#i had a lot of trouble putting stuff into words loll

[mousesquared]

Hi! How did you realize you were aplspec? I'm questioning myself and am having such a hard time figuring it out lol...

(disclaimer that all of this is my personal experience and i dont speak for all aplspec people) oh also im gonna be saying i/me but this realization was a mix of mouses and mine (toby)

prepare for a long one cause i like to talk a lot i guess

i think it kinda hit me when i really thought about platonic attraction. im aroace and so dont experience romantic or sexual attraction and so thinking of a platonic version of that was a bit confusing. there were only a couple people i could remember feeling a pull towards to either be their friend or be closer as friends. with other friends it just kind of happened? they were someone i talked to about similar interests or in groups with mutual friends and a friendship just happened because of that. i didnt have a goal or pull to specifcally to try and get closer to them, it just happened because of where we hung around.

i know not all alloplatonic friendships are built on an urge to be friends or closer friends, but i do think my experience of it is in an aplatonic(spec) way. there is also the part where i dont specifcally have an urge to need close friends. i of course enjoy it when i do. but when i realized i was aplspec i only had like 2 past friends that i still occasionally texted but we were super distant. i didnt really miss an emotional bond with someone, i just wanted to talk to people. i was lonely in the sense that all my thoughts were having to be kept inside by head with no way out. and when i seeked out a place to talk about them, thats where friendships formed. i didnt join that community in order to get close friends, i just wanted discussion.

most of the time when it comes to friends, i am seeking the activity, the action, the nonloneliness. it is nice to have people fufilling that with me that i like! but with friends i have a really hard time gauging steps in relationships. i have been known to either talk to someone for a very short time and all of a sudden regard us as very close and i have been known to talk to someone and be friends with them for years, and then not consider them as close as they consider me. the latter isnt usually about me not liking them as much as others, i just dont realize how they view our friendship and have trouble gauging that kind of stuff for myself. i think that comes from just having trouble gauging how people see me in general. personally i think thats an autism thing but it affects my aplatonicism so its also an aplatonic thing!

i also think that i view friendship as like a complete separate step than just talking to someone a lot. that may seem like a contradictory thing to what ive said before. but the fact that i seek talking to people and interacting with others, thats why i was ok with not really having friends for a stretch of time. struggling with gauging friendship makes me see friendship as something that has to be kind of barrier you eventually cross instead of it just building up. i often dont realize when we cross that barrier and of course the other person doesnt feel the need to express it because we are already friends in their eyes. i am often hit with the "oh i guess we are friends now" thought. even with the few people i have felt platonic attraction to.

so TLDR: i realized platonic attraction is actually a thing, and most of the time i dont have an actual pull to be friends/closer with people. i dont usually seek the companionship of friends, usually just the sociable & activity doing aspect. i care about my friends but i dont view my care for them as a platonic attraction. i also have trouble gauging relationship levels with people and often dont realize we are friends until they say something or i realize im spending a lot of my time with them. (reminder that im aplspec, not 100% aplatonic too!)

#i had a lot of trouble putting stuff into words loll #attraction of any kind confuses the hell out of me #lemme know if some things didnt make sense #i will try to elaborate pff #picnic chats #aplatonic #aplspec #aspec

[vs-redemption]

From Cindy: Here’s another excerpt from the long lost aot fic I wrote once upon a time. Sorry if anything is confusing, a lot happens in the story between the parts with Levi

Some background info: this story was meant to take place just after the fall of Wall Maria. So, Eren and the rest of the 104th aren’t even in the cadet corps training yet. My O/C (aka you, the reader) left the garrison to join the scouts to help with the recapture of Wall Maria. I hope that’s not confusing.

This is the last part I’ll post because the rest is just crazy carnage once they’re outside the walls

Part Three: Another Encounter With Levi (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Part One : Part Two

“Tch, you again.”

You loll your head back to see Captain Levi coming into the empty canteen.

“Sorry,” you sigh, feeling weird about always running into him in the same place. “This is the only place to get a hot cup of tea before bed. I don’t know why it’s only the two of us that appreciates that.”

“Everyone else prefers alcohol,” Levi states as he pours himself a cup before coming over and joining you at the table. “But we lost our entire supply after Wall Maria.”

“That’s too bad,” You look down into your cup. “I always figured my dad drank enough for the both of us, so I stuck with tea.” Levi grunts softly in either understanding or amusement. It was hard to tell with his face always so blank. You look back up at him curiously. “Is he driving you guys crazy yet?”

“The rumors about Commander Pixis seem to be true.” The Captain replies.

“That he’s insane?” You guess in monotone.

“That he’s an expert strategist,” Levi corrects you. “Erwin has already taken a few of his suggestions into consideration. We might have discovered a way to communicate more effectively between the four groups once we’re outside the walls.”

“That’s good,” You say seriously. “Hopefully that means we won’t be sending messengers back and forth as much.” It didn’t surprise you that your father had provided a few good ideas about the mission. It was almost scary how clever he could be when he put his mind to it. It had made growing up with him a very interesting experience.

“So, how are your cadets doing?” You ask after a pause to keep the conversation going. “Are they as bad as you predicted?”

“Worse,” Levi sighs. “But they’re not completely useless I guess. Eld is probably the best with the ODM gear now. I suppose your little dancing lesson was a success then.”

“Dancing lesson?” You ask, feeling a little embarrassed that the cadet had described your ODM training that way.

“I don’t know,” Levi shrugs, “That’s what he called it. I think he was trying to be cute.”

“Hmm,” You bite back a smile. “I don’t know if ‘cute’ is the first word I’d use to describe Eld. What have you been doing to that poor guy anyway? I don’t think he’s capable of relaxing anymore.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Levi states neutrally. “He was like that when they gave him to me.” You laugh and shake your head, appreciating his humor.

“Right.”

“What about your brats?” The captain asks, “Are they still mouthing off?”

“That was just Shovich,” You wave your hand dismissively, knowing he was referring to the incident he’d interrupted the day before when one of your cadets had called out your inexperience with actual titan killing in front of everyone. “He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s going through some stuff.”

“Everyone’s going through stuff these days.”

“Yeah, that’s true enough,” You nod your head “But not all disciplinary issues can be solved through punishment.” Levi raises one thin eyebrow skeptically. Another laugh escapes your lips. “Hey,” You defend yourself, “A lot of them definitely can! I won’t argue with you on that. Sometimes though, you just need to sit down and figure out what’s going on in someone’s head. If you understand the thought process, you can understand the behavior. After that, you can go about correcting it.”

“That’s how you handled your team in the capital?” Levi asks curiously.

“When it was appropriate,” You admit. “Other times, I handed them a broom and told them to sweep all the sunshine off the wall.” The captain’s grey eyes widen. “Yeah,” You nod to confirm that your words were the truth, “They hated that one because they knew it would take all day.” You wink in the hope he would catch on to the joke.

“If that’s not a true story, I’ll be extremely disappointed,” Levi says with a small dose of mirth in his tone.

“Oh, it’s true.” You promise, “I got in a bit in trouble for it actually because one of them passed out and ended up in medical with heat exhaustion. But honestly, it was his own fault for filling his canteen with booze instead of water. Once my section commander heard about that I was off the hook.”

“What happened to the cadet?”

“A slap on the wrist,” You admit with a sigh. “If they kicked out every Garrison Soldier who drank on the job, there’d be hardly anyone left to maintain the walls.”

“They should have sent him right back up there with a broom after he recovered,” Levi says resolutely.

“Probably,” You reply before biting back a yawn. After that, you both agreed it was time to head to bed. You volunteered to stay back and wash up this time, so Levi left his cup and went back to his quarters. You were in your own bed just a few minutes later, doing your best to ignore the fact that in just a couple days, you’d be outside the walls for the first time, fighting for your life.

#levi ackerman x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #Levi Ackerman #SNK #AOT #Cindy's Writing

[collecting-stories]

Ahead of Yourself - Sarah Cameron

Request: Can I request 2,17, and 68 with Sarah Cameron?

A/N: Drew some inspiration from the song Ahead of Yourself by Emily Burns as well. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The amount of alcohol you had consumed in the last hour and a half wasn’t enough to put you completely out but it was definitely enough that the spinning chair you were sitting in was more fun than it should have been. You could barely keep your focus on the episode of Psych you had turned on, rolling your head on your shoulders out of boredom, checking your phone to see if Sarah had texted you back yet.  

You had sworn to yourself when you started dating Sarah that college girlfriends were going to be different than high school girlfriends. For one thing, there were more available girls interested in you than there had been in your hometown. But more important, you had sworn to yourself that you were not going to rush into things, you were going to be chill and have fun and not think that every little thing is a giant neon sign screaming that this girl is the one. Of course, that resolution was made before you met Sarah and you were having a hell of a time sticking to it.  

Finally you’re phone buzzed.  

-Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night-

Sarah was dorming in one of the sorority houses on campus. The same one her mother had belonged to when she went to UNC. You were practically across campus in the dorms near the library and it was only curfew keeping the two of you apart currently. But there’d been a party of four with you, your dormmate, and the girls next door that resulted in you being as inebriated as you were now. You had texted Sarah a meme about the president, a favorite pastime of yours, and she’d finally responded after an hour of you spinning in the chair waiting for her.  

Your phone rang directly after that.

“Hello?”  

“What are you doing awake?” Sarah’s voice wasn’t above a whisper, trying not wake her roommate.

“I was having some drinks.” You spun around again, lolling your head back.  

“Some drinks?” She laughed, the tinny sound of the phone not diminishing the butterflies that errupted at the sound of her voice. “Are you sober?”

“I’m moderately functional.” You replied, stopped the chair so the you could get up, swaying on your feet as you stood up and flopped onto your bed.  

“I’ll take that as a no then.”

“I wish you were here.” You groaned, “you’re so far away.”

“I’m across campus...not to mention, you’ll see me in the morning.” Sarah replied, pulling the phone away from her ear for a split second to check the time, “we have class together literally in like 6 hours.”

“I know but I miss you now and I have something super important to tell you!” You insisted, rolling over on your bed and trying to toe your socks off. When that failed you forced yourself to sit up.  

Sober you would have never said anything at all. Sober you would have held out until the last possible minute and never ever let your wall down long enough for Sarah to have any sort of knowledge of your feelings. Sure, you would tell her that you liked her but you would never tell her that you loved her. Not so soon.  

“Can you tell me now, over the phone?” Sarah asked, imagining some nonsensical, drunk, rambling about something unimportant.  

“Yeah but you can’t tell anyone, this shit is top secret.” You threw your socks across the room and fell back on the bed, “I’m in love with you. Like so totally in love with you.”  

If you could’ve seen her, right then, you would seen the softest of expressions washing over her. The corners of her eyes pricked with tears and she felt like her chest was swelling up to her throat, that incredibly solid feeling of just knowing settling in the way it always did when you were around. “I love you too.” She whispered though the declaration felt too soft. She would have painted the words on a banner and hung them from the highest building on campus if she could have.  

“For real?” You smiled, a little dopey in your intoxicated state. “That’s good news.”

“You sound like you’re going to fall asleep...”  

“You sound like you’re going to walk over here and cuddle with me!” You tried as you attempted to undress enough to go to bed without actually standing up. Shimmying pants down your legs as you laid in bed.  

Sarah laughed, pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. “I can’t, I’ll get in trouble.”

“Nonsense, tell them your girlfriend loves you so you have to go see her.”

“I don’t think that excuse will fly.”

You frowned, contemplating other excuses for her to use, “that you’re going to have really great sex?”

“Babe, there’s no way you’re staying up long enough for that.” Sarah replied. She was moving almost subconsciously around the room, pulling on her jacket over her pajamas and slipping some shoes on.  

“Just say I don’t feel good.” You groaned, “it’s not fair you live so far away! Next year we should room together or something.”

“Next year we will room together or something, I promise. For now, you better hope I don’t get in trouble for breaking curfew.” She whispered, gripping her keys as she shut the door behind her and walked over to her car. She could walk but it was easier to just drive to the parking lot outside your dorm. It was faster too.  

You squealed and she laughed, “You’re coming over!”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be right there.”

“I’m so excited!”  

“You’d better not be asleep when I get there.” Sarah threatened as she pulled out of the parking lot to make the drive across campus. 

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects  @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn  @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama  @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar @lemur46 @under-a-canyon-moon @calums-betch 

#sarah cameron x reader #sarah cameron imagine #sarah cameron x you #sarah cameron x y/n #sarah cameron fanfiction #sarah cameron fanfic #sarah cameron fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #obx imagine #collecting stories imagine

[rohad93]

Worth the Fight

Medival Au, cause i am nothing if not predictable in what i like to write about. dont expect these updates as quickly as MM. im still working out the plot.

Trees, fields, and more, big surprise, more fields. Sometimes she spotted the occasional wild animal scampering through the grass, though that was the most interesting thing she’d seen so far.

”Are we there yet?” Luz asked for the third time in an hour as she and Eda trudged along the dirt road they had been following for two days as it wound through the fields and forests of the countryside.

“Do you see the city?” Eda asked as she glanced at her apprentice out of the corner of her eye.

“No…”

“Then we’re not there yet!” Eda threw up her arms. “Kid, relax, we’ll get there when we get there, I know you’re tired, I’m tired, hell, King is tired.” She gestured to the demonic dire wolf trotting along beside them, tongue lolling out of his mouth. His black fur shined in the sun but was near blinding against the white fur on the top of his head that created a distinct skull-like pattern across the top of his face.

“Poor baby…,” Luz cooed as she reached out and scratched the space between his horns, making his tail wag.

“He’ll live….” Eda rolled her eyes. “but you might not if you ask me if ‘we’re there yet’ one more time,” she grumbled, adjusting the light plate armor on her shoulders. It was the height of summer and as used to traveling in the stuff as she was, she was still baking under the sweltering midday sun.

Luz just pouted as they walked along. The leather of her boots was rubbing raw spots on the soles of her feet with each mile they walked.

Two days ago Eda had shaken her awake from where she and King had been lying curled up in a pile of hay. The seventeen-year-old had been half asleep and had missed most of what the older woman had been saying to her, just trying to keep her eyes open as Eda rambled on and shoved their meager belongings into an old rucksack.

What she managed to glean from the rapid-paced, one-sided conversation was something about a job, money, and leaving town, which did catch her attention.

They had been to a lot of towns over the years she had been training under Eda, and some were definitely better than others in terms of how the locals treated humans, but the one they had been staying in for the last year was probably the worst of them all. It got to the point that when Eda went to meet potential clients for jobs, Luz had to stay behind because they would take one look at Luz trailing behind her and decide that no matter the older woman’s reputation with a blade, they didn’t want the human girl around.

They’d see her rounded ears and sneer, glaring down their noses at her. Surely any self-respecting witch or sell-sword worth her salt wouldn’t be letting a human follow her around. Eda would say something snarky that almost always resulted in a near brawl and Luz would stick her tongue out at them as Eda stomped away, grumbling colorful words under her breath.

Eda was on her side, but it eventually boiled down to being able to eat and Luz decided it was best to just stay behind, even though it meant she wouldn’t get much in the way of training in swordsmanship or the combat magic that went along with it, not that she could actually do the same kind of combat magic that was natural to Witch’s anyway, being human.

As Eda had once explained it to her, witches had an extra organ, a bile sac, she wasn't entirely sure that's what it was actually called, she learned a long time ago that Eda had a tendency to make things up if she didn't know the answer. Supposedly it was an extra organ that allowed witches to absorb the natural magical energy of their world and use it to add powerful effects to items, especially weapons. Those that did were witch knights, the strongest and some of the most respected members of society, and Luz wanted so badly to be one, to prove that she was worth something, human or not, but without a bile sac, she was lacking the magical aspect, which left her at a distinct disadvantage. Heck, she didn’t even have a real sword, so she couldn’t even do the most basic jobs to help Eda feed the three of them, King alone ate like a horse, with Luz trailing behind him. She was a growing girl after all! Eda always said she’d get one when she thought she was ready, not before.

She’d usually just use the dull-practice blade Eda had given her to work on her stances and strikes, beating the living tar out of whatever trees she happened to come across in the woods while she waited for her to come back with King trailing along behind her.

To say she was glad to be out of that town though was an understatement, even if Eda still hadn’t told her where they were going, and as glad as she was to have left the dreary little town of Beldville, she was so tired of walking!

She pulled at the collar of her violet-colored tunic, sweat was making it stick to her clammy skin, but she knew better than to say anything, they were both hot and tired.

They continued the silent trudge beneath the sun, which thankfully was slowly, but surely sinking closer and closer toward the horizon, though it didn’t lessen the heat any. Eventually, the sun had moved to dip just below the horizon, nearly blinding her with its bright orange rays, as it sank and dark blues were starting to rise up over the horizon line in response to the waning light.

Luz shielded her eyes with a hand and glanced into the distance. The dark smudge in the distance was slowly growing into the silhouettes of buildings and she grinned.

“Is that it?” she pointed excitedly toward the end of the road.

"Nope," Eda said, popping the 'p'.

"Whadda ya mean 'nope'?" Luz whined. "That's a town!"

"It's a town, and we're going to spend the night there, but that's not where we're going," she informed her and Luz groaned, shoulder slumping.

"Where ARE we going?" she huffed.

"Patience, apprentice." Eda wagged a finger and grinned at her, making Luz grumble.

Eda always said that when she didn’t feel like explaining herself, which was often.

It was a small town, and although it was nearly dark there were still a number of people milling about the streets.

A few people glanced at her and Luz frowned, pulling up her hood to cover her distinctly rounded ears from view. There was no need to draw any unneeded trouble when they were only going to stay one night.

Eda noticed the motion but said nothing as she dug through a pouch on her belt.

"Here, Kid." She held her hand out to Luz, who held up her upturned palm as Eda dropped a handful of coins into it. "Go get yourself something to eat and I'll meet you back here at this inn." she hooked the thumb over her shoulder to the worn building behind her.

Luz broke out into a wide smile at the silver coins in her hand.

“Thanks, Eda!” She turned and dashed off down the road with King hot on her heels. Eda just smiled as she watched her disappear around the corner.

Luz trotted down the street, she didn’t know this place, but she knew most towns had pretty similar layouts and the market was always at the center of town, and sure enough, she soon found herself walking through the market with King at her side, most people gave the cloaked girl and the demonic creature a wide breadth, understandably. Usually, creatures like King were wild, bloodthirsty monsters that would just as soon rip off your arm, and she’d seen him do it the last time she’d been attacked by a villager with a human problem.

Luz had never feared him, he’s always just been Eda’s silent companion and her big baby ever since she’d started traveling with the gray-maned sell-sword.

She reached over and scratched that certain spot behind his right ear that made him let out a low growl that almost sounded like a happy hum to her.

“Hungry buddy?” she asked, smiling as they walked and he snorted.

There were days Luz was almost sure he understood every word she said. There was just a certain, almost intelligent look in his rusty, red-colored eyes when he looked at her.

“Let’s get some food then!”

She glanced around at the different shops and a few stalls before her eyes fell on a storefront and lit up.

‘Tomes and manuscripts’

“Book shop!” Luz whispered excitedly to herself and made a beeline for it. “Wait here, King.” She turned to the beast, who snorted and plopped himself onto the ground outside the shop. She pushed the door open and grinned as the smell of ink and old parchment filled her nose.

Luz loved books, though she rarely had access to them. Having to carry everything you owned with you at all times meant that you just couldn’t have some things, and books were heavy and took up space that could be put to better use, for food or supplies, that’s what Eda said anyway. Luz would reluctantly admit she was right, but she didn’t have to like it!

“Welcome!” a voice called from her left. She looked over at the old witch peering at her over his spectacles at her. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Uh, thank you, just looking.” she waved a hand.

He nodded and she walked down the many shelves packed with worn leather-bound tomes, grinning to herself as she ran her fingers over their spines, feeling the smooth, cool bindings beneath her fingertips. So many stories, knowledge, and wild adventures aplenty crammed between two hard leather covers. Luz adored books, a lifelong love affair lit aflame by her mother, who had taught her to read and write at a young age. Something uncommon among the lower classes of witches and unheard of for humans in the Empire of the Boiling Isles, who were the lowest class citizens of them all, but her mother hadn’t been from the Isles. She’d always told Luz about a beautiful place across the sea, with fine grain, white sand beaches, and tall trees very unlike the ones here, that dipped and swayed with the wind, their leaves long and few, but still perfect for blocking out the strong rays of sunlight on a clear day.

Luz sometimes wondered what it might actually be like to see it with her own eyes, she doubted she ever would, her mother had always told her it was far away and she’d left to escape a war, bringing only her native tongue and a sack of food.

Luz hummed to herself as she continued browsing up and down the dimly lit rows of books with rapt interest. She turned a corner and glimpsed a small table covered in old, worn books, and felt drawn to them.

They were all hefty tomes and she flipped through the first few on the stack, nothing of any real interest, some play scripts, and something about treaties on the great war. She set them aside and picked up the last one in the stack. It had a dark brown cover with gold inlay around the corners and spine. It’s worn leather bindings were pockmarked with scratches and divots, some worse than others. She flipped it open and found some of the pages were yellowed and crinkled in places as though they had gotten wet and been left out in the sun to dry at some point.

The pages were full of runic writing that she couldn’t even begin to guess at, but as she flipped through the pages she stopped on one with a drawing, a perfect circle with several lines that made up some kind of symbol.

There was very little text in the book that she understood but one set of runes did stand out, the symbols meaning ‘light’. She’d learned them years ago when her mother had told her that her name meant light.

She ran a finger over the crisp, inked lines of the glyph.

They glowed.

“Augh!” she nearly tossed the book across the room, it clattered across the floor with a heavy thump and she grimaced as it landed on the wooden floor. She held her arms up in defense, but the book only continued to lie there.

After a moment quickly scooped it up and gazed at its gold bindings before she flipped it back open to the page with the illustration. She hesitated a moment, hand hovering over the illustration before pressing her fingers over it, skin running across the rough parchment beneath.

The lines began to give off a pale light as she traced them, till eventually, the entire thing was awash in soft glimmering light.

Luz stared at the glowing drawing with open awe and wonder.

“Magic…,” she breathed.

She’d done magic, she wasn’t sure what kind or even what it was supposed to do, but for the first time in her life, magic!"

She needed to look through this, all of it.

"I'll be closing shop in a few minutes!" The shop keeps voice carried out through the store making Luz jerk.

A few minutes wasn't nearly enough time! Her mind raced with thoughts before finally deciding as she slapped the book closed and hurried to the front counter where the shopkeep was still standing.

“How many snails for this book?” she set it on the counter and he eyed it for a moment.

"This? Bah, ten snails, it has little value to any witch, merely theories on old magic.

"I'll take it!" She slapped half the money Eda had given her on the counter.

Only King would be eating tonight it seemed, but the chance at magic? Worth a hungry night.

He nodded and accepted the coins as he pushed the book back toward her, but as he did, got a glimpse under her hood and spotted her rounded ears.

Luz knew what happened the second it happened. His brows crinkled between his eyes and his once, disarming smile, curled into a sneer.

"A human, in my shop!?"

Luz snatched the book off the counter and bolted for the door.

"No take backs!" she squealed as she burst out the door, making King jump up as she did.

She dashed back the way they had come, the black beast loping along behind her with an excited, rumbling bark.

It didn't take long for them to get out of sight, turning the corner and ducking into an alley.

She pressed her back to the wall, clutching the book to her chest, and waited until it finally seemed like she wasn't being chased; she peeked her head out and found the street clear.

She turned back to look at the worn leather-bound book in her hands and grinned.

She couldn't wait to look at it better later.

King whined at her side, scratching at her with his paw.

"Ah, right, right. Let's get you some food, buddy." She smiled at him and snuck toward the other end of the market, spending the rest of the money Eda had given her to buy meat for the beast, who wolfed it down in record time, practically swallowing it whole before they made their way back to the Inn.

"Get some grub?" Eda asked from her place sitting in one of the beds when they walked into their rented room. King immediately trotting over to the empty bed and jumping up on it and curling up into a massive black ball of fur.

"Fed King, yea." She nodded, pulling off her cloak and kicking off her boots before she climbed into bed, shoving King over.

He growled at her but she just shoved harder till there was space for her to lay. He snorted in response but never lifted his head as she laid next to him, book in hand.

“What about you?” Eda narrowed her amber eyes at her, noticing how she only mentioned king. “And where’d you get the book?”

“Uh…” Luz stalled and Eda sighed.

You bought the book instead of eating, didn’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah…,” Luz mumbled and Eda sighed.

"Well, what was so much more important than eating? If it's another flowery love story, kid, I swear…," she trailed off, rolling her eyes.

"It's not!" she insisted. "It's a book about magic!" She flipped it open and opened to the diagram and ran her hands over it, creating the same glow as it had in the bookshop, which made Eda sit up.

"Well, look at that…" she tilted her head. "What's it do?" She looked back up at Luz.

"I'm… not sure yet…" She shrugged. “I need more time to read it." Eda hummed, looking at the glowing glyph on the paper before shrugging and plopping back down on her bed.

“Whatever kid, just don’t stay up all night looking at it,” she grumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over her head.

“You go it, teach!” Luz promised as she snuggled back against King and flipped through the pages.

She really wished she could read any of the writing around it other than the runes for light. She flipped some more pages and found another diagram, a sketch of a sconce, or something similar with a circle drawn above it and little lines indicating rays of light. She hummed to herself.

She had only the basic knowledge of how Eda did magic. She could just kind of think about what kind of effect she wanted to apply to an object and would press her hand to the blade of her sword and it would glow for a second before taking effect, she’d made her show her enough times to know.

Luz pursed her lips and leaned over to her satchel sitting on the floor by her bed and dug out a piece of charcoal she liked to use to draw when they were on the road or she was waiting around on Eda, ignoring the angry rumbling of her empty stomach. She pulled her training sword out of its sheath and looked at the blunt, reflective weapon for a long minute before carefully drawing out the glyph across the flat of the blade.

she glanced back and forth between the book and her blade, humming to herself when the last line was completed. She hesitated a second before pressing a fingertip to it and the glyph glowed before the bright light spread across the entire length of the blade, lighting the room up.

Luz stared at it in awe, before a bright grin stretched across her face, empty stomach forgotten.

She’d done it.

She’d done magic!

#the owl house #worth the fight #eventual Lumity #Luz Noceda #King #Eda Clawthorne #toh #medival AU

[spareisms]

@princewished hey remember when u said to continue our modern thread ?? big mistake

By 1:00, Anna was starting to sober up.

Maybe not sober up, but she definitely wasn't as drunk as she'd been before. The songs started to make more sense, stopped blurring into one another between trips to the bar with Ariel and trips to the dance floor with Jasmine.

Between drunken adventures, her steps became stronger, her mind focused on Aladdin and their fight. Curling fingers and twisting words swam in her mind, and she chased it down with vodka and redbull. She remembered the pain he'd caused her through his lie. His lie, there wasn't a way around it. He'd snuck into her socialite club, with it's fancy titles and monuments and trust funds. The art gallery full of the elite, of riches, of checks to be signed and lineages to be upheld. Anna and Elsa were representing their parents' buisness, the stocks and companies imposing and overwhelming. At least, that's how Anna felt about it. Elsa was really the one with the answers. But, Anna knew her role, her part to play. And, while she didn't want to be the head of the company by any means, she also didn't want any harm to come to her parents' legacies.

She wouldn't let anything happen to her family, whatever was left of it.

So, with enough people like Hans Westerguard or Dukes Weasleton to worry about, she had more on her plate than she could handle. Even before Aladdin had entered the gallery, th when it came to Aladdin's betrayal.

His lie.

But....even if it was a lie -- wasn't it only because he'd wanted to impress her? To show her he was serious? About them? He'd gone through all that trouble, all that confusion and deceit -- could it all have been for some kind of noble reason? Could it all have been for her?

Anna wasn't sure of anything anymore.

In fact, by 1:30, she realized just how little she understood anything at all.

She'd lost Ariel and Jasmine. Somewhere between the bathroom, the smoking sections, the various bars in the club -- her friends must have found some other guys to hang out with or something, god knows they were beautiful enough. But her thoughts weren't quite connecting to each other. She felt like she was stumbling around the dance floor instead of shimmying -- before she knew it she was off the floor completely.

Outside....outside please.

Some fresh air, away from the loud music and sweaty bodies she didn't know and drinks she couldn't finish (where did she put her last drink? where did she get this one?)

The cold air outside the club washed over her in breezy waves, ruffling her hair around her shoulders and the dress around her knees. It felt really quite nice to be outside and even started digging around in her purse for her phone to tell the girls she'd be out here for a while. After a few moments trying to find the damn thing, though, she gave up, head pounding again. What was she looking for, again?

She walked along the side of SYNDROME'S, the warehouse's brick exterior extended beyond. Leaving behind the crowded front street and beckoning to the darkened alleyways and the side streets, it seemed another world away.

Her fingers scaled the brick wall, she even hummed a little bit. What was she humming? Not sure. Why was she so mad at Aladdin, anyway? She couldn't deny that she missed him, even as mad as she was at him for what he did. For what a fool he made out of her. But, he also had a lop-sided grin. And that ruffled hair that she so loved to touch. And his eyes -- ok, maybe she was allowing herself to miss some parts of him. But that didn't mean she forgave him. It didn't mean she wanted to ever talk to him again. It certainly didn't mean that. As she walked, she got a text, and from the ringtone she knew exactly who'd sent it.

"Speak of the devil," she mumbled, a smile creeping onto her lips. Then, her hand was in her purse, fingers reaching around her unlocking phone. Her feet had just crossed into shadows. Her stride swallowed in black.

"And we appear."

The voices that answered made her freeze in the darkness.

Anna had to muster up a lot of focus before she could muster up anything resembling focus. She had to make sure she'd even heard them correctly. Men. Two of them at least, talking at once. She felt her feet twist around almost on their own, and her head was dangerously close to swimming. Fuck, was all she could think. "Hello?" Was all she could call out. "Hello," answered the considerably much bigger forms from the blackness. Anna's hand tightened around her phone. She wished she could pull it out, but she didn't want it to even be noticed -- it could get slapped away. She wasn't sure that line of thinking made sense, but for now it was all she had. She hoped it was unlocking. She prayed her random thumbing on the screen would be enough to dial someone. Anyone. Even Aladdin, whose ringtone had just gone off moments ago, had just restarted her thumping heart.

She knew she was in deep trouble. Because it was with a sickening feeling that twisted her stomach and chilled her spine, that Anna realized she recognized the voices. The identical voices.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice quite a bit stronger than she thought it would be. Considering how much she was shaking. Could they tell, in the dark? "Or should I ask, what does Westerguard want?" "Now, see -- I told you she'd ruin all the fun, didn't I?" In two steps that seemed to take no time at all, the Stabbington brother with an eyepatch (a literal eyepatch, who was this guy?) was directly in front of Anna. The limiting darkness was less effective when someone was this close. Anna instinctively backed herself up into the wall, startled and scurrying like a frightened rabbit. She was frightened -- she was very frightened.

She knew exactly what Hans was capable of. And sending others in to do his dirty work for him well -- it was just like Hans. Anna's blood was ice.

"He said you'd talk a lot," Brutus went on, his breath warm on Anna's face. "Luckily, you won't have much to say in a bit. I even say you're already feeling a bit less chatty, right?" His tone made Anna hesitate. How did he know her tongue suddenly felt heavy and square? That her brain was layered in a thick fog? Her fingers felt like lead and tingled at the same time. Her eyes had trouble focusing.... Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh no. Ohhno...

Her absolute stupidity rolled over her in waves, much like the heavy blanket of whatever it was she'd taken. Whatever it was they'd given her. "But don't worry, we'll do all the talking anyway." There were hands on her, keeping her upright and against the wall. Her head was lolling, Marcus snapped it back, her bangs and the top of her head balled up in his giant fists.

"We're going to make this fast --" "Title of your sex tape--" Anna wasn't sure what made her say it aloud- probably because she didn't realize she'd said it at all until she was slapped very hard across the face. She also heard quiet laughter, but the fingers wrapped around her arms and ribs were quite a bit stronger from then on. She knew it would bruise.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch, and listen. We have a message for you." Oh goodie, thought Anna, though she stiffened. "Westerguard knows you're up to something. You and your precious sister have those investments hidden from the public, but we're not fooled. The merger with Southern Isles Trading will continue as scheduled."

There was a pause. Good luck with that, was what she wanted to say, but the words couldn't sort themselves out.

"So -- you think... I --" she couldn't get the words right. Her voice was trembling, her last understandable words (though hilarious) completely useless. She kicked out in frustration, finding one of their knees and landing a blow, hard. Her reward for bravery was her head getting slammed in the wall. Anna saw stars and cried out, a bit more of her resolve escaping.

All this was about money? About the companies? Her disdain for her family businesses, though profitable, though useful and charitable and valuable to her, though she cherished it -- she couldn't help but hate it all the same. Hate the kind of person Hans was. Power-hungry, a monster.

"And, Westerguard wanted us to remind you of something... else," Brutus went on. To Anna's horror, he was able to hold his one arm across her entire torso, his brother holding her hips and head. But with his other hand, Brutus withdrew a long knife from his pocket. Anna felt the cold blade before she really registered what it was, what it could do.

He dragged it up her thighs, across her stomach, held it against her throat. He pressed it down, the blade lay flat against her skin. Anna couldn't breathe. She was trembling now, she whimpered. She couldn't help it. "Don't forget," Marcus murmured in her ear. Her heart was beating so loudly she was amazed she heard him at all. "Your.....arrangement still stands." He cut into her cheek. She screamed, but no sound came out. ----------

It had started to rain. She wasn't really sure when she noticed the rain, or for how long it had been raining. Anna wasn't sure where to go, or what to do, really, but she didn't want to get rain on.

The Stabbingtons had left 20 minutes later. Or, at least, her phone said it was 20 minutes later, since Aladdin had first texted her. Her phone had managed to call him, but she couldn't read what anything said. She could barely keep her eyes open, and her head hadn't stopped spinning like a top. She was glad her dress was red. Even though it was ruined, surely, at least nobody would see all the blood. Just the cuts on her face. And arm. And her knee was pretty banged up, too. But the stuff on her back, from the wall? Maybe that would go mostly unnoticed?

Not that there was anyone around to see her, anyway.

The rain started to pick up, but Anna didn't know where to go. Not back inside the club -- that was too much attention. She didn't know where to walk to -- in her state, she'd probably end up on the highway. And the ground wasn't so bad. She was underneath a lamppost now, after continuing down the alleyway, this time towards FRONT STREET. Nothing felt like it was working right -- how had she even ended up outside? She wanted to cry. This night had been a total disaster from the very start, her own stupidity not included. The terror from the encounter with Hans' bodyguards was rippling through her. She stumbled frequently and had to catch herself on the wall a few times. Your arrangement. Your arrangement. Your arrangement. Your arrangement still stands. Anna leaned back against the side of the alley, lampost's ugly yellow light shining just enough for her to see what a mess she was. She pulled her knees up and rested her burning cheek between her knees, cradling it in her hands. She was shaking heavily now, from the cold, from the blood, from the knife, from the information, from the overwhelming pain. She was trapped. It was useless. She was useless. The lampost flickered twice and went out.

The night swallowed her whole.

#THIS. went. #too many places. #wayy too many #i wrote it #very late at night #so it might not make sense bc i kept adding things #i thought about a love tirangle but in the worst possible way #and it hurt #so i threw it in #but we can also take it out too no worries at all #this modern au is like #eveything #its got the canon prince/pauper stuff #its got the girl #its got hans and a horrible plot #like an evil plot #its got vailed threats #its got it all baybayyy #modern au #tw #tw mugging #tw gore #tw knife

[butlerbarb]

Hi! Can i request a cute platonic MCxAsmo scenario i dont actually have a specific scenario in mind but ur a great writer so i trust ur direction (dat levi fic was 👌👌👌 oof soo demn sweet)

ah first off omg thank you sm that makes me so happy! secondly, sorry it took so long to get this out, i had trouble coming up with something at first lmao. regardless of that, i hope you enjoy this!! thank you so much for the request

With a sigh, you reclined into one of the plush couches in the common room. The fireplace crackled quietly in the almost empty room, the only other occupant besides yourself was Asmodeus. You let your head loll gently onto the back of the couch.

  Asmodeus, from beside you, barely raised his eyes over the top of his magazine to regard you, a boyish smile playing across his lips. His gaze slipped back to the glossy pages of the issue of Allure Demon weekly – the most popular women’s magazine in all of Devildom – when you turned your head to look at him.

  “Is something the matter, my dead? ~☆” The fifth-born asked, not bothering to lower the magazine to have a proper conversation with you. You breathed a sigh, running a hand through your hair gently.

  “It’s nothing, really. Just some tasks that are stressing me out.” As soon as the word ‘stressed’ had left your mouth, Asmodeus practically threw the magazine across the room, his multi-colored, perfectly manicured hands reaching for your face. His eyes were wide with worry, a tight frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “Stressed?! Oh, no, no! We can’t have such a precious little angel like yourself being stressed. Just think of how horrible your skin will look, don’t you want to look perfect like me? ~♡” He rambled, shooting up from his seat, pulling you with him. He grasped your hands in his own, dragging you out of the room and towards the stairs. “Let me help you relax!”

  After being dragged all across the House of Lamentation, you ended up in front of Asmodeus’s room. Of course, the two of you were good friends, but you hadn’t ever really been inside his room. You were nervous to see just what kind of decorations the ‘Avatar of Lust’ had put up in his room. The door to his room was a pale pink colour, standing out against the darker wood of the frame. A small pink sign hung on the door, spelling his name out in cursive.

  He swung the door open, pushing you inside before he stepped in after you. You took in the room as he closed the door behind him. Surprisingly, it was fairly calm. Unlike his over the top personality, his room was tame, the walls a cream colour with a few paintings decorating the walls. A large princess-style bed sat in the middle, an overhead canopy covering most of it. How fitting, you thought, watching Asmodeus pull the canopy back, revealing the golden sheets that laid within.

  Asmodeus gently sat down on his bed, patting the spot next to him with one hand. Carefully, you padded over the bed, sitting softly on the edge of it, almost scared you were going to ruin something. The demon pulled one of his legs up onto the bed, the other dangling off the side of it, resting his elbow on his knee. He smiled warmly at you, a mischievous grin on his face. You knew that look well, and you knew you were practically caught in a spider’s web. Asmodeus was not letting you go anytime soon.

 “Okay! I bet you’re wondering why I brought you all the way over here, right?” He paused briefly, as if he was going to let your reply, but spoke again before you could even open your mouth. “We’re going to have an impromptu spa night!”

  The word spa sent a shiver up your spine, knowing how into beauty he was, he was more than likely going to subject you to thousands of different kinds of products before the night was over.

  “Spas are the best way to relax and to help you get over any pent-up stress! It can help you out with lots of other things as well! ~” He explained, sending you an exaggerated wink. He laughed boisterously as you recoiled slightly, eyes blowing wide at what you thought he was suggesting. “I’m only kidding! Tonight is all. About. You!”

  His blue painted index finger extended, bopping you on the nose lightly. He then jumped from his seated position on bed, practically skipping over the large vanity that sat against the left wall. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice it when you walked it, it was the biggest thing you had ever seen! The large mirror adorned with lights all around it sat atop and pure white desk, all different kinds of makeup and brushes scattered across it. Asmodeus took a seat on the plush bench in front of it.

  “Asmo… I dunno about all this,” you mumbled, standing behind him as he grabbed product after product. He met your gaze through the mirror, a frown pulling at his lips again. “You’ve got a lot of stuff here; it’ll be impossible to get through it all.”

  “Don’t be silly! We’re not using all of it, just some facemasks and creams! I’ll even paint your nails if you want. ~♡” Asmo replied, scooting over so you could sit beside him. You huffed, knowing there was no way out, you took the spot beside him.

  “Oh, this is going to be so fun! None of my brothers ever want to do this with me, and Lucifer banned me from having people over… I’m so glad you’re here!” He threw one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you towards him in a side hug. You let out a laugh, your arm slipping around his waist as you hugged him back briefly. Once he released you, he began digging through the drawers of the vanity, pulling out face mask after face mask, along with all different colours of nail polish.

  Grabbing one of the masks randomly, you read the label and ingredients to yourself. Most were normal, like the kind you would find in the human world, but there were some that you were 100% sure would melt your face off if you put it anywhere near your skin. You knew demons weren’t affected by most poisons and chemicals but putting hydrochloric acid in a face mask was going a little overboard. You made sure to keep those ones far away from you.

  “Okay! I think this is every we’ll need. Which mask do you want? I think this rose one would be good for your skin, or maybe the honey and charcoal… Well, it’s up to you!” You took note of how happy he sounded as he spoke, mumbling to himself about which one he was going to use. You grabbed the first one he held out to you, recognizing the brand from the human world. Asmo held out a headband for you to keep the hair out of your face, using one to push his own fringe back as well. You tore the packaging, carefully pulling the mask out and unfolding it.

  Asmodeus helped you adjust it on your face, making sure it laid flat and didn’t cover your eyes. He was surprisingly delicate with it, making sure he didn’t accidently rip the mask or poke you in the eye while he was doing it. You helped him with his after yours was situated properly, laughing at how ridiculous he looked with it on.

  “You look just as silly!” He countered, laughing with you as you both looked into the mirror. His bright yellow eyes shone through the eye holes in the mask, making them look more sinister than you had seen before.

  “Yeah but at least I don’t look like some horror movie killer! You’re gonna break into my room later and stab me, I can feel it!” You mocked him lightly, laughing harder as his mouth fell open in shock.

  “I would never! I couldn’t bare to get my hands dirty like that, think of all the blood I would have to clean.” Of course he’d be more worried about getting his hands dirty than anything else. You rolled your eyes at him as he stuck his tongue out at you. He then clapped his hands together, smiling at you.

  “Okay! While we wait for these, let me paint your nails!” He cheered, reaching for a bottle of base coat. Judging by how wildly he liked to paint his own nails, you were sure you were going to end up leaving with at least 8 different colours on your nails.

  But, if it meant spending more time with Asmo, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me! #obey me x reader #asmodeus x reader #anon #if you enjoyed this please feel free to send in a request! #ily <3

[red-writing-on-asylum-walls]

FebuWhump Day 17: Field Surgery

Based on a series of drawings Em did a long while ago that I’m too lazy to go look up and link here.

I had Adagio for TRON playing on repeat for an hour while I wrote this because that’s my dramatically tragic writing music. Anyway, I don’t think this one turned out as well I imagined it in my head. But it was still fun to write. Most of what I know about “meatball surgery” comes from watching M*A*S*H.

Warnings: meatball surgery, improper tools for medical procedures, descriptions of medical procedures, vomiting, foreign substances, blood, trauma

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

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back? You don’t look like you’re doing that well…” Max hovers uncertainly, watching Milo stumble through the underbrush to catch up.

“No, no, I’m good,” Milo gasps, leaning against a tree, “Jus’…jus’ need to catch my breath is all…” Sweat has matted his hair to his forehead and he’s dreadfully pale, breath wheezing out of his lungs, his legs shaking where he stands. Max gives him a doubtful look and Milo plasters on a pained grin, straightening up, “See! Just needed a break! No prob—“ His smile drops and he convulses, hands flying to his mouth.

Black sludge erupts through his fingers and splatter down his front, staining his hoodie.

“Milo!” Max runs back as Milo’s eyes roll and his legs give out from under him. Max manages to catch his friend before he hits the ground, easing them both to the forest floor with Milo propped in hi lap. Milo’s eyes are lidded and unfocused, his nose has started bleeding and the red is tangling with steady stream of sludge oozing out of his mouth now.

“Milo! MILO!” Max presses his fingers to Milo’s neck, feels a pulse fluttering there, and then whimpers when Milo’s body shudders and a fresh deluge of gunk splatters down his cheek to splat into the undergrowth. Max’s eyes are burning and his hands are shaking as he frantically looks around for help.

But there’s nobody out except for them.

They’re in the middle of the woods, hiking around to nowhere in particular, exploring because the sun is out and the weather is nice and they had energy to burn.

They’re just kids and stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen to them.

“Help, help, gotta get you help…” Maxis mutters, shifting Milo in his arms as he clambers to his feet, “Could fly you back…would get me in trouble…no wait, I don’t know if I have the stamina to carry you and fly…” He looks around helplessly—nothing but forest and trees and nature and sunlight through the canopy and everything looks so happy when it has no right to! Milo gags, his head lolling backwards to expose the pale stretch of his neck, his throat bulging. Panicked, Max shift Milo so Milo is sideways in his arms and more of that awful, pungent black ooze comes frothing out of his mouth. There’s red in it now and Max doesn’t know if it’s from Milo’s nosebleed or something worse.

Something internal.

It’s hurting Milo.

It needs to come out.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Max hurries back the way they came to a clearing they’d passed through a few minutes before. It’s open to the sky, full of light and flowers. It’s very beautiful. And it has exactly what Max needs.

Max carefully lays Milo out on the soft green grass of the clearing and gently removes the stained shark hoodie, folding it up to rest under Milo’s head. Milo coughs up another bout of black sludge, his eyes closed now, his breathing weak and shallow. Maxis works faster, frantically trying to recall everything he knows about field surgery as he goes. He shoves Milo’s t-shirt out of the way and shrugs out of his own vest. The water bottle in his pocket is lukewarm and he focuses on channeling heat into it until it’s boiling. As it cools on the grass next to him, Max tugs at the loose thread of his t-shirt, carefully unravelling as much of it as he can. When his fingers fail, he pulls his pocket knife from his shorts and picks the hem of his shirt apart. When he thinks he’s got enough thread, he inspects his knife and tests the edge of the blade. Still sharp. He looks down at Milo’s pale face, stained in red and black.

“Sorry, Milo,” He whispers, “This is gonna suck a lot…”

Max pours the hot water over the knife first, then Milo’s chest, and then his own hands.

Then he kneels in the grass next to his unconscious friend.

The knife quivers in his hands and he has to take several steadying breaths. He’s never done this before, not on a live person. Not on a friend.

He expects Milo to scream when the knife cut into his belly. But the only sound Milo makes is a gurgling moan. More black sludge crawls up his throat and smears down his face. It doesn’t stop.

Max tears his gaze away from Milo’s face and concentrates on his work.

He tries desperately not to think about how this is his friend. He tries to focus on what’s in front of him and ignore the rattling wheeze of his friend’s labored breathing, tries not to look at the pale face smeared in gore. If he starts thinking about Milo, he can feel the desperate, hopeless fear and panic trying to claw their way to the forefront of his mind. And he can’t afford it. Milo can’t afford it. So Max grits his teeth and keeps going, stubbornly ignoring the tears that want to spring into his eyes and obscure his vision.

It’s bloody work and Max has never had so much red on his hands.

But he remembers his training, remembers where to cut and how to hold his knife, how to gently slide his fingers between membranes and organs. He knows Milo is losing blood and losing it fast, so Max just has to work faster. He tries to find something, anything out of place. But nothing looks wrong. Milo’s insides are the way a normal teenage boy’s insides are supposed to look and—

Max finds something dark and oozing clinging to the rear of Milo’s stomach.

That is definitely not supposed to be there.

Swallowing hard, Max slides his knife between the black thing and the organ. It takes a bit of careful leveraging but after a moment Maxis able to peel it off with a sort of awful slurping noise. It’s hooked to the inside of Milo’s stomach with a long, thin arm of sorts and Max carefully tugs it free, using his other hand to press against the small hole it leaves behind to prevent stomach acid from leaking into Milo’s abdominal cavity. He drops the black thing on the grass beside him and snaps the zipper off his vest, using his strength and powers to fashion it into a crude, thin needle. It will be messy but it will get the job done. A hospital can patch him up properly.

Milo still doesn’t move when Max stitches closed the tiny hole in his stomach.

Nor does he when Max holds his skin and muscles together and closes him with grey thread already staining darker with blood.

But he’s still breathing.

Max counts that as a win.

He splashes the last of the water over Milo’s front and tries to scrub the worst of the stains from his hands. They’re still dark and still very red.

Max glances at the thing on the ground that he’d pulled out of his friend.

He’s never seen anything like it before. He remember once Milo joking about having a parasite. Is this a parasite? It doesn’t seem right. Something about it has Max on edge. It fills him with a raw disgust and visceral need to get as far away from it as possible. Something about this thing is wrong. It’s iridescent in a way that somehow sucks in the line, a blotch of darkness on the world that prickles Maxis’ sense of danger, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He’s considering burning the thing with a well placed fireball when there’s a shift in the grass beside him.

Max snaps his head around to see Milo stirring. His eyes are wide open now, sickly and unfocused, dazed like someone’s rattled his skull. But at least he sounds like he’s breathing normally.

“Milo, thank goodness, I’m glad you’re awake,” Max sighs in relief, “I gotta get you to a hospital, though, you lost a lot of blood and—Milo, wait!”

Milo struggles to sit up, heedless of the pain he should be in with the fresh wound in his stomach. His head lolls, flopping almost lifelessly on his shoulders, mouth hanging open and sweat and tears mixing with the blood and gunk smeared on his face. He looks like a puppet on someone else’s strings, being dragged along to someone else’s song, and it’s got Max on edge.

“Milo, you need to lie down,” Max urges, putting a placating hand on Milo’s shoulder, trying to gently push his friend back. But Milo resists, leaning forward instead. One pale, quivering hand reaches under Max’s arm, “Milo! Please! You shouldn’t be trying to move right now!”

“…M…Max…” Milo wheezes and his voice sound hoarse, his throat no doubt raw and sore from the constant vomit.

“Milo! Milo, I’m right here!” Max grabs at Milo, holding him up as Milo sways alarmingly. There’s a distant fog in his eyes, staring into nothing, like he can’t see Max or the clearing or anything anymore. Adrenaline and panic start gnawing at the back of Max’s mind and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep them at bay.

“Max…” Says Milo in a voice that doesn’t sound like him at all. He sounds lost, hypnotized, vacant even. His hands paw at the air, shaking, and he clutches at the sleeve of Max’s shirt when he finds it, fingers dragging slowly at the fabric, “Mmmaaaaaaaxx…”

“Easy, Milo, take it easy,” Max shifts, sliding his arms around Milo as his taller friend clutches at him like a lifeline, “Deep breaths, Milo, deep breaths, it’ll be okay, I’ve got you, I promise, I’m right here for you!”

“Max…” Milo whimpers again. Confusion, vacant panic, desperation, something wholly and profoundly wrong twisting in his voice, “I…I can’t…I can’t…feel…I…”

It scares Max, this specter of his usually energetic and lively friend. Maxis has never been scared before, not like this. But this does not feel like Milo. This feels like an empty creature, haunted by something awful and unspeakable, and it fills Maxis with a dread he can’t put into words.

But Milo’s hands are holding onto him, clutching at him with a frightened familiarity. The way Milo had grabbed at him when that horror movie they’d been watching had scared him.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Max says, snatching up his vest and the shark hoodie, one to wear and one to tie around his waist for safe keeping. After a second of thought, he grabs the black thing still oozing sludge onto the grass and stuffs it into the pocket of his vest. Milo is clutching at him like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on and Max has to struggle with him for a moment before he can stand up, “I’m gonna get you to a hospital, okay? You’re gonna be all right, Milo. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.”

Max hefts Milo up in his arms despite his friend’s larger size. Then he takes off running, vanishing into the trees in a whirl of wind that rustles the grass and leaves with his speed. Milo lets out a choked sob in his arms and presses his face into Max’s stained shirt.

And Maxis, not for the first time in his life, wishes that his powers worked on people other than himself.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday17 #febuwhump2021 #micoverse #my bloody art

[theskyeandsea]

Just Medicine || Erin & Skylar

Location: Nic & Skylar’s Home

Timing: June 14th

Tagging: @corpse--diem & @theskyeandsea

Description: Concerned by their troubling conversation online, Erin comes to check in on Skylar and the answers she finds are only more alarming.

Warnings: Addiction TW

If there was one person in town Erin never thought she had to worry about, it was the very one she found herself using the speed limit as a suggestion to get to right now. God damn it, Skylar. Sweet, innocent Skylar. The same young woman who taught ASL, who helped throw a gator-theme birthday bash. The woman was a seal, for Christ’s sake. It was an unfair pedestal to put her on, Erin knew that, and felt guilty when her frustrations drew those quick-fire judgments. People slipped up, lost their footing while trying to balance their worlds on their shoulders. Seal or not, Skylar was as susceptible as anyone. She didn’t know how to help, or if she could, but she’d be there even for a night to maybe help her keep her footing. Judging by the way she spoke earlier, that was very possibly a literal predicament. And with Nic fucking off into the woods, her own worry needed an outlet. And Skylar needed someone. “Skylar!” Erin hollered, nice and loud as she banged in the door. Jabbed the doorbell a few times for good measure. “Don’t even think about ignoring me, kid! I know where you hide your spare key!” 

For the past twenty four hours, Skylar had felt as though she was on cloud nine. Untouchable, nothing could stop her, nothing could hold her down. There was no pain, there wasn’t anything other than the euphoria that came with feeling completely, entirely good. The world was wonderful and bright and the sun was shining, eyeball free. Between that and her random spurts of energy that had driven her to run around in the backyard until she was dizzy, Skylar was feeling great. She’d never felt this way before. Never, ever, ever. Right now, she was lying in the middle of the living room, watching the fan whirl overhead, her eyes tracking one of the blades. Around and around and around and around and-- Skylar sat upright when she heard a loud pounding at the door. Glancing at her phone, she tilted her head. Erin? Listening closer, she nodded. Erin. Walking to the door, Skylar opened it, a dazed grin still on her face. “Hey, Erin!”

The longer Erin stood there waiting, the higher her blood pressure climbed. Tried not to think hard about why it was taking her so long to get to the damn door but it was hard when those enthusiastic, muddled messages kept replaying in her head. Then finally, footsteps. Skylar greeted her with a smile that wasn’t quite right, dark circles underlining nearly nonexistent pupils. “Skylar—“ she started but that concern returned, sharper than before as it trickled down her throat like barbed wire. Did she even remember Erin was coming over? It seemed like Skylar’s initial resistance to her company had disappeared like the rest of her good sense. “Hi,” she finally breathed out. “Can I come in?” It was framed as a question but Erin was already crossing the threshold to let herself in. There was no way she was leaving now. 

Erin was standing right in front of her and then she wasn’t, she was already inside. Skylar nodded all the same, happy to let the woman inside. “Nic’s not here right now, but,” She frowned, trying to piece together things. Time was strange. It felt both incredibly fast and slow at the same time-- like every moment went for infinity, but every hour felt like a second. Which didn’t make sense, even to her. “I think I already told you that.” Shutting the door behind her, Skylar wandered back over to the couch, where Dundee was still curled up. What she really wanted to do was lie on the floor like she had been doing before, the feeling of the wood cool compared to the rug. But, instead, she sat on the couch next to Dundee, staring at the dog as it wagged its tail once at her before going back to sleep. Running her hands against the material of the couch, Skylar tilted her head at Erin. “Why are you here again? Not that I’m not happy that you’re here, it’s always nice when you are! Nic smiles a lot when you say you’re coming by. But he’s not here right now.”

All Erin could do was follow silently, observing Skylar’s sporadic train of thought—when she wasn’t veering off course or colliding with other thoughts, anyway. It was all still jumbled and worrisome, even if she was being as sweet as she always was. “Yeah, I know he’s not,” she nodded. Her eyes flickered around the large room anyway, like he’d changed his mind and come home. Part of her was hoping that he had, that she’d answer the door and see him standing there. But the moment she saw Skylar’s state, it was likely for the best. One mess at a time. Couldn’t help smiling, even briefly, at her words, dropping her gaze to stare at the floor. “I didn’t come to see him,” Erin said, take great care to speak softly as she joined her on the couch. “I came to see you.” She bit her lip, Skylar’s bloodshot eyes more vibrant ever in the better lighting. “You said you were feeling better and I just—“ she paused, shrugging. “I was hoping you could help me with something?”

As Erin continued to speak, Skylar blinked-- it was harder for her to hear, harder for her to pick up the words that she was saying. And, as she tried to focus on the woman’s lips in an attempt to lip read, she was only able to pick up bits and pieces. Not much, just little hints here and there that managed to make it through the wonderfully light feeling that had encompassed her. It felt like there were bubbles in her, like she was floating up and up and up and there was nothing that could bring her down. “Mhm! I’m better!” She said with a vigorous nod as she pieced together the last of the woman’s words. “Help you? What do you need?” She asked, wanting to do whatever she could to help Erin. She liked Erin, even if she had initially been a little creeped out to find out that she worked with dead people all the time.

Erin wasn’t entirely convinced Skylar was following what she was saying, her eyes roaming like they were a little lost when she spoke. Right. Slow it down. Ugh, this was painful. “I’m really happy that you’re so happy.  Honestly, I am,” she nodded, taking her time, giving her a warmer smile. “But I gotta say, I’m not having the greatest day myself, you know? Like it’s been a really, really rough one.” Her brows narrowed in her direction, hoping Skylar was still out of it enough to roll with her impromptu plan. That part at least wasn’t a blatant lie? “I was hoping you could... show me what you did. To make yourself feel better.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re friends, right? You’d help me out with something like that? Oh—just between us, too, of course,” she added, running her fingers along her lips like a zipper. 

The slower Erin spoke, the harder it was for Skylar to track what she was saying. The lip movements didn’t make as much sense, the pauses made it harder for her to latch onto what was being said. But, she did her best to parse through the words. Not… greatest… rough. “Oh, no! I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, that’s awful.” She said, her head lolling back against the soft cushion of the couch as she stared up at Erin. She didn’t want Erin to have a bad day and she wanted to help! She really, really did. But, a look of confusion spread across her face at her words. “Are you hurt?” She asked, confused. Because the stuff making her feel better, it was only if she was hurting. Looking at Erin, she tilted her head. “Did someone hurt you?”

This was going to be difficult no matter which way she spliced it, huh? Erin willed her patience to persevere and worked her jaw, then nodded. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” she assured her, pausing briefly as she tried to navigate a believable lie. “Yep,” she answered when it felt like she was taking too long. “I, uh—got into an argument the other day with a real jerk. You don’t know him, and I took care of it so don’t worry about that either, but he gave me a heck of a shiner.” She pointed to the very faint purpled and yellowed bruise that still lingered near her eye and down her cheek. Cringed first show, then pointed to the back of her head. “Hit my head too, been killing me ever since. So if you’ve got anything to help—I’d really appreciate it.”

As Erin showed her the marks on the side of her head, Skylar’s eyes widened in shock. “And he hit you? Does Nic know?” She asked, a thin trickle of concern managing to seep through the buoyant lightness that kept her spirits aloft, that kept her from feeling the pain that she normally would. At the other woman’s words, Skylar bit the inside of her cheek, though the gesture lacked the normal dull pressure that it usually did. The stuff Felix gave to her, it was strong. Really, really strong. How else could it have worked on her? It would probably be super bad for Erin. So she wasn’t going to show her the bliss. Nope, that would probably knock her out really bad. But, she still had a pill or two left from when she’d gotten shot by the river. “I’ve got something that could help!” She said, standing up on slightly unsteady feet before walking to her room. 

Erin shook her head softly, waving off Skylar’s concern. “Nic knows. It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but—I hit him back,” she assured her, the sound of the metal baseball back smacking against skull thundering in her mind. “Got him sent to a place where he can’t hurt anyone again.” She shifted slightly. Was this actually working? Hopefully she wouldn’t remember why Erin needed whatever it was that had gotten Skylar so completely fucked up in the first place. Erin was on her feet, following behind her—partially to make sure she made it to her room in one piece. But she hung back by the doorway, crossing her arms as she watched her. As glad as she was that this was actually about to work, her insides twisted at the reality here. Skylar wasn’t fucking okay. “And this helped?” She asked, peering into her room

“Oh, okay.” Skylar nodded, her concerns disappearing with the wave of Erin’s hand. If she said it was fine, if she said that the guy who hurt her was gone, then there wasn’t anything for her to worry about. As she entered her room, she made her way to her desk, opening the drawer and rummaging around among the papers, pens, and the random odds and ends that rolled around inside. Her fingers brushed against the small box Felix had sent her, that she’d taped to the underside of the desk to hide it from anyone who might try and find it. Instead of taking the box, her fingers curled around the pill bottle he’d sent her over a month ago. A few loose pills rattled around and she showed it to Erin. “I don’t know if it would be safe for you, though. It’s very, very strong. Medicine doesn’t work on me very well, so I need a lot of it.” She said, holding out the bottle.

Erin bit the inside of her lip as she eyed the pill bottle, torn between being infuriated and heartbroken right now. “I’m not taking these,” she answered honestly, grabbing the bottle. So this was it, huh? There only a few left, which made sense considering Skylar’s current state. Erin held it up before giving it a little shake at her,  then met her bloodshot eyes. “And neither are you,” she added, the softness in her tone slipping, giving way to a mix of concern and disappointment. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but this shit isn’t the answer. I know you feel good now but it’s temporary.” Skylar was a grown ass woman and Erin knew she wasn’t saying anything every after school special had to offer, but she had to try right? She handed the bottle back to her “I want you to toss those. Right now.”

Blinking in confusion, Skylar was too out of it to react quickly enough to stop Erin from pulling the pill bottle from her hand. Before she could wrap her head around what was going on, the bottle was back in her hand and she was staring at Erin with a confused expression on her face. “I... Why? I’ve never felt good, in my entire life. Never, ever.” She shook her head vigorously. Even if these weren’t the right pills, what she was saying about the medicine… “It’s medicine. It’s helping me. It’s helping me not feel bad and not be stuck,” Skylar pointed at her bed, “Stuck in bed all day because, because everything is too much.” And she didn’t need to change. And that was the most important thing. 

Erin felt another crack in her chest give way while Skylar spoke. “Skylar…” she shook her head. “It’s not. I swear to you that it’s not. What you’re feeling, right now? It’s not real. There are other ways—better ways—to cope. I promise. I’m not just staying that either. I understand… that,” she said, gesturing to the bed now too. That heavy exhaustion that could trap a person down like a leaded blanket was a battle she knew all too well. It was hell. Turning to this was tempting on so many levels that she couldn’t blame Skylar at all for wanting that escape. But God did this ever feel a minefield. “Way better than you’d think, okay? And we can talk about all of that, as little or as much as you want.” Her eyes dropped to the bottle with the pills again. “After you flush those.”

Skylar did her best to muddle through Erin’s words. Not real? No, this was the only thing that felt real and right and good. Shaking her head, she looked at Erin, her blue eyes earnest, “I don’t think you do, though. No one really does. I hate what I am. It’s hurt me. It hurt my family, the people I care about. It still hurts me. And I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. I just want,” She let out a puff of air, blowing loose strands of hair from her face, “to be normal. And this is normal!” Skylar gestured to herself. “I feel good! I love how I am! I’m happy and better like this.” She nodded with renewed vigor.

Of all the nonsense Skylar had been blabbering on about, this threw Erin for a loop. It wasn’t nonsense at all, of course, if you focused on the direction this skewed train headed toward. It was very real. And very concerning. “Because you’re a selkie?” She asked, if only just to clarify. “What’s wrong with that?” Erin had her secrets, no question, but this specifically wasn’t an area she could dole out sage advice. And unless selkies were also some sort of man eating version of a seal she wasn’t aware of, she genuinely didn’t understand. She shook her head slowly. “Skylar—there is no normal. It doesn’t exist. And if there ever was one, it’s not you doped up on painkillers. It’s temporary because it’s not you. You will crash, and you will feel even more like shit than you did before.”

“Everything’s wrong with me.” Skylar said, her voice still even and upbeat as she spoke. She’d lost everything by being what she was. Her family had cut her out of their lives entirely. She’d tried and failed to gain control over this side of her, tried to figure out how to love what she was. She’d lost Ricky, lost the one person who had reassured her that he would be there to help her figure out what it meant to be a selkie. She’d only ever failed and lost and been hurt by what she was. So, what was wrong with this? What was wrong with feeling good? Even if it was only for now… maybe she could keep it going. If she just took a little more, took a little bit to make sure that she was good, that she was okay, maybe then she’d never need to turn. Maybe she could be human. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.” She said with a blissful smile.

Skylar was convinced this was the better way and Erin was realizing nothing she said was going to penetrate the iron-clad armor of serotonin that kept her grinning like an idiot. What little energy she had was depleting fast and what Erin could do right now was make sure she didn’t do anything stupid in this state. “It’ll be okay,” she echoed with a long sigh. Everything would be okay. It had to. Nic would come home and they’d work this all out. Squids and seal self-loathing be damned. She’d accept nothing less. “Come here,” she stepped forward, a temporary defeat in her voice as she wrapped her arms around the young woman. “I happen to think you’re pretty awesome just the way you are, you know. So I’m gonna stay here tonight and hang out. That alright with you?”

When Erin reached out and pulled her into a tight hug, Skylar wasn’t sure how to react. Hadn’t she been mad at her? But now she was hugging her. Whatever confusion she had was pushed out of her mind as she leaned into the embrace, burrowing her head into the woman’s shoulders. Skylar hugged Erin back, though her limbs felt limp and rubbery as she did so. “Okay. That sounds good to me.” She said, her voice muffled. This was good. Everything was right and good. Even if the house was empty, even if Nic was nowhere to be found, even if Shiloh hadn’t messaged her in days, even if Remmy had been torn into pieces before her eyes, even if Morgan was still trying to figure out her new life as a zombie, even if Deirdre had murdered people, even if White Crest was awful and cruel and terrible… Right now, things were good. And that’s what mattered.

#p: jm #p: erin nichols #addiction tw #wickedswriting

[lady-divine-writes]

Trading Favors

Summary: It starts with a chocolate eclair and ends with angel and demon trading favors back and forth while Crowley tries to figure out what he could offer that would be worth his angel making love to him. (2110 words)

Notes: Written to include @drawlight's '31 Days of Ineffables' prompt 'caroling', along with a few others. No sexual content - just a lot of warm fuzzies and some dancing at the end :)

Read on AO3.

“Goodness gracious I would give my left arm for a chocolate éclair!” Aziraphale sighs, his cheek meeting his palm when he props his elbow on his desk, the rest of his body sinking so completely into the gesture he looks nearly boneless.

“Isn’t that vivid? You could always miracle yourself one,” Crowley suggests, less than helpfully since he knows how Aziraphale feels about miracled food.

“Yes, but it’s never quite the same.”

“So you keep saying,” Crowley mutters into his partially drunk glass of merlot. He’s only had the one, poured more out of lack of anything better to do than actual want for inebriation.

Crowley’s in a bit of a pickle.

He wants to hang out with Aziraphale. More than anything. That’s why he came over. Doing nothing here in Aziraphale’s bookshop is preferable to doing nothing alone in his dark, empty flat.

But he’s bored.

So bored that the thought of getting up off the sofa he’s planted on and getting his angel an éclair sounds close to a grand adventure. But he can’t make it seem like Aziraphale is the one doing him a favor. He wants something out of it for himself, and an éclair doesn’t appeal to him right now.

Decisions, decisions, decisions …

He takes a sip to deliberate over - a kiss of alcohol against his lips to warm his mouth. It doesn’t quite do the trick since it’s barely a mouthful and he swallows too quickly. He licks his lips at the same time Aziraphale licks his, and smiles when he thinks of something that could warm him better.

“If I went down to the bakery and got one for you, can I have kiss?”

Aziraphale perks up, turning towards his husband and raising intrigued eyebrows. “What kind of kiss?”

Crowley shrugs – a jumble of uncoordinated joints moving independently of their owner. “Just a kiss.”

“Where?”

“Oh … well … I was thinking … on the lips?”

Aziraphale chews on Crowley’s offer while he nibbles his lower lip. He’s not about to say no, of course. A chocolate éclair for the price of a kiss? That’s two treats in one! Only an idiot would turn that down!

But he can’t let it seem like Crowley is doing him that big a favor.

He fakes a yawn while he pretends to think, bouncing his eyebrows nonchalantly.

“All right,” he says. “If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“No, no. No trouble at all.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

***

“You know what I could go for right now?”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hums around a generous bite of light pastry and thick cream, but with the smooth finish of merlot-flavored kisses clinging to his tongue, “what?”

“A glass of Midwinter Nights Dram.”

“Oh my!” Aziraphale chuckles after a swallow. “I haven’t had a glass of that in ages!”

“Yeah. Warmed up on many a cold night with that stuff …” Crowley gazes dreamily up at the vaulted ceilings of the bookshop as though his last memories of throwing back a bottle of Christmas whiskey is floating there amongst the beams. If he had a bottle, he could more than likely persuade Aziraphale to share it with him. Then maybe, just maybe, he could beg another kiss off his husband.

Alcohol on his husband’s breath, he has happily discovered, tastes much better than from the mouth of a bottle.  

Aziraphale chews the end of his éclair, thoughtfully watching his husband go silent, eyelids closed, a peculiar smile bunching his cheeks. “If I happen to have a bottle,” Aziraphale says, “could I bother you to help me with a chore?”

One of Crowley’s eyelids pops open, fast enough to compete with the speed of light. “What chore?”

“Move a few things upstairs?”

Crowley looks disappointed, but not enough to turn Aziraphale down. “How many things?”

“A dozen. Maybe less. But they can’t be miracled upstairs. They’re magic sensitive. They have to be carried.”

Crowley wonders if one of those items could include his angel but decides not to ask. “Sure, all right. If you have it.”

Aziraphale reaches underneath his desk. His hand goes straight for a cabinet by his knee, opens it, and pulls out the exact bottle Crowley was thinking of. Without even shifting his gaze to check, Aziraphale holds the bottle up for Crowley to see, and gives it a teasing shake. “Is this what you were hoping for?”

Crowley grins. He had no doubt Aziraphale had it. If he didn’t, Aziraphale would have miracled it up.

Which puts Crowley in line for another kiss, one that tastes of plum pudding, mulling spices, dried fruit, and vanilla.

But also Principality.

Crowley rises eagerly from the sofa, reaching for the bottle, but Aziraphale pulls it out of reach.

“Work first,” he says, setting the bottle back in its cabinet, impish grin twisting the corner of his mouth. “Drink afterward.”

Crowley, left reaching, his hand still hovering in the air, saunters sideways, eyeballing his flirt of a husband. He flexes his fingers and smacks his lips - his mouth dry, craving a hundred Christmas-flavored kisses. And they wouldn’t need to be on his angel’s lips. Midwinter Nights Dram would go great anywhere – Aziraphale’s shoulders, his spine, the bend of his elbow, the soft skin behind his knee … “I’d better get started.”

***

“Oh blast!” Aziraphale erupts, snapping Crowley out of his mellow dwam supplied by his second glass of whiskey.

“Wot?”

“I was supposed to have this book wrapped up and ready to ship before two!” Aziraphale says, glaring at a leather-bound book resting beneath his right hand as if it’s a rodent he’d killed days before that has somehow returned from the grave.

“And …?”

“It’s 3:15! How in the Hell did I miss the post man?” Aziraphale twists in his chair, looking out the window in search of him, to check if, by any luck, he might still be around. “I’m going to have to run it down to the post office myself!”

“Whatever for?”

“I really need it to go out today!”

Crowley is going to take it for him. He knows he will. It’s the husbandly thing to do.

Still …

He looks at his glass of whiskey and frowns.

He’d gotten the drink he wanted but he’s yet to get another kiss. He thought he might be on the road to getting one. Aziraphale had asked for a glass of whiskey. Things were looking bright.

There it is, on his desk, untouched.

Crowley assumes he’d been reaching for it, which is how he stumbled across the book.

It’s sitting directly in the path his hand was traveling to reach his glass.

Damn!

Crowley doesn’t want to outright ask for another kiss, especially not now. He might end up with a peck on the cheek and no more talk about it. He wants to work up to it, tempt it out of his husband … and possibly a little more.

“If I take care of it, can I get a shoulder rub?” Crowley asks, rolling his right shoulder. “Humpin’ all that stuff upstairs (nngh!) really put a strain on the old muscles.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but agrees, “Absolutely.”

“A shirtless shoulder rub?”

Aziraphale manages to look unamused and amused at the same time. “You shirtless? Or me shirtless?”

“I’d prefer both of us shirtless, but just me is fine.”

And despite being in front of the eight ball, Aziraphale’s eyes sparkle at the thought. “Then I’d say, in this case, we both get a reward. Chip-chop! Hurry up!”

***

God rest ye merry, gentlemen Let nothing you dismay Remember, Christ, our Saviour Was born on Christmas day To save us all from Satan's power When we were gone astray

“Ugh!” Aziraphale’s head drops to his desk, his forehead making a soft thump when it connects with the wood.

“What?” Crowley asks, lounging on Aziraphale’s sofa with his feet up and his head lolling off the cushions, his manhandled muscles melting into the sumptuous, velvety fabric. His shirt made it back on but barely, the buttons undone down the front, his skin tingling in the winter chill.

“We have carolers!”

“I know!” Crowley groans sympathetically. “And they’re singing the worst Christmas song ever! I wouldn’t say Christ saved the humans from Satan. It was more of a draw.”

“I am not in the mood right now!” Aziraphale snaps into his paperwork.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Not you. Them!”

“Oh.” Immediately seeing an opportunity, Crowley shimmies up on the sofa. “What will you give me if I take care of them for you?”

“What do you want?” Aziraphale moans pathetically.

Crowley leans forward, relaying his request in a husky tone he prays might put him back on track towards seducing his husband. “Dance with me, angel?”

“Yes, all right,” Aziraphale agrees without a single thought, no objection whatsoever, aided by an offensively sour soprano note that might have come about with a hint of demonic assistance. “Just … get rid of them!”

“Will do!” Crowley launches out of his seat and hurries towards the door, but halfway there, he stops. “Promise not to question my methods?”

“Yes, of course. Just … please …”

“On it.”

Aziraphale sighs with relief, lifting his head and straightening the papers on his desk. That’s when he realizes – he sent a demon to get rid of Christmas carolers … and he gave him carte blanche on how to do it! “Wait a minute!” He pushes away from his desk and hops to his feet, following Crowley to the front door. “Hold up! Crowley? What do you intend to …?”

But the familiar growl and shrill screams coming from outside his shop tell him he asked a second too late.

***

At last My love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song …

The vintage vinyl spins smoothly under the needle of Aziraphale’s gramophone as he sways slowly with his husband, in the circle of his arms. He inhales deep, his demon smelling bitter and sweet: of cloves and spice, whiskey and wine, cranberry and chestnut, of crisp winter air and the new falling snow from when he stepped out the door and, for a split second, transformed into a monstrous, fire-breathing serpent to clear away the carolers.

Aziraphale didn’t entirely approve of this technique, but he can’t help himself giggling at how a dozen men, women, and children dressed in matching red tartan shirts and wearing wool pompom hats leapt five feet and scattered like mice in a dark room with the lights flicked on. But Aziraphale made sure to bless them as they ran, made certain that little Ryan Weathers would find that bike he wants under his tree, that Molly Stevens would get the game system she asked for (seeing as she was nearly trampled by, of all people, her mum), that Pastor Dorney (the leader of the gang) would find an uptick in attendance at his small church on Christmas morning, along with donations, and on and on. Maybe Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood for carolers at the time, but he can’t blame them for their service. They were only trying to spread Christmas cheer, after all.

Considering the cynical times they live in, it’s truly a noble cause.

Aziraphale hugs his husband tight and Crowley reciprocates. But they’ve been dancing for half an hour and Crowley hasn’t said a word. Aziraphale doesn’t think he feels guilty about what he’s done, but he is curious.

“You sure have gone quiet,” Aziraphale points out, peeking up at his husband, a hair’s breath from his lips. “Still mulling over the frightened faces of those poor carolers you scared down the street?”

“No,” Crowley replies, but a tiny smile slips onto his face. “Well, yes, but … I guess I’m just wondering …”

“Hmm? What?”

“What I have to do to get you to make love to me.”

Aziraphale smiles. “My dear boy. You don’t need to do anything. Just ask.”

“Really?”

“Really. Making love isn’t something you need to trade favors for. It’s something I enjoy. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

Aziraphale presses a kiss to Crowley’s cheek and rests his head on his husband’s shoulder. They continue to sway, caught in the spell of Etta James’s rich contralto voice, till it hits Crowley that he may not need to do anything, but there still may be something he can do for his enamored angel.

Because he loves him.

“And another éclair?” he asks.

Aziraphale rolls adoring eyes up at his demon. “One for after would be lovely.”

Crowley kisses Aziraphale on the forehead. “I’ve got you covered.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #31 days of ineffables #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

[everythingoesnk]

Oh What a Night

summary; you’ve been the stylist for everyone involved in A Hard Day’s Night, including The Beatles. at the premiere afterparty John has a clear goal: you

word count; 2 684

warnings;

********

Flashes, screams and a deafening round of intense applause landed upon the four of them, welcoming their presence to the party. Each person in the room cheered flagrantly to show their support and devotion.

Tingles coursed through your being when your eyes found him among the crowd, instantly bringing heat to your face and chest.

Except for the bath scene where he only had swim trunks on, in every shot of the film he was sheathed in the same suit. The one he slipped on for the event seemed pretty similar, all black and classic, but the difference was that he chose to put on a bow tie instead of a tie.

He looked so fine. You were fanning yourself without even knowing you were.

Of course you wouldn’t pick up on the fact that the other three cherished the same option. You only had eyes for him.

That small switch on his attire was enough to awake the butterflies in your stomach.

At the same time that he smiled back at everyone who interacted with him, he looked like he was searching for a particular face.

You quickly turned your back at him and joined the first group of people you bumped into to prevent him from seeing you.

While pretending to follow the thread of what they were discussing, deep down in the depths of your heart you knew that what you really wanted to happen was the opposite. For him to find you, take you home, sing near your ear and spend the night together under the covers.

But no, that wasn’t happening. Not after the countless times you refused to go on a date.

For months, ever since he’d been introduced to you on set, John had been insisting, more like pressing, to invite you somewhere to get to know each other. It was like an obsession, he just wouldn’t stop dropping the subject at any chance he got.

It’s not like you didn’t want to, but you were under pressure at the time. You were instructed to get the work done, not to befriend or flirt with the stars, and your priority was to not get fired.

John assured multiple times that he wouldn’t get you in trouble, If they ever consider firing you they’ll have to talk to me first being his exact words. Yet you didn’t succumb. The flirting and courtship never went away, though.

Did you have a reason to reject him now that you weren’t professionally linked? Technically, no.

Completely zoned out, you were biting a nail when a male voice you were familiar with told you if you kept going you’d end up losing a finger.

Lifting your eyes you cracked a smile, relieved to finally talk to someone you knew.

“(Y/N)” George Martin greeted, happy to see you. He placed a hand on your arm and rubbed it up and down a few times. “How are you, darling? Everything okay?”

By the end of the filming you two established a solid friendship.

Given that after the director yelled ‘Action!’ you weren’t needed, you sat one day with him without knowing who he was or why he was there, and kept doing so ever since during those gaps you had for yourself.

“Yeah! How about you? Did you just get here? I haven’t seen you around”

“I did, but I’m not staying for long. I’ve a lot of work to do tomorrow and I don’t think I’ll enjoy myself with all the stuff I have going on in here” he said, pointing at his head.

“I understand”

“What are your plans then, did you sort things out?”

His question concerned a series of issues you mentioned him you had with a girl you shared your flat with, but she finally paid what she owed.

“Yes. She moved out, by the way. And I haven’t changed my mind, I want to study fashion”

“You’ll be great. I can’t wait to see people on the streets wearing your designs, or myself”

You smiled widely. He told you he loved them when you showed him your sketches.

Then, one instant later, for whatever reason, George’s eyes were no longer on you but over your shoulder. They stayed there for a good ten seconds before he looked down at you, a half jovial smile adorning his lips.

“See, I’m supposed to meet a few people and if I don’t I’m screwed”

“Oh”

“Have a good night, (Y/N)”

“You too, George” you replied, watching him flee away.

You slowly turned around with your brows furrowed, glancing down at the floor thinking about how fishy his farewell had been.

You shook your head. He had to go, nothing to overthink.

However, something inside you suggested to look ahead, and when you did, your mouth hung open.

John was prowling his way towards you.

//

Panic washing over your rationality, you found yourself not knowing what to do. Why were you intimidated in the first place? You weren’t sure.

But you were positive you weren’t in high spirits to deal with him now.

You began to walk in the direction George departed.

John, seeing your intentions to escape, jogged until he positioned himself before you, blocking the way.

You moved to the side and he did too. Considering your odds, you stood still.

It was pointless, so you sighed as a surrender, showing him he won the battle. But at the very first sign that he lowered the guard, you sprinted to the left.

Bold of you to assume that he wouldn’t get his hands on you.

“Dirty, dirty girl,” he taunted, his top teeth tugging at his bottom lip while he made sure you wouldn’t break free, hands gripping firmly at your sides, “were you running away from me? Why?”

“I wasn’t” you lied. “I need to go to the restroom”

“To fix yourself up for me?”

Without much effort, he spun you around and captured you in his arms before you had the opportunity to attempt to leave. Though he was aware that you soon quit insisting to free yourself, and that made him grin broadly.

John bowed his head first, and the tip of his nose touched yours on purpose. He threw it back a little afterwards, just to be able to see you properly.

You were blushing so bad it wasn’t funny.

A naughty smile curved his lips.

“I’ve always loved the way your cheeks turn into biteable apples whenever I’m around. Would you be so considerate to grant me the pleasure to have a taste?”

You wanted to slap him and the little demonic version of you settled in your mind who was nodding her head frantically. The angelic version shrugged her arms and pouted.

“Will you please let me go?” you asked with a stern look.

“Under one condition. Maybe two”

You rolled your eyes and listened closely.

“Let me go with you to the bathroom. A thing could lead to the other and—”

You brought your hand up over his mouth and he smirked against your palm.

The shudders that reverberated all the way through your body made you angrier. Your anatomy wasn’t helping you at all, anxious to find out what words would have rolled off John’s tongue if you had let him finish speaking.  

He crossed his eyes playfully and you had to bite your lower lip to stop a giggle from emerging.

Ungluing your hand from his face, you held up a finger against your lips, motioning him to stop being so loud.

He grinned whilst nodding his head, eyes boring into yours but falling and lingering on your lips eventually.

A waiter carrying a tray with two full glasses approached and John took them from him without asking. The guy’s face was to frame, but when he saw it was the incomparable John Lennon of flesh and blood he murmured an almost imperceptible polite ‘Sir’.

John reached his hand out for you to take the drink.

“Champagne?”

The two of you swallowed the liquid in unison.

After some time of non-existent conversation and you staring at the other end of the room where Ringo was happily dancing with Maureen, you dragged your eyes back to John hesitantly.

He’d been checking you out.

He met your gaze with a filthy look and drank the remaining bit of whatever was left at the bottom of the glass, not losing eye contact in the process. It gave you fever to witness him so greedy for you.

A stirring in your abdomen made you press your thighs together, but you put on a straight face setting aside how your brain released dopamine galore.

John’s eyes twinkled.

“Don’t you stand there like you’re drained of any emotion towards me”

You gave a harsh short laugh while your heart throbbed roughly in your chest. The audacity.

“You’re so full of yourself”

“Nope. I don’t think it has anything to do with my ego”

“What’s your excuse, then?”

“You make me nervous”

For a brief moment, you considered he possibly had pushed his reckless behaviour away.

You huffed, a rosy blush staining your cheeks, and he massaged the back of his neck.

John looked at you and felt shy all of a sudden.

“Did you have a good time watching the film?”

“I did. The whole thing is amazing, Lester really did a good job. My favourite part is when you’re all dancing to Can’t Buy Me Love”

He stared at you, really stared at you.

Enraptured by the tenderness in your voice, he found the confidence to pluck up the courage to step closer to you.

“What about the other condition?” you reminded.

John chuckled. Eagerness coloured his tone.

“Never mind”

“Is it what I think it is?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You tell me”

“Was it a date?”

“What? Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you repeat?”

“Was it a date?”

John paused.

“A date?”

“Yes, a date” you answered, raising your voice.

The crowd surrounding you lolled their heads in your direction.

“Gee, (Y/N),” John teased, glancing at the bunch of people that had their eyes on the both of you, “no need to roar. I’m blind, not deaf. And yes, I agree to have a date with you” he added, flashing a glowing grin to you and the audience, exultant that he got you where he wanted.

Shit. A tedious warmness rose to your neck and up to coat your face.

“No, no. You know I didn’t mean to ask you out”

John emitted a lazy whine.

Shaking your head you turned it to the side, folding your arms. John paced forward and poked you under your ribs. You jumped and slapped his hand.

He tugged you against him, but you wouldn’t jerk your head his way, refusing to look at him.

Chest to chest, yours was raising and falling with nervous breaths.

John wanted to lift your chin, but you wouldn’t let him.

“(Y/N)”

Nothing.

He tried again, angling you to look into his eyes.

“Can’t you see I’m just hopeless?”

His voice felt like a loving, almost romantic, caress.

“Now that shooting’s over I won’t get to see you anymore”

He suspired.

“Won’t you miss me?”

Very easily, you could feel your walls slipping. Beating around the bush, you were certain that you would. He didn't have a clue about how a dreamy smirk would be roaming your lips every day when you left the set to go home, recalling whatever cocky and goofy pick-up line he told you with the hopes to gain your affection.

Your pulse was racing.

You nodded, staring right into his pupils.

“Then stop playing so hard to get. I could be kissing and touching you right now and we’re having this absurd conversation instead” John observed, recovering the composture and standing on his full height.

Overwhelmed, you couldn’t even verbalize a monosyllable.

John grabbed you by the hand and spotted the door where he first walked through.

Excusing himself to everyone that wanted to stop him and chat, and ensuring that you were okay along the way looking back every once in a while, he took you to the rear of the hotel that luckily happened to be deserted.

Like the gentleman he truly was, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

Glancing down at you, his fingers still holding the top part of the lapels, the beat of his heart was quickly out of control.

The bow tie suddenly felt too tight in his collar.

“Are you going to kiss me now, John?”

He swallowed and directed his gaze down to your mouth, his own watering.

Muscles in your tummy clenching, you put your arms around his neck.

“Please say yes”

“I’m not sure I can deny you anything, love”

And the next thing he did was brush his lips over yours, relishing their sweetness before fully capturing them.

You pressed your body against him when he placed both hands on either side of your face, cradling it lovingly, melting under his touch. More than once you fantasized about this, but never would you have guessed you’d instantly become addicted to his taste.

A husky grunt erupted from his throat, and in perfect harmony, he massaged your tongue with his. Movements that you reciprocated.

You breathed his name, which made him want to be a little rougher on you, trailing his hands around your back until they cupped your ass.

“John, John”

You stopped kissing him when guests of the party unlocked the door to leave.

You were embarrassed by the possibility of being seen, but they were so intoxicated and high that they didn’t even notice you were there. Not that they’d remember the next day.

John’s eyes locked on yours when you looked up at him through your lashes.

He also looked like he didn’t have his feet on the ground. He was drunk on passion. John felt the warmth in his body rose above the stars at you nibbling on your lip.

“I’m marrying you” he noted in a thick voice.

“You wish” you answered, one big smirk quirking up a corner of your mouth.

“Tonight I’m content with taking you with me, but I am putting a ring on you sooner or later”

Love growing in your chest, you pumped his arm and ruffled his hair.

“Who says I agreed to spend the night with you?”

“I think we both know you're dying to"

“Convince me” you provoked.

John crooked an eyebrow at you, and stuck his tongue out to sweep his saliva over the lower lip.

“We’re playing games, is that it?”

You shrugged and scooted sensually to reach the door, twisting the knob and stepping one foot inside.

“You have one hour before I leave to win me over. Or else you’re sleeping alone”

“If you insist. By the end of the night everyone will know you’re mine” he said, and spanked you on a butt cheek.

You smiled, excited about how delicious his promises sounded. There was also a flicker of fervour and lust in his eyes.

“I look forward to see how you intend to do that”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to? Dearest, I have plenty of ideas and two hands to make you lose your mind. Five minutes is all I need”

“I’ll give you three”

“One is fine. I love challenges”

You laughed and let him take your hand in his, interlocking all the fingers.

John moved his mouth extremely close to your ear. You closed your eyes, heart crying for one more kiss before joining the multitude.

“Don’t leave my side. Don’t make me have to punish you”

“Is that a threat?” you susurrated, turned on by the danger laced to his tone.

“That is a threat. Be a good girl”

You nodded, and raised your head to get a glimpse of him.

He made you feel fragile and powerful at the same time.

“You’re so beautiful, (Y/N). Let’s go inside, let me show everyone who’s the luckiest man alive”

The night had just begun.

#john lennon #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #the beatles #brian epstein #george martin #john lennon imagine #john lennon fanfiction #john lennon fanfic #tayloredstarr

[kaesaaurelia]

sick day

For @whumptober2019 day 24: secret injury.

This is a followup to day 5: gunpoint, which was Gabriel/Crowley noncon.

Aziraphale/Crowley, content warnings for references to rape, illness, vomit, and... drug abuse, I guess?  (I mean, it’s just cold medicine, but it’s definitely an abuse of cold medicine.)

Crowley was watching television when the knock at the door came.  His stomach was still roiling from the morning, and he was in such a foul mood that he genuinely hoped it was a door-to-door salesman.  Hell was in the midst of road construction, anyway, and could use the extra building material.

But when he cracked the door open, it was Aziraphale, looking politely worried, as if he would stop worrying if it was inconvenient at the moment.  (He wouldn't, Crowley knew.)  He was holding several plastic bags and two cartons of soup.

Crowley hadn't realized until now that Aziraphale was both the only person he wanted to see right now, and also the absolute last person he wanted to see.  He tried to make himself speak but all that came out was a very hoarse approximation of "Angel?"

"Oh, my dear, you sound positively awful," said Aziraphale.

"Thanksss?" he said, but Aziraphale hadn't waited for a response before bustling in, the plastic bags rustling.

Crowley drifted into the kitchen in Aziraphale's wake and watched him take out a big cardboard box from one of the bags.

"Do you have bowls?" Aziraphale asked him, tugging a block of styrofoam out of the box and pulling a kettle out of it.  He unwound the cord quickly and plugged the kettle in.  At no point did he consult Crowley on any of these decisions, which was actually fine, because Crowley didn't want to make decisions right now, about anything, although he was still very certain he didn't want Aziraphale to be here, and equally certain that he just wanted Aziraphale to sit next to him and talk to him forever about nothing.

"Er.  No?" Crowley said.

"You do now," said Aziraphale.  He filled the kettle up and set it to boil.  "I'm afraid they didn't have a fancy kettle with a lot of bells and whistles, I know you like that sort of thing, but there are only so many bells and whistles one can add to --"

"What are you doing here?" Crowley blurted.

Aziraphale took a bowl out of his cabinet -- fussy porcelain ones, in a blue and white pattern -- and began to spoon soup into it, out of the carton, with a ladle that Crowley also definitely hadn't owned before.  "I'm keeping you company," he said.

"Didn't know you needed soup for that," said Crowley, watching the bowl fill up with soup.

"It's supposed to be soothing when you've got a sore throat," said Aziraphale.  "Which you do.  How's the coughing by the w-- oh, oh dear," said Aziraphale, as Crowley suddenly remembered just how scratchy his throat was and began coughing again.  A nasty little glob of mucus and blood ended up on his hand, which he tried to hide from Aziraphale, and failed.  "Is that blood, Crowley?"

"I'm fine, it's fine, just -- just a lot of coughing.   It's a cold, or ssomething."

Aziraphale gave him a look, the sort of look that made Crowley wish he was wearing his sunglasses.  "When have you ever had a cold before, Crowley?" said Aziraphale.  "Ever?"

In the background, the television emitted syrupy clarinet music as Crowley tried to come up with something to say.  "Well," said Crowley.  "Well I mean."  He cleared his throat.  It tasted metallic.

"Crowley, what happens when you get a cold?  What are the symptoms?" Aziraphale asked, in his I am being very patient with you now, I hope you know that voice.

"Well, there's coughing, and sneezing, and, and headaches," said Crowley, "and... throwing up?" he hazarded.  Seemed a safe bet.  Most human ailments tended to have throwing up in there, and he had definitely been throwing up.  "Oh, and sores," he added, with confidence, because he'd definitely heard of cold sores.

Aziraphale looked no less worried.  "How do you know it's a cold and not... something worse?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Well.  Well it might be, I don't know, tuberculosis or something," said Aziraphale.

"It's not tuberculosis," said Crowley, rolling his eyes.  "Where would I even get that?"

"I don't know!" said Aziraphale.  "But I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong, Crowley!"

"I didn't asssk you to h--"  Crowley promptly started coughing again.  It went on and on, and Crowley genuinely wondered if he was going to discorporate from this, if his body wouldn't just shake apart from the violence of the cough, and his eyes were watering and his head hurt terribly, and when he was finally able to stop coughing, he was dizzy for a good few breaths.

Finally, when Crowley had caught his breath, Aziraphale said, "May I please stay and keep you company, at least?"

"Fine," said Crowley.  "But I don't want to talk about it."

Aziraphale gave him a tiny, hopeful smile, and Crowley's eyes started watering again, but thankfully, Aziraphale had to turn away for a moment to put the bowl of soup on a plate, and Crowley wiped the tears away before Aziraphale handed him the soup.

Crowley didn't want the soup.  He didn't not want the soup, but his stomach had not been the same since it'd had an archangel dick in it.  Crowley wasn't sure if it was a physiological issue or if his stomach simply objected to archangels on lack of principal, but either way, he'd been nauseous on and off all day and had had to reinstall the gag reflex a couple of times.  He'd decided just to leave it in for now.

Maybe the soup would get the taste out of his mouth, metaphorically.  He took a spoonful.  It was nice.  Salty.  It stung going down, but it didn't make him cough, at least.

"Why don't you go sit down with that?" Aziraphale said.  Normally Crowley would have objected to being ordered around in his own home (or out of it), no matter how gently, but coughing was tiring and there was a couch to loll around on.

Aziraphale joined him in a few moments, with his own bowl of soup, and also two mugs of tea.  Crowley could feel Aziraphale's eyes on him, soft and worried and kind, and he almost told him; he almost said So the actual thing is, your boss squirted holy water down my throat and then stuck his comically large dick down same, and then, not to be outdone in sheer depravity, I bit off his dick and ate it, but the trouble was...

The trouble was, really, that Aziraphale might believe him.  He might not, and Crowley didn't want to think about that, didn't want to consider the possibility that Aziraphale would think he'd make something up like that.  But the real trouble was that Aziraphale might hear that, and think, Yes, Gabriel would do that, and then he would think But that's horrible!  Somebody ought to do something about him! and then -- and then Aziraphale would march right up to Heaven and say -- what?  Crowley was no longer familiar with the procedures of Heavenly Resources, but he couldn't imagine this going well for Aziraphale.  At best, he would end up Falling so Heaven could save face and shut him up.

Aziraphale didn't deserve any of that, so Crowley wasn't telling him, ever.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the television host wander around a dilapidated garden, talking about vegetables and occasionally fondling hedges in an overfamiliar way.  "Where is this house, anyway?  I think I've been there," said Aziraphale, after a while.

"Dunno, I missed the start of it while we were arguing about soup," said Crowley.  "Now we'll never be able to follow the plot."

"We weren't arguing about soup," said Aziraphale.

Crowley stopped talking.  He was aware of Aziraphale, on the other side of the couch, without seeing him; aware of the weight of him on the cushions, the warmth of him, the mild scrape of his spoon against his bowl.  He closed his eyes, and tried to make this be enough.  This should be enough, he knew; it had been more than enough only a week ago.  But now he wanted to lean against Aziraphale, and if he did that it still wouldn't be enough; he'd want Aziraphale to hold him.

He tried not to think about Aziraphale's hands on his back, or in his hair, or how Aziraphale smelled.

After the television provided a thrilling recital of statistics about glasshouses, Aziraphale put his soup bowl down on the coffee table and cleared his throat, awkwardly.  "Was it a... was it a work thing?" he asked, tentatively.

Crowley didn't have it in him to start another fight with Aziraphale.  "Yeah," he said, weakly.

"I'm sorry," said Aziraphale.

Crowley didn't ask what he was sorry about.  "It's fine, angel."

"Is the soup helping?" he asked hopefully.

"A little."  There was a chunk of chicken in his next spoonful, though, and the feel of it sliding down his throat was too much.  Crowley started coughing, getting chicken soup all down his front, and then hurriedly put his bowl down and rushed to the bathroom, whereupon he threw up once more.  The soup did not taste half as good coming up.  "Fuck," he muttered, chugged three glasses of water, and wandered back out, shakily.

Aziraphale was standing uncertainly outside the bathroom, looking more worried than ever.

"It's fine, angel," Crowley said, before Aziraphale could accuse him of anything.

"I brought, er.  I brought medicine," said Aziraphale.  "I don't know if it would help but that sounds -- well.  Very unpleasant."

"Mm.  Yeah," said Crowley.  "What sort of medicine?"

"I don't really know," said Aziraphale.  "I went to the chemist and said, 'Have you got anything for sore throats?' and they did, so I bought one of everything.  They seemed concerned.  I said it was a very bad cough.  Which it clearly is!"

Crowley considered this.  "Well.  Worth a try," he said.  "Did you get any of the stuff with heroin in it?"

"I don't think they sell that anymore," said Aziraphale.

"Ah, well, it's not very good if you drink it anyway," said Crowley.  They made their way back into the kitchen, where Aziraphale dumped his new collection of cough and cold remedies out onto the counter.  "Which one is the best?" Crowley asked, frowning at the lengths of the words on some of the labels.

"I asked, and they said it depended on the cough," said Aziraphale, as though he was suspicious they'd been withholding information.

"Could just try them all," said Crowley.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," said Aziraphale.  "It is medicine, after all."

Crowley ended up skipping anything in a tablet, because swallowing solid things did not seem like a good idea just now, but he worked his way through four or five (or six? He was beginning to lose count) nasty little plastic cups of various cough medicines, and then downed some tea with honey to get rid of the taste.

"Well?" Aziraphale asked, expectantly.

"'Ss all a bit ssswimmy," said Crowley.

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale.  Crowley made his way carefully back to the couch before collapsing onto it.  "Do you feel better, at least?" 

"Mm.  Nope.  Maybe," said Crowley.  Aziraphale sat down next to him.  "I feel.  I feel drunk."

"Well.  That might be better, depending," said Aziraphale.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, across the terrible distance imposed by the fact that the couch was not a loveseat, and decided just this once, it would be fine to lean up against Aziraphale.  He lurched across the couch, and ended up with his head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder.  "Definitely better," he said.

"Ah," said Aziraphale.  "You are definitely drunk.  Or something similar."

"Sssomething sssimilar," said Crowley, for the sheer sibilance of it.  "Tasssted bloody awful though.  Wine'ss better."

Aziraphale considered him for a moment, and then put his arm around Crowley's shoulder.  It was good.  It was much better than sitting at the opposite end of the couch.

He turned his face so that it was pressed against Aziraphale's chest, and this -- this was ideal.  He felt safe like this.  "'M glad you're here," he mumbled into Aziraphale's jacket.  "Talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything," said Crowley.  "Jussst want.  Jussst want to hear your voicsse.  Not work," he warned.  "Bookssss, maybe.  Anything.  After it happened, all I wanted wasss to hear your voicsse."

"Oh," said Aziraphale.  There was a long silence, and from the way Aziraphale's breath had hitched, Crowley realized, vaguely, that he might've said too much.  But then Aziraphale spoke again.  "Well!  Well, I started reading last night and forgot to close the shop, so my first customer today came in at seven in the morning -- can you imagine!  Buying books at seven in the morning!"

"Terrible," agreed Crowley, muzzily.

"Awful," agreed Aziraphale.  "Who raised these people?  So, of course, I said..."  He continued on in this vein for -- well, Crowley didn't know how long, because Crowley fell asleep soon after.

He woke up several days later in his bed, remembered everything with mingled horror and fondness, and resolved never to take cough medicine again.  But he did call Aziraphale and assure him that he was well, and he didn't cough all day, and they arranged to go to the show Crowley'd had to miss before, because Gabriel had mysteriously failed to arrange a meeting, and (Aziraphale had added) he didn't much want to see Gabriel anyway.

#good omens #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #whumptober2019 #no.24 #cw noncon #cw illness #cw vomit #cw drugs #text #fiction #kaesa op

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

I Prefer Sir - Sam x Reader (One Shot)

A/N: Throwing this out really quick before I go and make dinner. There’s no editing, and I’m skipping tags for the moment. LHYHM is next up. For now? Feedback is amazing, and I hope you all enjoy <3

Warnings: Embarrassment. Some sexual innuendos. Nothing wild

Word Count: Roughly 1,400

“Relax, baby...it's not that bad.” Cooing softly, you rubbed your hand through the thick hair that covered a large leg. Trying to soothe the beast resting on the table in front of you. Ever impatient.

The St. Bernard mix clearly disagreed. A loud, broken howl of anguish left the beast as you lifted the final paw. Another heavy sigh of resignation left you while you bent your head. There'd be no escape from the noise until you were done if Sir-Sheds-A-Lot had his way. You'd known you'd saved the best for last, for a reason.

Snip here. Clip there. And again.There’s the quick. Ignore the noise. You can do it, Y/N... One more time. Done. Finally.

A kink in your lower back had you arching your spine as you stood tall. Trying to earn a pop as the ear splitting noises faded into miserable whimpers. Despite the damage to your hearing, you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips. He was a little dumb and a lot of head strong, but in the best possible way.

“You seem like you have your hands full today,” The sudden, deep male voice made you spin around, hand still on the St. Bernard out of habit. 

There he stood. The Jesus lookalike himself. Sam fucking Winchester. All decked out in the light blue plaid shirt he'd been in the day you'd met him. His dog, just as beautiful, leaning against his leg. As you took him in, you cursed the white, wavy hair that covered your body.

“Ya have no idea,” Came your breathy response while placing the lead back around the thick neck. “Max is a sweet boy...just a little... overzealous.” A glob of drool slid down the drooped lip before a head shake followed. Making you wince a bit as you dodged it. With another dramatic sigh, you pushed at the fur coat that clung to you. Futile was putting it lightly. “If you give me just a minute, I'll put this guy in the back and get you two going.”

Getting Sam going would be an honor. That much you were sure of. You peeked back at him as you unclipped the dog from the harness. Noting just how broad his shoulders were. Gawking was a luxury you wouldn't have, though. Instead, you were yanked back to attention.

“Take your time. We're in no rush.” His hand was huge as he blew off the inconvenience with a friendly wave. 

Riot whimpered at his feet, drawing attention to himself. The doting owner didn't hesitate. Dropping down to the couch in the waiting area, and patting for the Shepard to join him. As he pet the thick fur, he eyed up the boxes resting in front of him. 

I'll bet his hands aren't all that's bi- Damn it, Max! Slow down!

Max's telepathic abilities were sorely lacking. Instead, he swam across the tile floor. Right into the other groomer. You two were similar in age and stature. Her not toppling over was a miracle in itself.

“Hey, buddy,” She cooed once her balance was restored. Before she could spot the hunk of man meat in front, you stepped forward. Blocking the view efficiently. A dirty trick that she'd catch onto soon enough. Worth it...

“Do you mind putting him away, and then washing Bandit? I'll call Sue, and get this guy going.” Don't look up there. Don't look-

“Come on, Maxxy. Y/N doesn't love you, anymore.” The baby voice worked. St. Bernard in hand, she strode back behind the door.

Resisting the urge to fist bump the air, you turned around, “That's a lie, but I'll let it slide this time.” Indignant tones seemed only make the dimples appear on Sam's face as he set down the book he’d been nosing in. “Besides, Riot doesn't howl in my ear. Does he?” He didn't. Instead, the Australian Shepard wagged his tail furiously. “That's why you're my favorite. Come here, big guy!” There wasn't a second wasted. The moment you squatted down, your lap was filled with a squirming, murmuring ball of fuzz. “He looks great, really. You'd never guess that he'd been hit by a car.” Your fingers caught on a small clump of hair. Summer had its downfalls. “Shedding a bit, today, though.”

“A bit? He covered my room. He's gonna get us kicked out if we’re not careful,” Affectionately said. But, it was a fair enough point. Sam could end up homeless if the owner of the motel got pissy enough. “That's why I need your help. Think you can do something about it?”

“Yeah, I'll give him the works.” A slobbering kiss was your reward. From the wrong man. At least Riot appreciated the extra lengths you were willing to go through. “I'll blow him out real good.” You told yourself it was just your imagination that Sam sat up straighter. “Hit him with the Furminator shampoo and conditioner combo. Do a second blow out. Brush him real good. And see where that gets us.”

“That's my girl.” The breathy, thankful way he said it went straight to your crotch. Fuck me... he's trouble. Trouble that you couldn't help but crave. “You've always got an answer for something.”

“I hope so, or I'd be out of work.” His lips were too pink to draw your eyes from when he smiled your way. Luckily, you knew the old keyboard by heart. “Everything the same?”

“Perfect.” You had little doubts about that. Sam lived for that dog. The care was evident.

Check ins were simple procedures. And it was over with all too fast. Riot whined as Sam walked out the door. Back to every day life. Unaware he'd left two broken hearts behind.

“Me too, bud...me too.”  Lolling tongue, he stared up to you. As if asking how long he had to wait until his dad was back. “Let me make a call, and we'll put it in over drive...okay?” As if he understood English, he let you make the call to return Max to his people.

“Is that Riot?” It was rude to smirk when the appalled question sounded. But, yet, you couldn't help it. “That's why you wanted me in the back? You bitch!”

“I'm shameless, I know.” Was your answer as you patted the table. Encouraging the dog to jump up. Of course, he did it perfectly. “Great dog with a gorgeous human... I think I'm in love.”

“Yeah...that's it.” The dry tone only made you laugh more. Or lust.

“God, you missed it. He pulled out the 'that's my girl' today.” A memory that would forever be ingrained in your brain.

Whimpering came from your coworker that time rather than a dog, “He did not."

“He did,” Your eased up Riot's back leg. Getting to work on the nails. It didn't take long at all. He was right on schedule. “Riot better watch it...his dad can't be saying stuff like that. Otherwise, I'm going to end up calling him daddy, too.”

“Oh, really?” The clippers fell from your hand at the low timbre of Sam's voice. There wasn't an opening of the door that you could remember. But, it must have happened at some point. Because he was truly there. I gotta put that bell back up...

“Oh...” You squeaked, lifting your head slowly. Wondering just how much he'd heard. Hoping it was just that last sentence. Still damning, but less damaging than it all packed together. “C...Can I help you?”

His mouth tugged up at one side as he lifted a piece of paper, “I forgot to have you update his rabies.”

“Right...” The heat in your cheeks was undeniable as you pulled away from Riot. Leaving on hand on the dog, you moved over to the computer. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't be sorry...” Your breath caught in your throat at the husky murmur as you pulled up the information on the screen. He waited a moment more. Letting you type in the new expiration date. “Just remember...” His hand pressed over yours when you were done. “I prefer Sir.” All words died on your lips as he squeezed your hand.

With that, he pulled away from the desk. Stuffing his hands in pockets, he left for good. Leaving you gaping...

#supernatural #spn #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #sam #Sam Winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam fanfiction #sam reader insert #Sam Winchester reader insert #sam x reader #sam x you #sam x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader

[atopearth]

The Men of Yoshiwara: Kikuya Part 5 - Iroha Route (S1 & S2)

WOW, that was an intense first chapter lol! I’m not sure if Iroha is really interested in Misao because of how innocent she is, or it’s because of how innocent she is that he desires to sully her. Anyway, although his motives are questionable, undoubtedly, Misao in this route is evidently more bold and “thirsty” LOL, she legit was expecting to sleep with Iroha when she was so shy in the other routes!! As I thought though, Iroha is more of a manager of sorts, so he doesn’t sleep with clients, but…I guess kissing is okay LOL. I don’t know what it is about them, but I have to admit, I love the trope where the guy drinks sake or whatever and then kisses the heroine to give the drink to her mouth to mouth. Like dang, that’s the trash I love LOL. I’m already so hyped about Iroha because he seems to really understand the curiosity and interest Misao has in sex etc and finds it cute how innocent she is but also how “dirty” she can be lol.

It’s kinda crazy how persistent Misao is on Iroha, I kinda feel sorry for him loll! I guess he kinda gave up and decided to like “train” her into becoming more like a woman by teaching her things and then she can choose another guy if she wants. Lmao at them playing games, and if she loses, she has to kiss him and vice versa, I’m not surprised she lost most of the time haha. How beneficial for Misao though! Since Iroha isn’t a courtesan, she doesn’t even need to pay him and he teaches her all this stuff haha, I’m sure heaps of women would want Iroha to “teach” them stuff lol. Well, umm, Iroha turning into an ogre and having white hair and horns is so random LOL. Do we really need such a thing in this story??? Anyway, Iroha pushing her to giving her first time to Kagerou was not nice to either of them when they both obviously didn’t like the idea, it was expected that Iroha would take her back last minute but seriously lol, Iroha is silly. LMAO when Iroha told Misao that he becomes an ogre when he’s emotional (and when he has sexual desire lol), and Misao asks (you can pick the option) if he can make fireballs🤣🤣🤣🤣 It’s really hard to take the situation seriously with that option lmao! Not surprised that Iroha has to deal with gentlemen sleeping with clients that aren’t theirs and so his job actually involves physically hitting them with a stick to punish them. But wow, seriously, Tokiwa is taking advantage of this and manipulating Misao into asking for him, otherwise he’ll tell the higher ups that Iroha as a manager is playing with someone like Misao for free etc? Yeah, I think I’ll just think of this Tokiwa as like an alternate timeline Tokiwa from his route LOL, I’m so disgusted with how the guys act outside of their routes, sigh.

It felt pretty weird how Misao needing to have a baby to succeed her mother’s shipping company was enough to make her think maybe she should listen to her mum and get another husband (since Iroha doesn’t want children who will be an ogre like him). Like, it was such random and unnecessary drama that they’ve barely cared about and now suddenly it’s a deal-breaker?? Anyway, I guess it was expected that Iroha would leave Kikuya to be with Misao and have kids with her, but it was so rushed that it just felt whatever to me lol. On the other hand, I feel like the happy ending is much more understandable in terms of their relationship. Since in this ending, Iroha stays at Kikuya and Misao becomes his wife and manages it with him, dealing with all the troublesome guys lol. It does feel pretty slack to the mum though…. But yeah I just found Iroha leaving Kikuya so easily in the super happy ending questionable, since, would they really let him go that easily? And it seemed so easy for him to leave behind one of the only places that accepted him as an ogre and is his “home”. But yeah, oh well, I’m not a fan of the second half in general so I don’t really care that it feels a bit weird loll.

LMAO at the sequel, Iroha is so childish for running away from home because he didn’t like her mum putting bean sprouts or whatever in his miso soup hahahah. I’m glad he’s fitting in well with Misao and her mother though, enough that they would argue over silly things, get mad at each other, but end up making up in the end. I think it’s pretty cute since Iroha lacks a family (well it probably applies to all the guys lol). Being able to communicate with another person so frankly is a blessing in itself after all.

Overall, I honestly thought Iroha would present a more mature perspective to the story and show how even if you’re retired, you’re still stuck in Yoshiwara somehow or whatever, but instead, I got some supernatural ogre story and Iroha only stays there because for some reason people over there aren’t really that scared of Iroha being an ogre lol. I also thought the story would be more similar to the first chapter where Iroha would teach her all sorts of things about Yoshiwara but no, after the first few chapters it became too focused on the ogre thing and Misao worrying about whether Iroha wants kids or whatever like ughhh, wasted potential on Iroha! Especially since he looks so much better with black hair than in his ogre form zz. I doubt the second season could be any better if the first is like this but I guess I’ll go through it and see anyway…

Season 2 It’s crazy, but I honestly thought I could just see more of Misao and Iroha struggle in being a couple and having couple arguments etc in this season, BUT NO, we’re stuck with another random new ogre guy that has no purpose than to cause trouble for the couple and be an accurate fortune teller saying that their relationship won’t last. Lol, wow Azusa is such an ass. He’s the one causing trouble at Kikuya for not wanting to do anything leading to Iroha having to take care of him, and yet he has the right to complain that Misao is the one causing Iroha to be so tired since he’s forced to work until late and go home just to see her? Dude, I’m not sure if you’re telling fortunes anymore when you’re the one that’s straight up just trying to destroy their relationship and even bad mouthing her to her face.

Wow, I know Misao is demure and easily influenced, but the way she got so affected by the fortune and Azusa’s words annoyed me so much, especially since she ended up saying such hurtful words to Iroha and then she has the gall to cry about it! She’s lucky that Iroha understood why she was like that and I’m glad he finally acted and made the decision to leave Kikuya and Azusa to themselves because his priority should be with Misao now. Misao ALWAYS hides stuff and lies thinking it’s for the best blah blah so that everyone won’t get hurt or whatever, but in the end her decisions always ends up hurting everyone including herself and it annoys me that even after they’re practically married, she still doesn’t understand how important it is to be honest and to talk things out properly. I hate how she always thinks Iroha is going to leave her, like seriously woman, if I was him I would have left you, but since he’s been okay with it all this time, I doubt he would suddenly get tired of you without any reason! Ugh. I’m honestly amazed at how dumb Misao is and how much more frustrating she can get. I was so annoyed when she prioritised hiding the fact that the fortune made her insecure and would rather have Iroha misunderstand what happened between her and Azusa. As usual, Iroha knows she’s too dumb to really do anything, but seriously!! Every decision she makes, everything she does, everything she hides and lies about, she has no excuse to do all these silly things! I find it absolutely crazy that she always prioritises stupid things over communicating with Iroha in this relationship, I don’t know how Iroha can deal with her.

Well, the leader of the thieves (who steals ogre skulls) being Iroha’s mother wasn’t surprising, but it seems that Azusa might be his half brother? And yeaaah, it was obvious that Azusa liked Misao and was jealous but I’m still not into him lol. And lol at Iroha’s mother doing all this to get revenge on Iroha for being distant and not wanting to live with her, like okay lol, you’re causing a lot of trouble for something so silly. The laws were pretty dodgy in this world already, but it was funny to see that a little petitioning etc could get Iroha’s mother out and she could go back to the mainland with Azusa lol. I guess it’s nice that at least Iroha and Misao had a wedding party at Kikuya with everyone as a sweet way to end everything~ oh and Azusa coming back was obvious but unwanted lol.

Overall, the second season was honestly unnecessarily draggy. I feel like a lot of the time, I want the second season so that I can see the couple enjoy their relationship and get through problems relating to stuff like living together etc, but I find it really boring when stories like to put in outside factors causing problems especially stuff like unnecessary love triangles, which in this case is Azusa and the ogre thing again. I’ve never been a fan of the ogre part of the story so it was honestly boring, especially when it doesn’t really talk about how difficult life is being an ogre etc, it’s really just an “excuse” for things to be difficult in the story, so it really makes it bland. So yeah, I really wanted to enjoy Iroha’s story but I think I only liked the first chapter LOL. I thought I’d be getting a nice mature story, but no, it degenerated into a story about Iroha satisfying Misao’s persistent whims and liking how annoying she is, and I honestly couldn’t relate by the second season lol. I like Iroha but I just couldn’t take Misao after a while lol, and the story really doesn’t make it better with how random it is, like the sudden need for a baby being a problem near the end of the first season, yet no one cared by the second anyway lol.

#the men of yoshiwara #the men of yoshiwara kikuya

[entomancy]

Fic: A Dawning realisation

Another worldbuilding one-shot. A different night, and another incident for Denis Joplin, Sheriff of Vegas Below - but this time it’s much worse than mutant vampiric housecats.

Title: A Dawning realisation   (Wattpad) Setting: VTM-with-the-serial-numbers-filed-off. Also, Vegas. Warnings: Gore. Words: 1912 Summary: It’s three in the morning, and there have been at least two murders. You’d think that would be the worst part of the night.

-

There certainly was an impressive amount of blood.

Ducking under the hastily-installed barrier of crime tape – and feeling a shiver in his fingertips mirrored behind his eyelids as the glamour fell away – Denis Joplin found himself stopping short at the revealed scene.  This far into Fremont and two alleys deep behind a derelict convenience store, it’d be reasonable to expect at least something nasty lurking around the dumpsters.  But this was way beyond even cynical assumptions.

The alleyway itself was less of a single passage than a collision of other spaces – one leading north, half-blocked off by the rusting carcass of a long-fallen fire escape; one going west that seemed to be where pallets came to die; and a sagging hole in the southern wall that opened into more rat-runs beyond. Garbage was ankle-deep, except for on the pathways newly torn by desperate footfalls and scrabbling fingers.  One body – still at least roughly the shape it should be, except for its angles – lay cradled by the bashed-in side of a dumpster; a gory, inverted waterfall of crimson splattered up the wall behind it. The head lolled against its uneven chest, barely held on by naked tendons and raw flesh, and the jaw had been torn clear away.  

The second body was more… dispersed.

Yet even that wasn’t the strangest part.  Sure, it looked like somebody had tried to pressure-wash the walls with arterial spray, but what really drew the eye were the weird, congealed blobs of black-scarlet scattered for a storey up the walls. They looked like something out of a particularly nasty fungus documentary: glistening and swollen with half-solid bubbles of wet scab.  There were a lot of them, too.

Je-sus.  It had been one of the bike-lads that called this in, and Joplin made a mental note to check in on the kid later.  Hell of a thing for someone to walk in on.

Of course, some of them were more used to this kind of shit than others.

“Bad night,” he said, partly in greeting, as his attention shifted to the other upright figure on the scene: clad in baggy forensics white, squatting down over a scattering of viscera with a camera in her gloved hands.  She took the picture and made a note before straightening up and turning to him.  One neat eyebrow arched as she pulled her mask down, revealing pale lips set into a tight line.

“Worse for some,” Dawn replied, sweeping a disapproving gesture around at the alley. “Honestly.  I have fourteen active cases right now; the last thing I need is someone breaching like a Screamfest wet dream all over my Thursday night.”

Joplin hesitated – but this was Dawn, after all.  Dawn Miller: Senior Forensic Investigator for the City of Las Vegas (Above and Below), five foot three of permanently-caffeinated brunette; most usually found within a baffling subterranean lair of sterile worktops and extremely expensive scientific equipment that just so happened to have no external windows whatsoever.

“Definitely not just someone with delusions of Dahmer?” he asked carefully.  Dawn sighed as she placed her camera back down then pulled out a small laser pointer, with a hint of dramatic flourish.  The tiny red light danced like a forensic firefly across the stained walls, sketching and circling in after-images.

“It’d be very difficult to get this sort of pattern any other way.  Now, tearing open an artery will do that.”  She gestured towards the crimson mark that was a bit higher than the dumpster-corpse’s head would have been.  Then she jabbed a latex-cased finger further up, towards one of the dripping clots wedged against a drainpipe.

"That? Not so much. I mean, I’ve got my suspicions about your blood pressure, Sheriff, but I figure even you’d have difficulty getting that far up on irritation alone.”

Joplin looked back down to the neatly-circled sections of corpse, tilting his head this way and that as he tried to work out what each bit had been.

“Any clear weapons?”

“Not lying around.” Dawn pointed at a piece of arm. “I need to get this all cleaned up to be sure of anything.”

“Thinking teeth or claws?” Joplin pushed, and recieved a cold stare in return.

“All I’ll say before he’s on the slab is that it took significant force to do some of this.  Arms don’t pop off Barbie-style for just anyone – present company notwithstanding.”

Joplin snorted.

“I ain’t a wookie, y’know.”

Finally, a flash of amusement made it onto Dawn’s face.  It was probably possible to be a science type without being able to spot a Star Wars reference at forty feet, but Joplin sure hadn’t met many.  Hell, she’d probably seen them on release.

“Yub-nub, Sheriff.  Anyway,” she continued, and her brows dipped again as she pulled a fresh swab out of her pocket. “I’ve put this off for long enough.”

She uncapped the plastic tube and Joplin caught The change in her eyes.  It wasn’t in anything so crass as pigment or reflection, but nonetheless the sheen there had altered, struck through now with very familiar sharpness.  She undid her mask, placing it carefully down on top of her kit, and moved over to the bloody wall with the swab raised.

When he’d first heard they had a vampire in forensics, Joplin had imagined she would employ a much more gruesome methodology.  He hadn’t figured that maybe she’d want to lick an alleyway wall about as much as he did.  

Dawn swiped the blood, then brought it back and pressed the stained cotton tip into the roof of her mouth, accompanied by an expression of contemplative disgust.  It had to go past the teeth, she’d told him once.  Something about how the whole vitae situation actually worked.

After a moment she withdrew the swab, slotted it into her clinical waste pot, and spat in after it.

“Yup, that was live when it hit. Initial attack either non-feeding, or the idiot’s never tried to drink a shaken soda.  But that…” she trailed off, looking up at the weird blobs overhead, and her lips twisted again.  “Give me a leg up, will you Sheriff?”

Joplin obliged, cupping his big hands together into a platform, and Dawn hoisted herself up onto a level with one of the congealed lumps.  Swab – suck – and this time she gagged, clapping the back of her hand over her mouth as she did so.  Joplin quickly put her down.  She threw the swab away like it had burned and began aggressively gargling bottled water. Once the dry heaves had stopped she looked back up at him, wiping at her eyes.

“Yuck.  I mean, yes, obviously, but – yuck.  No, that was dead on impact.  I’d say refractory emesis, but that’s – ” she hesitated again, glancing between each blob “- a lot.  Even if they were trying to dry them out, just eyeballing it, I’d say there’s enough blood mass here for a minimum of two victims.  And this guy might be a jigsaw, but I’d say we’ve got all the bits for him.”

Joplin sighed, and leaned back against a cleanish piece of wall.  So there might be another body to find tonight.  Which meant someone on a frenzy, because nobody needed two-and-a-post-spray-remainer’s worth of blood in one night for any sort of legal reason.  And someone with their faculties intact wouldn’t be out massacring by the bins.

Dawn pulled out her second kit: the much smaller, black metal box that had neither insignia or visible method of opening, and blew gently on its surface.  Faint patterns swirled under her breath before the lid popped and she drew out a different set of vials, and a set of small, oddly-shaped tools.

“Taking the specialist samples,” she muttered, half to herself as she selected one and crouched back over the remains. “Because of course, developing anything field ready that isn’t ‘suck on the corpse’ is never at the top of the funding lists, is it?”

Joplin shrugged.

“Don’t ask me.  I ain’t sure what any of you lab goblins do with half the stuff you collect; I ain’t gonna notice if you take a few more weird prints.”

“Liar.” She didn’t look up from whatever she was doing at the head end, but Joplin could hear a smile around her words.  He let her get on with it, instead returning his attention to the utter mess of a scene.  There was a time when this would have upset him a lot more – and he knew this sort of thing tended to get to Mitch in ways the cheery lad was crap at dealing with – but this wasn’t just the normal revulsion and muted horror that settled on him now.  Something about the sheer splatter of the scene was unpleasantly familiar.

He waited until Dawn had clicked the lid back on her little box of vampire tricks before he spoke again.

“Got a theory for me?”

“Always have a theory, Sheriff,” Dawn replied, stowing the box. “The trick is finding evidence.”

“So… if I were to say ‘Bel–’” Joplin started, but cut off as Dawn held up a finger warningly.  The look she gave him was old; far, far older than the ever-stilled thirty-ish of her face.

“I’ve confirmed a potential breach. I’ve got samples.  You’ve got another body to find, and I’ve got analysis to do.  Then, and only then, will I stick my neck out over that block.  Clear?”

“Y’always are,” Joplin conceded, and let out a long breath as he felt some of the sudden tension drop. “Want the rest of the crew in?”

“Oh hell yes.  I’m not scraping this all up by myself.”

Joplin left her to it.  He gave the nod as he passed the glamoured tape, signalling to the waiting figures that they could go in.  Dawn had finished the secret-squirrel bit of her work, and the crew understood enough about trouble Below to know what they were dealing with.  He made his way back to the car and slid in, resting his head back against the seat as he let out a long sigh.

Dawn was cagey – had to be, given who was not-breathing down her neck – but she’d said enough.  Frenzy either meant an orphan, a bastard or a break, and none of them were exactly appealing prospects.  Joplin drummed his fingers together, considering.  Orphan was unlikely – the clan-pires were real careful these days about their new bloods, and the loony market was still depleted from last time someone tried something Big And Stupid.  Bastard seemed most likely, since there was always some little fucker unable to keep it in their gums.

The idea of it being a break…

Joplin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and tried to shake off the unease.  Okay, so there had been a familiarity to the scene, but it wasn’t like a signature.  Brutal, sure, but too messy.  Too much feeding. Any feeding, really.  But the way the bodies had been torn apart like that – that, that was setting off unpleasant shivers of recognition.

Not a break, then.  Not that particular potential nightmare and the shattering Breach it would entail, but… something related?

Bastard’s the most likely.  Jesus-Christmas; can he even sire anymore?

Joplin stared out through the windshield, at the distant fever-dream glitter of Vegas’ early morning, and felt the ghost of a few old wounds twinge.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

He was going to have to question fucking Belton.

-

#Entofic #Vampire Nonsense #urban fantasy #The Vegas Masquerade #blood

[purplepersnicketywrites]

Hi! I absolutely love your fic Purple Kiribaku Drabbles so I wanted to send in a prompt! I'd love to see Bakugou taking care of a very sick Kirishima I know there are many sickfics in this fandom, but to me they are never enough ;)

God yes,, , I love sickfics, , , and i love,, feverish Kirishima. let’s see…

Oops i think i just wrote a whole oneshot fic? this is not just a drabble and i don’t know… what happened… this is like 2.5k… tfw ur muse holds a gun to your head....

there’s a lot of Science here at the beginning too, lemme know if any of it’s too obtuse!!! I think i could write so much more on the science behind the effects of quirks but i caught myself before i rambled too much, I hope!

One aspect of Katsuki’s quirk that no one ever really thought about was what it did to his body temperature. Katsuki was a full two degrees warmer than average, something that had caused great alarm to his parents when he was younger.

It wasn’t something that weird - bodily temperature changes caused by quirks were hardly unheard of - but it was different enough that doctors had been interested in him. It turned out that temperature was important. He’d had all sorts of blood tests, and samples of his digestive juices taken (he did not want to fucking think about that, thanks).

His enzymes were different, apparently, suited to working at 39.5C at their optimum. It didn’t sound like much of a difference, but enzymes were special proteins with specific shapes set by a specific order of molecules that was what DNA itself coded for. They had to be in certain shapes to do what they needed to do. It wasn’t just digestion - enzymes did everything. They built all the body’s structures, or built the things that needed to build them. They moved things between the body’s cells. And Katsuki’s were different because they worked at a higher temperature, one that might cause other enzymes to denature - for the heat to warp their shapes and render them useless.

So his DNA was weird - a little different to either of his parents. Samples of his own specific enzymes were stored in a lab somewhere, with little white labels stuck to each tube.

Protease-Var.47334758-BK

Lipase-Var.47334758-BK 

Amylase-Var.47334758-BK

And so on. They also had samples of, ugh, his fucking gut and skin flora. Apparently, the fact that all the beneficial bacteria in his gut or on his skin could incubate at a much higher temperature than normal was interesting. Katsuki wondered if bacteria could get quirks at all, and if his counted.

Thanks to all of that, Katsuki’s immune system was extremely robust. Hardly anything he caught lasted long enough to cause him any trouble. His body reacted to everything with a mild fever, and as he was already so warm, he hardly noticed it.

It was kinda satisfying. Fuck off, pathogens, unless you wanna be burned. Yeah, so, that was kinda cool.

Unfortunately, Kirishima was currently way too out of it in his own fever to really take in a word of what Katsuki was trying to explain to him about his quirk.

“No Baku-man,” Kirishima slurred. “You can’t be here, you’ll die.”

“I fuckin’ doubt that,” Katsuki muttered. Part of him cursed the rest of their friends, who had volunteered him for Taking Care Of Kirishima Duty Because Dude You Almost Never Get Sick It’s Like Magic. Part of him was planning to cook them all a meal as thanks, because holy shit Kirishima was weirdly adorable while suffering from feverish delusions and Katsuki was heartily enjoying himself.

“I can’t let you die, Bakubro,” Kirishima said, trying to sit up. “You’re my best friend and it wouldn’t be manly.”

“I’m not gonna die, dumbass,” Bakugou rolled his eyes and pushed the other boy bak down, again. He retrieved the cloth from where he had had it soaking and laid it over Kirishima’s forehead.

“Feels good,” Kirishima murmured at the cool cloth. “But- But dude you gotta leave. I’m full of viruses and they’re gonna get you too.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Katsuki declared.

Kirishima’s brow furrowed. “You can’t see viruses, Buddy-gou! They’re invisible.”

“They’re not invisible, they’re just really small,” Katsuki snorted.

“Yeah, yeah, they’re sneaking- Sneaky,” Kirishima said. “They’re not manly, Brokugo, I have so much not-manly in me and it’s going to spread.”

“Not to me,” Katsuki said. He’d flick Kirishima’s forehead, but the other boy probably had a killer headache and he wasn’t that much of a dick. “You hungry?”

Kirishima blinked. “Am I what?”

“Hungry,” Katsuki said. Kirishima’s eyes widened. What? “Hungry, Kirishima? Like, do you want food?”

“Oh hungry,” Kirishima said. Katsuki wasn’t sure what Kirishima had heard and he didn’t want to know. “You should eat so you don’t die more.”

“I’m not going to die, holy fuck,” Katsuki snickered. “What ab-”

“But everyone dies,” Kirishima said in a small voice. What the fuck. “No one lives forever. And that’s sad. I’m sad, Bak-you’ll-be-gone.”

“Oi,” Katsuki said, moving the cloth on Kirishima’s forehead a little. “Don’t go getting all depressed and existential while you’re fucking feverish. You should be telling me there are lizards on the wall, not lamenting about the mortality of man.”

Kirishima looked at the wall and spoke with keen interest. “Where are the lizards?”

“Keep looking,” Katsuki said. “Do you want food or not, Kirishima?”

Kirishima gazed at him with hazy eyes. “Hungry? Yeah, yeah, I’m hungry! Food me.”

Katsuki snorted. “Gotcha. I’ll be back soon, you idiot.”

“Hey’m not an idiot,” Kirishima stuck his tongue out and then clamped his hands over his face. “Oh no! The virus!”

Katsuki snorted again and made for the door.

When Katsuki got back to Kirishima’s room with food for the both of them, Kirishima was crying.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Katsuki said under his breath, setting the food on Kirishima’s desk for the time being. “Oi!”

Kirishima looked up at him, tears dripping down his cheeks. “There is water coming out of my face.”

Katsuki sighed and sat back on the bed. He pulled the cloth off Kirishima’s forehead - it was already drying - and used it to wipe at Kirishima’s face before he dumped it back in the water bowl.”That’s ‘cause you’re crying.”

“I’m crying?” Kirishima asked. He sounded horrified. “Why?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Katsuki said. He gave Kirishima’s leg a pat and then put the cloth back on his forehead. “I left the room to make food.”

“Oh,” Kirishima said. He frowned. “Wait, you shouldn’t have come back! What if you catch this thing off me?”

“I’m not gonna catch it, Kirishima,” Katsuki said, rolling his eyes.

“But what if you do? You might die,” Kirishima said. Back to this for the millionth time? Honestly. Katsuki didn’t reply, instead going to the desk to grab their food.

“Here,” Katsuki said, giving Kirishima one of the bowls.

Kirishima’s eyes sparkled. “Food! You’re so nice.”

Katsuki shook his head, and watched to make sure Kirishima was eating before he started on his own. He didn’t seem to be doing all that well with his chopsticks. Katsuki set his own bowl aside and plucked Kirishima’s chopsticks from him. “I’ll do it, dumbass.”

Kirishima blinked when Katsuki shoved the first piece of chicken into his mouth. He caught on quickly, though, and they got about halfway through the dish until Kirishima held up one hand. “Not hungry any more.”

Katsuki frowned. He hadn’t made huge portions. Still, better not push the sick person into eating too much.

“You feeling any better, Kirishima?” Katsuki asked.

Kirishima considered. Then his eyes began to water and he shook his head. Ah, fuck, what?

“My head hurts and the room is spinning and I don’t want you to die,” Kirishima choked out in a half-sob. Augh. “And I’m sick and I don’t want to die either.”

Katsuki shuffled up the bed so he was sitting next to Kirishima to pull him into a slightly awkward one-armed hug. Kirishima was way better at doing this stuff. “You’re not gonna die, Kirishima.”

“I will one day,” Kirishima said, leaning heavily into Katsuki. He frowned. “I have- There are words I can’t get ‘cause my brain is melting. Bakuguy you make my brain melt.”

Katsuki squeezed Kirishima’s shoulders. “Pretty sure that’s the viruses.”

“Bas’ards,” Kirishima muttered. “But I get the brain-melties around you even without all the viruses.”

“What?” Katsuki stared at Kirishima. Nope, no way was he receiving a fever-addled confession from his best friend right now, right?

“Ooh, I shouldn’t have said that,” Kirishima shut his eyes. “You’re gonna be mad at me when I’m better.”

“Why the fuck would I be mad?” Katsuki asked. Why on earth would Kirishima think that? Kirishima squirmed.

“Gonna be,” he said. He looked at the wall. “I don’t like lizards.”

Katsuki squinted. “You’re deflecting. That’s not a real fever-dream.”

Kirishima pouted at him. Fuck, he was cute.

“We’re gonna talk about it when you’re better,” Katsuki said. “But I’m not mad, alright?”

“Hm,” Kirishima said, head lolling onto Katsuki’s shoulder. “I hope not. You’re my best friend, Katsuki.”

And with that, Kirishima fell asleep.

Katsuki didn’t pounce with questions the second that Kirishima was back to being lucid. No, he waited until the evening after he’d been declared healthy enough to return to classes.

“Man,” Kirishima said, when Katsuki walked into the redhead’s room to find him setting down a pair of dumbells and sitting heavily on the floor. “I think I lost a few pounds being sick. I need to build myself up again, you think?”

Katsuki took a few moments to admire Kirishima’s physique. “You look fuckin’ fine.”

“Hm,” Kirishima hummed. “Still, wouldn’t mind someone to spot me in the gym some time.”

Kirishima grinned at Katsuki. Ah, the perfect moment had been presented.

“You sure about that?” Katsuki asked, tilting his head and arching one eyebrow. “Didn’t you say I make your brain melt?”

Kirishima stiffened, and a bright red blush bloomed over his face and down his neck. “I said what?”

Katsuki grinned, and went to flop over onto Kirishima’s bed. “‘Oh Bakugou, I get the brain-melties around you!’”

“Oh my god,” Kirishima groaned and covered his face. “I’m going to go back in time and kill fever-me.”

Katsuki snorted. “No, for two reasons.”

Kirishima peeked at Katsuki between his fingers.

“One: you were pretty damn concerned about dying the whole damn time, and I put a lot of effort into assuring you that you’d be fine,” Katsuki said. “Don’t make me a liar. Second: it was cute as fuck.”

Kirishima went a few shades darker behind his hand. “Wh- What?”

“What was all that about anyway?” Katsuki asked, intending to prolong this as long as he could, sitting up and crossing his legs. “You got all weepy and morbid. You really didn’t want me to die.”

Kirishima looked away. “Fuck. Uh.”

Katsuki waited.

“Ah, I, um,” Kirishima continued. Pinnacle of eloquence, this one. “That’s something I’ve been- Since the raid- We’re all heroes, y’know, man? Or, well, we will be.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said. Where was Kirishima going with this?

“Well, it’s… It’s not the safest profession we’ve chosen. Especially if you make it big. The better you do, the more dangerous it becomes, which, well, it makes sense,” Kirishima said. His hands had moved from his face to hug his knees. “It’s something- Of course no one wants it to happen, but it’s something we accept for ourselves. Dying on the job. ‘Cause it does happen. And sometimes it happens to people you know.”

Katsuki swallowed. He was beginning to regret asking about this now. “Right.”

“That’s, uh, sort of the part I haven’t made peace with, yet,” Kirishima said. “That if someone has to die, it might not be me? So I guess, the idea of you dying is. It’s the worst thing I can think of.”

“Me?” Katsuki asked. Kirishima looked back at him then.

“Yeah,” Kirishima said. He bit his lip for a moment, and then continued. “I know that’s- I know it’s kinda stupid.”

“It’s not,” Katsuki said.

There were a few moments of silence between them.

“Even if we get to grow old,” Kirishima said. “One of us is gonna die before the other. From, from a heart attack, or something. There’s gonna be a time where only one of us exists. That’s scary.”

“Fuck,” Katsuki said, running a hand over his face. “That’s fuckin’ heavy. I came here to flirt with you and you go and drop an existential bomb like that?”

“Ah, sorry, Ba-” Kirishima paused. “You came to what? But you-”

“You’re not the only one who gets the brain-melties, Kirishima.”

“That-” Kirishima shook his head. “Dude, mood whiplash. What the hell.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You’re in the mood?”

“Hhhaah?” Kirishima spluttered. “You can’t just- You’re sitting on my bed!”

“And, weirdly, you’re not,” Katsuki said. He grinned at Kirishima’s reddened face. “Come up here and let me ask you out properly.”

“Oh my god,” Kirishima said, scrambling up. “I’m gonna kiss your annoying mouth off.”

“I don’t kiss until after a date,” Katsuki said, as Kirishima sat down beside him. “So hold that thought.”

Kirishima pulled him into a hug. “You’ve never been on a date, Bakugou.”

“Never kissed anyone, either,” he said.

Kirishima moved back to squint at him. “You’re serious, oh my god.”

“You know I’m not fuckin’ into people,” Katsuki shoved at him, but lightly. “Or into f-”

Kirishima covered Katsuki’s mouth with a hand. “But… you are apparently into me?”

Katsuki grabbed Kirishima’s hand from his mouth and held onto it.

“Yeah, so go on a date with me and we’ll see how the kissing thing works out,” Katsuki said.

“God, I thought you were just gonna make fun of me for liking you,” Kirishima said. What?

“I’d never fuckin’ make fun of you for that!” he shouted, outraged. That was just fuckin’ rude. He took his hand back. “I’m not that much of an asshole!”

“No, no, no, no! I know that! Not in like, a mean way,” Kirishima said, taking Katsuki’s hand again. “More in a ‘haha I’m flattered but my barn door doesn’t swing that way, it doesn’t swing any way, my barn door is locked and you already know that’ sort of making fun.”

Katsuki snorted. “Now that’s a fuckin’ metaphor. Guess you have the key, or whatever.”

“Aww, the key to your heart?” Kirishima sparkled at him.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ mushy,” Katsuki growled. Kirishima sparkled harder. “Yes, okay? Fuck you.”

“Which date does that come after?” Kirishima asked. Katsuki felt himself turning red now. Great.

“Shut up,” Katsuki mumbled. “Where d’you wanna go for the first one? Meal? Movie? Both? Neither?”

“Anything would be good, dude! Oh... Are we even allowed to go out?” Kirishima mused. His thinking face was so cute that Katsuki should maybe have thought a little harder about imposing kissing restrictions on himself like a goddamn moron. “I mean like, physically. I don’t think anyone can stop us from dating.”

“I would kill anyone who tried.”

“That’s so sweet,” Kirishima said, and squeezed Katsuki’s fingers. “Oh my god we’re dating. Or maybe I’m still having a fever-dream.”

Katsuki pinched him, hard enough to make him yelp. “Nope. You gotta deal with me in the real world forever, now.”

“Sure sounds like a dream,” Kirishima said. He smacked away Katsuki’s hand going in for a second pinch. “Hey, hey, I get it! I’m just trying to call you dreamy.”

Fuck. “Fuck.”

“Oh no, what am I supposed to say to the others when they ask about how you asked me out?” Kirishima asked, eyes widening with horror. “Because I told you I had ‘the brain-melties’ while in a feverish delirium? They’re gonna laugh at that forever.”

“I’m gonna laugh at that forever,” Katsuki said, smirking. “Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Simple, but a little crass,” Kirishima said. “And no match for their nosiness.”

“Change the story every time they ask,” Katsuki suggested.

Eijirou groaned. “And when they ask you?”

Katsuki just grinned.

#kiribaku #bakushima #my fanfiction #reply #anon #drabble #but not really

[atlaslain]

five times almost kissed 👀

x.     /      @backwaterheroics

i.       missions with cloud are zack’s favourite.  his presence is a thrill of anticipation down zack’s spine, a draw to move into his space and goad him to keep up — the way he always does. the guy’s soldier in every way zack is, except for the mako scorching like fresh lightning through his blood. the way cloud grins at him, crooked and challenging, provokes zack to show off. he’s yet to examine the feeling too closely, because the way it pulls at him is terribly reminiscent of a crush and he can’t go getting one of those one someone he shares assignments with. ( he’ll never make first class if angeal finds out how easily distracted he is by pretty blondes with attitudes. ) 

today’s mission’s protective detail — they’ve collected a case-load of something-or-other for professor hojo to research, and they’re travelling by train back to the shinra building to deliver it. the details, evidently, are classified. zack’s a little put-off by the volume of infantrymen, plus himself, required to guard one simple case. it all goes smoothly ‘til they hit sector four and the train rocks with the force of a controlled explosion. it screeches on the tracks but rumbles on, except now it’s carrying a contingent of wutai troops. zack, somehow in charge here, wants to imagine the shake of his hands is excitement instead of nervousness. he’s never been in charge — he’s only second class, for crying out loud! he doesn’t know what he’s doing! if he gets these people killed…but cloud’s there, nudging his arm in what zack’d like to imagine is solidarity, and he sucks in a deep breath and begins barking orders. they fight off the enemy, riddling the train with bullet-holes in the process. zack and cloud wind up atop the train, back-to-back, wind pummeling them and dwindling wutai troops shooting at them. cloud yells something, half-lost in the noise, about how he always winds up getting shot at when he hangs out with zack. zack laughs, exhilarated, and performs an entirely over-the-top maneuver involving firaga materia and a backflip. he glances at cloud out the corner of his eye, checks if he’s watching. instead, he catches sight of cloud diving toward him — managing, somehow, to knock zack flat to the surface of the train’s roof, avoid the spray of bullets pelting toward him, and shoot the offending enemy troop at the same time. all the breath’s knocked from zack’s lungs. they’ve won, the enemy’s gone, and he’s laying atop a speeding train with cloud still on top of him, breathing hard. fuck, he could kiss him right now. he’d be a distraction — but zack wants cloud to distract him now. can’t stop watching his mouth. he could …but he won’t. shouldn’t. he grabs his phone instead, angles it so they’re both in the shot, and snaps a photo of them laughing in the aftermath of the fight. he’ll blame his not-so-smart urges on the post-battle high.

ii.       the sleepover is unplanned.   cloud just invites himself in, the same way he marched into zack’s heart and stubbornly carved out a space for himself. he plonks himself down on zack’s bed and proceeds to divest himself of weaponry — he’s been on patrol all night, as evidenced by the faint shadows beneath his eyes and the tired roughness of his voice. he should be going to his own room to sleep, but here he is insisting zack needs company and they’re going to talk it all out tonight. zack’s evening plans hadn’t particularly consisted of cloud strife in his bed demanding he cry all his feelings about his dead mentor out, but he guesses he can roll with it. he does crave company: it’s lonely with only his guilt and grief to cling to. cloud showers and then wrinkles his nose at the clothing zack offers up for him: a novelty cactuar shirt and a pair of loose-fitting pants. zack’s heart does little flips at the sight of cloud in his clothing, hair a little damp and sticking to the sides of his face, eyes soft with tiredness and concern. he’s — too much. zack doesn’t deserve this. he shuffles awkwardly to make room on the bed, feels it dip as a warm weight settles at his side. their arms are pressed together. zack, aiming for his usual tactile nonchalance, drapes his legs across cloud’s and pretends it isn’t making his throat tighten up with nerves. “you don’t have to talk, you know,” cloud says suddenly, a departure from his earlier insistence, and zack turns to meet his eyes. “i just didn’t want you to feel alone.”and there he goes again, chiseling out more space for himself in zack’s heart. “then what d’you suggest we do all night?” zack asks, rolling on his side to fully face cloud, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to come out so low and suggestive but it does. it’s not like he hasn’t flirted with cloud before; he’s only human. but that’s casual flirtation, pick-up lines and cheek-kisses, easily mistaken for playfulness — that’s not this, them in a small bed with only thin layers between them and a thousand emotions all stirred up. maybe it’s the light, but he could almost fool himself into believing cloud looks tempted: he’s watching zack with his lips slightly parted, as if deciding how to respond. zack almost thinks they could do this. if he leaned in, if he caught cloud’s lips the way he always wants to, they could… but it’d be wrong. he’d hate himself if it happened this way, if he risked their friendship just because he felt lonely and confused and upset. if he put them on the line just for the sake of propping up his own self-esteem. he’s never wanted to badly to be weak. “sleep.” zack answers his own question roughly, shakily. “we should sleep.” he doesn’t know how to interpret the look that crosses cloud’s face. but he doesn’t leave. that’s what matters. hesitant, zack reaches out for him — arms taking a loose hold and drawing him carefully close. “is this okay?”if they could just … be close, tonight. that’s all he wants. he buries his face in cloud’s shoulder and thinks he finds more comfort in the fingers stroking through his hair than he would’ve if he’d given into the temptation of a kiss. 

iii.       “i hate you so much. you’re such an idiot,”   cloud’s grumbling, and zack grins wider with every word. i’m your idiot, he thinks but doesn’t say — can’t say, really, due to the rather disturbing cocktail of status effects currently bombarding his system. he’s silenced, for sure — cloud keeps insisting he deserves that one and it’s nice to have some peace and quiet. he’s likely confused too, given that he can’t seem to make his body do what his brain wants it to: keeps trying to walk, only to trip over his own feet. eventually, cloud gets tired of it and heaves zack’s arm over his shoulders, half-dragging him out of the malboro nest. zack hiccups and nestles his face into cloud’s neck, flinching against the newest round of poison damage. “just had to get a selfie with the giant malboro!” cloud’s ranting, as they wind their way unsteadily back toward the van. the rest of the troop’s yet to return, but emergency medical supplies should be stocked there. “this is just like that time with the frog! don’t give me that look — you know that was your own dumb fault.” zack mouths ‘sorry’ but imagines he looks rather more amused than apologetic.cloud hauls him into the back of the van and sets him on a bench. zack’s head lolls uselessly to one side. he considers napping, but then cloud’s coming back with his hands full of remedies and potions. he settles at zack’s side and it’s clear in his expression that the force of his anger’s easing back into mild concern. he just about stuffs the remedy down zack’s throat, then has him down the potion for good measure. almost immediately, the status effects begin to dissipate. “i c’n talk again!” he crows, a little slurred and loopy. he grins entirely too widely and slings his arms about cloud’s shoulders, trapping him in a hug. he peppers cloud’s cheek with kisses before he can think better of it. “you always take care of me. y’know i’d do the same for you, right? right?”cloud huffs something affirmative about how zack’s more trouble than he’s worth, but doesn’t wiggle out of the hug.  “i mean it,” zack insists, and plants one last kiss to the very corner of cloud’s mouth. it’s too close for comfort to what he really wants to do. some rational part of his mind says stop, think this through and he pauses, draws back an inch. this feeling is becoming awfully familiar: the sensation of the world slowing while he talks himself down from ruining their friendship. he’s horribly aware of his skin tingling wherever he touches cloud, heat tripping over it like he’s sitting too close to a fire. his heart slams against his ribs. he almost wants to be tired of the way cloud seems to tap into his body’s responses without doing a damn thing, but zack knows he’ll never be sick of this. he grumbles under his breath and draws away.“i mean it,” he repeats. “y’know i love you, right, man?”

iv.       he’s never been scared of dying.   he signed away his right to a peaceful life when they strapped him down for his first mako surgery all those years ago. death was an eventuality, inevitable after a life of pain and blood. he’s just happy he found something worth dying for.it’s nice to see cloud awake again. zack’s missed the colour of his eyes. he’s ghostly-pale and trembling, dirt-caked from dragging himself through the bloodied battlefield to get here, and zack smiles peacefully at the sight of him. he’s alive. he’s going to make it. it’s easier, then, to accept that it’s time to go. ( harder, though, to swallow down the phantom sensation of missing out. he’s not gonna get to be part of cloud’s life anymore, huh? )he doesn’t think he has long left. blood bubbles in his throat when he speaks and the pain of the bullets caught in his bones has splintered off to a numb, detached sensation. ah — that’s a shame. there’s a lot he wishes he had time to say. there’s just enough strength left in him to lift his arm and grasp cloud’s hair, dragging him nearer. zack holds him there and thinks about kissing him. just one kiss to send him off. but cloud looks devastated enough as it is, eyes stretched wide with his horror and the clear understanding there’s nothing he can do. it’d be so unromantic to kiss him now. sheesh. zack fair can’t be remembered as an unromantic kisser! he chokes back a laugh and, hand shaking, pulls cloud to his chest instead. it feels important, somehow, that his last heartbeats be heard. his blood sticks to cloud’s face and hair. you’ll be my living legacy. — yes. the proof he existed. cloud’ll live. goodnight, zack.he doesn’t hear deepground’s helicopters land, nor feel them drag him on board.

v.       he hasn’t wanted to kiss anyone in years.   he thinks deepground deadened that part of him, hollowed him out and left him cold. all he’s wanted is to survive the dark. the opportunity to want someone again doesn’t present itself until after he’s crawled out of there alive, after he’s shakily begun to tread the path toward healing. if deepground was the dark, cloud strife is the storm razing it away.the first time zack sees him again, it doesn’t quite click back into place. he doesn’t think, oh yeah! i’m in love! — because that’ll come later, much later. he just wants to kiss someone for the first time in years. but cloud is distant and unresponsive in his arms, and he shakes like he might fall apart if zack touches him again. so zack doesn’t kiss him. he lets him go.he supposes one day, the timing might just be right.

#backwaterheroics #● fanmail [ answered ]. #THIS. WAS A MONSTER TO WRITE #zack pines for cloud: a novel by kit