#ro writes

[eroset]

hello!! hole ur doing well, can i request top!m reader w beel from OM? smth involving lingeries n feminization maybe? tyyy<3

TYYYY FOR REQUESTING THIS I GOT CARRIED AWAY CZ I LUUUUUUV BEEL + LINGERIE + FEMINIZATION IT MAKES ME CRAZY KISSES KISSES u accidentally hit one of my favvvv things so idc that its outrageously long <33333 the typo is so funny i would be doing better with a hole. anyway i am doing well here is a gift just 4 u my love hee hee i hope u like itttt🙈

cw: chest/nipple play (c. receiving), chestjob (r. receiving), oral (r. receiving), feminization, praise. ended up making reader more of a soft dom than just a top so 4give me if you did not want that <33

minors dni!

"what is this?"

on his knees in front of your closet in the aftermath of a failed stashed snack raid, beelzebub holds up a fine strip of fabric; a shimmering piece from a lingerie set that costed more than your life, probably.

"oh, that's from asmo. he said i could break it in."

beel gives you a blank look as you speak. "break it in?" and you see his hands tense toward the literal, flexing in a manner as if he intends to shred the fabric. your hand shoots out to grab his wrist, though you know your own strength won't stop him.

"as in use!" you breathe out a sigh of relief when he stops.

"why couldn't asmo use it? isn't it his?" he holds it up to inspect it properly. it's a white, lacy thing with a delicate trim that catches in the light. it's transparent and gauzy in places, with silk ribbons to hold it all together. it's pretty.

not functional, though. asmo had been given a boxed promotional set in an array of sizes, many of which were much too big for him, and much too expensive to just brazenly throw out. he'd opted instead to pawn gift them to you.

beel frowns when you explain this. runs a thumb over the fabric, thoughtful. "it doesn't look too big."

you grin. "he said the top half was way too big for him. he doesn't like women's lingerie, says it fits weird on him. it'd probably fit you, though." you stand from your crouched position beside him, ruffling his hair. "your chest is like a girl's, anyway. guess you're luckier than he is."

and something clicks.

...

it takes months from then for him to work up to this.

for someone like beelzebub, who is simple in his pleasures, who doesn't bother thinking over what he would and wouldn't theoretically like (what's the point?), who is instead content in sticking to what he knows feels good and basks in it, this is a step in a direction he doesn't know what to make of.

but he doesn't see the point thinking too much about it, because if it feels good, then what does it matter?

and it does feel good. it felt good when you said it so easily with him on his knees: your chest is like a girl's, anyway. and when you joked during levi's boring tabletop roleplaying game on your character's twist royal lineage, when asked who your princess would be, your hand flirtily on his knee under the table: beel, i guess. and after one of his work out sessions, when his shirt rode up and you zeroed in on it like a moth to a flame, smoothed a hand thoughtfully over his waist: like one of those bikini models in mammon's fashion magazines.

and it feels good now, when you have him seated on your lap on your couch like something precious, dressed up for you in white lace and silk.

beel doesn't feel self-conscious, even when he's wearing so little. the lingerie fits him well, as you'd predicted. the bralette of the dress clings to his chest, stretched tight over his pecs and fanning out in a pretty skirt that he can't help but fidget with. the suspender belt and stockings were a fight to get on, but they make his legs feel smooth, and he likes the way your eyes darken when you gaze over his skin pudging out of the tight straps crossing up his thighs.

"no," he says with a shake of his head, and he leans forward a little, into you, still towering over you. it's a wonder how you can make him feel small and cherished when he's so much bigger than you are. his thick thighs splay across your hips, and they tense when you run your hands over them.

"you look like a doll," you say with a smile, and that look is in your eye again. it makes his stomach hot. your finger hooks under one of the straps on his thigh and pull it taut. it pops back against his skin with a snap!, and he jumps. you smile at that, too. it makes his stomach hotter.

he sits still while your hands work over him, smoothing and cupping over his body. sometimes over the lingerie and sometimes under, and the touches are long and hot enough for him to end up with him starting to get hard, tense in the way he always gets when he wants friction but wants even more to behave for you. it feels weird to be stroked like this, like you really are admiring the craftmanship of a doll, or maybe just groping him like a pervert, but it's not unpleasant.

"it fits you so well." you pinch and stoke up his waist, just under the hem of the bralette, and he finally realizes your intent when he sees your eyes fix on his chest. "especially here." oh, but he's always too quick to get worked up when you play around with him like this.

"um, wait," he says, hands flying to circle your arms, but your palms are already cupping the meat of his pecs firmly, and he jerks forward without meaning to. instead of pulling them away, all he can do is cling to your forearms when you make a massaging motion. heat coils in him and he releases a heavy sigh. "i..."

you look back up at him, feigning innocence. "is something wrong?"

"no, i just- ah," he mumbles, suddenly embarrassed. his knees try to knock together but only end up squeezing your hips. "my chest..." his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

beelzebub doesn't continue. your hands continue their motions, kneading his pecs with the firm intent of making him blush and shudder in your lap, and of course it works - his chest has always been sensitive. his arms shake when they circle your head to rest his forearms along the back of the couch, leaning into your touch.

he chokes out a sound when your thumbs finally press over his nipples, and his hips stutter into yours. you rub them in short, firm circles that make him purr, boneless against you, feeling much too hot to really lament getting hard so quickly. you've always liked to exploit this weakness of his.

your hips cant up into his hips and he whines against your neck open-mouthed as you roll them between your thumbs. "that was fast."

"uh-huh," he pants. he rolls his hips firmly and without rhythm, just seeking friction - you haven't reprimanded him for it, so he's not doing anything wrong, right? he continues rocking eagerly.

"i was right about what i said before," you coo into his ear, a distraction from your nips and squeezes at his nipples between your fingers. "your chest is like a girl's." and you press down on them again, hard, and buck your hips up just right, and he melts against you with a sweet moan.

it's a short-lived pleasure. he grumbles a confused sound when you push him back, leaning him back in your lap. his cock is hard and heavy, straining up against his white panties, but they must be enchanted to stay in place. he jerks forward without meaning to when you give his chest one final squeeze, a glint in your eyes.

"i wanna see what else i can do with them."

...

beelzebub sits dutifully between your spread thighs, ignoring the fire in his gut in favor of staring in anticipation at your cock tenting against the zipper of your jeans.

"it tastes weird," he complains as you swipe your thumb under his lower lip, wiping away any wayward pink. but his eyes remain glued to your cock, and he swallows reflexively.

"not about how it tastes. it's supposed to make you look pretty." you cap the lipstick and set it aside. (or was it lip gloss? he doesn't know the difference.)

beel squirms a little and finally tears his gaze from your bulge, hands tentatively squeezing your knees. "do i?" he asks quietly. he looks away when you meet his gaze, bashful. "do i look pretty like a..." you've called him pretty in the past, but this time...

your hand catches on his jaw and force his head back to look at you. "like a girl?" you clarify, and your grip softens with a fond smile when he slowly and bashfully nods. your thumb presses against his lips, despite being so careful in your application of color, and he opens it pliantly. "you look like a very pretty girl, beel."

"oh," he breathes, your thumb pressed firmly on his tongue while your knuckles hold under his chin, keeping his mouth open. he squeezes your knees again and clenches his own together and his eyes once more fall down when your other hand drifts to your zipper.

he should be embarrassed about the way he salivates when your cock springs free, especially since you can feel it when you hold his mouth open. you fist your cock and stroke it slowly, watching as he swallows reflexively around nothing, and his spine tingles when you chuckle lowly.

"sit still, beel." you warn, and pull him toward your cock and angle it properly for him, just enough to almost graze the hot head of it against his tongue. you say something else but just the smell of you so close to him has his brain sparking. all he can do is nod to whatever you said, sharp and jerky, eyes wide and begging.

but you still don't release him. you keep your grip on his chin, holding him in place as you slowly and firmly stroke yourself, head angled toward his tongue, so close, as if you were just going to cum over his tongue and he whines low, now confused. you knew how much he loved you in his mouth- what were you doing?

you smile as beel squirms, this time shifting to angle your hips up a little. but when you pull him forward, you pull him up- away from your cock, and the momentum pulls his chest forward, cushioning it against your stomach. you sigh at the feeling and release his mouth, which is drooling freely.

"like this," you murmur, your hands guiding his to the sides of his chest. he pushes his pecs together as you direct him to, wobbling a little on his knees before he steadies himself.

his eye snap from your cock sandwiched between his pecs to your face a little frantically once he realizes that you aren't, in fact, going to throatfuck him. "but-"

"not yet, baby," you croon, like he's so silly for wanting your cock in his mouth instead of between his tits. "said i wanted to play with your chest more, didn't i? you're doing so good."

one of your hands grips his hair at the back of his head, not enough to hurt, just to steady him. the other wiggles between where you're connected; you fiddle with the ribboned straps of his bralette, feeding your cock underneath it to hug it firmly between his pecs, and he shudders when you rub one of his nipples with a thumb for good measure before you lean back.

like this, you direct, and beel can't help but obey you when you manhandle him in in how to move. it's a much tighter fit than he thought it'd be- the meat of his chest already pops a bit between the ribbons, made all the tighter with the heat of your thick cock pulsing between them. he's clumsy at first, not sure how tight to squeeze or how fast to move, but he gains a slow and steady rhythm after a while, one that makes you coo in approval.

the sight of it is mesmerizing, your fat cockhead thrusting in and out of his pecs with a slick pop every time it reappears. it's hot and sticky from his drool, which makes for an easier glide, and soon he's getting into it too, panting a little every time he goes down.

and with you groaning above him, his own arousal is long forgotten in favor of chasing yours.

you thrust your hips up once when he strokes down and your cock hits his chin, smearing against his lips; he gasps and heat floods him at the taste, the way it always does. his tongue sticks out reflexively, swirling around the head of your cock, and when you don't scold him he moans around it, head bobbing down.

from this position he can't take much, but even just the inch he gets in his mouth is amazing. he sucks it dutifully, reverently, and massages his chest around you, coaxing your cock to spit more delicious precum against his tongue.

"fuck," you wheeze, and beelzebub gargles a moan when you thrust up higher. "your mouth's so fucking hot." your tone makes his hole clench, but before he can really get into it, the grip you have on his hair pulls his head off. he suckles at your head as you pull out, a strand of saliva connecting your pulsing head to his mouth.

he licks his lips greedily, savoring the flavor, and pants open-mouthed when you thrust between his chest. "more," he whines, tongue hanging out to catch your cockhead every time you thrust up. he squeezes his pecs together and bounces them on your cock, eager for your cum, and moans when you hiss in pleasure.

"jus' like that," you slur, rocking your hips with him. "so good, you're doing so good."

he sucks at your head greedily whenever it reaches his mouth, tonguing your slit and laving it with care, all the while pinching and rolling you in his chest. his hips buck against one of your calves clumsily, more of an afterthought to the pleasure of his mouth, and he chokes on his spit when you abruptly shove his head down, feeding your cock in deeper.

"take it," you grunt, and he sucks you into his mouth as deep as he can with his chest in the way. it's wet and sticky from drool and precum, and your balls slap noisily against the underside of his pecs every time he bounces them down. it's lewd but he doesn't care, too caught up in the wet heat of everything to focus on anything else but your voice and your cock throbbing against his chest and the way your free hand thumbs at one of his nipples. "that's it, take it, swallow it all like a good girl."

he does so obediently, moaning all the while, swallowing down the thick load you give him, hot and sticky in his mouth, like a good girl. he can feel everything, every throb of your lipstick-peppered cock between his chest as you thrust into him, every pulse of your heavy balls against the satin ropes crossing his chest as your cock spits rope after rope of sticky cum over his tongue and the back of his throat. he doesn't stop, milking you for as much cum as he can get; swirls his tongue against your head as he sucks, head bobbing, massaging his tits around you. the extra attention makes it last longer than most of your orgasms, and you grunt and roll your hips with him, prolonging it for as much as you can. his eyes roll. he's in heaven.

finally, you eventually pull beel off, this time with more effort- he suckles you all the while, greedy to keep you in, and finally separates with a final yank and a satisfying pop. “tastes so good.” he drools, still panting, rubbing his cheek against your thigh, a slow, satisfied look creeping into his dewy eyes.

he rubs his cheek against your palm happily when you settle it down on him, like a cat, not caring about the smearing of drool or lipstick or cum. the heat in him hasn't quelled, but he's more sated now with a bellyful of your hot cum. his favorite snack. your other hand fidgets with his chest and he squeaks when you tweak his nipples, pulling your cock free from under his lingerie with a lewd, sticky sound.

he almost thinks you're done until you knock your calf up, right against his cock- he moans suddenly and jerks his hips down to meet you, gripping your spit-stained jeans.

"we're not done yet, don't worry." your fist returns to his hair and pulls him up higher and higher, knee firm between his legs, until you can pepper his jaw with kisses. "don't you want me to fuck you like a good girl, too, beel?"

#dom reader #top reader #male reader #top male reader #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me beelzebub #ro writes

[rottingsam]

dean coercing sam to get between his legs after a hunt, sam thinks they’re probably just going to blow each other and call it a night, so he goes on his knees easily enough. it’s in the middle of july, hot and humid and deans worked up more than a decent sweat. so much so that it makes his balls stick to his preinuim and his boxers simultaneously. sam goes to pull dean’s boxers off, only to have his head forcefully shoved down into his brothers crotch, holding him down down on the dampened fabric. slowly dean starts to grind as sam struggles, nose pressed into the musky fabric trying to pull off by to no avail. “c’mon sammy, you sniff em enough while im gone, don’t tell me the panty sniffer can’t preform in front of a crowd.” sam flushes hot, his cock blurts out a thick drop of precum in his underwear and he tries one last failed attempt to pull away. dean keeps a steady grind, and sam finally lets himself take a deep whiff, it smells like salt and musk, smells like dean dean dean. quickly, dean moves his leg between sams thighs, he waste no time pressing his own erection into the muscle while he buried his nose even further into the the clothes space where deans balls meet his thigh.

#scent kink #samdean #ro writes

[rosileeduckie]

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free. 

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

#tickling #tickle fic #mine #ro writes #good omens tickling #ticklish!aziraphale #ticklish!crowley #i saved my tired for the description if you can't tell #i really did like season two #how have i not written for them in so long #tickle fiction #tickle fanfiction #peak crow flirting

[imrowanartist]

I asked @anstarwar what they wanted me to draw and they requested Alejandro and Rudy drinking margaritas in hoodies with thumb holes 😌

And then I also wrote a little snippet for it, which you can read under the cut!

When Rudy looks up from the table, Alejandro is weaving his way back towards him, carrying two glasses in his hands that look way too fancy to be beers.

He has to dodge several exuberant Vaquaros, who all want to have a chance to congratulate their Colonel on another successful mission.

Rudy watches it all unfold with a fond roll of his eyes. He's happy that the men are able to blow off some steam for a night. It's not usually his cup of tea, but his presence is important for morale, and now that he's had a few beers, he can't say he's not enjoying it somewhat.

Across from him, Gomez has definitely had more than a few beers already and has apparently decided that the table is the right place for a nap. Poor kid has worked his ass off to get the paperwork all sorted before their night off base.

Alejandro puts down what are now clearly margaritas on the table with a clunk.

"Margaritas, Ale? Really?"

"We're celebrating, Rudy!" Ale grins at him, taking his seat again and pulling the two glasses towards them.

"Mango or lime?" He asks.

"Mango, you absolute psychopath," Rudy mutters, as he takes the more orange colored drink and takes a sip. It's good. A little sweet, but he likes that.

"Suit yourself." Ale shrugs, taking a much larger gulp of the margarita than is probably wise.

Rudy doesn't remember at which point the alcohol really hits him, but he does know that Alejandro's shoulder is very comfortable and that he doesn't really care that Gomez has woken up from his nap and has been quietly observing them for the past few minutes.

Alejandro is in the middle of a story, and Rudy watches him through half lidded eyes. He's so handsome. The way his eyelashes flutter and his dimple appears when he laughs. His partner. His.

"Rudy, are you listening?" Ale asks, stopping his story mid sentence.

"Hmm, not really," Rudy hums, bringing up his glass to empty the last of his drink, "You're too handsome. You're distracting me."

Ale flashes a smile at him, "I'm distracting, huh?"

"Very much so. I don't mind though." Rudy adds.

Someone snorts. It's probably Gomez, but Rudy doesn't feel like checking. He's too busy staring at Ale's lips.

He's probably pretty tipsy, but he really really wants to kiss Alejandro right now. So he does.

"I also don't mind doing this," Rudy says, then pulls a surprised Ale in for a kiss.

His partner pauses for a second -they don't usually flaunt their relationship in public like this- but then apparently decides he also doesn't give a shit, moving his hands to Rudy's face as he deepens their kiss.

"Ew, get a room," Gomez laughs at them, gathering their empty glasses, and getting up from the table, ready to take his leave.

Rudy simply flips him off. He's got much better things to do right now than argue with his Staff Sergeant.

#alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #alejandro x rudy #alerudy #MWII #cod mw2 #ro's art #ro writes #ro's cod art

[ronearoundblindly]

pray for me!

picking up Fools Rush In again today

#fools rush in series #ro writes #got all the good ol' songs on repeat #thoughts and prayers for the muses gang

[the-writer-nerd-ro]

#ro writes #ro writes fic #fanfiction #poll

[rowansparrow]

Imagine the entitlement of thinking somebody asking for an update on your fic si rude.. your lucky ppl even read your shit

and yet y'all are scratching your heads and wondering why nobody posts their work anymore lmfao

#some of you need to go outside #ro writes #anons #asks

[rowansparrow-writing]

What Blooms in Thunder: Chapter Nineteen (FINAL CHAPTER)

(Art courtesy of @/space-b33 and @/imrowanartist)

Summary: The battle for the village begins. 

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Major character death, implied character death, pregnancy mention, discussions of pregnancy, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic description, surgery, medical trauma, childbirth/referenced childbirth, beheadings, so much blood and violence in this chapter lads. 

Reminder that I use #ro’s protected tag for sensitive content including n*fw and triggers, so please block that tag if you have concerns about content!

Ships: Captain Rex x Female!Reader,  Lieutenant Rose x Female!Reader, Fives x Male!OC.

Word Count: 9k

A/N: This is the beginning of the end.

Thank you all for coming back for one last chapter. I hope you enjoy. 

If I missed anything in the warnings/tags that you feel should be included, please let me know.

Thank you @djarrex for beta-reading!

Tag List Form. Series Master List

Reblogs are SO appreciated!

Nothing happened.

Thresh’s sword hovered inches from Quill’s neck, the Trandoshan clearly struggling to move his hand from where it was frozen in place.

“What -.” Fives gasped, looking around wildly. His eyes landed on Ju’Lah, her hand outstretched and face screwed up in concentration.

Quill was first to react.

He charged into Thresh, knocking him onto his back and forcing him to drop the sword. His hands were still bound behind his back, but that didn’t stop him from headbutting the Trandoshan, trying to push himself to his feet.

The other Trandoshans who had been gathered around Thresh charged at Quill, readying their weapons, but blaster-fire rang out once more through the clearing. You looked up to the rooftop again, finally recognizing the tip of a rifle poking out behind the cover of the trees near the building, and one by one, the Trandoshans began to fall as Crosshair took them out.

“Get to the tunnels!” Athena shouted at you and Ju’Lah, drawing her blaster. “It’s the two of you they want, you have to run!”

“Mama?” Kiran asked, tugging on her pantleg anxiously.

Fives and Echo ran past you, sprinting up the hillside towards Quill.

“Dogma,” Athena commanded, picking Kiran up and quickly passing him to the clone. “Get these three to the tunnels, they’ll be safest there.” Then, after a moment of hesitation, she added, “Stay with them, help protect the people below ground if it comes to that.”

“Yes ma’am.” Dogma nodded, holding out a hand to Ju’Lah. “Come on, quickly!”

You cried out again as the pain in your stomach became unbearable, your knees buckling underneath you as you fell to the ground.

“What happened?! Are you hit?” Dogma crouched beside you, but Ju’Lah pushed him out of the way, putting her hands flat against your belly.

“Something – something’s wrong.” You whimpered, clutching your stomach. “Something’s wrong.”

Ju’Lah pulled her hands back, a serious expression on her little face. “Can you walk?”

You shook your head, and Ju’Lah reached for Kiran instead.

“Dogma, you have to carry her. Let me take Kiran. Try to jostle her as little as possible.”

“What’s going on?” Dogma asked, but did as he was told.

“I think the baby is coming.”

“What?!” You managed tightly, gripping your stomach and groaning lowly. “Not now, not now, he can’t come now, it’s still way too early.”

“We have to get to Soteria in the tunnels.” Ju’Lah said.

A loud rumbling prevented your response, and you looked up just in time to see four large dropships soaring over the village.

“The Empire.” You whispered. “They’re here.”

Dogma moved first, carefully working his arms under you and grunting as he picked you up, cradling you as best he could against his chest. “Come on, everyone stay together.” He ordered. “Kid, with me, let’s move!”

“There’s an entrance to one of the tunnels inside the Command Center!” Ju’Lah shouted over the frightened screams of villagers as the Imperial ships landed. “Come on!”

Ju’Lah hoisted Kiran higher in her arms, holding him as steady as she could while Dogma carried you, and the four of you started towards the Command Center.

When you made it to the entrance, you could already see an ocean of white armor marching towards the village, and you glanced to Dogma, spotting the horror and fear in his eyes.

“Kriff,” he whispered. “Kriff, we’re all going to die.”

“Drop us off and then join the fight.” You ordered him. “Rex will – oh gods – Rex will need all the help he can get.” You winced mid-sentence, covering your stomach again.

Soteria was waiting just inside the tunnel’s entrance, her hands outstretched to catch you as Dogma lowered you down. “What’s happening?!”

“We think she’s in labor.” Dogma explained quickly, passing you down. “I’m going to join the others, stay underground!”

He left you with Soteria, who hoisted your arm over her shoulder and carefully guided you down into the tunnel, leading you deeper underground while Ju’Lah followed, carrying a sobbing Kiran in her arms.

“It’s okay, Kiran.” Ju’Lah tried to soothe him, setting him down and taking his hand instead. “Come on, just a little further.”

“We’re nearly to the bunkers.” Soteria called over her shoulder. “Just hang in there a bit longer.”

You could feel something hot running down your leg, and you whimpered softly, terror coursing through you as you gripped Soteria tightly. “No matter what, you get him out.” You told her, your voice shaking. “You save him no matter what, okay?”

“I’ll do everything I can -.”

“No, you promise me.” You grabbed her arm tighter, nails digging into her skin. “If it comes down to him or me, you save Calder. Promise me.”

Soteria hesitated, but she nodded. “I promise.”

You relaxed, but only slightly. Soteria pushed open the door to the bunker, ushering people out of the way as she led you to an isolated corner, tearing Rex’s cape from your shoulders and setting it aside, instead guiding you to one of the cots scattered throughout the room.

“Lie back.” She commanded, and Ju’Lah rushed over, helping to guide you down as she moved her hands quickly over your belly.

“I can sense him.” She reported. “He’s alive, but he’s distressed, something’s not right.”

“I need a scanner.” Soteria cursed under her breath, her head whipping around wildly until she spotted someone positioned near the entrance to the bunker. “Tech! Come here!”

“Captain Howzer is guarding the other entrance.” Tech reported as he jogged over with Omega on his heels. “I was told to wait here and -.” He cut himself off, dropping immediately to your other side and raking his eyes across your body, filtering in the data appearing on his visor. “Well. That’s a problem.”

“What is it?” Soteria demanded.

“It appears the placenta is becoming abrupted.” Tech replied.

“What – what does that mean?” You asked weakly.

“It means the fetus will soon be unable to get oxygen.” Tech replied, focused as ever as he removed his pack, fumbling around in it for a moment. “We will need to remove the fetus as quickly as possible for it to have any chance of survival.”

“I don’t have any supplies here, the best we’ve got is bacta and some bandages in the supply crates.” Soteria protested, and lowered her voice, whispering something frantic to Tech.

“What are you saying, talk to me!” You demanded, propping yourself up on your elbows, only to flatten on your back again as another wave of pain ripped through you. “Get him out!” You shouted, panic finally overtaking you. “He can’t breathe, get him out!”

“What can I do to help?” Omega asked, her expression determined.

“I’m going to need you to help me keep her still.” Soteria said. “And – and the storage crates, get as much bacta and bandages as you can. Quickly.”

“I can numb her pain, but I – I’m not strong enough to heal her if this goes wrong.” Ju’Lah warned. “I have to get my Buir, he can help better than me.”

“Go.” Soteria said at once. “Run. As fast as you can.”

Ju’Lah wasted no time, jumping to her feet and darting back out of the tunnels as fast as her legs could carry her.

“I know this is scary, but try to stay calm.” Soteria soothed, smoothing her hand along your forehead. “We’re going to get him out, okay? You’re already in labor, and Tech’s going to give you a stim shot to help speed things up. Just listen to your body and do what it tells you to do.”

You nodded, inhaling slowly and trying to quell the rising terror in your chest. “Rex doesn’t know.” You said quietly, your voice shaking again. “Kriff, he’s out there fighting, he doesn’t know. What if something happens to him? What if something happens to both of us?”

“You have to stay calm.” Soteria reminded you, brushing the backs of her knuckles lightly against your cheek. “It’ll be alright, deep breaths. When Gol’Chek comes, he can give us an update on Rex. I’m sure it’ll all be alright.”

Your mind was racing. What if you died? What if Rex was killed? Who would watch over your son?

You whimpered again as another wave of pain washed over you, and Tech pricked something into your neck while Soteria worked to disrobe you.

Above ground, several things were happening at once.

~

Rex raced through the village, shouting orders left and right as he went.

“Everyone get to the tunnels, quickly! If you can hold a weapon, prepare for invasion! Move, now!”

He drew his blasters, leaving the Darksaber untouched on his hip for now and turned his head towards the sky, the familiar whine of incoming ships drawing his attention as Gol’Chek sprinted to his side.

“There’s four of them.” Gol’Chek reported, breathless as the ships came in for a landing. “They’ve got to be loaded with Imperials.”

Both men ducked as the dropships began firing at the structures along the edge of the village, and Rex lifted his head, spotting three figures in the distance running for their lives from the fray down the side of the hill. One appeared to be a Nautolan.

“Rex, we won’t survive against that many troopers.” Gol’Chek told him, his voice grim. “Not unless I perform the Recitation.”

Rex’s head swum for a moment as he struggled to remember what that meant. He looked at Gol’Chek’s staff, at the inscription burned into the wood, and he remembered the conversation he’d overheard on the Cordillera many months ago.

“What’s it say?”

“It’s an ancient dialect of Cymruun, the Garbak language.” Ju’Lah answered before Gol’Chek could. “Unreadable to anyone but him, now. And he can’t say it aloud.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will kill him.” Ju’Lah gave Gol’Chek a sharp look. “Right? It’s a Recitation, isn’t it? You call upon the All-Mother when you read it but in exchange, she gets to take you back to the Pale with her.”

Rex shook his head. “No. No, not if it’ll kill you in the process.”

“We don’t have a choice.” Gol’Chek said forcefully. “The Recitation is for our darkest hour, and this is it. We aren’t strong enough to take them all, Rex.” He gripped his staff tighter. “I can.”

“Maybe we can’t take them alone, but with help, we stand a chance.” Rex said, quickly pressing buttons on his commlink as another explosion rocked the village. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He warned Gol’Chek, bringing the device to his lips.

“Wolffe, we’re under attack!” He began, throwing an arm over his head to defend himself as another explosion lit up one of the buildings nearby. “The Empire’s here, they’ve found us.”

He took a shuddering breath. “Listen, if you can’t help us, everyone here is going to die. All of us.” He flinched as the bombers swept through again, and a nearby home was obliterated. “Help us, Commander. You’re our only hope.”

“Everyone brace along the edge of the village, facing the dropships.” Gol’Chek ordered. “If we can hold them off, we can buy time for everyone else to get to the bunkers.”

“No, you need to get high, as high as you can.” Rex said.

Gol’Chek blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Find high ground. Then get mad. Really mad.” Rex insisted. “You can make it storm, Gol’Chek. You can give us an advantage.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t realize it before?” Rex asked. “Gol’Chek, when you were on the roof after you found out about the baby, you were the one making it rain. You were the one summoning the thunder and lightning. It was all you. You have more power than you realize.” He put a hand on Gol’Chek’s shoulder. “Use it.”

“The fighters are assembling along the Northern perimeter.” Athena reported, skidding up to the group. “Hunter and Wrecker are leading one team to the West, and Dogma’s got another group to the East. We need our flanks covered, and Rex, you should take the lead in the northern quarter.”

Rex turned to Gol’Chek. “We need you behind us.” He said. “Give it everything you’ve got.”

Gol’Chek hesitated, but nodded quickly, gripping his staff tighter and about-facing, running for the hills.

“Where are the others?” Rex asked.

“Howzer and Tech are below ground, helping protect the civilians. I haven’t seen Fives, Quill, or Echo.” Athena’s voice shook slightly at that, but she cleared her throat quickly. “Your wife is safe.”

Rex relaxed, but only marginally. “We need to find the others as fast as we can. If you find Echo, send him to the Eastern corner with Dogma, Fives and Quill can brace the inner village in case they get through our lines of defense. Athena, you’re with me.” He nodded. “Let’s move!”

Everyone split off, and Rex looked to the sky again. A single fighter flew overhead, landing far away from the Empire’s troops and out of Rex’s sight.

“Who’s that?” Athena asked, jogging alongside him.

“I don’t know, but let’s hope it’s a friend.” Rex muttered. “Go, quickly!”

~

Fives sprinted across the clearing, drawing his blaster as he moved and firing on the first Trandoshan to turn his way. Echo was hot on his heels.

Blaster fire from Crosshair’s rifle sailed over his head, blasting Trandoshans away from Quill as they tried to attack him, and Fives prayed to whatever gods were listening that his aim was true, and a stray bolt wouldn’t hit Quill.

He threw himself onto the back of one of the Trandoshans attacking Quill, and the Trandoshan roared, throwing his head back and snapping his jaws at Fives. Fives grit his teeth, pulling the knife Quill had given him from its sheath and stabbing the Trandoshan through the neck, felling it at once.

Echo raced up behind him, firing hard onto the remaining Trandoshans as Fives attacked the second one that was after Quill, driving the blade first through its ribs and then again through the neck, dropping it just as he had dropped the first one.

“Quill!”

“I’m alright.” Quill sat up, his cheek bruised and nose bloodied from where he’d been hit, but seemed otherwise unharmed. “Quickly, untie me.”

Fives went around behind him, using the blade to free Quill from his bindings, and as soon as the Nautolan was free, Fives threw his arms around him.

“Fuck, fuck I thought I lost you.” He whispered breathlessly, balling his fists up in the fabric of Quill’s shirt.

“I’m alright, little one.” Quill promised, wrapping his tendrils reassuringly around Fives. “I’m alright.”

“Where is he?” Fives demanded, pulling back at last and looking around for Thresh. “I’ll kill the shabuir myself, where is he?!”

He turned, starting to stalk towards the ship where he assumed Thresh had run and hid, but Quill grabbed his arm.

“Fives, leave him, we have to go, and we have to go now.”

He pointed up, and Fives saw the four dropships coming down for a landing in the very field they occupied.

“Oh skrag. Run!”

He took off again with Quill and Echo right behind him, and one of the dropships open fired, cannon fire exploding through the field around and behind them, kicking up dirt and debris as they ran.

“Hurry!” Echo shouted, ducking his head around the cannon fire.

They ran into the village, cannon fire following them and blowing through the nearby buildings as they ran, with Quill finally grabbing Fives and ducking in cover as Echo lunged behind one of the stone buildings, covering his head and rolling into cover.

“Osik!” Fives ducked his head as the building beside theirs blew to smithereens, debris flying through the village.

The dropships had surrounded the village, and the cannon fire blessedly stopped only to be replaced by the march of several platoons of soldiers, all in the frighteningly white uniformity of the clones.

“Gods, we’re outnumbered.” Fives whispered to Quill, peeking his head around the building. “We’re way outnumbered, ten to one at least.”

He turned to Quill. “We can’t fight them all.”

Another starfighter flew low overhead, landing on the opposite side of the village, but none of the men noticed.

“We need to make a break for it.” Echo called across the street. “They’ve stopped firing to assemble, they’re surrounding the village on all sides. They’ll begin the march any moment.”

“Fives, Fives do you copy?”

“I’m here, Captain.” Fives sighed in relief, lifting his comm and peeking out around the building again. “We’re pinned down in the town center. I’m with Echo and Quill.”

“Send Echo to the East, we need more men on that side. You and Quill get whoever’s left and brace the inner village. We can’t let them breach the tunnels.”

“Copy that, we’re on the move.” He paused, noticing a figure dressed in black slowly walking towards the village. “Who’s that?”

Quill turned his head, looking to where Fives was. “That isn’t one of ours. Is he one of theirs?” He asked, jerking his head to where the troopers were beginning to march on the village.

“I don’t know.” Fives said, staying crouched low. “Echo, get to the Eastern perimeter, they need backup over there.”

Echo nodded, taking off towards the east while Fives turned to Quill. “You ready for this?”

Quill grinned, nodding once. “I think it’s good luck to go to war with your fiancé.” He teased. Then, in a more serious voice, he added, “They took my blasters, do you have an extra?”

Fives chuckled, drawing a blaster pistol and passing it to Quill. “Where would you be without me?”

Quill smirked. “Perhaps now is finally your chance to actually save my life, trooper, instead of me saving yours…” he tapped his forehead against Fives’. “… twice.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” Fives grinned.

“Not as long as I live.”

Fives rolled his eyes, and turned back towards the battlefield, his smile fading at once. “They’re coming.” His hand found Quill’s, and the two men waited side by side for the end to come.

~

When Ju’Lah reemerged from the tunnels, an all-out war had taken over the village. Bodies of rebels and stormtroopers alike were strewn about across the streets, and blaster fire rang out all around her. She could hear the whine of comm chatter droning from one of the fallen rebel’s commlinks, and she snatched it quickly, listening as she ran.

“They’ve broken through the Eastern defenses, fall back! Fall back!”

“They’re inside the village, they’ve flanked around the sides. They’re coming inward!”

“Fives, Quill, brace yourselves and whatever fighters you can arm, they’re coming toward you!”

Ju’Lah ran towards the heart of the village, where she knew most of the fighting was, and took to the rooftops, scampering across them as quickly as possible and watching the fighting below.

Across the village, away from the worst of the fighting, Thresh stepped over the bodies of fallen warriors and stormtroopers alike, the Command Center looming proudly ahead of him. He could smell blood, could taste it in the air, feel it beating through the thready pulse of the one survivor, the last man standing who had been trying to guard the entrance to the tunnels that lay hidden in the Command Center.

Thresh sighed as Howzer’s fingers twitched, reaching futilely for his blaster, and he raised his foot, stepping on the man’s wrist as the clone gasped, choking on his own breath in his cry of pain.

“You’re beaten, young man.” Thresh cooed, leaning down slightly. “Why do you still fight?”

The two Trandoshans flanking Thresh chuckled, watching as their leader sighed again. He kicked the blaster away from Howzer’s hand, instead dropping his foot to the soldier’s bloody chest plate and pressing down. “Tell me how to get inside.”

Howzer scowled, blood dribbling down from the corners of his mouth. “I won’t – talk – to scum like you.” He wheezed, glaring up at the Trandoshan with as much fire behind his eyes as he could manage.

The Trandoshan hummed, drawing his blaster from its holster. “Pity.”

A single blaster shot rang out, and the Trandoshan to Thresh’s right fell. Another shot, and the one to his left fell before he could even look over his shoulder. Below him, Howzer wheezed.

Thresh smiled to himself, slowly raising his hands and turning around. “I was wondering when you might catch up to me.”

Rex stared him down, his blaster aimed directly at the Trandoshan.

“You’re a man of honor, Captain. I could tell that about you even then, when you were at my fortress.” Thresh continued, taking his foot off Howzer’s chest and stepping towards Rex. “You kill only out of necessity. You wouldn’t kill an unarmed man.”

Rex lowered his blaster, but only slightly, and the Trandoshan smiled.

“Or maybe you just want to make it hurt.” He hissed. “Maybe you aren’t such a good man after all. Maybe, after all this talk about the things I want to do to your woman, to your child, maybe I’ve struck a nerve in you, hmm?”

He lowered his hands, instead reaching for his belt and withdrawing his sword, the very one he’d held to Quill’s neck back in the clearing. It crackled to life, and Thresh stared Rex down. “Let this end in honor, Captain.” He called. “Let this end in blood.”

Rex lowered his blaster, holstering it and instead withdrawing the Darksaber. He ignited it, gripping the hilt tightly in both hands as Thresh pulled his lips back from his teeth, a sinister sneer creeping across his expression. Rex tightened his grip. Exhaled.

Thresh charged first.

As two blades clashed in front of the Command Center, the edges of the village were being overrun, falling back further and further into the cover of the village only to become more cornered than before.

“Fall back!” Athena screamed, waving her blaster in the air to signal the others. “FALL BACK!”

Fives and Quill ran further back into the village, with Athena and Echo behind them. Dogma was limping, half-leaning against Wrecker while Hunter covered them as the remaining rebels fought for their lives. Ju’Lah dropped down into the center of the fighting, igniting her lightsaber and striking down as many stormtroopers as she could before falling back with the rest of the group.

“We’re pinned!” Athena shouted into the comms. “Rex, where are you?! REX!”

“We have to fall further back into the village, there’s still some buildings standing that can give us cover!” Fives shouted over the chaos. “We’re too exposed out here!”

“Keep firing, and keep moving backwards!” Athena roared, firing her blaster once into the air and waving everyone backwards. “EVERYONE BACK! INTO THE VILLAGE, QUICKLY!”

Wrecker yelled as he threw a smoke grenade, temporarily granting them some cover as they started to run deeper into the village.

A red blade lit up in the center of the smoke. A second protruded behind it.

The stormtroopers howled as they were cut down one by one, the blade whipping mercilessly through the smoke. Finally, the smoke cleared, and a figure approached.

It wasn’t the same Zabrak who had raided her village those years ago, slaughtering her family and friends, burning her village and leaving her and Gol’Chek for dead. But Ju’Lah knew him. Her visions, the stories of Rex and his brothers who fought the monster and survived, all of it, it all pointed to him.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time, girl.” He hissed, yellow eyes cutting through the rebels and landing straight on Ju’Lah. “It is good to finally meet, Garbak.”

Maul.

Ju’Lah was frozen. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. For the second time in her life, Ju’Lah faced down a Zabrak, only this time, her Buir wasn’t there to save her.

Fives didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed Ju’Lah between one breath and the next, sprinting in the opposite direction as fast as he could while the others scattered, open firing on the Sith Lord as they ran.

“Shit! Fall back!” Athena shouted again, and Ju’Lah heard her scream somewhere behind her while Fives continued to run.

Fives didn’t make it far, the sounds of Maul storming after them, and the carnage he left in his wake, following them as he ducked into an alleyway, setting Ju’Lah down and crouching in front of her.

“Look at me.” Fives gripped her arms tightly, forcing her to look him in the eye. “You go, you understand me? You run, right now, as fast as you can. Get to the tunnels and don’t look back, okay?” He shifted his grip to cup her cheeks. “Don’t look back, just run.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to.” An explosion rocked them both for a moment, and Fives pulled her close, hugging her so tight that she thought her bones may break.

When he released her, he cupped her cheeks again, brushing quickly at her tears. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying.

“You run.” Fives said firmly, his voice breaking on the word. “You run as fast as you can, Ju’Lah. Don’t look back.”

Ju’Lah nodded, and Fives pressed his forehead quickly against hers. “I’ll come find you when it’s over, I promise.”

Blaster fire sailed over their heads, and Fives pushed Ju’Lah behind him, shielding her as he fired back on the incoming stormtroopers. “Go!”

Ju’Lah obeyed, running as fast as her legs could carry her while Fives straightened up, raising his blaster and preparing himself to buy as much time for Ju’Lah as he could.

Back in front of the Command Center, Rex’s blade clashed with Thresh’s, the electricity crackling from Thresh’s sword and threatening to sear Rex’s skin as the clone twisted away, swinging back around to bring his blade low, only to be blocked again.

“I didn’t realize clones were trained swordsmen as well, Captain!” Thresh called as he brought his blade down hard twice in a row. “Or have you been practicing in my absence? My employer would be impressed, perhaps you’d even stand a chance against him now.”

Rex grunted, breaking the lock on their swords and stepping back, pointing the tip of his saber at Thresh. “Who is he? Your employer, what does he want with Ju’Lah?”

Thresh only sneered, forked tongue gliding across razor sharp teeth. “You’ll have to kill me to get that from me, boy.”

Thresh leapt forward again, swinging the blade towards Rex’s torso and narrowly missing as Rex jumped backwards, swinging the Darksaber forward again and slashing at Thresh’s arms. The Trandoshan snarled, locking their blades together and pushing Rex backwards, the smaller man straining to stay upright.

Again, Rex broke their lock, and Thresh stumbled, giving Rex the opportunity to swing the blade towards his back, narrowly missing as Thresh blocked, and Thresh cackled.

“You think you can beat him? You think you can protect the girl from him?” He demanded. “Look around you: The Empire will wipe you out, and when all that’s left is the girl, I’ll take her back to my employer, and I will be well-rewarded.” He grinned again. “And your wife, your sweet little baby, they’ll be mine.”

Rex roared, surging forward and swung three times, hammering his blade down towards Thresh and cracking it against the other man’s blade in rapid succession. Rex felt the blade begin to give, and he pressed forward, locking their blades once more and pushing back against Thresh.

“You… will never… come near my family.”

He twisted the Darksaber upwards, cutting Thresh’s blade cleanly in two as the hilt split down the middle, and Thresh cried out, falling backwards and grabbing his wrist. Rex panted, standing over the fallen Trandoshan and raising his sword again even as Thresh scooted backwards, one hand raised in surrender.

“Please.” Thresh began as Rex stepped forward. “Please, I – I was only working under Maul’s orders, he just wanted the girl. I’ll leave you in peace, I swear.”

“Maul? He’s your employer?” Rex shoved the Darksaber towards him again. “Tell me what he wants with Ju’Lah.”

“He – He thinks she’s powerful. More powerful than even him. He wants to make her his.” Thresh gasped, scrambling backwards again.

“What does that mean?” Rex demanded. “Answer me!”

“I don’t know!” Thresh wailed. “I don’t know, he just told me to bring him the girl, and if – if I couldn’t, he’d come get her himself.”

Rex’s heart thudded in his chest. “Maul’s coming here?”

Thresh whimpered, and raised his hands. “I’m just a man. It’s Maul you really want. I’m just a man.”

Rex snarled. “You’re a dead man.”

Rex brought the Darksaber down, cleanly severing Thresh’s head from his shoulders in one fell swoop.

He turned quickly, racing over to Howzer and dropping down beside him. “Can you move?”

Howzer was trembling all over, his color draining as he wheezed again. “Think – think I’m out of the fight, Captain.”

“Not yet you aren’t, come on, get up, we can get you back to the tunnels, we can -.”

Howzer tightened his grip on Rex, looking the other Captain in the eye.

“Get to the kid.” Howzer wheezed. “Maul… he’s after the kid. That’s – that’s what the lizard said, yeah? Get to the kid.” He whimpered slightly, squeezing his eyes shut as blood spattered across his lips. “Protect the kid.”

Howzer slumped backwards, his eyes open and unseeing as the breath left him, and Rex grit his teeth, grabbing the Darksaber tighter in hand as he brushed his fingers over Howzer’s cheek.

Maul. Maul was after Ju’Lah. Maul was coming here.

Rex’s jaw set, and he rose to his feet, turning and taking off once more.

~

Fives gasped as Maul flung him against the wall, the wind knocked out of him only to be cut off again as the Force choked him, Maul dragging him upright and keeping him pinned against the wall.

“Where is she?” He demanded, his fingers curling as the invisible cord tightened around Fives’ throat. Fives didn’t answer, his hands pawing uselessly at his throat as Maul growled, throwing him into the opposite wall instead and letting him crumble. Fives felt his bones break, black spots swimming in his vision as Maul scooped him up with the Force once more, dragging him upwards until he was several feet off the ground.

“I won’t ask again.” Maul warned, fingers tightening again. “Where. Is. The Girl?”

Fives answered with a wheeze. “Fuck you.”

Maul threw him again, headfirst this time, and Fives cracked his skull against the wall of the alleyway, landing in a heap on the ground as Maul stalked down the direction Ju’Lah had ran.

Back in the village, Ju’Lah kept running, rounding a corner and running straight into a squad of Stormtroopers. She gasped, stumbling backwards and quickly drawing her lightsaber.

“It’s a Jedi!” One shouted. “Blast her!”

Ju’Lah leapt upwards, scampering up the nearest building and running from rooftop to rooftop instead, deflecting blaster bolts as best she could.

She dropped low to the ground again, trying to sense her Buir through the carnage and find him. There was too much chaos, too much bloodshed and pain and suffering, she couldn’t find him through all the distractions. She had to get to him, had to bring him back to the tunnels or else –.

Blaster fire erupted behind her again as the stormtroopers caught up, and she ran once more, weaving between houses even as cannon fire from the dropships blew them up around her. She screamed, ducking around debris and narrowly missing being crushed as a house came down right beside her, and she stumbled, falling hard to the street, and knocking her lightsaber from her hand.

“It’s over, Jedi.” One of the stormtroopers barked out. “On my count!”

Ju’Lah reached out with the Force, calling her lightsaber back to her hand as she tried to stand, but she was too slow. She heard blaster fire, and when she turned around, the leader of the squad was dead.

“What the –?!” The stormtroopers turned, looking for the source of the bolts.

More blaster fire, and Ju’Lah saw a single bolt flip through several reflectors lined up on the walls of the remaining houses, each one striking through the remaining troopers with mathematical precision.

Crosshair stepped out of an alleyway, calmly collecting his reflectors from the trap he’d lain, inclining his gray helmeted head towards Ju’Lah.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Jedi.” He said, his voice dark and garbled within the helmet.

“I’m no Jedi.”

Crosshair chuckled, lifting his rifle. “Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”

He jerked his rifle up, firing a shot directly over Ju’Lah’s head and blasting another trooper who’d just rounded the corner.

“Well?” Crosshair prompted. “Are you going to sit there until they eventually catch you, or are you going to come with me?”

Before Ju’Lah could speak, Crosshair continued.

“There’s an entrance to one of those tunnels not far from here. I’ve been firing on anyone who gets too close.” He drawled. “I would suggest you do what little creatures like you do best and… scuttle.”

“I need to find my Buir. It’s an emergency.”

“How touching.” He simpered. “Regrettably, I haven’t seen anything else that looks quite like you.” He jerked his rifle towards her massive ears. “A target that size wouldn’t slip by me that easily.”

“He’s a clone, his name is Gol’Chek.” Ju’Lah snapped. “He’s the man who rescued you.”

She could practically feel Crosshair’s scowl. “Then I guess this incident makes us even.” He replied. He jerked his head behind him. “I heard over the comms they were sending him to protect the southern border. I imagine that’s where you’ll find him… if they haven’t already destroyed it by now.”

Ju’Lah started to run past him, but Crosshair grabbed her roughly by the tunic, holding her in place for a beat. He shoved a small pistol into her hand.

“Don’t let them know what you are.” He warned. “Keep that thing sheathed unless you need it. Use this instead.”

“I’m no Jedi.” Ju’Lah bit back.

Crosshair chuckled, and repeated himself. “Not from where I’m standing.”

Ju’Lah took the pistol anyway, taking off towards the southern border of the village.

“Hey, hey Fives, come on, brother. Come on. Wake up. Please wake up. Wake up!”

Fives peeled his eyes open, the world tinted red from all the blood in his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear them, and a rough hand scrubbed over his face, clearing away some of the crusted-over blood.

“Look at me.” Echo’s voice rang through his head – damn, he had a headache, the mother of all headaches, in fact – and he felt two hands on his cheeks, squishing them tightly so his lips puckered up. “Eyes on me.”

He forced his eyes open again, suddenly aware of the white-hot agony rushing through his body. He made a soft sound, and Echo shushed him.

“Easy, easy, your leg’s broken, and I’d guess your ribs are shattered too from the looks of you.” Echo said. “Easy, we’re gonna get you underground. C’mon.”

“Ju’Lah.” Fives wheezed as Echo grabbed one of his arms, slinging it over his shoulder and hoisting him up. “He’s after Ju’Lah.”

“I know, we’re going after him, but we’ve gotta get you to safety first.” Echo continued. Distantly, Fives became aware of blaster fire, and could make out someone tall shooting out the sides of the alleyway.

“Is he alright?!” Quill’s voice demanded over the blaster fire. “Is he alive?!”

“He’s hurt, he needs help.” Echo called back, half-carrying Fives and coming up to Quill’s side. “You’ll have to cover us, he can’t walk on his own.”

Quill nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Fives and huffing a soft laugh. “This counts as one.”

“One what?” Fives mumbled, his head lolling against Echo’s shoulder as the wound on his scalp continued to bleed.

“One time I’ve saved your life today.” Quill replied with a small smirk. “My jacket looks good on you, by the way. Apart from the fact that you’re getting blood all over it.”

Fives huffed. “Could’a saved me sooner.” He grumbled. “Wouldn’t be so much blood.”

Quill only chuckled, firing back out into the alley again and turning over his shoulder to Fives and Echo. “Alright, we’re clear, we need to move.”

Ju’Lah didn’t make it far.

She made it to the town square, skidding to a halt in the open courtyard, her ears pricking up as she picked up sound directly ahead.

Once more, Maul stepped out of the shadows, crossing directly in front of her and blocking her path.

“Your friends are distracted with the soldiers.” Maul mused. “There is no one to interrupt us, now.”

Ju’Lah squared her shoulders, one hand on her lightsaber on her belt. “You’re the one who’s been hunting me.” She accused. “The bounties, Thresh’s mystery employer, all of it, it’s been you. Why?”

“I’d heard stories about your kind. Fables, really.” Maul said, walking in a slow circle while Ju’Lah circled him as well, keeping her hand on her blade. “Legends about Force-sensitive beings who the Sith believed posed a threat. So they wiped them out.”

Around them, it had begun to rain.

Maul bared his teeth, jagged points of yellow and black that made Ju’Lah’s stomach turn. “They sent my brother to eradicate your people, but he failed.” He inhaled slowly, spreading his arms towards her. “You survived. A child, the only survivor of such divine carnage. It was fate, destiny, that brought us together.”

“Your brother was a monster.” Ju’Lah bit back. “And so are you.”

“I am nothing like my brother.” Maul assured, taking a step towards Ju’Lah, and she drew her lightsaber at once, igniting it and pointing it squarely at Maul’s chest.

“Stay back!” She warned.

“Child, you misunderstand my intentions.” Maul replied. “I am not here to kill you. I wish to train you.”

Ju’Lah startled. “What?”

“A child with your power, your gifts,” he hissed. “Under my guidance, you could become one of the most powerful warriors the galaxy has ever known. Together, we could defeat the Empire, restore order to the Galaxy once and for all. Together, we could rule.”

Overhead, thunder began to rumble, dark clouds rolling in from the hillsides as the rain grew in intensity.

“You fear for your friends.” Maul mused, calling to her over the drone of the rain. “I have come here to aid you, child. I have struck down your invaders, and I will continue to fight them, to spare the ones you love. You need only join me.” He extended his hand. “Take my hand, apprentice.”

Ju’Lah stood her ground. “Never.”

Maul snarled. “You will come willingly, or you will come in pieces.” He warned. “And all your friends will die.”

Thunder boomed again, and Ju’Lah raised her voice.

“Your brother couldn’t kill my father. He was too powerful, and your brother was too weak.” She called to Maul across the courtyard. “Tell me, do you know what thunder means?”

Maul bared his teeth, but didn’t answer. Ju’Lah crouched low.

“It means my father is coming, so you better run.”

She grinned. “My father is what blooms in thunder.”

Ju’Lah leapt backwards as lightning shattered through the center of the courtyard, sending Maul flying back several feet. To the left, Gol’Chek stormed into the courtyard, radiating righteous fury as he gripped his staff tightly in one hand, slamming it against the ground and summoning another bolt of lightning, crashing into the earth near where Maul had landed.

The Sith Lord rose to his feet again, igniting his lightsaber and staring Gol’Chek down. “You are a clone.” He chuckled, looking Gol’Chek up and down. “I have slaughtered many men like you.”

“There are no men like me.”

Lightning crackled overhead as Gol’Chek sprinted forward, meeting Maul in the middle as staff clashed against blade, and the two men began to duel.

“The tunnels aren’t far from here.” Echo said, hoisting Fives a little higher as he half-dragged him through the clearing. “Fuck, is anyone still alive?”

“As soon as we get Fives underground, I’ll search for survivors.” Quill replied, looking around a corner before motioning Echo to follow.

“No offense, but you’re too big of a target to be skulking around looking for the rest of our people.” Echo said. “I’ll come back to the surface. Besides, Fives needs you.”

“He needs his brother.” Quill said sharply, glancing at Echo over his shoulder.

“Fives needs everyone to shut the fuck up.” Fives said, fumbling for his holster. “Where’s my karkin’ blaster?”

“You can’t even stand, what makes you think you can fight?” Echo asked, swatting at Fives’ hand and hauling him further over his shoulder to better support his weight. “Just focus on not bleeding out before we get you to the medics, will you?”

“Nobody’s answering their comms.” Quill said, his back pressed against a wall as he peeked around another corner. “Athena, Rex, Gol’Chek, Hunter, all the others, everyone’s gone quiet.”

“Maybe they’ve already made it underground.” Fives gritted out, spitting a bit of blood onto the ground as he spoke.

Echo shook his head. “Or maybe we’re the only ones left.”

Blaster fire surged around them, and all three men ducked behind debris once more as stormtroopers raced towards them from the opposite end of the street.

“Kriff, we’re pinned down!” Echo shouted, setting Fives down and poking his head above cover to return fire briefly. “Shit, there’s a whole kriffing platoon of ‘em!” He looked to Quill. “There’s too many, we have to run!”

“We can’t, Fives needs the medics.” Quill barked back. “Can’t imagine things are any better elsewhere. This is our shot.” He jerked his head to the left. “There’s a secret back entrance to the Command Center through that building. If we can get through the passageway, it’ll spit us out right in Athena’s office. We get to the control room from there, and we’ll find the entrance to the tunnels.”

“We can’t just make a run for it!” Echo shouted back, raising above cover to fire back a few more rounds before dropping down again. “They’ll kill us the second we step out of cover!”

“Echo’s right, and I’ll just slow you down.” Fives grunted, trying to push himself upright again. “We have – augh – we have to go back.”

“We can try to outflank them.” Echo tried.

“There are more coming up behind us.” Quill said sharply, peering back down the alley they’d run from, his tendrils flicking as he tasted the air around him. “This is our one chance. We take this, or we die.”

“We can’t.” Echo insisted. “We’ll never make it over there alive.”

Quill and Echo looked at one another. Both men seemed to reach the same conclusion, because Quill nodded at once, and pulled the other blaster from Echo’s hands, giving himself twice the firepower.

“You go on my signal.” Quill told him.

“What?” Fives wiped the blood from his eyes, peering up at Quill again. “What – what’re you doing?”

Quill grabbed Fives roughly by the cheeks, kissing him with all the passion he could manage. When he pulled away again, he grinned, teeth smeared slightly with Fives’ blood, and uttered only three words.

“Saved you twice.”

He turned to Echo. “NOW!”

Fives’ brain was moving too slowly. By the time his thoughts caught up with him, and he comprehended what Quill was doing, Echo was already halfway across the street with Fives thrown over his shoulder.

Back in the courtyard, Maul drove Gol’Chek backwards, forcing their weapons together as he bared down on him.

“You lost once against my brother, and I am far more powerful than he.” Maul sneered as their weapons locked. “What makes you think a clone could possibly defeat me?”

Gol’Chek ignored him, breaking their lock and swinging the staff around wide, aiming for Maul’s legs. Maul blocked, bringing the back end of his own blade around to swipe at Gol’Chek’s stomach. He dodged, jumping backwards and swung his staff down once more.

Ju’Lah stood several feet away, her lightsaber still ignited, hesitating near the edge of the courtyard. You still needed help back in the tunnels, and if Gol’Chek was preoccupied with Maul, she could be your only hope.

But she couldn’t abandon her Buir either.

The staff clashed with blade again, and Gol’Chek bared his teeth at the Zabrak, twisting out of the lock and flying backwards to dodge a counterstrike by Maul.

Ju’Lah surged forward, diving low while Gol’Chek attacked from up high, and Maul struggled to block both attacks at once. Ju’Lah was small and quick, and circled around behind him, forcing him to block and leaving him open to an attack from Gol’Chek in the front. Gol’Chek swung his staff around, striking Maul square in the chest with the blunt end before the Zabrak could twist away again.

Maul snarled, roaring as he lunged for Ju’Lah, and Gol’Chek threw his staff, planting it firmly in Maul’s path as lightning crackled from the sky and down through the staff, launching out towards Maul and sending him flying the opposite direction.

Gol’Chek called the staff back to his hand, and pointed it at Maul. “You stay away from her.” He growled.

“She will be mine,” Maul hissed, rising to his feet again. “One way or another.”

Gol’Chek squared himself firmly in front of Ju’Lah. “Over my dead body.”

Maul grinned. “So be it.”

“Go!” Gol’Chek shouted over his shoulder to Ju’Lah, blocking Maul as the Sith charged forward once again.

“I’m not leaving you!” Ju’Lah yelled back, diving forward again to strike at Maul’s legs while Gol’Chek went high, but Maul was prepared for the maneuver this time, and dropped his blade, instead using the Force to grab both Gol’Chek and Ju’Lah by the throat, dragging them upwards as they struggled. He flung them both into buildings on opposite sides of the courtyard. Gol’Chek caught himself, landing in a crouch and recalling his staff to his hands once more. Ju’Lah, however, cracked her head against the stone of the building and crumbled to the ground, her lightsaber falling from her hand.

Fives could hear his own heart beating in his ears. He could feel the ooze of the blood dripping down the sides of his face and blinding him as it fell in his eyes. He could feel his fingers in Echo’s shirt, could feel the strain of his body as he twisted backwards, tried to break free, to run back to Quill, but it was to no avail. Echo surged forward, dragging his injured brother along behind him.

Quill stood in the center of the carnage, a blaster in each hand as he fired on the stormtroopers moving to surround him. One moment he was there, a cyclone of blue and yellow, tendrils whipping with every turn of his head towards the invaders, and the next he was obscured by the wall of white armor bearing down on him.

Sound returned, time caught up, and Fives felt cool air woosh across his face as he and Echo crossed the threshold of the building, sprinting for the passageway.

“We have to go back!” Fives shouted, still futilely struggling to turn around in Echo’s grip. “Echo, they’ll kill him, we have to go BACK!”

“Stop fighting me and I’ll go back for him as soon as we get you somewhere safe!” Echo argued, hauling Fives forward again.

There was a loud whistling sound overhead, and Fives looked up, peering through the skylights on the roof of the building. He could do nothing but watch as the Imperial dropship above them fired down into the city, and he clung to his brother as fire rained down from the heavens upon them.

“Ju’Lah!” Gol’Chek turned towards her, but the child did not move. During his moment of distraction, Maul struck, catching him off guard and knocking the staff from his hands. Gol’Chek took several quick steps back, trying to dodge the swings of Maul’s blade as he called his staff back into his hand.

He managed to block Maul’s downswing just in the nick of time, and shouted Ju’Lah’s name over his shoulder once more.

“Enough of this!” Maul roared, using the Force to once again push Gol’Chek backwards. The warrior stumbled but caught himself, returning Maul’s push in kind with one of his own. The two men faced one another, each pushing with all their might against the other until they broke apart, both flying apart in opposite directions. Maul recovered first, lunging for his blade while Gol’Chek scrambled for the staff. Maul dove forward, swinging the blade down hard towards Gol’Chek’s exposed chest, and the warrior stopped it, but only barely as the Zabrak bared down harder upon him.

“You… are… beaten.” The Zabrak seethed, pushing down even harder until the red of his blade crackled only inches from Gol’Chek’s face. “Surrender, or die.”

Gol’Chek pushed back with all his strength, managing to get Maul off him only for the Sith to grab him with the Force once more, sending him sailing back into the wall and slumping down to the ground, his staff clattering from his grip.

Maul stepped closer, letting his own blade hang loosely at his side as he outstretched his free hand. “I tried to warn you, clone.” Maul hissed. “Now, you too will die.”

He summoned Gol’Chek’s staff, and the weapon flew gracefully from the ground towards Maul, only to be caught with the slap of palm meeting wood as a hand shot out to catch it.

Rex squared his shoulders, crossing the Darksaber over Gol’Chek’s staff as he stood between the fallen warrior and Maul.

“Sorry,” he called. “There’s still one more person you have to get through if you want the kid.”

Maul sneered, his eyes flickering to the Darksaber. “That does not belong to you.”

“If you want it back,” Rex growled. “You’ll have to come and get it.”

“I grow tired of these games.” Maul replied, rolling his head lazily. “I will make your death swift.”

Maul raced forward, and Rex crossed the staff and Darksaber in front of him in a block, twisting away from the red blade and striking down with the Darksaber while jabbing upwards with sharp end of the staff.

Behind him, Gol’Chek pushed himself back to his feet, running back towards the fighting. “Rex!”

Rex spun, tossing the staff into the air in time for Gol’Chek to catch it, and Gol’Chek soared downwards to strike Maul from above while Rex swiped low at his legs.

Below ground, you screamed in agony.

“Where is Ju’Lah and Gol’Chek?” Tech said over your shouts while Omega worked to hold your shoulders back.

“I don’t know, they should’ve been back by now!” Soteria shouted back.

“We aren’t left with much of a choice, we’re going to lose both mother and child if we don’t deliver soon.” Tech warned. “I’m starting the procedure now.”

“No, there’s nobody here to heal her if we do something wrong!” Soteria protested. “We have to wait for Gol’Chek!”

“There’s no time!” Tech snapped back, his composure slipping slightly. “We have a shot at saving them both, but every minute we wait, that’s one more minute the fetus goes without oxygen.”

“Get him out!” You shouted, grabbing ahold of Soteria’s arm. Your face was streaked with tears and sweat, and your grip was like a vice. “You promised.”

Soteria hesitated, looking between you and Tech before glancing back to you. “Okay.” She conceded, nodding to Tech. “Let’s do it.”

“Omega, try to hold her as still as possible. I’m going to numb her as much as I’m able with the supplies we have.” Tech ordered, and looked down at you. “Ma’am, I suggest you bite down on something.”

Maul shrieked in rage, swinging his lightsaber and narrowly missing decapitating Gol’Chek, who ducked aside at the last moment. Rex circled around behind Maul while Gol’Chek continued to occupy his front. Meanwhile, Ju’Lah slowly regained consciousness, shaking her head as she slowly pushed herself back up to her hands and knees. She looked out towards the fighting, blinking to try and clear her vision.

“Buir?”

Gol’Chek’s head snapped towards her, and that moment of distraction was all Maul needed.

In an instant, Maul had swept his blade cleanly through Gol’Chek’s thighs, severing his legs from his body and used the Force to push him backwards against the outskirts of the courtyard.

“Buir!” Ju’Lah screamed, scrambling to her feet and racing over to Gol’Chek. She only made it a few steps before Maul caught her with the Force, starting to choke her, but he broke his concentration when Rex roared from behind him, swinging the Darksaber down towards him again.

Ju’Lah scrambled back to her feet, coughing slightly as she stumbled over to Gol’Chek, tripping over debris and ash that crusted their village. “Buir! Buir please wake up! Wake up!”

Rex and Maul continued to duel, Rex’s blocks becoming weaker while Maul’s attacks grew stronger. All it took was a stumble. One misstep, where Rex raised his sword too high, and left his face vulnerable. Maul thrust the hilt of his blade forward, popping Rex in the face. The stun was enough.

Maul turned, plunging the blade of his lightsaber through Rex’s abdomen.

“NO!”

Ju’Lah’s scream echoed through the village, and far, far below ground, your screams had finally fallen silent.

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps, slumped backwards against Soteria. The medic was patting your face, her voice coming to you in warbled utterances as her face swam in clarity before you.

“Stay with me. Stay with me.”

The last thing you heard was the sound of an infant crying.

~

Darth Maul will return in The Light Between Oceans, coming October 1st.

~

Tag List: @tsundere-cherry-girl​ @revengeisaconfesionofpain​ @jesjestraverse​ @theroguesully​ @clonecyaree​ @sammi9498​ @dar-manda-rjct​ @salaminus​ @book-of-baba-fett​ @starwarsmeninhelmets​ @boomtowngirl​ @ladykatakuri​ @bi-witch-rose @cosmic-persephone​ @djarrex​ @literallydontlook​ @galacticgraffiti​ @bobafettuccini​ @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life​ @a-c-lee​ @chromia7567​ @embarrassedauthornerd​ @itsagrimm​ @seriowan​ @gotomarvelgal​ @space-b33​ @moonstrider9904​ @frietiemeloen​ @writingbylee​ @manqoz​

#ro's protected tag #what blooms in thunder #wbit #wbit spoilers #Ro writes #Ro's OCs

[rowenabean]

friends in wellington were like you love books! you love stories! maybe you should write a story!

...mmm.... maybe have a thing to tell you?

#haven't actually shown them anything #contemplating trying to write a story for their Small (my favourite she's 6) #but am wary of the CS Lewis problems: books grow slower than little girls #ro writes #rowena adventures

[rottingsam]

i think in 1.06 the shapeshifter should have made some sexual advances towards sam, and it should have really freaked him because firstly it’s dean, but not technically, right? and he hates himself for enjoying it, something he’s been pining for what feels like forever. and when dean comes in and sees his baby brother all tied up, watching that thing do that to his brother? dean sees red. he’s angry and disgusted and horrified and he doesn’t think twice before taking the shot, shooting him square in the heart. sam watches his “brother” die, still impaled on sam’s cock, as his real brother is immediately by his side, untying him and pushing the monster of his baby brother. dean is babbling, sam can’t make out what he’s saying, the words becoming too fuzzy and far away to make out. his brother hugs him close, and tells him how he’s so sorry he wasn’t here sooner, how he would never touch him like that, and sam can’t make himself utter a single word.

#samdean #sam winchester #dean winchester #wincest #ro writes

[rosileeduckie]

Hark the Herald Devils Sing

Snow was going to fall anyway, don't see what the fuss is about.

A Christmas prank gets Christmessy.

Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic. Warnings: none.

Word count: 1,914

~*~

"Crowley, darling, look! Carolers!"

"Oh, brilliant."

If Aziraphale, certainly bright with cherry cheeks and a merry smile, had turned back from the front door to look toward the couch where his partner had just been, he would have found the seat completely vacated. For as relaxed as he'd been lounging on the sofa, snuggling and reading over Aziraphale's shoulder, Crowley had been off like a flying reindeer the moment there had been a knock at the door and the dreadful sight of a gaggle of Santa hats out the front window. It's not that the golden-eyed demon didn't WANT to suffer through being sung at through a door to the polar vortex by an all too cheerful amateur choir. It's just that, well, okay, he didn't. Even if being subjected to such torture came with the blessed side effect of getting to bask in the radiance of his angel’s unabashed gleeful smile at humans doing silly human things in even subzero weather. But Crowley would have many a chance to see that smile. The chance to thwart the spirits of people banging down doors in the name of peace and cheer? That was seasonal.

Crowley took the stairs up through the bookshop and flat with enough enthusiasm that he could have been flying, and soon found himself on the roof, overlooking the a cappella band. Time was short before they would become other than sitting ducks, but, upon getting blasted with freezing night air, Crowley spared a precious few seconds to miracle himself up some gloves and a diamond patterned scarf. Gingerly, avoiding both patches of ice and lumps of snow that threatened to cling to and soak the cuffs of his pants, Crowley crouched low to the edge of the roof, perched above a bucket of water that had neither been there that morning nor frozen after the sunset. He could already feel his feet beginning to tingle with numbness. No time for dilly-dallying. One big breath, one tight grip, one good heave, and the bucket was upended over the side of the roof, an impossibly massive but precise deluge of water raining down onto the street.

“Happy Christmas, indeed,” Crowley snickered, rocking back on his heels to dodge out of view. The choir would be fine, surely. Their concert had been disrupted, yes, but they’d all find themselves miraculously immune to frostbite as well as pass a wagon that would just so happen to be offering free hot cocoa and biscuits for the holiday. Crowley was a demon, not a total asshole. To be safe, he’d made himself scarce so as not to earn more ire from people, even if said people were uninvited carolers. As such, he’d missed getting to see their faces as the torrent of water descended upon and soaked them. Still, he should have been able to HEAR their shocked shrieks and grumblings as a result of the prank. He peeked over the edge.

Rocketing up to the roof before the prank had made him miss seeing one of his angel’s sunniest expressions. Craning to look over the edge of the roof now brought him face to face with about the sourest look Crowley had ever seen from Aziraphale. The choir having ostensibly been pushed back a good ten feet, the only one to suffer as the target of Crowley’s mischief was Aziraphale himself, figuratively frozen to the newly wet snowy ground and shooting a glare burning with divine fire up into the eaves.

Crowley shrunk back but could still feel Aziraphale’s gaze singeing the tails of his scarf and melting the snowflakes from his hair. Or perhaps he mistook the sound of his own mortified hissing. “Oh, fuck.”

**

“I’m sorry,” Crowley bemoaned again, having lost count of how many times he’d done so. The carolers, scared stiff but dry, had been shooed away, and Crowley had ushered Aziraphale back inside toward the fireplace, shucking off any of the wet and cold clothing clinging to his skin, sitting him in his reading chair, and wrapping him in all the blankets Crowley could carry without losing balance. The demon had begun his apologies before even making it down from the roof, and he didn’t see himself stopping any time soon.

Aziraphale’s glare had been murderous, but he had softened considerably upon such repentant dotage from his partner. Crowley watched, with substantial relief, the way the crease in Aziraphale’s brow smoothed over and the pout in his lips faded after being dried off and bundled up in his favorite chair with a cup of steaming cocoa easily in reach.

“Angel, I really am sorry I caught you in the splash,” said Crowley, kneeling by the arm of the chair and laying a hand on Aziraphale’s knee--or where he approximated a knee to be; it was hard to tell through at least three throws and a comforter. “I didn’t mean to--”

He broke off his umpteenth apology, breath catching in his throat, when Aziraphale chuckled. “I know you didn’t, my dear.” Aziraphale wriggled one hand free from his blanket cocoon to take a sip of cocoa and then to hold Crowley’s cheek. “You would have been much more devious and proud of yourself if you’d meant it.”

Crowley smiled, half-sighing and half-chuckling and fully nuzzling into Aziraphale’s touch. “Absolutely, I would have been.”

The angel scoffed, smile growing brightly and easily as he gave a little shove against Crowley’s nuzzling with his hand. “Come give us a cuddle? Least you can do to make it up to me, really,” Aziraphale teased.

With a roll of his eyes, Crowley nodded, pretending to mutter, and rose from his knees, melting comfortably into Aziraphale’s lap when the angel spread his blanket wings to create a spot for him. Soon, they were both wrapped up, tangled up, safe together in their little nest. Crowley’s legs straddled Aziraphale’s thighs, arms around his shoulders and face buried in his neck, purring in quiet contentment as the angel’s hands rubbed slow circles over his back.

“Wouldn’t have to make it up to you,” Crowley hummed, catching a whiff of lovely sandalwood cologne from the angel’s curls that had dried and gone back to their usual white-blond fluffiness, “if you hadn’t insisted on being daft and heroic. Saving carolers from their just desserts, hgk. And when they were ASKING for their figgy pudding.”

Aziraphale giggled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s crimson hair that brought his lips close to the demon’s ear. “And from whom did I need to save them?”

“Ggk,” replied Crowley, leaning back from Aziraphale’s chest enough to scowl and wave his hands to bat away that logic. “Are you warm yet or what? While you’re incapacitated, I could set up another bucket on the roof. Bound to be more than just one group of carolers tonight.”

“You would return to engaging in such villainy after it’s already hurt me so?” Aziraphale gaped, wiping at a nonexistent tear. “Crowley, darling, I don’t know that my heart could take the thought.”

“OKAY, okay, drama queen,” Crowley said, nestling back into Aziraphale’s neck but still well aware the angel was grinning.

“You won’t let me be heroic OR dramatic?” Aziraphale tutted. “Would it make you feel better if I was mischievous? Since you’re busy keeping me warm?”

As quickly as he’d molded back to his cuddle spot, Crowley wrenched backward, spurred by Aziraphale’s hands, once soothing, slipped beneath his jumper, and they were COLD. “Angel-!”

The grin Aziraphale had already been wearing was downright devilish. “Yes, my dear? Oh my, you don’t mind, do you? This is such a nice way to warm up my hands~”

If Crowley minded, he couldn’t exactly say so, because Aziraphale’s hands had taken up exercise to warm up all the more quickly. The angel’s fingers moved to Crowley’s ribs, plucking them as delicate and sharp and quick as if he were playing a harp. Sputtering with a shriek that dissolved embarrassingly quickly into merry chortling, Crowley tried to lean back and out of reach, only to find himself thoroughly trapped by the weighty blankets around the pair. Rather than run, since that option was out, he elected to hide, crumpling forward to bury his laughter in Aziraphale’s chest (which was easy enough since the demon hadn’t even let go of his angel in his escape attempt. Maybe he knew he deserved some recompense for drenching him. Maybe he didn’t want that badly to get away. He couldn’t say, literally.)

“Why, thank you, love,” said Aziraphale, kissing Crowley’s ear once more and taking extra care to brush the stubble of his newly growing beard against the sensitive skin of it (a style change inspired by Crowley’s historically shifting fashion sense, which Crowley wasn’t sure if he regretted or adored at the moment.) “Your laughter does always make me feel warm and happy. I know you don’t care for the sound of it, but I rather adore it.”

If Aziraphale wanted warmth, the sudden heat in Crowley’s face ought to have sufficed. “Angel,” he whined, the sound morphing into a squeal and then wild gay laughter as Aziraphale’s fingers scuttled up to tickle under Crowley’s arms.

“Come to think of it, Crowley darling, you must be quite cold, too. Yes, I didn’t appreciate being on the end of your little prank, but it must have taken you a bit of cleverness to set up and a bit of strength to deal with that cold, my lovely snake. And, seeing as tickling you gets you warm enough for both of us, I think that’s the best way for us to spend the remainder of our evening, don’t you?”

Crowley’s ecstatic squirming had all but tipped him off Aziraphale’s lap (it couldn’t be helped; he had the bad habit of forgetting he had bones when he laughed hard enough), and soon Aziraphale’s torturous hands were the only things keeping the demon from falling off the chair in a tangle of blankets. Giggling proudly, the angel had mercy, pausing his attack long enough to get Crowley comfortably lounging upon his lap once more. Gulping air and keeping his guard cautiously up, Crowley held onto the lapels of Aziraphale’s cardigan and tried to rub away the tingling beneath his arms while he could. “You’d discorporate me before the evening was over, mean as you are when you tickle,” Crowley said, sticking out a forked tongue as though that could negate the blissfully happy smile stuck to his face.

Aziraphale’s chuckle was a purr as he leaned in to kiss Crowley’s neck. “I could tease you all evening instead. We both know you’d get just as red.”

With a flustered grumble, Crowley tilted his head away from Aziraphale’s advances, able to pretend to be grumpy for maybe five seconds before Aziraphale dove back in to croon and kiss along his ear. “You’ll have to be gentle if you want to keep from getting an elbow to the face or a demon on the floor.” The angel raised his eyebrows, and Crowley smacked his arm, growing all the redder when Aziraphale laughed. “You know what I MEAN.”

“I do, darling. I do.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley close, warm and secure. “Ready then?”

Crowley nodded.

Slowly, sweetly, Aziraphale’s hands returned beneath Crowley’s sweater, tickling gently and with the occasional flurry or scribble of his nails just to make Crowley snort and squawk. Each time, without fail, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cackling mouth. “You make much sweeter music than those carolers, anyway.”

#tickling #mine #tickle fic #ro writes #ticklish!crowley #ineffable husbands #gomens #i'm manifesting snow for myself

[imrowanartist]

A silly little thing, based on a thought I had that Price looks a lot younger without his boonie XD

Set in the Rosie AU

Tags: Established PriceGaz, humor, fluff

-

It’s almost noon by the time John picks up Kyle from the base at Credenhill. His partner is later than usual, due to some unforeseen bureaucracy after the training exercises they just finished over several days, but it doesn’t matter. After three days of his absence, John is simply happy to see him again.

Kyle throws his duffel bag in the boot of the car and John smiles at his rearview mirror as Rosie starts wriggling around in her car seat in the back as soon as she realizes that her dad has returned.

John watches as Kyle pulls open the side door first, greeting a laughing Rosie with a kiss on her cheek. After three years, it still manages to ignite a warm feeling in John’s gut whenever he sees Kyle so affectionate with their daughter.

“You’re back!” Rosie proudly states, and Kyle grins at her.

“Hello, Rosie-Bee, did you miss me?”

Rosie spreads her arms as wide as possible and John melts a little on the inside as she proclaims, “Thisss much!”

She’s been getting better with Kyle’s absences. The first time was a struggle for all of them, as both John and Kyle had trouble adjusting to the reversal of their roles after almost three years, and Rosie did not understand why her da was now home all the time and dad suddenly left. The tantrums she threw about missing Kyle were not fun for either of them or her.

They’ve begun to adjust to it, though. And John is starting to understand why Kyle often sounded just as exhausted as he would after a long op. Full-time caring for a toddler is no walk in the park, he has found.

John wouldn’t trade it for the world, though.

Kyle closes the side door again, and slides into the passenger seat next to John, greeting him with a soft brush of his hand to his thigh. They’re still in the base’s parking lot, and public displays of affection have never been their strong suit.

“Was she good?” Kyle asks, and John hums.

“She was,” he says, then turns around to look at their daughter, “weren’t you, Poppet?”

“I was good!” Rosie confirms with a nod, and they both laugh at the way her eyebrows draw together in a serious expression.

The drive home to Gloucester is uneventful. Kyle tells John about the training exercises and how he feels he might be ready to deploy with the 141 again soon. It’s still something that puts John’s stomach in a knot sometimes, but after six months of retirement, he is slowly getting used to the idea of not being in charge of the task force anymore. Soap makes a fine captain, John made damn sure of that before he left. Kyle will be in good hands.

“Can we go to the park?” Rosie suddenly pipes up from the back of the car, once they’re getting close to their apartment. She’s clearly tired of their adult conversation, and John looks at her in his mirror before glancing at Kyle.

They don’t have much more planned for today, and they’ve both talked about trying to spend as much time together as they can, whenever they’re both home.

John knows Rosie has picked up on this too, the clever girl. She knows she’s much more likely to get what she wants when one of her dads has just returned home.

“I need to pick up some packages at the post office,” Kyle says after a beat, “So we might as well?”

“Sure,” John agrees, and can’t help the fond smile as Rosie claps her hands together in excitement.

There’s a playground near their apartment, and the weather is nice enough. Rosie refuses to let go of Kyle’s hand as they walk there, but when she sees some of the familiar neighborhood kids, she raises her eyes to both of them to ask for their permission to go play along.

“Go ahead, Poppet,” John nods, and after some initial hesitance, Rosie skips over to the other kids. Though she’s gotten more comfortable interacting with them, John has noticed she still always makes sure that she can see either him or Kyle.

“You heading across the street?” he asks Kyle,

“Yeah, won’t be long. Soap said he sent some souvenirs from their last op.”

John frowns dubiously at him. “It better not be more bloody socks, we’ve got enough of those already.”

“Well, the way you keep losing Rosie’s-“ Kyle snorts and John grumbles something under his breath before adding, “Not my fault the fucking laundry machine keeps eating them,”

“Yeah, yeah, blame the machine, sir.” Kyle pats his arm, “I’ll be right back.”

John straightens his hat and makes his way to one of the empty benches scattered around the playground. He sinks down on it, nodding politely at some of the other parents around.

Rosie seems to have gotten wrapped up in some imaginary game with rules lost on John, but she’s having fun at least. It does him good to see her interacting with the other kids. He watches her play for a while, content to do so, and almost doesn’t notice it when someone else joins him on the bench.

When he looks up, he sees it’s an older woman, who gives him a kind smile. Pushing down his ingrained distrust of strangers, John opens his mouth to greet her, when he promptly gets interrupted by Rosie scampering her way back over to him.

“I found a rock,” she tells him excitedly, pulling at his hand to open it, “it’s for you!”

John lets her drop the completely ordinary rock in the palm of his hand, then smiles at her. “It’s beautiful, love.”

Rosie giggles at him, very happy with herself, and John caresses her curls for a moment as he thanks her. He tucks the rock in a pocket as she turns around and hops back to the sandbox.

“Your granddaughter is lovely,” the lady next to him speaks up, and John is about to express his gratitude for the compliment when her words register with him.

Of course it’s also the exact moment when Kyle re-appears, dropping some packages on the bench and John swears he has learned to apparate from Ghost. Clearly, he has overheard the old lady too, because as John starts sputtering, Kyle gives his most shit-eating grin before bursting into laughter.

It’s gotta be the fucking hat. Kyle has been telling him for ages that it makes him look older, but he didn’t want to believe it until now.

He drags the boonie off his head, not caring about how his hair looks underneath, and turns to the old lady with what he hopes is a polite expression.

“It’s my daughter, but thank you.” He tells her between clenched teeth.

Rosie has spotted Kyle’s return too, because she happily squeals “Dad!” then scrambles towards him and launches herself into his arms.

The old lady’s eyes flit between John, Kyle, and Rosie in confusion, as she’s now visibly trying to figure out the relationship between them.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dearie,” She laughs, though it’s obviously uncomfortable. Whether it’s because of her error in judgment regarding his age or something else is unclear to John. “You just looked…”

She trails off and John huffs, fiddling with his hat between his hands.

“Well, I wish you all a lovely day,” she says eventually, before getting up and making her tactical retreat toward another bench. John looks at the boonie again, then after a beat carefully folds it and puts it in his pocket.

“Not a word.” he hisses to Kyle, who innocently readjusts Rosie on his hip, still wearing that stupid grin on his face.

“Alright, Grandpa,” he chuckles, and John gives him a flat look that hopefully conveys how much this whole situation displeases him.

“Where’s Grandpa?” Rosie asks, craning her head as she’s confused as to what they’re referring to. John gets up and reaches for her, pleased as she lets herself be transferred from Kyle’s arms to his without complaint.

“Sorry, Poppet,” he tells her, kissing her cheek, “Grandpa isn’t here right now. He’s back in London, with grandma. Your dad is just being silly.” He gives Kyle a look that dares him to argue with it.

“Okay.” Rosie chirps, her attention already having shifted to the packages on the bench. “For me?” She asks.

“Maybe,” Kyle muses, swiping a finger across her cheek, “I’m sure Uncle Soap will have snuck something in for you again.”

“Can’t wait to see what he’s deemed appropriate for her this time,” John grumbles, setting down Rosie again so she can go back to playing. Soap doesn’t have the best track record of getting age-appropriate gifts, something that’s almost become a running joke between them.

Kyle hums thoughtfully. “I think I was wrong. Clearly, it’s not just the hat that makes you old. I think Rosie just drags it out of you too.”

“You better watch yourself, sergeant,” John jokes back, no longer able to keep up his grumpy demeanor, “I might not be your captain anymore, but I can still put you down any time.”

“Yeah?” Kyle asks, stepping closer as he lowers his voice, “Better show me that later then, old man.”

John glances over Kyle’s shoulder, to where Rosie has gone back to happily playing with the other children, then looks back at his partner with a grin of his own pulling on his lips. They may have a kid together, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t missed moments like these.

“Challenge accepted,” he says, then remembers something else very important.

He levels Kyle with his most serious glare, even though he knows it doesn’t work on him anymore. “You better not bloody tell anyone about this.”

“I swear,” Kyle promises, but by the twinkle in his eyes John can tell it’s a filthy lie.

He already knows he’s never going to live this down.

#kyle gaz garrick #captain price #gazprice #pricegaz #call of duty #modern warfare #Rosie garrick price #ro writes

[ronearoundblindly]

Ro's Bi-Weekly Edit

February 12th - February 25th, 2023

In case you missed it, here are the fics and ficlets posted within the last two weeks!

Below the cut are links and snippets of 6 parts from 4 series:

Gifts Given, a mini-tale from The Root of All Ransom Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader, enemies-to-lovers

“I was gonna see you off,” you huff, grabbing his elbow gently. He leans to kiss your cheek, a smooth way to cover up his whisper of, “second only to getting me off, but—“ he pulls the card out of your reach “—this is important, too.” “Seriously, Ransom, I can just cancel it under the room.” He tosses his card dramatically over the desk, making the poor hostess scramble to retrieve it. “Oops. I guess they already have my card on file, so unless you want to waste my money, sweetheart…”

The Things We Do For Love, a mini-tale for Fools Rush In Steve Rogers x wife!Reader (Sketch & Keeps)

“Yeah, yeah, Keeps. Less talking, more washing.” He turns on the water. He imagines you can’t even feel the temperature through the layer. “Don’t be an ass.” He grimaces at the color thinning on its journey down the drain. “Don’t smell like one and we’ll talk.” Your husband points to the back of the shower for you to drop your now malleable clothes and shoves the bar soap in your hands. For good measure, he drizzles liquid body wash down your back. He waits for most of the ick to rinse from your hair and face before helping scrub shampoo through. It’s…unclear if the smell is lingering on the clothes and tile only or if you still stink. “Uh god,” he coughs out, “should I get the vinegar? Would that do it?”

Alone Together, a Bedrock and Blueprints tale Ari Levinson x best friend!Reader

Your hazy gaze rakes up a very tall man in dark jeans and a dress shirt—well, as dressy of a shirt as Ari Levinson owns. “Hey,” he mutters with a smile. The tension in your chest boils over, face cracking into an ugly sob because he’s here. The perpetual anti-Valentine hauled ass across town for you…and you’ve had no food with alcohol. “Okay, alright,” Ari hushes, kneeling down so you can bury your face in his (thankfully dark) shirt. The hug masks that you are not happy from other patrons, and his position seems to give a few onlookers the wrong idea. A few people start clapping. Others join in and start ‘aww’ing you. They think Ari’s just proposed to you, and he stiffens in your arms. “For the record, this is why I don’t do this shit,” he says in your ear, making to pull away until you grip tighter. “Just one more second,” you blubber. You’re not quite ready to be seen, and there are still people watching. He rubs your back for as long as it takes.

The Root of All Ransom, Part Five, Rated Mature Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader, enemies to lovers

“Oh, hello, dear,” Linda chirps to you, watching Ransom sit on your other side, “don’t you look lovely.” His mother twitches her fingers like she needs a cigarette, faking an adjustment of her thick spectacles to hide the tremor, and the whole night is already worth skipping hanky panky before arrival. You do look lovely. It makes him look good. He’s winning. He needs a victory drink. When food is set down in front of you all by a catering staff, you immediately offer appreciation, and Ran parrots the ‘thank you.’ He doesn’t think much of it. He just takes your cue. Ransom has always known how to be decent; he chooses not to be out of spite…except near you. He likes looking good around you. It makes him feel like he could be good. Meg, subtle as ever, word vomits “holy shit” in response to Hugh Ransom Drysdale thanking the fucking help. When Ran catches her eye, Meg raises her brows and snaps her wrist like she’s cracking a whip. He scowls back, but his cousin is too far across the table to curse without upsetting you, so he just mouths ‘get fucked’ at her.

Judgment, from Book II of The Stark Legacy Tony Stark's daughter, coming of age epic

Sam needed to take real notes on the developing side effects of her dermal Extremis injection. She needed a secure and sterile space to take samples. Shuri was a legend in Sam’s studies; Wakandan telecommunications, armor, medical care, and weaponry had no competition the world over. She was excited to work with the Princess.   The welcome party was mercifully small, but still included several of the most important people in the country. King T’Challa himself stood poised to greet his old friend, and Princess Shuri giggled beside her brother, talking excitedly to someone on her Kimoyo beads until seeing Bucky emerge from the quinjet. “Captain Barnes,” Shuri exclaimed, “you’ve brought me gifts!” Bucky handed her the crate Banner had given him in New York. “And Miss…” but the princess never finished her thought. The handful of Wakandans all stared at Sam, still wearing a hat and casual clothing. The warrior Okoye leaned over to the king, whispering, “is it a girl?”

Seventeen, from Book II of The Stark Legacy Tony Stark's daughter, coming of age epic

“Hey, Ineffective Metal Man,” Rocket said, shaking a bottle of booze across the table, “calm down or I won’t pour you one.” “Iron…never mind. Not today.” Tony rested his head in his hand, looking out yet another small port window. Rocket sat confused. Stark had never refused to drink with him. “Why? What’s today?” “Actually, it’s my daughter’s birthday.” “Oh my god, you spawned?” Rocket blurted. His eyes shifted between the dirty looks of the others. “I mean, good for you.” “She is left on your world defenseless? That is terrible,” Drax added. “You’re probably gonna need to get her an expensive gift. Chicks like that,” Quill chimed. “What do you normally do for her birthday?” Gamora spoke to Tony directly for the first time. “A card,” Tony said, unable to turn back around, waving a hand around in apology. “Yes, one card representing someone of her choice for you to kill, an excellent gift,” Drax agreed.

[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro's bi weekly edit #ro writes #the root of all ransom #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #fools rush in #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson fanfiction #bedrock and blueprints #the stark legacy #tony stark fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #tony stark's daughter

[the-writer-nerd-ro]

I am so excited for NaNoWriMo

#nanowrimo #ro writes #like !!!!! #every year #it's so exciting too bc it's right after halloween so you ride the high of spooky season into the buzz of novel month #and this year I'm writing a ghost story which is especially fitting to fall after spooky season!!!! #i'm so so so excited