#like a week ago I was still scared of the apocalypse we’ve all been expecting because clearly humans are out of control

[draconica]

I'M GIVING U A PROMPT 16 + 27! Can never get enough of reading about these bbies :3

16: First huge fight 27: Forehead touching

This one is angsty... obv. 👀

Twelve months ago, Ellis had brought up the topic of adoption with his husband. Nick had seemed incredibly tentative, avoiding the subject as much as possible while Ellis continued to dream. The subject would continue to come up over dinners, during drives, while they lay in bed at night. It was only after more gentle coaxing from the younger man that Nick finally opened up to the idea.

Ten months ago, they took their first steps towards becoming parents. They'd looked into all the options – surrogates, adoption, foster homes. Ellis was the one taking the reigns the entire time while hooking them up with agencies and filling out too many forms to count. Nick took the backseat, in the meantime distracting himself with more and more visits to casinos.

Six months ago, the agency they'd settled with had told them their application was being considered, and while there were more legal things to iron out in the meantime, they would receive a call when the parental process was cleared and they could start actively looking to adopt.

A week ago, Ellis had found a bundle of letters from the adoption agency shoved behind the fridge. Most of them were asking for references, others were just letters to remind them they were still on file. Didn't truly matter what they were; the point was Nick had deliberately been hiding them.

Ellis had been confused at first, then angry. They hadn't gone through nearly a year of this shit just for Nick to sabotage things at the last second. So, that night, he waited for Nick to come home from his usual hideout at the pool hall, and waved the letters in his face, demanding an explanation.

“Nick. We talked about this,” he followed his husband into the den where the man in question poured himself a whiskey from the cabinet. The stronger stuff. “We filled out all the forms, went to all the interviews and meetings with the agency. I thought you wanted a kid!”

Nick growled and downed the liquid, his back to Ellis. “It's… complicated. Alright?” He turned and pointed at the younger man while holding his glass. “And you're so damn slow, I'd never expect you to understand.”

Ellis was getting more and more pissed off, especially as Nick began falling back into hold habits and took another jibe at his expense. “Then talk to me, man! Break the fuckin' habit of a lifetime, Nick, and talk to me.”

“Look, this whole thing was your idea! I went along with it to shut you up because it was all you fucking talked about, but now it's getting too much for me.” The gambler set down his glass, ran a hand through his hair and braced his hands on the cabinet. “I can't do it.”

Well, he was talking, at least. But Ellis needed to have this all out, right now. “There ya go again, man! This has to all be about you, right? Ain't nothin' or no one in the world matters so long as Nick is happy.” He stepped up to his partner not quite within touching distance. “If ya just stopped and looked around ya for five fuckin' seconds you might see other people's feelings getting hurt.”

Nick swivelled on his feet in an instant, making Ellis flinch in case a glass went flying at him. It didn't, thankfully, Nick wasn't like that. “Feelings? You wanna talk about God-damn feelings, Ellis? Let's talk about how you're gonna feel when our kid gets taken away because I screw it up so badly! Just like my parents did to me.”

“Nick, the hell are you talkin' about?” frowned the mechanic, brow furrowing.

There was a pregnant pause in their argument. Nick's feet were itching like he wanted to bolt. He dropped his shoulders and looked away. “Come on, Ellis, we both know I can't do this. I can't raise a fucking child, I can barely look after you.”

“Real mature.” Ellis rolled his eyes, then jabbed a finger into Nick's chest. “Don't you fuckin' dare make this all about you. What about me, huh? You ever ask yourself why I brought this whole thing up in the first damn place? Because I want this baby with you, Nick. I want to start a family with you, and I know that it's gonna be scary as hell but I know we can do it 'cos we have each other. I mean… do you think I'm ready to do this? 'Cos I ain't! I'm scared as all shit, man!”

Nick snorted and almost smiled, like what Ellis said had been a triumph for him. “See? Looks like I'm not the only coward between us.” With a sigh, he crossed his arms and looked out of their den window. “Then we'll withdraw the application, give it a few years more.”

“No.” The younger man squinted – partly in anger, mostly to try and stop the tears from leaking out. “Not a chance in hell! We've come this far, Nick, I've been sick to my stomach every day just waitin’ and wonderin' and I am not gonna go through this again.” Ellis folded his arms, too. He was not budging. “We're adoptin' this child, whether you're ready or not.”

A brief flash of fear appeared over Nick's eyes for just a moment before he was right back to frustration again. He hung his head. “Fine. Fine!” The older man shouldered past his husband as he went to leave. “But see if I have any part of it!”

Ellis, near enough seeing red at this point, span on his feet to try and catch him as he left. He grabbed Nick's sleeve. “...You-!”

At that moment, as their eyes met again, the phone rang on the coffee table. It shook the mechanic enough to calm down a little, blood coming down from the boil, and moved to answer it but not before shooting Nick a look that promised, this isn't over.

He picked up the receiver all too angrily. “Hello. Oh, hello, y-yeah, this is Ellis.”

The tone in Ellis's voice caused Nick to pause in the doorway, turning his head a little to try and read exactly what that emotion was – but he couldn’t place it.

“Oh.” Ellis's shoulders slumped. “O-okay... Wait, so what does that mean? … Alright, yeah, I understand. Th-thank you. Bye.”

Nick turned back to his lover and watched as Ellis disconnected the call. There was such defeat to his posture that for a moment, he didn't look like Ellis at all. Nick's heart began to pound. “...Overalls?”

The Southerner didn't turn around as he replied, voice quiet. “That was the agency. They've rejected our application.”

There was no way Nick could possibly pinpoint exactly what emotions crashed though him at that moment, however there was one thing he knew he needed to do for certain – hug his husband. “Oh. Damn, shit… Ellis, I'm…” Nick took the few short steps up to Ellis's back, lifting a hand and placing it gently on his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

Ellis didn't let Nick see his face as he immediately turned and pulled Nick into the hug that he needed just as much. He rubbed his face on the man's shoulder slightly and began to shake with tears. “I-I can't believe it.”

“I know, sweetheart. I… I can't either.” The gambler stared dead ahead as his thoughts raced a mile a minute. He cupped the back of his love's head and gently scratched the scalp to calm him down. He'd got his wish, it seemed. Shouldn't he be relieved? Shouldn't he not be on the verge of tears himself right now? They stood there in that heady silence for a little while longer, all of which time was spent with Nick trying to find his next words. “Hey… we'll be okay, right? We can try again.”

“We don't have to.” Ellis murmured before finally lifting his head – he had a smile on his face. “I lied. They've accepted.”

Ellis wish he could've taken a picture of Nick's face at that moment. The gambler was absolutely stunned as he looked at him “...What did you say?”

Strong hands came up to frame Nick's face, Ellis blinking some more tears out of his eyes. “They accepted our application, man. We're gonna be parents.” The mechanic thought for a hot second that Nick was about to explode, his expression completely unreadable. “Are ya mad?”

Looking back at his husband while his face was being caressed in the way Ellis was so good at, Nick shook his head. “No, I'm not. I'm...”

“Happy?” Ellis grinned.

“Well, one thing at a time.”

Both men gave a small chuckle and leant in closer until their foreheads were resting together. Nick closed his eyes in the silence that surrounded them, especially after such a heated argument, and Ellis did the same as his thumbs delicately brushed over Nick's skin.

When Ellis spoke, his voice was soft as snow. “I know you'd rather take on a million Tanks than become a father, Nick. But we survived a zombie apocalypse together. Raising a lil' baby? That's gonna be a piece o' cake.”

Nick couldn't yet accept that Ellis was right but did smile in response as he opened his eyes. “Just promise you won't let me screw this up.”

“Whatever happens, I'll love ya 'till we're old and gray.” Ellis glanced up to Nick's temple and smiled. “Well… grayer.”

Chuckling, Nick kissed his little husband at the very least to shut him up. At most, because he wanted to. “I love you.”

“Right back at'cha,” Ellis whispered.

#nellis #draconicauthor #prettybottomboys #nick/ellis #been a hot while since i've written angst so i hope this is ok!

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Master List

Hope this is what you were looking for! Thank you for requesting it!

~~

If you were being completely honest, your days were always long, and this was always caused by one group of 7 boys. Technically six, seeing as one of them was your boyfriend and didn’t count, but you definitely didn’t sign up for the others when you started dating their leader. You knew how many people would kill to be in your shoes, but that didn’t stop you from ending up exhausted most days. Sometimes, like today, you would wake up at 5:30 to join a few of the boys at the gym, and follow that by working an extra-long shift as a video editor, you’d get home almost 17 hours after you had woken up. All you wanted was a relaxing bath, a quiet dinner with your boyfriend, and an early night in.

Well, want in one hand, right?

Instead, as you opened the door to your apartment just past 9 pm, you were greeted with a full living room. 

“Hello, people who don’t live here.” You greet tiredly, a smile coming onto your face as they all cheer your name. JB stands to take your purse, greeting you with a kiss. “Hey, babe.” 

“You okay? You’ve had a long day.” He notes quietly, not wanting the boys to hear. “We can kick the boys out and head to bed early if you want.” You shake your head at his suggestion. 

“No it’s okay, I should have remembered it was movie night. Just let me get changed and I’ll be right out.” You give him another kiss, moving towards your bedroom. 

“Where are you going?” Jackson whines. “We just ordered pizza.”

“To get changed.” You call back, “This skirt is the furthest thing from comfy.” 

“It is sexy though!” Youngjae teases. The other boys laugh at his comment, and you definitely flip him off as you come back into the living room. You plop down between Yugyeom and JB, whining as the soreness of your legs hits you. 

“You alright?” Mark asks, dropping in front of you after putting the movie in the player. 

“Ask Jackson.” You grumble, “My thighs hurt like a bitch from this morning.” Jackson grins at you, while the others just laugh. 

“You seemed fine at lunch,” Mark notes, as you start running your fingers through his hair. 

“My muscles were still working then.” You explain. 

“Why?” Bam questions, looking away from his phone finally. 

“Heels.” You shrug. 

“No way, heels can’t be that much of a workout.” Jackson scoffs. 

“Oh?” You challenge, “You wanna try walking in my stilettos and find out?” Jackson shrinks a little, giving you a playful glare, to which you stick your tongue out at him. 

Once the pizza arrives the movie begins, and you’re almost falling asleep before the halfway mark. 

“Eomma.” Yugy whispers, shifting towards you, you lift your head from JB’s shoulder, dropping it on the younger boy’s.

“Aegi.” You respond as he lifts his phone to show you a dating profile. 

“I matched with these girls, and they both want to meet on Saturday.” He whispers, trying not to disturb the others. “Help me pick.”

“You could always go out with one this Saturday, and if it doesn’t work out, go out with the other one next week.” You offer, taking the phone from him to look through the profiles. “The blonde one is really pretty, but her ideal date is going for a walk. It's supposed to rain this weekend.” You explain, switching over to the other profile. “Oh, she likes coffee, you could take her to that little cafe down the street from yours and Bammie’s, the one with the bunnies.” Yugy nods excitedly, taking his phone back and immediately texting them. 

“You’re the best, Eomma.” He whispers, kissing your cheek before you shift back to leaning on your boyfriend. 

“Tired?” JB whispers, to which you nod. “I’ll have them head home after the movie.” 

When the movie is finally over, you have to practically peel yourself off JB in order to begin collecting plates and glasses, the other boys are too engrossed in their own things, even JB who was taking the empty bottles and pizza boxes out to the recycle bin. Jinyoung ends up being the one to help you, grabbing the dishes you couldn’t and following you into the kitchen. 

“Oh hey, are you on the Stray Kids project?” He starts, stacking dishes carefully on the counter as you begin washing them. You, Jinyoung, and Bambam all worked for the same company, a production company, but in separate departments. 

“Yeah, I’m a lead editor this time, why?” You hand him a cleaned plate, having him dry them so you didn’t have to do it in the morning. 

“I got promoted to their manager, I’m still trying to understand how their schedules look.” 

“Congrats.” You cheer, handing him another dish. “They’re really talented and smart kids, so I’m sure they’ll be pretty easy to handle. I mean you did really good with Day6.” 

“Day6 was different, they were a band, their performances could be closer together, and there are no dance practices.” “Well, if it helps, I’ll have their MV finished by the end of the week. The team meeting for it is on Thursday.”

“So that means teasers are going up soon,” He figures, to which you nod. 

“Yeah, if you want I can ask the team leader if you can join us for the meeting, we’ll be watching the video and mapping out what’s left to finish.”

“Yeah, that should be good. We should be thankful we’ve got some crazy talented kids, otherwise, this whole concept wouldn’t work.” He chuckles. 

“Right, I loved their other concepts, but I gotta say God’s Kitchen is definitely unique.” He sets the last plate in the cabinet as you dry your hands. 

“Will you text me the details for Thursday?” He asks as the two of you move to the living room where the rest of the boys are getting ready to head out. 

“No problem. I’ll talk to the team leader tomorrow and let you know by lunch.” 

“Thanks, you’re the best.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss you cheek. One by one as the boys leave the apartment, they press kisses to your cheeks, their long-standing goodbye ritual. You wave them off with a smile, shutting and locking the door, and when you turn around, you find JB standing just behind you. You jump slightly, not expecting him to be that close. 

“Oh Jesus, you scared me.” You laugh, lightly smacking his shoulder. He catches your hand easily and uses it to pull you close, his free hand cupping your cheek as he pulls your lips to his. It doesn’t take long before you’re melting into him, and when he lets go of your hand to pull you closer by the waist, your fingers tangle into his dark locks. The kiss has you stumbling back until you bump into the door, lips still tangled together. It's only when you’re forced to pull away for air that you stop. “Now I’m not complaining, but what was that for?” He simply tucks his head into your neck, pressing feather-light kisses there. 

“I just really love you.” He whispers, lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You hum, not really believing him. 

“I love you too, but what’s up?” You push him back slightly, looking at his face properly. He tries to hold back, but it only takes a simple pout from you before he breaks, hanging his head in defeat. 

“It’s just, you seem really close to the boys.” He sighs. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's nothing, I’m just being jealous.” 

“You’re allowed to be jealous, but if something is bothering you tell me, please.” He pulls away more, moving to grab both of your hands. 

“Promise me you aren’t doing anything with any of the boys, that you never will.” The confusion must have been written on your face because before you could answer, he continued. “You just seem to be super close to them, closer than the two of us are sometimes. I mean, what was up with you and Jackson this morning?”

“I went to the gym with him, that’s all. I lost a bet with him a few weeks ago and I had to do one of his workouts with him.” You explain, leading him over to the couch to sit. 

“That’s it, you promise?”

“I promise.”

“What about Mark and Yugyeom? You went to lunch with Mark, and Yugy kissed your cheek, and you’re planning something with Jinyoung for Thursday right?” Worry is evident on his face, and in the way he grips your hand. 

“Mark was at the company today, looking for one of the members of Day6, he ran into me in the lunchroom and stayed to chat until my break was over. Yugy needed help planning a date, but if you don’t like him kissing my cheek, I’ll ask him to stop.” JB shakes his head, staring down at the couch. “As for Jinyoung, he and I are both working with the same group. He just needs some info about a team meeting at work on Thursday.” You explain. 

“Okay. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” You grab his chin gently, pulling it up to look at you. “Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to get jealous, I’m just happy you didn’t let this mess with our relationship.” You lean forward, kissing him quickly. “If you ever feel like this again, just ask. All I need to know is that you’ll let me do the same.” 

“Of course.” He nods, and you smile again. 

“Good, cause I am madly in love with you and don’t plan on letting go of you anytime soon.” A smile erupts onto his face at your words. “You are the only one I want, and unless there’s a world-ending apocalypse, it's going to stay that way.” 

“That’s good, cause I’m madly in love with you too.” 

When his lips press to yours again, the smiles on both of your faces are what cuts it short, though that doesn’t last long.

#Im Jaebeom #im jaebeom imagines #im jaebeom imagine #jb imagines #jb imagine #got7 imagines #got7 #got7 jb

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Marked (Part 25 - Epilogue)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2740

Warnings: Bit o’ smut, but nothing too explicit and nothing you haven’t seen before in this story. 

A/N: This is tied closely to Part 16, aka the djinn chapter, and I recommend re-reading that one first if it’s been a while. It also references Part 20 a few times.

As many of you know, by now, this fic is very personal and very honest. I’m not going to get into it too much, but this story is my way of telling anyone who needs to hear it that things will get better, and the bad days will pass, and the scars don’t define you. I hope you wake up tomorrow and decide to try again. 

Thanks for reading. 

This is not a happy ending. 

We’re not always happy people, Dean and me. We have good days, but we have bad days too: days when it’s all I can do to get out of bed, days when I feel like I’m being crushed by the weight of everything we’ve been through. We are battered and bruised and worn around the edges. We’re kind of a mess. I’m okay with that.

Love is messy. Love is showing someone your weak spots, your knitted-up ripped-apart insides, the dark broken pieces, and saying, here I am, I’m yours to hurt.

And yes, sometimes we hurt each other. Sometimes we rip each other apart all over again. Sometimes I feel like I’m nothing but scar tissue, held together by duct tape and sheer stubbornness.

At the end of every day, though, we dust each other off and bandage each other up, and in the morning, we try again.  

- - - - -

The humid spring air drags at my skin, tugging at my fingers when I stick my hand out the open window and let it ride the pressure of the wind.

It’s an overcast day, threatening rain, and Dean looks as stormy as the sky as he drives in silence. I just shrugged when he asked me about work, and we’ve both been quiet since. When he catches me watching, though, he gives me a rueful little attempt at a smile. It looks more like a grimace, but he’s trying. I know he’s trying.

I’ve been working at a new place nearby, a roadhouse one of the boys’ hunting contacts opened recently. It’s perpetually full of plaid and testosterone and people asking if I’m “Dean’s girl,” trying to get a message to the Winchesters. I guess word spreads fast with hunters. On the bright side, though, I can be honest if I need to call out because of a potential apocalypse, or something.

Dean usually comes inside, has a beer while I’m finishing my shift, but today he was waiting outside with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped.

“Can we go somewhere?” he said. It wasn’t an apology, but I know better than to expect an apology right away. He’ll get there.

We don’t fight often, not really. Usually when I get scared and pull away, he knows how to follow, how to reassure me, how to make me feel safe. Usually I’m tough enough to withstand his sharp edges and push through the walls he likes to hide behind.

Today has been a bad day. It’s bad for both of us, in our own ways, but this morning started with his nervous little sideways look as he folded up his pocketknife, and it ended with the vicious things he says when he’s angry at himself but wants to make me hurt for it. Usually I’d roll my eyes and tell him to go punch something, but today marks exactly two years since the demon showed up on my doorstep. Today I already felt raw and vulnerable and stripped-bare; when he lashed out, he cut right into the softest parts of me, and I slashed right back, snarling at him through my tears, and we were still screaming at each other when I stormed out to go to work. The anger’s gone now, but it’s left a cold, heavy ache in its place.

He takes us to Lawrence, of course. We park in front of the old rusty gate and hop the fence. He reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a little squeeze without actually looking at me, and we set off down the old path together.

We sit on one of the big flat rocks, watching the water: green-grey, steady, endless. It’s familiar, now, the shape of the eddies and the gurgle as it rolls smoothly around the rocks.

Just a couple weeks ago, we had a picnic here for Sam’s birthday. The surprise had been Dean’s idea. He’d told Eileen and Cas beforehand, and we’d packed a checkered blanket, a cake, the whole nine yards. We didn’t tell Sam where we were going, not until we’d pulled up at the fence and he’d stared at us blankly.

“So, you remember when Dad used to take me fishing?” Dean had said, running a hand through his hair nervously. Sam had gotten teared up when he realized, and Dean looked so startled, like he usually does when his efforts to open up are met with something other than disgust.

The memory makes me soften, slightly. I move in closer and Dean shifts to meet me, and I tuck myself snugly into the curve of his arm, resting my head on his shoulder. He lets out a long shaky exhale and then clears his throat.

“I love you,” he says gruffly.

“I know,” I whisper.

He kisses the top of my head and I rest my hand on his knee, thumb stroking over the rough denim. The rock is too hard to make a comfortable seat, and my neck is at an awkward angle, and the sky is slowly growing darker, and I don’t mind.

We sit for a while without talking. It’s enough just to be here together; I know what he’s trying to say.

Around dusk, we get up. My legs are cramped and stiff, and Dean helps me get to my feet. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, and I bury my face in the softness of his worn flannel.

“I love you too,” I say, muffled against his chest. He strokes my hair and takes one more deep breath, and then he grabs my hand, and we start along the path back to the car. It starts to rain as we jump the fence, warm heavy drops that thud into the dirt, and for a moment I stand still and turn my face up to the sky, letting the water run down my cheeks.

I still feel cold and achy, inside, but mostly I just feel leaden with exhaustion. I’m ready for the day to be over. I’m ready to be home.

I curl up in the passenger seat and turn on the tape deck. Dean sings along just a little bit off-key, and when the rain drumming on the roof starts to drown out the music, I turn up the volume. Dean pulls back onto the highway and we head west.

“You gotta drop me at my car,” I point out, as he cruises past the exit to the roadhouse.

“You can just take Baby tomorrow,” he says, deliberately casual. It’s a big gesture, and we both know it; it’s like the Dean equivalent of a dozen roses, or jewelry, or whatever the stereotypical romantic gift is. I can’t help the way my mouth twitches up in a smile.

My clothes are still slightly damp from the rain when we get back to the bunker, and I strip down to my underwear as soon as we get back to our room, burrowing in under the big comforter. Dean follows, slower, pausing to turn on the small bedside lamp and turn off the overhead lights before he takes off his jeans and his flannel and crawls into bed. He looks at me hesitantly, like he’s not sure I’ll want to touch him, but I slide on top of him and kiss him, and I feel his sigh of relief against my mouth.

We kiss, deep and heated, until my lips feel bruised, and then I sit up and look down at him, running my hands down his chest to the hem of his shirt so I can tug it up. He lifts it up over his head obediently and tosses it away.

I grab his wrists as he settles back down. I press them into the pillow on either side of his head, leaning in to pin him, watching the way his lips part and his eyes go huge and dark.

“Do you want…” I ask hoarsely, thinking of the cuffs I got him for his birthday, but he just shakes his head slightly, looking up at me, open and trusting.

“Just like this?” he asks quietly. I kiss the frown line between his eyes and hold his wrists tighter.

We take our time. There’s no rush.

I kiss his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, nibble his earlobe, and then I drag my mouth down the side of his neck, sinking my teeth into the soft skin, biting until he’s bruised and gasping. I grind down until he’s rock-hard, until I’m soaking the thin fabric of my panties where I’m pressing against the length of him. He stares when I sit up and take off my bra. When he reaches up, reaches out for me, I grab his wrists again and shove them down, and the way he whimpers sets my skin on fire.

I roll away clumsily, just long enough for both of us to get rid of the last of our clothes, and when he reaches out again, hands flying to my waist like he can’t help himself, I let him pull me up to straddle his face. He holds me down and fucks me shallowly with his tongue until I reach down and pull his hair, tugging sharply. He moans low in his chest and I rock down against his mouth, tilting my hips, until the filthy slick suction of his lips around my clit has my legs trembling and my head spinning. His nails rake down the small of my back and that’s it, I’m gone, arching my back and shaking, coming so hard I black out for a second.

My muscles are limp, totally useless, and I’m unsteady as I swing my leg over and tumble onto my back. I pull him on top of me and he fucks into me hard and desperate, muscles surging under my palms as I run my hands down his shoulders. I dig my fingernails into the swell of his ass, urging him closer, and tell him how perfect he feels, how good he is, how much I love him, and when he slams into me one last time, he lets out a long broken groan and then melts down against me, a hot perfect weight all over me as our heartbeats slow and our sweat cools.

I almost drift off, just like that, with his breath tickling my neck, feeling the flutter of him starting to go soft inside me. I grumble when he starts to pull away and he makes a soothing noise, turning to shut off the lamp. I roll onto my side and squirm back against him in the pitch-black, and he spoons up behind me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“S’okay. Me too,” I sigh, already half-asleep again.

“Is this… are we okay?”

He sounds so small and scared in the dark.

“We will be,” I say.

We sleep.

I love waking up with Dean, the way he holds me in his sleep, pressed firmly to my back with his arm curled protectively around me, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. I take it in for a few minutes, still and silent, until he starts to stir, his thumb stroking over my collarbone and his nose nuzzling my ear.

The alarm hasn’t gone off yet; I have a few minutes before I have to get up.

I roll over lazily, molding myself to his chest, and kiss him properly. He’s frowning against my lips. When I look at him, he’s looking back through half-closed eyes, sleepy and sweet and soft, the Dean that only I get to see. I love him, love him in a way that makes my heart swell and puts stars in my eyes and brings every other stupid cliche to life. I love him so much I can barely breathe sometimes. The bad days don’t change that.

“We’re okay,” I say firmly, before he can ask again, and the tight worried line of his mouth eases slightly.

“I’m trying,” he whispers. “I don’t know why I can’t just - I get caught up, and… fuck. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” I answer, and I run my fingertips over his cheek, rubbing my thumb over the curve of his lower lip.

The alarm goes off, beeping insistently, and we both grumble in unison as Dean swats at the clock.

“Do you have to?” he pouts. I kiss the tip of his nose.

“Gotta get to the library and finish this essay before class.”

“We have a library.”

“And if I needed to write an essay about ghouls, I’d be all set, but I need actual books, not grimoires.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll go get coffee started.”

I watch him get out of bed and fumble with his pants. I admire the muscles in his shoulders as he pulls on a shirt, half-tempted to drag him back into bed and map the freckles with my tongue.

He looks back at me as he leaves, and his smile gives me butterflies, even after all this time.

Dean’s got my favorite mug waiting by the time I shower quickly and shuffle into the kitchen, and there’s a fresh pot of coffee, still steaming hot. Cas is sitting at the table and staring into his own mug like it holds the secrets of the universe. Dean is muttering darkly as he slams cabinet doors, looking for another box of his favorite cereal.

Laughter from down the hall announces Sam and Eileen’s return. They come in sweaty and beaming, fresh off their morning run.

“Egg white omelettes, anybody?” Sam asks cheerfully, rummaging in the fridge, and I just roll my eyes.

Dean sits down, nursing his coffee and looking sourly at the empty cereal box on the table. I sit next to him.

“Frigging morning people,” he mumbles.

“Seriously,” I agree, and kiss his cheek.

“Sure you don’t want an omelette?” Sam asks, pointing at me with a bundle of spinach.

“Gotta go. Abnormal psych essay to finish.”

“What’s it about?” Sam asks, as Eileen ducks under his arm to get to the coffee.

“Assholes,” she says, and holds up the empty pot accusingly. Cas sidles away with an apologetic grimace.

I suppress a laugh and answer, “Sublimation. I think I’ll probably do okay.”

I smirk at Dean, who huffs and rolls his eyes. Sam and I exchange a knowing look.

Dean grabs my hand. He squeezes gently, interlacing our fingers, and I pick up my coffee left-handed, reluctant to let go.

The classes were Sam’s idea to begin with; he always asks how it’s going, and he fusses about my grades like a proud parent, even though it’s just a part-time thing, for now, to see if anything really grabs my interest. I’m on my third psychology class, now. I’m starting to think about enrolling full-time, but… we’ll see.

I drain my mug and give Dean’s hand one last squeeze before I let go and stand up.

“You gonna be home for dinner?” he asks, watching me as I fish around in a cabinet and pull out a granola bar for the road.

“Yup,” I answer absent-mindedly, checking my pockets for my wallet as I head to the door.

Dean calls my name, and I turn impatiently. He catches up and cups my face in his hands as he kisses me.

“You forgot something,” he whispers, and gives me one last quick peck before he releases me.

“Love you,” I say. “You big fuckin’ sap.”

He grins. “You know it. Love you more.”

I can’t help but ogle him slightly when he turns his back: broad shoulders, bowed legs, mine.

I wave to the rest of my strange little family before I leave. There’s a chorus of goodbyes, and I smile to myself as I walk away.

Today is a good day. Not all of them are, but today is a good day.

I think we’re going to be okay.

-----

This is not a happy ending.

This is not an ending at all; it’s just another day, just another step. And I have no idea where we’re headed, Dean and me, but it’s not about the destination.

We woke up this morning and chose to try again. We chose to keep moving forward, one tiny step after another. We chose to move forward together.

It’s not about getting somewhere. It’s the step that matters.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog, leave a message here, or buy me a coffee over here. 

.

Tag team: @winchesterprincessbride @ultimatecin73 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mogaruke @babypieandwhiskey @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @fandom-princess-forevermore @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @maddiepants @fangirlxwritesx67 @leatherandfrackles @waywardbaby @covered-byroses @thoughtslikeaminefield @dean-Winchesters-bacon @atc74 @onethirstyunicorn @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @wayward-and-worn @the-chocolate-moose @geekgirl1213 @notyourtypicalrose @myfanficlibrarium @calaofnoldor @indecisive20something @carryonmyswansong  @akshi8278 @woodworthti666 @sandlee44 @flamencodiva @weepingwillowphoenix @shamelesslydean  @rockhoochie @fookinghelljensensthighs @ladywinchester1967 @magssteenkamp @vickyfarley @olivia-whorelow @vicmc624 @daddys-little-princess67 @stoneyggirl 

#marked #dean winchester fic #spn fic #spn fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader smut #dean x you #Dean Winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester angst #supernatural fanfiction

[earsofducks]

Day 8 - Soulmates

Well, this is it. 

Wow.

Thank you to @ineffablehusbandsweek for a fantastic week of prompts, and for setting this all up and reblogging and stuff. Amazing.

Thanks also to everybody that read my stuff. It brought me a lot of joy to know that some people actually ENJOYED some of the things I wrote. Y’all are fantastic.

Also thanks to Gaiman and Pratchett and Tennant and Sheen for a fracking amazing OTP. Gawsh. They’re so good.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Thanks for everything.

Crowley took a long time to realize Aziraphale was his soulmate. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d met him. Crowley hadn’t heard any of the lore at that point, probably because he hadn’t spent any more time than was necessary in Hell. All he knew was that the angel had beautiful eyes and lovely wings and a heart that prioritized a pregnant couple’s wellbeing over his own. 

And that was more than enough.

It wasn’t even when he first heard the chatter about soulmates.

He’d gotten himself discorporated. Hung around Sodom just a little too long. (He’d been so sure he could convince - well, it doesn’t matter now.) And while he was waiting for his new body, he’d had nothing better to do than hang around and listen to the other lowlifes discussing the latest news, which was that apparently every demon had an angelic counterpart that was their soulmate. (When Crowley asked why the Almighty would give demons angelic soulmates when they could never really be together, the consensus was that it was all a big joke. That was when Crowley first started feeling bitter at Her for creating soulmates.) Also, continued his hellish colleagues, when demons were in close physical proximity to their soulmate their black-and-white vision would burst into colour, but the angel would remain unaffected.

And Crowley, being an idiot, thought huh, weird, instead of when I was around Aziraphale I noticed his eyes were blue.

No, Crowley didn’t put two and two together for a very long time. This was mostly because somewhere between being told about soulmates and being given his new body he’d managed to convince himself that it was all a big misunderstanding. Soulmates weren’t real. How silly! No, they were probably invented by some poor sod who was missing being an angel and thought to comfort himself with a daydream. (Crowley had not yet realized that ‘imagination’ was not very popular in Hell.) And then, shortly after Golgotha, he and Aziraphale were drinking in a tavern somewhere and he absentmindedly remarked on the bright red of a piece of pottery and then it struck him like a bolt of lightning. 

Oh no, he thought.

He spent a while trying to avoid Aziraphale and the many difficult feelings that arose when he was around Aziraphale, because it was all so much to handle. But the longer he spent away from his angel the more miserable he felt and the more bleary and unbearable his black-and-white existence became and when Aziraphale turned up in a bar in Rome he found himself unable to say no to oysters.

After that, Crowley accepted his fate. He was in love with Aziraphale. Aziraphale was his soulmate. He would never be able to tell Aziraphale about either of these things, because Aziraphale was an angel and he was a demon and angels and demons weren’t allowed to… well. Do the things Crowley would like to do.

*

And life goes on like this, with Crowley loving Aziraphale as quietly as he can and having his heart broken every few years and screaming drunkenly at God about how the soulmate joke isn’t funny, until the Apocalypse. Which doesn’t actually happen.

After he and Aziraphale go to the Ritz, they retire to the bookshop for a good old-fashioned nightcap. They drink and drink and drink until they’re both thoroughly smashed, and that is when it happens.

“Why’s your corporation so faulty?” Aziraphale asks, apropos of nothing.

“Wha?” Crowley asks, understandably confused.

“The - the - the - ” Aziraphale waves his wine glass around and makes a variety of expressions while he wracks his brain for the right words - “The colours.” 

“What about the colours?” asks Crowley, whose stomach has gone very cold. He feels very sober very suddenly. 

“They’re….” Aziraphale squints as he thinks very hard. “They don’t happen.”

“Oh,” says Crowley, relieved. “Nah, can’t see colours. Lost that when I - you know.”

“I’m terribly sorry, dear boy,” says Aziraphale, looking less drunk. Crowley looks at the wine bottles, which are less empty than they were a moment ago. Looks like they both accidentally sobered up a little.

“Doesn’t matter,” says Crowley, trying to shrug and discreetly sober the rest of the way up at the same time. 

“But not all the time,” says Aziraphale, pointing a finger at Crowley. 

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

“Uh,” says Crowley.

“When your corporation was near my corporation,” continues Aziraphale, oblivious to the panic which is rapidly taking over Crowley’s brain, “colours happened.”

“Ah,” says Crowley. “Mm,” says Crowley. “Ngk,” says Crowley.

“Why?” asks Aziraphale again.

Crowley hems and haws and hedges until Aziraphale starts to get annoyed and says, “really, my dear, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. It’s not as if you could say anything that would make me like you any less. I wish you’d just tell me.”

Undone by the ‘my dear’ and the ‘nothing would make me like you any less,’ Crowley does. 

Aziraphale sits very still. Crowley sits still, too, tense and nervous and full of regrets. What a pathetic excuse of a demon he is. In love with an angel. Unable to let go of said angel, even when he knew it wouldn’t work out, wouldn’t lead to anything but pain for him and awkwardness of Aziraphale. Refusing to let go of - 

“Soulmates?” says Aziraphale, very softly, and there’s something in his voice that makes Crowley’s foolish heart leap. 

“Er, yeah. ‘S - dunno what She was thinking. That it was good for a laugh, probably. Watching me - uh, I mean us - I mean, demons, you know - when we couldn’t have what we - uh - dunno. Weird. Silly. ‘S silly, isn’t it? Sorry.”

“No,” breathes Aziraphale, and Crowley’s heart climbs higher. Stupid organ oughta know that the higher you are the more the fall hurts. “No, my dear, my very dear, my most beloved - oh, no. Not silly.”

Crowley’s brain cannot be expected to handle both very dear and most beloved at the same time. 

“Yungrhwha?”

“Crowley,” says Aziraphale, and he’s beaming, he’s shining, he’s radiating… something, something that Crowley is scared to think about, scared to hope for - “Crowley, you’ve waited so long for me.”

Crowley doesn’t say anything. He’s blushing and painfully aware of how pitiful he is and unable to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“Crowley, my darling,” says Aziraphale, and Crowley can’t breathe, “I love you.”

Crowley lets out a sob at that, a harsh, punched-out sound. He didn’t mean to. It just happened.

“Beloved,” says Aziraphale tenderly, and reaches out and pulls Crowley into a soft, tight, warm embrace. Crowley cries harder and grasps at the fabric of Aziraphale’s jacket. “I love you,” Aziraphale says again, and Crowley doesn’t know how to do this. “I love you more than I will ever be able to say. I’ve loved you for millenia. I never knew - ” Aziraphale’s voice trembles. “Soulmates,” he says at length, full of awe. “We’re soulmates, Crowley. We were - darling, we were made for each other. She made us for each other. I’m yours, lover of mine. I always have been. I always will be.”

“‘Ziraphale,” gasps Crowley, overcome. He’s reasonably sure that demons were not meant to hold this much happiness. “Angel - angel - ”

“Shh,” croons Aziraphale, clutching him impossibly tighter and rocking back and forth. “I know, my heart. I know. You gorgeous, brilliant, impossibly sweet thing. You’ve been telling me as long as we’ve known each other. I know.”

It takes Crowley a long time to calm down, to start breathing normally again, to stop hanging onto Aziraphale like the angel will float away if he so much as loosens his grip. Aziraphale murmurs comforting, devastatingly lovely things the whole time. 

“Love you,” says Crowley, as soon as he’s found his voice again. It’s croaky and hoarse. He doesn’t care. “Love you. Love you, love you, love you.”

“Crowley,” says Aziraphale, sounding like he might cry, “I love you, too.” 

And they sit there, holding each other, for most of the night. Crowley’s breathing evens out completely. He gets a crick in his neck but doesn’t budge an inch, unwilling to risk anything when he’s just gotten everything he’s ever wanted. “Soulmates,” Aziraphale says wonderingly, every so often.

Crowley falls asleep thinking that he’s not mad at the Almighty for making soulmates. Not anymore.

#ineffable husbands au week #last day #sadness #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale/crowley #soulmates #soulmate au #this is a MESS #but I TRIED #and I'm TIRED #so please forgive me #also I'm fairly sure it's cute #but also it's late so idk #Crowley cries a lot #I love him #Aziraphale uses ALL the pet names #Aziraphale loves Crowley #Crowley loves Aziraphale #I went way overboard with the italics #holy cow

[lilzebub]

The Here and Now (Through the Years CH2)

Summary:  Five has returned, and no one expected the condition that he would be in. Can (Y/n) and Five navigate the major set backs, thwart the Apocalypse, and resume their happily ever after?

Five Hargreeves x F!reader Word count: 11k total

Warnings: TUA typical violence, angst, awkward interactions, brief mention of spicy time, brief description of depression Also posted on AO3!

She stared blankly at the young man that stood distressed on her porch. “Five…I….Hurry up, get inside.”  Her hand darted out to grab the sleeve of his tailored blazer, and she quickly dragged him through the threshold.  He awkwardly stood in the foyer of their house, with his hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts. “(Y/n) this is a nightmare.  I’m an old man trapped in this body.  Ever had growing pains and indigestion at the same time?”  He glowered up at her.  A quiet snicker escaped from her lips.  “You think this is funny? Huh?”

The snicker sparked a roar of laughter that erupted deep from her belly, and Five could do nothing but stare blankly at her.  He considered the last time he saw her looking genuinely this amused by something was the day of their wedding after they had tossed his Commission tracking device.

“I mean, no. It’s not funny. It’s just…ridiculous.  I waited all this time. Counted all these days. And you show up here….like….” she gestures vaguely. “It’s absolutely absurd, and honestly, kind of unfair.  Here is was, expecting my 100% normal, thirty year old husband to poof into my house today.  And I get the awkward teenager slash old man version of you.  This is too much.”  She dramatically wiped tears from her eyes.

“Okay, are you done now?” Five stated frankly, with no hint of irritation. He opened his arms to her and she met his embrace, throwing her arms over his shoulders.

“It’s really hard to hug you like this.  You lost a few inches in the fray, buddy.”  She pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. He pulled away from her to protest, but she just pulled him back in tightly.

“Come on my grumpy little man.  Let’s get you over to the Academy and see if your family can possibly help with this.  They’re used to things outside of the ordinary.

The couple walked down the street, awkwardly meeting the glances of everyone around them. The uniform jacket was telling, and it was apparent that everyone was shocked to see the prodigal son of the Umbrella Academy, alive and in the flesh, looking exactly how he did nearly fifteen years ago.  A man pushing a two seat baby stroller gave them a wide berth on the sidewalk, and gave (Y/n) a double take.

“(Y/n) (Y/L/M/N)?”  He proclaimed, causing Y/n to screech to a halt.  She turned to face the man, quickly glancing down at the stoller.

“Um, yes? It’s actually (Y/n) Hargreeves now, but yes, that’s me.”  Realization dawned on her, and hit her in the face like a runaway freight train.  “Uh, how are you, (ex F/n)?”

“I’m great! So great, it’s really fantastic to see you! I’m just on the way to surprise the wife at work, it’s her first week back after her maternity leave, and I know she’s missing the kiddos.” (Y/n) glanced down at the pair of cooing babies in the stoller.  “And who’s this strapping young gentleman?  I didn’t know you had a little brother.”

Five took an immediate offensive stance.  “I’m Five Hargreeves, and I’m her HUSBAND.”

“Oh, God I’m sorry.  I guess you just looked a little different the last time I saw you….At our, uh, or rather, your, uh. Wedding.”  The young man stammered, and (Y/n) watched Five grow increasingly more irritated.

“Yep, Five is a time traveler extraordinaire.  Just had a little mishap with his calculations.  He’s not normally a teenager, or anything. Like, it’s not like that at all, I mean…God that sounds so weird. Sorry.”  She was beginning to grow flustered, and no longer felt the need to explain herself.  “It was nice seeing you, we’ve got to be going now.”  Her arm linked around Five’s, as she began dragging him away.

“Well you couldn’t have possibly made that any more awkward,” Five fretted at her.  “Bad enough you dumped him at the alter and now you had to explain how your husband, who I don’t know if I mentioned it already, but you DUMPED HIM FOR, is stuck in a teenage body.”

She whipped around him in front of him, staring him down.  “Look, you don’t get to be angry at me for your mistake. It’s not my fault that you aren’t even old enough to DRIVE now.” “Well you could have driven if you had ever taken the time to learn how to drive a stick shift.”  Five puffed up his chest to look tougher, but it was futile in his current form.

“You’re the one who was never around long enough to teach me how to do it.”  He flinched, and she instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over her.  “Five, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  We’re both just…tense right now.  The world is ending, you’re hormonal and also crabby because you probably won’t get to take advantage of the senior citizen discount at Griddy’s today.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her.  The moment he fell through the portal, and realizing his body was now in shambles due to his miscalculations, all he could think was how she would react.  Would she faint?  Would she promptly turn him away?  Instead, she surpassed all of his expectations and was making jokes at his expense.  He paused for a moment and grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “You know, now more than ever, I’m so glad I married you.  I can’t imagine anyone else being able to handle this curveball.”

“What can I say, Mr. Hargreeves.  You had me on the hook for a long time.  A little hiccup like this isn’t going to scare me off.”  He smiled, lacing his fingers with hers as they continued down the street, the Umbrella Academy looming just a few blocks ahead.

The pair quietly entered the front door, only to be bombarded by all of the siblings at once.  Five sulked behind his wife, as each of his family members warmly embraced her. Klaus picked her up and spun her around, quickly locking eyes with his brother. “Oh Jesus Christ, what do we have here?”  Klaus murmured, gently placing (Y/n) down on the ground.  “If it isn’t our dear little brother, alive and in the flesh…And perhaps a few inches shorter than last time we saw you, hm?”

Allison spoke next without giving Five a chance to respond, a look of shock on her face. “So I’m guessing something wasn’t quite right with your math, was it?”

Five pulled on the sleeves of his blazer. “You can say that again. I fucked up royally.  That’s the least of our concerns now though. We only have a few days to stop the Apocalypse from happening, and I still have no idea how we’re going to do it.”

Days had passed, and the family was no closer to determining the catalyst of the Apocalypse than they were when Five and (Y/n) had returned to the Academy.  They sat around the kitchen table on the day that Five had so loudly proclaimed would be the end of the world, all eyes sunken in from lack of sleep.  Luther dragged his hands down his face, as he looked over at Five sulking over his late night cup of coffee.  “Maybe it’s just inevitable.  We should have had at least some clue by now.”

Allison scanned over the newspapers scattered along the table.  “I mean, there’s nothing in the news that indicates anything out of the ordinary.  Nothing political, no threats of nuclear warfare, literally nothing.”

“Or maybe it’s just not going to happen at all? I mean, today is the day isn’t it? Everything has been completely normal.” (Y/n) yawned, her forehead meeting the wooden table

“Maybe it’s you, little brother,” Klaus said, pausing to light the joint pressed between his lips.  “I mean, think about it.  You’re the only one who experienced the end of the world. Did you ever think, maybe it has something to do with you?”  Vanya nodded her head in agreement.

“Klaus might actually have a point.  Have you done anything you know of to alter the timeline at all?”

“Yeah, you know like, in time travel movies where someone accidentally kills a bug and it causes the entire future to change? Killed any bugs lately, Five? Or like, Presidents, or whatever it was you had to do with the Commission?”  Klaus coughed.

Five thought for a moment, taking a sip of his coffee.  “Not really, before I left the Commission, I only did one thing….”  (Y/n) jerked her head up from the table, eyes widening.  The family looked at him expectantly, then over to her.  “You know, the whole crashing her wedding day thing.  The head of the Commission, the Handler warned me she would kill us, but I didn’t really think much about it.”  The group collectively groaned. Diego stabbed a blade into the table. “Well, these are the kinds of things you might want to tell us, Five. Your former boss literally threatening to murder you seems like a pretty good reason to be on high alert.”

A loud rap at the front door of the Academy put everyone on high alert.  They all rose from their spots, quietly making their way towards the door. “Hey, maybe it’s the Apocalypse knocking.  We can just ignore it, maybe they’ll think we aren’t home.” Klaus whispered, throwing the remains of his spent joint into a potted plant.  Diego peeked out a window near the door. “It’s some blonde woman in a dress. Sound familiar?”  He whispered, and Five immediately straightened his tie. “Yep, I’ll take this.”  He moved towards the door to unlock it, coming face to face with the Handler.

“Good evening, Five…Assorted Hargreeves.” She flourished her hand, shoving past Five into the living room, depositing a large briefcase by the door. “And Mrs. Hargreeves, a pleasure to see you once again.”  (Y/n) felt her heart tighten in her chest, recalling the last ill fated encounter with the woman, and the impossible choice she posed for the pair.

“Wish I could say the same,” (Y/n) scoffed.  “Care to tell us why you’re here? You’re getting a bit too familiar with these unexpected housecalls.”  The family gathered around her in a protective stance, and she felt the tightness in her chest dissipate.

“Well, I did advise you that I’d be back at a date of MY choosing to dispose of the pair of you, didn’t I?”  The Handler towered over (Y/n) in her heels, frowning down at her.

Five shook his head. “That wasn’t part of the deal.  I came back to the Commission, I did what you asked, and you sent me to that God-forsaken wasteland.”

She advanced towards Five. “Ah, yes, that much is true.  But what I didn’t anticipate was you defying the odds.  Do you know what the odds were that you’d be able to time travel back to any point in time to your wife?”  She emphasized, venom dripping in her voice.  “One in thirty million.  Now, wouldn’t you say, the odds of that are simply astronomical?”  Five looked over at (Y/n) and his family.

She paused, looking back at the family, then pointed her icy gaze to (Y/n).  “You two couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you?” The Handler smirked at the distressed boy, as she positioned herself in between him and his wife.  “Did you really think I could allow you to take everything from me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you. I did my job, I did my time.  I just want to live the rest of my life with my wife.”  He glowered at her, as she chuckled.

“Five, tell me, why do you think I had such a vested interest in you and your boring little wife here, in your holy union, hm?”  She gestured behind her. He shrugged. “I haven’t the inkiest, enough with the damn riddles, why don’t you fill us all in on why you’re so hell bent on killing us?”

The Handler nonchalantly looked at the gun in her hand, then turned towards (Y/n), cocking it in her direction.  “It’s really nothing personal, dear.  It’s about your baby.  Specifically, the baby that you’re set to have in…oh…” She thought a beat, “four years, give or take.  If I eliminate you now, the Apocalypse can resume right on schedule.”  The family exhaled a collective gasp.

Klaus laughed, “Well, congratulations to my dear brother and his wife on their non-existent baby. But I have to ask, when did you get in the business of murdering babies?”

“Let me break it down for you.  If Five had followed orders, he never would have married (Y/n). (Y/n) would have settled down with….that boring guy, what’s his name?  Five would have continued working for the Commission, and everything would have been hunky dory. But the moment he defied his orders, the entire timeline changed.  He and (Y/n) had their happily ever after, and eventually, (Y/n) will give birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby girl.  Not just a girl though, the most powerful time traveler in history, in any timeline. With the inherited skills of her father, and with the complex ability of their mother to become a big flashing beacon in the space-time continuum, which might I add, didn’t seem like much until we determined Five could find her in ANY timeline under any circumstance, you have a recipe for someone powerful enough to overthrow the entire Commission, namely me. Because this child was born, the entire scenario for the Apocalypse was avoided completely, no matter what variables we changed, infinitely into the future.  It just never happens.  The only variable that changed was me.  My entire life’s work, bypassed, like a bump in the road.  The Apocalypse that I deemed absolutely necessary, gone, thanks to a single choice.”

Allison stared at the Handler incredulously.  “So what you’re really saying, is you’re too selfish and drunk off power to give it up.  Someone more suited to the job, who doesn’t even exist yet, is so much of a threat to you, that you’ll eliminate anyone involved?”

“Well, I was only going to eliminate (Y/n), I don’t particularly enjoy getting my hands messy.  There would have been no greater delight than seeing Five suffer for his indiscretions; however, since the whole family is here, I might as well make a day of it.”

Chaos erupted in the expanse of the Umbrella Academy’s living room. (Y/n) wasn’t sure who cast the first stone, but a flurry of bullets began raining down on the Hargreeves family.  Diego curved as many of the bullets as he could, as he ushered her towards the hallway.  She craned her neck to peer over his shoulder, desperately trying to find Five in the fray, as she was shoved into a bedroom in the hallway, a gun being thrust into her hands by her brother-in-law.  In defeat, she pressed herself against the wooden door, trying to hear anything at all, only to be met with the sounds of glass and furniture breaking, guns being fired, indiscernible shouts of her family fighting for their lives.

Gathering her resolve, she crept from the room, unable to stand not knowing what was occurring just beyond the walls.  Gun outstretched in front of her, she quietly made her way down the hall, just as all of the fighting abruptly stopped.

“Where the hell did she go?”  Vanya hissed, as the family peered around, puzzled.  “We had her pinned down?”

Luther cautiously evaluated the rest of the family.  “I don’t like this one bit. She wouldn’t just zap out of her, would she?”  Allison looked towards the front door, noting the telltale briefcase that sat by the door. “She’s still here somewhere, she couldn’t get out without the briefcase.”

 (Y/n) peeked around the corner glancing around at the scene before her.  All of the lightbulbs in the room had been mostly shattered and the room was awash with the little light that shone in through the innumerable windows. In the dim light, chairs and tables could be seen upturned and scattered around the room.

“Five?”  She called out weakly, in a desperate bid to get his attention.  His gaze quickly turned towards her, and a look of terror overtook his features.  A loud pop resounded through the space, and a searing pain shot through the center of her chest.  Slowly, (Y/n) peered down, noting the slow stream of dark red that stained the front her shirt.  Everything started to go black, as Five rushed towards her.

“What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?”  He screamed at the Handler who stood smugly behind where (Y/n) had collapsed on the floor.  Five removed his blazer and pressed the fabric to her steadily bleeding chest.

“Restoring order, that’s what, Five.  Her being alive was a conflict of interest I suppose you could say.  I think there’s going to be a little change of plans though, seeing the anguish on your face, I think that’s the best punishment I could ask for.”  She glided past the family towards the briefcase, and no one moved.

“(Y/n) please stay with me, stay awake, you’re going to be fine.”  Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, as he desperately fumbled with the compress on her chest.  Her breath began to slow, as she reached up and pressed a hand to Five’s cheek.  Klaus crouched down beside the pair, and placed his hand over Five’s.

“Five, I can feel her leaving.  She isn’t going to make it.”  Klaus whispered, remorseful.  Five stood beside her, the space all around him glowing blue.

“I didn’t come all this way through time just to lose her.”  He tightly shut his eyes, and the room began moving slowly in reverse, the Handler moving slowly backwards towards the clandestine hallway.  (Y/n)’s crumpled form rose from the spot on the ground, the dark blood receding back into her body, as Five’s nose began bleeding profusely from his efforts.  He felt himself weaken, as the scene resumed before him.

“Where the hell did she go?”  Vanya hissed, looking towards Five who stood in his new spot near the hallway.  “We had her pinned down?”

“She’s in the hallway,” he replied weakly.  “She’s going to kill (Y/n).  I just….reversed time by just a few minutes.  We have to make sure she doesn’t kill her this time.”  A moment later, (Y/n) peered around the corner.  Five rushed forward with the last bit of strength he had left, pulling her into the living room and shoving her aside as he collapsed on top of her.  The Handler revealed herself, looking thoroughly confused.  The gun fell to her side. “Well, this is certainly odd.  Did our boy just manipulate time here?  So much power, so much wasted on a perfectly normal girl.”

Klaus strode forward, fists illuminated.  “She’s not perfectly normal, she loves Five and that’s a feat all on its own.  The kid’s hard to love, no doubt about that, but she does, and that’s worth saving.” In a flash, a barrage of tentacles burst forth from his chest, and the ghostly figure of Ben could be seen just beyond Klaus’s form.  The Horror reached forth, grabbing onto the Handler’s limbs, gruesomely tearing her apart bit by bit.  The family looked on in shock at the grisly scene, until there was nothing left of the Handler but a puddle of blood and gore, spewed on the floor and walls.

And just like that, the Handler was gone, ripped apart by otherworldly forces that seeped from Klaus’s body.  The family stood, stark-still, covered in entrails, before erupting in fits of laughter.  Luther swept Allison up in his arms, her shrieking delightedly. “I can’t believe that’s it. That it was just that easy.  Klaus, I think dad might have been wrong about your powers being totally useless.”

Klaus’s hands were still shaking, as he peered down at them in disbelief.  “That….bitch.  I can’t believe she would have just killed (Y/n) to intentionally cause the Apocalypse. And (Y/n)…” he shot a glance over at her. “I can’t believe you were the key it all along.”

She hadn’t moved.  The ringing in her ears had barely subsided, when she pressed her hands into Five’s chest to meet him face to face.  His expression was barely readable, save for the telltale upturn of the corners of his mouth.  The words came out so soft, the family could barely make it out.  “Our baby?  The Handler couldn’t handle the idea of being replaced…That’s why.  That’s why they warned me we couldn’t be together.  Why they tortured me, making me see you be with that asshole over and over again.  If we were together, the Apocalypse would never even happen.  I really ruined her timeline, didn’t I?” He chuckled, rolling over onto the bloody floor, wiping his nose of his own blood.

Diego walked across the room towards the phone, wiping his knives on his already bloodied pants. Vanya looked at him incredulously. “Diego what on earth are you doing? Is now really time to make a phone call?”

He picked up the phone and dialed quickly. “It is. I’m calling (Y/f/n).  Knowing how close we were to the whole world ending, I’m not taking anymore chances.”  (Y/n) turned to him, shocked. “You know, she’s been hung up on you for years, Diego.  I think everyone deserves a chance at a happy ending, now.”  Five stood and stretched his hand down to hers and pulled her up. He carefully snaked his arm around her waist, pressing a chaste kiss on her bare and bloodied shoulder.  “Even us, Five.”

He smiled, peering up at her through his dark hair.  “Especially us, Mrs. Hargreeves. Especially us.”

Luther lurched over to the liquor cabinet, and sighed. “You know, I know it’s usually Klaus that suggests we start drinking, but I propose we go ahead and pop one of these nice bottles and celebrate tonight.”  And they did.  Vanya pulled out her violin, creating lively, happy music for the group as they danced and laughed around the living room.  Allison stole a not so secret kiss from Luther, and the family loudly teased them, secretly grateful that they were no longer hiding their affections after so many years.  Klaus was able to manifest Ben once more, who although he couldn’t drink, still engaged in the party just as much as any living person could.  Diego had snuck out quietly sometime after his phone call, and (Y/n) hoped with all hope that he was finally going to apologize for being a such a jerk to her closest friend.

Five had pulled her into what she could only describe as an “awkward middle school style slow dance”, with her arms clasped loosely around his shoulders as they swayed side to side.  “You know”, Five started, “my father taught all of us how to ballroom dance as kids.”

(Y/n) laughed, pulling him in a bit closer. “Is there anything you can’t do, Five? You’re remarkable.”

“Well obviously I’m not great at time travel, but I think those days might be behind me.  At least, after I figure out how to get my normal body back.”  He frowned.  “(Y/n), have you considered what we’re going to do if I’m stuck like this? Permanently?”

She considered him for a moment.  “Truthfully, no.  I hadn’t really considered that to be a possibility.  I mean, it would be kind of nice, you’d be able to take care of me when I get old and senile.”  He pushed his foot forward and tripped her, easily causing her to lose her balance in her tipsy state . “HEY! Come on, Five, you know I’m kidding.  I think…..I think we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?  I love you. I love you no matter what.  Even if we can’t really….do the thing normal married people do.  It’ll be okay.”  She yawned, slowing her movements.

“I admire your persistent optimism. But my wife appears to be growing weary.  Want to go relax in the library while I go over some of my old notes?”  She nodded, craning down to place her head on his shoulder.  “Alright, let’s go.”  He gently pulled her arm across the back of his shoulders, and they made their way towards the stairs, calling out their goodnights to the family as they went.

The math was right there all along, in one of his oldest, most worn down notebooks.  In disbelief, he reread his notes over and over, and was sure he couldn’t have possibly gotten it wrong.  (Y/n) was dozing off in the plush arm chair, and he took a moment to admire her:  all of the stress from the impending doom was gone.  No tell-tale gunshot wound, no signs of excessive blood-loss.  Her shoulders were no longer tense, the space between her eyes no longer creased.  A peaceful expression had fallen over her, as though she would be perfectly content to live out her days in that chair with Five’s company, illuminated only by the small lamp in the middle of the table.

He drew a large red circle around the offending equation, and rose from his spot.  He peered down at her snoozing form, and ran his hand through her hair.  Careful not to wake her, he placed the notebook on the arm of the chair and strode quietly towards the door, knowing what he had to do.

He whispered something softly to himself, towards the empty hallways of the Academy.

The ocean waves were breaking softly along the shore, now littered with seashells after an afternoon rainstorm. The only chaos that remained was the wind that whipped through her hair, now unruly and wild from the rain.  She turned around and saw him standing there, frozen in time with a grin on his face.  Everything moved in slow motion as she ran towards him, crashing into his embrace. His palms rested on her cheeks, capturing her in a passionate kiss, until a small voice interrupted them.

“Mommy? Daddy?”  She turned to peer down at the source of the small voice, to be met by a tiny girl with dark hair and verdant green eyes.  Five bent down, finding purchase under the child’s arms, hoisting her to his chest.  (Y/n) gingerly kissed the child’s forehead, then pressed another dizzying kiss to Five’s lips.  He whispered words against her flesh that she had read so long before, words that were so real, she’s certain she couldn’t have dreamed them. “If something happens, just know I’ll find you eventually. I promise.”

(Y/n) woke with a start, knocking something off the arm of the chair.  She slowly reached down, peering down at the foreign numbers and figures, outlined in bold red, then glanced across the room.  Five was no longer situated at the table, and she began to panic.  The woman leapt from her chair, sprinting down the hallway, shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Five? Five where are you?!”  The pounding of her feet and the thundering of her pulse led her straight to his childhood room’s door. Before she could connect with the doorknob, a flash of blue illuminated the space beneath the door, accompanied by the telltale “pop” of her husband attempting some sort of jump.  She flung the door open wide, only to be met once again with darkness.  The room was empty: Five was gone. Again.

Weeks had passed, maybe even months at this point.  (Y/n) wasn’t sure.  No longer having the list of dates to guide her now that the Apocalypse had been avoided, she had, for the most part, lost herself in time.  She could only assume it was midday, judging by the light that cascaded through the windows.  Padding down the halls of their still empty home, she stopped to stare at herself in the bathroom mirror:  her eyes had grown weary, and her hair was a matted mess, sticking up in all directions.  Gently, she prodded at her ribs, which protruded slightly more than usual, a testament to her terrible diet since Five had…..Disappeared? That didn’t feel like the right word for it.  Someone can’t disappear when this is their entire modus operandi.  The absences were something she had grown accustomed to, but this time felt entirely different. There was no carefully curated list of dates, handwritten by Five. Nothing to look forward to.  Nothing to expect.  Not even a “goodbye” or “I’ll see you soon” to soothe her addled brain, only the words echoed in her dream from the note he wrote her as a child.

Starting the shower, she went through the motions.  “This is what he would want me to do, right?”  She thought to herself.  “He would want me to try to be normal. Whatever that means.”  Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.  “Come on, don’t cry.  You cried it all out the first week. You’re too dehydrated to cry anymore.”  Throwing her clothes haphazardly across the bathroom, she climbed into the shower.

And there she sat.  She sat on the floor of the walk-in shower until the water ran cold.  When she finally collected herself from the floor and wrapped herself in an oversized towel, she could have sworn she caught the wafting scent of coffee, but she waved it off as wishful thinking.  (Y/n) glided towards the kitchen, a towel-clad phantom of a person haunting her home.  Just beyond the threshold, she stopped dead in her tracks.  A full pot of coffee sat brewed on the countertop, steam floating towards to ceiling.  For a moment her breath left her lungs. Clutching her towel to her tightly, she raced towards the living room where Five Hargreeves, looking about fifteen years older than their last encounter, sat on the couch.  The moment he laid eyes on her, he moved towards her as fast as his legs would carry him, stopping short as he saw her chest heaving in what he could only assume to be rage.

“I can explain. I can explain everything.”  Five spoke calmly, as though he were trying to persuade an animal to not attack him.  “I had the equations right years ago, I just didn’t realize it before. I was such a cocky asshole kid back then.  I knew I could make this jump, it had to be just the right moment in time to get it perfect, to get me back to my normal body. Back to you.”  

“Are you….Are you really home? For good? Just like this?”  Her breathing was still erratic, knuckles turning with how tightly she squeezed the towel.

“For good.”  He nodded, taking a step closer.

“And no more big jumps? No more accidentally getting stuck in the wrong body?”

“Nope. No more Commission. No more assassinations.  I think it’s time to grow old…again. The right way.”  He reached towards her, his palms resting on her shoulders.

“And what’s the right way, Five?”  She closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth of his hands.

“Together. With you.”

She moved so quickly Five was afraid he may not be able to grab her in time.  She darted forward, throwing her arms and legs around him, nearly knocking him to the ground.  He supported her weight and held her flush against him.  A sob erupted from her against the side of his neck. “Promise me, Five. Promise you won’t ever leave me like that again.  I was so scared you were gone. For good. That you would be lost and I would have no idea.”  She grabbed his face, kissing him in earnest over and over, her lips salty from the broken dam of tears that ran down her face. “God, I never want to stop kissing you.  It feels like I haven’t been able to in ages.”

Five felt his emotions getting the better of him, and thought for a moment that he may cry.  “You know I was always going to make it back to you. My lighthouse.”  He smiled against her kiss, returning it with equal fervor.

“Take me to bed, Five. I think we need to make up for lost time, no pun intended.”

#fivehargreevesxreader fivehargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #romance #angst

[surviving-sides]

Safe [Zombie Apocalypse AU]

trigger warnings: eye gore, lots of blood, little bit of regular gore, the usual zombie stuff, sympathetic and/or morally gray Remus

xxx

Patton sobbed as she ran.

She knew she shouldn’t have left the salon. She had listened when everything went down- Both over the phone, and through the walls. It didn’t sound like something she wanted to be a part of.

But, well… It was quieter now. And she was hungry.

Just like those things.

Her weak legs carried her faster than she thought possible through the city, but not fast enough. The biters were catching up.

She’d never actually seen someone get eaten. She’d heard it- Heard it so many times. That may have been scarier.

She hiccuped and sobbed as she skid around a corner, only to slam right into a biter. She screamed and fumbled to get the haircutting scissors from her belt. She slammed them into the biter’s skull as it roared and forced its teeth towards her shoulder, but the scissors weren’t sharp enough to get the brain. She struggled to shove it away, screaming and sobbing. Her arms were giving out on her.

She managed to shove it away with a whine, and sprinted down the road just as the fingertips from the hoard pursuing her brushed against her sweater.

The cold only made it harder to run, harder to breathe. Sweat collected in her palms and down her back. She wheezed.

She managed to skid around another corner and dive through an open door to a convenience store. She hid behind a shelf and held her breath as the hoard shambled past, probably wondering where their food went.

She covered her mouth and forced down a loud sob. She was so scared.

Once the hoard had passed, their snarling and shuffling fading to silence, she- as silently as she could -moved to hide behind the counter instead.

She buried her face in her arms as she cried, and though it took her hours, she fell asleep.

xxx

The bell above the door jingled.

Patton’s head snapped up, sleep making her vision blurry.

“And I couldn’t reach my knife,” someone rambled, “so I grabbed the drill, and the ghoul started POURING blood! It was DISGUSTING!”

“That’s… Great, Remus.”

“It was so cool! I went RIGHT through the eye! You’d expect an eye to pop, but it was so mushy!”

People. Living people.

Patton scrambled to stand up, energized by a sudden wave of adrenaline, and immediately fell over. She caught herself on the counter as the one with the stubble drew his knife.

The clean-shaven one whipped around and gasped, handgun in the air. He holstered it and smacked at his twin’s arm.

“Put it down! He’s alive!”

Patton’s heart was racing.

“I thought he was a ghoul.” The one with the stubble shrugged. He had overgrown, black hair and many piercings in his face.

“No, you didn’t,” the other sighed. “What’s your name?”

“P-Patton.” She swallowed. “My name’s Patton.”

The one with the stubble eyed her distastefully. “How long has it been since you ate?”

She wrapped her arms around herself self-consciously. “A few days…”

He glanced around the convenience store dramatically. Amazingly, there were still a few cans and packages left on the shelf. “You blind or something?”

She shook her head. “I just got here last night, to hide from a hoard of biters. I’ve been staying in a salon… I had some food, but I ran out a few days ago. Had to find more.”

“You’ve been in there the whole time?” The clean shaven one asked in surprise.

“I guess so…” Patton blushed. “I kind of lost track of the days.”

“The infection hit three weeks ago,” he said. “Where did all your food come from?”

“There were others. The salon workers, and some people who needed help. They went out to bring food back, but one by one, they just… Stopped coming back.”

When Patton realized she couldn’t hold out from leaving the salon any longer, all she could think of was the names and faces of the people who never returned. She could only imagine what happened to them. She had almost threw up after being out there for a few minutes.

He frowned. “You’re alone?” Patton nodded. “Well, my name is Roman. This is my brother Remus. We’re holed up at-”

“Don’t tell him!” Remus hissed. “Are you stupid?”

Roman glared at him. “Are you insane? He needs help! We can’t just leave him!”

“Yes, we can.” Remus threw his arms out. “If we even had enough food to feed ourselves, we wouldn’t even be here!”

Roman pushed Remus away by his face and said, “A rest stop. We’ve set up camp in a rest stop outside the city. It’s safe, for the most part. You should come back with us.”

Patton was just about to agree, when Remus yelled, “NO!” He bit Roman’s finger, who yelped and yanked it away. “Are you kidding me, Roman?! We can’t take on another person! A squirrel only lasts the two of us, and there’s nothing else out there!”

“Patton is another set of hands,” Roman insisted. “He can help us scavenge, can help you hunt… We’ll get more done!” Roman looked at her. “Patton, what did you do before all this?”

“School,” she said nervously. “I was studying to be a vet. A veterinarian.”

Roman waved at her dramatically. “Medical training!”

Remus gripped his knife and looked at Patton for a minute. Finally, he walked around the counter and got really close.

“If you try anything to hurt us,” he whispered, and it rang out clear through the store, “or steal from us, or are even too loud…” Remus pressed the point of his blade against Patton’s soft tummy, “I’ll gut you.” Patton almost whimpered. She nodded, and Remus smiled. “Good.”

He went back around the counter and started swiping things off the shelves.

“Was that really necessary?” Roman hissed. He snatched something out of Remus’s hands- Some Slim Jims and a pack of cookies. He tossed it to Patton.

They hit her chest and fell out of her hands, onto the counter. She blushed. She was excited to eat, before she registered what they were. Her heart sunk.

“What is it?” Roman asked in concern. “Food allergies?”

“No, well… I’m vegan. Or, I guess I was.” Patton picked up one of the Slim Jims. She was so hungry… “This’ll take some getting used to.” She forced a giggle.

She took a bite, and it was truly disgusting. But it was pretty easy to eat when she was this freaking hungry. She ate the three of them in less than a minute, then ripped open the package of cookies while the brothers cleared out the rest of the store.

Patton was almost too scared to step out of the store, but Roman rested a hand on the small of her back and smiled at her. He promised to keep her safe.

It was Patton’s first clear look at the world after it ended- Without the running and crying and panic. She didn’t like what she saw. Cars were smashed into each other, and bodies… were everywhere. Patton started crying after a few minutes of walking. Remus started whistling a sickeningly happy tune as Roman rubbed her back.

When they got to the rest stop, Patton was swaying in exhaustion. There were two small bathrooms with a stone path between them and a roof on top. The “front yard” was made of stone, and had some wooden benches, a grill, and two smashed open vending machines. The woods were behind it.

“I’ve been sleeping in the boy’s bathroom.” Roman said. “But I can move in with Remus in the girl’s if you want some privacy-”

“Absolutely not.” Remus laughed. He set his bag on the bench and put his hunting knife in a holster on his belt. “I’ll sleep with her.” Patton had told them her pronouns on the walk over. He winked, and Patton prickled.

“Lay off,” Roman sighed. “You can stay with me, then. I’m less perverted.”

“Boring!” Remus sung. He pulled a few cans out of his bag and stabbed one of them. “I’m gonna cook up some lunch.”

“Here, come with me.” Roman took Patton’s hand and led her to the boy’s restroom.

Inside, Roman had sat around some lanterns, and laid out thin blankets over the disgusting floor. There was a pile of pillows and blankets at the end of the wall, between the sinks and the stalls, where Roman had obviously been sleeping. He had an open suitcase full of clothes, a med kit, some food, and some other stuff.

Roman went to say something, and then sighed with a smile. “You’re exhausted. You should get some sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Patton asked softly. “There’s nothing I can be doing?”

“If you’re going to help us, you should get some rest!” He squeezed Patton’s shoulder. “I’ll come get you when we have some food ready. Just get some rest.”

Patton nodded. Roman smiled and left, leaving her alone. For the first time since the start, being alone wasn’t terrifying. For the first time since the start, she felt safe.

Asks to Patton now open!

If you like my writing, please give it a reblog and consider donating a few bucks to my venmo at maxgraybooks

#zombie apocalypse au #fic #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus

[bearfeathers]

ineffable husbands + “That was unexpected.” i love the way you write them!!

Thank you so much!! And thank you for the prompts; I'm having a lot of fun with them. :3

[PROMPT ME!] | [AO3]

As it turns out, not actually doing much to avert the apocalypse can really take it out of you.

Well, that isn't an entirely accurate statement, Crowley muses as he and Aziraphale ride the bus back to his London home. The two of them had done quite a bit;i just that the things they'd done hadn't had very much to do with the world not ending. That had mostly been Adam's doing.

But driving his flaming Bentley—may she rest in peace—to Tadfield through sheer will and then taking himself, Aziraphale and Adam out of time for a little chat had been... draining. He slouches in his seat, arms folded over his chest and legs splayed out as far as the seats' limited foot room will allow. Willing the bus to detour to London is about as much as he has left in him, he knows, and the thought of collapsing in his bed as soon as possible remains a promising reward.

The demon glances to the angel sitting beside him. Aziraphale's hands are folded in his lap, his legs crossed at the ankle and tucked beneath his seat. Presently his head is bowed and his eyes closed as though in prayer, but as the bus is jostled by a pothole, he quickly looks up, alarmed, before realizing nothing is amiss and settling back once more. His eyes remain open but stare ahead of him with that lack of focus that denotes a certain level of exhaustion.

He'd hardly had an easy time of things either. Being discorporated, projecting himself to Crowley in the pub, possessing Madame Tracey—which he had apologized profusely for—and being quite suddenly shoved into a new vessel... Not any more a walk in the park than Crowley himself has had.

But it's over. For now. At least until Heaven and Hell sort their paperwork and do the numbers and figure out just how the two of them should be made to answer for this. However, as the bus comes to a stop outside his flat, thoughts of sleep push all of that to the back of his mind to be examined later.

"Thank you for this," Aziraphale sighs as Crowley lets them in.

"Shut up," Crowley snorts.

"It needed to be said," Aziraphale argues.

"No, it needn't," Crowley declares with some annoyance, leading the angel through his living room and towards the bedroom. "Not with me."

"...not anymore, you mean," Aziraphale says, stifling a yawn.

Never.

Aziraphale never needed to thank him for anything.

He's always spun it as being to avoid trouble with management, but really, he'd never wanted Aziraphale thanking him for his own reasons. Because Crowley never did anything for the angel with the expectation of being thanked. He did it because...

"Right," Crowley agrees. He motions into the bedroom. "You take the bed."

Aziraphale stops short, standing opposite him outside the bedroom door. "And where will you be sleeping?"

"The oven," Crowley answers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The sofa, obviously."

Aziraphale frowns as he looks first to the bed and then Crowley. "I'm not taking your bed.

"Don't argue with me, angel," Crowley sighs. "Just take the sodding bed."

"I'm not arguing with you," Aziraphale says with a touch of annoyance. "I was merely going to suggest that since you seem to have purchased the largest bed known to mankind, there's no reason why you should sleep on the sofa."

Crowley knows he's staring. He knows, but it doesn't stop him from doing so. "...you want to share the bed."

The bald statement brings a hint of a flush to the angel's face. He shifts from foot to foot, tugging at his fingers in an anxious tic that Crowley is long familiar with. He'd seemed confident suggesting it just a moment ago and Crowley wonders if there was something in the way he'd just spoken that had done something to change that.

"Well... I just thought it seemed a bit ridiculous not to," Aziraphale says, his gaze cutting away from Crowley's eyes. "Of course, I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, so please don't—"

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable," Crowley says, a little too quickly. He kicks himself for that. If he sounds too eager, Aziraphale might be the one scared away. "I just thought you might like some privacy or something. Trying to be a proper host and all that."

Aziraphale's eyes return to him, looking at him in a way that leaves the demon feeling naked. As though he isn't even wearing his sunglasses and the angel is staring him straight in the eye. His body language remains anxious—shy, even—but Aziraphale's eyes are as steady as his words.

"Then come to bed with me."

If Crowley didn't know any better, he could swear his counterpart knew exactly what he was saying. But of course, he doesn't truly mean it that way. Still, this is all a bit more forward than Crowley had been expecting.

"The bed is large enough that we likely won't even come close to touching one another," Aziraphale proceeds to say, not impeded by Crowley's lack of response. "At this point we've shared so many things that a bed doesn't seem all that out of the question. And if I'm being frank, well, my dear, I would prefer to have you close by just now."

Stay with me.

Crowley can damn near hear the words.

"Yeah," he says, his mouth dry. "Alright."

Aziraphale appears to relax considerably, shoulders losing their tension and his hands coming to rest at his sides. There's a hint of a smile on his face as Crowley ushers him in and the demon can't help but feel a bit strange. This is all... just strange. It's been a strange week. This is just the odd little cherry on top, he supposes.

There isn't even so much as a warning from Aziraphale before the angel lazily waves a hand, divesting them both of their clothing and conjuring up matching sets of tartan pajamas in their place. Crowley holds his arms out and looks down to inspect himself before pinning the angel with a stare.

"Really?" he says flatly.

Aziraphale shrugs tiredly. "I was trying to do you a favor but go ahead and waste your energy changing it, if you like."

"I'm not going to, I just think you did it on purpose," Crowley clarifies, pulling back the duvet.

Although Aziraphale doesn't answer him, the smile he's struggling to hide says more than enough. They both slip beneath the duvet on opposite sides of the bed, taking a few moments to make themselves comfortable. It seems to take Aziraphale just a tad longer than Crowley but then he was never really one for sleep in the first place. Necessity, though, sometimes wins out.

"...do we say goodnight?" Aziraphale asks.

"I suppose since you've decided to bring it up we have to."

"Well I don't know; you're the one with all the sleep experience."

"Fine, fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

And that should be the end of it. Crowley should be sleeping in seconds flat. But instead, he's lying in bed, eyes closed, listening to the sound of the angel beside him breathing. He's not sure how many minutes pass before he hears Aziraphale's breaths grow deep and even, their slow cadence telling Crowley that the one they're coming from is deep asleep.

He can't help but look. This is something unprecedented for them and something Aziraphale had been the one to suggest, at that. It's nearly the closest they've ever been. He's never seen the angel sleep; he's seen him weary, he's seen him hurt, he's seen him any number of things, but never sleeping. Not once in these six thousand years.

It's disgustingly clichéd to say Aziraphale looks angelic, but, well... he does. It's so easy for Crowley to stare at the blonde curls against the dark of his pillowcase, catching slivers of moonlight through the blinds that make them glow. It's so easy to stare at his lashes fanned out against rounded cheeks and an expression more relaxed that Crowley can nearly ever recall. 

It's so difficult to only stare.

But that's all he's ever done. Stared and waited and hoped. Wondered. And he supposes he'll just have to wonder still.

***

When Crowley wakes, he knows immediately that he's not where he was last night. Well... Rather, he's in his bed, but it appears he's migrated in the night. He feels his heart leap into his throat when he realizes he's very neatly tucked beneath Aziraphale's chin, his arms around the angel and their legs tangled together. What's worse is the feeling of Aziraphale's arms around him, soft breaths tickling the top of his head.

He can't move.

Aziraphale is still asleep. Moving would surely wake him. Which means he's just going to have to lie here until the angel does wake. Well, there are certainly worse things in the world, he decides. He'll just stay still until Aziraphale wakes, then pretend to be fast asleep to avoid any embarrassment for either of them. Perfect plan.

Aziraphale smells different. That's one of the first things he notices. Although, it's not different so much as it is new. Maybe new isn't exactly the best word for it, but... The typically muted scent of ozone is much sharper and Crowley finds himself missing the smell of paper and ink that usually accompanies the angel, mingled with the smell of something sweet. 

He has to remind himself that this body technically is new. It's almost as though Aziraphale hasn't had time to properly settle in it yet and so it lacks some of its... familiarity. 

But that's fine. It's fine when Crowley realizes with a start that he doesn't remember the last time he'd been held like this. Even if it just happens to have occurred by mistake while they were sleeping, Aziraphale's hold on him is warm and secure, as though he's conscious of what he's doing.

"If you don't mind... could we discuss this later? I don't quite feel like waking up yet."

The sleepy mumble startles him to full wakefulness... but he doesn't pull away. Nor does Aziraphale push him. They simply continue to be, just as they are.

"That was unexpected," Crowley declares.

"When I woke, I wasn't sure what to make of it either, but it felt... fine," Aziraphale murmurs. "Do you...?"

"Yeah," Crowley agrees, swallowing thickly. "Me, too."

There's a quiet hum into his hair, chased by a soft sigh, and Crowley feels himself going boneless as fingers gently run across his scalp. And then a thought hits him.

"You've been awake this whole time, haven't you, you bastard?" Crowley grumbles into the angel's pajama top.

"Shh."

They will definitely be discussing this later and they will most definitely be discussing just how long Aziraphale planned to let him act the fool. But talk is for later. For now, this is will do just fine.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fic #two halves of a whole idiot

[podcastenthusiast]

Authors have been revealed for the gift exchange I took part in, so now I can post my fic here too! Just some post-160 angst and softness. (ao3 link)

New Year’s Eve after the apocalypse.

—-

New Year, New World

It would almost be an idyllic winter evening, were it not for the circumstances. A quaint cottage tucked away in the Scottish countryside. Snow blanketing the garden. A crackling fireplace to ward off the cold. Except the cottage is a safehouse that hasn’t felt truly safe in months. Boarded up windows obscure not just their view of gently falling snowflakes but, more importantly, the sky’s view of them. The fireplace became essential for light and heat once the generator died a few weeks ago.

Martin’s phone is largely useless these days, but his calendar app still works. He never expected they would still be in the Highlands at the year’s end. But he never expected any of this, really. Suddenly the world has been flooded with fourteen flavors of evil bullshit, and then Jon was in no state to travel anywhere for a while even if they did have a destination, and then Basira found them, and then they found Daisy.

And then and then and then…

Somehow, it is already New Year’s Eve. Not that the date or even the passage of linear time means as much as it used to anymore. The important thing is they are still alive and together which, selfish as it might be, is all Martin can bring himself to care about.

He glances down at Jon who is finally sleeping, as peacefully as he ever can, his head resting in Martin’s lap. At least the only nightmares he endures are completely his own. The Eye no longer appears to need its Archivist retreading others’ old traumas night after night.

There are more good days than bad ones now, on the whole. Today had been…decidedly not a good day. The Stranger, he assumes, or possibly the Spiral. Either way, for nearly an hour this morning Jon did not even know his own name, and he hadn’t recognized Martin at all.

“Dinner’s in ten minutes,” Basira tells him, entering the room. After a moment’s pause, she asks, “How’re you holding up?”

“We’re okay,” he replies almost automatically, like a mantra he’ll believe if he just repeats it enough. He threads his fingers through Jon’s hair.

“Not what I asked. How are you, Martin?”

“I’m, um… I’m scared, pretty much all the time. End of the world, y’know? And Jon—he’s right here with me, I know that, and he’s doing a lot better, I think. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. But I just…I can’t lose him again.”

“Yeah. I get it,” Basira says, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen where Daisy is busy preparing something that…well, it looks almost like a chicken. “You’re his anchor, though, and he’s yours. I didn’t think that sort of thing really mattered. I mean, how could it? But it saved you from the Lonely. It brought Daisy back to me.”

“You think it can save him, too, if it comes to that?”

Basira shrugs. “It’s all we’ve got right now.”

—

Jon is distracted all through dinner, like he’s trying to catch the lyrics of a song playing quietly in the other room. It will be worse in London, Martin fears, but they can’t stay here forever. Jonah Magnus isn’t going to kill himself, after all.

Daisy pops the cork in a cheap bottle of champagne that she and Basira managed to scrounge up from a nearby village during their last supply run.

“So, think I might take up knitting,” she says. “Anyone else have an exciting resolution?”

Silence. It’s been quite a while since they let themselves contemplate anything beyond the immediate future.

“Fix the world, I guess?” Basira offers.

“Boring, but given the circumstances, I’ll allow it. Martin?”

“I suppose mine would be to start writing poetry again,” he says, sheepish.

“That’s more like it. What about you, Jon?”

There’s no answer. Jon is idly tracing impossible patterns—fractals, it looks like—on the surface of the wooden table.

Martin touches his hand. “Jon? Can you, um…see us?”

“Yes. Yes, I-I’m fine,” he says. “Sorry. What…”

“New Year’s resolutions. What’s yours?” Daisy asks. “Aside from finding a way to stop the eyepocalypse, obviously.”

“We are not calling it that.”

“Too late. You’re dodging the question, Sims.”

“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. And uh—I think we should get a cat.” The last part he says to Martin specifically, who isn’t sure it counts as a resolution, strictly speaking, but he’s not about to mention that.

“Yeah,” Martin says, smiling. “I think we should, too.”

Daisy turns to Basira. “C’mon, let’s leave the lovebirds in peace.”

Jon chokes on his champagne. Martin feels his cheeks flush. They don’t usually…talk about it. There’s a lot of things they don’t talk about, in fact.

“I’ve missed her,” Jon says softly. And he had, Martin could tell, although Jon never said as much aloud during their three weeks of respite (“The eye of the storm,” he called it later. Martin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.) He’s just grateful that Jon has a friend, someone who was there for the man he loves when Martin couldn’t be.

—

It’s getting late. Basira takes first watch; Daisy is dozing on the couch before her own shift. They ought to be asleep as well. Jon is considerably more lucid than he has been all day, though, if the guilty expression is any indication, and now he’s just sort of…clinging to Martin. He never thought Jon would be such a tactile person, not that he minds at all. Things have changed between them since the Lonely in a number of ways. He is perfectly content to hold Jon close like this for as long as possible. Words are still a bit more difficult. They’re both trying, the best they can.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers against Martin’s neck. “I keep ruining things. First Christmas and now…”

He is referring to another bad day; the Corruption, that time, or perhaps simply a normal illness intensified by Archivist powers. Jon had spent the entirety of Christmas in bed, delirious with fever, a blindfold tied tightly around his eyes. (It doesn’t actually stop the Seeing altogether, just helps take the edge off somewhat.) To be honest, it hardly even ranks in Martin’s personal top five worst Christmases.

“Can’t really blame you if the Eye’s a bit of a Grinch, right?”

Jon’s soft laugh, even muffled against Martin’s shoulder, has quickly become his favorite sound in the world.

“It’s just… I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

“You didn’t leave me, Jon. And besides, we agreed not to apologize for—”

“—being trapped, unconscious, or otherwise incapacitated. I know. But you deserve so much better than all this, Martin, especially after everything else I’ve put you through this year.”

“You were in a coma. That wasn’t your fault, either. None of this is,” Martin says firmly.

Jon sighs. “I suppose.”

He’s probably just too tired to argue the point, but Martin will take it. This is enough for now. It’s got to be.

“It’s midnight,” Martin says.

“Is it? I don’t think—”

“Do you want to know how I know?”

“Uh…yes?”

“Because I really want to kiss you.”

“Oh. Right. Well, it is traditional.”

Martin can hear the smile in Jon’s voice, which he adds to his mental list of favorite sounds in the world as Jon kisses him.

Whatever the next year holds, they’re going to face it together.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #tma fanfic #tma fic

[gwoongi]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (1)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 6793

You just wanted humanity to survive.

warnings: violence, swearing, sexual content, gore and blood, death, taboo themes, drug and alcohol use

a/n: hi!! this has been in the works for literally. a year. maybe even longer. it has caused me so much pain and stress + im so happy to be putting her out into the world!!!!! thank you for all your endless support and i hope u all like this fic!!!!!!! :D ((it is a revised version of my older “the last of us” fic on cosykims!)) 

[ Moodboard || Playlist ]

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare

“...city centre is now closed until further notice, after a bomb was detected near the subway station at 3:45pm. Reports say that the bomb was not a hoax, and was indeed planted there by foreign intel…”

“After three major bomb alerts in cities across the country, the senator has released a statement saying the following: Relations with foreign powers are continuing to get worse. Bombs are being planted around our country, and the threat of nuclear war is among us. Currently there are no dramatic changes, but our channel will keep everybody within the area notified.”

“...I repeat, this is not a drill. North Korea have finally declared nuclear war on the western hemisphere, challenging other powers to ready their weapons and start to fight. Curfew is now under way, and everybody must report to nearby shelters in the case of an emergency. May God be with you all.”

“...thanks, Janet. What we are seeing here is the aftermath of what appears to be catastrophic damage done by a foreign bomb in New York City. Thousands of people are suspected to be dead and bombs are still being detected in the radar. This is no longer a fantasy - this is the reality of our country. God Bless America.”

“...months after the fighting has ceased across the Globe, the Government have set up control areas to prevent the possibility of an infection, of which was caused by the toxic chemicals of the bombs dropped just three months ago. Citizens are to be evacuated within three miles of controlled areas and gas masks are being supplied to everybody South of Nebraska….”

“...what appears to be a virus has spread throughout controlled quarantines this evening. Reports from the state suggest that the word ‘zombie’ might fit the description of this virus. This is not a joke, I repeat, we are dealing with a nationwide crisis here. Everybody is to stay within their homes.”

“...the world is ending….hundreds and thousands of people are expected to fall to the virus caused by the aftermath of war...flesh-eating zombies….may God be with us all….oh God...oh God!”

Three Years In 01:12am.

Contrary to popular belief, there were many good things about the apocalypse. One, you wagered, was the fact that there was barely any pollution in the air; in fact, on an evening, you could see the whole galaxy without a telescope, breathing in the life of speckles of white, shooting ivories and the smile of a lonely moon. Two, there were no official rules to life. Unlike life before, no human is illegal, now. Border control is non-existent, and immigration and tax and how much money you’re going to make come payday is no longer important to anybody still alive. And three, if you were lucky, it was always silent.

Before, you used to sneer at silence. The way it mocked you, and humiliated you after a high-school presentation, or after the punchline of a joke. The way the silence slowly picked at your bones and flesh in the attic bedroom of your grandparents’ bungalow in the northern part of the city, secluded in mountains and barren trees; the silence laughing at the way you stared out that small box window, praying for a miracle to make noise. 

But now, silence is your new best friend. Silence indicates that nothing is near, and danger is less likely. It heightens every sense, and keeps you awake at night. Against any loyal survivor or camp-member, you valued silence as the number one ally.

Sniffing once, you caught your nose running, stepping over a large pile of rubble that had fallen from the roof of the warehouse you were currently based in. Careful to not awaken any of your fellow campers, you made your way towards the large wire fence, pulling a cable tie around the sliced wire to tie it together - an unpractical reinforcement, although quieter than chains. And as designated leader of the camp, you admit that it’s hard to keep everybody sane and grounded. Safety was of paramount importance, but you can’t fake it. You can’t lie to your campers by saying everything is safe. Because nothing is safe anymore.

Scraping scrap metal across the tarmac, the distant sound of boots made you glance up, noticing the familiar scuff of red leather and you turned away, not having to look up to know it’s the new guy, Kim Taehyung.

“Need any help?” his voice called across the loud silence, his fingers toying with a loose strand of polyester attached to his jacket.

“I’ve got it, thanks,” you replied, fiddling still with the ties around the looped chain.

Taehyung moved forward anyway, indifferent about the tense tone of your voice. He missed the hint entirely, coming closer when all you want is for him to go away. “It doesn’t look like you’ve got it. Here, I’ll hold the fence.”

You flinched when he appeared by your side, your face meeting his helpful gaze with a sharp glare. Regardless, you sighed loudly and relaxed, letting him hold the fence in place as you wrapped around the cable tie, clamping it closed before moving to the next hole created by cutters.

“Are you always this pushy?” you asked, avoiding his stare as you worked to close all the possible entrances (and exits).

“I just wanted to help,” Taehyung confessed quietly. “I felt pointless in there, not falling asleep. Plus, Jiyong snores. I wanted some peace and quiet.”

At that, you scoffed and smile. “Well, I can believe that. He’s always been a snorer, ever since high-school.”

Taehyung made a noise of acknowledgement, finally accepting defeat and crouching quietly beside you, wordless but inquisitive. It had only been three days since he joined the camp by chance; he was one of the lucky ones who approached your camp and made it inside. A law you lived by, inside your cluttered and hazy and scared brain, was that you never accepted outsiders into the camp. Sticking by friends you’ve known and trusted for years seemed safer than blindly trusting someone you had never met before. But, as Seunghyun pointed the sniper rifle at his tuft of brown hair hanging on his forehead, Yena had bounced down from the watch-tower with wide eyes - “he needs a Doctor, Y/N. He’s bleeding from his knee. We have the supplies, we can save his life.”

You just wanted humanity to survive.

And so the gates opened and he lay down on a medical bed inside the warehouse, and Yena and Jisoo helped patch up his wounds. Now, here he is; lingering in the shadows of the warehouse, limping across the length of the grounds, begging for jobs to keep himself occupied.

“You work a lot,” Taehyung noted. “I never see you sleep at night. Insomnia?”

“One person always stays on guard during the night,” you explain, tugging at the wire to make sure it holds. “I volunteer because there’s always something that needs to be done around here. If you think you’re safe, you’re wrong. Nobody else wants to do it, so I will. Just to keep myself busy, mainly.”

Taehyung nodded. “I get that. Before I came here, I just walked. I never stopped walking from where I was, constantly looking for somewhere safe to go.”

“Ain’t that the way,” you replied. With nothing left to do with the fence, you eventually turned to look at him, staring at his face outlined by the dim gas-lighter by the door to the warehouse. “You been on your own for a while?”

“No,” he answered, hesitantly. “I was with my sister when the virus first broke out. We were both at NYU. We got separated in the manic and I joined a small group of science students on their way to find a cure. Clearly, that didn’t work out. I figured it was safer on my own, you know? I had no idea where she went. So, I walked.”

“And your leg?” you asked, looking at his knee, still wrapped in soaked bandages. “You got hurt pretty bad, huh? Biter get you?”

“Unfortunately not. I got jumped by a couple bandits on my way here. I got away when a few walkers came by, but barely escaped. Then, I came here.”

You stood up as he spoke, him following your every move like a mirror. “‘Walkers.’ You can tell you’re from New York.”

Moving away from Taehyung, your feet take you to the mid-height fence near the drop towards the forest, a view overlooking the tops of tall trees, a spiralling path faded by fog and the familiar outline of a deserted city near the horizon. Kicking the fence gently, it stays in place, requiring no fortifications or attention. Nothing could climb the steep drop beneath it. Resting your elbows on the beach wood of the fence, you rest your weight and stare towards the city, analysing the corners of each building, jagged lines like a maths puzzle.

“While I was getting patched up,” Taehyung began, after a long moment of serene silence, “Jisoo told me that you guys go out on trips, hunts in cities. How many have you covered?”

“Only one,” you replied, nodding in the direction of the city in front of you. “That’s Denver. It’s so large that we barely covered a third of it in the two years we’ve been here. We planned to keep moving, but we had some...complications along the way. We got trapped up here. Every week we send out a group to scavenge the cities, find whatever we can to prepare us for travels. And last week, Jiyong’s pick-up truck ran out of gas for good, so anything we can find to help get that back and running would be great.”

Taehyung nodded with understanding, picking at the dry skin around his bitten-down fingernails. “I hear it’s in a few days. Shouldn’t you be asleep, resting for it?”

“I can’t sleep,” you said quietly. “Not anymore. And it’s like I said, there’s always shit that needs to be done. The drive to the city is around half hour, I can catch some z’s on the way there and between shifts. Why so curious, anyway? You coming with us, or something?”

He shrugged. “Can I?”

“Have you got anything better to do?” you retort, and he smiles slightly, looking down. “I hear you’re a good runner. We could use the extra legs and arms. If your knee’s up to it, course.”

Gratefully, he nodded with acceptance. “Come to think of it, your group is quite small. Has it always been this selective?”

As the words left his lips, Taehyung felt himself regret that sentence, noticing the way you tensed next to him, hands pausing in their movement of toying a blade of grass that hugged the fence post.

“I’m sorry. That was rude-”

“There were others,” you replied tensely, your demeanour changed instantly. “But like all other groups, we lost people along the way. Good people. Kind and loving people. In a world where life is so short, I can’t afford to lose anybody else.”

You clapped his shoulder roughly, “you’re new, Taehyung, and I don't expect you to understand. But we’re a family here, and the safety of the group is essential. You’re gonna lose people along the way but…”

Your voice trailed off, and Taehyung looked up. He got it. You didn’t have to continue speaking for him to put the pieces together.

Two Days Later. 08:19am.

The lively sound of a rumbling engine stirred Taehyung awake, the noise travelling from the square all the way to the South-Wing, painted in yellow as ‘Zone S’. S for sleep, or S for safety, Taehyung couldn’t quite decipher.

Sitting on the rectangle straw-sheet, he slipped on his socks and signature ruby leather boots, carrying his jacket over his arms as he left the zone and moved towards the square, where the sun bled out onto the dusty tarmac, a glimmer of glittering light causing him to squint as he crossed the width of the kitchen. He smiled at Yena, the youngest in the group, only eighteen amongst middle-aged outcasts, and passed her at the table, ignoring her wavering stare.

“Taehyung. Good morning.”

He forced himself to smile over at Taekwoon, only slightly intimidated by the size of his muscles behind a grey sleeved tee, and the way he effortlessly lifted a duffel bag filled with weapons into the trunk of the Subaru. Taekwoon looked over gently, in an effort not to afraid the newbie, and then he shut the boot of the car and approached him.

“You coming on our trip today?” he asked, and Taehyung nodded.

“Did you clear it with Y/N?”

“Yes,” he replied surely. “She invited me.”

Taekwoon smiled mockingly, laughing out of his nose. “Right. Sure she did.”

Taehyung blinked, unfamiliar. “Where is Y/N? Isn’t she coming with us?”

“Yeah. Protocol around here is similar to certain armies,” Taekwoon explained lamely. “The leader always helps out on missions. Hey, she’s nothing like that old guy out of Wonder Woman, I’ll tell you that.”

“Y/N is the leader?” Taehyung asked dumbly.

Taekwoon turned then, resting a hand upon the hot black exterior of the car. “Does that shock you?”

“Kinda. She looks so…”

He didn’t continue, but Taekwoon nodded in understanding. “We get it. But without her, none of us would be here. I couldn’t think of anyone better leading us. Well, I mean, I’d proper love a Rick Grimes around here, but you can’t have everything. Jiyong and Seunghyun are technically leaders, too, but we just say Y/N is to deprive them the satisfaction of feeling powerful.”

From behind him, the short sound of footsteps made Taehyung turn, meeting your gaze halfway as you briskly passed him, cheeks clammy, freckles on display. He’d never noticed them before. At your entry, the group of hunters gathered around the bonnet of the car as you spread a map down on it with a short slap, a dying red Sharpie in your hand, circling the next part of the city.

“Last week we went to this section, so try and focus on these areas today,” you explained, waiting for Taehyung to shift into a position where he could see the map carefully. “Denver was one of the worst hit cities, so we could either be lucky and find bodies, or unlucky and find biters. Either way, try and avoid making sound. We have the radios and walkies in-case we get into any sort of trouble. If we lose signal, meet at the car before sunset. Remember - don’t risk your life if one of us doesn’t arrive on time. Give it five minutes after the sun begins to disappear, and if we’re not here, go on ahead. We can’t sacrifice our supplies for the sake of one man. It’s harsh, and we go through this every time, but I’m making it clear to the fresh meat.”

Everybody, minus Taehyung and his bewildered expression, nodded with understanding, a quiet murmur overpowering the groan of the dead hanging in the shadows of the forest surrounding the warehouse.

“Is there anything anybody wants to ask for before we head onto the road?” Jiyong asked, his voice in the same usual volume- quieter than a shout, slightly louder than a whisper.

“Gas is a priority,” Taehyung suggested, remembering the conversation about the useless pick-up truck sitting in the back near the barrens.

Taekwoon nodded, “we need gas for the truck, and in-case our getaway vehicle runs out unexpectedly. We’re on our last few drops.”

“The usual, I’d expect. Food is obvious, water, clean water. Clothes, or batteries would be great, too. Never skip over a store because it looks empty,” Doyoung, Yena’s brother and the best shooter within the group aside from Seunghyun, said, looking at Taehyung all the while. “Pharmacy's look emptied, but there’s always the office near the back that’s filled with extra medicine. The keys are usually on a staff member who’s lurking or dead. You have materials that can pick the lock.”

“How do you know that for sure?” Taehyung asked, meanwhile the rest of the group readied the truck. You stayed near Taehyung, eager to hear what he had to say.

“I used to work at my Dad’s pharmacy before shit hit the fan,” Doyoung shrugged. “I know my way around a pharmacy, is all.”

Having little else to do, Taehyung simply nodded and stood still, waiting for the group to finish setting up the car, with Taekwoon riding his motorcycle near the front like a Police escort.

“Ready?” you asked, stopping by his side as the group hollered for everybody to get inside. Yena hurried out towards the gate, hanging by the loose chain ready to open it up. Taehyung sucked in a breath quietly, and looked at you with as much optimism as he could. It came out falsely, but you appreciated his efforts.

“Not really. Will I ever be?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. No response was good.

The city was unusually quiet.

Beside you, in the back of the car, Taehyung stared silently at the scenery as it rolled past, just as the car crossed into the city’s territory. Immediately, he could see the stark contrast between the wilderness and the madness; a concrete jungle, overpowered by lush green and forest ferns, weeds that turreted as high as traffic lights snaking up the drains of apartment complexes, tufts of cloth dancing in the breeze. Despite the damage from nuclear destruction, Taehyung was surprised that nature could take over so quickly. He stared in silence at the sight of rusted vehicles abandoned in the streets, decorated with blood red graffiti, the walls of buildings reading “DEAD INSIDE” or “KEEP OUT”, neither better than the other. As the car crossed through an intersection, down one of the streets, water had eroded the roads; murky green water bouncing off the heavy sunlight creating patterns on the brickwork, faded and dressed in dark ivy.

“Reminds me of Chernobyl,” Taehyung commented on the way there.

As the car pulled up in a relatively deserted section of the city, Jiyong switched off the gas and hopped out instantly, wasting zero time. Taehyung clambered out afterwards, holding open the door as you climbed out after him, nodding as a thank-you, already familiarising yourself with the silence.

Taekwoon began to hand out weapons from the duffel bag in the boot as you stared in all directions, analysing pathways and gaps between buildings. Craning upwards, the canopy of unstable concrete, the decaying body of two large towers collided together, made you feel uneasy, and you turned back towards the group, gladly taking a pistol and extra ammunition.

“Remember the rules,” you reminded. “Stay in your partners. Taekwoon and Doyoung, go North. Jiyong, Seunghyun, go West. Jisoo, you’re okay to go South, yes? I’ll take the newbie with me East.”

Jisoo nodded, loading her gun. “I don’t need a man to slow me down.”

“Just be careful,” you warned, happy to see her confident going alone. Taehyung shifted from foot to foot, shakily taking a pistol from the bottom of the bag and following behind you as you moved towards the East direction, towards the fallen ruins of Denver city.

After some minutes of silence, Taehyung spoke up: “where are we going?”

“Further into the city,” you replied, not missing a beat. “Most of the stores close to the square have been checked already. But the ones further in the city are more likely to stay in tact. Nobody comes in here unless they want to die. Thankfully, it seems quiet today.”

“We got lucky, then,” he decided.

“I hope you’re right.”

A few more minutes in, and Taehyung felt himself cower at the sight of more skyscrapers leaning together, debris falling from the sky and landing in tufts near his feet. He ignored the stained blood from feet as he crossed a gravel pathway, near a sectioned off waterpool barricaded by old cars. Distracting himself, Taehyung invested his attention towards yourself, watching cautiously as you fiddled with buttons on the small radio you picked up along the way.

“Should you really be using that out in the open?”

You paused, scoffing slightly. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I believe you, but, that’s making noise.”

“What about it?”

Taehyung narrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Noise attracts walkers.”

With a final sigh, you turned to him over your shoulder. “You’re going to attract ‘walkers’ in a minute. Just...keep your voice down, yeah? The radio is our only way to communicate with those outside our group. It’s either this, or walking straight into death. You want that?”

“Obviously not,” he replied.

Opting to keep you happy, Taehyung didn’t say anything else. Instead, he followed your heels closely, muttering soft thanks when you lifted up a beam for him to duck under, or pointed out a hole of muddy water that was probably contaminated. In his ears, he listened for the sound of something - anything - to come through on the radio, when a voice cut through the radio static.

“...nothing left. I’m leaving the city, with as many people as I can. We have to leave people behind, but...they’re in no position to travel. Alby is sick, and Jaena’s leg is infected. We don’t have much time left…”

Taehyung moved closer to you, and you positioned the radio so he could hear.

“There’s nothing left for anybody in City Ten. Bandits and hunters come to scavenge stores but there’s nothing we can do about it. We gathered all the medical supplies in our store room in Block 18. Fuck, I don’t know what building we are in, but we can see the large building that towers over all others from our window. Tommy came in saying he has everything ready for us to go. We’re heading North, towards Washington. Some survivors said there was a group of student scientists there with a bunch of NASA officials, working on a cure. They’re calling Washington the safe zone, or something, I can’t remember. Denver is empty.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” Taehyung said in a low voice, and you looked at him briefly before looking back at the radio, as if it would do something visual.

The voice continued breathily: “If you’re still in the city...if anybody even still listens to me, you need to get out. You need to head to-” she paused over the line. “Fuck, they’re here. I hear them.” Her voice got quieter, breathier, like a whisper. You decided to continue on foot next to Taehyung, waiting for her voice to come back through the line. For what felt like eternity, she made no response.

Taehyung heaved himself up over an abandoned car, extending a hand down to you to help pull you up. Climbing up after him, you snatched your hand away when you realised he was still holding onto you, brushing your hand on your jeans and jumping down from the car back onto the floor.

“Hey, Y/N, how about we head over--”

Abruptly, the woman’s voice cut back in through the silence. “Oh fuck! Oh my god, they k-killed him. They killed him, oh my God, they’re coming back for me, stop! Leave me alone!”

Her screams were screeching, loud enough to shatter glass. Taehyung immediately fumbled for the volume, hissing when the radio continued to scream out into the silence of the city. As quickly as her screams became deafening, they became deaf, fallen silent, only static replacing her noises. As if overcome with fear, you toss the radio to the side, causing it to smash into pieces.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung exclaimed suddenly.

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you replied, shaking your head furiously. “Come on, let’s keep going. We’ve already wasted time listening.”

“She’s in trouble,” Taehyung continued, nonetheless following you. “We could try and find her, and help her.”

You smiled bitterly, hiking towards the nearest convenience store at the ground of a large high-rise building, slanted and glass-covered. “Taehyung, you’re sweet. Really, and I so like that about you. You’re a good asset to the team, and I want to keep it that way. But, we can’t afford to save her. By the sounds of things, she didn’t make it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Pausing to observe a blood-covered metal bat rolling back and forth by the open door to the store, you crouch to pick it up and swing it back and forth. “You’re right, I don’t. But I care more about our survival than hers.”

Behind you, he scoffed and shook his head. “You’re heartless.”

“No, I’m realistic,” you counter, holding the door open for him and handing him the metal bat. He caught it with a breath of air. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you about it. We can discuss it back at camp. For now, we have to look in the area and find somewhere to scavenge. This’ll do for the moment. Take the chemist and the clothes, I’ll scan the aisles for food if there is any. If you see bottled water, please get some.”

Taehyung reluctantly sighed, following you through the door and flinching when his boots crunched shards of broken glass on the floor. Shuffling into place, Taehyung scanned the room with a somber expression; the shelves near the door had been stripped clean, with only crumbs and stains marking the off-white colours, faded neons screaming nursery rhymes as he approached the first aisle. To his delight, or more so relief, he noticed food still on the shelves towards the back of the store, and he moved his gaze towards the right side of the store, where a hanging light, swinging to and fro with a daunting creak, read “Clothing”, where a neon should have bled out into cyans and magentas.

“Take half an hour?” you suggested, tossing him a spare flashlight from your backpack. “Meet back here if you can’t find anything useful. Take what we need, not what you want. I mean, clothing is preference, but- you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sounding almost indifferent. “I know. Be careful.”

To that, you smiled. “You too.”

Waiting until Taehyung had shuffled into the shadows of the clothes department, somewhat near to the flickering blue glow of the chemist desk, you gulped and retreated towards the far shelf, crouching to pack in a can of beans and some soup, close to expiry but good enough to salvage. By the end of the search, your bag was near enough filled to the brim; you had plenty of food, and lighters to aid Jiyong’s bad smoking habit, alongside a pack of cigarettes you found at the back of the shelf next to some ammunition and a discarded wallet. A pack of batteries lay like a ripe cherry in a bunch of rotten ones, and you barely wedged it into the front pocket of your bag. Feeling successful, you swung the backpack onto your shoulders and rose from your crouch behind the shelves.

Poking your head over the stacks, the sound of Taehyung dragging clothes across the rails puts your mind at ease, distracting you from the low hum of the undead, which, as if it were possible, seemed to get louder and louder. Probably paranoia, you guessed, minding your own business as you approached the counter looking into the bakery. You stared sadly at the moulded breads and pastries, eyeing them with a new hunger. If you remembered hard enough, you could remember visiting a store just like this one and buying fish at the market, and then buying a custard cake at the bakery with your college friends.

At that thought, you looked away, leaning over the counter to eye the floor, messed with flour and footprints dotted with red shuffling towards the kitchen, where silence screamed out. You took a guess that the red wasn’t your ordinary jam, and you gulped, sadly imagining who the unlucky victim was. Shrugging off those thoughts, you prepared to pick yourself back up onto your feet when a loud shuffle made you freeze in all movement.

Please be Taehyung.

Turning around slowly, you held your breath calmly, facing the store. As you turned to look to your left, the sight of a biter hovering near the glass doorway to the side-store made a chill run up the length of your body. You did nothing. It simply stared.

Perhaps if you moved slowly, it wouldn’t see you. Albeit wishful thinking, it seemed better than nothing at this point. It stood there dauntingly, shaking from side to side with a tremor, lips torn apart and skin ripped, maggots clinging to the rotten flesh. It let out a snarl, teeth curling and stirring creamy foam out of its mouth, fingers curled like dinosaur claws. As it waited, you turned fully, hands spread flat on the counter of the desk, observing all possible exits.

There was the safe route; towards Taehyung where he could help you take out the biter coming after you. There was the risky route; straight back towards the door, where noise would attract both the biter and Taehyung anyway. Or there was the stupid route; towards the biter, ready for attack.

Thankfully, you’d seen zombie movies enough times to know that running towards the biter almost always got you killed. Instead, you moved slowly, almost unmoving entirely. The biter stayed in place, biting air, snarling at the wind. Walking as quietly as you could, you edged towards the clothing section to find Taehyung, already somewhat comforted by the continuous sound of him dragging hangers across the rails. Every step was taken without breath; afraid that even blinking would send it into a frenzy, silence was of new paramount importance.

Inching further towards Taehyung, you flinched violently when the biter growled loudly, making enough noise to pull Taehyung’s head out of the clothing racks, bag practically stuff with clothes he basically didn’t really need. When the noise was followed by silence, he gripped his bat handle tighter and dropped his backpack to the tiles with a soft thud. Taehyung moved slowly towards the open archway separating the clothes to the foods, taking his time looking at the way the lights flickered, and the sound of the wind getting caught in the tiny cracks in the window-panes.

“Y/N?” he called, unaware. His grip tightened on the bat when nothing responded, only a murmur, a groan that sounded guttural. “Y/N?”

Approaching the arch, he turned into the main foyer of the store and froze in place when he saw you; standing like a statue by the counter, facing him with eyes wide. Without saying words, he seemed to know what to do - he looked back and forth between yourself and the biter, staring at the way it swayed from side to side, occasionally jolting as if having a seizure. Looking back at you, he paused when you held your hands in front of you, as if warning him to stay away.

“Don’t move,” you mouthed, afraid of a whisper being too loud.

He nodded, although you barely caught it. “What do we do?” he mouthed back.

Catching your breath quietly, you began to move slowly towards him, dragging your feet across the tiles wiped with tomato coloured red. Taehyung held out his hands invitingly, bat still pointed outwards, shaking slightly. He couldn’t pinpoint whether it was nerves, or fear, but either one drove his hands further outwards, taking small steps of his own towards you, quiet in an effort to not distract unwanted attention.

“That’s it,” he whispered, the smallest of whispers, waving his hands slowly in circles. “Slowly…”

The taste of blood swam through your mouth as your teeth sank down onto the inside of your lip, hands shaking violently as you steadily stepped towards your partner. Closer than breath, he was steps away, when your foot came down on shards of cloudy glass.

It ripped through the silence like a cough in Church.

The biter jolted with a high-pitched scream, too loud for you to turn around to check its expression. Taehyung stared over your shoulder at the way it broke out of a trance, screeching loudly at the sight of sounds. Time was running out; Taehyung yelled your name loudly, causing you to hurry towards him to grab his hand extended outward. As you skidded past his legs, his voice rang in your ears, lips brushing your hair: “Outside! Now!”

Grabbing his bag discarded on the floor, Taehyung swung it over his shoulders as you hurried ahead, ducking through a broken window. With impatience, Taehyung pushed you out, hands on your upper-back thigh, cradling you as you jumped out the hole and onto the road. He barely made it out, tugging at the thin material of your sleeve and dragging you out into the dust on the road. From behind both of you, the doors separating the biter and the store smashed open, alerting at least a dozen others lingering nearby in the dusty shadows.

They were newly infected, still grasping on to whatever shreds of humanity they had left. Running fast, screams loud, hands still rotting the flesh away; the biters ran from behind you down the road, screaming with every step, nudging you both further down the large road to nowhere. You weren’t even sure if this was the way you came; all you seemed focused on was the sight of Taehyung’s feet leaving you behind in a cloud of dust. He was faster than you had anticipated, but, with experience, you endured the heat of the panic and gravitated towards his side.

“Y/N-” he began, looking at you with a breathless expression.

“Don’t talk!” you screamed in reply, pulling at his arm. “Just fucking run!”

Passing identical buildings, acting like copied and pasted images, it was hard to deny that you were exhausted. At one point, it felt like Taehyung was dragging your weight, your legs too tired to hurry along after his frame. The cries of hunger and agony from the biters behind you increased in volume, filling the atmosphere with a heaviness. If the group were close, they had heard the noises and thought better than sticking around.

“Turn! Here, here, here, here, don’t fucking stop running!” screamed your voice over the chaos, pushing Taehyung by his shirt towards a small and narrow alleyway between two smaller stores; a ladder, enclosed by a bar painted an ebony black, smiled in the darkness, and Taehyung thankfully ran towards it without hesitation. The sharp turn caught the mob off-guard, sending them skidding across the road.

Taehyung began to climb up the ladder, and you swiftly followed, veins pumping with fear and adrenaline, hands shivering as you climbed from step to step, height to height. A biter lunged for your boot, sinking its teeth into the heel and you kicked it in the jaw, a growl emerging from its torn jaw as it collapsed back into the hoard.

Finally reaching the top of the roof, you heaved yourself up over the low brick wall, physically feeling the exhaustion in your arms, a dampness under your armpits. Landing with a thud on top of Taehyung, a breath of hot hair released from your lips, strands of hair sticking to your forehead like cake mixture to a bowl. Both of your breaths were in sync; Taehyung lay beneath you, unmoving for the several moments of gathering breath, with the shakiness of his hands vibrating against your waist.

When the reality of lying on top of Taehyung sank in, you shuddered and lifted yourself up off his stomach, your palms scratching on the scorching hot roof. Behind you, Taehyung lifts himself up off the floor, leaning over the side of the wall to peer down at the biters below. Groans fill the air as he spots biters learning how to climb the ladder, and he gulps, saliva hot and solid moving down his dry throat.

“That was fucking insane,” he hissed, turning to you sharply as you pace in ovals on the roof. “What happened down there?”

“Biter came up on me,” you muttered, “didn’t hear it until it was too late.”

The biters congregated down below, a loud compilation of groans becoming disheartening as you fail to come up with a solution to this incredibly difficult problem. Taehyung jerks himself away from the wall, crouching to his backpack to take a swig of water he was planning to save until later. You turn halfway, thankfully taking a sip of the water he hands to you once he swallowed.

“What do we do now?” Taehyung asks, hands on his knees. He’s hunched over. “The group leaves at sundown. Will they wait?”

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head and shove the water back into his hands. “No. It’s the rules.”

“Fuck the rules,” he replies. “We’re a team.”

“Yeah, but we’ve worked this way for a while now. We won’t change just because you arrived to the group.”

Taehyung scoffed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Letting out a sigh, you pace back towards the wall overlooking the city. “It’s not ideal, I know. But if the group wait a second longer and lose their supplies to bandits or biters...it would be a waste of time. Our group are already vulnerable back at camp. We don’t wanna leave people behind. If you can help, do it, but we’re on a roof in the middle of the city and there’s no way in hell we can make it back in time without leaving right now.”

With nothing useful to say, Taehyung let his body drop with a thud on the floor, a cloud of dust circling his thighs as his bag dragged against the side of the wall. Above, the sky transitioned into auburn colours, clouds moving faster than smoke rising out a chimney, carried by the wind towards the direction of the camp. The sound of cicadas and the haunting birdsong, and the constant groan of death, was all to be heard as you clenched your outstretched hands into small balls, cursing the air with your gaze cast downwards; it eventually fell on the sight of a rusted, and unstable balcony a few stories below, a scrap of magenta cloth clinging to the corners, broken glass twinkling in the light.

As time moved, and hours rolled by, Taehyung had napped twice and your eyes would not move from the sight of the balcony, analysing each pattern and grid and rusted area, calculating jumps and falls and possible scenarios in your brain. Eventually, when the sky had darkened with rain clouds and night, the sun dipped behind a large storey building. Maybe the group would wait for you.

Maybe they’d think differently because you were their leader. Or maybe they didn’t need you.

With a fright, Taehyung jumped when you spun around to him, crouched on your knees with an urgent voice. “I have one plan, and if this plan fails, we are doomed.”

“Sounds promising,” he commented, without giving a plan of his own. Taehyung rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm.

“There’s a balcony,” you explained, moving across the roof to show him, pointing down at the brown painted overhang. He nodded with understanding, “it obviously goes into a room. We could sneak through the building and come out through the front. The herd are around the back, or in the alley, and the ones up front are too tired to react in time. We use that time to run back towards the truck. The group might have stayed behind for us, but if not, we can try to see if any of the cars around the area are salvageable. If all fails...we could camp in a building for the night. Start walking to camp. We’d be there in a day, or two.”

Taehyung stood quietly, thinking.

“It’s risky,” you considered, looking at him, bottom lip between top teeth. “But it’s the only plan I have.”

“It’s the only plan we have,” Taehyung replied. “I couldn’t think of anything better. Are you okay to run?”

Nodding your head, you adjusted the straps of your backpack, tightening it so it would manage the drop in silence. Taehyung hesitated, watching you climb over the half-wall and settle to sit, your legs hanging over the side above the short, nonetheless intimidating drop to the balcony. Quickly, however, he followed; Taehyung heaved himself up next to you, watching nervously as you pushed forward and back, with inner conflict.

“Ready?” he asked, gently, without demand.

Without talking, you pushed.

NEXT CHAPTER.

#IM SO HAPPY ITS OUT IMDNFJHAJK #ktaenet #btsguild #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts #bangtan #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #taehyung smut #zombie apocalypse au #bts au #kth #tw: zombies #tlou

[writingjourney]

The Perfect Man (Scott Lang x reader)

Part 3/3

Summary: You’re in love with your best friend, but trying to get over him by going on dates isn’t very promising…

Pairing: Scott Lang x reader

A/N: The ending, hope you like it <3

Word count: 1.618

(Y/N) = your name

Warnings: fluff, weird guy from tinder, Scott being Scott

(Masterlist) - Part 1 - Part 2

Your POV

You sat on the bench in silence. Of course Scott had picked up his phone, of course he would come and get you. If he had to, he would put on his ridiculous but damn hot suit, grow the size of a bear and punch Josh in the face.

Why was he so perfect? Why did he make it so hard not to love him?

You were so lost in thought that you hadn't noticed his car pulling up after a bit over ten minutes and only realized Scott was there when he was walking towards you. When you saw his worried expression, you couldn't help but cry again. Scott wrapped his arms around you and held you for a moment.

"Are you hurt?" he asked close to your ear.

You shook your head. "Nah."

"Did he touch you?"

You gulped down your tears to answer him. "Well, kind of, my thigh, but that was when I left."

Scott swallowed visibly but apparently decided against going after Josh. Instead he hugged you tighter until you had calmed down. "Come on, let's go home," he said then and you followed him to the car, embarrassed but glad.

During the ride, you just stared out the window to calm down. You tried to ignore Scott's worried glances that only made it worse. He really had no clue and that made him even more lovable in your eyes, he did all of this for you without even knowing the extent of your feelings for him. From today on you wouldn't go on dates anymore, not because of your bet from a few days ago but because you couldn't stand it anymore. Scott deserved to know.

When you got home, you threw your purse away, got out of your uncomfortable shoes and tried to open the sipper of your dress, but you fiddled and didn't reach it and eventually let out an annoyed grunt.

"Wait," Scott said and moved behind you to open it.

You turned around to look at him, heart beating faster and he seemed unusually serious, but before you could say anything, the doorbell rang. You were both surprised and Scott let out a nervous chuckle.

"That should be the food I ordered..." he said and you went to your bedroom while he opened up, getting rid of the dress. You put on some leggings and found one of Scott's hoodies - it was the one you had gifted him way back when he became Ant-Man. It had the Avengers logo on it and he had been so happy. It also reminded you on why it was in your bedroom in the first place. You and Scott had watched a movie here some weeks ago. That night you had fallen asleep and then woken up in his arms the next morning. You had never talked about that incident but it was your favorite memory lately.

You walked back into the living room, noticing that Scott had really got a shit ton of Chinese take out food that was now on your coffee table.

"You ordered my favorite as well? But you didn't even know I'd be here," you said, inspecting the boxes.

"I thought you might come home earlier and... still be hungry, you know..."

You plopped down next to him on the couch, still awkwardly avoiding the actual issue. "Yea, the food was... pretty terrible. You were right about that, too."

"You looked incredibly in that dress, by the way," Scott said. "But you look even better in that hoodie, well... my hoodie."

A smile crept onto your face and Scott mirrored it. He was the only one able to cheer you up like that. But that was part of the problem. It couldn't go on like this, he just had to know, because now you knew it wouldn't go away.

"Scott, I need to tell you something," you started.

The man looked at you as if you had proclaimed the apocalypse. "Oh... Okay..."

You took a deep breath, looking into his expectant face while your heart beat mercilessly, almost painfully, as you tried to form words. "The truth is... that I love you, Scott. And I've been going on these dates to get over my feelings for you, not because I actually wanted to meet these men. God, I've been in love with you ever since I know you, but since you live here, it got completely out of hand. I just had to try to get you out of my head somehow... I'm so silly and naive, I know you still love Hope, but I just can't help it. I probably ruined everything now by telling you this and you might want to leave," you rambled on, but the more you talked, the more tears came and at some point, you were fully crying. Scott wrapped his arms around you out of reflex and pulled you close. You clung to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "I can't lose you, Scott."

"You won't, pumpkin," he mumbled, still holding you close and it was as if not having to look into your face loosened his tongue. "And you really are silly because apparently you have no idea what you mean to me. Picking you up after all these disappointing dates broke my heart but what was worse was sitting here, waiting for you to come home, not knowing if I should hope that you called me with this sad tone in your voice or that you finally found someone even if it wasn't me. Luis opened my eyes today and I wanted to keep you from going out not because I wanted to ruin your night but because I wanted to tell you that I love you."

You loosened your grip on him and looked into his eyes in disbelief.

"Because I do..." he went on quietly. "Love you, I mean."

"But what about Hope?" you asked.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I don't know what you mean, we broke up a year ago and now we're just friends, you know that..."

"I overheard a conversation a few weeks ago and you said... you said you didn't think you could ever get over her," you explained, swallowing hard.

"What exactly did I say?" he asked. "Did I say her name?"

"No, it was... 'I don't think I can ever get over her' or something like that. You sounded really sad and I figured you were still heartbroken. I mean you see her all the time."

Scott sighed. "Yea I was heartbroken, but I wasn't talking about Hope, (Y/N), I was talking about you. I was so scared of losing your friendship if I ever told you, because I really can't be without you. But you don't even see it, you think you don't deserve love, but you're so smart and funny and beautiful and kind and you keep up with all my bullshit, not once letting me down. You're amazing with Cassie who adores you almost as much as I do and you were there for me when no one else was. I trust you with my life, with this whole superhero thing. How can you not see that I love you?"

This unusual outburst caught you by surprise, but his face was as serious as never before. In the silence that followed, you became painfully aware that his arm was still wrapped around you and your face was close to his. You carefully lifted your hand and cupped his cheek, feeling his soft but slightly stubbly skin while your eyes never left his. Scott visibly swallowed and you inched even closer until, finally, you could press your lips to his. It was a test, to see what it would feel like, and you realized that this was a completely new sensation. You deepened the kiss as Scott pulled you closer to his body, his hands on your hips. He felt familiar and new at the same time.

After a few minutes, Scott broke away. "One more thing," he said.

"What?" you asked, concerned that he had changed his mind.

"Before I completely lose myself, there is something I wanted to ask you," he explained and a smile spread out on his face. "The company is doing quite well now and I thought I'd try to bid on this nice little house... and turns out that I got it. I thought that maybe, well, you'd like to move in there with me. I know, I know we've only lived together for a few months, but I know that you hate this apartment and I really don't want to live without you, especially not now that this finally happened, and I'm sure Maggie would allow Cassie to come over more often if we lived there and you were there too to take care of her as well and..."

"Scott," you interrupted him with a smile. "I'd love that."

"Thank God," he mumbled. "You know I've been meaning to ask you since before I knew you loved me too and I was scared you'd think I'm a total weirdo."

You ran your hand over his chest. "Well, I will always think that, but you're just the amount of weird I can handle."

"Gee, thanks," Scott said with a playful eye-roll, but then smiled, bringing his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "God, you're so beautiful."

You grinned and kissed him again, snuggling closer to his side. Scott held you tight. To feel his arms around you brought the comfort you had needed and you couldn't believe that this evening had a happy ending after all.

#scott lang x reader #scott lang #scott lang imagine #scott lang x you #ant-man imagine #ant-man #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #avengers x y/n #Avengers

[agirlingrey]

❛ @liondaughter  ❜  SENT A RAVEN: ❛  04. Zombie Apocalypse AU.  ❜

VARIOUS DRABBLE AUS ! *  /  ACCEPTING.

DAY 89 | 03:34 AM.

Myrcella’s sobs had finally subsided as she EXHAUSTED herself to sleep, but despite the lack of noise, Alys found herself unable to do the same. It had been four days since little Tommen was bitten one of those WRETCHED those creatures and died in his older sister’s arms, choking on his own blood — only to rise again with COLD SKIN AND BLUE EYES. Even then Myrcella had refused to let go, leaving Alys with no choice but to physically push her away in order to deal with... it herself. The younger girl had not spoken A SINGLE WORD since.

A part of Alys had been hoping it would be like after Joffrey died. Myrcella and Tommen had both been quieter than usual for a day, but if their DRY EYES were any indication, they did not exactly GRIEVE for their older brother — no more than Alys had. Truth to be told, she had been quite relieved, but that was not something one shared with the siblings of the man in question, however UNPLEASANT he might have been.

Alys heard a muffled gasp from across the room, and after a moment, a new, CHOKED sob. With an inaudible sigh, she turned on her makeshift bed, more certain than ever that Tommen’s death would stay with her, WITH THEM, for a long time.

DAY 127 | 08:12 PM.

Her legs and lungs felt like they were ON FIRE, but stopping even for a few seconds for breath meant death. Alys could hear Myrcella’s heavy breaths just over her shoulder, reassuring her that the other girl was keeping up just fine. Just a little more, she told herself as her lungs SCREAMED in protest, Less than a mile.

Normally, their supply runs went much SMOOTHER than this, but they had made the mistake of wandering in a store that was filled with these... Walkers. She thought it was a stupid name, as they seemed quite capable of RUNNING, but this was hardly the time for that debate.

Alys shrieked as she felt a skeletal hand land on her shoulder, surprised that she still had breath left enough to make a sound. But she QUICKLY AND VIOLENTLY shook it off before nearly collapsing with relief at the sight of their shelter — a concrete cabin with a thick steel door and windows nailed shut with wooden pieces thanks to nearly HALF A YEAR of scavenging materials and working to make it a safe as possible. She thought she head a gasp from Myrcella as well, but it was difficult to be certain with all the HORRIFYING grunts and snarls accompanied their every step, thanks to the hoarde behind them.

She could not say how they managed to open the heavy door, rush inside and then lock it again, all within a span of seconds. As if they had rehearsed it before, both of them slid to the floor and practically COLLAPSED against the gate, breathless and drenched of sweat.

“Next —” Alys wheezed and coughed, “Next time, let’s n-not go that way.”

DAY 242 | 13:01 PM.

“Because it’s most likely A TRAP,” Alys screeched, wincing at her loud her own voice was. She pushed a stray lock away from her forehead in frustration, absentmindedly noting once again how LONG her hair had gotten. She had actually been planning to ask Myrcella to cut it for her today, but after that broadcast, their daily routine got derailed in a VERY DRAMATIC fashion. The urge to stomp her feet and throw a fit was strong, but Alys wanted to appear FIRM AND CONVINCING, not childish and scared.

“You want us to leave our safe-house, which we’ve spent months working on, to go follow a lead that some guy on a radio said was a SANCTUARY.” This time, thanks to considerable effort, Alys’ voice was at a normal level, but still vibrating with anger, “Nothing about this makes any sense! Seriously Myrcella, I thought you were SMARTER than this! Did you forget the incident at Evergreen?” Though it had been nearly half a year since they passed through that town, the memory of it never failed to SHIVER, nor did she ever get over the nausea whenever she remembered that... family who lived in a house full of human bones.

“We are not going.” She said firmly. She had heard Myrcella’s ARGUMENTS all morning, and she did not need to hear them again. Alys was not the leader or anything — the time they have spent thus far has been an EQUAL PARTNERSHIP, even when Joffrey and Tommen were around, based on the decisions they had made as one. But she also knew that Myrcella was UNLIKELY to risk going off on her own. Despite her ealier words, she actually did think she was smarer than that. “And that’s final.”

Turning around on her heels, Alys stomped towards her makeshift bed and hid under her blankets, ignoring the ANNOYED huff that sounded from behind her, followed by harsh and stomping footsteps that receded into the next room.

DAY 365 | 12:00 AM.

A year. A whole year. Sometimes it seemed to Alys that this NIGHTMARE began ages ago, that she could hardly remember a time when they were not dodging the undead, washing in ice cold tubs and rationing every bite. Like that’s how her WHOLE LIFE had been and that’s how it always would be. Other times, she felt disoriented, still expecting the booming voice of her father to announce that breakfast was ready, to hear her brothers BICKERING over bacon. Those days are usually THE WORST, when she can hardly find the heart to speak a few words after starting the days with the memories of before.

Inside their tiny, two-bedroom cabin, several different light snores and deep breaths filled the otherwise quiet night. That had been DIFFICULT to get used to as well — and if it were up to Alys, they wouldn’t have been in this situation at all. Myrcella had sulked for weeks after she refused to go check out that ‘Sanctuary,’ but eventually CONCEDED to her point. The same could not be said of her attitude after they met up with other survivors by pure chance, and got locked in a supermarket half the night due to a VIOLENT STORM raging outside. Apparently, those few hours were long enough for Myrcella to befriend them, and TRUST them enough to suggest a team-up. As soon as they were alone, Alys had made her displeasure known, causing her companion to ask, reason, beg, yell and THREATEN... eventually making Alys concede to letting them stay for one night.

One night became a week, then a month, and eventually, before she even REALISED what had happened, they were all living together — scavenging, going on supply runs, taking turns with watches, making meals... all to Myrcella’s INCREASING DELIGHT, and Alys’ ever-growing exasperation. These people were even younger than her and Myrcella. Sansa seemed too high-maintenance and was always TERRIFIED when they went outside, Rickon was just a child and Bran’s left leg was giving him serious trouble. She did think Arya was useful though, especially given that she was only fourteen or so. Perhaps it was HEARTLESS of her ( she knew Myrcella surely must think so ) but even after developing a sort of... companionship with the four kids, Alys still firmly believed that they would have been much better on their own.

Right now though, as she was wrapped up in heavy blankets on her bed with little Rickon sleeping on her leg ( however that happened ) none of those UNCHARITABLE thoughts made an appearance. She was far too relaxed and mellow, partly thanks to the cases of beer Arya had found SOMEWHERE. No one asked, and she did not tell.

Her eyes met Myrcella’s green pair, the only other person awake in the room, to find her staring back at her with a small smile on her face. And for the first time for a WHOLE YEAR, her frozen cheek muscles turned upwards and she found herself returning the gesture, raising a half-empty beer can in a shaky salute.

#liondaughter #ANSWERED. ( IN CHARACTER. ) #DRABBLES. #( so... I don't understand the concept of a 'drabble' apparently ) #( because they always turn out longer than I intended ) #( but eh. ) #winter's queue. ( absent. )

[composereggwrites]

Love will not break your Heart (but dismiss your Fears)

Chapter 1: Plant Your Hope with Good Seeds

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: T

Characters/Ships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Alice “Daisy” Tonner/Basira Hussain, Gerard Keay, Gertrude Robinson

Additional: Reincarnation AU, Soul Bond, Team as Family, Autistic Jon, Post-Canon Fix-it, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort

They stand in the Panopticon, fire raining down from the sky, as the Eye stares down at them.

Jon takes Martin’s hand in his.

Jonathan Barker-King wakes up and goes to class. He works under Gertrude’s rule at the university archives, and subs in when his coworkers at the library, Sasha and Tim, are out sick.

It’s on one such day that he reconnects with his old childhood friend. The one he hasn’t seen in 11 years, ever since their houses burned down. Martin Hussain-Tonner.

An Undone-Apocalypse reincarnation AU.

Ao3 or Below!

Jonathan Sims Barker-King sits at the checkout desk of Oxford University, and curses the flu for taking out both Tim and Sasha in the same week. Abandoning him to cover their shifts, when he should be down in the archives today, learning the ropes from Gertrude.

It’s not a hard job. Arguably, working in the archives is harder. But it’s also midterms season, and that means dealing with an influx of students who’ve realized they need to actually study, and he’s running this place short-staffed.

There’s a lull around 4:30pm, and he breathes a sigh of relief as it hits. The 4pm rush is typically the last of the day. No more beeping of the scanner, no more arguing with patrons about the fines they’ve accrued, and no more dealing with the incompetent people who don’t even know how to use a basic search function.

Maybe now he can work on his own homework. He’s got two essays and a test to study for, after all.

Just as he’s settling into the flow, typing the words into the document at a decent pace, someone approaches the desk once again.

“What do you need?” he snaps, most of the sharp edge tempered down with years of practice, before looking up.

The person who stands before him is easily 6’5, with wavy ginger hair, round glasses, and is absolutely built like a bear. But more importantly–

“Jon? Is that you?” he asks, grin on his face and light dancing in his eyes.

Jon laughs, still staring. “Y–Yeah. Holy–” he bites his tongue, no swearing on the job. “Martin? When the hell did you get so tall?”

Martin Blackwood Hussain-Tonner rubs the back of his head, laughing too. “Oh, you know. Hit a couple growth-spurts as a teen. Fifteen, sixteen, really shot up like a tree. What about you though? You’re so…”

“It’s alright, you can say small,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Unlike some people, I didn’t get height genes from my mysterious spawners. Mum still delights in being able to pick me up.”

“Oh I’m sure. She was absolutely fearless, wasn’t she?” Martin asks, and Jon nods.

“It’s almost terrifying at times. I mean, I’m 23, and she comes swooping in and carrying me around like it’s nothing.” His brain presents him with a mental image of Martin doing this, like he is now, and then he shoves that thought into a dark, locked box. Nope, not doing that.

Jon almost keeps talking, but some of the students with books piled higher than their heads are starting to glare, so he sighs. “I’m still on shift for another hour, but we should catch up, yeah? It’s been ages.”

Martin nods. “Sure! There’s a nice cafe on campus that we could go to, not too far from here, and I’m free tonight.”

He smiles. “I think I know the one. Sounds good to me. Meet you there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

___

It takes three years to find them.

Daisy and Basira chose to look for Martin, while Georgie and Melanie search for Jon. Because these foolish boys decided to stop the apocalypse together, and die together.

They’d left a tape behind, of course. Static layered over the words.

“We’re going to do something. If you’re hearing this, I’m going to assume it worked,” Jon had said. “We’re undoing the apocalypse. Both Martin and I.”

“The thing is,” Martin said, false-confidence in his bold voice, only a hint of a waver, “We’re not making it out of this… Well, not alive. Not how we are now, at least. But it’s okay! We’ll be coming back.”

Then Jon again, slipping into a neutral voice, steady as he explains. “Time is going to get a bit weirder than normal, and this is going to open the door for a lot of people to get second chances. Anyone touched by an Entity who stays alive will still remember everything that happened, but for the rest of the world… It’ll be like a mass hallucination.”

“You don’t need to find us,” Martin murmurs, softer now. “But… You can if you want. Jon doesn’t think we’ll remember anything. Definitely not at first, maybe not ever. We’re just going to be little kids, after all.”

“Take care of yourselves, alright? Georgie. Melanie. Daisy. Basira. This is a chance for freedom for all of you, too. We’re burning that wretched institute to the ground, with Jonah inside of it, and getting out.” Jon sighs, a hint of compassion leaking into his voice. Such a struggle for The Archivist to feel anything, and yet he feels more than ever, nowadays.

“Be safe, all of you. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”

After a bit of debate, Melanie had scoffed and said, “Obviously we’re gonna find those idiots. If we don’t, then Jude’ll hunt them down and burn them or somethin’. Might as well make sure that don’t happen.”

Easier said than done, of course. Daisy had managed to track down Martin a couple months ago, using some of the Hunt, before diving into a few rounds of Halo to shake the rest of the energy off. (That had been Basira’s idea, what better way to channel the Hunt than through violent video-games?)

Stepping into this orphanage, at first Georgie thinks it’ll be no different. It’s not a bad place, pristine and clean, but there’s no soul. Just another cluster of kids, too alone and small, who need homes that they can’t give.

Until she spots a child with too-big too-familiar eyes staring at them.

When they make eye-contact, the kid stands, and stumbles closer. She kneels down, and this child states, matter-of-fact, “You’re looking for me.”

“Oh, are we now?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your name, then?”

“Jonathan. They don’t call me that, they call me a girly name. But I’m Jon.” There’s a hard edge, determination, as if prepared for anything but acceptance.

“Of course you’re Jon,” Melanie says, careful to kneel, careful as she reaches out. It takes a moment, but she finds his hair, and ruffles it. Tenderness wiping away the gleam of fear in his eyes. “Why do you think we’re looking for you?”

He leans closer. “I just know. I know things. I’m very smart!” he says, with what’s almost a proud grin.

She laughs, and leans close to Melanie, so she can whisper, “Mels, he’s so small!”

Melanie, predictably, laughs at her, and keeps talking to Jon. “Well, you certainly seem very smart. And you’re right, we have been searching just for you. It might take a bit before you’re able to come home with us, but I think you’re just the one we’ve been looking for, Jon.”

So they sit there, and talk with Jon. Playing games and reading stories with him. It’s not long before he gets tired, and crawls into Georgie’s lap, tuckered out.

She leans against Melanie’s shoulder, as they both relax.

“He’s such a child,” Melanie says, voice low.

“He really is. But I mean, we expected that, yeah? He’s three, if anything, he seems smarter than the average three-year-old.” Georgie says back, still carding her fingers through Jon’s hair. She had thought it’d be weird, seeing her ex-boyfriend/old friend as a child, and it was, a little. But he was so endearing. A little kid, free from the stress he’d been carrying.

“You don’t think…”

She shrugs. “He might be, I don’t know how all that super works. But from the way he was speaking on the tape, I doubt it. Maybe it’s just… After-effects?” Either way, she’s prepared to raise a weird kid. Had been ever since she and Melanie realized they might have a future together (because there’s no way they were going to be raising someone normal).

“I hope that’s all it is.”

Some of the other kids have been watching them. Georgie’s noticed this. Watching as they play, as they hang out with Jon. Maybe it’s just jealousy, maybe it’s not. It makes her hold him closer. Protective anger like acid on her tongue, ready to burn if they try to hurt her boy.

One of them walks closer now, and narrows his eyes at them. He looks to be older, maybe eight or so. “Why would you choose him? He’s weird.”

Melanie scoffs, and Georgie takes her hand, to keep her from fighting an eight-year-old. “Maybe we like him because he’s weird. A better question is why you want to be mean to a three year old, kid.”

“Listen. You don’t have to like him, but we do,” Georgie says, glancing up at him. Skinny, fists clenched and shaking. Scared because every time someone else gets out, he must stay. “Just… Don’t be mad at him, because he’s going to leave and you aren’t. Maybe someone else will like you the way we like him, some day. Being mean to him isn’t going to make that happen sooner.”

It’s a long process, of course. Adoption is complicated. But they manage to pass the inspection, and bring him home. Home to a newly-bought house with three bedrooms, right next door to Daisy, Basira, and Martin.

The look on Jon’s face when he sees his own room, with a ceiling-high bookshelf stocked to the brim, and toys aplenty, is one Georgie will treasure forever.

(She’s made sure that there weren’t any Leitners.)

___  

Martin sits at the cafe, fingers tapping against his leg, grin on his face. The setting sun is shining in from the window to his right, and the soft scent of coffee fills the air.

He’d just seen Jon.

It had been eleven years, and Jon had remembered him.

He sips at his tea as he waits, anxious nerves swelling in his stomach. Which was ridiculous, because this is Jon. They’d been friends ever since Jon had moved in with his moms. Three year olds sitting together and playing with Legos. Jon reading books to him all the time. Going on adventures through their backyards.

They’d both had to move when they were twelve, though, and, in the chaos, had lost contact with each other. Martin hadn’t stopped missing him, even as lonely fog rolled in.

His moms did their best. But it was hard to make friends at school, when his anchor wasn’t there at his side. Cast adrift in a sea of unknown people.

(The pride club in high school helped a lot, but he still felt out of place. Alone even as he had friends to laugh and chat with, even as he started figuring out who he really was).

With his pencil to the paper in front of him, he tries to focus on some of his homework, and not think about Jon.

He ends up with lines of poetry written in the margins of his textbook instead.

When the bell to the cafe rings, he perks up, and grins as Jon walks in. He gives a wave, and Jon smiles and waves back. Once he’s retrieved his own drink, he walks to the table.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself,” Martin replies.

Silence settles around them, and suddenly it dawns on Martin that he has no idea what to say to someone he hasn’t seen in over a decade. Sure, they’d been friends, but that doesn’t mean their interests are the same.

“So… What’s your major?” Jon asks, and Martin lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m studying literature right now, actually! All the classics, poetry, you know. I’m considering a few different options, but I figured I might as well study what I’m interested in while I ponder career choices.” He could ramble for hours about some of the things he’s studying, but not right now. “What about you?”

Jon leans back in his chair, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m actually in a grad program right now. Working on a degree in information sciences with a focus on archival work. I double-majored in the History and English course, along with parapsychology.”

“Parapsychology? That’s the study of weird stuff, yeah? Paranormal events?” Martin asks, leaning forward.

Jon nods, and some of the awkward air slides away. “ESP, ghosts, near-death experiences, and reincarnation. All that fun stuff. It’s really interesting, actually. I did a lot of research on the apocalypse, the one that didn’t happen?” He waits for Martin to nod, before continuing.

“There’s bunches about it. Stories are still being collected. Everyone’s got something to say. I mean, an entire year’s worth of memories? Of events that didn’t happen? I don’t know why more people aren’t fascinated by this!” His hands dance through the air, punctuating his sentences with a flourish. Poetry in motion.

Martin smiles, watching Jon as he starts to ramble, sipping his tea. Jon has always been so full of words and energy, if given some encouragement. Infodumping about whatever has caught his interest now. It used to be books and stories, regaling Martin with the plot.

“I’m not in statement collection, of course,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t really get to manage those, though I do read them sometimes. Wrote a paper about all the different ways to classify some of the weirder aspects, because events seem to fall into certain categories.”

“That’s really cool! It sounds like you’ve done a lot of research into it, and I’d love to hear more later. You could send me your paper, if you want?” He asks, a tingle running up his spine at the idea of being able to contact Jon whenever.

“O-oh, sure! What’s your email? Or phone number? We should exchange those, yeah?” Jon starts taking out his phone, and Martin does too.

“Sounds like a plan. I’d like to stay in contact this time,” he says with a snort. “No more disappearing for eleven years on me, mister.”

“It’s hardly my fault both our parents decided to move at the same time,” Jon mutters, mock-offended as he plugs his number into Martin’s phone.

“I know. I’m more annoyed that our moms didn’t help us keep in contact. It’s weird, I swear they kept in contact, but I guess I didn’t think to try and get your number, and I know we pretty much ended up on opposite sides of the country.” He shrugs, handing Jon’s phone to him and taking his own back.

He smiles when the text of ^Hello, this is Jon.^ comes through.

“I asked mom once. She told me no. Said it’d be hard, or that it was complicated for some reason. I let the matter drop.” Jon fidgets with one of the napkins, folding and refolding it.

“Maybe I’ll ask my mum about it sometime,” Martin says. “Mom is still kinda busy.”

“She’s still a professional gamer, yeah? I’ve kept up with Miss Daisy’s career.” Jon laughs. “It’s still great watching a fifty? Sixty? Year old lady destroying all the other competitors.”

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, she’s sixty four now, and still absolutely crushing them. She’s brutal. She’s told me some stories from when she and mum were police, and I gotta say, I think I prefer the gaming.”

“I’ll have to get these stories out of you sometime, I’d be very interested in hearing them.” A grin lights up Jon’s face, and Martin has no doubt that he’ll be able to pull those stories out of Daisy and Basira.

“I’m sure they’d both love to regale you with them.”

All the tension of the room has eased now, as they laugh and joke. Falling back into old patterns so easily. Martin hadn’t been aware of how much he’d missed this until he had it back. Years of withdrawal making it easier to adapt to the empty ache in his chest when Jon wasn’t by his side. Like he didn’t know he’d been living without oxygen, until he could breathe again.

But now Jon’s here. For the first time since he was twelve, his lungs work, and the pain is gone. Gone somewhere, a burden lifted from him.

Maybe he’ll be able to keep it at bay, and keep Jon close, in the coming years.

___

Gertrude Robinson sits in her office, looking over the edge of her computer at the boy who has just walked in. Glasses sit sharp on her face, as she scans him.

Still in his goth phase, with black on black on black, dyed hair, and tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. Oh-so-familiar, but she doesn’t know if her face is familiar to him yet.

“Can I help you?” she asks, steady and ungiving of an inch.

Gerard stares back at her. No doubt about it then. She’d changed her last name back to what it should properly be, as a signal, just for this. It’d be nice, maybe, to be a woman not so alone with her memories.

“Gertrude?” He raises an eyebrow at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t play dumb with me. Your crotchety old grandma trick doesn’t work as well when you’re barely over thirty.”

She laughs, and leans back. “You’ve caught on then, I see. Good ole’ Gerard Keay.”

“Gerry Delano. I’m not using her last name,” he bites out. “Tell me, what have you been up to here?”

“Oh, this and that. Not much to do in the way of battling the Fears, these days. I hear your friend Jon took care of that for me.” She’d listened to the tapes. Found them hidden away in the ruins of the Institute. The rise and fall of the apocalypse, and Jonah being such a fool. As if he really thought Jonathan Sims wouldn’t find a way to undo the hellscape. The mark of the Lonely was brilliant, but it gave him the key to becoming a savior, not confined to be an Archive.

“They’re still out there, though,” Gerry replies.

She gestures for him to take a seat across from her, and he does. Less stubborn, this life. “Yes, I know. Don’t think I’m unaware of their movements. I’ve been keeping a close eye on the remaining Avatars. I’m not a fool. Jude is still on the move, looking for those two. Mike Crew is still throwing people off buildings–in France, right now I believe. But they’re all weak. Low on power and morals, and there’s not going to be another ritual–not in my lifetime.”

With a shrug, he seems to relent. “I guess. Are you really content, then? To just sit here and work as an–an actual head archivist? For an actual, not-spooky institution?” His words are clipped, not harsh, but pointed.

“Don’t you think I’ve quite earned my rest?” she fires back. “I’m not caught in the Beholding this life, and I’m not involved. Not yet, at least.  Perhaps if the Web decides I need to be pulled back in, I will, but not now.” The Mother of Puppets is not one she can predict, but dancing to its strings is hard to resist. “Besides, it’s not like all my work here is boring. We’re still working on collecting statements from the apocalypse and filing them away.”

“The thing most people still think was a mass hallucination?” He laughs, and steals one of her pens to fiddle with. She’ll let him keep it. This is better than him using her desk as a footrest.

“Everyone wants to tell their story, and it allows me to travel around as much as I like to collect them. It’ll be a whole genre, I expect. A thousand years from now, and everyone will have their favorite stories. There will be fiction invented about it. Maybe some will even get it right.” She smiles, that smile of hers which he’s called bland but terrifying. Equal disinterest in everything, but with her own plot at play. It’s fitting, in a way.

“Well, you have fun with that. I’ll be keeping a lookout for trouble, and I’ll let you know if I see any. But I’m not here to help you with this,” he says, equally blasé.

“No, you’re here because you’ve said you can get Mr. Jonathan Barker-King, your roommate, an in to the archives here. Because you know me. You placed a lot of stakes on the fact that I remembered, didn’t you?” She chuckles. “You were right, for what it’s worth, but that was quite the gamble.”

“Well, if anyone were to remember, it’d be you, Gertrude.” Gerard shrugs, and she has to concede that he makes a point. “You’ll let him have the job, then?”

“Of course. Tell your friend that if he submits and application, he’ll likely get in. It’d be nice to have someone else around with an Eye for the finer details. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

Gertrude turns her attention back to the files on her desk, and expects Gerard to show himself out soon.

He lingers at the door, but says nothing more.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #daisy tonner #alice tonner #basira hussain #georgie barker #melanie king #gertrude robinson #gerard keay #gerry delano #magpod #magnuspod #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing

[katiekitty261]

Tonight you belong to me//Michael Langdon X Fem!Reader

Tonight you belong to me- Inspired by the song, from murder house and when they play it for our lovely man. 

This is also inspired by a few requests I got for a story about knowing Michael before the apocalypse and meeting him again in the outpost. From anon and @moneyismysavior . Hope you guys like it! 

Warnings - SMUT, Sensual love making (Some people aren’t into that) lots of good stuff, Dom Langdon

Words - 2000+ 

Gif Credit to Owner

__________________________

I know you belong

To somebody new

But tonight

You belong to me

Although we're apart

You are a part of my heart

And tonight

You belong to me

__________________________

I knew at this moment. The moment I looked into his eyes, I was in trouble. He was supernatural. No one human could possibly be this beautiful. He was flawless. The way his golden brown hair curled perfectly, his full lips, his soul melting blue eyes. He looked like an angel. I don’t know what I did to deserve the pleasure of looking into this man’s eyes.

It was surprisingly easy to get his attention, a simple kind gesture was enough to gain his curiosity. He had told me people usually wanted something from him, used him. I couldn’t fathom it. I couldn’t imagine wanting to use this man.

We never moved beyond being friends. He had too many secrets that he wasn’t willing to share. So much inner darkness he tried to hide. He was mysterious, but I loved him anyway. I had never loved anyone like I love Michael. I wanted nothing more than to hold him. Kiss him. Be with him. Within the year I knew him, we got close so many times, but never as close as I wanted. I knew he was with other people, men, woman. It hurt.

I tried not to linger on it. I was content with the relationship we had, willing to be anything with him.

On the last day I saw him, he acted strangely. The most significant part of my memory was when he left my apartment. He pulled me into his arms and held me. He never touched me, he usually kept his distance. He held me like his life depended on it. He kissed me so gently on the forehead I almost didn’t notice it.

“You’re special to me…” He said. I was confused. I tried to ask, but he was out the door before I could find the words.

I didn’t see him anymore after that. He never answered my texts, and he no longer visited me every weekend. It broke my heart.

I was thankful though, for having the time I did with him.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek at the memory. That was years ago now. Before the end.

The day the bombs fell, I felt a crushing pain. I knew everything was gone. Why was I chosen to survive? I thought of Michael as I dressed for the first time in those gaudy purple clothes they made us wear. He had told me once he loved the way I looked in purple.

I broke down into tears when I remembered him. I felt the worst pain I had ever felt imagining him dead. Blown up by the blast, or killed by radiation. I knew it was stupid to imagine he survived. It had been so long, but I never stopped loving him. Michael Langdon was my undoing.

These days, He crossed my mind most nights. When I saw Timothy and Emily look at each other in secret, the look on longing in their eyes. The way they secretly kissed.

I wish I had the nerve to kiss him before he had left. I wish I had known he was leaving, I never even said goodbye.

He was like a fantasy to me now, nothing but my imagination.

____________________________

Nothing much changed around here. Not since the first few weeks, we had all been here. That is, until the day the alarm went off.

“Someone else is here.” I turned and looked at everyone, I was nervous. I was certain no one was surviving living out there. I was scared we were being invaded, but when Ms. Venable never said a word,  I didn’t question it. I wasn’t one who questioned authority. The others, not so much.

A man was in her office. She wouldn't tell us more.

After an unsettling meal of Snake Soup, Ms. Mead called us all into the sitting room.

I sat with my head down. My corset was tight and uncomfortable, but I felt so nervous I barely noticed it. I could feel my pulse race as we sat and waited. Who was here? Someone from the Cooperative? Where they here to rescue us? Kill us?

Ms. Venable stared down the hallway from where she stood at the front of the room. Her eyes gave nothing away.

That’s when I heard it, footsteps. Loud footsteps walking toward the room.

I looked up and my heart stopped.

I had to lean on Mr. Gallant so I didn’t fall out the couch. There, striding in the room with an air of superiority and elegance I had always admired was Michael Langdon. His hair was significantly longer now. It flowed down his shoulders softly, somehow making him look even more beautiful than I had remembered.

I felt every emotion someone could feel in one second. I was shaking.

“Are you okay?” Mr. gallant whispered into my ear, I wasn’t ok.

Michael was alive, and he was standing in this room, with me.

He hadn’t noticed me yet, he was staring at Ms. Venable. Urging her to move away. When he stood at the front of the room, he announced himself. His eyes stayed fairly forward, not looking at our faces.

“My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative.” His voice was exactly as I had remembered it. Smooth and clear, it sent chills down my body.  

“I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds In Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.”

Langdon… Representing the Cooperative… the people who took me here. I couldn’t pay attention to the words he was saying. Everyone else was looking at him directly, I couldn't look at him. I couldn’t bring myself to meet those sinful eyes.

“Clearly some people are less concerned with their survival.” His voice rung out, Gallant shook me on the shoulder.

I looked up nervously, meeting his eyes for the first time.

His eyes went wide, as he recognized who I was. I expected him to question me, say my name or walk over to me. He did none of these things.

As quick as he noticed me, his face returned to normal. He turned to face everyone again with a broad heart-melting smile.

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

He walked out without a glance in my direction.

I shook my head in confusion. He didn’t even acknowledge my existence. Did he not want anyone to know I knew him? Did he even remember me? The latter hurt too much to imagine.

All the nights I dreamt of him, cried over him. Prayed to every god he was alive. He was here. He was real.

I was to shook up in my thoughts to say anything to anyone else. Some of them tried to ask, but I just brushed it off as nervousness of our pending demise. I didn’t leave my spot on the couch until someone forced me to go to my room.

I lay on my bed, still fully clothed for what seemed like hours.

“(Y/N)”

I shot up so fast I was dizzy.

Standing at the end of my bed was Michael. He looked at me with mixed emotions, peeling off the mask he wore in front of everyone.

“Michael…” I whispered, I was about to stand up but he was on me before I could.

I fell back into my pillow as he crawled on top of me, looking at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. His hair fell down around his face, surrounding me with his intoxicating scent.

“You’re alive…” He breathed before he pressed his lips to mine.

I acted on instinct. I kissed him back as hard as I could, Wrapping my fingers in his hair as he held me in his arms. Kissing me like it was the end of the world, when in fact it was.

My heart was exploding in my chest, feeling his body warmth through my clothes was enough to drive me insane. He kissed me fervently. His hands traveled along my dress, untying the complicated knots without even breaking the kiss.

He growled impatiently when he reached my underdress, straddling me before ripping it right off. He pressed kisses to my skin, leaving a trail of fire as he bit and sucked on my neck. I ran my hands over him still fully clothed. I wanted to feel him against me, skin to skin.

He sat up again, smirking as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Tossing it delicately with my dress that he had so promptly ruined. I felt him press against me, his heat melting into my own.

It was bliss. Heaven.

I gasped loudly as he bit into my neck hard, but I enjoyed every moment. I wanted him to mark me. I wanted to be his.

He somehow managed to remove his pants, and he pressed his hard cock against my very soaked center.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt about this…” I said in a breathy voice, he smiled and leaned into me so he was directly next to my ear.

“Oh, I know… You think I didn’t notice how you looked at me? How could I miss that delicious hunger in your eyes…” He purred

“Then why did you never?”

He kissed me instead of answering my question, effectively making me forget I had even asked. He began to kiss and suck down my skin, on my stomach and my sensitive thighs. Leaving a trail of bruises along the way.

At this point, I was positively soaking, and the only thing I wanted was his beautiful cock inside me.

“Please… Michael…”  I moaned He brought his eyes which were burning with lust. I had never seen them so beautiful before. “Please what?” he asked teasingly.

If I wasn’t already blushing on my entire body, I was now. Speaking like this, in front of him was something I had never imagined I’d ever do.

“Say it,” he bit my earlobe, his breath fanning against my skin.

“Please fuck me, Michael,” “Please…”

The look in his eyes now was positively primal. He grabbed me by the hips and traced his cock along my entrance, teasingly. “You belong to me,” he said in a tone he hadn’t used before. It was commanding and breathtakingly sexual.

He pressed his cock inside me achingly slow. Feeling every inch of his warmth inside me made me moan in ecstasy. He began to fuck me harder, possessively. I was feeling pleasure like I had never felt before.

Then he pressed a hand to my throat, and I felt my body explode. He held me down and fucked me like his life depended on it, pressing me into the mattress and making my toes curl. I wasn’t sure how long I could handle this. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming in pleasure, but I never wanted it to end. I wrapped my arms around him and he kissed me again, I raked my fingers down his perfect skin and I heard him moan. It was truly like music to my ears, the only thing I ever wanted to hear.

“I’m going to fuck you every day until you can’t feel anything but me…” He breathed into my ear, it sounded like heaven. “You’re the only thing I want…” I said back, he kissed me harder at the point. I could barely breathe, but there was no stopping.

I could feel myself tip over the edge, an orgasm like no other building and building until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wrapped my fingers in Michael's hair and pulled, He moaned again as I did. He suddenly lifted my hips higher and slammed into me, before I felt him cum. Cock pulsing deliciously inside me.

He waited a few moments above me, us breathing heavily. The air scented with sex, the atmosphere hazy.

He collapsed beside me, laughing as he did.

“What is so funny?” Although I loved hearing him laugh, I didn’t exactly want him laughing at me.

“I love you (Y/N). He said in a serious tone, not breaking eye contact with me. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, but now. I'm being selfish…” he pulled me into my arms so he was holding me to his chest.

“I love you too…” I began to cry. “I’ve always…” He wiped my tears away before kissing my cheeks.

“I know… I know…” He repeated, before pressing another kiss to my forehead.

“I am never letting you go.”

That’s when I knew, I would do anything and everything for Michael Langdon. I was never letting him go again.

____________________________

Hope you guys liked this! I kept listening to this and it made me want to write esp the “you are a part of my heart, even when we are apart.” I felt that really fit the tone I wanted with these requests to have. If you have any Michael Requests just ask!

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon #Ahs #american horror story #ahs apocalypse #daddy #oof #i think i have a long hair kink now

[theincompetentgenius]

Could I get a life generator for Dangerous Fellows? I’m 5’6” with short brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses. I wear super bright clothing (80’s style). I hate my body weight (133 lbs) and wish I could lose weight. I love to make people laugh and smile. I do acting and drawing (a lot). I love playing funny roles and tend to goof around a lot. Deep down I’m really insecure and scared of commitment because I’ve always been made fun of by guys. I’m in my sisters shadow, and am sick of it.

Before I start, I just wanted to say that your body weight sounds perfect to me! If you ever feel insecure or down about it, feel free to talk to me. Don’t hate yourself because I’m sure you’re beautiful. Also, I’m sorry about the delay, life’s been a bit hectic lately.

Anywho, your request is finished! I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you for your interest in the world of Dangerous Fellows. You will be reborn shortly. The simulation will start in 3........ 2...... 1........

B A C K G R O U N D

Your life was a colorful one. At school, you were the perfect theater kid that was friends with everyone. Your grades were average, but you made up for it in your talent. Since elementary school, you dedicated most of your time towards acting. You thought about getting a part-time job, but it took time away from practicing your lines. Any time there was a play, you always got the role you wanted. While you had the skills to play the protagonists, you often chose to play the comedic relief. For you, the humor came naturally. Your presence on stage made the entire room light up with laughter and joy.  Needless to say, your life was as perfect as you wanted it to be.

On the day of the apocalypse, you were getting ready to perform the final show of the school year: a musical. You were getting ready in the dressing room, dusting a dash of highlight on your cheeks. Next to your mirror, the clock read 7:25 PM. Only five minutes until the show began. Your stomach was filled with excitement and nervousness. When you arrived at the left-wing (which was covered by the curtains), the entire cast had arrived except for the lead actor. He was never late to a show. Besides, you had seen him in the dressing room a few minutes ago. Where could he have gone?

The director asked the same question. She began to panic as no one had an answer for her. You went to look for him as you weren’t in the play during the beginning. First, you searched the bathrooms. Then you peeked in the dressing room. After that, you ran around the school but there was no sign of him. The last place you could think of was the area outside of the theater entrance.

When you arrived outside, there was a body lying on the ground. You walked closer. It was the body of the main actor. You didn’t want to touch it, but you couldn’t leave him there. He could be alive. So you stopped right in front of it and crouched down. His skin was grey and his hair had fallen out. He was unrecognizable. 

He opened his eyes. They were yellow with no pupils. A scream escaped your lips as you crawled back. The boy grabbed your leg and you kicked him off. You got up and saw a bunch of monsters behind him. They looked like zombies from the movies.

Instead of staying around, you did what your gut commanded. You ran.

F R I E N D S

Harry

After you were taken under the wing of Lawrence and his crew, life was rocky. No one full trusted you (besides Judy) or saw any useful skill within you. Although you were a great actor and terrific artist, there wasn’t any reason to use them. To prevent being made fun of, you grew more introverted and stayed out of everyone’s way. They couldn’t bother you for not being a nuisance.

Actually, they could.

During another meeting, everyone was discussing the plans for the upcoming week. This included night watches, food supply, and possible trips outside of the school. You hadn’t said much because you didn’t want to be involved (or mainly, get yelled at). Besides, you learned more about the way things worked around here, which would make you more useful to the team. 

“I don’t understand why we have to keep her around! Not only is she probably infected, but she also doesn’t have any talents. She’s a waste of space,” Scarlett said.

You roll your eyes. Here we go for the millionth time. To think that the meeting had almost ended without her incessant yelling. But such a dream was too good to be true. 

“Scarlett. Please don’t yell at her. Suspicion will only tear our group apart,” Harry spoke.

“No, she’ll tear us apart! I don’t see why you don’t understand that!” Scarlett jabbed a finger at you and ran out of the classroom. That was one way to end the meeting.

Harry approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry about that, Scarlett can be a bit overwhelming. Please don’t hold it against her.”

You give a small smile. “As long as she doesn’t turn me into a zombie, I think I can handle her.”

“I’d hope not,” Harry said.

You cocked your head with wide eyes. “Wait, maybe I am the zombie. I’ll eat your brrrraiiiiinssss.”

Harry laughed. “Just don’t do that around Scarlett and I think you’ll be fine.”

R O M A N C E

Lawrence

It was time another nightwatch and this time Lawrence had chosen to go with you. You had gone with him once before, but the two of you were attacked by a mob of zombies. The only reason you guys made it out was that Lawrence had stalled for enough time to get help from the rest of the crew. Needless to say, you were traumatized.

This time, Lawrence had brought extra weapons. He handed a baseball to you and briefly showed you the weak points of the undead in the case another zombie attacked the two of you. After a few practice swings, you felt somewhat ready to go out in the dark.

During the start of the nightwatch, there was a large amount of silence to prevent getting unwanted attention from the zombies. The two of you scouted the back of the school and found that most of the zombies weren’t there. While zombie had crept up on you, you managed to smash its skull with your baseball bat. Lawrence was highly impressed.

“That was really good. Zion might have some competition,” He said

“Thanks,” You responded.

After completing the nightwatch, the two of you returned to the main classroom where the meetings were held. Surprisingly, the room was empty when you guys arrived. The only thing that kept you company was a silver shimmer from the moonlight. You plopped on the closest chair. Frankly, you were exhausted from all the walking and wanted a good night sleep. However, Lawrence insisted on waiting for the other members to return.

“How are you finding it here?” Lawrence asked.

“It’s nice. Besides the issue of other members verbally attacking me, I like the teamwork we have here. We get a lot more done when we are united,” You responded.

Lawrence nodded with a smile. “That’s what I’ve always said. I know not everyone is fond of the idea, but I’m glad you see the logic behind it.”

You tapped your fingers against the wooden desk. “But I can’t help but wonder, how much closer is our teamwork to bringing us out of here? It’s not possible to stay here forever.”

Lawrence shook his head. “I understand, but the circumstances don’t seem safe enough to leave. However, there has been a notable decrease in zombies, so we might be leaving soon.”

“I know, I just don’t want things to end here. I want to be able to flesh out my future by making a name for myself in acting and finally stepping out of my sister’s shadow,” You sighed.

Lawrence grabbed a chair and sat next to you. He placed his hand on his jaw and looked in your eyes. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get out. That’s a promise.”

F I N A L   F A T E

A/N: Ok, so I changed it ever-so-slightly so that Lawrence was not a yandere or evil psychopath because I know getting an ending with psychopath Lawrence is not fun or worthwhile.

The entire crew had grown sick of the school. Everyone had been cooped up in the same five rooms for way too long and it was time to go elsewhere. However, Lawrence was still unsure of leaving the school due to the possible risks that came with the expenditure. After growing extremely close to him, you assured Lawrence that it was the right course of action. 

It was not long until the poster of the safe zone appeared on the sides of the school. Eugene was the first one to find them and nearly toppled over in glee when handing it over to the crew. Everyone was so excited, except for Lawrence.

You walked to the classroom, looking for Eugene. Instead, you saw a tensed Lawrence pacing around the room. It was unusual for him to look so worried.

“What’s wrong Lawrence? You looked stressed,” You asked.

Lawrence looked up in surprise. “Oh, hello. I’ve just been thinking about some things.”

“What things? You can talk to me. Don’t bottle everything inside of you,” You took his hand.

He sighed. “It’s just that I enjoy the dynamic we’ve created here. I’m in charge while Zion and Eugene are the brawns. Harry is our peace-keeper while Eugene is well........... Eugene. Then we have you, who-”

Lawrence stops and leans towards your face. “Who stopped me from falling down a dark path and you don’t even know it.”

You placed your hand on his cheek. “I’m not sure what that means, but I do know that you won’t lose anyone after going to the safe zone. If you stay here, there is no guarantee that we’ll all make it out alive.” 

Lawrence took a moment to think and sighed. “You’re right. Gather everyone and tell them that we will be leaving tomorrow at dawn. The zombies are least active then.”

You nodded with a smile.

The trip to the safe zone was much more difficult than expected. Although there were fewer zombies on school grounds, there were much more on the streets. Unfortunately, the crew had lost Scarlett and Jay to the flesh-eating monsters. But the rest of you had made it there without a scratch.

Upon arrival in the safety zone, you first searched for your family. Luckily, they all had made it there without any problem due to the help of other friendly strangers. You introduced Lawrence and the crew to your family and spent the rest of your time bringing joy to the children of the safety zone through acting.

T H E  E N D

[ohforficsakelibrary]

L’appel du Vide

Chapter 2

Title: L’appel du Vide

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Pairing: Michael Langdon X OC

Rating: M overall, T this part, for language.

Warnings: Language, eventual smut, a bit of blood, and a fair deal of blasphemy.

Language: English

Chapter Length: 2.3K words

Summary: After learning who Michael really is, Cordelia appeals to an ancient figure for help. Slow-burn seduction ensues. Contains spoilers for AHS: Apocalypse.

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for all of your interest in this and for all of your kind words! As always, unbeta’d, happy to fix any mistakes. Be warned, I’ve definitely taken some liberties with religious mythology here. This chapter (and the first) fits in to the two weeks before Cordelia administers the test of the Seven Wonders, and picks up right where my last chapter left off. 

~Miss Robichaux’s Academy~

“Can someone finally tell me what the fuck is going on?” Madison slammed her purse down on Cordelia’s gardening bench, making the terra cotta pots clink against each other.

“What is it? What happened?” Zoe shut the greenhouse door behind her, careful to ensure none of the girls had followed her.

“Who the fuck is that bitch?”

“Have care how you speak Madison,” Myrtle chided. “She’s the first of our kind.”

“Is she a ghost?” Queenie looked to the other girls, but found only a sea of confused faces.

“Oh no, my dear, she is very much alive.”

“How?”

“Wait, I’m lost, who are we talking about?” This from Zoe.

“Lilith,” Cordelia spoke up, looking each girl in the eye as she continued. “The first woman to walk the Earth. Made by the Creator, not of Adam’s rib, but from the very same clay. Adam’s first wife. Man’s equal.”

Cordelia began to pace circles around the group.

“They were both expected to be stewards of the His creation. In order to facilitate that duty, He gave them each a set of gifts. To Lilith he gave the powers of telekinesis, divination, transmutation, concilium, pyrokinesis, and vitalum vitalis.”

Cordelia smiled. “She was the very first witch. The gifts in our blood all started with her. And technically, she was also the very first Supreme.”

“But what about descensum?” Madison seemed genuinely interested.

“There wouldn’t have been a hell for her to go to,” Queenie unfolded her arms and braced her hands on the table.

“That’s right. Descensum, she learned after.”

“After what?” Zoe asked.

“After she was cast out of the Garden of Eden for refusing to lie beneath a man,” Myrtle interrupted. “She refused to submit to Adam, and as such, became the very first feminist, too.”

“That’s partially why, yes. God sent angels to bring Lilith back to the Garden, but she refused. The irony is, He was the one who gave her the free will to make that choice in the first place. Seeing He would get nowhere, He instead created Eve to be Adam’s perfect wife. Woman made of man. Subservient to him.”

“He neglected to give Eve the same free will,” Myrtle added.

“Lilith is officially my new hero,” Madison lit a fresh cigarette.

“You were calling her a bitch two seconds ago,” Queenie scoffed.

“Wait, you said her rebuttal of Adam was ‘partially why’ she was cast out of Eden,” Zoe had taken a seat on a stool, her hazel eyes wide with fascination. “What else happened?”

“She slept with the Archangel Samael.”

“Samael, as in the Devil?” Queenie whispered.

“Now she’s definitely my new hero.”

Cordelia ignored Madison and continued. “Yes. Samael was cast out of heaven some time later. While his exile wasn’t all because of Lilith, Samael sought revenge against God. Mostly for himself, but also in some small part for her.”

“Temptation, apples, snakes, and that whole pesky sin business ensued,” Myrtle gestured dismissively.

“Is that how she learned descensum?” Queenie asked.

“Some witch scholars believed Lilith manifested that power as a way to see her former lover one last time.”

“Ok, but if she was the first Supreme, how are you also the Supreme? How did anyone else become the Supreme without her dying? How is she even still alive? All that Adam and Eve shit was like, five hundred years ago.”

Queenie rolled her eyes hard.

“The timelines are hazy, but our scholars believe that she could be over six thousand years old.”

“Damn, I’ll take some of whatever moisturizer she’s using,” Madison quipped.

“No one’s asked her?” Zoe sat up.

“Darling, you never ask a lady her age. Let alone the first Supreme,” Myrtle cast a pointed look.

“Okay, but Madison still has a point,” Zoe continued. “How is she not the Supreme anymore?”

“Sometime around the fourteenth century, Lilith abdicated her role as Supreme.”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Zoe whispered.

Myrtle lit a cigarette of her own. “No one knew. Until she did it. And no one has been able to do it since. By then, she had already been a witch for thousands of years. The texts say that she poured half of her power into a successor, an English woman of Druid descent. This is who we’ve come to know as the first modern Supreme. Lilith may not hold the title any longer, but that doesn’t make her any less powerful than any Supreme to walk the Earth since.”

“Modern Supreme?” Queenie asked.

“Lilith chose never to lead a coven. She feared what society would do to young women even rumored to associate with her, especially those with magical abilities.”

“Is her power what kept her alive?” Zoe chimed in.

“No,” Cordelia spoke up. “The Creator has always been a vengeful being. To punish Lilith for what she had done, God cursed her with a lust for blood, damning her to an existence that would cause pain to so many. And to drive His point home, He gave her everlasting life. So that she could never be free of her suffering—by natural causes or otherwise. Even by her own hand.”

“Wait so, vampires are a real thing now?” Madison’s eyes were wide.

“Girl, you have no idea…” Queenie crossed her arms.

“Well, not exactly. From our understanding, it’s more of a virus that causes a hunger for blood. None of that sunburn or sleeping in coffins nonsense.” Myrtle clarified. “No fangs either.”

“Claws instead…” Madison mumbled, remembering Lilith’s jewelry. Sharp golden talons running through a thick ruff of silver fur.

“And while the virus can give the infected a kind of limited immortality, it’s not what sustains her. God Himself made sure she would never find peace,” Cordelia finished.

“Heaven doesn’t want her, and God definitely ain’t sending her to Hell,” Queenie sighed.

Zoe didn’t realize that tears had slipped down her cheeks. “That’s such a terrible existence.”

“More than we could ever know, Zoe,” the Supreme agreed. “Lilith has been erased from the Bible only to be written into history as some kind of demon. She’s been described as a treacherous seductress who kills babies. A creature of the night who cavorts with dangerous animals. A Jezebel who exists to lead men astray. A selfish, cruel being.”

“If all of that had happened to me, I would be a selfish, cruel being that’s for fucking sure,” Madison magicked her cigarette butt away.

“But she isn’t.” Queenie looked up. “At least she doesn’t seem that way.”

“I don’t think she is either, Queenie. She’s hidden herself away for thousands of years, never making even so much as a ripple of disturbance in the world. But she was clever. She gave the first Supreme the ability to find her in times of crisis. That ability has been passed through succession ever since.”

“So, I guess this is a time of real crisis,” Queenie whispered.

“That boy?” Zoe asked.

“Our prophecies foretell of someone rising to power with abilities unmatched by any other. And among those abilities is the power to raise souls from Hell.”

“Okay, but what’s so bad about that?” Madison asked. “If Lilith is that old I’m sure she could do it too.”

“Lilith’s power was divinely given. It stems from the same light as ours. Even she can’t release souls from places of darkness.” Myrtle answered.

“For centuries, rumors have swirled that only a child of darkness would have that power,” Cordelia clarified.

“So, what are you saying, he’s the Antichrist or something?” Madison sat up.

“That’s what I fear.”

Queenie and Zoe visibly paled at the notion.

Under her breath, Madison whispered, “I still would…”

“A child of darkness would walk the Earth solely with the purpose of bringing about death and destruction on a scale the world has never seen. I fear that is what my vision showed.”

“The Apocalypse,” Myrtle whispered.

“And we sent her to the literal Antichrist because we need his blood?” Queenie sounded incredulous.

“I mean, who better than the OG vampire queen to bring back blood from your ex-boy toy’s demon son? It’s fucked up. I like it.”

“That’s a crude way of putting it, Madison, but I’m afraid the sentiment is the same,” Myrtle extinguished her cigarette in an empty drip tray.

“His father will protect him at any cost,” the Supreme continued. “He won’t let just anyone near the boy. But rumor has it that Lilith still holds sway over him. A soft spot that never quite calcified. He wouldn’t harm her. I’m not even sure if he can.”

“If he’s who we think, why would you agree to administer the test of the Seven Wonders?” Zoe sat up angrily. “And why didn’t you tell her?”

“Because I am the Supreme and I make that choice,” Cordelia locked eyes with Myrtle. “And I suspect she already knows. I have a plan, scared though I might be to carry it out. Lilith isn’t our only hope. But she’s an asset and I’d like to keep her on our side.”

“How do we know she won’t turn on us?” Queenie asked.

“We don’t. But like you said. I don’t think she’s selfish and cruel at all.”

~The Hawthorne School~

“Lilith?” Michael staggered back a step.

She answered in the affirmative without speaking a word.

In the flesh, the Creator’s most perfect mistake.

There’s reverence, sure. And something decidedly more, perverse tugging at the back of his brain. The first woman, created as an equal, who refused to lie beneath a man.

Who bedded his father while he was still an Archangel.

There’s a feeling running through his veins that he’s never quite felt before. He’s not sure how to give words to it, but it makes him want to run his fingers over her skin to see if she’s real. He’s spoken to his father, sure. But he had never been so close to someone so like himself before.

Tangible divinity.

He opted instead to pace slow circles around her, surveying as he dripped golden pools of water onto the marble floor. She’s unfurled the full presence of her power now. No need to hide herself anymore. It washed over him, more cleansing than the bathwater. He couldn’t hold on to a fleeting ounce of shyness or apprehension if he tried.

“I don’t get to speak with my father often,” he moves with purpose now. Gone is the boy who moments ago yearned for the security of woven cotton.

“Textbook absentee.” She quips, standing unafraid with both hands clasped behind her back. Michael smirks as he continues.

“But he comes to me in my dreams sometimes, telling stories of the past. He’s mentioned you. He says you’re strong. Courageous. Jealous. He calls you a woman so beautiful, he couldn’t have created better himself.” Michael stops in front of her and inhales, eyelids unconsciously fluttering shut as he does.

All of that power in the air.

The Devil’s child can’t help but drink it in.

Ask he speaks, she’s charting his every move. The shift in him from sharp, panicked breaths to deep, languid lungfuls. The fear with which he pulled back his hand. The way he’s fighting now to keep from reaching out. He’s two beings. One, a child cast into a new reality. The other a cocksure Cheshire cat.

And yet, he can’t quite figure out what makes him flip.

“He’s not lying about your beauty,” Michael murmurs thickly. “He says mortal men would kneel in worship at the very sight of you.”

“Do you believe everything your father tells you?”

Michael isn’t fully sure what he’s doing as he raises damp fingers to brush her cheek. As if his actions aren’t entirely his own.

Is this what desire feels like?

It burns.

Lilith stands still as a statue under the touch of his fingers, her expression a mixture of amusement and satisfaction.

“No,” he whispers with conviction. “But you,” he breathes her scent in like smoke, “he most certainly was not lying about you. Why are you here?”

She sees it only fit to feed his thoughts back to him.

“Curiosity.”

“I hear curiosity kills.”

“I hear satisfaction resurrects.”

Michael’s full lips split into a smile. “Is that what you want, Lilith? Satisfaction?” He surprises himself as the word spills from his lips.

“Resurrection.”

And just like that, she’s gone. His hand left hanging in empty air. 

~Miss Robichaux’s Academy~

Cordelia sat in her greenhouse in the early hours of the morning, flipping through a dusty book for answers she wouldn’t find.

A scratching sound at the door caused her to jump and send her powers outward, searching for a threat. Nothing. She opened the door to empty air and was just about to shut it before she felt something brush against her leg.

A bobcat affectionately wound itself around her ankles before dropping a note at Cordelia’s feet. She bent down to retrieve it and gave the animal a few pats before it became more concerned with a squirrel in the yard and sprinted off.

Cordelia closed the door and returned to her table before unfolding the paper. Elegant cursive curled across the page as fast as her eyes could scan it.

Your suspicions are well founded.

He is still fresh. It’s not yet my time.

Appeal to his naiveté. Trust your instincts.

He may pass the test, but he is no Supreme.

No sooner had she finished reading, than the note burned up in cold blue flame. 

Cordelia felt her shoulders sag in relief as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Chapter 3

#american horror story fanfiction #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #american horror story #michael langdon #american horror story apocalypse

[midsummersky]

(translated by midsummersky)

OOR magazine interview: Arctic Monkeys To the moon and back

Major Turner to ground control! From his Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino on the moon Alex Turner observes the digital human. He does that like no one else, the space cowboy from Sheffield. The sublime sixth album of Arctic Monkeys creeps up on the listener just as gracious as a feline predator. The sound is miles away from unruly, bouncy indie jewell Whatever People Say I Am That’s What I’m Not, the band’s debut record. A better reference would be Everything You’ve Come To Expect (2016), the second album of The Last Shadow Puppets. Turner’s side project happily flows into the waters of Arctic Monkeys. And vice versa. The one thing we’re absolutely sure of: as always, whenever that nifty Turner turns up, something peculiar is bound to happen. In the 11-song tracklist of Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino, one by one wonderfully melodic pieces, this magisterial word artist presents himself as the best writer of lyrics of his generation.

By Tom Engelshoeven // Photography: Zackery Michael

We’re not allowed to know anything beforehand. Not even the album title. Listening to the songs is allowed though. In a room of the Town Hall Hotel in London, a lady from Domino record company informs me that the new album has been recorded, mostly, in Paris and that Alex Turner is extremely involved in the production process. Then the 32-year-old singer enters the room in expensive designer clothing, including a military jacket carrying his name TURNER on the chest pocket. His shoulder-length hair is tied back in a short ponytail. And the goatee which has gotten an earful from the internet. You may think he’s lost his cool, but there’s little to notice about that in our conversation. In the hour that follows Sheffield’s most famous son, currently residing in Los Angeles, tries to carefully and accurately explain his thinking methods. In that attempt, he shows a pleasant kind of openness. He often loses his words, resulting in long quiet pauses in which he searches for the right way of explaining, yet there isn’t one second where I get the idea that he actually tells me everything he knows.

– So, France. In La Frette? Yeah, La Frette is the name of the studio, but also of the town, La Frette-sur-Seine.

Surprisingly enough the internet is buzzing with rumours. It was often said that you would be working at some mysterious location. You’d been spotted in Sheffield, but Paris had never been mentioned. It was a secret! I almost recorded a Shadow Puppets record in that studio, but we didn’t get to it. The producer had already come over to Los Angeles for a recording session, prior to this one. Now it was our turn to fly over to Europe.

You mean James Ford? Yes. I started writing and recording this album in my own little homestudio in LA. We took those recordings to a real studio where we continued working on them wth James and the rest of the band. In September we made our way to the studio in La Frette to really tie it all together and finish it.

How long did that take you altogether? About five weeks. In the first two weeks it was just us, the band, to rehearse everything. After that James Ford and some other friends came in to play as well. We all stayed in La Frette and only sometimes got out to spend a weekend in London. The previous Monkeys record we made in a very different way. Back then, we all lived in LA, spent the day in the studio and then went home in the evening. Obviously this time it was not like that. Back then, we were all in a town in the midst of farmlands in Lincolnshire. Doing everything together: getting up, having breakfast, dining out.

Did spending all that time together in La Frette result in a different kind of record from the one you had in mind at the start of recording? No, to be honest it didn’t change that much. I already did a lot before we started, so it didn’t deviate that much.

– If I had to find an adjective for this new record, it would be ‘elegant’. It’s not music that bangs on your door, but songs which creep up on you like predatory animals. That was exactly how I wanted it to sound. I can’t disagree with you, I can see how you’ve managed to draw that conclusion. I guess your next question is going to be ‘why’?

Maybe in contrast to your previous album? AM was heavily based on hiphop beats. The guitar really took up the spotlight back then, but this new record sounds much more like a piano record. A piano in an old nightclub with those red, velvet curtains. It’s good to hear you describe it like this. Maybe you’re even better at that than I am. But perhaps I can give an explanation for how we’ve gotten to this red, velvet carpet? Did you say a tapestry on a wall? I like the idea that this album sounds like a wall of velvet tapestry. Yeah, that’s rad. For the first time, I wrote everything on the piano. When I was young, I played a bit of piano before I got to the guitar. But to be honest with you, I was never that good at it. I remember getting that guitar for my 15th birthday, I slept with it in my bed that night. I was constantly busy noodling around on it. Such a relationship I’ve never had with the piano, but I was able to play a couple of chords. For the past couple of years, I’ve visited a lot of studios and spaces where there was a piano available. More and more often I sat down at them and when I turned 30 I got one from my manager, a good friend of mine: a Steinway Vertegrand.

You’re singing about it twice on this album, if I’m correct: ‘Back there by the baby grand’ in One Point Perspective, and ‘It stays between us, Steinway and his sons’ in album closer The Ultracheese. That’s right, suddenly that piano became the epicentre of my small room. And there I was. The more I was sitting there, the more my fingers slipped to various places. A kind of character was born in my head. That way I convinced myself to start writing songs again.

You became a piano man? Exactly.

– From the first two songs, Star Treatment and One Point Perspective, a character starts to grow. I’m wondering, are those songs perhaps about your future as a singer: a scenario that’s looming in the future? Once upon a time you used to be that extremely promising young lad, but on here you sound like an artist singing about his bygone days. It starts with looking back.

Yes, that excellent first line: ‘I just wanted to be one of the strokes’. That was really how I looked at it back then. Star Treatment was the very first song I wrote for this album. In that song, as I hear it these days, there is a lot of uncertainty. It’s almost a song about an attempt to write a song. I’m lost somewhere, no idea whereabout. I’m reflecting and suddenly thinking: ‘here I am right now, and long ago, I used to be there’. That theme and that tone, it reaches past this one song and continues on the whole record.

You just wanted to be one of The Strokes? You could explain that as not so respectful towards The Strokes, though that was absolutely the last thing I meant to say with it. I just told myself. Just two minutes ago, or so it feels like it, I was standing in the crowd for one of their gigs and I thought I wanted to be in a band. And now I’m here and searching for something to write about. That feels very confusing: what do I want to express? And when I’ll know, how the fuck am I going to say it? Without it sounding washy. That’s the puzzle which sparked writing Star Treatment. The title is, of course, a play on words with a two-sided meaning. In that time and place, I had already thought about what the album was gonna be called: The Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino. It’s a place on the moon. I fantasised about writing a commercial text for a hotel and casino on the moon. In that case ‘The Star Treatment’ would have been the ultimate slogan! I can already visualise the commercial in my head. I love those commercial visuals for hi-fi devices from the 70s. Highlighted just like that, accompanied by neon lettering. Yeah, if I had to create and advertisement for a hotel, I would definitely put ‘Star Treatment’ in there. But it also comes from a different place. 

My dad used to tell me, on evenings where the sky was really clear and we were outside together, how far away those stars were from us. I’ve hear him say that a hundred times. I thought it was so fascinating, again and again I asked him ‘tell me again!’. Then he would point out the brightest star and say: you’re not seeing the light of that star as it shines right now, but like it was many years ago. That light took all those years to reach your eyeball. And then he would explain how fast that light had travelled to blind me. It blew me mind.

Just like how one second you wanted to be one of The Strokes and then another you’re sitting here. To be honest, I still want to be one of the strokes.

That ‘golden boy’ who’s in bad shape you’re singing about on Star Treatment, that’s you then? That confused character who doesn’t know whether he’ll ever write again. Yeah, more or less. I believe I stole that ‘golden boy’ description from Leonard Cohen.

In One Point Perspective you’re also singing: ‘A singer must die’. Also from Cohen. That’s why I thought were singing about the future of a star or a singer. The unavoidable moment where he’s stuck in The Tower Of Song. I put that line by Cohen in the lyrics because he died in the week of the American elections. I don’t think we need to talk about the historic impact of those days. There was a real feeling of despair in the air, like: this is the beginning of the end. Everyone was so upset, scared of the future. And then to top it off, Leonard Cohen passed away! That’s the feeling I’m reporting on in the song, that the Apocalypse had become a priority. ‘A singer must die’ was the most beautiful way to work Cohen into the song without having to drop his name.

– If I had to view the album from a helicopter’s perspective… Drone! Haha, I really think drone recordings ruin everything. Every time I see an aerial shoot I just know it was a drone that did that. It’s just not cool. I’m sorry for interrupting, keep going.

… then I had to say this record is about the USA, about how computers and machines direct our lives, the language of the digital era and sir Trump. I have tried so hard to keep him out of this.

Well, there’s a song called Golden Trunks. Yes, he finds his ways to sneak in. He’s very skilled in that area. He’s getting enough air time as it is, and I didn’t want to grant him anymore. Now it’s just one verse that’s about him. But look, he’s even entered our conversation!

You’re singing: ‘Leader of the free world reminds you of a wrester wearing tight golden trunks’. And still, something kept me from confronting him. It’s become a sort of competition: who’s got the most witty way to say something extremely denigrating about him? That competition is absolutely going nowhere, except again it’s about him.

In that song Four Stars Out Of Five you’re observing how we’re constantly letting our lives be led by digital devices. Like, there’s a nice restaurant on the internet, oh Gosh four stars, we need to go there. You’re also singing about the digital age in The World’s First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip: ‘The exotic sound of data storage, nothing like it first thing in the morning / You push the button and we do the rest’. How the young and hip are being herded like sheep. And the words that help them: ‘start your free trial today’. Everything you just mentioned is so present in our daily lives, it’s impossible to ignore. I found it quite hard to dig up some poetry from that. It took me a while before I succeeded. The simple fact that I was writing about stars and science fiction has helped me. Science fiction is a recurring theme on this record.

One number is even called Science Fiction. You’re almost ridiculing that genre a little bit. Yeah. Namely because science fiction is really funny most of the time. I just can’t help it. It’s so fascinating to me how writers of sci-fi books keep making up new worlds to comment on their own worlds. Essentially, that’s wat happens most of the time. I realised I am partaking in this as well. You’re inventing this Moon Casino thing to be able to talk about Facebook. Not that I’m actually talking on Facebook.

Science fiction is easily outdated though. That’s something really amusing as well. On the news, everyone was raving on about 1948. Like, now it seems like it really is fucking 1948! It was so funny, I had to put it in Star Treatment. Everyone saying it’s fucking 1948. But a lot of the lyrics on this record are inspired by a book I read, Amusing Ourselves To Death by Neil Postman. I can’t remember when I first heard about it but when I read that title, I immediately thought: this is what you have to read in the modern age. Even though, it’s practically written when television was the most dominant factor in our lives. Postman argues how that time – but I think also ours – bears much more resemblance to Brave New World by Aldous Huxley than to 1948. Because in Brave New World people are letting themselves be molded by something they have called onto themselves and not by a power from outside, like in 1948. That was the point I wanted to make.

Something else I took form that book was the idea concept of the information-action ratio. Like, what actions are to be expected when people are being fed information. I read Amusing Ourselves To Death around the time of the presidential elections. Retroactively, I thill think of it as an interesting read. It really hit the bull’s-eye for me. In that time, I was fanatically keeping up with the news, I’m laying off that a bit for now.

According to our conversation, it appears as if you made a really politically-themed record but rather than that, you’re describing your life as of right now without really judging at all. Yes, I think it is really important to preserve a sense of discretion. Good writing stills are based on the ability to suggest. You don’t need to provide a roadmap, but you do need a sense of humour. That is important, yes.

I laughed out loud at the line ‘swamp monster with a hard-on for connectivity’ in Science Fiction. It reminded me of all those people working in IT who really do pay their bills with their ‘hard-ons for connectivity’. What’s also funny is that character from Batphone who introduces a perfume called Integrity. ‘I sell the fact that I can’t be bought’. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if one day I would drive past a billboard advertising a perfume called Integrity. It feels like it already exists in this world. The rest of the song just wrote itself.

One of the reasons it took you so long before this album was born, was because the other members of the band suddenly became fathers. You didn’t, obviously, but has that changed your view on the world? Has it changed you guys as a band? Yeah, because they need to take care of their kids now! The real scope of the impact is yet to be defined. Touring around when everyone has got families at home, it’s something we haven’t done yet. Well, no. Nick [O’Malley, bass] had a boy when we were still touring around with AM. All the other babies have been born after that. How it has influenced our life on the road, I wouldn’t know yet. I think they’re more capable of answering than I am. But parenthood has had absolutely no negative impacts on our spending time in the studio. We had a fantastic time. Because of all those family happenings we hadn’t seen each other as often as we would’ve liked. But there was a great lot of enthusiasm, energy and excitement when we were in France. It’s just that sometimes they were facetiming with their kids.

 – Your previous album was very much about lust from the perspective of someone at the end of his twenties. ‘I want that woman in my hotel room tonight!’ It’s the complete opposite of the baby monitor life of a young dad. A friend once told me: I’d love it if you wrote something else than ‘I love you, you love me, why’d you only call me when you’re high, blahblahblah’ for once. That was when I thought: I’d like try because I had never done that before. On our last Puppets record I detached myself from that image, it was already lessening. Not that shit anymore about a girl in a hotel room and I want to meet you. That’s how I got to the songs The Dream Synopsis and Sweet Dreams, TN. I’d never walked the road of love that far along. Maybe I even exaggerated on purpose. It caused a definite fracture with the past, which pleases me.

Lovesongs become cheese really quickly, that’s just the way it is. The closing number which is also about love, is called The Ultracheese and appears to not contain a single hint of irony. Is it hard for you to ignore the irony factor? Well, one of the many things Cohen teaches you is that he’s prepared to take time to deliver his message. The more songs you hear from him, the more you discover who he really is. It’s a large scala of oeuvre which makes that clear. Listening to his songs, but also his commentaries, has encouraged me to take my time. Not just in terms of working pace. You can also take the time to spread out your message over one whole record, or maybe even several records. A few nice punchlines here and there, that’s all right. But I don’t really feel that urge anymore to wrap all the things I have to say up in one short moment. This insight is relatively new to me.

How much of The Last Shadow Puppets has actually flowed on in this Arctic Monkeys record? The fundamental difference between both projects us that The Puppets are based on a partnership between me and Miles Kane. That’s the distinction, but lyrical-wise I’m less and less thinking about what project I’m writing for. Back in the days, it was very much like: now I’m doing The Puppets, then The Monkeys, then The Puppets and when that’s done, the Monkeys again. In the meantime, we’ve come to a point where AM somewhat started resembling the last Puppets record. I had already been working on the piano loop for Star Treatment when I was writing Everything You’ve Come To Expect. That was when it all started to become more intertwined.

There has been a lot of speculation about this new album, maybe causing a lot of pressure on you. Was that difficult for you to handle? That’s mainly part of a world I try not to stick my hands in. If I had heard anything about it, I might’ve been more worried. But I don’t really have any social media, so I’m not entirely conscious of it. I do feel that people have been looking forward to this record a lot because, since I’ve left the UK, people keep asking me: when is that record gonna come out? That level. But it’s not as if I’m looking at my phone every other minute.

Your girlfriend Taylor Bagley was trying to pick a fight with some fans, saying ‘he doesn’t do it for any of you cunts, he does it for himself’. Does that even reach you or not at all? No it doesn’t, I try to stay out of it on purpose. In any case, it doesn’t bother me with making music.

Is that maybe why you’ve thought up a hotel and casino? To escape everything? The idea to name a record after a place comes from how I feel about albums I really love. An album like that really is like a destination to reconnect with yourself. I so urgently wish I could rent an apartment on Dion’s Born To Be With You, an all-time favourite of mine. I’d pack my bags this instant and just leave for a while. I told you about that room with the piano in LA, right? At my place we call that room The Lunar Surface. It’s from that rumour how Stanley Kubrick just staged the whole moon landing in his basement. Every time I sat down to work on songs in my basement, I thought: he’s gonna come down to fake the moon landing any time now. That’s how the moon entered the story. And the calm, thanks to an Apollo mission.

Is Taylor a muse for you? For years now, you’ve surrounded yourself with models and great women. What kind of influence did those women have on your music? Is she my muse, you’re asking? Living together with Taylor brought stability to my life, giving me courage to talk about certain things on this record. It’s a conclusion a friend of mine came to when I played a couple of new songs for a few friends on the piano. He told me: your life is so much more stable than some years ago when you had AM. An understandable conclusion, but whether it’s the absolute truth and whether everything really is that black and white, I’m not sure of. Because songs are not always an exact depiction of how your world is at that moment. •

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #am #tbhc #tranquility base hotel & casino #am interview #oor magazine #mine #GODDDDDDDD I'M DONE #again if you see any mistakes please let me know!! #it's extremely lengthy so i might've missed some and i'm happy to correct!