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saintsenara · 5 months

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asenora i will listen to anything you have to say about these characters ever. please tell us what the tea is with dron

as i rummage through the backlog of messages in my inbox the thing that i have discovered is that you girlies [gender neutral] are absolutely clamouring for citizenship of dron nation.

[thank you to @spectral-kitty, @thesilverstarling, and two mystery anons!]

to which i say, the borders are open, baby. you just have to read the following manifesto:

why fandom needs to stop sleeping on dron

something i am continually banging on about, as regular readers know, is the harry potter series' fondness for assigning [male] characters to narrative mirror pairings.

exploring these pairings is interesting in and of itself without a romantic dimension being involved - i could talk for hours about the mirrored approach to guilt and grief in snape and sirius' characterisation - but it's also true that several of the most interesting ships which can be drawn [however non-canonically] from the text are between the two halves of each mirror pairing.

tomarrymort is the obvious one, snack [or starprince or snirius or whatever we're calling it] is starting to get the attention it deserves, but people are still sleeping on draco malfoy/ron weasley [and also, may i say, on lucius malfoy/arthur weasley and narcissa malfoy/molly weasley], largely - i fear - due to the sheer popularity of drarry and dramione.

i'll be honest that i really don't like dramione, and i'm generally ambivalent towards drarry, but i do love dron. and the narrative mirror aspect is entirely the reason why.

ron and draco begin the series as mirror archetypes within the genre conventions of a children's boarding school romp. ron is the loyal, humble sidekick of the everyman protagonist, draco is the everyman protagonist's posh, stuck-up rival. both are insiders to the world of the story - whereas harry, the reader surrogate, is not - who introduce harry to the positive and negative aspects of the wizarding world respectively.

as a result, ron and draco are mirrors in terms of personality, and are much more similar to each other than either is to harry or hermione. this doesn't, of course, preclude ronarry [a ship i adore] or romione [which i've defended here] or drarry or dramione [if ya nasty], but it introduces a specific - and very interesting - tension into the pairing which is absent from these other ships.

both ron and draco have shared positive traits - they're both loyal [and their loyalty is very practical and pragmatic - ron is not hagrid, whose faith in e.g. dumbledore is totally unwavering; draco is not bellatrix, whose faith in voldemort is the same], they're both highly observant, they're both quick-witted, they're both capable of doing the right thing - if not always immediately [which is, in fact, more admirable than being preternaturally willing to suffer and sacrifice], and so on.

they also have shared negative traits. they're both attention-seeking [ron fucking loves nearly being knifed by sirius and you just know draco was seething], self-aggrandising, insecure, sulky, and predisposed to jealousy.

and this is a gift for authors, because it means that dron butt heads in a relationship in ways which allow for real character growth... or otherwise.

one issue that i have with drarry is that it often feels like the change either one goes through within a fic is kind of out of character. for example, you have a harry who feels insecure and haunted by his ill-treatment of draco [this is a man whose response to committing attempted murder is to be raging that it reduces the time he has free to hit on ginny], or a harry who is chasing after a cool and sophisticated draco who eventually learns to open up [whereas if there's two things draco isn't, it's someone who keeps his thoughts to himself and someone who isn't a distinctly unsophisticated flop].

dron, however, react to conflict in the same way - which means that the two of them finding themselves in conflict with each other absolutely slaps. they also have similar levels of emotional intelligence, and are likely - if they're inclined to - to be able to communicate with each other and work through issues surprisingly effectively. they can be a mess, or they can be a happy-ever-after, and i like that in a ship.

but, while ron and draco are mirror archetypes, they are specifically children's literature mirror archetypes. ron's role as harry's guide to the world diminishes in the later books, as the series' horizons move beyond hogwarts to think about wizarding society and voldemort's impact upon it more widely [he is replaced by characters such as dumbledore]; while harry becomes considerably less bothered by the pettiness of draco's rivalry with him [concerned as it is with things like being good at quidditch and getting away with misbehaviour at school] as the enemies he's focused on shift to being the resurrected voldemort and his death eaters.

which is to say that dron makes considerably more sense within a hogwarts setting than drarry.

as i've said elsewhere, an issue i have with drarry is that it's frequently written in a way which suggests that harry and draco have a mutual obsession with each other - while the actual evidence of canon is that, while draco is [as his archetype demands] preoccupied with what harry's doing, harry rarely gives the impression of caring what his rival is up to unless directly compelled to by draco's own attention-seeking.

ron, in contrast, spends a lot of time noticing things about draco unprompted - he can, for instance, recall overhearing him boasting offhand about what broom he owns in philosopher's stone - and retaining this information in order to deploy it at the opportune time to get a rise out of him. he delights constantly in his misfortune [him being hyped for days because draco's annoyed harry gets a firebolt is beautiful]. he's ready to throw hands with him at any given opportunity, often giving those of us who thrive on cheap innuendo plenty of material in the process [draco finds himself, for example 'on all fours, banging the ground with his fist' after having ron's wand pointed in his face... same, girl.] and he tends to consider draco much more integral to the various shenanigans which take place in the castle than harry does [ron is the main proponent of the 'draco malfoy is the heir of slytherin' theory in chamber of secrets - and he is shook when draco reveals that he's wrong].

and draco does the same. he comes into the trio's compartment on the train in goblet of fire and immediately starts telling ron how unfashionable his dress robes are. he obsesses over ron's position as gryffindor keeper for months - and, of course, makes up a song about it, which isn't exactly helping him pull off 'i don't think about you at all', is it? - and ron is profoundly affected by the taunts in way that harry, who doesn't really care what draco thinks of him, isn't. and he constantly goes out of his way to provoke ron into trying to punch him [him shoulder-barging ron in half-blood prince just after harry's essentially outed him as a death eater in madam malkins... exquisite pettiness].

all of which is to say, their interactions feel very teenage and petty and silly all the way through to the end of half-blood prince in a way that draco's interactions with harry and hermione don't, and - therefore - i sincerely think that dron can be made to work much more plausibly as a pairing in fics set while the characters are at school.

my final point in favour of dron is that they mirror each other in their approach to their other relationships, and the tension this causes is really interesting to explore.

both ron and draco have mirrored attitudes towards their place within their own families - something neither harry nor hermione can have with draco for obvious reasons. ron is one of many siblings and feels overlooked in the crowd; draco is an only child and feels overburdened by the visibility, especially once his father is sent to azkaban. they both conform to behaviours expected of them by family [they are both in the same hogwarts house as generations of their family, they share their families' political views etc.]. they are of the same social class and their families both have a reasonably similar level of political influence [despite what we're told about his insignificance, arthur weasley is known to everyone in the ministry and he's able to throw his weight around to influence policy even before the promotion he receives in half-blood prince], but their material circumstances are divergent. they both heavily resemble their fathers - to the extent that they are immediately recognisable as each man's son - and spend their schooldays defending family honour by playing out lucius and arthur's own petty feud [lucius and arthur - and, indeed, narcissa and molly - are also narrative mirrors, and we deserve many more enemies-to-lovers fics featuring them]. and the course their lives take during the war is dictated as much by their role within their families as it is by their relationship with harry - the scrambling post-dumbledore order operating out of the burrow is a mirror image of the ascendant voldemort operating out of malfoy manor.

they are also obviously defined by their mirrored relationship with harry - most interestingly by a major similarity in their attitude towards him: that both struggle with how jealous they are of harry.

this leads to lots of excellent tension which just isn't possible in drarry or dramione. how do both sets of parents react to the news their sons are in love? how do ron and draco's relationships with harry change as they find each other? how does draco cope with the hustle and bustle of life at the burrow? how does ron deal with having to have dinner at the manor [particularly interesting because the world in which draco lives is one that's familiar to him - he's not going to be shocked by any of the weird stuff in that house, he knows how it all works, so he can ruin christmas by deciding to have his dad arrest lucius for fun instead]?

it's messy, and fun, and it sustains me.

and some recs for the lads?

collateral damage by @danpuff-ao3, which starts out with both of the lads working out their... issues with harry and ends with declarations of going to lunch with each other's mothers.

dance the night away (aka it's true love, you bastards) by evandar, which has as its premise ron and draco ending up, largely by accident, going to the yule ball together.

this great stage of fools by @nanneramma, which correctly demonstrates how ron is charming enough that him being supremely annoying is actually loveable.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #dron #draco malfoy #ron weasley #asenora fic recs

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ghouljams · 8 months

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I’m going through fae fic withdrawal ghoul TT

Y'know I kinda am too, here's the the conversation right before Gaz tried to tap Witch. Told from the golden boy's POV.

Gaz does his best not to shift on his feet standing outside the little cottage. It’s so out of place in the city, bracketed on either side by taller more modern brownstones. Exactly the sort of place he would have imagined a witch to be. Price knocks on the door with a heavy hand as Gaz glances over his shoulder. It feels like he’s intruding on something, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end just from proximity to the house. The knocks are met with absolute silence, not a peep from inside the house.

He can feel the arcs of magic though, the spectral movement of life behind the cottage walls. There’s the soft click of a lock and the door is pulled open. Price smiles.

You’re pretty, and younger than he’d have thought. You look about his age, or at least the age he’s pretending to be. Gaz glances at Price, the fondness in his eyes. What is it? Half your age and seven? Although, Gaz supposes that can’t really count here unless you have a spare few hundred you’re not showing. Probably not, you smell human.

“Price,” You frown, brows drawing together in confusion, Gaz meets your gaze with a smile, “and friend. I assume you’re here for business then.” You sigh and step aside, holding the door open. “Come on in, I’ll put a kettle on.”

“This should be quick,” Price assures you, nodding for Gaz to follow him into the house. It feels like stepping through molasses. Slow and sticky, pulling at him until he breaks through the threshold. Permeable, but only just. Gaz rolls his shoulders to shake the feeling off, following Price where you wave for them to take a seat. The couch you direct them to looks old, feels old if he counts the hands that have touched it. Still, it’s comfortable and sturdy when the two men sit.

“Quick or not business is business and that means tea,” You call from the kitchen. An ornamental butterfly on the wall flutters its wings in agitation.

“You’re sure this is the witch?” Gaz whispers to Price. When he’d said he knew who to talk to about Soap’s problem you weren’t really what Gaz had in mind.

“Positive,” Price leans back against the couch, folding his hands over his stomach. Perfectly relaxed. Gaz doesn’t see how he could be, all the foreign magic in the air is starting to make his head spin a little. He swallows, pinching the bridge of his nose, more than a little. This place feels like a fucking whirlwind, made to disorient. Price settles a hand on his back, and the next time Gaz inhales he smells smoke.

He takes a deeper breath, closes his eyes to feel his mentor’s magic steady him. The swirling smoke, familiar, clears his head, settles his vision. “Should’ve warned you,” Price mumbles, “it’ll clear.”

“I’m good,” Gaz tells him, just as a clatter of teacups are set on the table in front of him. The noise jostles Price’s magic, knicks him.

“This should help,” You tell both of them, fingers careful on the teapot as you pour. “Count it a compliment,” You smile at Gaz when he looks up at you, “not everyone is smart enough to know they’re surrounded.” It’s an ominous statement for the sweetness in your smile. Gaz doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be threatened by that or not. He takes the tea, what else is he supposed to do?

Hyssop. It clears his head as soon as it touches his tongue, settles the magic around him like the final acceptance of his presence. Funny how quickly magic can flip on a person. You must get enough fae visitors to know what to do, that’s reassuring at least. Price takes little more than a single swallow before setting his cup down. Not one for bitter teas if he can help it. You take your seat opposite them, and pick up a deck of playing cards from the table.

“Is he your apprentice?” You ask, shuffling cards.

“Supposed to be.” Price leans forward, his elbows on his knees.

“Hm,” you hum, looking Gaz over, “I suppose you do like pretty.”

“I like a lot of things sweetheart,” Price rumbles, his voice lower than Gaz has heard in a long time. He glances between the two of you, narrows his eyes at the silk strand tethers that silver between you.

“So I’ve heard,” you are far too fond to count as business-like.

“You’re askin’ around about me?” Price’s eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Should I be?” You lean forward, and Gaz has had just about enough of this.

“Do you two want to find a more private room?” He asks, cutting through whatever strange dance his boss and you are performing. You clear your throat and sit back, Price doesn’t move. His eyes are just as warm as they were, Gaz hardly thinks he heard him. Except maybe to take the jab into strong consideration. God if he tries to cart you off somewhere, Gaz will just leave. No point sticking around if- You know he’s really having second thoughts about your ability to help them now.

“What can I help with?” There, that sounds way more professional. Flirting with his fucking boss, Gaz is about to lose his damn mind.

“One of my boys found your trap,” Price says, no beating around the bush. You hum.

“Which one?”

Price blinks. Gaz blinks. Which one? Which one, what? Which boy or which trap? No, he knows what you’re asking.

“Does it matter?” Price asks finally.

“I suppose not,” you shrug, “did it kill him?”

“Did it-” Gaz feels anger well in his chest, you’re so casual with it. “Price,” He looks to his mentor for… Gaz doesn’t know, confirmation(?) that he’s hearing this too. Price holds out a hand to keep him in his seat.

“Soap’s fine. Lucky I had your little hexbreaker on me, could’ve been a lot worse,” Price explains, you stop your shuffling.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Tell us how to get rid of the trap.” Price presses.

“Except there, I’m afraid.” You sigh, and spread your cards on the table. Your fingers carefully push certain ones up, scoot others to the side, as if you’re picking the ones you like best. “I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Gaz asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” You say firmly. “Besides, it sounds like the problem is taken care of.”

Gaz and Price exchange a glance, the problem far from taken care of. Soap is a stubborn bastard, one who doesn’t take kindly to threats. It’s better to clear the fae trap from the city before he goes looking for them again.

“Right, then just tell us how to break it,” Gaz tries diplomatically.

“No,” you tell him plainly, sipping your tea. Price’s eyes spark watching you, eager and entirely unhelpful. “You’re asking me to help someone who couldn’t even come here himself, against something I created, and you’ve given me no good reason as to why I should help in the first place.”

"What'll it cost?" Price asks.

"I'm not for sale," It's the finality in your voice that really settle's Gaz's mind.

This is going nowhere fast. He pushes down the spark of annoyance, no rules are being broken, they have no favors to cash in, and the witch clearly knows well enough to give them the runaround. There’s only one way forward, and that’s back. Time for a reset.

"Why don't we just wipe her and try again?" Gaz asks, pushing himself to his feet.

#1fae1 #kyle garrick mw2 #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz modern warfare #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price cod #captain price #oc: witch #very mild #john price x oc #john price mw2 #would you two stop fucking flirting for 5 seconds Gaz is having an allergic reaction #fae!gaz #fae!price

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teatoastghostszine · 5 months

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Meet the Talented agents behind Tea, Toast & Ghosts - A Lockwood & Co. fanzine

⚔ Coming to an agency near you Spring 2024 👻

For more information and direct links to our contributors, read below the cut 💚

Coel: @coelart, coelagirl (Instagram)

Corvoraz: corvorazisinkmade (Instagram), corvorazart (Twitter)

Czenzo: @czenzo, czenzo (Archive of Our Own)

Duck: @bewilderduck-art

Ellie: ellie.wishes (Instagram), EllieWishes (Youtube), Ellie.Wishes (linktree)

Eliza.b.doodlin: eliza.b.doodlin (Instagram)

Hailqiqi: @hailqiqi

Indecisive Scribbler: @penultimatestalematewithdeath, IndecisiveScribbler (Archive of Our Own)

itripandfallalot: @itripandfallalot

Ives: @ivester-spy, sid.fai.he.art (Instagram), ives_spy (Twitter)

Jessie (Chibiosaka): @chibiosaka, proartistjessicaanecito (Instagram)

Marcelina: @friendlydrop, FriendlyDrop (Twitter), friendly.drop (Instagram)

Neeve Dafoe: @neevedafoe, Bumble_Bienchen (Twitter)

Skull-in-a-jar: @skull-in-a-jar, @skull-ina-jar, skullinajar (Instagram)

Snazzy Spectral: SnazzySpectral (Twitter), snazzyspectral.bsky.social (Bluesky), snazzy.spectral (Instagram)

vRyfMi: @vryfmi, vryfmi_ (Instagram)

WolfjawsWriter: @wolfjawswriter, Wolfjawswriter (Tiktok), Wolfjaws Writer (Youtube)

Linktree - Instagram - Twitter

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wanderingsorcerer · 11 months

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Spectral Whispers: Exploring the Enigmatic Realm of Celtic Faeries with W.S.

The ethereal world of Celtic faeries, where tales of magic and wonder entwine with the whispers of the wind, guiding us through enchanted forests and across shimmering meadows. So, brew a cup of tea, settle in, and let us unveil the captivating allure of Celtic faerie folklore.

Firstly while I will be using the term Fairies in this article for continuity, the Irish refrain from calling them the Fae or Fairies and Prefer to call them " The Good People' or " The Little People". The Fairies of the Emerald Isles were said to reside in a parallel universe to that of the mundane world.

Usually stated to be underground, the realm of the Fairies is said to be mostly invisible to human eyes. These are unlike the Fairies found within the writings of Disney and Modern Pop Culture. They are of a darker brood, Still Majestic and Beautiful, even downright awe inspiring. But many are said to be dangerous and uncaring for the mortals they Encounter in these folk tales.

So Let us go over some of the most well known Irish Fairies in celtic Folklore

The Who's Who of Tír na nÓg

There are hundreds of stories of faeries which stem from ireland, and while we won't go into every single one, here are some of my favorite honorable mentions from Ireland's beautiful folklore

Pooka: The Changer Of Forms

Commonly Referred to as Puca, it is a type of shape shifter in Irish Folklore which takes the shape of Animals or Humans. Commonly seen with forms similar to cats and horses, it was seen as unwise to anger these fae. Depending on the Area of Ireland, they are seen as either helpful, or as embodiments of chaos.

Dullahan: The Headless

The Dullahan is a malevolent harbinger of death. It is said to be the embodiment of Crom Dubh, a fertility god who demanded blood sacrifice in the form of decapitation.

This aspect of Irish folklore has been incorporated into American folkloric traditions as well, specifically in the stories of the Headless Horseman. His stateside debut was in Washington Irving's 1849 short story " The legend of sleepy hollow" while inspired by the original Irish works, The headless horseman has become an American Halloween staple.

Giving nightmares to children for decades since its release :)

Changelings: Stealer of babes

A fairy that was left in place of a human child or baby who had been stolen by the fairies. The baby was to live amongst the humans as they raised the other in the fae realm. The stories differ depending on the situation, it was often used to explain away different developmental delays, or even unexplainable deaths of their small children.

Humans would often leave these babies out in the woods to parish if they believed they were changelings, to them they hoped by leaving them the faeries would take the trade and give them their baby back.

Banshees: Screams Of Warning

a female spirit who wails outside a home to warn of the imminent death of a family member. The scream is also known as "caoine," which literally translates to "keening". She has also been called woman of the mound as in many of the stories she stands outside the homes and cry's from the fairy Mounds.

Leprechaun: Punishers Of Greed

a type of fairy that is often depicted as a tiny, bearded man wearing an emerald ensemble. Leprechauns are said to live in remote places and make shoes and brogues. They are solitary by nature and are a symbol of what happens when you let your greed win. Quit literally the Folly of the Get Rich Quick Mentality Of Many Humans.

These are but a small sample of the many fairies found throughout Irish and Celtic Folklore, These specifically can trace their origins back to The Tuatha De Danann or fairy nobility. Also seen as Gods and Demons depending on the era. As well as the original inhabitants of Ireland who only Tolerate our existence so long as we don't disturb the places and sacred sites they hold dear.

Faeries impact on Modern Day

All over Ireland, farmers have left portions of their land, in the form of Ring Forts untouched for centuries. These are believed to be the homes of the fairies and are overgrown with shrubs and bush. But farmers would rather see this resource go to waste than risk incurring the wrath of the fairies, which can result in anything from crop failure to DEATH.

This a recurring theme you will see throughout Irish history a respect for the property owned by the Fae and a rightful fear at the consequences of disturbing sacred ground.

How to not Piss Off The Fae

Folk Practices to appease fairies or at the very least keep you on their good side include Offerings of sweets and goods in which holds value to the person leaving the offering, back in the day it was things like this

Milk or cream

Bread

Honey

Butter

Porridge

Gold

Tobacco

Poitín

I hope you enjoyed learning about the faeries of Celtic Folklore with me today, remember to stay curious my friends.

Thank you for sitting down and having Tea with me on the Other side of the Great Divide

𓆣Patreon Saw It First, Come Join Us For Early Access To Wanderers Tea Time𓆣

☕ Like My Blog? Then consider buying me a Ko-Fi ☕

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yuurei20 · 8 months

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Jamil Info Compilation part 9: Power and Sebek

We learn from Jade that “hypnosis magic that takes control of a target’s mind” like Jamil’s requires a far higher degree of skill and magical power than taking control of a target’s body, and that very few people are capable of using it.

Floyd says that someone would have to have skills and power on par with Azul to manage it, but even Azul says that he would be “hard-pressed to control living creatures with their own egos like humans.”

Despite this we see Jamil control every student of Scarabia dorm simultaneously and make them all perform independent tasks.

Azul says that, not only is he far from mediocre, “he’s easily one of the top magicians in the entire school,” and that his “true capabilities are nothing short of astounding.”

During the Spectral Soiree event Jamil is the only student with both the ability and the idea to create a barrier to protect against Malleus’ abducting of everyone through the Mirror of Darkness, saving himself, Floyd, Ruggie and Ortho.

Jamil’s introduction to Sebek is when Sebek accidentally wanders into Scarabia after the school’s opening ceremonies, and Jamil suspects him of being an assassin sent to harm Kalim.

While Sebek is unamused at first, he quickly warms up to Jamil at the realization that they both serve roles similar to bodyguards.

Jamil is forced into escorting Sebek back to campus when Sebek insists he cannot return on his own and Kalim threatens to escort him himself if Jamil refuses to go.

En route, Sebek compliments Jamil on his vigilance and Jamil lectures Sebek about his inattentiveness. Sebek leaves on a pleasant note, saying, “Thank you again for your kindness! Let us both do everything in our power to help our masters succeed this year!”

During Firelit Sky, Jamil recommends that Malleus get tea for Sebek as a souvenir, as “tea can have a calming effect.”

In another vignette Sebek is impressed by Jamil’s ability to arrange furniture via magic, bemoaning his own lack of control. Jamil promises to listen to Sebek talk about Malleus if they are able to finish their task early, but when Sebek brings them to Diasomnia for a Malleus-based lecture Jamil admits, “I did not expect him to hold me to it...he’s like an entirely different person when it comes to Malleus. When admiration goes too far, the consequences can be dire.”

Sebek does not seem to hear him.

#jamilfacts #Jamil Viper #twstfacts #twisted wonderland #twstjamil

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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Hello! I love your work!! If possible, could you do a Lockwoodxreader story where the reader has to rescue Lockwood from some peril and comfort him through the aftermath please?

a/n: ahhhhh yes absolutely! i'm so glad you like my writing, so i can only hope I've done your request justice!

warnings: minor injury detail gn reader

"I'm going to kill you. I'm going to take my rapier, and I'm going to run you through."

"No point in telling me your murder plans. Now I know exactly what you're going to do. And, might I ask why exactly you want to kill me?"

You mutter some very insulting things under your breath before saying, "Because we currently have two Type Twos waiting down the hall for us, when this was meant to be a simple Type One job, hence why Lucy and George are back at home, relaxing and probably drinking my tea."

Lockwood looks over his shoulder at you, offering up that infuriating smile. "We'll be fine. We've dealt with worse together. Remember the ghost of Eleanor Hart?"

"Eleanor Hart was a Visitor whose only purpose for haunting her old house was because her cat had died and she never buried it."

"And, yet, she still tried to kill us, but we defeated her."

"You're not helping your case, Lockwood," you growl. "We should postpone for tonight, come back tomorrow with Lucy and George."

"No," Lockwood says, keeping his rapier steady in front of him. "I'll distract them, and you find the source."

You want to scream at him, but you keep your voice light. The Visitors are already getting agitated. "And what are your ideas of what the source is? These are two murder victims, judging by the gunshot wounds in their chests, but I don't think the goddamn gun will be the source if it's even here."

"Well, it's your job to find that out. Ready?"

"No, Lockwood, let's take a minute to think about -"

Before you've even finished your sentence, Lockwood leaps out of the iron circle and sprints towards the ghosts, capturing their attention. He darts into one of the rooms - the massive lounge - and you can hear the banging of exploding salt bombs as you hurry over.

Your Sight isn't your greatest Talent, but it's enough for you to see faint deathglows in the study, just beside each other. As the sound of Lockwood's battle increases, you creep into the room, placing your hand on the ground between the glows.

Echoes of voices fill your ears, the words unintelligible, but the tones clear enough: anger, insecurity, rivalry. Something about a competition where something went wrong - one betrayed the other. A gunshot, followed immediately by another, so loud that it knocks you off your feet.

"They killed each other?" you murmur, frowning. "So what would the source be...?"

Lockwood yells in the other room, and you jump to your feet, clutching your rapier tightly. You need to figure out what the source is and fast.

"(name), hurry!"

Panic flares in your chest, but you bury it down.

You don't think, you just run through to the Lounge.

Lockwood is stumbling, holding his side as if in pain. His rapier is in his left hand rather than his right, which looks like it's bleeding. He throws a salt bomb - his last - at the spirit on the left, and it dissipates, reforming over to the side a little, and... there.

A portrait hangs on the wall, depicting a beautiful woman. It's not a modern painting by any standards, but it's no more than a few decades old, and it clicks.

The men, the Visitors, had been fighting over her and, in a fit of rage when one sabotaged their competition to win her heart, the other drew his gun. Both were armed, and both shot each other, killing the other instantly. You want to roll your eyes at the stupidity, but you have more pressing matters.

Lockwood slashes at one of the ghosts with his rapier, but he's weaker with his left hand. The spirit draws nearer, reaching out a spectral hand as the other circles around to the side.

"Lockwood, duck!" you shout.

You throw a salt bomb at the spectre on the right, momentarily getting rid of it, and leap forward, cutting through the other with your rapier. When you reach Lockwood, he's panting heavily and limping as he moves. There's a look in his eyes, a glimpse of doubt and regret, and it spurs you on. You toss him your remaining salt bombs.

"Watch my back. We left the silver net in the hall."

Without giving him a chance to respond, you slice through the newly formed ghosts and tear the portrait off the wall. It's heavier than you expected - probably because of its massive frame - but you know that your guess was right. The ghosts wail with rage, following you as you sprint away with the portrait.

The hall seems longer than you remember, and you're sure you would've been ghost touched if not for Lockwood throwing salt bombs to protect your retreat. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and it hurts a little to breathe, but you can't stop. Your feet slide, and you crash into the wall, cracking your head on the old brick, but you manage to make it to the iron circle and fish out the silver net from the duffle bag, wrapping the large portrait in it.

Immediately, the hall becomes silent, and the Visitors disappear. All you can hear is your gasps for breath and the limping footsteps of Lockwood before he slides to the ground beside you, leaning against the wall.

"You okay?" you ask, turning to look at him, shaking off the wave of dizziness that occurs.

"Always."

You frown at him, shuffling closer on your knees until you kneel beside him. Gently, you pry his hand off his left side, eternally grateful to find that there's no blood. His right arm is trembling in your grip, possibly overextended or whacked on something.

"This will hurt," you warn before pressing your hands onto his left side.

Lockwood grits his teeth as you feel around his ribs. They're swelling a little, and they're obviously sore, but nothing feels broken. It's a similar process for his arm, probably sprained, and you sit back on your heels, breathing a sigh of relief.

"You're alright," you say softly. "Nothing broken, but you'll be sore and probably bruised for a little while. What happened?

He takes a deep breath, shifting slightly. "Threw me across the room, whacked against the fireplace."

You try for a smile. "Well, you're okay. I'm okay, it's all good."

"You're bleeding," he says with a frown. "(name) -"

Gingerly, you touch the side of your head, fingers coming back red and sticky. You don't remember hitting the wall that hard.

"I'm alright," you say. "Just a scrape."

All of a sudden, his fingers are gently brushing your hairline just beside the cut, brows furrowed and lips parted. Something in your heart squeezes at the sight of his worry.

"Lockwood, I'm alright. I promise."

"I'm stupid," he says, his hand travelling down your face slowly, cautiously, until his hand cups your cheek. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, ignoring the warmth of your face. "You were right, we should've left and come back tomorrow."

Your hand grips his, intertwining fingers. "Hey, yeah, you were a bit stupid, and I'm still tempted to run you through, but we're alive. We've done it."

"You've done it."

"Okay, I might've secured the source, but I wouldn't have been able to do that without you lobbing salt bombs at the Visitors."

His eyes are angry, but not at you, at himself. In the dim lighting of the hallway, he's awfully pale, and the faint bags under his eyes seem so much darker. From the corner of your eye, you might've believed him to be a ghost himself.

"Listen," you say. "It's done. It's over. We're alive, yeah? We're alive, Lockwood."

He hesitates, looking up at you with eyes you could just fall into. "But, what if it had gone wrong? You're all I - I can't lose you."

You turn your head in his hand, pressing a light kiss to his palm. "It didn't go wrong. You haven't lost me, see? I'm alive, I'm breathing, and I'm going to take you home and make you a nice cup of tea, then I'll put you on bed rest for a couple of days."

His pulse beats fast in his palm, and you could probably chalk it down to the adrenaline rush you always feel during a case fading off, but some part of you feels triumphant - a little action on your part flustered him.

"Let's go home, yeah?" you say, squeezing his hand softly. "I'll get you all patched up and fed."

"And will you -" Vulnerability flashes in his eyes, something you've rarely ever seen from him before. "Will you stay with me?"

Your heart flutters in your chest. "As long as you want, Lockwood."

His hand moves from your cheek to brush through your salt-encrusted hair, and a little, slightly smug, smile plays at his lips.

"There's the Lockwood I love, eh?" you murmur before blanching. Did you just say...?

Lockwood has a similar reaction, his jaw becoming slack as he stares at you. Your face feels hot.

"Um." You stand abruptly. "Come on, let's get you home."

You grasp his arms gently, pulling him to his feet and looping one of his arms over your shoulders. As you begin walking, all you can hear is your heartbeat pounding in your chest, deafening.

"Did you mean that?" Lockwood says, free of his typical charming tone. No, now he sounds... nervous?

Trying to act nonchalant, you shrug. "Maybe."

"Maybe, huh?"

He laughs, and the tension writhing in your stomach eases. His laugh is contagious, and, soon, you're laughing together, shouldering your bags as you trudge out of the abandoned mansion.

Something in your chest feels at ease from the absence of Lockwood's rejection. Part of you wonders if he feels the same, but the other part waves it off. You're both injured and probably out of it, right?

"I feel the same, for what it's worth."

Those four words, god, they're enough to make your knees weak and set off fireworks in your blood. You can't help the grin that parts your lips.

"Good," is all you can say.

Maybe it's the head injury, but you swear you can feel the gentle press of lips on the top of your head as you step back out into the outside world.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #lockwood and co netflix #givemea-dam-break

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zeestarfishalien · 10 months

Text

Part 11: One Way to Shake Me Up

[Master Post | Next]

Jason would like to comment upon an incredible feature humans have which is adaptability. He’s managed to completely reroute his life and daily routine around a body on a dining table and the spectral dog attached to said body.

He has a smaller two person table which he eats at and otherwise ignores the bigger table with its carefully laid artifacts, runes, and body. It’s kind of in the way so it’s rather impressive the way it’s become just another part of the scenery for Jason. At least it’s like that until he noticed that Spooky goes back into their body every night after Jason himself had gone to bed.

The first time Spooky didn’t climb back out of their body when Jason got up in the afternoon, he nearly panicked trying to find the spirit. He’d like to say he’s gotten better since then…but that would be a lie. Jason can’t quite help that spike of fear every time it takes Spooky a while to be coaxed from their body. They’re struggling with something and can’t communicate what it is. It’s frustrating and worrisome and Zatanna says it’s fine but she doesn’t see the way they look at their body sometimes, like it might eat them.

Yet every night they go back…and every night Jason wishes he could communicate fully with his roommate. There’s a desperation in Spooky’s eyes, something in the way they watch Jason talk or cook or fiddle around with gear in his off time. But the quiver in their legs they can’t quite get to stop for several minutes some days cuts Jason deep. His chest aches for his friend.

He’s not quite sure when exactly he shoved out any lingering hesitation about Spooky. A lot earlier than he likely would have for anyone else though and if Spooky does turn out to be bad news, Jason is going to suffer a lot. He’s attached. Very attached. Spooky is fully a part of his life and he really kind of likes it.

It’s the little things, the way that Spooky nudges his hand when they want his attention (usually to show him a bug or random trinket) or tucks their tail over their eyes when they’re pouting or feigning indifference. They watch movies together and Spooky follows him like a little duckling whenever he’s within their prescribed radius.

It’s not until Jason is ranting to Damian, Alfred, and Cass at Thursday tea time that a solution is presented. It’s presented in the form of a delirious Tim stumbling into the room half asleep.

“You should just put the alphabet on your floor. Or just one of those phrase button things people get for their animals.” He then promptly passes out. It’s ridiculously obvious now that Jason thinks about it and he can’t believe it took a nearly comatose genius to point it out to him. Cass is snickering at something dumb that’s definitely not Jason’s face (hint: it is), so Jason jabs her in the side. At least he tries to.

The smug smirks all around the table are all the response he gets for his antics.

“You know what,” Jason scoots his chair out and makes to stand, “I don’t need to take this.”

“Come now Master Jason. I do believe your friend Spooky can wait until after tea,” Alfred points out, painfully hitting the nail on the head. It’s only because it’s Alfred that Jason sits back down and doesn’t even glare.

The rest of their teatime passes uneventfully and all too slowly in Jason’s opinion. It’s all he can do to sit there feigning serenity, holding his legs perfectly still so they don’t bounce in anticipation.

He’d like to say that he made a swift but not suspiciously swift exit, the smirks on his sibling’s faces said otherwise. Even Alfred had a knowing glint in his eye as he bid Jason a good evening.

Well fuck them!

No, not really…he loves them he’s just anxious and excited and his gut is churning. He might finally have a way to communicate better with Spooky.

He definitely did Not border on the edge of speeding to get back home just a little bit faster.

He’s still careful to make sure no one sees him use the secret entrance to Damian’s little base.

It’s Damian’s. Not his. Not home (but it feels like home).

It doesn’t even have half a kitchen, just a mini fridge and a microwave oven, both of which Jason brought in himself.

They’re gone…

There’s no sign of Spooky in the little one room base they both live in.

It takes Jason 9 minutes to find Spooky pacing the border of their tether to their body. In this case, a rooftop at the end of the block.

Every once in a while they try to go further only for their body to turn to smoke and reform inside the prescribed radius. They return to pacing, eyeing the edge of their limits with a sort of panicked desperation.

“Spooky,” he calls softly. They still startle and skitter farther away. “Hey, it’s just me. Can we go inside?”

They shake their head no, their gaze jumping back to the invisible line they cannot cross.

“I’ve got a way for us to communicate. You can tell me what’s wrong. I’ll do my best to help.”

They spin back to him and he’s seen them desperate but not quite with this same level of agitation, of worry. They’re gaze searching Jason for any hint of a lie or possibly just looking for an affirmation of his words.

“Let’s figure this out together.”

Wowza, here we are. I will fully admit that most of the reason this wasn’t done sooner is that my newest dpxdc fic is taking up my time (and I haven’t even posted any of it yet. Hooo boi…). We’re getting close to some more answers! Next chapter maybe 😉

I’m also back on my Tales of the Land nonsense (a fantasy novel wip) with all the lore building and song writing involved there. Gotta torture my fav half siren thief some more 😈

@rangerhorsetug @treepainting @thatonegirl10 @demiourgias @spooky-fm @antagonisticly @fluffy23sblog @manglethemingle @kyrianclawraith @layyeschips @shepardking @asphyxia778 @ballzfrog @fluffen-spooky @drowningroane @deathsdaisy @malaayna @mistyaltair @potatoeofwisdom @heartsong18 @nixthenerd @icedbluesoul @the-church-grimm @overtherose @sara0055

@dannyphantomphan @nonbinary-disaster @depressed-bitchy-demon @8-29pm @addie-lover-of-stories @lifefilledwithstories @apointlessbox @skulld3mort-1fan @katgirl05 @spookytragedyshark @mandyne-1001 @ascetic-orange @booklover9114 @qualifiedpasta @mouzerequis @fleeting-mists @gin2212 @rollthatcritical @kaitouhime @itsloveleo @litlecameron @phantom-dc @hippityhoppity-iownyourbones @pastalavistamf @kokoroluna @legowerewolf @riasthelustful @agreatcheesecakestudentstuff

@akintoabitch @snowblub @isaactheautobot @jaguarthecat @ventureingonwings

#danny phantom crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #my graveyard song #church grim danny au #the black dog danny

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theamalgaverse · 2 years

Photo

me again! sorry! I’m just gonna -slides cheesy stoopid rareship that I like-

———————————————————

FOOL I LOVE RAREPAIRS AND this is lowkey adorable asf… it also makes sense!!

#submission #i'm die from wholesomeness /pos #god I GOTTA DRAW THIS BUT I HAVE OTHER STUFF #amalgaverse #FANART?!?? FANART!!’#spectral emergency - dr bones #tea knight cookie

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pixelatedraindrops · 29 days

Note

How would the NDA handle a sick Vivia? And/or what would Vivia be like when he's sick?

Honestly, a sick Vivia probably isn't too much different from a normal Vivia... XD Like if he's just feverish he'd probably just be a little more sleepy than usual and maybe just not listen when people are speaking to him. I think for anyone to know he's sick, he'd need more symptoms that actually make it more obvious. Especially audible ones (sneezing/coughing/sniffling/raspy vocals)

As for how the NDA would handle him? First of all, I think Yakou would try to get him out of the fireplace to lay down somewhere more comfortable, but it wouldn't work and Vivia would stay put... X'D So Yakou instructs the NDA to get Vivia blankets and pillows, tea/water, ice, soup, and medicine. And maybe a nice new book to read. (though they'd probably fail to get one Vivia actually likes, and the only one who even slightly has a clue about his taste in literature is yuma... x'D) So they each buy a different type of book.

But poor Vivia would be too tired to move and too dizzy to read any books on his own. So to cheer him up, the NDA decides to each take turns reading their chosen books to Vivia. A little NDA storytelling circle around the fireplace to help the sick and tired spectral detective feel better and maybe help him to go to sleep~ ^-^ Yuma has a novel he actually likes, Desuhiko gets a romance/comedy novel, Fubuki gets an adventure novel, Halara gets a book about cats. And Yakou?? He probably just reads the newspaper to him... XD

Even if Vivia doesn't care for some of the genres, he feels too much peace to care so he smiles all bundled in a big warm blanket and laying his chin on a soft pillow as he hears all his friends read different stories to him to help him feel better <3

#pixel answers #whumpcode #rain code #vivia twilight #sicknaro #whumpcode ask #its storytime for veeva <3 #his favorite time #only everyone's joining in :3 #I love me a good sick day scenario where there's storytelling involved to make the sickie feel better <3 #its perfect for this book loving sleepy detective c:#plus poor thing probably never got any stories from his real family ;-;#well now his new family can help with that~ ^-^

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saltysideblog · 2 months

Text

Salty imagines...

Sick Basterds

Inglourious Basterds x Reader

Request: Yes! By anon 🤍

What would the Basterds be like with a cold?

During the war, there's no time for whining. Expect lots of spent tissues being hastily stuffed into coat pockets in between rounds of fire and more than one Basterd nearly choking to death trying to keep a cough quiet...

Aldo:

Even before the war, Aldo was a resilient little bugger. Has hundreds of absolutely vile tasting home remedies he swears by and will refuse your help.

"S'jus' a cold, sunshine, ah can take care of it..."

His voice is rougher than usual and his nose is lookin' a little red, but he promises to rest if you insist. When he lays his head in your lap and feels your fingers threading through his hair as you coo about how strong he is, he feels like a million bucks. His very favourite home remedy. No fish oil required.

Donowitz:

When Donny gets sick, he reverts back to his ten year old self; a spoiled mama's boy. Will insist on wearing his pajamas all day, pouting,

"I'm sick..." is his only reply when you ask him to put on some real clothes. Will come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist when you cook,

"Come back to beeeed..."

"Don, I'm busy."

"I want ice cream."

"I'm making pasta."

"But I'm sick..."

Kiss his forehead and serve him some matzo ball soup just like his ma did. It'll buy you a few moments of peace... until...

"Babe?? Come cuddle with me..."

And if you don't answer immediately,

"I'm sick..."

Wicki:

The only way you know Wicki's been sick is when you get sick after kissing him. When you confront him about it, he just shrugs,

"I didn't want you to worry."

Loves when his partner dotes on him. He thinks it's very sweet that you care, even if he can handle it. Will probably end up taking care of you instead, bringing you hot cups of tea and honey and running you a bath (to be shared, of course.) The bathroom windows are all fogged up as you both sink into the warm water,

"Feels like a lot of steam."

He'll kiss your shoulders and chuckle,

"Yes, but I can breathe again."

Stiglitz:

No one has ever seen Hugo get sick. But as his partner you know the truth; he just secludes himself in the guest room until the illness passes, like a wounded animal crawling into a hole. Will not let you near him,

"You will get sick."

And that's final.

He becomes a spectral figure, a vampire stealing food from your kitchen and retreating back to the shadows. Only emerges once he's his usual chipper self. He appreciates all the little notes you slip under the door more than you know; keeps them all in a shoebox in the closet.

Utivich:

Tries to soldier on, will wrap himself up in a big blanket, walking around like one of the caped heroes he writes about. You'll find him half asleep at his typewriter, barely holding onto his cup of now cold coffee. He will never ask you to take care of him, but he makes it difficult not to. You get him over to the couch and tuck him in, he lets you know just how much he appreciates what you do for him, sleepily mumbling,

"I love you so much..."

Before dozing off.

In a few hours, you'll have to do it all again, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

Omar:

Very difficult to wake up in the morning... or the afternoon... or any time he dozes off. Omar's a sleeper and whether or not you dote on him makes no difference to him... because he'll be asleep. It does put a smile on his face when he wakes up in the middle of the afternoon and there's a box of his favourite snacks with a glass of water on the coffee table for him.

Feel better!

He runs his fingers over your handwritten note.

He likes knowing you think of him, even if he's not the most interesting conversationalist at the moment.

Hirschberg:

Does not cover his mouth when he sneezes so you will get sick at the same time he does. Gets a little upset about it, because who's gonna take care of you now?

"I can't, I'm sick too!"

"Sweetie, we're adults, we'll take care of each other."

Pouts and whines about it but it makes his heart flutter when you say things like that. Each other... he's not a romantic by any means, but the thought of there always being "each other" could make him swoon. Still won't cover his mouth.

"It's nasty! I don't want that all over my hands!"

Doesn't seem to understand that he can wash his hands but you can't wash the air.

Sakowitz:

Much like Wicki, Sakowitz doesn't want to bother his partner with a silly little cold. The only time he might ask for anything is when you're walking past him and he grasps both your hands, looking deep into your eyes with a sadness only known to orphaned pups... it makes you a bit worried,

"What is it, honey?"

He holds that serious look on his face as he very delicately and politely asks if you could make him a cup of hot chocolate,

"If it isn't too much trouble."

He's more than happy to dote on you when you're under the weather though,

★ Bonus ★

Hicox:

"Stiff upper lip, luv, won't let a little cold bring me down."

*immediately gets upset because he can't taste his tea with a stuffy nose*

#salty imagines...#inglourious basterds #inglourious basterds x reader #canon x reader

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puppetmaster13u · 6 months

Text

Batfamily but Flight Rising Part 1 (And their familiar partners/friends)

Bruce (Nocturne) [Spectral Duskflapper] Ostreatus Bat] [Masked Phantom]

Alfred (Guardian) [Battle Chef] [Formal Tea Set] [Steadfast Sweeper]

Kate (Gaoler) [Armored Duskflapper] [Dapplemane Deceiver] [Bloodwing Owlcat]

#batman au #dcu #dc #dc crossover #flight rising crossover #flight rising #dragons #dragon #dragon au #fantasy au #bruce wayne #batman #alfred pennyworth #kate kane #batwoman

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xanthiccircuitry · 28 days

Note

I am here, appearing before you as a pleasantry of sorts, to inform you that now that I've followed you back from the great library A03, I intend to vaguely haunt you

XD I don't know why this made me laugh so hard! Welcome! Vague hauntings have a special room in the back with fresh tea and spectral sandwiches /)=w=(\

#asks #answers #welcome back from AO3!!#its as regular over here as on ao3 XD

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jess-the-reckless · 2 months

Text

I started out 2024 with a fervent prayer that it would be a nice, boring year with no major upheavals. Alas, that dream shat the bed before the end of February, so with one thing and another I've been a bit busy. Still chugging away with A Fete Worse Than Death, though, so here's a sneak peek of how pillow talk goes when you discover that your wife once spent part of the Cold War working undercover as a spectral chimpanzee.

________________________________

Crowley, champagne glass in one hand, flung back the covers. She patted the mattress next to her. “Get in,” she said. “Come on. Bedtime for Bonzo.”

Aziraphale slid down between the expensive sheets. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“No idea. Recurring brainfart, I think.”

Aziraphale plumped the pillow against her neck and settled in. She’d always loved this. As much as exploring each others bodies in bed was fun, sometimes it was just nice to talk. Whenever they were together she and Crowley had talked a lot, but it hadn’t been until they’d ended up tangled up beside the fire in the gardener’s cottage that their conversation had reached newer, deeper, more interesting levels. Sometimes the things they’d shared were profound, conversations carefully skirting the thing they had been unable to say out loud, and other times the details were small, and stupid, at least on a surface level. It was here, in a series of bedrooms, that Aziraphale had learned that Crowley hated Marmite almost as much as Aziraphale loved it, and that Crowley – for all her hair looked so shiny – sometimes fought a secret battle with dandruff. Aziraphale had consulted her library and determined that this delightful new level of conversation was that ‘pillow talk’ that lovers often did in books, and then had to make herself a very strong cup of tea, in order to remain sensible while grappling with the notion that she and Crowley were now lovers.

Pillow Talk – wasn’t that a film with Doris Day? The thought knocked something loose in Aziraphale’s mind. “Isn’t that a film, too?” she said. “Bedtime for Bonzo? I want to say Ronald Reagan, and I’ve no idea why that name rings a bell.”

Crowley blinked incredulously at her. “You amaze me sometimes. You know that?”

“Why? What have I done this time?”

“The man was President of the United States for eight years. You’re maybe the only living entity who can still write in cuneiform, but you remain wooly on Ronald Reagan? How?”

“I’ve been around for a long time, darling,” said Aziraphale. “I lost track of world leaders round about the time Alexander the Great was still handing out tips on intercrural. And there have been rather a lot of kings and emperors and presidents and such, especially lately. They’ve been going through them like lavatory paper in Westminster. Which one was Ronald Reagan again?”

“Cold War guy,” said Crowley. “Used to be in films.”

“How funny. I didn’t even realise he was an actor.”

“Neither did most people. He got upstaged by a chimp in Bedtime for Bonzo. Oh and that’s why it keeps coming back to me: it’s one of Satan’s favourite films.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale, perhaps even more confused than before. “Satan watches films starring chimpanzees?”

“Well, yeah. Eternal damnation. He’s got a lot of time on his hands.”

“I suppose so, yes. Was it a good film?”

“Fuck, no. It was a stinker,” said Crowley. “The chimpanzee playing Bonzo seemed to know Reagan was a wrong ‘un, too. She tried to strangle him with his own tie. Almost killed him, actually.” Crowley’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Wait…she wasn’t one of yours, was she?”

“One of our what?”

“Agents. Her name was Peggy. She was a girl chimp playing a boy chimp in the film, but in those days nobody minded if chimpanzees cross-dressed. She died mysteriously in a fire, and there were times when I wondered…well…if Downstairs had anything to do with her death.”

Aziraphale emptied her champagne flute in a long swallow, and topped it up. She had a feeling it was about to become one of those conversations. The kind where she needed a map.

“Right,” she said. “You thought Hell had murdered a chimpanzee? Why?”

“Because she tried to kill Reagan,” said Crowley. “Who was definitely one of ours, by the way.”

“An agent?”

“No, no. Just a very useful idiot. But it stands to reason that if you’ve got an idiot that useful to Hell, then your boss – what with omniscience being what it is and all – might have sent one of God’s creatures to…you know…” She pulled on an invisible tie and made choking noises. “…neck him.”

Too lazy to call room service again, Aziraphale miracled the bottle back to full. She was going to need a lot more champagne. “Crowley, are you seriously asking me if Heaven is in the habit of training chimpanzee assassins to eliminate future world leaders?”

“Yes,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale shook her head. “I think you’ve been watching too many James Bond films again, dear.”

“Nah. Like you always say, the Lord works in mysterious ways. If they’d known Hell had a target on Reagan’s back…I mean, that’s why they sent me.”

“You? To do what?”

Crowley shrugged, her bare, tanned shoulders bronze against the white linen. “Get in there and shake some things up,” she said. “The usual. At first I was like ‘don’t see what Satan sees in this guy’, but you didn’t have to know Ronnie for long to see that he was seething human crucible of vicious resentment and bile. He hated his fellow actors, especially the ones who were more talented than him, which was most of them. Including the chimp.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. “You don’t think he set fire to poor Peggy, do you?”

“No. Although he wasn’t exactly crying too much about her death. It was pretty much ‘rest in piss, you scene-stealing monkey.’”

“How rude. She was an ape.”

“I know. And she was a scene-stealer, to be fair. Chimpanzees are naturally funny, whereas Reagan had all the comedy chops of a bucket of rendered animal fat. And it wasn’t just Peggy he had it in for. When he wasn’t being upstaged by a chimp he was busy denouncing his fellow creatives as Godless commies. He was a bastard, and a nuisance. All he needed to become a full-fledged monster was a little push. So I…pushed. How was I supposed to know it was going to end in trickle-down, AIDS deaths, and ketchup being reclassified as a vegetable? I just thought it would be amusing to spend some time as a chimpanzee.”

Aziraphale frowned, still no clearer than before. “Crowley, what are you telling me?” she said. “Am I to understand that you were the star of Bedtime for Bonzo?”

“No. Of course not. This was after Peggy died. Perfect, really – well, for me, not for Peggy. But it gave me an opportunity to play the role of a spectral chimpanzee. What better way than to taunt him by turning up as one of his funniest co-stars? It was only a part time gig anyway. I’d chimp up and then appear at his breakfast nook in the morning, or turn up driving his limo, with the hat and everything. Hats were a big part of it, actually. If you’re going to be a chimp you might as well wear a hat, because it’s funny. And I was hilarious. I had a fez at one point, and one with a propeller on the top, even though they’re kind of hack as far as comedy headwear goes. The viking helmet in the downstairs toilet properly freaked him out, though. Quite proud of that one.”

Fascinated, Aziraphale topped up their glasses. “All these years,” she said. “And I had no idea you’d spent part of the twentieth century as a chimpanzee. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Of course I can,” said Crowley. “I’m like if a medieval bestiary could own shoes. I spent most of the seventeenth century as a series of witch’s familiars.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. And not just snakes, either. I’ve got range.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “I’ve been black cats, hell hounds, bats, violent ferrets, suspicious toads – you name it. Regular menagerie, me. One time I was even a bewitched chicken in Norwich.” She winced at the memory. “That was an experience. Probably why I’m still quite elastic in the pelvic floor area, actually.”

#ineffable wives #good omens fanfic #fanfic #ronald reagan

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