pain, his outstretched hand pointing in disbelief at the door. Trying your hardest to keep his attention before his tiny mind blew up into smithereens, you attempted a distraction.

“Brock, what did you come here for?”

The conversation change snapped his focus back to you, distracting him enough to allow him to drop to a kneel beside the pool, grasping the curved metallic edge for support.

“I—my girlfriend, she came here. She was saved by her family, she got away from the bombs down here. I was supposed to come with her but she left before I could make the plane,” Brock gulped, restraining a tear. “I just wanted her to suffer like I have these past 18 months.”

He raised his shaking hands in front of him, palms laid before him like a book. You noticed small traces of congealed blood splattered up his digits, frantically wiped and smeared so hard it engrained in the inflamed, weary creases. Angry boils and sores littered his knuckles so harshly that you sucked your teeth just thinking about the pain he must be concealing.

“And did she?” You queried, clutching at your bump as a bolt of pain shot through you again.

“I... I don’t think so. She always was a bit of an airhead.” He stifled a dismissive snort, staring into the middle distance with some mislaid purpose. “I thought I’d feel better but I still feel nothing.”

You looked down irreverently, unsure how to conjure up some sympathetic meta philosophy while your body was preparing itself to push out a small human. You settled for raising a small empathic grin at the corner of your lips, raising a dripping hand out of the water to rest on his shoulder.

“Imbeciles! Fall to your knees before the king! Hail Satan!” Ms Mead’s familiar assertive tones bellowed from the corridors outside, prompting a sharp stabbing pain in your pelvic floor as your panicked gaze shot to the source of the pain between your legs. Baby Langdon was just as impatient as her father.

“I—I think I need… I need to start pushing,” you stuttered, grabbing fistfuls of your soaked dress.

“Uh… okay?” His helplessness spilled through every syllable that left his innocent tongue.

“Give me your hand,” you demanded forcefully as you reached out for him, he snatched his hands behind his back.

“I can’t, Y/N, I’m infected,” he cried desperately, terrified his mere presence in the room could harm you and your child. He’d seen every possible outcome of radiation poisoning in the last year and a half, witnessed countless souls meet their end at the hands of mankind’s most malevolent creation. Fathers and daughters, mothers and sons, lovers young and old. All that was left of humanity decimated by the consuming mist.

His protests weren’t enough to stop you grabbing at his sleeve and dragging his hands into yours, curling your soft, dainty fingers over his maimed digits and meeting his gaze reassuringly. The hazel eyes that looked back at you were overwhelmed, a relieved smile creeping across his cheeks. Having spent so long without skin-to-skin contact, a blissful ache flowed through his palms as he felt your smooth skin graze against his.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion reverberated through the Hawthorne corridors, followed by the unmistakable, gut-wrenching thud of a body hitting the hardwood floors with brute force.

“Michael!” You cried out into the ether, your eyes darting to the source of the sound. “He can’t be dead, he can’t be! He’s supposed to be here!” You dug your nails into Brock’s palm as you redirected the strength from your screams to the ache in your pelvis. Your muscles somewhat naturally knew how to help you through your labour but your mind couldn’t wrap around how you planned on pushing this baby out of you.

“Who’s Michael?” Brock asked tentatively as you made another determined push, unsure he would like the answer.

“Our last hope, Brock!” Tears crashed down your face, the heavy armchair at the door sailing across the room as you unleashed all your energy on the next push.

Seconds later, an onslaught of automatic bullets pounded the walls, covering up your bloodcurdling scream at the top of your lungs. Each punishing rattle shook through every atom of you, the water around you flooding red as your folds stretched beyond their means.

As your tight grip enclosed Brock’s hand, a numb feeling chased up his fingers. Looking down at your entwined digits, he watched wide-eyed as the lesions that littered his skin were reducing… no, healing. The angry yellow hues beneath his skin paled, the ferocious blood red sores softened and smoothed out leaving a calm, normal skin surface. His breath hitched in his throat as he attempted to ask you what he was witnessing.

“D—did you just—“ he was cut off by your next anguished cry, quieter than the last without another sound to conceal your agony.

“Did I what?”

“You ju—never mind,” he dismissed as the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. Maybe he could survive the radiation after all. All thanks to this mysterious woman.

———

“Has our little lady shown up yet?”

Michael’s voice boomed from a dark corner as you whipped your head around to find the source. His tousled golden curls emerged from the shadows before him, his pale face bathed in light, dried tear tracks and splatters of blood. As he paced toward the tub, your hazy vision laid upon his pitch black shirt and waistcoat peppered with holes… bullet holes. Panic shot through you like lightning, searching the fabric tears for wounds but finding Michael’s typically flawless skin beneath.

As Michael neared your side, his gaze fell upon your fingers clenched around another anonymous hand. Brock clambered to his feet to step away from the pool and greet him, but the second he straightened up, a strong force threw him to the door and pinned him up against it.

“Stay the fuck away from my wife, you hear me?” Michael hissed, his eyes blown black with rage. All Brock could do was splutter and shake as the force tangled its strength around his throat, gradually closing his airways.

“Michael, let him go,” you spat forcefully at your husband.

“Who the fuck is he?” Michael threw a dismissive gesture in Brock’s direction. “Did he hurt you?”

“Brock saved my fucking life, Michael. If it weren’t for him, I’d be giving birth in the fucking hallway, that’s if the witches hadn’t slaughtered me already. Now let him go!”

Brock slipped to the floor in a heap, gasping for air, his eyes on stalks staring at Michael in abject terror. Your husband stepped suspiciously towards him, dropping to a knee as he reached the poor man’s collapsed form. Leaning in to examine Brock, he raised a curious hand toward the stranger’s face.

“You... you’ve been outside?” Michael stuttered, his gesturing hand tracing invisible paths in the space between them as he inspected the man’s injuries. His behaviour could be mistaken for morbid curiosity but for the solitary tear pricking at his eye, bursting its banks and blazing a searing trail down his cheek, diluting the dried blood splattered there.

“Yes sir,” Brock replied deferentially, trying his hardest to avoid making eye contact with Michael’s void-like irises. “Ever since the bombs hit.”

“The explosion—it didn’t kill you?”

“I was just far enough away from the blast radius, sir.” Brock rubbed at his neck to soothe the burning ache in his throat.

“One of the lucky ones,” Michael asserted, carelessly discarding his words before thinking them through.

“If you say so, Mr...”

“Langdon. Michael Langdon.” Michael’s words caught in his throat as he made an unspoken apology to the stranger for his rough behaviour, stepping back to crouch beside you in the tub. “Thank you, Brock, for looking after Y/N, I can take it from here.”

As the man rose to his feet dusting himself off from the fall, frantic footsteps approached the corridors beyond the door. You turned to Brock, fear washing over your exhausted countenance as you pushed your pelvic muscles letting a low cry escape your lips.

“Brock, they’re coming. Please, distract them, stall them, anything at all, please!” You pleaded breathlessly, battling to keep eye contact with him while grabbing fistfuls of water in some desperate attempt at control. “I’m begging you Brock, please.”

His anguished auburn eyes sunk into their sockets, resigned to his fate. While he didn’t know who or what lay in wait for him beyond the door, it was life or death outside the safety of the room. The months he had spent on the surface of the earth prepared him for death, but the healing hands of this pregnant lady had given him hope. Given him a reason to fight again.

Cautiously stepping back to the pool to retrieve his blood-stained knife, he breathed deeply, contemplatively, resolutely. Looking down at his soft hands, finally free of pain and the vicious wounds that plagued him for months, he tightened his grip on the blade’s handle.

“Thank you, Y/N, thank you for everything,” he smiled at you warmly as his gaze met yours. “Look after her, Michael, she’s a miracle.”

His vision dropping to his shoes, he turned to creak open the door and slowly closed it quietly behind him.

“I should’ve been on that plane!” You heard Brock hiss at the oncoming threats. Desperate cries retorted before you heard a burst of ferocious flames and Brock’s shouts of pain. A final, hollow thud hit the floor and Brock’s voice was gone.

He sacrificed himself. For you. For you, Michael and your baby. A total stranger gave his life for your family.

“Mi—Michael, she’s coming!” You cried helplessly as he offered his hand for you to hold, your wide gaze burned at him with despair as you bawled strained tears and shook your head furiously. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Never say that, you’ve already done so well baby,” Michael tenderly praised you, gently sweeping sticky strands of hair from your sweat-soaked forehead and curling them behind your ears.

“You’re going to be the best mother this new world will ever see.”

———

“She’s beautiful,” Michael hummed as he clutched your new life in his arms, kneeling beside the pool in which you lay breathless and exhausted, both of you gazing intently at the tiny human wrapped in Michael’s pitch black velvet neckerchief. “Just like her mother.”

“Mhm,” you agreed weakly, losing yourself in the fragile yellow curls clinging to her precious head. “I always hoped she’d be as blonde as her father.”

Michael leaned into you to place a tender peck on your drenched forehead.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

“Pushing a baby out while there are witches searching the building right now? Piece of cake,” you half-heartedly joked as your husband handed the little girl into your open arms. His heart burst with pride as he watched you carefully take the child into your care, holding her above the bloodied water in the makeshift birthing pool.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He asked, meeting your loving gaze for the first time in what felt like an eternity since you gave birth to the life you held in your arms, so fragile she could break if you so much as breathed in her direction.

“On three?” He nodded.

One. Two. Three.

“Miriam,” you said together. Sharing a tender giggle between you, you both looked back down at the beautiful baby you named, your glimmer of light in a dark time. She wriggled softly in your arms, blissfully unaware of the chaos surrounding her arrival into this world.

“Their Supreme is weakening, darling, they won’t last much longer,” Michael rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We need to get you both safe and as far away from here as possible.”

Straining to your feet while clutching Miriam, you splashed your way out of the birthing pool to stand by your husband.

“Salire per spatium... yes Michael, I know what to do.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow and a grin sealed in the corner of your lips, his wife and child vanished before Michael's eyes.

“What the— Y/N?”

———

Tag team! @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern​ @psychobitchtess​ @theinevitableprophecy​ @leatherduncan​ @abbyjforman​ @melodylangdon​ @shadyrindt​ @hplotrfan​ @littlegirlsdontplaynice​ — I’m so sorry if I’ve missed anybody here, I stupidly lost a few requests for tag lists!

#ahs apocalypse #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon fanfiction #american horror story

[pirlaemeritus]

First Ritual Experience: taint tickling in Mantova.

Two days ago I finally got the chance to see Ghost live for the first time. I had such a great night, it was really an outstanding concert, which I had been waiting for for months, so I was super excited about it. My boyfriend offered to come with me to Mantova (Italy) to see them, and it was really nice of him, since 1) he had never heard of Ghost before, and 2) Mantova is about a 3 hour drive from where we live. I was a little afraid that he would have gotten bored, since he didn’t know any of the songs or anything about Ghost in general, so I tried to give him something to listen to, to see if he liked it. Though he fell in love with Prequelle, going to a Ritual was still a pretty daunting experience for him, but I really appreciate that he came with me anyways. 

We both ended up having a great time! He was really curious about all the lore around the Cardinal, the Papas and the Ghouls and I did my best to explain to him without sounding like too much of a dork or a weird ass cult member. But besides of this, I was excited to see what reaction could a full Ghost concert cause on someone like him. Therefore, I collected all the best moments from the Ritual, as a kind of a social experiment (?), but also because I don’t want to forget any of them. 

Here we go:

- before going to the show, he saw me putting on makeup and asked me to help him apply some eyeliner, saying “I already have enough dark circles to look like the cardinal, I might as well copy his look properly”.

- when the lights turned on at the beginning of the concert, he didn’t notice the presence of the Ghouls at first, because they were standing still on the stage and got scared when they started moving around because he had no idea they were there.

- when Copia came out on the stage with the red suit on, the first thing he noticed was literally his thiccness, saying that “it’s just not fair”.

- “Is... is he trying to finger the microphone stand?”

- he felt sorry for Aether when Dew started bullying him and called Dew “a mean grasshopper”.

- he kept asking me where the female choir voices were coming from, and when I pointed out the presence of the Ghoulettes (they were kind of far from us, and you couldn’t really see that their masks were different), he was absolutely astonished to find out that there were also girls in the group.

- we were not close to the stage enough to see Copia kneeling down to Cirice someone, so I decided to be a romantic dork and Ciriced my boyfriend. I’m sure I’m not half as charming as Copia or Papa III, but I swear I have never seen anyone looking both so flustered and confused at the same time. It was absolutely adorable.

- he screamed “YES GRANDPA!” during Nihil’s saxophone solo. He had no idea who Nihil was before this.

- when Copia came on the stage wearing the white suit, he claimes he looked “unsettling yet charming”. I’m pretty sure the Cardinal would have appreciated.

- he saw the Plague Doctors roaming on the stage before Dance Macabre started and with the most serious voice, he said “Amazing. I guess we’re going to die”.

- he took a shit ton of pictures during Dance Macabre’s performance, because of the rainbow-colored lights, which he said fitted with everything that I had ever told him about Ghost.

- since he had never heard Year Zero before, he was totally not expecting the crowd to explode screaming “HAIL SATAN!” , and after trying to get over the shock, he stated “My grandma would be so proud”.

- he got scared by the pyrotechnic stage effects and said “I could feel my eybrows catch fire, how are they not dead yet”.

- “I have never met this Sister Imperator that you keep talking about, but she sounds terrifying”.

- he had the most confused look during Copia’s speech about taint tickling, ass wobbling and nipples in general, but he kept laughing as well, so I guess it’s not a bad thing.

- (Referring to Copia)  “I love that he’s so obsessed with nipples. I want to have a conversation with him”

- during Kiss The Go-Goat, he asked me what Dewdrop and Aether could be bickering about, and when I told him about the meaning of the song, he said he would definitely go for Aether, since “that other one looks like the spawn of Satan”.

- he hugged me super thight during He Is. I don’t really have a reason to add this moment to the list, but I want to share it anyways, because it felt so special to me.

- when I introduced him to every band member, I told him to keep an eye on Swiss, since he is so fun to look at when he’s performing. After a while, he stated that he’s “a little slutty, but like, in a really intimidatory way” and I guess he’s right.

- he was super hyped up for the Ghoulettes, and screamed “YOU GO BEYONCE!” during Mummy Dust’s keytar solo. I honestly don’t know what he was trying to say, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.

- he was really sad that I wasn’t able to catch the guitar pick that Aether threw at us (it hit my arm and fell on the floor, but the guy that was next to me picked it up before I could find it), so after the concert was over, he went around the pit, trying to find something else. He ended up finding two Ghost dollars, which made me really happy.

- after we had come back from the concert venue to our hotel, he kept looking at his own butt in the mirror and asked me if I will ever love him as much as I love Copia, even if he’s not as thicc as he is.

- when I told him about how, according to the lore, Sistor punched Nihil and gave him and his sons a white eye, he nodded and said “If she’s badass around to fuck up your genetics, you know it’s going to be a damn strong marriage”

I guess that’s it! I’m sure there are a lot of things that I forgot to add, but this is everything that I can list off for now! I’m so glad that my boyfriend enjoyed the show as much as I did, it was nice to see the ritual from a different perspective. I am also super grateful to him for choosing to come with me, and I’m so happy to hear that he had fun too. We had an amazing night in Mantova, and I can’t wait to see another Ghost concert as soon as possible!

#cardinal copia #the band ghost #ghost bc #the ultimate tour named death #ghost mantova

[lady-divine-writes]

12 Days of Blasphemy - Demon Side (Rated NC17)

Summary:

It's Christmas time, and Hastur hates Christmas time. Avoids it like chocolate and candy canes (since he actually enjoyed the plague). But here he is, on Earth in December, to meet with his least favorite demon ever. But his mind changes somewhat when it seems Crowley has started taking his job seriously again ... But, of course, things aren't always what they seem ... (1561 words)

Notes: Written for the '12 Days of Blasphemy' prompt 'kneeling'. Also, I'm going to cling to the idea that this is a Christmas fic the same way 'Die Hard' is a Christmas movie XD NSFW in the suggestive sense. Warning for implied oral and mention of Crowley's demon form. Basically, Aziraphale is a horrible angel to his poor, overworked husband.

Read on AO3.

“Hail Satan.”

A muffled squawk! and ruffle of feathers greet Hastur as he trudges through the muddy field to reach the assigned meeting place. ‘Bloody pigeons,’ he thinks, scanning the ground for a glimpse of the flying rats. ‘They’re everywhere. Been kicking them left and right all day.’

Of course, he’d been doing it on purpose, mostly for fun, but they still got under foot of their own accord far too often.

“Yeah, uh, you know … hail … and all that,” Crowley calls across the field, offering up a stunted wave, just the wiggle of a few fingers from beneath his collar, his voice hitching up in pitch on the word hail. He sounds uncomfortable, like he’d rather be anywhere but here, which is often the case, but more so than usual on this dismally wet (yet still festive) December night.

Hastur growls. He hates Christmas, loathes the good tidings and cheer that come along with it. There’s a farmhouse nearby, dressed to the nines with Christmas lights and puffy inflatable things that move their arms and turn their heads to reveal the manic smiles on their faces. He doesn’t understand their purpose other than they make children laugh.

And he despises the laughter of children most.

Hastur took the liberty of cursing a handful of them in various front yards on his way over – snowmen, Santas, reindeer, a polar bear or two. Even a bouncy castle, set up and waiting to entertain at a holiday party tomorrow afternoon. Some will simply deflate at odd intervals and require replacing, others will attack pets and children. At full capacity, the castle will collapse in on itself. There may be survivors. There may not.

Either way, the outcome should be hilarious.

Hastur does his best to stay below ground through the entirety of December when he can, avoids large cities entirely, but this meeting couldn’t wait.

Hastur stops a few feet from Crowley. On the whole, he tries not to get too close to him, especially since the bastard did set him on fire.

And after what he did to poor Ligur.

Why Beelzebub decided to give him clemency, along with another fucking chance, Hastur will never understand. But Crowley was a favorite in Hell once. Orchestrate a few wars, pull off a few inquisitions, mess with the construction of a highway, and you can get away with anything apparently.

Hastur looks Crowley over, baffled as to what the flashy asshole is wearing. He’s gone native. That’s generally understood. So nothing he does should surprise Hastur anymore. On the off chance Beelzebub doesn’t have anything ulterior planned for Crowley (along the lines of his utter extermination), Hastur should probably start giving Crowley the benefit of the doubt. He’d agreed to this meeting, for one. Showed up early even. That proves he’s making an effort, right? A demon who can withstand Holy Water doesn’t really need to worry about playing by the rules so the fact that he’s toeing the line should account for something.

Maybe Hastur doesn’t care too much about fitting in with the humans, but that doesn’t mean Crowley’s efforts to blend in aren’t, in some way, rooted in Evil. Maybe that coat of his is Evil, made from some critically endangered bird, like a giant ibis or a California condor, and constructed by child slave labor in Indonesia.

But the closer Hastur gets, the more disappointed he becomes because no, it’s not.

What Hastur thought was a coat is Crowley’s wings, wrapped completely around his body, gleaming like black ice in the dark, more than likely the product of thrice a day grooming or something else equally and ridiculously vain.

“What’s with the wings?” Hastur asks, gesturing to Crowley’s body. The feathers shift and adjust upon mention, as if trying to contain the whole of Crowley’s corporal form from escaping.

“I’m chilly,” Crowley replies, his voice tight. “Mmmph. You hate my clothes anyway. What do you care?”

Hastur stares at his colleague. Crowley is using a great deal of strength to remain impassive, indifferent, stoic, but Hastur can see the struggle on his face – a pain simmering beneath his skin like the dormant claws of his demon self shredding a path to the surface, longing to break free.

Crowley breathes in sharply, rolls his shoulders back together, then one at a time as if trying to relieve an itch without scratching it.

He used to be a snake, Hastur reminds himself. Perhaps he’s shedding.

Hastur shrugs.

“I don’t,” he concludes.

“Great. Ngk. Now that we have that settled, can we please continue? I have places I need to be, you know.”

“What do you have to report? And it’d better be good.”

“Well, I … mmph …” Crowley’s feathers shift again, trembling as if they’re deliberating between staying fixed to his body or falling off.

Maybe Hastur was a bit off the mark. Maybe Crowley isn’t shedding. Maybe he’s molting.

The image that brings to Hastur’s head of this preening peacock losing his precious feathers and looking like a plucked chicken almost makes Hastur smile.

“Well you what?”

“I’ve been working in secret. Uh … uh … undercover as it were. It’s not been long since the whole execution thing, has it? You lot still have operatives on Earth who’ve decided there must be a price on my head.”

At that, Hastur does smile. Whether or not that was his doing is entirely irrelevant.

But yeah, he did that.

“Fine. You’ll get more time. And the angel?”

“Wh---what about the angel?” Crowley stutters as if he’s about to sneeze.

“We’ve heard from our informants that the two of you are now … living together?” Hastur grimaces, the taste those words bring to his mouth vile, even by demon standards.

“Yes, I’m living with him!” Crowley snaps, but then relaxes a little, head lolling back on his shoulders, shielded eyes aimed at the sky. “That’s how I gain his trust … get him to put his guard down.”

“And how is that working out for you, eh?”

For the first time during this whole meeting, Crowley grins. “I’ve got him right where I want him.”

Crowley’s wings around the middle bulge out, then up. They shudder violently, then smooth back into place. He swallows hard, a complicated look clouding his expression. He makes an odd sound, like a whimper. Hastur frowns.

“What the Heaven is wrong with you?”

“Like I said … ngk … I’m cold.”

“You’re a demon! You don’t get cold!” Hastur watches, stares intensely at Crowley’s face contorting, his body undulating beneath his cloak of feathers but only subtly as he forces himself to fight it, and suddenly it all becomes clear. “I know what’s going on …”

Crowley’s yellow eyes meet Hastur’s. For a moment, he looks ominously surprised and terrified. “Y-you … you do?”

“Yes,” Hastur hisses with glee. “Your façade is slipping!”

“That’s … uh … mmph … one way of putting it, I guess.”

“Take this as a sign, brother! Forgo your human shell and let your demon side out! Come back to us as the full expression of yourself and take your rightful place in Hell!”

“You make a convincing argument. I … uh … will definitely consider that … ah!” Crowley doubles over, breathing heavily, shaking as if every maggot beneath his flesh has finally had their fill of being trapped and is growing fangs.

“You do that,” Hastur says, so certain of himself, he wants to add this development to his report for the day. But no, he won’t tell Beelzebub about it just yet. He’ll wait until Crowley arrives, strolling down to Hell in his glorious demon form – grey skin, yellow teeth, leather wings, possibly even holding an angel’s head in his grasp. “See you soon, Crawly. Good to have you back.”

“Uh … right …” Crowley pants into the dirt, bowed so low that the sputtering remains of his breath moves the tips of the grass.

Between Crowley’s heaving breaths and Hastur’s footsteps fading in the sod, a soft voice mutters. “Is he gone?”

“Give it a second, love, a’right?” Crowley whispers, his brain melting into a mixture of anxiety and ecstasy, swirling about the rim of a large, cosmic drain. “That was a dirty trick, by the way. Do you know how much power it takes to shield you from their notice, and then you go and pull something like that?”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You sound it.”

When Crowley feels Hastur leave, burrow through the ground and so far beneath the earth that something like a holy signature materializing in Crowley’s personal space wouldn’t be noticed, he opens his wings so he can give a hard, scolding look to the angel on his knees at his feet.

“Just thought I’d lend a helping hand,” Aziraphale says sweetly, licking his lips. “Or a helping mouth in this case.”

“Help with what?” Crowley reaches down trembling hands to slip his spent cock back into his jeans.

“Letting your demon side out.”

“Yes, well, you keep helping like that and you’re going to get me discorporated.” Crowley takes Aziraphale by the upper arms and helps him to his feet, but for all his fuss and bluster, there’s no mistaking the grin on Crowley’s face.

“Like you’re always saying, my dear - if you’re going to go … go in style!”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #12 days of blasphemy #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #Frankie writes

[tench]

So i fell asleep finally around 4 hours ago and i had the most vivid nightmare where i was suddenly bleeding out in an airport type of building, quite exessively, blood was everywere. And the most aknowledgement i got was "well, you say you didn't expect to have enternal bleeding today, but you do. And?" it was my mom i traveled with and after that she just left. At this point blood was even on walls. It went on for a while with bleeding getting worse and people ignoring me more and more.

Also there was sexy skeletor from the "up coming She-ra sequel" which even dying i lamented being thirsted for as "oh no, the has long skinny lengs" (rip ripped boy), and when i found a mall to get some kind of tissues they said to me get from the warehouse myself because at this point world started to go out its way to let me now how insignificant me is, so there was A Lady who drunk only vinegar and when people tried to tell her not to, especially in the middle of warehouse, and she screamed "Hail Satan" at them and their reaction was like "you know what, ok, valid" and leading her alone.

I wake up with headache and hurting eyes. I hope i'll manage to get a bit more of sleep. Idk why i writing it down maybe will delete later. Fuck my head hurts

#tench had a weird dream again #my eyes are leaking because of lack of sleep and headache