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pokeexehasstoppedworking · 3 years

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Love Doesn’t Do Encores Ch17 Return To Hammerlocke

To say you hated flying anywhere now would be an understatement. YOU ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY DETESTED IT!! The only reason you agreed was because it was already paid for and because it was the fastest way back to Hammerlocke. Woo hoo. You weren't really in the mood for more video game-..Uh. Strangers flirting with you, but at least Ms. Opal was nice company on the way there and it was very nice of her to pay for the entire ride over to Hammerlocke. You and Gloria buckled in on one side, with your Drizzilie and her on the other. When you all left Bellonlea you were a bit more cautious of your slow pace with her as you walked along the beautiful woods to leave, and kept snapping your head about keeping an eye out for any Team Yell members or that looney guy again. It was nerve wracking to say the least. Luckily you didn't run into neither when you finally got back to the lamp posts and the entrance into the forest. The corviknight and it's owner were fast asleep in one of the shadows of the trees before being woken up by Opal tapping him with her umbrella and requesting he take all of you to Hammerlocke. And after steeling your nerves and guts, you all piled in and did just that....for the next four and a half DAYS!! Opal had just relaxed back with her eyes closed most of the trip leaving you and Gloria to quietly talk between you two(when you weren't gripping your seat and forcing yourself to not look out the windows-) or more commonly watch more videos on her phone. Opal remaining silent and you would've sworn she was asleep if she hadn't opened her eyes whenever Gloria talked to her and talked back to you both in a polite but right to the point kinda way. Never heard anyone talk quite like her. You also made a few pitstops every few towns, mostly at night to let the driver rest and you have time to eat something at the local inn without having to worry about getting air sick for a while, before it was back to the fear inducing ride. You swore when you got back you were NEVER EVER going hang gliding, or even travel by plane after this. You also learnt within that time Opal was apparently looking for a successor to take over her gym soon and the person had to have something 'pink'...Whatever she meant by that. Eventually Gloria also found a good way to distract you away from your fear for short periods of time by the third day when she asked if there was anything you really liked listening too.

You blinked kinda surprised by her but shrugged and said, "Well, I've always loved music. In fact I wanted to go into the industry when I was your age."

She seemed surprised at your answer and even Opal cracked open a eye towards you silently. "Really? Why didn't ya ever say anythin' before?"

You shrugged with a slight frown. "Eeeeehhh. It's kinda...Complicated. I wouldn't say I'm bad but I'm not good enough of a singer for me to make a career out of it, and I can't really play any instruments too well. Unless you count the kazoo."

"What about a song writer? Bet you'd be good at that."

You shrugged. "I tried, but I'm not that creative enough to figure that out. But I am pretty good at working speakers, and I know a lot about how instruments are made and how they work. So I was going to get a business liscense and try to open by own Music Store."

"Well why didn't you?"

You paused at her question for a moment. You couldn't just say "Because I got sucked into an alternate dimension where pokemon happens to be real based off a game I used to play" unless you wanted them to think you were crazy!! Thinking quickly you shrugged and told the truth. "I left home around the time I was supposed to and started traveling." Which was the truth even tho you weren't sure exactly how you left or how to get back.

"Huh. Well I guess everyone wants ta see the world and do somethin' excitin'," Gloria said with a smile and you sighed in relief. Before she held up her phone to you. "If ya like music how 'bout I show ya more of Piers's songs? It'd be a good way ta pass the time. He's written n' sung LOTS of 'em."

You blinked....Piers?? OH! That Piers. "Oh. You mean the gym leader you told me about? I think I remember you showed me one of his songs back at Postwick."

She nodded. "He's a good musician. Ya wanna see some?"

"Sure why not?"

And thus the two of you relaxed back a little more now that you could watch this Piers person singing and mostly rock music filled the taxi cab for most of the remainder ride there. Of course you two made sure Ms. Opal was fine with it and after cracking an eye open said she didn't care at all. While you two watched him you had to admit his unique voice added to whatever vibe the music was with the accent he had melting among it....But when you looked at his blue eyes and pale-ish skin..you couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu that you've seen him before. Which you brushed off because of course you had seen him before when Gloria showed you a video of him performing with a band back at Postwick. Besides, you had more important things to worry about. Like getting home and right now getting to Hammerlocke in one piece. Which also happened the very next day. Gloria had pointed it out early in the morning when she looked out the window and pointed but you couldn't get yourself to look down in fear of losing your breakfast, clutching the seat tightly and praying the landing wouldn't be the same as the last time you landed. Luckily whoever was listening to your prayers answered them because other than one rough shove from the corviknight putting the cab on the ground, the decent and landing proceedure was pretty smooth. THANK GOODNESS!! When you finally peered out the window you were greeted with one of the entrances/exits to Hammerlocke. In fact it was the same one you two had traveled Route Six out of to head to Stow-on-Side. A Gym League staff worker awaited by the entrance, most likely for their badge rule too no doubt.

The taxi driver was quick to hop down and open the door for you three as well. "We're here ladies. Hope the trip was alright for you."

"Thank you, Young man," Opal commented slowly getting up and leaving the cab with you and Gloria right behind her. Once out she breathed a sigh of fresh air before looking up at the castle like town, "Hammerlocke. Always such a dusty town. Though I suppose some pokemon prefer it that way. "

Without even looking back to you she began slowly walking off towards the entrance, and you two slowly followed with Opal in front of you two. She was easily able to walk past the man who stood at the entrance but like the last time you were here, stopped Gloria, asked if she was a Gym Challenger, and then asked to see her badges. Opal continued walking as the two of you stopped and Gloria had to dig through her backpack to show the man her badge circle of five badges attached to it. With a nod you both were let in and she stuffed it back into her bag as you two continued off after Opal. And you looking around nervously keeping an eye out for Raihan just in case. ....But it seemed as Ms. Opal disappeared as you two walked along and looked around.

"Where did she go?," you asked peeking into the window of a cafe as you walked by but she wasn't in there. "She wasn't that far ahead of us."

Gloria shrugged as she looked at the people walking by. "She said she had some errands ta run so maybe she ducked into one o' these shops."

Hm. Maybe. You both continued walking and looking around as you neared the corner where the pink pokemon center you remembered seeing. As you two got closer and closer to the corner, someone with white fluffy hair and a giant pink coat rounding the other side of the corner onto the street on which you both walked. Both of you froze upon realizing the identity of the person who was walking towards the both of you. And he too froze lavender eyes blinking widely at the both of you as well as his jaw dropped somewhat. ...Before he pointed at you two with a large scowl.

"YOU!?"

"Uh...Hey, Bede," Gloria greeted with an awkward wave.

His scowl deepened as he shouted at her. "Come to gawk at me now that I've had my challenge band taken away and my gym challenger status revoked?!" ...WHAT!? Both your eyes widened as you looked at one another. Bede growling in frustration before gripping his fluffy white locks. "I've had to spend the past days working under that despicable Raihan person as 'punishment' for what happened in Stow-on-Side!! Do you know how much that idiot makes you work doing the most ridiculous things!? And now I run into you here too! Can you really afford to waste time like this?!"

"HEY!" Gloria scowled as well pointing a hand at him. "I was the one who saved your bloody sorry self from bein' crushed by a rock after you decided to play contruction worker with the mural! If it wasn't for me you'd be flatter than a waffle under yer own mess!!"

He scoff and turned his nose away. "Well....I suppose so. You no longer have to worry about catching up with me after all." His eyes narrowed at her. "I'll have you know though that I haven't given up! I must become the champion in order to help out the chairman! I will go and ask him to let me rejoin the gym challenge!"

"Again with the Chairman, mate?," Gloria sighed letting her arms flop to her sides as she turned from a scowl to a pitied look. "Look Bede. I dunno what to tell ya. It's kinda useless to keep wantin' ta help someone who kicked ya out of the challenge. Tho considerin' what ya did I'm not surprised that's what happened. Maybe ya should just forget 'bout the guy altogether."

He gasped offended a hand to his chest. "How dare you insult my reasonings with your twisted nonsense! Any girl who'd even consider fighting for my affection wouldn't be so brazen!"

"What are ye goin' on 'bout now?!"

"Hm? That boy." You jumped as the two kids still argued with one another, whirling around to face none other than Ms. Opal herself and she was staring right at Bede with curiousity in her eyes. ..Wait. Where the heck did she come from!? "Now that's what I could call pink! So sincere and straightforward yet so twisted and misguided. I like it! That's the kind of thing that gives people some depth!" Eventually Bede looked up from Gloria and had to do a double take blinking in confusion at the new arrival. "Time for my gym mission, Child!"

"HUH!?" Bede asked leaning back in confusion and surprise at what the older woman just barked at him. "W-Wha-!?"

You yelped as suddenly with speed you didn't think she had Opal RAN past you and up to Bede who froze in place wide eyed as she looked him over. "Pink! Pink! Pink!" She shouted as she examined him. ...What did 'Pink' even mean!? She chuckled a bit examining the frozen boy's dynamax band before looking up to him with a smile. "Congratulations, Child."

"M-Ms. Opal!?," Bede sputtered out pulling his hand away from her as he looked uneasy leaning away. Wait. Bede knew who she was? "What in the world has gotten in you?!"

"You were used by Oleana. Am I right?" Bede froze once again and behind her both of you exchanged bewildered looks behind them. Opal took his silence as a yes because she hummed and nodded. "You worked hard to gather wishing stars for her only to have her throw you away like rubbish once she was done with you." Wait...How did she know that? "Come with me, Child. I might be able to help you out." She offered.

And Bede ...blinked. "I...W-What?" He shook his head before frowning. "A-Are you saying you'd be able to get me reestablished back into the challenge?"

She chuckled and nodded. "Of course, it all depends on how much hard work you're willing to put in too."

"Are you...Are you testing me?," Bede challenged before clearing his throat and shaking his head, hands tucked into his pockets as he attempted to look calm. "Very well. I accept! In fact I plan on making sure you see my full talents and tell me everything you know about the wishing stars!"

She chuckled again before smiling wider. "I think my errands to Hammerlocke have been met." Taking a moment she turned to Gloria who blinked at her. "Farewell for now, Child. You should head to Circhester. I take it you know how to get to Route Seven." And she turned away back towards Route Six and simply began walking away. Like nothing that happened just happened.

Bede made to follow but paused before turning back to Gloria who still watched silently- Before clearing his throat and turning away again. "I-I still haven't decided what to say to you officially. I'll need more time to think and at the moment I-I'm way too busy! So d-don't follow me around!"

Gloria's brow rose more clearly confused. "Uh....Alright." You both watched as he jogged on after the older woman before she blinked and turned to you with a shrug. "What was that all about?"

......You smiled. "Oh nothing. I think they'll both be fine. I have a good feeling about this." You turned and nodded towards the train station. "C'mon. It's still morning so we'll have to wait for the afternoon train. If I remember right there's a food section in the train station. We can grab a bite there."

Gloria was quick to agree with the promise of food and you two headed off towards the station. To be honest you were looking forward to food too that wasn't bland or dried tasting camping food. You had eaten enough food like that to last you a hundred lifetimes. Without having to wait for Ms. Opal anymore the two of you could walk a little faster now and were easily near the station as you continued to look around for any signs of Raihan but thankfully still found none. When you were stopped by Gloria grabbing onto your sleeve and pointing. You blinked confused at her for a moment before looking to where she was pointing and you couldn't help but stare as well. NO WAY!! Who'd think you'd run into her again while you were here? It was Sonia! Again! She must've just walked from the station because she was coming right towards the both of you, but stopped once she took notice of the familiar sight. The three of you pausing and looking at one another before the redhead smiled and waved.

"Heya!," She greeted once she was close enough, "Fancy running into you here. The badge collecting going well?"

"Sonia!," Gloria happily exclaimed in surprise before nodding proudly. "I don't mean ta brag." She crossed her arms proud of herself. "But I won me two more badges since the last time I saw ya!"

Sonia chuckled at her antics and you asked, "What are you doing back in Hammerlocke?"

She turned her attention to you one hand on her hip. "I've been doing some research on the ruins in Stow-on-Side. The sword and shield. Once Mr. Rose had his team investigate it of course. ..But I still haven't figured out some things. What kind of Pokemon were they? And where are they now?" With a sigh she shook her head. "I still have so many questions. I was thinking about taking another look at the tapestries in-"

BOOM!! Sonia was cut off as what you could only describe as a gunshot from a gun the size of an elephant going off somewhere overhead. The very action made you react immediately by ducking and grabbing the back of your head as your Drizzilie dove behind you in terror at the loud noise and shaking of the ground. Gloria gasped and fell backwards onto her behind and Sonia had jumped back nearly falling over on those heels of hers. Blinking up and totally but understandably SHOCKED at the sensation you had just witnessed. Another boom!? AGAIN!? ....Oh NO!! Was that Bede again!? Was he doing something crazy again!? Other people around you yelling or having a similar reaction to one of you three.

"AGAIN!?," you asked to no one in particular.

"Are you kidding me!?," Sonia shouted herself glaring up towards a particular tower, "What was that!?"

"Do I look like I know?," you mumbled slowly leaning yourself up as Gloria made an attempt to get off the ground.

"Hammerlocke stadium shook...That's where Chairman Rose's power plant is isn't it?" You...nodded. You think so? It's been a while since you've been back here. But there wasn't any time for talking as a buzzing sound eminated from Sonia's pocket. She was quick to scramble, almost dropping the phone in the process, as she pressed the screen in a hurry and the buzzing noise ceased. .....Her blue eyes blinked widely at the screen. "Huh?....A..power spot?"

"Power spot?" You asked confused. "You mean like where you can Dynamax?"

She nodded not looking at you. "That's right. The power spot detector reacts when it's possible to dynamax."

You rose a brow. "Well that makes sense since there's a gym stadium here. You mean Raihan can't use the stadium's spot to dynamax?"

She went to answer but didn't get a chance too. "Usually you don't."

"GAH!!" You jumped in surprise and snapped your head around to the person who scared you...And came face to face with none other than the Champion. Leon chuckled seeing your expression...before you scowled. "HEY! I thought I asked you NOT to do that the last time!"

He chuckled some more before waving a hand. "Sorry, Y/n. Hey Sonia- Oof!" He laughed more and patted the top of Gloria's head as she hugged him beaming. "And you too, Gloria! Wow. You've gotten taller! By the way you felt the shaking right?" She nodded and he hummed before looking at the same tower Sonia had been. "Seems Chairman Rose is testing something again."

"This is bad!," Sonia insisted to him, "Pokemon might start dynamaxing right in the middle of Hammerlocke!"

"Is that so?," he asked looking back to her and she nodded immediately, "I can make sure the Chairman knows."

"You'll just get lost, Leon. I'm coming too."

"Hey. I'm not THAT bad with directions, Sonia. I only ended up on top of a barn once!"

"I'm comin' too!," Gloria piped up determined hands returning to her sides. But that melted away quickly when Leon shook his head no.

"Sorry, Glory," he apologised genuinely and rested a hand on her shoulder," But it'd be too dangerous for someone your age to be wondering about a power plant of all things. Especially since there's lots of research and development happening in there that could end up going south at a moment's notice. Don't worry about a thing and just let me take care of it. Ok?"

She opened her mouth to protest. "He's right." But blinked at you as you frowned worried. "I think with everything that's already happened in the past month, it'd be better to just let the literal pokemon champion and a scientist handle whatever's going on."

She blinked between the two of you for a moment before sighing. "Oh alright."

"So you should leave the investigation on the quaking to the adults," Sonia agreed, "In the mean time why don't you head to Circhester and get that badge? I'm really looking forward to seeing you compete in the finals."

Again Gloria nodded before turning to Leon with a slightly worried expression. "Hey. You're gonna be careful right?"

He smiled brightly in a reassuring way to her. "Of course! I'm always careful!"

"Except with directions." Sonia sighed before beginning to walk away.

"HEY! I'm always careful with directions," he insisted walking after her, "Since when am I not?"

"Says the one who got stranded on top of a barn and fell into the ocean multiple times when going to Hulbury."

"Oh my Arceus. It was just one time!"

You chuckled before shaking your head..but paused noticing Gloria wasn't doing anything but staring after them. She flinched when you put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Are you alright there?"

After a moment of silence she sighed and nodded before turning back towards the train station. "Yeah. Jus' a lil bit worried is all. Lee can get inta trouble if he ends up lost sometimes." And she began walking. "C'mon. Let's go get somethin' to eat. Ok?''

You blinked at her sad-ish tone but didn't push any further when you started walking behind her towards the train station by the flight of stairs leading to the Hammerlocke school where you two had encountered Paula. Sending a small shiver down your spine as you passed. Eventually you both reached the inside of the train station where you two found exactly what you were looking for. Within the train station was two men and a woman behind stands who looked like they either sold tickets or pamplets, a lot of seats, the exit for entering/exiting the train, some ATM things, vending machines, and to the very left near the entrance when you two came in was the small cafe area with it's own designated seating. A man was already seated at one table looking at what you supposed was a menu, and two very recognizable teenage boys were sat at another talking....HOP AND VICTOR!? Seriously what was the odds of running into so many people today? You tapped Gloria's shoulder to get her attention but Hop beat you too it because as soon as he looked up he smiled and waved his full arm at her.

"Oh! Gloria!," He shouted at her. Like a dog to food her head snapped to him faster than lightning before the brightest smile ever lit up onto her face as Victor turned around in his seat to look at the both of you.

"HOP! Victor!," She cried out before rushing towards them with you trailing behind with your pokemon in tow. "I haven't seen ya in days!"

"Well we- Ah!" Poor Hop was nearly knocked to the floor when Gloria practically tackled him in a hug (again-) and had to wave his arms to regain balance before leaning forward luckily not falling over. "W-We just got here on the afternoon train! Glory! You're crushin' me again!"

"After noon?", you asked before looking up towards the clock on the wall surprised when you saw it read 12: 24 in the afternoon. "Huh. I didn't think we'd get here that late in the day." You then turned back to Victor. "You guys just got back here? We didn't see you at the gyms we stopped by."

Victor shrugged back at you. "We went straight to Bellonlea after Hop won against Bea," He explained, "Then we traveled a bit so Hop could practice his battling skills before we decided to head to Circhester. Hammerlocke was just a stop before we reached there so we stopped here to restock for the weather they have up there. ...And I wanted to stop by to see the Hammerlocke castle ruins on Route Eight. Legends say that they might even be the remains of the very first castle built in Galar."

"Oh. So how was Bellonlea for you two?"

Hop sighed, having freed himself from his best friend's crushing hug, slumping his shoulders. "First that forest then that mad quiz. I've been lost in every sense of the word...But it looks like I finally caught up to you again."

"Does that mean you didn't get the badge?"

He chuckled. "Took me one heck of a try but I managed somehow to get it from her." He turned back to Gloria. "Speaking of which. Come with me to Route Seven real quick.I could use a bit of competition to motivate me for the next leg of our adventure!"

Gloria blinked. "....Our adventure as in yours and Victor's next stop?"

Hop blinked at her a moment before reaching to scratch the back of his neck and looked away. "W-Well...I uh....I've been having a lot of time to think, and i-it would be nice for you to join us again this time....AH! A-And Y/n too of course!" He was quick to add holding up his hands and a slight pink hue coming over his face. "Of course I enjoy her company too! I-It's not the same without y-you both!" Smooth, Hop. Very smooth.

But it seemed like just like with Bede, Hop's flustered state flew right over her head as her eyes lit up as she quickly agreed. "Are ya kiddin' me!? OF COURSE YES!! I missed travelin' with you guys!" She pointed to the door making Victor duck to avoid getting hit in the head. "C'mon let's go see 'bout that battle!"

"Hang on a second!," Victor interjected with a frown, "What about lunch? Hop, y'know we need to stop by the clothes store and get warmer clothes!"

"..I-...Y-Yeah. But we're staying an extra one or two days so you can see those ruins anyways, so we still have time for a battle and food and shopping..and all that stuff."

......With a sigh Victor sat back down in the seat and picked up his menu again. "Fine. But make it quick. I would like us to get supplies before the end of today. The sooner we're all stocked up the sooner we can see the ruins and head off to Circhester."

Gloria was already tugging him out the door as Hop waved him off. "We'll be right back! Don't worry!"

"That's when I worry the most," he mumbled.

You chuckled before going to sit in one of the chairs across from him, Drizzilie hoping onto your lap of course before settling down and letting you wrap an arm around it's upper torso to hold it. "Well, you two certainly looked like you had an exciting time while we were gone."

"Yeah I guess you could say that. ..Hey. Let's just order something for the two of us while we wait." Your Drizzilie gave a thrum. "Uh...Three of us. The three of us order."

"Are you sure? I don't mind waiting for the other two."

"Nah. I'm hungry, and we'll still be here when they come back."

"Well...Alright then.''

You two went ahead and ordered, not really surprising it was more curries, and it wasn't too long before the three plates were set down in front of you three all different. Your drizzilie immediately went to grab at it's saled curry you had ordered for it, but Victor stopped it before pulling out his own camera.

"Wait a minute. Lemme get a shot of these first," he said holding the camera up to his face.

"You're doing that curry dex thing too?," you asked holding your Drizzilie's protesting hands as it pouted being denied it's food even for a moment.

"Nah. I've just been collecting more pictures of curries and pokemon for Glory since she needs them. Plus I like taking pictures anyways, so it's not a big deal."

"Aw. That's really nice of you."

He was quick to take a few pictures of the curries and you released your pokemon's hands. Drizzilie was quick to grab it's own food and begin scarfing it down much to your amusement as you two yourselves dug in. You were happy that it wasn't another bland tasting granola bar thing or dried fruit snack made for traveling. And it wasn't too long when you were into your food that the two had returned and taken seats next to the two of you as well.

"Hey you two," you greeted, "Welcome back. How was the battle?"

Hop was absolutely beaming and Gloria sighed but not in a sad way before saying, "I lost. Hop really has gotten stronger!"

"Hey, congrats!," you smiled at Hop, "I told you you could do it!"

"Hehe. Thanks," he smiled bashfully before pointing towards the food, "Looks like we're just in time to order ourselves huh? Great! We can catch up with everything that happened then!"

Gloria chuckled. "Well then better get a big curry n' some popcorn! Cuz I gotta lot to tell the both 'o ye!"

"Oh boy. Here we go."

You should've expected the shocked faces that they all gave when Gloria between eating her curry(after taking pictures of them of course-) told them everything. And I do mean EVERYTHING. From helping the lad find an applin for his crush, to the strange MAYBE ghost girl that had you all deliver a letter to Mr. Frank, to the weird guy in Bellonlea who thought he was a pokemon, to how you both met Allister, to her gym battles, and of course everything the two of you went through in Stow-on-Side after they left. The two boys looked more shocked than they would've been if you had suddenly disappeared before their very eyes back the way you came and magically ended up back home. You just simply ate letting Gloria ramble on and on and tried to keep your drizzilie was getting food everywhere. You swore it was like trying to feed a toddler in your lap. Eventually sometime between all of this Hop finally spoke with a scowl pointing at everyone.

"I KNEW it! I knew that bloke was up to no good! And look at what happened!"

"Hop, calm down," you insisted holding up a hand, "To be honest I think he only did it because he was pressured by someone and did what he thought was going to help. I don't know why he thought there would be wishing stars under the mural, but he was right about there being something under there. ...And I really don't want to just talk badly of him since he already paid for what he did." You did feel bad for him but in the back of your mind you knew he'd be fine and get back on the right path now. "...But I think Victor said something about stopping by a clothes store. What for?"

"You'll need some too, Y/n," Victor said, "If you don't wanna freeze your leg off that is. Circhester and it's gyms are located in the mountains where it's always cold and snowy. If we're heading there we'll all need to stock up on food for the long trip too since they're the farthest gyms from here."

"Oh. Well I say we finish up here so we can get started then. I don't know how when the stores around here close."

The rest of the stay in Hammerlocke wasn't very eventful thankfully. After the lot of you had finished eating and paid, you left and you followed them all to the clothing store that Hammerlocke had. You weren't expecting them to actually be selling winter clothes but low and behold they were selling them amongst the regular summer shirts and shorts. All of your pants and shirts was pretty long and warm anyways so you only felt the need to find a plain coat and gloves as the others took their time browsing around and tried on various other winter type clothing. But you did find one thing you liked. A small child's sweater that doubled as a hoodie with the hood attached to it. You looked between it and the Drizzilie before taking it and after wrangling your pokemon lightly, slipped it over his head and popped his arms gently through the sleeves. Drizzilie gave a couple chirps in protest and confusion as he was slipped into the sweater-hoodie...before blinking and pulling out the hem of it to look over it. ..And looked at you with a strange look.

"Hey. If you're not going to stay in your pokeball then you're going to need something to keep you warm too."

You were pretty sure a water pokemon without any feathers or fur to cover him wouldn't fair too well in the cold weather. By the time you all paid for the small pile of winter clothes for the five of you and left the store, the sun was close to setting and with your low food supplies without there being any supply stores in Hammerlocke Victor was clever enough to come up with a better idea. Leading the confused group back to the train station, he walked on over to the vending machines in the corner of the room and considering everything in them was already made to last a long time they'd do until you all found another store with better surprises. Sounded good to you...Or it would've been if Gloria hadn't had the bright idea to use her Rotom pokemon. You couldn't believe it but the rotom pokemon actually transferred itself from the phone into one of the machines and one after another cans of soda, chips, instant noodle things, candy bars, and other snack like foods tumbled down one after the other with the lot of you eagerly grabbing at it. When you pointed out wasn't this technically stealing, Gloria assured you the rotom would be using money coming from her Gym Challenger account to pay for this all. Oh...Well you kinda guessed she'd have one of those to be paid after battles and all. By the end of one vending machine being cleaned out Victor mentioned once it was divided between the four of you it SHOULD be enough to at least last you all the trip up to Circhester. That was good to hear. By the time the four of you were finished with your shopping spree, sun set had finally taken a hold of the town and Hop suggested now would probably be a good time to set up came outside Hammerlocke and rest up to take a visit to the ruins Victor wanted to visit the next day. As much as you'd like to go to Circhester right away it was unanimous that the next day you'd be spending your entire day at the ruins.

That night you slept pretty well and by the time you woke up the next day Victor had already cooked everyone breakfast early. By the smile on his face, you'd say he was pretty excited to spend the day at the ruins. After eating breakfast and packing everything up, the four of you made your way down Route Eight. The castle ruins weren't too far down the road from Hammerlocke, just maybe an hour or two's walk. There was some blocked off areas by rope blocking access to some of the more brittle or dangerous areas of the place. And you did enjoy yourself while you looked around too. There was a couple pokemon you hadn't seen while you were traveling before and both twins seemed to get a kick out of taking pictures of either the ruins or the pokemon hiding within them, as you all walked around along with a few other people who seemed to be looking at them as well. The only ones who really seemed bored just standing around and looking at the ruins was your Drizzilie still wearing the sweater hoodie thing you had gotten him yesterday as he grumbled and walked along after you. The ruins were pretty big and decently had a lot to look at so it was no wonder the four of you spent nearly all morning and half the afternoon there looking at it all before Hop suggested heading back towards Hammerlocke in hopes of catching the night train out of town. Sounded good to everyone..Huh. You wondered if Sonia had studied the ruins here for more clues too? It wasn't too late when the group got back to Hammerlocke, maybe three or four o' clock in the afternoon at the lastest, but definately late enough to have missed the evening train out. Of course Hop and Gloria having to show their badges to the man standing guard at the entrance in order to be let in but it wasn't too much of a hassle for you five to head on in and back to the train station. In the entire time you were back here in Hammerlocke you hadn't seen Raihan again even once. You guessed he must've been traveling again or just not here at the moment. Fine by you. You all had a few hours to kill until the night train showed up sometime around eight o' clock. In the next few hours you all busied yourselves by having dinner courtesy of the guys and Victor giving a very happy glory all the pictures he had taken over the days they were seperated. A LOT of curry (when did they eat so much of that stuff-) and pokemon she was delighted to have and then secure into her books along with the newest pictures she took with help from Hop sorting them out and helping to place them within the labeled pages. Which took up most of the rest of the time it took you four to wait for the night train because it took you all by surprise when the sounds of rumbling tracks and a train horn made you all look up as a shiny subway like train pulled up into the station.

"Ah magikarp!," Gloria shouted before dropping her fork and then scrambling to pick up her thing played on the table. "Hop! Help me stuff these things back inta me bag!!"

Hop blinked but immediately did as his friend asked as he too scrambled to grab any leftover pictures and the two books to throw them back in her bag as Victor quickly dug into his pockets for something. Luckily you didn't have the need to pick anything up or collect anything other than the drizzilie sitting in your lap that you scooped up into your arms when the others scrambled to get up, and Victor tossed what looked like a two dollar tip on the table for whoever had to come collect the dishes. The horn blasting again for any passengers who wished to leave Hammerlocke, which you four sure did heading towards it. Looks like you all would be heading to Circhester and hopefully Gloria's next badge on the way.

#Piers #piers x reader #pokemon piers x reader #pokemon piers #pokemon sword #pokemon shield #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #Reader #Pokemon reader x piers #pokemon reader #Reader x piers

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duhragonball · 3 years

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Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch. 83-87

Last time, the Red Stone of Aja got mailed out to the bad guys, so Joseph and Caesar have gone to shake down the Venice Post Office. Notably, Joseph wears a hat and coat similar to the one he’s rocking in Part 3.

Turns out, the package is already on its way to St. Moritz, Switzerland. Messina knows this because... okay, try to follow this. So Esidisi hijacked Suzie Q’s body to mail the Stone. So she probably wasn’t even aware of what she was being forced to do, but Lisa Lisa used Ripple Hypnosis on her to retrieve the address. You’d think she would have told the boys about this ability before they ran over to the post office, but maybe they left before she could say anything.

Meanwhile, this dog’s about to get run over, but this is Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, so what else is new. Araki’s hatred for comic book dogs is the stuff of legend.

OR IS IT? Yeah, take a good long look, because this is the only time Araki saves a dog in JJBA. Apparently, Kars is a sucker for innocent plants and animals, go figure.

I don’t know what else to tell you, except Battle Tendency = Best JoJo Part.

As for Joseph, he and the others go to Switzerland, only to get held up by Nazis at the border. Turns out, their mysterious commander knows all about the Red Stone of Aja, the Pillar Men, and Joseph and Caesar’s Ripple training. That guy who tried to rob Lisa Lisa a while back? He was a Nazi spy the whole time. So now they have the Stone, and they want to cooperate with Joseph’s group. Lisa goes along with it, because it’s better than letting Kars find the stone.

For some reason, Araki pauses to discuss Nazi Germany a bit, except he has all these historical events from March and September of 1939. I’m not entirely clear on the chronology of Part 2, except that the final battle with Kars takes place in February of 1939, so none of these things have happened yet.

But the point still stands. Hitler wants Nazi Germany to rise above mankind, just as Kars seeks his own kind of supremacy. And like Kars, the Nazis are interested in the Red Stone of Aja as a possible path to greater power.

Everybody spends the night at some Swiss inn, until Kars shows up and uses his hyper-senses to detect how many men are in their room. Then he slashes through the wall with that blade he sprouts out of his forearm, killing them all with one attack.

Except for their commander, who has the Stone. Kars is confused, because he sensed the number and location of everyone in the room, but somehow he missed this last guy, because he’s got no body heat.

And Joseph barges in just in time to find out that this dude is Stroheim, the Nazi officer who blew himself up to stop Santana. Somehow he’s alive, and also a cyborg, which is why Kars couldn’t detect him.

Kars only wants two things: To capture the Aja Stone, and to kill Joseph Joestar. He says that he can’t afford to spare a Ripple User powerful enough to slay Esidisi, but Joseph wonders if Kars is motivated by a desire to avenge his comrade, rather than any sort of cold tactics. Wammu had called dibs on fighting Jojo, but he’s in Greece at the moment, and Kars is in no mood to wait.

But Stroheim insists on tackling Kars himself, as his cyborg body was specifically designed using the information gleaned from studying Santana. He’s strong enough to rip out pieces of Kars’ flesh, and he’s armed with a big-ass machine gun. He tells Joseph not to pity him, because he’s proud to become this living tribute to German technology.

What I want to know is: How did Stroheim survive Mexico without Joseph knowing about it? He was there when that grenade went off, after all. Maybe Stroheim landed some distance away, where Joseph wouldn’t have thought to look for him. But how did Stroheim’s men find him?

Anyway, Kars is not impressed, and he cuts Stroheim in half with his “light mode”, which is just the blades in his arms. They seem to glow, but it’s actually just reflected light from the complex patterns in the blades. From the sidelines, Joseph is unnerved by Kars’ ability, because he doubts that he could block or avoid those blades, even with the full power of his Hamon energy.

As for Stroheim, he had no idea that Kars could do anything like this. I don’t know, are arm-blades really that big a deal? Wammu’s powers seem a lot cooler, and Esidisi’s “flame mode” looks pretty scary, even if it only melts stuff. Still, it’s enough to beat Stroheim. Kars mocks him for thinking that he and Santana were on the same level. Kars considered Santanta a “novice”, like a “weak puppy.” That’s an interesting choice of words, since we just saw Kars save the life of a weak puppy earilier. Maybe that same pity was the only reason Kars kept Santana around in the first place. As dangerous as Santana was, Kars considers him utterly useless.

He even refers to Santana as “it.” Maybe that’s just a mistake in this scanlation, but I dunno. He’d probably use “it” to refer to that puppy he saved too. And maybe this contempt explains why Kars refers to him as “Santana”, the name Stroheim gave the guy. I always wondered why Kars didn’t use Santana’s real name, but maybe Santana never had one.

But Stroheim’s not done just yet. He has a UV beam built into his eyepiece, which stuns Kars long enough to make him drop the stone, and then it slides over a cliff.

Joseph and Kars race after it, but Kars is faster, because he doesn’t have to worry about slowing down before he goes over the edge. He can survive the fall, while Joseph can’t. So Kars figures that Joseph will try to kick him, and Joseph does throw a kick... at the snow, to distract Kars long enough for Joseph to get the Stone back.

But Kars has blades in his legs too, and he uses one to snag Joseph and pull him over the edge of the cliff. Joseph manages to use Hamon to grab hold of some icicles to stop his fall, but he still has to deal with Kars’ unstoppable blades, and his relentlessness. Joseph’s whole deal is that he outsmarts his opponents by exploiting their inattentiveness. But Kars is laser focused on getting the Aja Stone, so it’s almost impossible to catch him off-guard.

So Joseph uses that tenacity against him by holding up the Stone in the path of Kars’ attacks. Kars wants to kill Joseph, but he doesn’t dare use his blades near the Stone. Remember, Kars’ plan requires that specific Aja Stone because it’s the only one big enough and flawless enough to power his “Ultimate Life Form” mask. If he damages the Stone, it won’t be suitable for his needs. Knowing this, Joseph kicks him down the rest of the way, while he heads back up a “rope” made of Ripple-connected icicles.

Said icicles were provided by Caesar, who expected Joseph to try something like this, because he’s already learned that Joseph thinks in terms of ropes and strings. Stroheim is astonished by their flawless teamwork.

Below, Kars goes out of his way to adjust his fall so as not to crush a flower. He laughs at this latest setback, because he’s just that impressed with Joseph’s resourcefulness. Then he withdraws to try again another day.

This whole arc surprised me when I watched the anime, because it seemed like Kars would be the final boss of Battle Tendency, but here he was fighting Joseph early. And it wasn’t exactly an all-out fight. They had a little footrace and Joseph used the Aja Stone to keep Kars at bay, but not much more than that. Considering all the crazy stuff we saw from Esidisi, you’d think Kars would be much more dangerous.

But that’s just it. Esidisi was extremely formidable, and Joseph destroyed him with his Hamon training. Kars lost 33% of his team in a single stroke. All he has left is Wammu, who’s in Greece at the moment. He simply can’t afford to take on Joseph in this situation, so he doesn’t try anything too crazy. Both of them know his blades are powerful enough to get the job done, so he used them, but when they stopped being effective, he ran out of cards to play, so he left. It’s not that Kars is weak, it’s just that Joseph’s gotten so much stronger. So this fight feels like a much milder affair than the battles with the other Pillar Men so far, even though Kars is supposed to be the best one.

And this is something else I really love about Part 2. There’s only five villains to deal with: Straizo, Santana, Eisidisi, Wammu, and Kars. That’s it, so it makes things pretty easy to keep up with, and it leaves room for Wammu and Kars to fight multiple times.

Compare this with Part 3, where the Stardust Crusaders have to fight through a gauntlet of evil Stand Users as they make their way to Egypt. I think I counted 26 bad guys in Part 3? Somewhere in that neighborhood. And I love Part 3, don’t get me wrong, but if Dio only had ten henchmen instead of two dozen, would it really hurt the story?

This was something that really bugged me about Parts 4 and 5. Would La Squadra Esecuzioni’s role in Vento Aureo be any different if they only had five guys instead of seven? And what was the deal with that dude who lived in the transmission tower? Most of the “villains” in Part 4 were just randos who just fought with the good guys for no particular reason.

With Part 2, you don’t have any of that. Five villains, and three of them only get to fight once. That means every fight has to count, and every fight has to move the story along. Kars isn’t going to just show up to be sociable. He saw an opening to achieve his goal, and he went for it, only to discover his enemies were better prepared than he expected. Now, he’ll have to wait for Wammu...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #caesar zeppeli #kars #rudol von stroheim #lisa lisa #messina #suzie q

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penguinwithitsarseonfire · 4 years

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Sparks Fly (Whenever You Smile)

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3,170

Warnings: None

Summary: The Doctor takes you to the planet Erinda; famous for its pink snow. After exploring the local fauna of the place, you finally see the snow. Things end in a snowball fight, and perhaps, something more. (This is technically a sequel to Gave Me the Blues and then Purple-Pink Skies but can also be read as a standalone)

A/N: I mostly wrote this because of the tags @fabulouspotatosister wrote on gmbpps (that's the first time I wrote that title out as an acronym and oh my I have so many regrets) so this is for you hon! Congratulations on getting through all your exams! You deserve a well earned rest m’love ❤️

As the Doctor bounded towards the TARDIS door, you watched the projection on the wall, trying to make sense of the different circles and lines that made up the coordinates of where ever she had landed you.

“And you’re sure this is Erinda?” You asked, turning around to face her.

You had left your jacket draped on the banister and had decided to just throw a jumper on over your t-shirt in case you got cold. You didn’t want to be stuck wearing layers of winter clothes in a hot environment, there was no way you were doing that again.

The Doctor peeked her head out of the door, leaned back, closed it, then turned to you with a grin. “I can safely say that we’re successfully on Erinda – oh! Wait.”

She stuck out her head out of the TARDIS door again, sticking her tongue out. “Yep,” she called out. “This is most definitely Erinda!”

You smiled and rolled your eyes at her antics, picking up your jacket as you walked towards her. She grinned back and popped out, so you jogged to catch up. You were bouncing slightly as you went, trying to contain your excitement.

You were going to see pink snow, pink!

The thought was completely astounding and you couldn’t help the giddy childlike glee build up as you crossed the threshold of the TARDIS-

-Only to be met with an average park.

It really was just a normal, boring park, exactly like the ones you would see back home. It had all the stereotypical identifying factors. There was green grass and a collection of flowers in garden beds, which were in neat little rows by gravel set pathways. There were people walking dogs, eating food on park benches, and lazing in the sun; either studying or sleeping. There was even a large fountain that sat in the centre, with children throwing pennies into it and making wishes.

What wasn’t there, however, was pink snow.

Your heart dropped and you absentmindedly felt that childlike anticipation shatter. You turned to face the Doctor, at a loss. “There’s no pink snow.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor drew out the word, scratching the back of her ear. The chain from her earring cuff dangled slightly as she did so, and it caught against the sunlight. “I could have sworn the snowstorm was supposed to happen about now… Dunno what I did wrong.”

“About now?”

“Planned it for the moment you’d step out of the TARDIS,” she said, and she sounded completely disheartened. “Wanted it to be a bit special.”

Your heart softened at that statement. “Oh Doc, that’s really sweet,” you stared back out to the park in front of you. “Even if it didn’t exactly work out.”

Above you the sky was dark, with heavy, angry clouds slowly rolling across. The Doctor followed your gaze and looked up at them, sticking her tongue out slightly in deep thought – or, well, you assumed she was in deep thought. She also pulled that face when she was considering what sort of biscuit she wanted to eat, so the face could mean practically anything.

“Might’ve gotten the time wrong,” she said absently. “Could be another couple of minutes,” she turned to look at you. “Shall we go for a walk? There’s other really interesting stuff I can show you!.”

You blinked and unhelpfully repeated her, like a confused parrot. “Interesting stuff?”

The Doctor gave you a cheeky smirk. “Super interesting stuff,” she stuck out her hand. “C’mon.”

You clasped your hand in hers and the two of you walked side by side. Your boots crunched against the gravel path, and a slight chill nipped against your ears, your nose, and one of your hands. The other was tucked comfortably in the Doctor’s warm palm, acting like a mini heater against the cold around you.

It seemed though that no matter where you went, there were droves of people, each filling their own little spaces, but, in doing so, left you with no privacy. It made you feel a bit awkward, it wasn’t that you didn’t like it per-say, it was just, well, you had been expecting pink snow, not a park that could be mistaken for one on Earth.

The Doctor seemed just as dispirited as you, and stopped suddenly, surveying the area. She let go of your hand to clasp both of hers together, patting her thumbs against each other.

Your hand felt colder, but you chose not to think about it.

The Doctor rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet, as if building up the energy to shoot herself into the sky. She eyed the tourists for a moment, then stuck out her hand again, taking yours wordlessly. She motioned towards an area that seemed to lead to a vast, empty green field. “Let’s go this way.”

You followed along after her, grateful that you still got to hold her.

Fewer and fewer people dotted the park as you continued on your path, and tall gangly trees sprouted in their place. They towered above you, shielding you from the sky and basking you in their orange leaves.

“Are they like this all year round?” You asked the Doctor, nodding towards the trees. “Or is it just because of the cold, like back on Earth.”

The Doctor hummed, following your gaze. “Oh these? Well they’re Argail trees, so it’s quite odd that they’re orange, actually. They should have bright yellow leaves.”

“Yellow leaves?” You gawked, your mind rewriting the colour of their leaves to a bright neon yellow, like the colour of a high-vis jacket. “All year round?”

The Doctor hummed. “Well, it’s not that different than orange, is it?”

You contemplated it for a moment. “No, I supposed not,” you thought of bright yellow leaves again, and wondered if they would reflect the streetlights at night. “Still though,” you continued. “I suppose orange is just more familiar, and now the only thing I’m thinking of is super bright yellow leaves.”

The Doctor chuckled. “Well if you think that’s odd,” she nodded to a tree to your side. “Go ahead and touch it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well that’s not vague at all.”

“C’mon,” she insisted. “They’re really cool.” She scrunched up her face for a moment. “Huh, cool. Haven’t said that a while.”

You eyed the tree thoughtfully then dragged the Doctor along with you, not yet willing to let go of her hand. At the base of the tree you stretched out your other hand to touch the bark. Under your fingers, a collection of blue flowers suddenly unfolded themselves, pushing the bark back and poking out their little, soft petals. You gasped in delight as more unfurled themselves, showing a pattern that twisted up the trunk.

They pulsed softly, alternating between a rich Navy and soft periwinkle, like there was a little light inside each one of them. It was rhythmic and slow, reminding you of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Your heartbeat,” the Doctor said softly, and your spine tingled. She was closer to you than you had realised. “They respond to a heartbeat.”

You blinked, looking at her for a moment before your attention was drawn back to the flowers. Your heartbeat, you were watching your very own heartbeat in the flowers.

Okay, so really cool was an understatement.

“Wow,” you breathed, not really having the words to express the awe you felt, looking at these flowers reflecting your actual, honest to god heartbeat.

An MRI machine would never compare now, not after this.

“There’s more,” she said. “Do you wanna see?”

You nodded, still not tearing your eyes away from the flowers.

Before you knew it the Doctor was marching along the path, dragging you along with her, the gravel crunching under your shoes. Behind you, you watched as the flowers folded back into the tree, as though they had never appeared at all.

You crashed into the Doctor and let out a small cry. She had stopped right in front of you, and, as you turned around around to see where she had stopped, you instead found her toppling over.

You didn’t even think. You pulled her up from the hand that was still held in yours, and wrapped your other arm around her waist, doing your best to steady her. Gravity, apparently, had other plans, and, twisting dramatically, you both collapsed into the grass.

You let out a startled laugh, rolling over slightly so the grass was underneath you, cold and soft. The Doctor, who was curled in your side, let out a soft groan, and let her head fall into the grass, knocking against your waist lightly.

You looked down at her. “Well, that was something.”

She returned your gaze, grinning. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to fall for you,” her face dropped, and your heart leapt into your throat.

Surely she understood what she had said.

“I- I mean off the path,” The Doctor stammered.

“Yeah,” You laughed awkwardly. “Of course.”

You looked at the Doctor and she looked at you, and in this light, it took you a moment to work out what colour her eyes were. You often never seemed to know, it was as if the Doctor’s eyes changed colour. Sometimes they were green, other times they looked more brown, almost as if they were mimicking hazel, but couldn’t quite get it right. Today however, they were almost golden, and they glittered in the sunlight.

The Doctor opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something, but a lone snowflake fell slowly and landed delicately on the tip of her nose. She scrunched up her face, crossing her eyes and trying to look at her own nose.

You cocked your head to the side, studying it, and also trying not to giggle at the Doctor’s expression. She looked like she was pulling a face for a child.

Wait – snow.

You turned your head skywards, and scurried up so you were standing. All around you, tiny pink snowflakes were softly falling from the heavens. They twirled around each other, as if they were dancing. They collected over the ground, over the trees, and into your hair, like a fine dusting of pink powder.

You stuck your hand out, and a collection of pink snowflakes landed in the palm of your hand. You poked at it, it didn’t feel cold, and it was almost as if instead of moulding it, the snow was just moving along with you.

The Doctor completely forgotten, you laughed in delight, wandering through the field as the snow continued to fall. It came down heavier than when it started, but still, it wasn’t cold. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before, unlike anything you could even begin to describe.

It crunched under your boots, and, was you inspected the way it fell on some of the plants, you noticed it had almost knitted itself into their fibres, reminding you of unwoven pink silk.

“This is amazing,” you breathed, and you weren’t sure if the Doctor had heard you, but you loved it all the same.

You turned back to the Doctor to find her looking at you with a grin, her eyes sparkling in delight – no, wait, not her delight, yours. She was happy because you were.

“Thank you for this,” you said, speaking louder so she could hear you. “This,” you gestured around you. “Is incredible.”

Then her grin turned into a cheeky smirk, and, before you knew it, she had thrown a snowball at you. It hit you square in the face, the snow scattering over your skin and leaving a wet, blotchy mark that went cold in the breeze. You tumbled backwards, flailing your arms to keep you upright. With an oof you landed into the snow, butt first.

The Doctor laughed in delight, and you cocked your head to the side. Oh.

It was on.

You dragged your hand through the growing layer of snow, forming a snowball in your hands. The Doctor let out a squeak and started to run, but there was no where for her to hide, you were both in an empty field .

You stood and began chasing her, throwing the snowball at her as you neared her. You watched it fly in the air, completely off target, before it swerved and hit her on the elbow.

Ah. Okay. So the snow could move.

Right.

The Doctor tripped slightly, and turned to face you, her arms filled with at least 3 more snowballs – and when had she had the time to make them anyway?

You didn’t have the chance to contemplate the where’s, when’s, or how’s, because suddenly a volley of them were after you. Your dropped downwards towards the ground, narrowly missing the snowballs but getting a face full of the snow instead. It tasted interesting, sweet, like artificial strawberries.

You clawed at the snow and watched as it formed into a snowball on its own accord, then broke apart to create a duplicate.

Well, that answered that, then.

The two of you chased each other in the empty field, the kinetic snow forming and shifting itself to create the most dynamic snowballs you had ever encountered. The snowballs burst whenever they made a hit, and you weren’t sure if it was because of just the way the snow was, or if it was because it was freshly fallen.

The imitation artificial strawberry smell permeated the air, and you knew there was probably a stupid grin plastered on your face. You couldn’t remember the last time you had had this much joyful, reckless fun.

You had lost the Doctor, and had taken the opportunity to stack a supply of snowballs. The lower ones were more compact, harder and icier, but still, they weren’t cold. You had managed to stack a sort of makeshift tower, a supply that would surely cause you to topple the Doctor.

Around you the breeze sung and birds chirped. There was barely any noise, not from other people, or from certain Time Lords. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you would even argue that it was silent.

Then, you heard a twig snap.

You turned, your pile forgotten as the Doctor lunged at you, pelting you with snow and landing straight on top of you. You both fell into your snowball pile, and you felt the snow sludge into your clothes, down your boots, and into your hair. The snow had even found itself through a hole in your jumper, which you hadn’t even realised was there until that every moment.

You laughed, loud and bright, the Doctor’s weight warm on top of you. “How did you even manage that?” You cried out, still laughing.

The Doctor pulled herself off of you, holding out her hand and pulling you up so you were both sitting in the remains of your fallen tower. “I’m the reigning champion of the Intergalactic Snowball Championships,” she said as she laughed. “Have been for 100 years. My secrets have secrets.”

You weren’t even surprised by that. Nothing about the Doctor fazed you anymore.

The laughter died down, until your stomach was sore and you were hiccupping slightly. The air was now still. As your adrenaline passed you by, it felt colder by the second, and yet, neither of you moved.

The two of you sat there, wordless, breathing heavy, and plumes from your breath danced in the air between you.

Little pink clouds of snow settled into the Doctor's hair, dusted the bridge of her nose and lay to rest across her coat. She was flushed, you noticed, whether from the game, or the cold, you weren't sure, but the rose of her cheeks rather complimented the snow.

From where your jumper had ripped, you thought your arm would be cold, but it wasn't, it was warm, warmer than the rest of you, at least. Your eyes trailed the length of the Doctors figure, and you found that she had rested her hand against your arm, right over the tear in your jumper.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Oh.

You looked back to her face and the Doctor licked her lips. They were chapped slightly – from the wind, you thought, but otherwise they looked completely soft. You couldn't look away. If you had, you would have noticed that her own eyes were flitting from your eyes to your lips, as if the Doctor was entranced.

Suddenly, the Doctor’s forehead was on yours, her breath matching yours, shaking slightly. Her hand went from your arm, exposing it to the cold, and trailed upwards, resting against your jaw. “Is this okay?” She asked, and there was a rasp in her voice you hadn’t ever heard before. It made you feel warm.

“Yeah.”

Later, the Doctor would say you were the one to lean in first, that it gave her the courage to do the same, but, in this moment, you really couldn't tell.

Because her lips brushed against yours.

The first thing you thought was that her lips were warm, they were soft.

Then you weren't thinking at all.

The kiss was hesitant at first, as if the Doctor were testing it out, then, it grew. Even still, it stole the breath from your body, all you knew was her.

She drew back, whispering your name, as if it were a song. You chased after her, your heart fluttering, or at least, it felt like it did. Your name had never felt so wonderful before, as if it were like its own chorus.

Then she met your lips again, and, for a second time, your brain short circuited.

Your hand trailed upwards, brushing against her earring chain, your fingers tangling in her hair. You gripped tight, pulling yourself into her. You wanted to touch her, to feel her soft skin against yours, to memorise the way it felt under your hands.

You felt like you were walking on air, like you were one of these pink snowflakes, dancing and swaying amongst the breeze.

All too soon, you had to pull away, because breathing was, unfortunately, a thing you had to do. You gasped as you parted, dropping your head onto her shoulder.

“I really like Erinda,” you said, your voice breathy.

The Doctor let out a winded laugh. You watched the rise and fall of her chest as she did so. “Oh good,” she said. “Yeah, I think the snow is the highlight here.”

You nodded into her neck, humming in agreement. “Yeah, I don’t think anything else noteworthy has happened.”

You looked up at her and saw her giving you a delighted, almost dazed expression, as if she couldn’t quite believe that had happened.

“An amazing place for a first date,” you amended. “No seriously Doctor, I love this.”

The Doctor’s eyes sparkled and the smile she gave you was so warm, so soft, it was as if you held out the stars for her. “Good. You deserve to be happy.”

A/N^2: Yes! I know! I wrote a kissing scene! Please don’t let the heavens strike me down if it was awful, an attempt was made.

#the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor #Doctor Who #DW

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mst3kproject · 3 years

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Attack from Space

What, you thought I was out of Star Man movies?

In the distant Sapphire Galaxy, the ferocious Superians (I think) have set out to conquer our universe, beginning with the planet Earth. The High Council of the Emerald Planet doesn't like that, so off goes Star Man to suss out the Superian spies who are sabotaging our space programs. This story intersects with that Dr. Yamanaka, a rocket scientist who has been kidnapped by the aliens and brainwashed into building them a fleet of super-spaceships. It's up to Star Man and Yamanaka's two brave children to save the day!

You guys, you're not going to believe this but I think this movie had a fucking budget. I mean, it wasn't a big budget, but there's much more action and plot and much less of children in shorts running around pointing at things! There's two different miniature space stations and a rocket ship that's better than the one in Radar Men from the Moon. There's a single plot that runs all the way through the movie and what's more, unlike the other Star Man movies it's not immediately obvious where 'part one' ends and 'part two' begins. When I think about it, it's probably the point where the rocket blasts off from the secret alien base, but that is purely a hindsight thing. This may be the best put-together film of the whole Star Man quadrilogy!

Don't worry, it still sucks.

Also in hindsight, I realize that the aliens are probably supposed to be the Sapphirians, seeing as they're from the Sapphire Galaxy. But the actors keep sounding like they're saying Superians, which also works, since they're supposed to be a 'superior' race... and a couple of times I swore I heard Severians... like they're going to be severe with us, which they were when they started blowing up cities. Now I'm really confused.

Anyway, like the other films in the Star Man series, Attack from Space begins with a narrator giving us the backstory. In Evil Brain from Outer Space, this served to gloss over the robot assassin killing Ballazar and his minions preserving his brain, which is something I really would have preferred to watch. In Attack from Space, it just tells us that the, um... Silurians? Are on their way. There's a brief time-killing interlude in which Star Man has to pass on destroying their space station because of the inevitable meteor shower, but then we get on to the idea of alien agents on Earth and the story proper starts up. So for once, the narrator doesn't outstay his welcome.

Besides the whole actual budget thing, the other way in which Attack from Space surprises is by making a fairly superficial but apparently sincere attempt to be feminist. This is the first Star Man film in which we've seen women among the aliens. The, er, Cyberians? Are a mix of stiff Japanese extras and a few very embarrassed white guys whose lip movements suggest they're speaking English but saying something totally different from the lines that have been dubbed overtop. The women we see appear to do desk work and monitor radio signals, kind of like Uhura on Star Trek, but it seems they can also serve as security guards, since Dr. Yamanaka's teenage daughter manages to pass as a guard just by stealing a, uh, Spherian? Uniform.

Yamanaka's daughter (according to IMDB her name is Kaoru... I think the narrator might have identified her as such but the name is never used again) is actually one of the most skilled and proactive of the human characters. She's not the one who comes up with the escape plan (her father's assistant, who was given a name but I can't remember it, did that) but she is essential to its execution and to the eventual positive outcome. In the final fight she makes a noble effort to save herself and actually manages to hold off the attacking, uh... Sumerians? Long enough for Star Man to get to her. It's not the same as giving her a personality but it is definitely something, especially in a genre that's usually so relentlessly male.

But as with the other films in the series, most of Attack from Space is just a relentless parade of what the fuck. There are fight scenes set to circus music. The, um... Submarines? They have two different uniforms – the 'rocket ship' version is a standard Japanese Alien silver baked potato jumpsuit, while the 'formal' one is just a re-used Nazi uniform, complete with heil Hitler salute! There's a 'Death Star' but it's just a planet where the rocks are on fire. There's a bit where they throw a dude over the side of the space station. Are we meant to think he just floats around in space forever, or does he fall to earth in a fireball like what happened when Mike dropped the Hubble Space Telescope?!

The two space stations are plastic model kit wheels barely better than their counterparts in Rocky Jones, Space Ranger! and don't stand up to anything like the amount of scrutiny the camera subjects them to. When Star Man tears one apart with his bare hands, it doesn't look remotely like a feat of strength – it just looks like a dude ripping apart a structure made out of wire coat hangers. Outer space is very windy and surprisingly breathable. If it were just the, uh, Siberians? Who stand around on the outside of their space stations unaffected, I might buy that, but humans do it too. Either way, it was nice of Star Man to politely shut the airlock door behind him after he busted his way in.

The fight scenes are delightfully silly – badly choreographed, badly executed, and badly shot, and because of it utterly hilarious. There's not a single punch that looks like it lands. The best bit in the whole movie is when Star Man kicks a guy up the stairs with the power of reversed film (this is the obvious choice for a MST3K stinger)! On the other hand, there are also some rather surprising bits where Star Man picks up a gun and shoots some aliens, which seems very un-superheroish of him.

The movie's scientist, Dr. Yamanaka, lives in a bunker on an island and wears a lab coat all the time. This is explained as being because of his work in rocketry, which is top-secret and dangerous and therefore must be kept away from population centres and the employees well-protected... but it's such a mad scientist trope that it's still a bit of a surprise that he's never revealed as working for the, um, Sulfurians? The whole time.

I don't know if it's worth it to try any sort of actual analysis on the Star Man series as a whole, but I do want to note that out of four movies, three of them involve a threat to the Earth that comes not from humanity, but from an outside force. The Salamander Men, Ballazar's Brain, and the... um... Sirenians? Are all alien creatures that want to take over the Earth as the first step to a greater series of conquests. In Invasion from Space we were told that Earth is 'the richest planet in the galaxy' but this idea doesn't come up in any of the other movies. So why do all these would-be galaxy-conquerors want to start with little old us?

Well, there's the obvious fact that we wouldn't have a comprehensible movie if they didn't, but let's look for a reason in the universe of the stories. One might be tempted to speculate that it's because Earth is easy to conquer by the standards of these spaceship-building, atomic-weapon-mastering, sorcerer-summoning aliens, but that may be a premature conclusion. All these beings seem to have heard of Star Man, after all, and if they've been keeping up with his adventures as we have (which we clearly have, as Star Man is allowed to address the UN at one point) then they must know the Earth is under his protection. There must be something else that makes the Earth special. What is it, exactly, that we're rich in? It can't be minerals, because none of the aliens are ever seen mining.

Considering that both the, uh... Shakespeareans? And Ballazar's Brain are seen to have Earthling scientists working for them, I would humbly speculate that what Earth is rich in... is humans! In Atomic Rulers, the human Magolians (or whoever they were) were able to figure out how to blow up the planet all by themselves, which is something none of these aliens ever even tried! Dr. Kurokawa and his brother of Evil Brain from Outer Space were somehow essential to the invasion plan, even though we never really found out what was up with that. In Attack from Space, the aliens kidnap and brainwash Dr. Yamanaka and his family to build spaceship engines for them. They never say they couldn't have done that on their own, but they don't seem very interested in trying.

Maybe this is why the Emerald Men (at least I can tell what their name is) think they need to keep sending Star Man to Earth. Humans are a resource that needs to be nurtured, not conquered, and someday we can help the entire galaxy to advance! Or is it more sinister than that? Do humans need to be kept isolated and protected, so that nobody – including us – can use our remarkable brainpower for evil? We are very good at evil. With the right tools, we could be an unstoppable force even greater than that of the... Saggitarians? Even Star Man would be unable to stand in our way!

I dunno about you guys, but that makes me feel pretty special.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #60s #starman and friends #attack from space

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goodomensblog · 5 years

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A Love Like Moonlight

The Sequel to A Touch Like Sunlight. Though you don’t need to have read A Touch Like Sunlight to understand everything that’s happening here.

Warnings: violence, blood and injuries

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

Faced with Gabriel, and Michael, and the inconceivable notion - the thought of his angel’s destruction at their cruel, merciless hands, the Hellfire coursing through his veins ceases it’s singing.

Instead, it screams.

The flame is stirring, climbing, filling him. Burning - it roars, demanding air, freedom, destruction.

Crowley gives it what it desires.

His dark wings unfurl. Beneath black feathers, hellfire crackles and glows. His wings arc back, and molten sparks erupt from the dark plumage. In the dark desert, they fall like rain.

Crowley can feel the glorious bite of fire - in his fingers, his arms, his mouth and throat. And when he turns to look upon Gabriel, Hellfire’s liquid heat flickers and pours like molten gold from his yellow eyes.

“You wanted justice, archangel?” Crowley spits, flames licking at his throat. When he smiles, they flicker, dancing between sharp, white teeth. “Shall we see if the fires of Hell can wipe the sins from your immortal soul?”

Or - the fic where Crowley fights a couple of Archangels

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

A Love Like Moonlight

After the apoca-wasn’t, time carries on - as time does. Days bleed into months, and months into years.

And through it all, Heaven and Hell remain unnervingly silent.

Crowley and Aziraphale sometimes catch sight of them - angels more often than demons. Not because the demons are any better at sneaking about; there are simply less of them sneaking (between the two, Heaven’s always been the more vengeful). But their watchers - whether angel or demon - don’t go so far as to speak. Rather, they observe - usually from some distance, dark gazes following. Watching.

Crowley and Aziraphale try not to think about them overmuch. After all, the body-swap should have convinced their respective sides of the angel and demon’s invulnerability to the two most deadly weapons in Heaven and Hell’s arsenals.

“Maybe we’re forgiven,” Aziraphale muses as he lifts a spoonful of fudge drenched sundae to his lips. He doesn’t sound as though he believes it.

Crowley definitely doesn’t believe it.

For a start, he’s a demon; Aziraphale’s about the only celestial being who seems interested in forgiving him that deficiency.

And as for Aziraphale - well, the archangels hadn’t seemed all that keen on forgiving or forgetting Aziraphale’s indiscretions when they’d, with tight lips and dark looks, released a disguised Crowley after Hellfire had failed to burn him.

“I certainly don’t relish the thought of real confrontation with them,” Aziraphale says, shifting in the restaurant’s cushioned seat.

“Who’s them?”

“Oh, I meant Heaven. Though I suppose-”

Taking a sip of dark, steaming coffee, Crowley waves. “Nah. I’m not worried about Hell. It’ll take them a few centuries at least to get that ball rolling. Took ‘em so long to kick off the whole Antichrist shindig, I’d begun to think it they’d changed their minds.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale muses, and a spoonful of sundae disappears.

“And as for Heaven - well, maybe it won’t come to that. You never know.”

“...perhaps,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley can almost see the angel’s willful optimism warring with his intimate knowledge of archangels’ particular breed of wrath.

Sighing, Aziraphale taps a finger along the spoon’s edge before setting it and the half-eaten sundae aside.

Crowley’s sharp gaze follows the abandoned sundae as it’s pushed across the table. Aziraphale has laced his fingers together, and is staring ponderously down at the bleached white tablecloth.

“I don’t…” Aziraphale starts, and Crowley leans in.

“...enjoy confrontation,” the angel finishes with a twist of his lips.

“Well that’s fine,” Crowley says, and shifts his hand so that their fingers are touching.

Aziraphale’s fingers twitch and his gaze flicks appreciatively up.

“But I’d fight,” Aziraphale says, and his hands slide across the table, knuckles bumping Crowley’s as he twists their fingers together. “If I had to. To protect us. The life we’ve made here.”

This, Crowley knows. It makes something in the depths of his very being burn; and it’s warm, flickering, and fragile.

The angel had, in the end, been willing to kill a child to rid the world of the Antichrist after all. He’d been ready to accept that black mark on his soul - being - whatever, to save Crowley, humanity, the world.

It was only Madame Tracy’s last second intervention which had spared him that.

Crowley regrets not taking up the gun on that rain soaked runway. Six thousand years spent rescuing Aziraphale from difficult choices - from sending a French executioner to his own beheading to bloodying his hands with the deaths of Nazi scum - and after all that he’d gone and asked Aziraphale to complete the darkest task of them all.

His angel won’t be put in that position again. Not if Crowley can help it.

“Don’t worry about all that, angel.”

“Well of course I worry,” Aziraphale says, giving him an affronted look.

“You’ve got me,” Crowley says, because he does, and Crowley likes to remind him of it.

His stiff posture softens. Squeezing Crowley’s hands, Aziraphale glances up. “I do. And you’ve got me. Always.”

Overcome, Crowley lifts Aziraphale’s hands, pressing his lips to soft knuckles. When Aziraphale sighs and smiles, Crowley feels alight, effervescent, and disentangles a single hand to press the sundae back toward the angel.

“Go on then. Finish your ice cream.”

“Well. If you insist,” Aziraphale says, eyes flashing in quiet mirth, and picks up the spoon with a little twirl. Scooping a melting spoonful, he swallows it with a contented hum.

Chin perched on a fist, Crowley watches him, taking easy joy in the angel’s delight.

Nightingales stretch their wings and ready to fly south as soon as leaves fade from green to yellow - not knowing, nor particularly caring to understand the interminable feeling in their tiny fluttering hearts which commands them. In much the same way, Crowley doesn’t think overmuch about protecting Aziraphale from facing a choice like the one at Tadfield again. Nightingales fly south in the autumn, and Crowley will do near anything to keep Aziraphale from anguish.

If Gabriel - or any of the other archangels make a move against them, Aziraphale will not be forced to bear the burden of taking up arms against a fellow angel. Not if Crowley has anything to say about it.

Because he’s got a plan. A decently good one too, he likes to think.

They’re on their own now - isolated from both Heaven and Hell, but that doesn’t mean Crowley doesn’t occasionally keep in touch. He has a contact or two, under-the-table type connections, of course. But it’s enough for him to keep an ear to the ground with regard to what Hell is up to, and sometimes, by association - Heaven.

It’s how he hears, three days after his and Aziraphale’s lunch date, about the knife.

The London Natural History Museum is busy this time of year.

Crowley slips through the crowd, shoes squeaking on polished marble.

The lesser demon is nearby - Crowley can sense him. When Crowley finds him, it’s in the Rocks and Minerals wing, and he’s hunched, squinting down at a display.

“What have you got for me?” Crowley says, glancing around at the milling crowd.

“Did you know there’s islands of rocks that float?” Daeval says, pressing his spindly fingers over a black and white picture.

Sparing the demon a single, withering look, Crowley pulls him away from the display.

“You called me. What information do you have?”

The demon, a scrawny thing with bony shoulders and a head just slightly too large for its body, looks somewhat like a human child - at least on this plane. And as Crowley drags him away from the display, he whines.

“Oh for - you’re not actually a child!” Crowley hisses, dragging the demon outside.

Outside, Daeval recoils, squinting at the light.

“Spill. Now,” He says, stepping in, crowding the little bastard.

Spindly hands lift and the demon is snarling. “Give me a chance to get a word out!”

“I’m waiting.”

Flicking a rude gesture, the demon begins. “I hear that the angels are looking for something.”

“For what?”

“From what I hear, it’s a knife.”

“A knife?”

What would an angel want with a knife?

“Not just any knife. An ancient one. Way, way back, an angel gave it to some poor sod. Apparently, the knife got a bit tainted, you see, with a touch of murderous intent. Then it slipped down to our end for a while, and was eventually lost.”

“And?”

“See, it’s an angelic blade that went a bit dark. It’s, uh, well they say it can kill both demons and angels.”

Crowley stills. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t blink. His heartbeat silences so that he might better think.

“It can do what.”

“Kill angels. Kill demons. Stab ‘em and-” he flings out his hands, making a dramatic whooshing noise. “Gone. Permanent like.”

Crowley braces a hand against the closest wall. When his fingers tremble, he grinds them into the stucco until they still.

“This knife. Where is it?”

“Dunno. Just heard that some angels were looking for it. Asking around. Probably don’t want us demons getting our hands on it again, is my guess.”

“I don’t pay you to guess.”

“Don’t pay me much at all actually…”

“Yeah, just shh-” Crowley waves the demon silent. Pressing a fist to his lips, he paces in a tight circle.

It could be nothing, he thinks. Maybe the angel’s are simply interested in keeping it out of Hell’s grasp. But he knows Heaven, and he knows the kind of angels which preside there. And they’re the type that won’t stand to leave things unfinished. Not after Aziraphale’s slight.

Divine justice is swift. And it is unyielding.

And there apparently exists a knife to do it’s bidding.

The angels believe Aziraphale is immune to Hellfire.

This knife would be the perfect solution.

“Have they found it?”

“Don’t know.”

The sky is cloudless, the sun is bright, and powerful archangels might have a knife capable of killing one of their own. Spitting a swear, Crowley closes his eyes. Fingers curling, he presses his hand over his face; his bruised knuckles press into the skin around his glasses.

Either they’ve found it - or they will soon.

Heaven is relentless in that way.

“Daeval. It’s time,” Crowley finally says. “See to the preparations. You have three days.”

“First of all, that’s a rush job. Are you gonna pay me-”

Snatching up the demon’s hand, Crowley squeezes. Power flows down his arm, tingling through his fingers and into the demon’s small hand.

“There,” Crowley mutters, “Enough for a few powerful miracles. Happy?”

The demon, drawing his hand back, flexes his fingers. He grins, sharp teeth gleaming. “Feels good.”

“Yeah, great. Awesome. Can you do it or not?”

“Oh I can do it. Might need to use up a couple of these demonic miracles to make it happen though.”

“Do the job and there’ll be more where that came from.”

“...probably don’t want to be giving too many of those away. Seeing as it sounds like you’re going to be squaring up with an angel.”

“I don’t pay you to speculate about my business either. Besides, you get me what I need and there won’t be any fighting.”

“Oh there’s always fighting.”

“We’ll see about that,” Crowley says and flicks a hand, “Get going.”

With a wink and a mocking salute, the lesser demon disappears.

Crowley sinks back, collapsing against the wall. Heaving a breath, he drags his fingers through his hair.

It’s a decent plan. Maybe even a good one.

It will work.

It has to.

The alternative is-

Well, the angels will likely have an angel and demon slaying weapon soon - if they don’t already.

The alternative doesn’t really bear thinking about.

Crowley goes home - and if he holds Aziraphale a little tighter when they curl together on Aziraphale’s old mattress, the angel doesn’t mention it.

- - -

Three days later, there is a soft rap upon Crowley’s apartment door.

He’d long ago moved his plants to Aziraphale’s shop. These days the apartment is mostly used for extra storage (not that they really need it) and an extra hide-out in case of emergencies. Recently however, Crowley has been using it as a private space to ready materials for the plan.

Strolling through the bleak, empty halls he closes his eyes, focusing on the presence outside the door.

A minor demon.

When he yanks it open, the Daeval looks up, his grimy boots shifting nervously over the floor. A dark sack dangles over his bony shoulder.

“You got it?”

The demon nods, and licking his lips, passes Crowley the bag.

It’s not heavy.

Pulling it open, he spares a glance inside.

“That’s it,” he breathes.

Looking up, he holds out a hand.

The demon, flexing his fingers, shifts on his feet. “...Crowley-”

Crowley’s hand curls closed. “What?”

The demon rubs a grimy hand over his face. Shaking his head, he says, “I think - I think Lord Beelzebub is supporting the angels? Somehow? It’s how I know, I mean - I heard talk. It was - um, I think it’s happening. Today.”

With a snap, Crowley is gone.

The bookshop materializes around him. Closing his eyes, Crowley spreads his awareness.

He feels Aziraphale - there, in the back.

No one else.

Crowley opens his eyes with a shaky breath.

He’s turning a cursory glance around the shop when he sees it.

The card, gold embossed and glittering, is on the floor below the mail slot.

Crowley bends.

A Heavenly summons; on it, is Aziraphale’s name, written in demanding, golden letters.

He thought they might try something like this. Aziraphale would be loathe to ignore a formal summons, Crowley knows. Even after all that’s happened.

Too forgiving for his own good.

Taking the summons, Crowley tucks it into his blazer.

“Crowley? Is that you?” Aziraphale calls from the back.

“Yeah,” Crowley says “Just had to stop back and grab something. Going now though.”

And then Aziraphale’s head is peering around the corner. “Where did you say you were going, dear?”

When the angel steps into the shop proper, he’s holding an open book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. His round reading glasses have slipped down his nose.

“Just some errands,” Crowley shrugs, smiling through the bitter taste of the lie. “A few little temptations to keep the world out there properly interesting. Be back before you know it.”

“Please do keep them little. I know it’s not, technically speaking, my job any longer - but I still feel like I ought to bestow a blessing or two to balance it out.”

“Do my best, angel,” Crowley says, and turns, lifting the bag.

“What’s that?”

Crowley shrugs, every muscle in his body straining for nonchalance. “Just some goodies to, you know, help with the tempting. Harmless stuff.”

There is a soft click as the mug is set on Aziraphale’s desk. Crowley hears the book slide beside it.

“...Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice is careful, “What’s wrong?”

Crowley shakes his head, not daring to look over his shoulder.

“Nothing’s wrong, angel”

“You once told me that you’ve never lied - not to me,” Aziraphale halts and takes a breath. “Tell me that’s still true”

Crowley closes his eyes.

“What’s happened Crowley?”

Turning, Crowley sets the bag aside. He’s across the shop in three long strides. When he cups Aziraphale’s face, he feels Aziraphale’s hands sliding up his sides. And when he leans in, pressing their foreheads together, Aziraphale’s hands press over his chest, fingers twisting in the lapels of his blazer.

“Dear, your behavior is doing nothing to assuage my fears.”

“I know,” Crowley says, and bends, dragging an achingly slow kiss over the angel’s lips.

Aziraphale’s grip tightens, and Crowley presses him back.

When Aziraphale bumps against his desk, Crowley stops.

Stroking his thumbs over the angel’s cheeks, Crowley heaves a shuddering breath. And when he says, “Angel, you know I’d do anything for you; extinguish every star in the universe if you asked it of me,” it’s an attempt to convey to Aziraphale, some fraction of his feelings.

Aziraphale’s grip tightens on his coat.

“I’d never ask such a thing of you. I know how you love the stars.”

“I know.”

Crowley presses another slow, careful kiss against the angel’s lips, and as soon as the grip slackens on his blazer - steps back.

Aziraphale reaches out, stepping to follow - and jerks to a halt.

A preternatural stillness settles over the angel as, palm flat, he presses his hand to the invisible barrier between them.

“What is...Crowley-,” Aziraphale says, gaze flicking from Crowley, to the barrier - and then to the rug beneath his feet.

He kicks it back.

The circle had been neatly concealed. Now, the runes glow a deep, blackened red, and undulate, slithering round one another on the wood floor.

Aziraphale kneels, reaching a hand toward the runes. His knuckles bump against the barrier.

“These are...these are in blood,” Aziraphale looks up. He’s pale. “Demon blood. Crowley-”

“Yeah. It’s mine,” he says, and somehow, he didn’t quite imagine this part would hurt so much.

Aziraphale presses a bracing hand against the invisible wall between them, and Crowley can tell he’s realized. Aziraphale is smart. It won’t have taken him long to connect the dots.

“Crowley. Dear,” his voice is soft, forced calm. “Come now. Let me out. Whatever’s come up, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

“They mean to kill you angel.”

Aziraphale’s other hand is pressing against the barrier. “Yes, and if they mean to do that to me, what do you think they intend for you?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“If it’s a plan that involves leaving me here, it cannot be any good!” Aziraphale says, voice lifting. His eyes are flickering a bright, painful blue. “Let me out, Crowley. Let me out right now.”

“Can’t do that,” Crowley says, his throat dry.

The air within the circle has begun to whine. Aziraphale’s hands are pressed against the barrier, pale fingers splayed. He closes his eyes.

Licking his lips, Crowley spares a short glance at the glowing ruins.

Should hold.

The room trembles. Books topple from shelves and somewhere in the back, a painting slips off the wall.

Through it all, the circle remains.

Spent, Aziraphale sags against the invisible wall. His voice has gone ragged, and he looks up, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Crowley, don’t you dare do this.”

Swallowing around the ache in his throat, Crowley grimaces and turns, reaching for the bag.

“Crowley - Crowley, come now. Darling, please.”

Crowley picks up the bag, and says, quiet. “Angels can’t leave the circle. And angels can’t enter. You’ll be safe inside.”

“Crowley-”

“The circle will fade in ten hours - just in case, uh - you know, I’m not back to let you out.”

“Crowley.”

And here the angel’s voice cracks, and it’s desperate, sharp as shattered glass.

This is a betrayal. That it’s done for the right reasons, doesn’t change the nature of the act. And Crowley can’t bring himself to look at the results of it. The sounds alone have nearly broken him.

Bracing the bag against his shoulder, Crowley stares - like the worst kind of coward - at the floor. “I do plan on surviving this and returning to you, angel,” he says, and swallows. “If you’ll still have me.”

“Crowley. Crowley,” the angel’s voice is a sharp, painful caress. “Look at me. Please, just stop this nonsense and look at me.”

“Sorry Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice is a rasp.

Fingers clenching around the bag, he wrenches open the door.

He steps into the sunlight.

“Crowley-”

Window panes shudder as the door slams at his back.

He hardly needs to think of the place he needs. He thoroughly investigated it over a year ago and has been back several times since. A single blink and his shoes are crunching over arid dirt and sand.

Crowley turns, surveying the shrub dusted desert.

Transporting himself here is a costly miracle, but if Daeval is correct, then there is little time to spare.

The sun sinks low on the horizon, painting the sky in watercolor pastels as Crowley inspects the area.

Satisfied, he nods and opens the black bag. From it, he draws out a small, onyx vase. Dropping the bag, he lifts the vase - and with a twist, removes the stopper.

When the stream of orange, crackling flames burst from the top, Crowley flicks a hand, drawing them round his finger. The fire wraps, slithering like a snake around the skin of his wrist, then up his sleeve. It climbs, flames caressing his skin, over his shoulder and then up his neck. Closing his eyes, Crowley breathes them in.

Just as suddenly as they appeared, they are gone. Or - not gone, exactly. Crowley can feel the Hellfire, a delightful burn in his veins.

The thing about Hellfire is: much in the same way that angels can create holy water, demons can create Hellfire from your average everyday flames. But the act takes nothing short of a Herculean effort. And it’s much harder to do outside of Hell.

So if you happen to be stuck on the earthly plan, the best option by far is to have someone retrieve it for you.

Besides, even a little bit of Hellfire - so long as it’s in the hands of a talented demon, can go a very long way.

Rolling his shoulders, Crowley draws the gold embellished summons from his blazer. He’s begun drawing a roughly circular design in the sand when he remembers.

Right. Wouldn’t want to forget that.

With a snap and a wave, his form shifts. Black clothes give way to tans and whites. Crowley doesn’t need a mirror to know that his red hair his fading, and white curls are taking its place.

Another costly miracle.

But a crucial one.

Straightening Aziraphale’s jacket, Crowley nods.

“Right then.”

It’s not like he hasn’t performed this bit before.

Brandishing the summons with a flourish, he drops it at the center of the design he’s carved into the sand.

Sometimes these things can work in reverse. If you just -

He snaps and points.

And - nothing happens.

Grumbling, he toes the dirt, amending the designs. Then, bending, adjusts the summons.

Blowing a breath, he snaps again.

Bright light floods the earthen runes. And then, from the pastel sky, white light filters down to dry desert earth.

Folding his arms behind him, Crowley assumes Aziraphale’s straight-backed posture.

“Hello?” he calls, Aziraphale’s voice loud in the silent desert. “Anyone there?”

He waits a moment before circling the summons. Frowning, he studies the design.

All good there.

Completing the circle, he stops, hands on his hips.

“Excuse me-”

The circle ignites with a fwhoomp!

The Archangel Gabriel steps out from the light.

He’s wearing the same suit jacket, gray and pressed, that he was wearing when Crowley last had the displeasure of encountering him.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel says, lips curving in a thin, bitter smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough, I think,” Crowley answers, folding his hands in front of him as he’s seen Aziraphale do thousands of times before.

Gabriel huffs a breath. “No. I suppose not,” and lifting a brow, glances around. “Anyway, why are you here? We were expecting you to come to us.”

“Last time I visited Heaven, you forced me to walk into Hellfire,” Crowley replies, voice clipped.

Gabriel shrugs, tilting his head. “Fair.”

Adjusting his coat, the archangel steps out of the portal. “I thought you’d have your demon buddy with you. As backup, or something.” He glances around as he says it, as if he half expects Crowley to materialize from behind a shrub.

“I left him behind. In a safe place.” Licking his lips, Crowley purposefully hesitates, as if he’s reluctant to add, “I don’t trust you, Gabriel.”

He completes the act by shifting nervously, Aziraphale’s oxfords crunching over dry sand.

“Don’t trust me?” Gabriel says, tilting his head.

“Be honest. Please. Why are you here?”

“To enact divine justice.”

Stomach sick and sinking, Crowley closes his eyes. When he opens them, he holds Gabriel with a long, hard look.

“In this particular case, what does divine justice require?”

“Death,” is Gabriel’s quiet answer.

“Mine?”

“Yours, Aziraphale.”

Crowley shifts. Hellfire sings in his veins.

Not yet. Not yet, he commands it.

“Is this by God’s order? Or yours?”

Gabriel shrugs. “Does it matter? I’m an angel. I work for God. My justice is inherently divine.”

“You can’t kill me,” Crowley says, shaking his head.

And then Gabriel is chuckling. “We couldn’t. For quite a while. But things have changed.” Gabriel pulls a long, dark dagger from within his jacket.

The hilt looks to have been originally made of wood, though now it’s blackened and charred. The blade itself is a bright silver, but dark lines of corruption climb up the metal, like infection spreading from a wound.

Crowley watches the dagger as Gabriel passes it into his dominant hand.

“What do you hope to gain from this murder?”

“Not murder. My God!” He gapes, openly horrified. “Justice, Aziraphale. Come on, we’re not animals.”

“Right. Forgot.” Crowley can’t help the sneer.

“Now, how should we do this?”

“Please don’t,” Crowley says, pitching Aziraphale’s voice low.

“You made your choice, Aziraphale,” Gabriel says, frowning. “These are the consequences.”

“Mercy,” Crowley whispers, and he hates how it sounds in Aziraphale’s voice. Swallowing, he forces out, “Gabriel, please.”

Gabriel stares, his purple gaze glowing bright enough to match the sky alight in dusk.

And then he’s blinking, grimacing as he shakes his head. “Ugh. Aziraphale. Don’t make me feel guilty about this. You betrayed Heaven. These are the rules.”

He flips the dagger in his hand.

It’s Crowley’s only warning.

White, radiant wings erupt from his back, and Gabriel pivots, his polished shoes sending sand flying as he surges forward, dagger lifted, poised to strike and -

He jerks to a stop.

He’s frozen, mid leap. He struggles to move, tendons bulging in his neck. His wide eyes turn on Crowley, and he bares his white, perfect teeth in an infuriated grimace.

“What is this?”

Crowley strolls toward him, Aziraphale’s features and clothes melting away.

“You failed the test, archangel,” Crowley says, taking no satisfaction in the sentence. Stepping around the demon, Crowley shifts a foot, dislodging sand. Dark designs catch the fading light.

They’d activated the second Gabriel stepped over them. When he’d chosen to kill Aziraphale.

“Release me, demon.”

Crowley is shaking his head, “If you’d forgiven him. If you’d just stopped this, I would have let you go.”

Solemn, Crowley unculrs his fingers. Hellfire ignites in his palm.

“Demon. Crowley - Crowley. Stay back!” Gabriel’s voice has turned high and panicked.

Crowley doesn’t like this. But he likes the idea of Aziraphale being harmed by Gabriel infinitely less.

He lifts his hand, Hellfire reflecting in his dark gaze. “You have your justice, archangel. I have mine.”

And then Gabriel is stuttering, “Michael! Michael!”

A flash of blindingly white light illuminates the desert; it’s immediately followed by the cacophonous crash of thunder.

The Archangel Michael stands at Crowley’s back, the ground smoking at her feet. Her hand is half lifted, poised to strike, and -

Frozen.

Her eyes flicker, looking desperately from Gabriel to Crowley as she strains to move.

Crowley tsks.

“Oh come on, you really thought I’d only lay one trap? I’ve had years Gabriel. This bloody desert is full of ‘em.”

Gabriel and Michael share a wide-eyed look.

“So you’re welcome to call as many angels as you want. They’ll all get stuck like flies on-”

Wait, what is it that flies get stuck on?

Crowley frowns, thinking. Hellfire flickers in his palm.

Gabriel grunts, straining in vain against the trap’s hold. When that doesn’t work, he starts to mutter.

“Hey. Hey. I could use some help here.”

Crowley turns toward the archangel, and when the Hellfire dances, eager, he soothes it with a breath.

Gabriel is groaning. “Don’t make me beg. Come on, you dick.” And then he’s deflating, closing his eyes. “Fine. Fine! Please help me!”

Michael is watching him with a sharp frown.

Crowley stares, “Who are you talking-”

A cold rumbling breaks the quiet night as dark mist gathers, pouring from beneath the earth.

“Oh fuck me,” Crowley manages, dragging his dark glasses off as the dry sand parts, and a dark-haired demon rises.

Lord Beelzebub sneers, turning a flat, disinterested look over the scene.

When their black gaze falls on Gabriel, they snap, “What.”

Gabriel’s eyes flick down. He meaningfully lifts his brows.

Beelzebub watches him with a blank stare.

“Break the damn trap!”

Crowley snaps a hand around his Hellfire, drawing it back as he rounds on Beelzebub. “Hey. Wait. No. No.”

Baring their teeth, Beelzebub snarls when Crowley takes a step too close. He instinctively hops back.

“We are not on the same side, Crowley. Not after what you did,” they hiss, and if eyes were capable of murder (There is actually a demon with that ability. Thankfully, it is not Beelzebub.), Crowley would surely be dead.

“Oh and you’re on what, the angel’s side now?”

“I’m on Hell’s side, you miserable excuse for a demon!”

“Alright. Good. Great,” Crowley says, “Then maybe you can, I don’t know, leave?”

Beelzebub frowns, looking from Crowley, to Michael, and then finally, Gabriel.

“I’ll owe you one?” Gabriel bares his teeth in a weak smile.

Pinching the bridge of their nose, Beelzebub heaves a deep sigh.

Crowley is shaking his head, the sharp burn of adrenaline already flooding his Earthly body. “Shit.”

Beelzebub spares Crowley a long, hard look. “There was a time when I would have mourned you, Crowley,” and then they’re turning, glaring at Gabriel. “You’ll owe me five. Asshole.” With a lazy flick, the traps surrounding them go up in smoke.

“Goodbye Crowley,” Beelzebub says without meeting his eyes.

Crowley watches, hands dangling at his sides, as the demon sinks smoothly back into the earth.

Polished leather shoes shift, crunching over dirt.

Crowley stills, tilting his head to observe Gabriel straightening up. The archangel rolls his neck as he adjusts his grip on the dagger.

At Crowley’s back, Michael roughly yanks her jacket into place. When she lifts a hand, a gleaming sword materializes in her open palm.

Crowley shifts so that he can watch them both as his mind furiously works to come up with something - anything to get him out of this mess.

Damn Beelzebub - again.

“Well,” Gabriel says, his voice flat. “That was a fun diversion, but I think it’s time we got on with our regularly scheduled programming. Don’t you think, Michael?”

“Yes. I want to leave.”

Gabriel nods, and turns to Crowley, gesturing with the dagger. “After we kill you - and make no mistake, we will kill you for this - we’re going to find Aziraphale and finish him. It’s important to me,” Gabriel says holding his gaze, “that you know this. I want you to die with the excruciating awareness of exactly how much you fucked up.”

The book shop is warded. And Aziraphale is still safe within the blood runes. He should be able to escape, even if the archangels are waiting for him. When the seal breaks, Aziraphale will have time enough for a quick miracle to get him far enough away to run.

But the image that follows, of Aziraphale fleeing - with no one and nothing in the wide globe willing - or powerful to help him (not nearly enough remains of Adam’s power to take on an archangel), is almost too painful to consider. And yet it’s impossible for Crowley not to picture those inevitable final moments, in which Aziraphale is eventually tracked down, surrounded by more angels than he can handle. When a dark, corrupted dagger of heaven’s own make is mercilessly driven into his kind, good heart.

Thinking about it makes Crowley burn.

Instead, it screams.

The flame is stirring, climbing, filling him. Burning - it roars, demanding air, freedom, destruction.

Crowley gives it what it desires.

His dark wings unfurl. Beneath black feathers, hellfire crackles and glows. His wings arc back, and molten sparks erupt from the dark plumage. In the dark desert, they fall like rain.

And just like that - the archangels attack.

The bursts of Hellish flame can be seen for miles. And the air on the flat desert screams, rent by the merciless cut of archangels’ wings.

Dagger and sword flash, cruel steel catching and reflecting Hellfire’s impossibly bright flame. Forged in Heavenly flame and cooled in holy water, the weapons were made for carving demon flesh from bone.

Crowley fights. He fights for his life; for Aziraphale’s.

Flanked by archangel’s, he uses every demonic trick he’s ever known.

When he is shoved to the ground, pinned beneath Gabriel’s hard hand and Michael’s boot, both Archangel’s are blackened, and in places, fire has singed through skin. Michael wobbles, the sword dangling loose in her grasp. Her free hand presses against her side. Between her fingers, golden blood spills.

A long score of singed flesh mars Gabriel’s cheek, and he’s lost the use of his scorched right leg.

The archangel’s hand trembles as he shoves Crowley down. And the earth cracks and splinters beneath the demon’s still smoldering wings.

Crowley gasps, and he can feel his ribs cracking beneath the angel’s hand. Hellfire churns within - he can feel it in his mouth and throat, but he can’t draw a breath; his head is spinning. From a wound at the back of his skull, dark blood streams, feeding dry earth. There are cuts along his arms as well, and a particularly deep one in his side that Crowley has decided he’d better not think about for long.

When Gabriel draws the dagger, pressing it’s silver tip to Crowley’s heaving chest, Crowley draws an agonized breath. Fire flickers behind his teeth, licking at his bleeding lips, but he��s spent - can no longer command it.

“Just do it Gabriel,” Michael says, shuddering as she redoubles the pressure on her wound. “I’m fading.”

Crowley stares up at Gabriel - into those unblinking purple eyes. There is a flicker of emotion there. Guilt, maybe. Or perhaps it’s mere annoyance, because Crowley watches Gabriel steel himself; and then the tip of the dagger is piercing skin.

Agony.

His guttural shout pierces the arid desert air.

The dagger is corrupted, but there’s more than enough holiness left to sear as it digs into Crowley’s flesh.

The Hellfire is burning, wild. Crowley feels it expanding, consuming as Gabriel readies to shove the dagger between his ribs.

And as Crowley stares up, flames caressing his lips, he suddenly knows what he must do.

The Hellfire is raging, eager, hungry. It’s a task to control it. Even for a demon.

It’s easy, however, to give in.

The fire expands, growing - consuming. Crowley tilts his head back as flames spill from his lips, his nose, his eyes. Hacking a weak laugh, he bares his teeth at the angels above him.

“Together then,” he says as Hellfire crawls out of his mouth, down the skin of his throat.

He’s completely let go. No longer Crowley. No longer demon. But a molten, hungry bomb.

“Gabriel!” Michael commands, “Do it! Now!”

Gabriel twists the dagger and -

Lighting cracks through the sky. When the screaming bolt strikes earth, white electricity splinters out, carving sizzling pathways through sand.

White, crackling electricity lights the figure in a pale glow.

There, Aziraphale stands, his jacket billowing and hair windblown.

No.

Crowley looks upon his angel, dread sinking into his battered bones.

Not here. Let him be anywhere but here.

Especially now, when Hellfire is seconds from razing desert, brush, stone.

Chest heaving, he focuses, straining to draw the Hellfire back. It’s like trying to catch air in his fist. With a ragged gasp he manages to get a hold on it, barely; and the fire is nowhere near subdued.

The noise has Aziraphale turning.

Gabriel’s attention is on Aziraphale. His white knuckles wrap around the ancient blade, it’s holy edge digging half an inch into demon flesh. All he has to do is press.

And Crowley is burning - fading. Nearly overcome.

As Aziraphale twists around, his eyes desperately searching the dark desert, Crowley watches his wide blue gaze look from Gabriel, to the dagger and Crowley’s broken figure beneath, and finally, finally to Crowley’s inflamed eyes. Aziraphale’s chest heaves - and then Crowley is gasping, fire leaking from his battered lips,

“Angel, fly.”

But Aziraphale isn’t flying, or running, or anything of the like.

Aziraphale’s hands have closed into fists; they tremble as he stares, brows lifting, skin creasing between them, as though he can’t quite believe what he is seeing.

Crowley shudders, chest heaving. Dark blood pools around the dagger, trickling down his skin.

“Angel,” Crowley begs.

Run.

Fly.

Anything - so long as you go far away from here.

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s voice trembles, and the silence that follows is the hollow rush before a wave folds, crashing over sand; it is the cringing anticipation the millisecond before a dropped glass shatters; the heavy eternity after lighting flashes through the heavens, when one holds their breath and waits for thunder.

The angel blinks and looks down at his hand. The flaming sword is there, settled in his open palm.

“Now, Gabriel,” Michael hisses, shaking. “Do it or I will.”

Crowley can feel Gabriel turn back to him, but Crowley has eyes for Aziraphale only. His angel has begun to glow.

Wind picks up, stirring sand and tearing through shrubs. Aziraphale stands at its center, untouched, as his eyes flicker with terrible brightness.

“You will not.”

The voice is Aziraphale’s - and it’s not. It is simultaneously close and distant, and it resonates, expanding to fill the space around them.

Gabriel’s shoulders lift and he stills. He and Michael share a glance.

“We were warned of this,” Michael whispers, wincing as she sinks to a knee. “We were supposed to kill him right away, Gabriel.”

“Principality Aziraphale,” Gabriel calls, his voice low and commanding. “Remember yourself, angel!”

Aziraphale tilts his head. His wings slowly open, but there are more of them than there were before. And from the feathers, eyes blink. They are wide, and terrible, and stare out from infinite depths.

“Stand down, Aziraphale,” Gabriel calls. “Stand down and we will spare your demon.”

From Aziraphale’s eyes, blue light pours. And it’s expanding - filling his mouth, and rising - crackling and bright, it arcs through the air around him.

“You will spare him because it is right.”

Gabriel is shaking his head. “You don’t know that!”

“I know it,” Aziraphale says in that impossible voice.

He’s marvelous, and Crowley can’t look away.

The wind is howling and Aziraphale stands at its center, unmoved.

“We have to snap him out of this,” Michael says, and summoning strength, lifts her holy sword.

Crowley doesn’t realize she means to cleave his head from body until the flash of metal catches his eye.

The air screams, snapping as it is cut by too many angel wings.

A hand wraps around the blade, catching it before it can fall. From where Aziraphale’s fingers grip the gleaming metal, golden blood collects and drips. Crowley watches it stream down the angel’s arm. Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes - all of them - are focused on Michael, where she stands, straight backed and trembling, before him. His flaming sword is pointed at her chest.

“Go home Michael,” Aziraphale commands, terrible and impossible. Reality seems to bend, warping around him. “Go home, else I be forced to end you where you stand.”

Michael shakes her head. She’s staring at him, eyes wide. “You don’t have that power, angel.”

Aziraphale’s fingers release her blade. He stares, almost disinterested, at the golden blood pooling in his palm. His brows draw together, and he speaks slowly, as if trying out the words. “I think I do.”

Glowing eyes flick up, and Michael takes a step back. Swallowing, she makes a single, sharp gesture and transports away with a pop.

Crowley stares up at Aziraphale, and he’s expending every ounce of his energy holding the Hellfire at bay. Aziraphale is - he’s beautiful and dreadful, and he’s become something powerful, otherworldly. But even with unfiltered, wrathful power radiating from his earthly form, Crowley fears what an explosion of Hellfire would do to Aziraphale at such close range.

The knife is pressing down - perhaps an unconscious action on Gabriel’s part, and Crowley gasps as the searing pain redoubles.

Aziraphale is on the archangel before the sound has fully left Crowley’s throat.

Wings snapping, he shoves Gabriel up and off Crowley.

When Gabriel, re-gripping the dagger, slashes out at Aziraphale, the angel sends the dagger flying with a flick. The blade spins, sinking hilt deep in sand.

Aziraphale stands between Gabriel and Crowley, every one of his glowing eyes glaring with burning brightness at the archangel.

“Okay, what the fuck Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale blinks, and so too do the rest of the eyes.

“You mean to murder Crowley. And Aziraphale: Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“Third person, really?”

When Aziraphale steps toward him, Gabriel hops back, and his palms are raised, placating.

“Okay, no. Not murder. This was supposed to be justice Aziraphale. You betrayed Heaven!”

Aziraphale hesitates, the crackling energy around him intensifies. His wings shiver.

“No,” he finally answers, distant. “It’s not...justice.”

“And you would know?”

Slowly, Aziraphale looks from Gabriel, then back to Crowley. Golden, ethereal blood drips, like tears from his eyes.

“Yes. I can hear Her.”

Gabriel physically staggers.

“No. No. That can’t - No one’s actually heard Her voice. Not since-”

“I hear Her now, Gabriel.” Aziraphale says, in that somber, distant tone, as though a part of his mind resides elsewhere. Liquid gold streams over Aziraphale’s jaw and down the curve of his neck.

Crowley has the horrified thought that this might be killing him.

“Aziraphale,” he rasps, hopelessly reaching. “Whatever it is you’re doing - you can stop now, angel. Rest.”

“Not yet,” Aziraphale says, looking to Gabriel.

When he lifts a hand, the archangel flinches, stepping into a fighting stance.

“You’re to be confined. Here. On Earth, Archangel Gabriel. Powerless. Like a human.”

“What?” Gabriel snaps.

“And here you will remain. Until you learn one very important lesson. The most important of them all.”

“What? No. What?”

“You, Archangel Gabriel, must learn true, selfless love.”

Gabriel gapes. “Oh come on! You can’t honestly expect me to believe-”

Aziraphale lifts a hand. A wide, impassive eye blinks upon his palm. Aziraphale flicks his wrist, and Gabriel is gone.

“I agree,” Aziraphale says, answering an unheard voice. “Los Angeles is a suitable punishment, I think.”

A fresh stream of angelic blood rolls down Aziraphale’s neck. This time, from his ears.

Crowley is sweating, unconstrained Hellfire burning him from the inside out. Groaning, he struggles to rise.

“Angel. Aziraphale. You’ve got to break the connection, love. Hang up,” Crowley coughs, gasping. “It’s hurting you.”

Aziraphale’s brows draw together and he touches a hand to his neck. He blinks, staring blankly down at the blood.

“Oh.”

And he tilts his head, listening.

“Love? What about it? I don’t understand.”

And then the angel is staggering back, the glow around him slowly fading.

When Aziraphale turns, the light in his gaze has dimmed enough for Crowley to once again see his eyes. Gone is the aloof distance. And when Aziraphale looks to Crowley, his emotions flicker, devastatingly open across his face.

“Oh. Oh - Crowley!”

Aziraphale is dropping beside him, hands fluttering, as if afraid of harming Crowley further with his touch. The extra wings are still there. So are the eyes. And they all watch Crowley, Aziraphale’s agony mirrored in their inhuman stares.

When Aziraphale cradles his face, cool fingers gently brushing his bruised cheeks, Crowley sinks into the touch, closing his eyes.

But the Hellfire is pressing up. Impatient. Eager.

Eyes snapping open, Crowley presses a hand to Aziraphale’s chest.

“Angel,” he says, stiffening in pain. “Angel, you need to leave. Hurry.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice is sharp, afraid. “What’s happening to you?”

“Hellfire,” Crowley manages to gasp.

“But it’s - that - it can’t hurt you!”

Crowley heaves a deep breath and then another. He can’t seem to get enough air.

“I...did a bad thing angel. Unleashed the monster, if you will. Now...it won’t stand to be leashed again. Hellfire’s tricky that way.”

Aziraphale stares at him, horrified. “What?”

“It wants out. And it’s gonna go through my very being to get there.”

“Crowley. There has to be - I mean, there must be something-”

Crowley, shaking with the effort, grabs a fistful of Aziraphale’s shirt. “Don’t even know how you got here, but you need to leave. Now. I am not,” Crowley roughly shakes him, “going to let you burn with me.”

When Aziraphale doesn’t move, Crowley’s chest heaves.

“Angel please-”

“You left me behind,” Aziraphale hisses, cutting him off. “And now you expect me to leave you. Here? Like this?” His voice breaks.

Hearing it hurts - more than Crowley had previously thought possible.

Crowley slowly, agonizingly lifts a shaking hand. Gritting his teeth, he presses it against Aziraphale cheek, still damp with angelic blood.

“Angel. Angel. I’m so sorry.”

Eyes fluttering closed, Aziraphale leans into the touch.

“If - If we could do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing, not a moment- save admitting my love for you sooner. What I wouldn’t give for more-”.

Aziraphale’s eyes snap open. All of them.

“Love,” Aziraphale breathes.

“Yes?”

And then Aziraphale is shaking his head, “No. It’s love. The thing that Gabriel needs to learn. What allowed me to hear the Almighty today. Love, Crowley.”

Crowley is trying to concentrate, he really is - but it’s taking nearly everything to hold the damned Hellfire back. And it’s a fight he’s rapidly losing.

“Aziraphale. Stop. Just listen,” he says, screwing his eyes closed. “You’ve got to go. I’m begging you.”

When Aziraphale’s soft fingers brush his face, Crowley flinches back.

“Angel-”

“We are going to discuss my anger at the dismal way you handled this situation later.”

Crowley swallows around the fire in his throat.

“There is no later, Aziraphale-”

When Aziraphale sets a finger against his lips, Crowley presses them desperately closed.

“Maybe there can be,” Aziraphale murmurs, kneeling over him. “At the very least, I’ve got to try.”

And then Aziraphale’s hands are cradling his jaw, thumbs stroking battered skin. One of his hands shifts back, gently lifting Crowley’s head.

When his fingers touch the wound there, Crowley’s lips part in an involuntary hiss. Molten fire spills down his jaw. Though it passes centimeters from Aziraphale’s skin, the angel doesn’t shift his hand.

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, horrified. “Angel - what’re you-”

Aziraphale’s fingers press beneath Crowley’s jaw, tilting his head up.

Blue eyes glowing impossibly bright, Aziraphale says, “I love you. Wholly. Fully. Purely. With all of my being,” and presses his lips to Crowley’s.

Crowley jerks back, white hot panic roaring through him.

Flames are in Crowley’s throat, his mouth, his nose, his eyes.

Aziraphale’s flesh will burn. And then he’ll swallow the flame himself. Be consumed from the inside out.

But Aziraphale has a hand at the back of his head. His other grips Crowley’s jaw, and as Crowley gasps, too weak to shove him back, Aziraphale closes his eyes and deepens the kiss.

Crowley closes his eyes. Cowardly though it may be, he can’t bear to watch.

Aziraphale’s thumb is stroking a fumbling path over his cheek, and as Crowley shudders, Aziraphale kisses him again and again, deeply and unflinchingly.

Gasping, Aziraphale whispers, strained against his lips. “I love you. I love you with all of my being. I love you and nothing - no part of you - would ever harm me.” Another kiss, and he starts the mantra again.

This goes on, and Crowley can’t bear it because he’s waiting for Aziraphale’s voice to hitch, for his angel to begin to tremble as he’s devoured by hungry Hellfire. Crowley is so entirely, soul-consumingly destroyed by the idea of it, that it takes him a long moment to realize his cheeks are no longer hot, but wet.

It’s no longer Hellfire, but tears spilling from his eyes.

Blinking wet lashes, Crowley stares.

Before him, Aziraphale kneels. The glow in his blue eyes has faded, both the extra wings and the otherworldly eyes are gone, and the angel’s soft skin, lit by the pale moonlight, is unmarred. Gentle fingers brush the tears from Crowley’s cheeks, and the angel’s lips part in a wobbly smile.

“What - how - angel, what did you do?” Crowley sits up, and is amazed to find his body only protests with a dull ache. He glances down to see the lacerations in his skin have faded.

“I took the Hellfire.”

“You what?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flick down, and he presses his lips together. “I love you. More than anything,” he says, glancing up. “You love me too, and I told myself that no part of you - nothing from you, could ever hurt me.”

Crowley is reaching up, cradling Aziraphale’s face in his hands before the angel has even finished speaking. “Simple as that?”

Aziraphale shrugs, pressing his hands over Crowley’s. “Love is the simplest thing there is.”

At that, Crowley’s throat aches, and he feels uncomfortably like he might once again start crying. Dragging the angel closer, he presses his face into his shoulder. “M’really glad you’re okay.”

Aziraphale’s arms encircle him, and then his hands are clutching at the scorched shirt on Crowley’s back. “I’m glad you’re okay! Oh, Crowley, when you left and I was alone, there in the shop-”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Crowley draws his arms tighter around Aziraphale. “Angel, I - forgive me. I was only trying to-”

“Oh hush. It’s - well I can’t say it’s okay. I’m awfully angry about it still,” Aziraphale says, face pressed into Crowley’s neck. “But let’s discuss it later. Please.”

“Of course, angel. Anything,” Crowley says, leaning back to brush a kiss against his ear, then his jaw and his cheek.

Stroking a hand down Aziraphale’s neck, he wipes at the damp blood.

“Aziraphale - did you know you could talk to God?”

“Oh no, I had no idea! Though,” he hesitates, “I did do it once, I suppose. It was quite a while back, and I just assumed she occasionally had little chats with everyone.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Yes, well I know that now.”

“Well,” Crowley says, using his sleeve to wipe up the last of the blood. “That was a day. You ready to go home?”

“Oh yes please.”

Hand in hand they rise, stumbling to their feet.

“Should we fly?” Crowley asks, looking around at the empty desert. “I could miracle us, but I’ll need a moment to recharge.”

“I’m spent too, actually. I’m not sure I’ve even got the energy to fly, frankly.”

Lifting his wrist, Crowley squints down at his watch. “I think, ehhh - about 15 minutes should do. Until then, care for a moonlight walk?” He nods in a generally Easterly direction. “Home’s that way. Wouldn’t hurt to walk a bit of it.”

Smiling, Aziraphale takes his arm. “A walk sounds lovely.”

As they pass the dagger, Crowley gives it a kick. The blackened hilt skitters across the sand. The blade has disintegrated.

“You do that?”

Aziraphale shrugs. “Possibly.”

Crowley nods and they continue on.

The broken, blackened hilt is an inanimate object, and so it cannot think, touch, smell, or hear, and it certainly cannot watch the angel and demon, walking arm-in-arm away from the battle scorched earth. If it could however, this is what it would have observed:

As they walk together, distance making them grow small, Crowley turns a sudden sharp look at the angel. “How did you get out from the circle, by the way?”

“Oh that? Your little demon friend stopped by looking for you. Apparently you owe him some demonic miracles? Anyway, I convinced him to wipe away a few runes.”

“My - wait - Daeval let you out?”

“He’s quite pleasant,” Aziraphale says, as they stroll away, their voices growing all the more quiet.

“He’s a little shit! I told him he was never to come to the bookshop.”

“I’ve already invited him to tea next Tuesday.”

“Angel, no.”

“Oh! And you can make those spinach-pastries. The ones I like so much. You will, won’t you?”

A long pause. Somewhere, an owl hoots in the darkness.

“...Fine. Okay, yes.”

“Oh lovely!”

The moon illuminates their figures - one light, the other dark, as they walk, leaning toward one another as if drawn by gravity. And when the one in black turns, replying with hushed words and a contented smile, distance and the sleeping desert at long last swallow their contented voices.

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

I’m thinking I might write an epilogue :)

Some of you asked to be tagged! I’m 100% positive I’ve missed some of you. If you were forgotten, sorry!

Tags:

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NOTE: Tagging like this takes wayyy too long. So for future tagging, I’ll just have one list, and if you’re on it, I’ll tag you in everything. If you’d like to be on that list, send me an ask or a message or something. I’ll make a post about it as well.

#my writing #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #otp: ineffable #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable husbands fanfiction #fanfiction #go fic

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nicad13 · 4 years

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What does Din Djarin Want?

Pedro commented in the Entertainment Weekly article about exploring Mando’s motivations in the second season. “On a moment-to-moment basis, he’s discovering that question: ‘What do you want?’” This got me wondering about the possibilities. It feels like he’s pressed between a rock and a hard place for most of Season 1, doing his best to choose the least crappy of his options, without always succeeding. What he wants has largely been a moot issue – what he wants hasn’t mattered. So I feel like we first have to think about what’s been driving him to start, with what little information we’re given.

1. Greed? Nope. Not on a personal level, anyway. When Greef pays him in the first episode, he puts four disks of Calamari Flan on the table. Din puts all four on the table when he goes to the covert, keeping nothing for himself. He doesn’t even ask for the pauldron – the Armorer offers it to him, and mentions how his generosity will sponsor many foundlings, to which he agrees.

2. Friendships among the covert? Doesn’t look like that, either. He walks by a bunch of other Mandos in the corridor and doesn’t so much as give anyone a nod when they turn in his direction. No one comes to his aid when Paz tries to unhelm him for dealing with the Imps. (Perhaps rightly so – Paz knows whatever Din did to get that much beskar from Imps had to have been horrible, and there’s no honor in earning back what was theirs to begin with.)

3. Family? Not at the start. When he enters the covert in the first episode, a few kids run by him and he walks right through their group like they’re not even there. He doesn’t do the kid thing. He might be starting to reconsider that while on Sorgan. He flat-out admits that it would be nice to settle there, but at that point, he knows he’s not ready. And despite all the Omera-hate going on around the fandom, he takes all the time in the world to stop her from lifting the helmet, in great contrast to his reflex-like reaction in all other circumstances. She clearly impresses him with her abilities with a rifle (Mando catnip right there) and he’s there for three weeks – a lot may have happened between them that we don’t know about. I’m a solid maybe on this one.

4. Sponsoring the covert, particularly the foundlings. As far as we can tell, Din gives every dime he earns to the covert, with special concern for the foundlings. To the point where he’ll even sell a foundling to Imps to provide for the ones at the covert. (For a little while, anyway.) His devastation at the slaughter at the covert is quite clear, despite the fact that he doesn’t seem to have any friends there and isn’t even familiar enough with it to really know his way around other than from the entrance by the bazaar. He’s also keen to stay with the Armorer to help and send the others on their way. I’m so puzzled by his fierce dedication to a place he seems to have so little connection to despite the fact that this is the only thing I can tell that made him tick to begin with!

All of that said, what might drive him in Season 2?

1. The Darksaber? I have to wonder if he even knows about it to begin with. It’s an ancient saber built by Tarre Vizsla, the first Mandalorian Jedi, so it’s both a Mandalorian and a Jedi artifact. Din has no idea who the Jedi are until the last episode of S1. No doubt he will learn about it in S2, but I’m wondering how much about it he will learn? At the very least, it’s something that the Empire has robbed from Mandalore, just like the beskar, and Din is going to want it back at the very least to get it out of Imperial hands. Wookieepedia describes it as “respected by the Mandalorians as a symbol for the leadership of House Vizsla, and later Death Watch.” Some feel that it’s a powerful enough symbol that its owner can unite all of Mandalore. What Din will do with it once he gets it is up in the air. He doesn’t strike me as a leader of that level, at least not yet.

2. To keep or return the child? Din’s attitude towards the kid evolves substantially over the course of the first season. He’s ready to dump him off on Sorgan, but not entirely for selfish reasons. He clearly wants the kid to be happy, and does sound pained at the idea of separation, even if he can’t admit it to himself. “He’ll get over it. We all do.” (You don’t sound convinced, Din.) When they get to Tatooine, Din panics when he can’t find the kid where he left him in the bunk and takes it like a champ when Peli rips him a new one about taking care of kids. By the time they get to Ran’s station, Din flinches when Mayfeld fake-drops the kid (after not flinching when Xi’an comes at him with a knife), and has apparently reached the point where he’s having one-sided conversations with the kid. “I told you that was a bad idea.” While this progression of affection seems evident, it all gets turned on its side when they get back to the covert and the Armorer tells Din to find the child’s people. “You wish me to train this thing… You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?” This thing. This creature. I dunno about anyone else, but Din’s choice of words to refer to the child here feels downright chilling. Particularly since he called him “the baby” once or twice shortly before. Maybe it’s just the concussion talking… I dunno. He’s back to more affection and one-sided conversations by the end though. “Why don’t you hang onto that.” I’m guessing this will be something he struggles with in Season 2.

3. Omera? We’ve not seen anything about Julia Jones being confirmed for Season 2 (that I’m aware of), but we know that folks on this production can keep their mouths shut on huge spoilers when needed. One of the episode titles is “The Return.” Return to where? Sala Baker mentioned that he would be back for Season 2. He played the Klatoonian Raider Captain on Sorgan, but it’s entirely possible that Baker will play a different role all together. The evidence is admittedly flimsy on this one.

4. Cara? She takes a hard turn from “STAY WITH ME MANDO” to “I’m gonna stay on this crappy planet” in the last episode, much to Din’s disappointment. “You’re staying here?!” She doesn’t do the baby thing. She’s also the first person to ship Din and Omera in the first place. “Settle down with the beautiful young widow…” She strikes me as the kind of person who goes after what she wants, and that’s at least three deflections. She loves Din like a brother, but that’s about where the evidence runs out. But who knows? Things may evolve.

5. Revenge? So far we are of the understanding that Din’s village was attacked and his parents killed by Separatist droids. We also know he was rescued by Death Watch. Fans of the Clone Wars series will also recall that Death Watch was a terrorist organization that was not above staging Separatist attacks only to swoop in and “save the day” to gain political favor. If we put two and two together… well… see the source link below for more details on that possibility. Esposito’s quote about “Maybe there’s an opportunity to get [Mando] to fight some battles for me” has me really wondering about this. IF Din’s parents really were murdered by Death Watch, is Gideon the one who tells him? As former ISB, he would likely know this kind of thing. How then will Din play his disdain for the Empire against his rage against Death Watch? Imagine the taunting. Imagine the angst. This possibility is the one that really has me cracking my knuckles in anticipation.

The next couple of months cannot go by fast enough!

#the mandalorian #din djarin #baby yoda #cara dune #omera

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2018shawn · 4 years

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all over again

a/n: part of the 1+1 series, you can find the first part here.

warnings: mentions of not being able to conceive so please do not read if it will make you uncomfortable !!! swearing, making out on the sofa lol, quite a bit of sadness?? I'm sorry????

based on:

Imagine Shawn trying to reassure the reader after yet again another negative pregnancy test (but like he’s breaking down himself because he really wants a baby)🥺

Omg how about Shawn and y/n not being able to have a baby for a while even after that day so they decide to stop for a while because it was stressing y/n out too much (she was so sad and depressed over it and so was shawn) but after one sweet day they find out they’re actually pregnant🥺🥺🥺

The rain was appropriate for how you feel feeling. In fact, a tornado, tsunami and earthquake all rolled into would be more appropriate, but as you stare out the car window with the rain trickling down it, it still seemed fitting. Shawn’s hand had not left your thigh since you’d got in the car 15 minutes ago and he was thankful for driving an automatic and a very quiet commute so that his hand wasn’t required at the wheel.

His hand was present in the absence of his voice. He didn’t know what to say to make anything better and that was killing him alive. The skin on the inside of his cheek was practically gone, the same as any feeling in your heart. Your mind flash backed to the intense conversation held in your doctors’ room approximately 30 minutes ago, a tear forming in your eye for the first time since you left the building.

You should think about keeping your options open, there are surgery options, but all of course, with risks.

Mr. Mendes, I understand your frustration, but I think you should go home with your wife and discuss this meeting.

There have still been successful cases of fertility in situations very similar to yours, you can continue to keep trying to conceive naturally, there’s nothing stopping you.

You hadn’t felt the car come to a halt, “baby, we’re home.” Shawn’s hand gripped tighter on your thigh, although you felt nothing. He unbuckled your seatbelt for you, gentling letting it slide over your body until it hung loosely against the car interior. You simply nodded, grabbing your phone from the holder and opening the door. The rain felt like tiny pellets against your head but you appeared to be in no rush, Shawn grabbing your hand and practically dragging you across the driveway until you reached the door. He fumbled with his keys, his stupid keys that you always begged for him to sort out because no one needs 13 keys on one chain, eventually finding the door key and shoving it in the lock.

Once inside, you let your bag drop to the floor as a small, damp puddle created around both of your feet. “Come here,” he whispered, helping you out of your jacket, your arms coming across your body as the sudden cold temperature struck your body. He stripped you both of your outer garments, even going as far as bending down and pulling off your extremely loved dr marten boots.

Further in the house, he sat you on the sofa in front of the fire, which was quite possibly your favourite spot during weather seasons like this. He worked on lighting the fire, swearing to himself as his shaky hands failed to light the matches continuously. With a stubborn strike, he managed to light one, carefully hovering it over the fire starter blocks as he watched the feature before him turn amber with flames.

“You want something to eat?” He asked, grabbing the throw from the arm of the sofa, draping it over your body. You shook your head, staring into the smoking logs of the fire. “I can order pizzaaaa?” He tried to smile at you, nudging your side playfully as he dragged out the last vowel of the word.

You never thought that would be the sentence to make you burst into a zillion tears, but apparently it was. Your sobs were loud, slightly more dramatic than you’d have liked, but they were real. Shawn could do nothing but cling to you, calming whispering shhh’s and it’s gonna be okay into your ear as he rocked you back and forth. Your head was in his chest, your sobs slightly muffled by the fabric of his shirt as a wet patch begin to form when your head rested.

“I’m fucking…” you began, salty tears filling your mouth as your opened it for the first time, “useless.”

He pulled you away from his chest, a hand on each shoulder and your head was floppy, barely able to keep upright. “y/n look at me,” he instructed you, but you still managed to avoid eye contact, instead looking around the room behind him. “Y/N!” he snapped, although his gestures were much gentler, his finger coming up beneath your chin. Whether it was to support you, or to grab your attention, you didn’t know, but felt warm at his touch. “You are not useless,” He began, shuddering at the words because they actually insulted him, “you are amazing. And incredible. And this is going to happen, if not in the way we want, then in some way or another. We’re gonna figure this out, honey, I promise.”

His long fingers were now encasing your face, his thumbs wiping away the fallen tears, your breathing slowly but surely steading. You were envious how he’d learnt all his dumb calming methods, how he’d learnt not to react in the moment (even though his utter shock and frustration was evident in the doctor’s office) but nonetheless, it was something you admired and was grateful for. “I’m sorry.” You simply state, a mixture of being sorry for the wet patch on his t shirt, saying words he didn’t want you to say and the general whole fucked up situation.

“Listen to me, you have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t anyone’s fault. And I mean it, we will make it happen.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m gonna go get you some tea. And the pizza menu, because you need to eat, don’t think I haven’t noticed you skipping meals.” He scowled, rolling your body weight back so you were leant into the corner of the plush sofa. His hands worked on making sure the throw was covering your body adequately, your arms wrapping around yourself to make up for the loss of his body heat.

Shawn knew that when you were stressed, or having a bad day, that your appetite would dissipate, so they fact you were having a few all-round bad weeks was not ideal. He trudged into the kitchen, filling the kettle up with fresh water and retrieving your favourite mug from the cupboard. For the first time since leaving the doctors, he found himself thinking about his own emotions and reactions.

“so this anovulatory cycle thingy... we couldn’t have known about the struggle to conceive prior to trying for a baby?” Y/N had asked, picking at her fingernails with light clicks. “As you menstruate normally, possibly more heavily than normal, during your anovulatory cycle, it appears to be a normal cycle, so no, Mrs. Mendes, there's a very, very slim chance that you would have known it to be any different to your regular period. It is, however, uncommon in women of your age and normally affects either women who have only just begun menstruating or those closer to experiencing menopause, which is why I would like to send off your test results for further research.” He thought he could hear her heart shatter through the silence in the room, which only broke his too.

The kettle boiled erratically, and Shawn only stared at it, watching the steam escape furiously until it clicked, signalling it was fully heated. He knew it wasn’t her fault, he really did, he couldn’t possibly blame her if someone forced him to. The only but, is that he had to digest the news himself, but he didn’t see how that was fair to you. That you’re the one going through a pain you’ve never known; a pain of knowing your body isn’t doing what it should... that it’s failing you. The only thing that snapped Shawn out of his daze, was you coming up beside him, squeezing his arm with your small hand. “I... uh, sorry, babe. I could’ve brought it to you.”

She shrugged, picking up the kettle and pouring the boiling water into the two mugs, “you could do with a cup of tea too.” His heart warmed, at how no matter the situation, no matter the pain and no matter the heartache, you were willing to look after him just as much as he was you. He carried the tea’s back into the room, following the trail of your blanket.

“You wanna talk?” He asked, slumping down next to you, as close as he possibly could. You instantly curled into his side, the warm scent of his cologne and feeling of his cosy sweater filling your senses.

“I... dunno,” you simply say, meaning it. You didn’t know whether you were coming or going. Whether it was worth fighting for or giving up, because how many more negative pregnancy tests can you throw in the trash without feeling completely deflated. You supposed it was just as hard for Shawn; he had to go out in the world and pretend that everything was okay, that he was okay. You sighed, “it’s just been like 13 months now, since that holiday and we first tried…” The months had flown by, you’d celebrated Christmas, both of your birthdays and even a new album all within the time of trying to conceive. You’d probably had sex more times in the past 13 months than you had during the rest of your entire life put together, which wasn’t always a bad thing, but it was tiring. “… like aren’t you sick of trying now?”

He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you curled into his chest, “you think I’m bored of having sex with you?”

You laughed, for the first time in what felt like ever, smacking his chest with the back of your hand, “let me rephrase; aren’t you drained from failing?”

“Baby, we’re not failing. You’re not failing…” You couldn’t help but look up at him and cock your head with raised eyebrows as if to say, failing is exactly what we’re doing. He let out a nervous laugh, “okay well technically yeah we are,” and hearing him remind you, even though you knew it was right, you sighed again, nesting your head into the crook of his neck. “But, overall, we’re not going to fail. I promise you.”

You were staring at the movie, a bowl of your favourite popcorn in your lap all to yourself, because Shawn didn’t understand how people could think coconut and vanilla popcorn was enjoyable? Your feet were resting in his laps, his hands stroking the length of your bare legs. It was a lazy Monday and you’d woken up, with Shawn’s head in between your legs which is never a bad way to start the day.

He'd taken some time off working on the album, only spending minimal time in his home studio when he felt inspired to write. The rest of the time was based around you and the ground you walked on. It was when you conned him into watching the iron man trilogy that he knew you were feeling better than other days, which may be something to do with the way he’d chosen to wake you up. No matter through all of this, your love for each other never faded. Of course, it was hard and you took it out on each other in the heat of the moment sometimes and snapped at each other when times get tough, but the reality was, you were so in love it could make cupid sick.

“How can you watch these over and over?” He asked, hands circling the skin of your inner thigh.

Your head snapped to look at him, feeling defensive of your love for the avengers and everything that comes with it. “How can you sing the same song over and over?”

He threw his head back in laughter, grabbing the popcorn from your hand and setting it down on the floor by the sofa. Grabbing your leg nearest the backrest, he lifted it up high enough so that he could snake underneath, positioning himself in between your bare pins. He grunted as he got himself comfortable on top of you, hovering above your frame with the support of his forearms resting either side of your body. “Because I love doing it…” he whispered, planting a delicate kiss on your neck under your ear as your shuddered from the feeling of his soft breath “…over…” his lips worked downwards, sucking and nipping at your gentle skin “…and over…” you groaned when he reach the skin just above your collar bone, where he knew to be most sensitive, “and over.”

You knew he was technically still taking about his love for singing but couldn’t help feeling like he was talking about loving you. He most definitely was talking about you, more so than the music. His lips remind you of his presence as he nipped at a section of your skin that brought you back to reality, that you were here, on the sofa, with your husband in between your legs loving on you like it was his jobs. He looked up at you when a whimper escaped your lips, your back arching your body into his and hands roaming through his crazy undone hair. “What are you thinking about?” He hummed into your skin, causing shivers over your exposed skin.

The butterflies in your stomach were prominent and you wondered if he got them too. “Just that I love you,” you smiled, brushing his curls away from his face in order to make out his features. “God that was gross I’m sorry.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “I love you too.” He doesn’t know you keep watching him as his head dips back down to your chest, pulling down the collar of your baggy shirt to get as close to your breasts as he can. You don’t know why he doesn’t just remove the stupid shirt when his hands creep up from the bottom hem, brushing the skin of your stomach as they float higher.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he worked wonders on your body, sending you into a heavenly state. Until the phone starting ringing, that was.

“Ugh, just ignore it it’s probably just Mila, I said about coming over for some dinner.” You groaned, keeping your legs stiff around his body in an attempt to hold him close.

Shawn couldn’t help but gaze over to the illuminated screen of your phone, the vibration movements causing it to bounce on the coffee table making it hard for him to see. Once he could make out the writing, he swiped it quickly, shoving it into your hands, “it’s Dr. Blake”

Pulling up to the doctor’s office, your hands fumbled as they nervously unclipped the seatbelt. You felt like you knew the office all too well these days, and quite frankly think you could’ve considered the receptionist as your new best friend.

The phone call you’d recieved two days ago, mid make out with Shawn, informed you that your test results hadn’t been as successful as they’d have liked and you needed to go back in to give more. So that day, you did exactly that. And now it’s Wednesday, and you’ve been brought in yet again and you think you might as well have your own room here. “Hey...” Shawn said, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips, where he placed a soft kiss, “whatever happens, I love you, okay?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to fall any moment so instead of speaking you opted for a brief nod. He didn’t need to hear the words back to know you loved him too. You sighed as the sliding doors opened to the building, the receptionist smiley face picking up yours and Shawn’s immediately. “Have I seen you guys that much that I’m imagining you or are you actually here again?” She laughed a little and you appreciated her efforts of making your visit a more pleasant one.

“Nope,” you started, letting the the ‘p’ pop out of your mouth, “I’ll bring my sleeping bag next time.”

She smiled at your joke, checking you in and offering you a seat until you you doctor was ready. The wait felt like forever and all that was running through your mind was all the bad cases of conceiving you’d read, which you knew wasn’t a good idea at the time but you didn’t think you should sugar coat anything. Evidently, bad things can happen to anyone and you were living proof. Shawn would snap your phone out of your hands or get angry whenever he caught you looking at bad reports, but you knew he’d done research too, he just couldn’t protect you from it like he wanted to.

The door to your normal room swung open, and Dr. Blake didn’t even have to address you anymore, she simply just smiled and gestured with her hands for you to come in. She started with the formalities, asking how you both were, even asking Shawn about his music because you’d actually come to grow a real relationship with this woman. “So, I want you to relax as best you can, we’re going to be okay here, understand?” She started, her tone taking strict turn that was riddled with authority. You couldn’t help but feel like you was at school and god, did you wish you was, because things were so much more easier back then.

“You really have been a unique patient of mine, Mrs. Mendes,” your doctor began, sitting down in her office chair after retrieving your notes from the filing cabinet at the side of the room. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. This has got to be bad, was the only thing that could run through your mind. I mean who needs a file of notes that big if it’s good news? “Your test results came back after your second attempt, and I can get into all the in-depth stuff further on, but there’s something you need to know first.”

Oh god, you thought, Shawn's tightening grip on your hand indicating to you that he was thinking the same thing.

“There was a reason your first tests did not compute properly,” she began, just get to the bad shit already, get it over with. “and that would be because,” you breathed in heavily as she spoke, waiting for what could potentially be horrific news. “You’re pregnant.”

#dad!shawn #Shawn mendes #Shawn mendes fluff #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn mendes oneshot #Shawn mendes fanfic #Shawn mendes angst

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heysoup · 3 years

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Fluffy February Day 1 - Fishing

Howdy folks! I’m taking part in the Fallout Fluffy February prompt list this month, hosted by @fluffyfebruary

Every day of this month I’ll be posting my finished prompts under the community tag #fluffyfebruary and on my own blog as #fluffyfeb. I’ll also be cross posting to Ao3, which I’ll link to in each post - so feel free to follow me over there, too!

Chapter 1: A Fisher of Men

Pairing: Butch/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: Jamie takes Butch out on the Potomac for a fishing trip in the same spot his father had taken him a year prior. What seems to be an uneventful few hours turns into anything but when they find a monster on the other end of their line. Takes place after the events of Broken Steel.

Ao3 Link

“This is fucking boring.”

Jamie shoots Butch an irritated look from where he’s sitting across from the other man in the canoe, his brows drawn together as he tries his damnedest to untangle his fishing line from the third piece of driftwood he’s ‘caught’ that day.

“No shit,” he grumbles, spitting out some mud as he tries to break the line off the wood with his teeth. He lets out a frustrated huff, gripping his rod in both hands as he raises it up and fights the urge to just chuck the whole damn thing into the Potomac. He hears Butch snicker, and he whips his head up.

“You’re like a goddamn feral,” Butch teases with a laugh, reaching over and snatching the rod from Jamie’s grip. He digs in the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his switchblade, flicking it open and carefully beginning to cut the line away from where it’s tangled in the driftwood to try and save as much of it as he can.

He kicks his boots playfully against Jamie’s sneakers, noticing how the canvas high-tops are completely soaked through from the puddle of water they’d managed to slosh into the canoe earlier as they tried ungracefully to board it from the shore. He just shakes his head, a smile on his face, knowing that if he brings up the topic of appropriate footwear to the younger man it’ll just earn him a bruised shoulder.

“This was supposed to be like… meditative or some shit,” Jamie says with a sigh. He rubs his hands over his freckled face and ruffles some of the dust out of his sun-warmed hair. Butch just gives him an incredulous look.

“Where the hell did you get that idea from?” He finishes cutting the driftwood free and tosses it behind him into their small pile of ‘catches’ – which is really just a collection of junk at this point – before reattaching the hook and bobber and handing the rod back to the other man. He leans over and grabs his own fishing pole, squinting against the reflective ripples in the water to check on his bobber. Still absolutely no bites.

Jamie shrugs, suddenly looking a little bashful. “I dunno,” he admits. He reaches back into the salvaged can of cram they were using as bait, tears a chunk out, and works on preparing his hook again. Not like it matters much, he tells himself. He can continue to go through the motions perfectly and not catch a single thing. A little bit like everything else in his life, he thinks bitterly. His fucking bad luck.

After a moment of silence, Jamie continues. “Apparently my family came from a long line of fishermen on my dad’s side. He passed down some stories about it. Told me they were tradition or something.” Jamie shrugs. “Anyway, he taught me that you were s’posed to reflect on yourself out here. Get some peace and quiet.” Jamie finally says. He sucks the excess cram off his fingers, his tongue burning at the sudden saltiness, and casts his line out again, his bobber floating a few feet from Butch’s. Butch looks up at him, snapped out of his own thoughts.

“Huh… like, Wasteland fisherman?” Butch asks, deliberately choosing not to tell him how he thinks the whole ‘peace and quiet’ schtick is a load of brahmin shit and instead focusing on the first part of what he said. He’s always intrigued whenever Jamie tells him about his family, at least after they’d learned that he wasn’t born in the vault. The idea of generations of Arroyo’s managing to survive out here long enough to pop out the rascally kid he sits across from kind of amazes him. He sets his fishing pole back down against the side of the canoe, sure that it would be fine – he hasn’t gotten a single nibble in the past three hours.

“Nah. I’m sure some of them might’ve been, but we don’t really know much about closer generations of my family. We only really knew about some of my prewar family – something about some records my dad’s dad had kept on his terminals after searching our surname through databases in some place that used to process immigrations, or some shit. The occupation listed there was fisherman, apparently.” Jamie finishes and Butch hums thoughtfully, trying to imagine what Jamie’s granddad might have looked like.

Jamie winces when he thinks of his dad and has to shake the thoughts from his head. As if his face reflecting back at him from the clear surface of the clean water isn’t enough of a reminder of what he’s lost of his family and himself to of Project Purity – he looks like his own father’s ghost and even carries his name.

Butch’s fishing pole snapping against the side of the boat brings him back out of his thoughts, and he flinches back away from the canoe’s edge, the quick motion causing him to almost tumble out the other side as the boat sways dangerously.

“I got one!” Butch practically shouts and lunges for the pole, straddling the seat of the canoe and bracing his legs against the floor as he begins an awkward tug-of-war match with whatever is on the other end of his line. Jamie perks up with a huge grin on his face, all thoughts of his troubles momentarily forgotten, and hovers over Butch nervously.

“Make sure you don’t reel in when he’s pulling on the line! And try to give it some slack!” Jamie parrots what his father had taught him on their one and only fishing trip in the Wastes months back and digs around in their mess of a canoe for the rickety net they brought with them. Butch just gives an annoyed grunt, his face crinkled in concentration as he pulls on the line.

“This bastard is fuckin’ heavy!” He complains, giving the rod a yank that rocks their canoe again. Whatever they have hooked is pulling them ever so slightly to the opposite shore and splashing like crazy beneath the water.

“Scoot,” Jamie orders. He tosses the net aside – it’s obvious that whatever’s on the other side of the line won’t fit in it now - and moves on unsteady legs to sit behind Butch, reaching his arms around the other man’s waist and grabbing the fishing pole to help him pull. What the hell are they dealing with here?

By the time they begin to make some progress in reeling the fish in, they’re about halfway to the shore and completely out of breath. Butch laughs hysterically between pulls, his eyes squeezed shut in glee, and Jamie can’t help but laugh in return. His palms are sweaty, his white-knuckle grip on the fishing pole beginning to slip.

“Is it trying to pull us out of the water?!” Butch says suddenly, elbowing Jamie to look at the swiftly approaching shore. They’re hauling ass at this point, almost as if… whatever they hooked had suddenly caught some footing in the shallower water. Jamie’s eyes widen and he immediately lets go of the pole to root around in their bags. As he does, Butch careens forward from the sudden lack of support and just barely catches himself with his elbows against the edge of the canoe. He curses, “CHRIST, Nosebleed! Some warning next time!”

Jamie has only just gotten his hands on Butch’s shotgun when they finally catch a glimpse of their ‘fish’ as it breaks the surface of the water. At this point, they’ve reeled it in pretty close and the wake left behind the huge creature emerging from the stagnant part of the river capsizes their canoe just as they crash into the sandy shore.

With a chorus of yells both men topple over into the shallows. Jamie squeezes his eyes shut and lands on his back with a thud, his arms stretched up over his head holding the shotgun out of the river. The water feels like a cold slap to his face, and he comes back up gasping for air. He looks over to where Butch has landed hard on his ass, noting that the fishing pole is being tugged out of his hands and quickly away from him. He looks and sees the fruits of their labor – an albino Mirelurk with the fishing line wrapped around one claw.

“MIRELURK!” Butch yells, scrambling to his feet and running over to Jamie. He pulls the other man up and grabs the shotgun from him just as the Mirelurk turns toward them and begins clambering over the old canoe that groans and splinters beneath its weight.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” Jamie practically shrieks and pushes against Butch’s arm, urging him to hurry when the Mirelurk picks up speed and barrels toward them. Butch nods and fights the urge to run, taking a breath and bracing for the recoil as he lines up his shot. Jamie flinches when he hears the crack! of the rounds exploding from the gun and shattering the vulnerable part of the Mirelurk’s fragile front shell. His ears ring from the close proximity of the shot and he grimaces, about to cover them until he realizes the monster is still running full speed toward them. Shit!

He grabs Butch and tackles him to the ground, shoving them out of the way as the huge, mutated crab stumbles past them at an alarming speed and crashes hard into the shore. It lies there face-first in a mound in the sand and they watch it with wild eyes from their position on the ground, ready to book it at any hint of movement, but it’s motionless and quiet – dead.

Jamie rolls off of Butch and flops down next to him, both of them looking up at the endless expanse of bright blue sky as they struggle to catch their breaths.

“Still think fishing is boring?” Jamie snaps and Butch begins to laugh again, the sound starting as a snort and bubbling slowly from his chest before he’s full-on wheezing with laughter. Jamie sits up and looks down at him like he’s insane.

“What about this was funny?!” He asks, shaking Butch’s shoulder. He can’t help but return the grin, though. Seeing Butch happy always manages to make him smile. Butch wipes his hand down his face as he sits up, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder and hopping to his feet. He reaches down to pull Jamie up with him, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

Jamie’s ears suddenly feel hot as he watches Butch, noticing the endearing gap between his two front teeth and the splash of sun freckles over his now sand-dusted face. He swallows, his heart racing. “What?” He repeats again, his throat dry.

“I caught a motherfucking fish.” Butch beams even more and looks incredibly proud of himself as they turn and walk over to his ‘catch.’ He kicks it with the toe of his boot a few times just to ease his own worries of it springing back to life.

“It’s not a fish! It’s a crab, they’re different.” Jamie argues and crouches down, grabbing the edge of the Mirelurk’s shell with Butch as they flip it over with a heave. Jamie doesn’t mention that technically he did catch it with a fishing pole, and that technically they are going to have it for dinner. He doesn’t want to give Butch the satisfaction, especially considering the only thing he got out of this trip is his collection of stones and driftwood that was currently crushed under their broken canoe.

“It counts.” Butch says, the grin still plastered on his face. He pulls a combat knife out of a holster on his belt and settles down on his knees in the sand, tapping the sharp edge of it against the shell. “Look at this bad boy. You ever see a white one before?”

“It’s an albino, I guess.” Jamie says, leaning close to inspect it. He lifts the claw that’s tangled in their fishing line. “What a mess, we aren’t salvaging this.” He drops it back into the sand with a thud.

“The fuck’s an albino?” Butch asks as he cuts into their prize, grimacing and holding back a gag as he begins to butcher it. Mirelurk is good meat, but it reeks when it’s fresh.

“You know, like that one story Brotch made us read in like 8th grade, Moby Dick? It was about that sea captain and the giant albino whale.” Jamie snickers and walks the few paces back to their canoe. He flips it right-side-up with some effort and drags their valuables out of the muddy water, clicking his tongue in disappointment when he notices their bags are completely soaked through. “You’re lucky he didn’t eat your leg.” He teases.

Butch looks back at him and pouts, blowing a messy curl of his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, I never read anything ol’ Brotch assigned. Waste of time. Like it would’ve taught me anything useful out here.” He grumbles.

Jamie laughs and drops their stuff next to a rock outcropping near their canoe. It looks like it would provide some decent shelter against the wind and by the looks of their soaking clothes and supplies, they’ll have to stay the night unless they want to catch hypothermia. “Maybe it could’ve taught ya how to catch a real fish.”

“It still counts as a catch!” Butch whines.

“It’s not a fish.” Jamie shoots back in a sing-song voice, biting his tongue to hold back the huge grin that threatens to break through. Butch jumps up from what he’s doing and turns to him, his face red, but mirroring the same smile that Jamie is trying so hard to hold back.

“It. Counts.” Butch grits between clenched teeth puts his combat knife away, buttoning the sheathe into place against his hip. They stare at each other for a moment, their eyes locked in a staring match. Jamie’s grin finally breaks free.

“Does no-“he cuts himself off with a yelp as Butch lunges for him playfully. He laughs so hard he thinks his chest might burst as he takes off in a run down the beach, Butch hot on his heels as he begins to chase him.

He knows Butch’s legs are much longer than his, but he can hold his own – at least for a little while. And even though the inevitable ending is Butch catching him in a tackle, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s something they’ve done since they were boys stumbling around in the grey fluorescence of the vault, constantly finding their way back to each other like it was fate, and it feels like home.

#fluffyfebruary #fallout #fallout 3 #butch deloria #butch/m!lw #fanfiction #jay writes #fluffyfeb

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skypagex · 3 years

Text

let me see you get yourself out of this situation

aka three unlikely allies ditch detention and go on an adventure

word count: 2320

trigger warnings: stds (aids mention), drugs, nsfw mention

Okay, so maybe the detention is fully deserved. Sky probably shouldn’t have hotboxed his bedroom and expected to get away with it. In fact, he was pretty lucky to get away with detention, although he suspects that’s related to his mother’s call to the school and probable sizeable donation. (He should never have texted her. He knows that’s a bad idea. Thanks for the soccer team uniforms or whatever, mom.)

But regardless of how much he deserves to be in detention, he can still think of about a billion things he’d rather do than come into an almost empty room to the sight of Jack fucking Kelly (or is it Fielding? To be honest, he remains wilfully oblivious to the Jack updates. Like if he ignores him he’ll cease to exist) sprawled across the back row of seats with a smirk on his lips that so obviously says that this is his domain and Sky is trespassing. As if he owns the whole fucking room.

(Knowing Jack, he probably thinks he does. Not that Sky has had much personal contact with the boy besides an odd rumour that he died. But the boy’s reputation seems to carry through the school like a biblical plague of locusts. And besides, Sky’s friendship with Juliet gives him equal parts way too much information about Jack’s personal habits and currently, post break up, far more information about how disgustingly horrible he is. Either way, he’s well aware that there’s a sizeable ego present. He’s almost jealous, to be honest. Sometimes Sky feels like if he had Jack’s ego he’d probably be a rock star already.)

Still, he’s hoping that maybe he can pass under the radar of the British boy long enough to make it through at least half of the detention, maybe more, considering that the teacher has already apparently left - probably done with the delinquents before having even begun to lecture them on their crimes - so if Jack so much as starts a conversation Sky’s pretty sure there’s nothing present to hold him back from absolutely verbally annihilating Sky, which will therefore mean there’s nothing present to hold Sky back from tears and public humiliation. It’s hard being a crybaby, you know?

Such hopes are almost immediately dashed when Jack turns and gives Sky the most ravenous look he’s ever seen another human come up with, like Jack is starving and Sky is a walking hamburger about to satiate him. Yum.

“Pagey,” well there’s a nickname Sky didn’t know he had, and to be honest it makes him feel slightly nauseous even knowing that Jack has whole separate nicknames for him that he doesn’t even know about. How the fuck does Jack know everyone at the fucking school anyway? “How’d you end up here? Cried so much you flooded your bedroom?”

(Which would be insulting enough even if it wasn’t a plausible suggestion and didn’t need the rude addition of Jack proceeding to laugh at his own joke.)

Fortunately Sky’s saved from the perils of having to answer the question by the slamming of the door, which indicates the arrival of a third addition to the detention squad: a blonde girl, he thinks he’s seen her in a shared class (Helena or something along those lines, definitely the same name as a My Chemical Romance song since he remembers thinking that at registration) and a disgusted look upon her face as she has the same realisation as Sky upon seeing Jack’s face: that they are well and truly fucked.

“God,” Helena (if that’s really her name, Sky hopes it is because he suspects from her demeanour that she’s not the type to take a misnaming incident lightly) “was detention itself not punishment enough? Are they truly going to make me look at your ratty little face for an entire forty five minutes? I feel ill just thinking about it,” she placed a hand over her chest as if the sight of Jack was causing her physical pain. Relatable, to be honest.

“I know,” and in that moment Sky feels more grateful than ever because it’s clear from Jack’s tone of voice that his admirably short attention span has now passed Sky straight over in favour of a pretty worthy opponent. “You really should complain, love. Like, how is getting to look at me for free a fucking punishment? It’s like getting to go into the Tate Modern for nothing.”

“The Tate Modern is already free,” Sky says helpfully. He is ignored.

“Your confidence,” Helena blasts back, “is truly insane considering how absolutely disgusting your physical appearance is. Have you considered being committed to a mental asylum at any point?”

“I would,” Jack counters, “but how could I? When the population of Luxor would just pine for me. Nothing would be interesting if I left.”

“Contrary to your totally unfounded belief, not everything in this school involves you.”

“Possibly,” the boy reasons, and then the smirk returns. “But you have to admit the majority of things do.”

Seemingly done with the conversation, Helena stomps over to the desk next to Sky and sets her things down. Her meaning is pretty clear to him: you’ll do, in comparison to being sat next to rat man.

The ticking of the clock succeeds in covering for their lack of conversation for all of about five minutes before Jack apparently just cannot keep words in his own head anymore and has to interrupt the perfectly nice silence again: “so how did you end up in detention, princess? Kiss a frog?”

“I don’t recall having any physical relations with you,” Helena says haughtily. “If I did, I can assure you I must have been under some sort of influence unwillingly and therefore I shall be suing imminently. And if you must know, I am being unfairly victimised for skipping my medieval lecture for a perfectly valid reason.”

“To get a nose job?” Jack asks innocently, “or was it Botox?”

That elicits a slight smile from Sky, which reminds the other two that he does in fact exist and it’s almost funny the way they both turn to face him as Jack continues his questioning, “what about you, Pagey?”

“Uh,” his mouth goes dry and he gulps, “weed… stuff,” he finishes lamely, shrugging as if that’s completely self explanatory. It should be. He damn well hopes it is, because frankly Sky does not have the strength to take part in this conversation and he’s really hoping that Helena can carry the anti Jack side of it without him. “You?” He asks hopefully, as if turning the conversation back to Jack will immediately throw him out of it and he can go back to his people watching.

“Oh, I jumped out a window,” Jack says airily, apparently oblivious to the looks of total confusion both Sky and Helena give him. The resulting silence proceeds to allow the clock ticking to become audible again.

“Are you seriously telling me,” Helena asks after about ten minutes have past and Sky can just about see Jack, out of the corner of his eye, beginning to meticulously colour in something which looks suspiciously like a poster, “that I have woken up today and willingly come to this godforsaken room and sat in the company of absolute dimwits and the teacher in charge is not even going to deign to show up?”

“Sometimes they just don’t,” Jack shrugs as if this is a usual occurrence. “Especially if they see me on the list.”

“Can’t blame them for that,” Helena mutters.

“Well, it would be hard not to treat me like the god I am. Can’t be unfair to the other students.” He grins. “Nah, guess they get lazy. I dunno. Most of the time I just leave.”

“Well that’s a wasted day of mine then.” She scowls. “Don’t they know time is money? Although I do have plenty of both.”

“That was the most ungraceful segway into a brag I have ever heard,” Jack observes, “and this is coming from me.”

“What can I say? I’m pretty, it allows for more leeway.”

She actually gets a laugh out of Jack from that, and it kind of fascinates Sky. Partly because he’s always assumed that Jack was more aggressive. He gets into enough fights for that. But he seems more… amused than anything else by the back and forth. Like he’s less of a punching devil and more of the type of person to push buttons out of enjoyment and amusement. He supposes that’s one way to get out of boredom.

“Hey, crybaby,” he’s so caught up in psychoanalysing the other two that he doesn’t realise for a minute that Jack is addressing him, and before he can say anything the other boy is waving a hand in front of his face. (He flinches back, predictably. God, he’s always so fucking predictable.) “You got any weed?” Jack asks, his face inches from Sky’s, close enough that Sky can see a stray eyelash on his cheek (would it be ridiculous to point it out considering that Jack would undoubtedly take that as Sky confessing his undying love for him?) and the freckles littering his cheeks.

“Uh.” Truthfully, Sky’s pretty sure this is going to end in him having to share so he’s really not willing to answer, but he’s never been good at lying so instead Jack gets a slow nod by way of response.

“Well there we fucking go,” Jack takes a step back thankfully, so he’s no longer close enough that Sky can literally smell whatever cologne he puts on (ugh, straight men) and glances back at Helena, gesturing wildly to Sky. “Don’t have to be a fucking waste of your day, princess. Or are you too good to come smoke a joint with me and Page?”

“My name’s Sky,” Sky offers. He is ignored.

“As long as nobody sees us,” Helena sniffs, but she gets up all the same, sliding her things into her bag. “And for the record, I’m a Queen, not a princess. I understand that your male mind finds words difficult though,” she adds with a condescending smile.

“I’m the British one,” Jack argues. “I’d know about fucking Queens.”

“I’m literally half English, you absolute cretin. My surname is literally Spencer. Like Princess fucking Diana? Ring any bells?”

“Nah,” Jack says with absolute conviction, “her surname was Wales.”

“No she was the Princess of Wal- oh my god,” Helena rolls her eyes with such energy that Sky is amazed that her eye muscles don’t straight up propel her out of the door. “Sky, can you please back me up?”

“I’m from Chicago,” Sky says helplessly, and gets two very dirty looks as they leave the classroom.

“I’d suck your dick,” he’s lost count of how many hits he’s in and the rooftop is starting to take on a hazy quality, which Sky attributes to the fact that he’s actually confident enough to laugh out loud at Jack’s comment, leaning back and looking up at the sky, “no you wouldn’t.”

“Sure I would,” Jack insists. “I’d try anything fucking once. And I never sucked a dick. Maybe it’s my fucking talent.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Sky’s words are coming out sing song and he lays back on the roof now, shaking his head still, “you’re such a straight boy it’s not even funny. Straight, straight, straight,” he takes a long drag on the joint and holds it out between two fingers to Helena, who is giving both of them another disgusted glare.

“Two boys talking about their penises. Exactly the company I desired. Not.”

“We could talk about vagina instead,” Jack offers diplomatically, so Sky mimes gagging. “Yeah, okay crybaby. We get it. You patented the fuck a boy at church camp vibe, we understand.”

“I didn’t fuck a boy at church camp,” Sky says indignantly.

“No, he probably fucked you,” Helena hisses.

“I thought you were too good for this conversation,” Jack observes.

“Do you see another conversation happening?”

“You could just shut up.”

“And let your disgusting accent ring in my ears? Horrific.”

“My accent is sexy.”

“I like Kai’s more,” Sky gets a glare from both of them for that. Oops. Supposes that’s what he gets for interrupting the bickering. “Yours is fine too,” he says quickly.

“God, just take a side,” Helena mutters. “It’s fine to admit Rat sounds like a coal miner, you know?”

“Isn’t that a bit….” Sky searches for the word. “Classist?”

“No, it’s a fact. Anyway,’ she points to Jack accusingly, “he didn’t even know Princess Diana’s surname. So his national pride is absolutely a farce.”

“She died in like, nineteen ninety whatever? That’s old news,” Jack argues.

“She,” Helena says hotly, “remains an international style icon.”

“Can we get back to vagina and/or dick yet?” Jack enquires hopefully. Sky resumes the pretend gagging.

“You become more disgusting with every waking moment,” she mutters under her breath. But Jack will probably take that as a compliment either way. “And I need to go.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” Jack looks up to bat his eyelashes at the girl, resulting in her flipping him off.

“I think I would miss the dog shit I stepped in more than you,” Helena informs him, before glancing at Sky. “You, though. We’re going shopping tomorrow.”

He gives her a confused look.

“You have potential,” she decides. “Like style wise. As an aesthetic and thankfully quiet sidekick.” He can take that. “Like a Harry Styles vibe but unattractive.”

Okay, Sky’s starting to regret listening.

“Or Timothée Chalamet minus the bone structure and redeemable features.”

He really regrets listening now.

“Doesn’t Timothée Champagne have chlamydia?” Jack asks with a gleeful smile.

“Didn’t everyone say you have AIDS?” Helena snaps. “Goodbye, male specimens. It is starting to rain and this blouse is vintage.”

#self para #sky & jack #sky & helena #unedited soz for typos

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of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog · 4 years

Text

Visitors

Commission for my dearest @depressedstressedlemonzest !! A crossover (kinda) of The Witcher and Good Omens. Aziraphale is basically me in this. I hope you like it, love! Commission info is here!

Geralt is having trouble tracking the serpent, because the ground is dry and rocky and doesn’t show tracks well, and the wind is blowing in the wrong direction. He can still smell the sulfur, though, faint on the ground, and occasionally the lazy wind of a giant serpent through pockets of sandy dirt. The scrub is too sparse to hide much, but there are plenty of rocks.

Oh, and Jaskier won’t shut up.

He’s far enough back that he won’t get in Geralt’s way, but the same wind that blows the scent away from Geralt blows Jaskier’s muttering up to him. Something about blisters and getting a twisted ankle at this rate. Geralt presses his lips together and ignore Jaskier.

Then the wind turns, and he smells it. The sulfur is strong, now, and he can see a large rock up ahead with a heap of something dark on it, half-hidden by scrub. He halts, and waves Jaskier up to him. Jaskier immediately shuts up and creeps the rest of the way to just behind Geralt’s shoulder. “Is that it?” the bard whispers, apparently fascinated.

“Yes,” Geralt grunts. “Stay here.”

“But—!”

“No buts. You’ll be in the way.”

“Hmph,” Jaskier huffs, but sidles around behind Geralt to crouch behind a rock and glare at him sullenly. Geralt nods, and sneaks as softly as he can towards the relatively flat area where the serpent waits.

He can hear it now, hissing gently, its heart slow and somber. It appears to be asleep. Excellent. If he can behead it before it wakes up, everything will be much simpler.

Pebbles crunch under his boot, and he freezes.

The serpent stirs lazily, and raises its large, wedge-shaped head. Its eyes are gold like his, but it seems not to see him, looking instead towards the horizon. Strange. Still, a blessing is a blessing. Geralt creeps closer…

The serpent uncoils from the rock more swiftly than Geralt’s ever seen a big snake move, and raises itself up to hiss at him fiercely. Geralt readies his sword, eyeing the serpent carefully, noting that it doesn’t seem to have fangs. Odd. Devilish serpents always have fangs. But his pendant is humming, and he’ll get lots of coin for this monster’s head.

He darts forward, the serpent attempts to avoid, but as soon as it dodges, Geralt changes direction and manages to open a wound in its scaly hide.

Heat and the scent of myrrh flare up behind Geralt, and he growls and rolls to the side as something slams down right where he’d been standing. He’s on his feet in seconds, just in time to block a sword that appears to be on fire.

The sword’s wielder disengages before Geralt can disarm them, and yells, “How dare you! How dare you attack an innocent being!”

Geralt glances at the serpent, startled; it’s coiled up again, watching the scene. “What the fuck?” he says, bewildered, looking back at the… man? No man he’s ever heard of has wide white wings like that, nor dresses quite so… oddly. But the other holds his sword competently, and the rage on his face is dangerous.

“Can we not have a moment’s rest without you primitive humans running around with swords and bows, trying to kill us?!” the man snarls. “Good lord, it’s like you don’t even know what we are!”

“They probably don’t, angel,” the serpent says, and Geralt’s eyes widen as he hears Jaskier gasp. It raises itself up again and continues, “This is a tv show we’re in, and they’ve never mentioned angels or demons.”

“Oh, hush,” the man replies crankily, but his wings are relaxing, and he’s actually turning away from Geralt. “They shouldn’t just attack willy-nilly!”

“What the fuck else are we supposed to do?” Geralt snaps, drawing their attentions. “Murderous serpents aren’t—”

“He’s not murderous!” the man interrupts, and actually stomps his foot. “How many times do we have to say it?!”

“Then what is it?” Geralt demanded in exasperation. “And for that matter, what are you?”

The man seems honestly taken aback. And then his face twists and he shouts, “I’m an angel, you stubborn twit!”

“Ah, fuck,” Geralt mutters. He says louder, “I don’t know what an angel is, but if you and that serpent are innocent, then what the fuck is killing the locals?”

The angel splutters, and Geralt almost jumps when the serpent sighs, bunches its coils, and raises up to reform into a man, in leggings of a strange material and a black jacket of an absolutely horrendous cut. Too much time with Jaskier has shown Geralt that there are just some shapes that have no business being draped on a humanoid body. At least he looks vaguely normal and doesn’t have a bow around his neck like the angel. That bow makes him look like a kitten. The sword makes him look like a warrior.

The man in black turns to Geralt and says, “I dunno what you lot call it, but it looks like wyvern to me. Two legs, two wings, dragon-y looking bastards?”

Geralt frowns. He hasn’t seen wyvern activity around here… but he’s been following the shapeshifter. Maybe the two avoid each other when possible.

“Geraaalt,” Jaskier calls impatiently.

Geralt sighs heavily and sheaths his sword. “Fine,” he calls back, and shakes his head as Jaskier pops up from behind the rock and trots over, staring at the angel’s wings, intrigued.

“Melitele’s tits, those are big,” Jaskier says, marveling at them. “Are you sure you’re not part harpy? No, of course not, harpies have different wings. If it’s a wyvern, can I come to see that fight too?”

“Absolutely not,” Geralt snaps, exasperated with this whole situation. “Look, just—”

“Oh!” Suddenly the angel’s face lights up, and the sword in his hand just—vanishes. “You’re Jaskier!”

Jaskier immediately draws himself up and beams at the angel. “Yes, I am,” he replies. “How did you know?”

“We saw you,” the angel says.

“Angel!” the shapeshifter barks. “Focus.”

The angel turns and shoots him a scowl, then huffs and says to Geralt, “We’re not murderers. The wyvern is that way.” He waves vaguely in the direction they had come from. “Are you the Witcher, Geralt?”

“Yes,” Geralt replies, utterly confused at this point. Damn it, how the hell is he supposed to convince these idiots to leave if the angel keeps yelling and the shapeshifter keeps letting him?

“That explains it,” the shapeshifter says, as the angel’s expression turns sour. “Look, Geralt, Jaskier, nice to meet you and all that, but we just want to go home. We’re kinda stuck here for the moment, though.”

Geralt sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Fine. Just… stop turning into a snake where townsfolk can see you.” When Jaskier glares, he grudgingly adds, “Please.”

The angel sniffs and the shapeshifter scowls. “It’s kinda hard to do that when they keep coming up here unannounced for no reason,” the shapeshifter retorts.

Jaskier and Geralt point wordlessly to the sign in the dirt that quite clearly says “This Way To The Spring”.

The two monsters stare blankly, first at them, then the sign, then each other.

“You said it didn’t mean anything!” the angel says, exasperated.

“It’s not like fantasy languages are my forte!” the shapeshifter replies, cheeks red. “Is this or is this not the place where Anathema is gonna bring us back?”

“It certainly looks like it,” the angel replies, looking around. “What does that sign say, anyway?”

Geralt is still confused about ‘fantasy languages’ (it’s clearly in Cintran Common, what the fuck?) but Jaskier helpfully translates and asks curiously, “Why are you here, anyway?”

Both monsters look rather ashamed. “We, ah… just wanted to visit,” the angel says weakly.

Geralt narrows his eyes. “From where?” he demands.

“A place across the sea,” the shapeshifter replies airily. “You won’t have heard of it.”

“Ah, on the contrary!” Jaskier says eagerly, looking thrilled, “I studied geography extensively and spoke to several world-renowned sailors. Are you from the coast? Why don’t you have accents? Did you fly here or sail?”

The monsters look even more uncomfortable with every moment that Jaskier speaks. Geralt watches them warily. They might lash out at any moment. He medallion is humming frantically, telling him to dispatch these creatures, but… they’re sentient, and according to the angel, they’ve done no harm.

Where did they come from?

With a heavy sigh, the shapeshifter says, “A witch sent us—I mean, a sorceress. We, eh, we’re big fans, but we didn’t expect this place to be so… eh, distrusting.”

“Fans of what?” Jaskier asks.

“Um...”

A portal suddenly opens to one side, and Geralt immediately draws his sword, stepping over to put himself between the portal and Jaskier. A sorceress pokes her head through, and sighs. “You two just had to go and run into the very people I told you to avoid, didn’t you,” she says in an annoyed tone. “Aziraphale, please, for the love of god, put those wings away. Hey, Henry-with-white-hair and Joey, looking sexy as usual.”

Geralt tenses unhappily, and Jaskier muffles an outraged gasp.

“You said not to call them that!” the angel protests, as his wings fold in and vanish, and the shapeshifter takes his arm and drags him to the portal. “Oh, wait, but I wanted to ask about the television lore so I could compare it with the books—!”

“Later, angel,” the shapeshifter sighs, then, before they step through the portal, he tosses over his shoulder to Geralt and Jaskier, “By the way, I’m Crowley. Tell Ciri I’d die for her.”

And then they’re gone and the portal closes.

There is a very long silence. Then Jaskier asks, bewildered, “Who the fuck is Ciri?”

“Fuck if I know,” Geralt replies with a shrug. “Come on, let’s go find the wyvern.”

#The Witcher #Good Omens #sorta #commission #writing

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starcountesseevee · 3 years

Text

A Rocket Coincidence (Part 26)

Part 25 / Part 27

Kali was pacing excitedly around the kitchen, it was Monday and Cliff was finally back in town after what felt like forever. While he had “work stuff” -his words- during the day they had already made plans for the evening and Kali couldn't wait. Mara had insisted that Kali take today off but she found herself actually kind of wishing she was working just so that the time would go faster. The sound of Mara’s bedroom opening alerted Kali and she looked over with a grin as Mara came into the kitchen.

“Good morning!”

"I thought I smelled bacon." Mara plopped down. “You’re certainly in a good mood. And up early.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kali beamed. “Although, that’s the last of the bacon so I'll probably run out to the store today, need anything else while I'm out?"

"Yeah I think we're low on patience, too. Think you can pick some of that up?" Mara teased as she made up a plate for herself.

"Oh hush. I'm plenty patient."

"Says the girl who's been counting the days...nay hours until today."

"Okay so I've just been a little excited to see my boyfriend, is that a crime?"

"Ahh to be young and in love…" Mara batted her eyelashes at Kali and threw her hand across her forehead dramatically.

"I...don't know about all that." Kali mumbled as she felt her cheeks flush.

"Sure you don’t.” Mara rolled her eyes as she passed Kali to head back to her bedroom. “But everyone else does. And by everyone else I mean me. I'll be at the studio if you need me!" She called back, cutting off any further argument Kali could have had. Love, Kali thought to herself with a scoff. Mara didn’t know what she was talking about.

Kali checked the time again as she headed down Skiploom Street. It wasn’t even noon yet and a trip to the store wasn’t going to waste the hours she had until this evening so she decided to take a longer walk and scan some Pokestops to maybe get her mind off the time. It had also been a while since she’d been able to stock up on some supplies and she would need the coins to do that anyway. Most Pokestops in the city only gave five to ten coins a day so getting a decent amount to spend was a job but there was one just around the next corner that Kali was pretty sure gave twenty.

“Hey,” Zeke nudged his co-trainee, Bradley, as he saw a red-headed girl with a pokeball dangling from her belt turn the corner. “Looks like she might be a trainer, guess we’ll get to show off to the boss after all.” He thought he had said it low enough but Cliff overheard from where he was leaning and rolled his eyes. They weren’t here to show off, they were here to do a job, he thought as he scanned through his emails from the weekend. Their training was over and this was supposed to be their first time out on their own, Cliff was just there to make sure their training paid off but so far he wasn’t impressed.

“Yeah she’s cute too, maybe I’ll get her to bet on more than just leaving when I win.” Both boys chuckled. Cliff frowned at that, he didn’t support that kind of talk. Another tick in the unimpressed box, he thought as he paid a little more attention to what was going on to make sure they didn’t start harassing whoever it was.

“What do we have here?” Zeke stepped forward taking the lead. Kali sighed as she spotted the two. Of course she would run into a Grunt here she thought as she questioned whether or not she felt like battling or turning around.

“Looks like a little troublemaker.” Bradley chimed in, mimicking Zeke by crossing his arms as well. Kali raised a brow and glanced between them. She had been considering backing down but “troublemaker”? What were they, five?

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got? Did you forget to pick up your brains this morning with your uniform?” Kali quipped and Cliff’s head shot up, he knew that voice.

“Hey, watch what you say, you’re messing with Team Rocket you know!” A sudden firm hand on his shoulder caused Zeke to turn around. Kali couldn’t hide the look of surprise on her face as Cliff pushed his way between the two grunts with a smirk.

“So these two idiots are yours?”

“They’re a work in progress.” They began to protest but one look from Cliff had them retreat a few steps and he turned back to Kali. “This is a nice surprise.” He said low enough for only her to hear. As much as he might have wanted to pull her in for a kiss right there he didn’t want to presume that she wanted their relationship status publicized, especially not in front of others from Team Rocket. And he was on the job. But mostly the first reason.

“It is.” She smiled coyly at him. “So that means you’re going to let me go scan that pokestop, right?” Cliff opened his mouth to answer but immediately shut it. There was no way he could just let her waltz right by with Zeke and Bradley watching. Not only would he look weak but they would probably go back to base and tell people he broke the rules. Kali must have read his silence correctly; when he glanced back at her she was eyeing him with a look that said are you really thinking about doing this? Okay so maybe challenging his girlfriend wasn’t the best idea but on the other hand maybe it was about time they had a battle.

“I think you know how this works, the only way you’re getting by is battling first.”

“Seems like a silly rule, but okay. Which one of those kids do you want me to trounce?”

“Neither, I think it’s about time we faced off don’t you?”

“Oh?” Kali held his gaze for a long moment. “Alright, if you’re so ready to get your butt kicked so be it.”

“I don’t think that’s how this is gonna go. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll even go easy on ya.”

“You can, but I won’t.” Kali could practically taste the tension hanging in the air between them. Cliff had a bit of an advantage as he had seen her battle before but she was pretty confident she could win regardless. And now that she had said it there was no backing down.

Cliff could hear the two idiots, as Kali so eloquently put it, behind him snickering something along the lines of “she’s gonna get her butt whooped” and had an idea that would probably shut them up. “How about we up the stakes then? If I win you have to go on a date with me.” He kept his expression neutral as he heard the two guys gasp behind them.

Kali bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, he was trying to show off in front of those kids wasn’t he? “And what if I already have a boyfriend?” She decided to play along.

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“I dunno, he’s a pretty big guy. Tough. I don’t think he’d like his girl making such deals with another man.” Kali stood her ground as Cliff took a few steps closer and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Maybe he is, dollface, but so am I.” He winked.

“Tell you what if you win, and that’s a pretty big if, I’ll think about it. But….” She glanced behind him to the QR code a little further down the street and decided on a term of her own. “If I win you have to abandon this pokestop and can’t block it off ever again.” She looked back at him challengingly.

“What?” Cliff frowned, fighting the urge to turn around and yell at the peanut gallery behind them, and lowered his voice before continuing. “That’s not something I can promise, doll.”

“Then don’t lose.” Kali smirked and reached for a pokeball before proclaiming loudly to get this match started, ending any further arguments on the matter. "Standard match I presume? Last one standing out of three?" She questioned as she racked her brain for any time Cliff had mentioned pokemon so she could pick a starter. If she remembered correctly he had mentioned Tyranitar and maybe Onyx and Torterra as well, all of which were rock types. Maybe there was something there.

“Right.” This had suddenly gone from playful banter to something a little more serious. He was a Leader with Team Rocket, there was no way he could just promise to not do his job. Didn’t she understand that? Not that he was going to lose.

“Ready when you are.” Both of them tossed pokeballs forward at the same time. Kali had chosen Clover, her Leafeon, gambling on her rock type theory. Her choice paid off as an Omanyte appeared across from her. Perfect. “Razor Leaf!” She tried getting the upper hand with a first move but Cliff was just as quick to have his Omanyte attack, but Mud Shot wasn’t going to do much against her grass type.

“Dodge!” Cliff was cursing inwardly as Kali’s Leafeon hopped swiftly around his slower Omanyte getting in far more hits than he would have liked. Within moments it was apparent that his Omanyte was outmatched and he swore under his breath as he was forced to return it. The two Grunts snickered.

Kali grinned as Clover returned to stand anxiously in front of her for Cliff’s second choice. By the look on his face he was not as amused as she was. “Alright, what’s next?” She murmured to her Leafeon as he tossed forward another ball. It was clearly something large, Kali thought as the pokemon began to take shape in front of her before becoming recognizable as an Electivire. Alright, so maybe her theory was wrong but an electric type wasn’t a huge obstacle and her Leafeon hadn’t taken much damage from the Omanyte anyway. At Cliff's command the large yellow pokemon charged forward, electric energy cracking between the two antennas on the top of its head. "Clover, dodge!" Her Leafeon jumped aside but not quickly enough and a jolt of electricity hit its hindquarters causing it to stumble. It quickly recovered as Kali called for it to use Razor Leaf again. The larger pokemon took the hits as it shot a few more bolts of electricity at Clover who managed to dodge most of them.

"Use Thunder Punch!" Cliff called with a grin, he might have had a rough start but the match was turning back around in his favor. The Electivire charged at Kali's Leafeon again, this time gripping its tail to get more of a charge on its attack.

"Hold and use Energy Ball!" Pulling this move off meant that Clover would most likely take the full force of the Electivire's attack but it should also be enough to knock out the opponent as well. The leaf shaped sprout on its head began to glow white as a green ball of energy started forming in front of its open mouth. “Now!” Kali called as soon as the Electivire got close enough and the ball of energy shot forward into the other pokemon’s chest but just like Kali had predicted it was able to hit Clover too, both pokemon skid backwards and were spent. As she returned Clover she made a mental note to make sure it got extra treats later.

“Dammit!” Cliff swore under his breath as he was forced to return his second pokemon. He had hoped to get Electivire’s charged attack in before it got hit but it was too slow. The smug look on Kali’s face was only fueling the well of anger rising in his chest, he couldn’t lose in front of two trainees! He had an example to set!

“I thought he was supposed to be tough.” Zeke whispered to Bradley but not quietly enough and his eyes went wide as Cliff rounded on him.

“One more word out of you two and it’s desk duty for a month!”

Two down, one to go. Kali took out her second pokeball as Cliff reached for his third. She wasn’t about to let up and chose her Vaporeon, Lyra, who was arguably her strongest Eeveelution. She was very much relieved when she saw Cliff’s selection, a Tyranitar. They had plenty of training against this particular pokemon after training with Cole so Kali knew she wouldn’t have to give Lyra much direction as they had a tried and true strategy.

“Water gun!” Lyra jumped into action sending small but quick jets of water at the Tyranitar that was advancing. Its stubby arms swatted away at some of the jets as it went in for an attack and Lyra just managed to jump out of the way of its teeth, although Kali had to admit Cliff’s was much faster than the one Cole had.

“Use Iron Tail!” The large green creature swung around deftly as its tail began to glow white and before Lyra could jump out of the way its tail crashed into her Vaporeon’s side. Cliff wasted no time in having his Tyranitar attack again as the Vaporeon got back on its feet.

“Dodge!” Lyra obeyed and before Kali could call for another attack she was already shooting more jets of water at the Tyranitar, she seemed angry that it had gotten a hit in on her and was retaliating in full force. “Yes, go girl!”

That Vaporeon was too damn fast. Changing strategies Cliff shouted for his pokemon to use Stone Edge, hopefully this would give him the upper hand again. Turning to face its opponent the Tyranitar slammed its hands onto the street and a wave of rock pillars shot towards Lyra causing her to stumble as she scurried to avoid them. “Quick, Iron Tail while its recovering!” But Lyra wasn’t falling for that again and shot a quick jet of water at the Tyranitar’s face to distract it before moving swiftly behind it.

“Hydro Pump!” Kali practically yelled with excitement. Before Cliff’s pokemon could react Lyra opened her mouth and a large, forceful jet of water slammed into the Tyranitar’s back causing it to crash forward into the ground.

“Get up, dammit!” To the creature’s credit it did try to but wound up slumping back down onto the pavement defeated.

“Yes!” Kali cheered as she recalled her Vaporeon. “Told you I’d win.”

“What the hell?!" Her elation was short lived as Cliff stormed towards her with a scowl.

"What the hell, what?" She glared back at him, why was he so angry about this? This was certainly new, was he really that big of a sore loser?

"There's no way you should have been able to beat me with just a couple of Eeveelutions!"

"Excuse me?! Just what is that supposed to mean?" A hot spark of anger flared in her chest as her hands clenched into fists at her side.

"It means I shouldn't have lost to a...to a pipsqueak like you! You’re not even on a Team!"

“Pipsqueak!? Did you forget who you’re talking to?” Kali glared up at him, she wasn’t going to show it but the not being on a Team comment stung more than the name calling. She was clearly just as good as anyone else regardless of not being on a Team and he knew it.

Cliff took a deep breath as he met her furious gaze. “No…” He relented a little and lowered his voice before continuing. “But really, you had to beat me in front of my trainees?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to go easy! I’m not going to lose just so you can show off!” Stars, she was angry. “You know what, forget this.” Kali spun on her heels and stalked off towards the corner.

“Kali, wait!” Cliff jogged after her, catching up right before she reached it. “Babe look I-”

“Save it.” One look told Cliff he should probably back off for now.

“Alright, we’ll talk later then.” He replied weakly as she walked off. It was probably better to wait until they both had a chance to cool off anyway.

Part 25 / Part 27

A huge shout out to @rubystartrail for always being willing to chat through writer’s block! And to @nenalata for being an avid reader!

#cliff pokemon go #pokemon go cliff #pokemon go #pokemon go fanfiction #leader cliff #Team rocket cliff #team go rocket #eeveelution

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dlamp-dictator · 3 years

Text

Quick Thoughts of Strive Beta

Messed around on the beta for about 3 hours between last night and this morning and just wanted to give my thoughts on it so far.

General Things

For those wanting to download the Beta I believe you have to go onto the PSN website itself and search it up. It took all of yesterday to realize this and I’m still mad no instructions actually said this... I pre-order this game dammit.

From what I’ve played the netcode is very good. I think there were only 2 moments the game wouldn’t let me connect with someone. All of my games have been smooth so far with little if any lag.

The look, aesthetics, and animations all look very nice and are done very well. The action feels very fast-paced and bombastic. The explosion and fire effects are stellar and give some very nice feedback to your stronger attacks. Heavier counters have a nice zoom and slow down effect for maximum impact. This game wants to really sell you on that hype dear Lord am I buying it.

I know I was negative on the music of Strive in my last essay, but hearing it within the game itself has me warming up to it. On its own the songs feel a little out of place, but now that I’ve got the game’s beta in my hand and started playing it the music works. It kind of like moving and fighting along to a rock album. I’ve got a particular fondness for Giovanna’s theme now. The chill vibes I get from her theme combined with her personality sell me on her character a bit more now.

General Gameplay Things

I know the devs were saying that they wanted to make this game simpler, or at least more approached, but boy is this game a little more bare compared to Rev2. Just to give a quick rundown, you can only cancel Slash into Heavy Slash, Punch and Kick are more poking tools that can’t cancel into much aside from Specials, but you can also mash out 3 Punches in a row. Punch cannot be canceled into Kick, Slash, or Heavy Slash, nor can Kick cancel into Punch, Slash, or Heavy Slash unless in a Dust combo, not with the characters I was using at least (Ram, Zato, Chip, and Gio).

However, this is offset by the HUGE damage Slash and Heavy Slash can do, especially if you combo it properly with specials. Ram in particular has some evil stuff she can do with her Dauro loops. It’s a bit more like a more combo-based SamSho where you can be dead in just three or four short combos... just... without the teeth-grinding slowness of Samsho.

I’m a bit torn on this. While I think this kind of gameplay actually works pretty well for what it is, it’s such a different approach to Rev2 and even Accent Core Plus that I wouldn’t blame folks for being dismissive of it. There could be an honest argument for this being flash over substance given the lack of complexity on the surface. Not one I would make given my mixed opinion of Guilty Gear as a whole, but I could see that argument being made.

I think having Throw be 4/6D was probably the smartest move in this game. Now we don’t have to worry about having our 4/6HS command normals accidentally turn into throws and ruin a potential combo.

“Allen, why would you use 4/6HS up close raw? It’s typically very unsafe and can make you eat tons of damage.”

Hey... shut up.

Speaking of Dust, if it wasn’t a universal overhead before, making it one now gives it a lot more utility.

Ramlethal Things

I played mostly with Ram in my three hours with the game, so I’ve got the best grasp on how she plays out of the other three characters I messed with.

Ram’s very different from her Rev2 days. She no long has her Tekken-esque combos and a lot of her gameplay is now even more focused around her swords. She’d best at midrange, but can do a few things from close up and far away.

I don’t really like how you can’t call your swords back, but given the damage output when she has them equipped I think it’s a fair enough trade off.

Her Dauro loops are still a thing and boy can you do some mean things with them.

I don’t really like how a lot of her combos feels like they need a sweep or 2HS to do real damage, this is apparently the case for a lot of characters, but with Ram... I dunno’, I haven’t play around with her enough to be sure but it just feels kinda’ weird.

Mortobato is actually a pretty nice super in terms of utility, but I really miss having Explode. It was the coolest looking super in Ram’s kit back in Xrd.

Her new rekka special is pretty sweet, makes for a nice combo ender after a sweep.

Giovanna Things

I think this is the character I’m going to main in earnest. Ram is fun, but I can actually win matches with Giovanna with some competency since her damage is constant unlike Ram who needs her swords.

Like Chipp, she’s a rushdown character, but with less tools for mobility and is more about nailing people hard and fast with her kicks and staying close with her surprisingly far-reaching specials that can close the gap, at least that’s what I got from her after a few runs in training mode.

Her 6HS rekka looks really cool and I wish I could combo into better.

Apparently she turns all green and gets possessed by her ghost dog when she’s a max Tension, but the game doesn’t explain anything about this.I’m curious, but also annoyed that what looks like a gameplay function is hidden for the beta players. I understand wanting to keep things a surprise, but I’d rather that part of her be removed if it isn’t going to be discussed.

I heard a lot of talk about Giovanna being un-Guilty Gear and boring as a character. I’ve got a lot of negative opinions about these people, but I’ll at least say that after playing her I don’t believe this to be the case. She admitted has few tools, but her playstyle, animations, and character do feel like a Guilty Gear character. Her simplicity is what makes her stand out among all the nuttiness of Guilty Gear.

Think of it this way, a snarky, deadpanned, straightforward government worker being forced to deal with half-dragon bounty hunters and kings, assassins, sky pirates, ninja presidents, and Faust with only basic martial arts and a ghost dog to keep her on equal footing with the monsters of the cast stands out a lot more if she was quirky. She seems to be the straight man to all the craziness and I think she’ll have a lot of comedic moments with the cast if down well.

Zato Things

THE TRAILERS FUCKING LIED TO ME THIS IS STILL ZATO -FUCKING- 1

To keep this simple and to keep me from raging, Zato and Eddie still attack in tandem outside of the player’s influence. 5K with Zato will still make Eddie do ”That’s A Lot!”. Doing 5S will still have Eddie do Leap. This is gonna’ need an actual essay to explain in detail, but basically, Eddie is unwieldy in his movement speed and positioning, so properly doing combos with him is very difficult due to how hard it is to position him in your favor.

To be fair, Eddie can only do about two attacks when he’s summoned, and his animations are much clearer to read and react off of for both you and your opponent, but... it feels like all the playing Relius Clover if Ignis moved without your full input. Again, more detail in a proper essay.

Outside of that, you can actually do some really dirty stuff with Zato with you time things right. They did try to simplify Eddie but... it’s stil Zato-1 man.

Lobby Things

Yeah... this lobby kind of sucks. The aesthetic just looks very cheap compared to how nice the game looks. The blocky avatars don’t have the charming cuteness of Xrd’s avatar designs, and while I do think the method of getting matches is pretty simple, the overall way you do it feels sluggish and unneeded. I really wish Japanese fighting game developers didn’t try to make the lobbies as... immersive as they try to. This stuff peaked with Continuum Shift lobbies and have honestly gone downhill since then.

Overall, I’ve been liking what I’ve played of the beta, but I’m gonna’ need another day or two with it before having a full opinion. But so far so good, I’ve been either liking or appreciating most of the changes and things made, barring a few nitpicks and actual problems.

#guilty gear #your dictator is speaking

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snarkwrites · 4 years

Text

sprung spring | perfect | tim speedle {m}

PROMPTS USED:

Roommates + massage + shy + first kiss / first time together + heavy eye contact + “You have no idea what you do to me.” + thigh riding + on a couch

NOTES:

First of all, yes. yes, I did steal this from an Ed Sheeran song title. We’ve discussed just how bad I am at naming things, so you are all aware of this yes? Secondly... This one ends kind of... abruptly. But.. I felt like it was too good and perfect to keep pushing through and taint the feel I was going for, you feel me? Third.. If anyone wants me too -and bothers me enough, I miiiight be tempted to make this into a fic somehow. Because I have ideas, I just dunno if people wanna see those ideas.

Special thank you of the huge variety to my bb @micolegg for looking this over as far as the ending was concerned. I love you for doing it.

WARNINGS:

Uhh... sex on a couch; unprotected, biting... An overwhelming amount of the fluffy shit here. Oops rip.

PAIRING:

Tim Speedle x OFC, Viv

TAGGING:

@chasingeverybreakingwave because they’re the only one who listed themselves as wanting to be on said list for CSI. If you want to be tagged in any of my multifandom fanfics, please go [here] and add yourself, otherwise, I won’t tag you.

The files spread beside Tim on the couch and piled on the table close by had Viv shaking her head as she stepped into the door of their apartment, dropping her keys on the end table next to the door. She cleared her throat and leaned against the door, nodding to the files and folders.

“I thought you were going to ease back into work. That doesn’t look like easing, Speed.” Viv slunk over, sprawling dramatically on the couch. Tim chuckled quietly, closing the file he’d been looking at, taking the legal pad he’d had sitting on his lap and stacking it neatly on top. Despite his best efforts, brown eyes traveled slowly over long legs and then back up, grateful that for the time being, she wasn’t looking at him to catch him.

If she had one tenth of a clue what she did to him… the thought died away and Tim took a deep breath, clearing his throat as he prepared to address her dramatic entrance. “Hard day?”

“If one more kid hits on me, I swear to God… I’m their teacher, what the hell… that’s gross!” Viv rose to sit, turning to face Tim, licking her lips as she caught herself getting lost in his eyes. It happened a lot, she always hoped to God he never caught on to just how much she did it and why.

So far, her luck had been holding since the summer of their eleventh grade year, when her parents hired him to teach her Algebra II when she flunked it and wound up repeating the course. So far, Tim Speedle was utterly clueless just how deep in love with him she was.

He thought they were just best friends, so he didn’t even bat an eye when she uprooted herself from their old hometown and moved to Miami after he recovered from life threatening injury. He didn’t even bat a lash when she was in one of her wilder moods and dared to flirt with him, teasing a little bit, either.

And lately, it was getting harder and harder not to do that. She found herself on the verge of almost blurting everything out almost daily now that they lived together. She wanted more. She wanted him to be her man.

Tim clearing his throat had her putting a halt to the train of thought and quickly trying to do her best to seem as if everything was perfectly fine. She nodded to the files and notepad on the table in front of them. “So.. What happened to easing back into work, exactly?” she moved to sit behind him as she asked the question because she’d seen the tension in his shoulders and she knew that as per usual, Tim Speedle was letting the job get to him. Diving in over his head when his doctors all said that he still needed to take it easy.

Tim’s mouth fell open and his head fell to the side slightly as he felt Viv’s legs wrap around his waist from behind and her hands began to move slowly and carefully across his shoulders, kneading in circular motions, the tension seeming to begin melting away almost in an instant.

Just the feel of her body pressing against his had him struggling for any shred of self control. Lately, where she was concerned, it seemed harder to do. He had to really fight to keep himself together around her and he secretly dreaded the fact that eventually, she’d start dating some guy.

… you could open your mouth; make a move…

The thought was only briefly entertained before Tim buried it, letting it fall by the wayside in favor of the massage Viv was giving him.

The groan slipped out before he could stop it and she gave a soft laugh, leaning in with her mouth next to his ear, the warmth of her breath tickling it as she asked in amusement, “Feel good, Timmy?”

“Mhm.”

“You were entirely too tense.” Viv mumbled. She found herself unable to resist the urge to press against his back again and when she did, she gasped because she got carried away and caught up in how good it felt to do so and he jumped a little in surprise because he hadn’t been expecting it.

“Yeah, well.. Apparently someone decided now was an awesome time to be a serial killer in Miami.” Tim retorted, turning his head slightly to gaze at Viv. She was still pressed against him and it felt good.

Too good, really.

“I’m not the only one who looks tense, Viv. Come on around here, darlin.” Tim patted his lap. Viv slipped out from behind him and got off the couch, sinking down into his lap, her back to him. As soon as those rough hands started to clumsily rub at her neck and shoulders, she had to bite down on her lower lip just to keep from making any number of unholy noises threatening to leave her mouth currently. She rocked around in his lap a little, trying to get settled and comfortable and Tim’s hands moved lower, down to below her shoulders.

Tim tensed slightly, trying to shift himself so that she didn’t accidentally rub right against the way he was straining at baggy blue jeans and find out for herself. As his hands moved up and down her back and across her shoulders, he couldn’t help but hear the quiet little sounds she’d make or the way her breathing hitched now and then. He leaned in and muttered lazily against her ear, “Everything okay, Viv?”

“Oh yeah… yeah.” her eyes fluttered open and closed as his hands began to move in circles over her shoulders again and she couldn’t help but wiggle in his lap again because the massage in combination with the way his hands felt on her body was almost like sensory overload. It felt too good. She had to do something to cope. Tim grunted quietly and almost as soon as she happened to rock herself against the way he strained at his jeans, her eyes popped open wide.

Tim wanted to disappear into the couch. He cleared his throat abruptly, but rather than drop her gaze, he continued to stare directly at her with his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say, anything to take out what he thought was awkwardness lingering heavy in the air between them.

Viv’s last bit of restraint snapped completely. One of them had to do something. The tension was so thick between them you could cut it with a knife. And given that she knew exactly how Tim Speedle operated, she took a calculated risk.

Scooting up into his lap more, she put a hand on either side of his face, pulling his mouth up against hers. Her tongue trailed lazily over the outline of his lips before prying them apart and slipping between them, dragging over his teeth slowly. His mouth opened more to give her better access and with a quiet whimper, Viv’s tongue slipped between his teeth, trailing lazily over his tongue, taking dominance of the kiss she’d just started.

Tim’s hands drifted down, away from her shoulders and down to her ass, squeezing, causing her to rock against the hefty bulge strained at his jeans. As the kiss broke and they pulled their mouths away from one another, he took a deep breath. Again, all he could do was stare at her in awe. He couldn’t get his mouth to work, couldn’t form words.

Tends to happen when everything you’ve ever really wanted just kind of presents itself to you out of the blue. Things were starting to click to place for him slowly, but he didn’t dare ask her if any of his suspicions were right.

She pressed against him more, baring down against the way the hefty bulge strained against his jeans. His fingers dug into her ass even more, rocking her back and forth over it and he leaned in, muttered against the shell of her ear, “That kiss… Were you trying to tell me something, darlin?”

Viv paused, going still in his lap, eyes fixed on his lips again hungrily. She managed to stop staring at his lips to meet his gaze as she took his face in her hands and leaned in, just barely brushing her lips against his mouth as she answered, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

The hunger in her voice caught him totally off guard. Almost enough that when her mouth finally crashed against his, carefully and almost clumsily at first, with her pulling away slightly because it took a second or two for him to catch onto what was happening.

He caught her face in his hands, pulling her mouth against his own all over again. A hand left her cheek, slipping down her side, gripping her hip, fingertips digging in as the soft smack of their mouths meeting and the quiet mumbling and groaning filled the heavy silence between them. He could see her blushing and it had him chuckling quietly as he caressed her cheek just before deepening the kiss. “You blushin right now, darlin? Cute. Ya know,” he leaned in closer, catching her bottom lip between both of his, “you could always show me what I do to you. Because I think you know what you do to me.” guiding her core over the bulge strained almost painfully against his jeans.

Her breath caught in her throat and his tongue slipped between her lips, dragging slowly over the outline of her teeth before slipping into her mouth, massaging her tongue lazily. Her hands caught in his hair, tugging at the back of his head, pulling his mouth in deeper as she continued to rock herself slowly over his lap. Hazel eyes fluttered open and shut as his hands dug into her hips and ass, squeezing, rocking her faster, pressing her against the hefty bulge until she was whimpering and her cunt was throbbing, her panties soaked and the insides of her thighs totally flooded. Her lips caught on his lower lip, tugging as he breathed out against her mouth, “If you wanna stop…”

“No. God no.” Viv panted as her mouth roamed down the side of his neck, latching onto skin, leaving behind marks. Tim bucked himself up into her, his hands kneading her ass as he took it all in. This was really happening.

Viv rocked herself against his thigh harder, baring down, getting wetter each and every single time she rubbed herself over it. Her cunt was throbbing, if she didn’t do something soon, she was going to lose her mind. She needed more friction. She wanted to rip his clothes off and sink down on his cock until he was buried completely inside her. Tim’s hands moved up her body, catching either side of her face in his hands, pulling her mouth against his all over again, greedily. A hand left her face, lowering between them, slipping up the insides of her thigh as he deepened the kiss to a point where they were breathing for and with each other. His teeth caught on her lip and he muttered shakily, “Me either… so we’re doing this…” as he gazed at her intently, waiting, holding his breath until he felt her press against him, her body molded to his and breathing into the heated kiss, “Oh, we’re definitely doing this.”

His hand moved higher up the inside of her thighs, cupping her cunt, rubbing the heel of his hand against it until she was squirming and shaky in his lap. His mouth broke from her mouth to move slowly down the side of her neck and he muttered into her skin quietly, “You know once we do this…” trailing off. Was he putting too much expectation on tonight? Her mumbled whisper against his mouth when she reached up and tilted his chin to make him meet her gaze had him reassured. “Everything changes. Finally.”

He blinked, a little shocked because not once in the entirety of their friendship had he once considered that maybe, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. The shock started to wear off, a devilish smirk tugging the corners of his mouth upward as he gently pushed her back flat against the couch, pressing himself down into her, his hips pinning her flat against the overstuffed cushions, the faint squeak of spring and leather joining the sound of the soft smack of their mouths meeting over and over again. He rose up, she sat up partially, gripping either side of the front of his shirt and pulling, sending a spray of flimsy sewn buttons scattering the room. Tugging the shirt off his arms, she tossed it over the back of the couch. Tim got her flat against the couch again, his hands going up the bottom of the pencil skirt she was wearing, slipping beneath the flimsy band of her underwear and tugging until they snapped in two quietly. He pulled them free from her body and tossed them onto the hardwood floor, turning his attention to the skirt still very much in his way. He pulled it down and she shook her feet to let it settle on the floor, gazing up at him hungrily. Her hand went to his jeans, unbuttoning the button and slowly pulling down the zipper.

Tim stood, letting his jeans and underwear hit the floor, kicking them free at the ankles, sinking back down onto the couch, positioning himself over her, pressing her into the cushions all over again, his mouth crashing against her mouth hungrily as he gripped both sides of her button up shirt and pulled it open, letting her raise up so he could take it off. Her bra was torn away next and during this, he didn’t break the kiss a single time, until there was nothing between the two of them left and it was skin against skin.

"You're so fucking beautiful, princess." Tim muttered against her throat as his mouth strayed from hers. "Gonna make you feel so good, you know that right?"

"Mhm." Viv muttered as her eyes fluttered open and shut, the warmth of his tongue and the way his lips felt against her skin making her gasp, sending another wave of warm wetness to pool between her thighs. “You always do, Tim.” she panted as his mouth worked lower, trailing across the swell of her breasts, his hands all over her, gripping and squeezing and rubbing her against him. Each time she rubbed against him, she felt her cunt starting to throb harder with need. He was teasing her now and she realized this. It had her pouting up at him, too.

Tim's hand moved up the inside of her thighs and he growled quietly when his fingertips came away coated with her juices. Leaning down and pressing himself into her he muttered in a hushed tone, "Fuck, you're so wet for me already,princess." making her blush all over again under his lust filled gaze as he slipped his fingers between his lips, a lewd groan coming as the taste of her filled his mouth.

“Tim, you’re teasing me.” Viv pouted up at him. Tim shook his head, leaning in, pressing himself against her and pinning her hips flat against the couch as he pinned her hands to either side of her head with his own and his mouth latched onto hers all over again. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Viv gasped, rocking herself against him. Tim’s teeth latched on her lower lip when he felt his cock slide between dripping folds, just to keep himself from growling out loud. “I told you, darlin. Not teasing you.” he groaned against her mouth as he started to bury his cock in her, slowly, inch for inch. He wanted her to feel every little bit of this. His grip on her body and the back of the couch tightened and he started to pound away, hard and slow, deep and steady thrusts that had the couch creaking quietly, the leather squealing quietly with every move they made on it. “You feel so good. Taking me so well.” Tim gasped against her neck as he started to fuck into her a little faster; not too fast though because he wanted this to last. He wanted to take his time and savor the moment.

“C’mon, baby, faster. Harder. I’m not gonna break, Tim.” Viv nipped at his lips and neck hungrily, her mouth latching onto his, tugging at it, her tongue slipping past his lips as she continued to meet each deep and long and almost painfully slow drive into her aching cunt with her own thrusts upward, their hips smacking louder and louder. The closer she got to an orgasm, the more he slowed down until she was on the verge of tears, begging for it.

“Oh no, nope. We’re not in a hurry, doll.” Tim drawled lazily against her skin as he continued to drive into her deep, his cock brushing right against her G spot three or four times in a row, making the ache settled in her cunt triple. Viv was nearly seeing stars by now, and every other word that left her mouth was begging. More, harder, faster.

But deep down, she did appreciate the fact that he wasn’t just pounding away at her like she wanted. This was the man she’d fallen in love with as a teenager and that feeling had only grown so much stronger the more she got to know of him. She was so in love with him now that she knew she’d never find her way back. He liked to take his time. He liked making her feel good, whether it be right now, as a lover, or back then, as a best friend, when she’d have a shitty day and he’d come by her parents house with burgers from his dad’s restaurant and a stack of movies that he wasn’t crazy about but he knew she liked.

It was the little things with him.

She wound her fingers through his, eyes locked on his, almost blown away by the mixture of love and lust in his gaze. He chuckled quietly and slowed to an almost stop, pressing down into her more as he went totally still, giving her a deep and gentle kiss, his tongue trailing over earlier bruises left behind because of the intensity of their first kisses and he muttered after a second or two, “Everything alright, darlin?”

“Everything is perfect, Tim.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tim mumbled against her mouth as he started to fuck into her all over again, so much slower that it was almost torture….

#tim speedle fanfiction #tim speedle imagine #tim speedle fanfic #tim speedle fic #tim speedle imagines #//fourseasonsofsm*tselfchallenge #// tw: s*xual content #// tw: unprotected s*x #// tw: a cliffhanger ending hehe

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