#I’m really proud of how Bentley turned up here

[rumble-bee-art]

A 6000+ years old demon thinks he can mend his broken heart by driving to the stars. Fool

[arrowflier]

Nothing is Forever–A Good Omens Fic

Chapter 2 Summary: Crowley was prepared to live a life alone, but he's found out he doesn't have to.

Read Chapter 2 below or the entire fic on AO3 here

It’s bright when Crowley wakes.  The sun is shining even through the heavy curtains, turning their otherwise subtle pattern into a sheet of yellow that blankets the room.  It vies against the black of the bedsheets, washing them gray with unfiltered light, and Crowley groans as he rolls over and shoves his head under a pillow.

“Too much,” he whines, and the room returns to semi-darkness as sunbeams decide to move on.

He stays put, face smushed into high thread-count sheets, until a bird starts to warble right up against his window.  He sighs, hot air trapped against his face by the mattress, then rolls over.

“Was only two days this time, angel” he rasps, words directed to the stars painted on the ceiling.  “Was going for four.”

His only answer comes in birdsong as two more land on the sill, chirping harmonies.  Elsewhere in the house, a radio crackles to life and begins to play Gene Kelly.

Good morning, good mooorning.

“No,” Crowley growls, sitting up, and the music cuts out.  But before he can lay back down, the radio switches over to a weather report.

“Sunshine and daisies today, isn’t it Cathy?” it chimes.  “Better get out and about while you can, this kind of lovely weather can’t last!”

“It’s lasted fine so far,” Crowley counters as he gives up and swings his legs out of bed.  “Two years is a pretty good run.”

Well, he assumes it’s lasted that long.  He’d slept for the first six months or so, once he got the house settled.  He’d been trying for longer then, too, but had given up the third time his neighbors came round to check on him.

Neighbors, he thinks as he shuffles out of the bedroom.  That’s still an odd thought.  He’s had neighbors before, of course, but these aren’t like the kind of neighbors he’d had in London.  These ones care.

It makes him itch, but he’s decided he doesn’t mind.

“Some big changes coming up, that’s for certain,” the radio drones on.  “Storms coming at us from the West, I hear, and—”

Crowley shuts it off as he enters the kitchen.

“Always something coming from the West,” he tells the room.  “Never got the obsession, myself.”  He takes a black mug from the rack, grabs the tin that holds his best coffee grounds.  “Would’ve gone with you I guess, angel,” he muses as he opens it.  “But not much point otherwise.”

The tin is empty.  He glares at it, but it remains stubbornly lacking.

“No sleep and no coffee,” he says pointedly, shutting the tin with a snap and setting it on the counter.  “That’s a crime, angel.  Only started drinking it for you, you know, with all your complaints about my naps.”

He waits a moment, fingers drumming on the edge of the sink, then reaches for the tin again.

It’s still empty.  He frowns.

One hand rises, fingers poised to snap, when a breeze comes through the window over the sink.  It ruffles through the stack of last week’s mail on the counter, freeing a single sheet of glossy paper from the rest.  The advert floats toward Crowley, hitting his upraised hand, and he catches it before it can fall.

Grand Reopening of The Nightingale! It declares in proud bold font.  Now serving brunch from our new cafe!

“Huh,” he mutters, then checks the date on the flyer.

Today.  How…serendipitous.

“Alright,” he says, and tosses the flyer away.  “But only because I’m desperate.”

—

There’s really no need to take the Bentley for such a short jaunt into town, but Crowley does it anyway.  It’s all the exercise it gets these days, unless he decides to drive out to nowhere.  

He still does that with some frequency, of course—drive out to the true countryside, take in all the things they almost lost.  Have a good think under the stars, alone, before turning around and heading back toward company.

There’s plenty of that in town, to be sure.  He drives past the neighborhood youth, hanging out on corners and playing ball in the street.  Past the new houses that sprang up last year along the square, and the retired couples that sit out front.  It’s early yet, and summer besides, but the sidewalks are already occupied by the usual crowd: Linda on her way to market, Raoul with his son in a stroller.  Old Tom sweeping in front of the grocer’s, his wife Mary propping open the door.

It’s nothing like London, of course.  There’s no rush, no bustle.  There’s plenty of space for all of them on the sidewalk, and they could pass by without even brushing.

They could, but they don’t.  They gravitate toward each other, stop to talk.  Wave at Crowley when he parks the Bentley at the curb and joins them.

“Have you heard about Jerry’s fall?” Tom asks.

Pfft, of course he has.  It was all Nora could talk about last week when he ran into her at the park, that and how quick the man was healing.

“You know, I think Walter is up to something.  All those deliveries lately, so odd!” Linda confides.

Well, Crowley doesn’t think it’s all that odd.  He’d given the man the details of a discreet little shop back in London, after all.

“And when will you come by a single’s night?” Mary questions.  “Plenty of lovely ladies turning up these days.”

“And I won’t be one of them,” Crowley quips, and escapes through the door of the Nightingale.

It’s quieter inside.  Well, a bit.  It’s just as sunshiny and quaint as the first time he’d ever walked through the doors, but there’s a TV on the wall now that hums low and constant in the background.  The old bar remains but the tables are new, the high-backed chairs reupholstered in a soft, pale grey.  And then there’s the single, most obvious change: the missing wall that used to separate the bar from the little cafe next door.

“Love what you’ve done with the place, Mel,” he tells the woman behind the bar, who looks up and grins.

“Do you really?” she asks.  “Only I was worried it was too much.”

In the old cafe space, golden chairs and crisp white linens have been replaced by natural blond wood that matches the worn spots on the bartop.  The tiles covering the floor are pale where they butt up against the darker stain of the bar’s hardwood, the seam between the two uneven.

“Nah,” Crowley says. “Could do more, I think.  Make it all…” He trails off, motions his hands toward the encroaching tiles.  “All matchy.”

Mel hums, then shakes her head.

“I don’t think so,” she says.  “They’re still different, after all.  Just…comfortable together, I think.”  She smiles, eyes distant, and looks like she might say something else.  Then the TV behind her blares the jingle for the auto shop down the road, and she starts.

“And are you comfortable?” Mel asks, eyes flitting back to Crowley.  “Or would you like to sit down?  You might want to grab a table while you can.”

“Expecting a big turnout?”  Crowley eyes the empty room, and frowns.  “Thought it would be a bit more crowded, big opening and all.”

“Oh, I just opened the doors,” she says, then laughs.  “Actually, I don’t even remember opening them.  Funny that, must have done it right before you came in.  They’ll come though, just you wait.”

“I’m sure they will,” he murmurs, and then he is.

“I’ve got new menus too, you know,” Mel tells him, and leans down to grab one from under the bar.  She holds it out, stylistically aged parchment in a plastic sleeve.  “Would you like to take a look?”

“Just coffee for me,” Crowley says, “ran out at home.”

“Well that’s a rarity, isn’t it?”  She slips out from behind the counter, heads over to the fancy new machine that sits straddling the line between bar and cafe.  “Sure you didn’t just fancy a little socializing?”

“With those harpies?” Crowley scoffs.

The coffee machine buzzes as she presses a button, whirs as it begins to dispense.

“Oh, they’re not that bad,” she says over the sound.  “You don’t have to pretend to hate them, you know.”

“Who says I’m pretending?”

“I say.” She gives him a knowing look.  “I know you’re the one that helped Mary and Tom keep their license, Mr. Crowley.  And found Raoul that nanny, and talked Lucy into--”

“It’s just Crowley,” he interrupts, but doesn’t bother to deny her allegation.  “And I think I’ll take that coffee to go.”

Mel shakes her head, but grabs a lid for his coffee.  

“Always on the go, you are.  One of these days, you’ll have to sit for a spell.”

“When the world ends, maybe.”  He reaches out for his coffee, frowns when Mel doesn’t hand it over.

“Didn’t you know?” she asks with a smirk, and returns to the bar instead to raise the volume of the television.  The drone of news anchors fills the room as she adds, “apparently we just missed our chance at the rapture.”

“—and it’s a shame, Mark, it really is.”

“Such a shame, Peter.  He had a huge following, this man, and not just in the States.  All of them left in the lurch with these new allegations.”

“Not such a rarity though, I suppose.  Anyone who calls themselves the second coming has something going on with their head.”

“More a surprise that his supporters still believe, really.  There’s a crowd outside the US capitol as we speak, protesting the persecution of their religious leader--”

“Americans,” Mel says, shaking her head as she turns it back down.  “Always coming up with something to be mad about.”

“What did he do?” Crowley asks.

“Didn’t pay his taxes.”

“That’s all?”

“He was poor.”

“Ah,” Crowley says as she finally hands over his coffee.  “That’ll do it.”

—

His coffee is probably too hot to drink, but that’s never stopped Crowley before.

“Good stuff, that,” he mutters as he swallows, then licks a drop off his hand where it spilled over the rim.  A small crowd of people passes him, all meandering toward the Nightingale as he leaves, and he nods in satisfaction.

“Got a good head on her shoulders, that girl, doesn’t she angel?” he says into his cup.  “Always said she should take over that ridiculous cafe, you heard me say it.”

A cheer goes up from the square across the street, where a children’s football match has just started.

“Yeah, me too,” Crowley answers it.  “Glad she finally got her finances sorted; that must have taken some miracle.”

“Who are you talking to, Mr. Crowley?” Frank asks from up ahead, unlocking the door to the post office as Crowley approaches.

“Whoever’s listening,” Crowley answers, and crushes his now empty cup in his hand.  “Got anything new for me?”

“I do in fact.  A few things, came in just yesterday.”

Crowley follows him inside, waits as the man makes his way behind the service counter.  Frank bends down, shuffling around out of sight, and Crowley lets his eyes wander.  His gaze skates over racks of stamps and postcards, a wall of envelopes, and settles on a haphazard display of gossip rags.

States’ Savior Served reads the topmost cover, letters splashed over a grainy picture of a long-haired man being pushed into the back of a police car.  Underneath the headline, in finer print: Exclusive interview with the man behind the messiah!  Pg 3  and The REAL story behind last week’s attack on the American IRS. Pg 21.

“I know I set them aside for you,” Frank mutters, and Crowley’s eyes snap back to where he’s hidden behind the counter.  “I just can’t seem to—ah, there they are!”

Frank grunts as he stands, and plops a small stack of mail on the counter with a soft thud.  Two letters—one thin, one bulging—and a package cleanly wrapped in crisp white paper.

“You’re a popular one these days, aren’t you?” Frank comments as Crowley reaches out to accept the pile.  “Friends all around, even across the pond.”

Crowley hums, tucking his mail under his arm. 

“So it seems,” he agrees, a wry smile tugging at his lips.  “Bit of a miracle, that.”

The door chimes behind him, someone else entering, and Crowley takes a step back.

“Hear they could use a few miracles over that way,” Frank continues, ignoring his retreat, but the rest of his statement is cut off by a cleared throat.

“Could use some miracles here too, actually,” the new arrival says.

Crowley turns, and is greeted by the sight of a young man wringing dirt-stained hands.  Daniel, from the plant nursery down the road.  Young, blond, a bit useless, and always in need of Crowley’s help.

“Glad I ran into you Mr. Crowley,” he says, proving the point.  “Do you think you could come by the shop today?  Only I’ve got a stubborn ficus in that just won’t behave itself.”

“Just Crowley,” Crowley corrects with a sigh, eyes rolling upward.  “I was planning to rest today,” he complains to the ceiling, “but sure, I could do with a good yell.”

—

The ficus really is stubborn.  To be fair, it’s only living up to its name.  You buy a fiddle-leaf fig, you can expect it to be a little…fiddly.

“You’ve got it too dry in here,” Crowley remarks absently, rubbing a leaf between two fingers.  The plant had straightened up a bit after he chided it, but its branches still droop.  “Jungle plants don’t like it.”

“I have tried a humidifier,” Daniel says, “only the philodendrons didn’t like that, and those are my best sellers.”

Crowley glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Have you never heard of a mister?” he asks.  “What kind of plant seller are you?”

Daniel looks shocked, then cowed.

“Oh, I.”  He rubs a hand over the back of his head.  “I suppose that’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”

Crowley doesn’t answer.

“Only I’ve been a bit distracted lately, see,” Daniel goes on.  “By all that business going on overseas.  My sister, she knows a fellow, convinced her to--”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley interrupts, straightening from his examination of the plant.  “Anything else need some help while I’m here?”

Plenty of things do, apparently.  He makes the rounds in Daniel’s little shop while the man prattles about his woes, only half listening while he straightens stems and encourages flowers to bloom.  It’s amazing that the place is still open, as much help as Crowley has to give.

“It’s a good thing I have this place,” Daniel muses, echoing Crowley’s thoughts.  “Without the money I bring in here, I don’t know what we’d do.  Swindled out of all her savings, and for what?  Never getting it back now that fellow is in jail.”

Crowley hums absentmindedly, reaching for a pair of shears.  He snaps them in front of a misbehaving fern, and it’s fronds brighten dramatically.

“I heard even his advisor is distancing himself,” Daniel drones on.  “Retiring, closing his practice.  Leaving the country, most like.  Can’t blame him, his career is probably dead anyway.”

“Your career will be dead soon if you don’t start paying attention,” Crowley admonishes, lifting a small pot that overflows with green leaves.  “Think it’s time to repot this, don’t you think?”

“Oops.”  Daniel chuckles.  “Forget my own head next.  I’ve got another in the back, let me just…”

He wanders away, leaving Crowley alone in the shop.  The demon shakes his head, setting the poor plant back down.

“He’ll have to deal with his own mess some day,” Crowley mutters.  “I can’t always be to the rescue, angel, I’ve got my own things to do.  Like digging into those lovely rum scones you tricked me into trying that time in—”

“Did you order a takeaway Mr. Crowley?” Daniel calls from the back.  “Only I know I didn’t, and this just showed up at the back door.”

The man pokes his head around from the back room, follows it with an arm bearing a paper bag emblazoned with the local bakery’s logo.

“Angel,” Crowley groans lowly, covering his face with a hand.  He sees Daniel’s confused look through his fingers.  

“Angel hair pasta,” he blurts in correction, and takes the bag.  “My favorite. Order it every Wednesday.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Dave says, forehead wrinkling.  He peers into the bag over Crowley’s shoulder as he opens it.  The clear plastic container inside is very much not full of pasta.

“And they got my order wrong too,” Crowley says, snapping the bag shut.  The top crinkles in his tight grasp.  “Guess I’ll have to go sort that out then.”

He stumbles slightly on the way to the door, Daniel following.  Leaves flutter in his wake as he flings it open.

“The bakery is the other way Mr. Crowley!” Daniel calls after him as he strides away from the shop.  “But I don’t think they sell pasta!”

—

Half the afternoon is gone by the time he gets back home.  It’s chilly at the edge of the water, a soft breeze blowing off the waves and sending sand over his feet as he walks the last stretch of beach to the cottage.  He kicks the sand off his shoes at the door, kicks his shoes themselves off just inside, and pads into the living room with the mail under one arm and a box of rum raisin scones in the other.

“Honestly angel,” he murmurs as he sets both down on the simple wooden coffee table.  “I can take care of myself, you know.”

He flips open the pastry box anyway, picks off a raisin and eats it.

“And I don’t mind being a bit lonely.  You don’t have to keep sending people to me.”

He takes the first letter off the pile, smiles at the return address.

“Can make friends all on my own,” he adds as he rips the envelope open to reveal a pink, flowery card.  “When I want to.”

My dear Mr. Crowley, the card reads in a fine cursive script.  Mr. Shadwell and I do wish you would come pay us a visit!  He won’t say so, but he’s ever so thankful for the gift you sent last month.  And I am as well, since we’ve gotten quite adventurous with it!

Crowley grimaces at the implication, but reads on.

He would also like to send his regards on behalf of witchfinders Table and Cork, who continue to keep a close eye on the bookshop for you.  There’s been no sign of our mutual friend, but Shadwell tells me the new owner is just the sweetest woman!  Not in those words, you understand, but I know how to speak his language.

We’ll be out your way come summer next, whether you like it or not you wily thing.  Look forward to seeing what you’ve done to the place, it was such a wreck when last we saw it.

Yours, Tracy

Shaking his head, he props the little card up next to his growing collection.  It nestles in between a picture of Adam and Dog, Pepper’s messy scrawl across it, and an ornate wedding invitation from Anathema and Newt.

When Tracy and Shadwell had first shown up in town, on a vacation that sounded suspiciously spontaneous, he hadn’t been doing terribly well.  He’d only just decided to stay, make the best of things, and there hadn’t been much to make the best of.  A lot has changed since then, and a lot hasn’t.  But he supposes he’ll make up the spare room come summer.

The second letter is much thicker, and much less ornate.  Several sheets of paper that look to be torn from a child’s notebook, covered in chicken scratch that even Crowley struggles to decipher.

Nanny, it starts, and Crowley set it aside to relish later.

That left just the package.  Sitting there in its bright white paper, untarnished by the trip from post to shop to home.  No creases showed in the wrapping, no seams, and no address.  Only his name inked in careful curls along the top.

It opened cleanly when he slid a sharp black nail along the side, nearly unwrapping itself.  Inside lay a book, hard-backed and thin.

Persuasion

He snorts, and flips the book around.  There’s nothing written on it but the name and author, which he knows well enough.  No description, no excerpt.

Seems promising enough, though, being Jane Austen and all.  Bound to be a solid thriller.  And he’s done quite enough today already, so he might as well settle in for a read.

That’s something he’s been doing more of lately, reading.  And not only because of the nosy little angel occupying the bookshop, who sends him at least one new book a week as she discovers them.

She’s been alright at it so far, too.  A few have missed the mark, but most are worth an afternoon or two.  Not an escape to the stars, perhaps, but an escape all the same.

He miracles up a glass of wine and a plate for the scones, then settles into his overly plush armchair, flings a leg over the armrest, and opens the book.  

A short time later, he scowls as he turns the next page.

“Blasted angel,” he mutters as he reads   “No, not you,” he clarifies to the empty room.  “Your little protege.  Don’t know why she’d send me this drivel.  Lost loves, second chances?”  He scoffs.  “I’m telling you, angel—yes you this time, of course I’m talking to you—it’s completely unrealistic that this Wentworth fellow would ever forgive—”

There’s a knock on the door.  Crowley stops talking.  The knock comes again, more insistent, and he frowns as he sets wine and book on the table to stand.

The knocking continues as he strides the short distance to the door, urgent and loud.  It stops when he turns the handle, the old metal creaking in his hand.

He opens the door a crack.  Light filters in from outside, far to bright for this time of the evening, but he doesn’t reach for his glasses.  He lets the light in.

“Crowley.”  It sounds like a blessing in the angel’s mouth.  That soft mouth with its softer words, still gentle despite the tired lines that curve around it.  Those lines soften, too, as lips tremble their way into a smile.

“It’s good to see you,” Aziraphale starts, then coughs.  A sound far too harsh for his corporation, for his spirit.  

“I know that I…well.”  Aziraphale stops again.  Wrings his hands.  They’re more calloused than they used to be.  “That you probably aren’t very happy with me.  But I heard you, you know, though you may not have wanted me to.  Every time that you—“

“I know,” Crowley interrupts.

“Oh, jolly good,” Aziraphale murmurs.  Trembling hands tug at his bowtie as he clears his throat again.

“And when I did,” he continues.  “Hear you, I mean.  I always did try to help.”

“I know,” Crowley repeats.  “Got a little bit obvious after a while.”

Aziraphale smiles.  It’s too small for his face, too tentative, too tremulous.

“Well,” he says after a moment.  “I wasn’t really trying to be subtle.  In fact, I…”

He pauses again.  Crowley waits.

“I wanted you to know.”  A breath.  “That you weren’t alone.”  Another, quicker.  Nearly hyperventilating.  “That I wasn’t gone forever, in case that was something you still—”

“I forgive you,” Crowley interrupts, and opens the door wider.

[madame-wilsonn]

At Last

MASTERLIST

Summary: “At last, my love has come along

My lonely days are over

And life is like a song”

A/N: this is in honor of @zablife’s wonderful celebration! Congratulations again, darling! I hope you enjoy this! Also huge thank you to my silly little friend @sunrisepoets for helping me out with this!!! This fic is set in the modern!au (i wrote two other stories in this au which you can find here & here)

I apologize for any mistakes or typos, I’m literally writing this on my phone! I really hope you enjoy this nonetheless 💗

Warnings: Tommy being hopelessly in love with his wife; a lot of books; death of an ice cream

Word count: ≈ 1,800 words

The sun was almost setting when Tommy parked his Bentley in the driveway. It had been an awfully long week, having to fix issues after issues. But he was home.

At last.

Tommy entered the mansion’s hall, slightly disappointed to see Frances grab his suitcase instead of you. She greeted him politely and, sensing the question bubbling in her boss’ chest, added “Mrs. Shelby is in the garden, taking care of the roses.”

After dismissing the maid, Tommy ran outside to find you. He had not seen you all week, leaving early for London on Tuesday. To say he was excited to be back was an understatement. Your absence turned your apartment dull and Tommy’s few hours there cold and lonely. Even trying to busy himself with studying documents didn’t work. To the point where he found himself calling you late at night, talking to you until you fell asleep. But the horrendous week was finally over.

A smile made its way on your husband’s face as soon as you appeared in front of him. You knelt on a small cushion, watering beds of colorful flowers. You hadn’t noticed him yet, the music playing in your ears loud enough even he could hear it. Tommy leaned in and grabbed your shoulders with a mischievous grin.

You jumped, a terrified yelp leaving your lips. Your husband, very proud of his little joke, chuckled at your wide opened eyes, your hand on your chest. He pulled you in, embracing you.

“I hate you, Tommy,” you mumbled against him. “I should get a divorce just for that.”

Nonetheless, you wrapped your arms around him, inhaling his scent.

“I’m so sorry, love but you know I had to,” he was still laughing at your reaction.

“You’re just very lucky I missed you enough to not kick your butt.”

“I missed you, too,” he caressed your hair, kissing your temple. “And I got you something. Close your eyes.”

Tommy reached for the box in his pocket, carefully taking out the piece of jewelry. You couldn’t help the excitement growing in your belly, turning you into a fidgety little mess. You knew your husband was taking his sweet time just to torture you, asking you if your eyes were really closed at least twice. Finally, you felt his fingers grazing your neck, pushing your hair away.

A familiar cold sensation tickled your skin and you were allowed to glance at a gorgeous golden locket. You gently took it in your hand, admiring the delicate engraving.

“Do you like it?” Tommy murmured in your ear. “I passed by that antique store you love and I found this. I thought it would look good on you.”

You turned around, beaming at your darling husband. It was an adorable habit of his: to buy you a gift any time he left for too long. He was aware it didn’t make up for his absence but he enjoyed showing you that, although he was far away, you didn’t leave his thoughts once.

“I love it, thank you,” you kissed his cheek, leaving a stain where your coloured lips had touched him.

“I was thinking, do you have plans tomorrow?” Tommy asked as you tried to erase the red on his skin.

“No, not really. I thought you would want to rest.”

“What about we go to the bookstore and-”

“Yes!” you exclaimed “Yes, let’s go to the bookstore!”

You began rambling about some pretty edition you saw and the newest book of your favorite author coming out. Tommy chuckled at your reaction, bringing you close.

Oh, how he missed you.

Skipping into the bookstore, you inhaled the familiar smell of paper. Tommy almost had to run after you, fearing he might lose you in the large building. Taking you to any kind of place with books was the same thing as taking any of John’s kids in a toy store. There was no other way to describe it. You had a tendency to get a rush of energy, jumping from one section to the other, speaking impossibly fast. All a very lovely scene but slightly hard to follow.

“Oh! There it is!” you almost screamed, grabbing a book with a train on it. You happily showed it to Tommy. He remembered the previous story very clearly. You hadn’t been able to let go of the book and finished it in the middle of the night, staring blankly at the wall for half an hour afterwards. “My goodness, it sounds amazing! But wait…”

Tommy observed you as you turned the book around, opening the last page.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading the last sentence,” you answered very simply.

Your husband shook his head, confused. “But why would you…”

“Shhh!” you placed a finger on his lips, letting out a squeal as you closed the book again.

“What’s going on?” Tommy asked, trying to understand the expression on your face.

“The…Okay, do you remember those books with the Norwegian detective?”

He nodded as you went on, explaining how the detective from the previous series somehow appeared in this new one. He couldn’t grasp why this information was enough to make your hands shake but you seemed very excited to find out more. You handed the book to Tommy before running away to another section.

Another squeal alerted your husband as you pointed towards a gorgeous cover.

“Look! It’s the collection I told you about!” you showed him a new edition of Emma. Even he had to agree it was splendid.

Tommy was pretty sure you already had those books at home but it didn’t matter. Not when this “new collection” turned you into a cheerful, giggly mess.

He took the heavy pile and found a small bench near you. He watched you, the way you seemed so focused to find the one. Every time, you would come back and add a new book to the growing stack. Tommy had one job: check the book off the list you made —which he gladly did.

“Alright, what’s this one…The Bell jar,” he read over the titles, until pinpointing the right one. “Done.”

“Thank you,” you whispered in a sunny tone, warming Tommy’s heart. “...Can I get one more? The last one, I promise!” Your husband nodded even though you had chosen “the last one” about five books ago. You squealed, leaving a light kiss on his cheek and you disappeared again, making him chuckle.

You stayed in the bookstore for about an hour, running back and forth between each section. Every single time, you would swear you were done.

Until you discovered a new little treasure you couldn’t resist.

Tommy pretended he needed to think about it before giving in, just to make the chase a bit funnier. And also because you would kiss him as soon as he said yes—which was an opportunity he couldn’t miss.

“Okay, that’s it! I am done!” Tommy raised an eyebrow at you. “For real this time, I have everything.”

“Well you did take everything. We walked into a bookstore and we’re going to leave empty Ikea shelves!”

You pursed your lips, trying to resist the grin stretching your lips.

“That’s very funny, Mr. Shelby. You should probably consider a career in a circus with that much humor!”

Tommy laughed sarcastically, grabbing the stack of books in his arms. You realized just how much you had actually taken with you when your husband’s face disappeared behind The Great Gatsby and Musso’s new novel.

“You know what? Maybe I did go too far…I should just take some of those and I’ll buy the rest later,” you mumbled, internally cursing your extravagance.

Tommy put the books on a table nearby and took your hand.

“You could have bought the entire bookstore— literally and I would still carry all those books for you, yeah?” he kissed your forehead tenderly. “Now come on, I’m buying us some ice cream. All this book hunting starved me ”

Your eyes gleamed with that precious, childish spark and Tommy knew he was as earnest as ever. He would buy you the entire universe if it meant making you smile as a reward. Any struggle seemed ludicrous next to your radiant, beaming face.

With a delicious cone of cookie dough and brownie ice cream in hand, you strolled through the busy streets. Tommy walked beside you, one arm around your shoulder while the other held his ice cream cone. He was wearing a simple black tee-shirt with some jeans and his signature raybans on his eyes.

It was almost funny how different he looked when he was not working. His cheeks were slightly flushed with the heat, his freckles more obvious because of the sun. Even though you found your husband handsome all the time, you had to admit having a slight preference for “laid back Tommy”.

Completely lost in your thoughts, you missed the small hole in the pavement and tripped. Tommy’s arm tightened on you, saving you in extremis from a terrible fall.

Your ice cream was not as lucky.

A desolated sigh escaped your lips as you realized your fresh, sweet treat was now melting on the concrete.

Before you could think about mourning for your poor ice-cream, Tommy stepped in front of you.

“Here, take mine.”

You considered his proposal for a second but turned it down. It wasn’t his fault you weren’t attentive enough.

But of course, your very stubborn husband insisted. He managed to negotiate one bite each with a very serious “come on, we’re married! For richer, for poorer, remember?”

Which you had countered rather easily: “I don’t think it applies to ice cream, Tom.”

“Of course it does! And you don’t want to hurt my feelings by not tasting this delicious ice cream, do you?”

So you kept walking, sharing the tiny pink spoon. He carefully listened to your extremely passionate speech about your detective’s character development along the books. It made him wonder how many hours you actually spent thinking about this, managing to quote psychology researches and articles.

It was almost marvelous. The contrast between your serious words and you, happily munching on the ice cream cone.

After each bite, you cut a piece and fed it to Tommy. The same way you would do with a small bird you found in the park.

Concluding on your rant, you handed the last of the cone but your husband refused.

“Oh no, it’s fine. Just take it.”

“Thanks,” you grumbled, your mouth half full.

“Was it good at least?”

You nodded frantically. “It was so good! Thank you for sharing your ice cream with me, darling,” you rested your hand against his shoulder, squeezing his waist.

“Anytime,” he hummed, his voice getting lost in your hair.

It was all worth it.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Business Trip Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 出差之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Note: This date features S2 Victor, but contains no main storyline spoilers!

[ This date was released on 13 May 2021 ]

"This flight will be reaching its destination soon. Please fasten your seatbelts...”

Hearing the announcement, I shift my gaze away from the notebook laptop, rubbing my slightly swollen eyes.

The company recently took up an important collaboration, which is why I had to make final amendments to the proposal even in the middle of a business trip.

Drawing up the window at the side, what enters my vision is a patch of deep blue. Above the vast water, the small islands are reminiscent of dark emerald gems.

MC: So beautiful...

It’s as if I’m able to sense the greenery from across the window, and it adds a tinge of anticipation to this trip.

Even though the reason why I’m here is to attend an international meeting spanning three days.

The moment I step out of the airport, I see the apologetic expression on the staff’s face.

Staff: Hello, are you Miss MC?

MC: It’s me. Did something happen?

Staff: I’m incredibly sorry. Because of our negligence, the car that was supposed to pick you up is scheduled to arrive only in the afternoon. However, another guest has agreed to share a car with you to the venue.

MC: That’s fine, as long as the other party doesn’t mind.

-

When we reach the carpark, my brows arch at the sight of a long Bentley. I can’t help but criticise silently that the host would use a car with such high specifications.

The staff steps aside to pull the door open. I bend and enter the car, prepared to thank this important guest whom I have disturbed.

MC: Hello, thank you...

Lifting my eyes, I meet an indifferent face.

MC: ...Victor?!

In the spacious car, Victor is wearing a black suit as he typically does, a thin picture album in his hands. 

Since Victor, who should be at another end of the earth, has appeared before my eyes, I’m unable to react immediately.

MC: ...what are you doing here?!

Victor: Why can’t I be here? LFG receives an invitation from the host each year. This year is no exception. 

He glances at the time on the television screen installed in the car. He taps his knuckles against the picture album, his tone calm.

Victor: Also, who else would be willing to wait fifteen minutes for you.

I clear my throat hastily, displaying a brilliant smile.

MC: I have to give CEO Victor a proper thanks for waiting patiently then! But I really didn’t expect you to attend the meeting personally. Didn’t you always refuse in previous years?

Victor looks at me with slight surprise.

Victor: You remember these things really clearly. I happen to have time this year, and...

He pauses, his gaze landing on me.

Victor: I wanted to see if a certain acclaimed producer is just as skilful and at ease when faced with an international collaborative partner.

Hearing the mildly teasing tone in Victor’s words, I can't help but crinkle my eyes into a smile.

MC: In that case, I definitely won’t disappoint CEO Victor. This meeting is really important to our company. I’m bringing out one hundred percent of my fighting spirit, which I haven’t done in a very long time.

While speaking, I scoot backwards into the soft chair. With Victor at my side, the tension that I’ve been experiencing is finally alleviated slightly.

MC: Fortunately, the host arranged for the venue to be at a resort. We can have a good rest too. I heard the scenery on that small island is pretty good. And there are lots of kittens...

Victor: I’m guessing the reason why you came here to attend the meeting was for the resort.

Hearing this, I stare at the picture album in his hands. The page which has been flipped open happens to be the view I saw from the plane. It’s clearly a brochure for this place.

MC: CEO Victor, aren’t you looking at a brochure?

Victor: It was to while the time away while waiting for someone.

Even though I’ve exposed Victor, his expression remains unchanged. He closes the brochure composedly, which has a few images of cat paws on it.

Victor: Do you want to look at it?

MC: No need. Actually, the main reason why I came here isn’t for the resort.

Victor: Then what is it?

The expression in my eyes changes, revealing a smile.

MC: My reason is very obvious. It’s to expand our company’s influence internationally, and obtain a few more million dollars’ worth of LFG’s investments.

Victor doesn’t refute my words. Instead, he folds his arms in front of his chest and leans against the wall of the car, meeting my eyes calmly.

Victor: What do you plan to do?

MC: Before coming here, I noted down the organisers and brands, then wrote proposals based on their preferences and styles. But from the looks of it, there seems to be a faster method.

I smile while facing Victor, speaking unhurriedly.

MC: For instance... getting close to an extremely important guest at the meeting.

Victor arches his brows, the upward curl at the corners of his lips softening his well-defined features. 

Victor: I’ll look forward to it then.

-

The meeting that spanned the entire afternoon finally comes to a temporary end. After politely turning down an invitation to the dinner banquet, I leave the venue, standing outside and taking in breaths of fresh air.

Victor: Why are you hiding here?

Turning my head, I see Victor who appears to be leaving as well.

MC: I’m heading back to rest and prepare for tomorrow’s main event. What about you? What are you planning to do?

He glances at the insuppressible fatigue on my face, then continues walking.

Victor: Like you, I’m heading back to rest.

He doesn’t walk quickly, as though waiting for me to chase after him. Curling the corners of my lips, I speed up my footsteps and follow him.

In this resort surrounded by water, exquisite glass houses sit among the elegant scenery, reminiscent of illustrations from a fairytale.

Two small wooden signboards with cats drawn on them attract my attention, and I continuously turn my head around to peer at them.

Victor: What are you looking at that has left you unable to walk properly?

MC: There’s a story written on these wooden signboards, and I find it interesting.

It’s a simple yet heartwarming short story: a mysterious kitten knocks on the door of guests, giving them a secret, warm gift.

MC: Do you think a kitten will knock on my window tonight?

I turn to Victor, saying this jokingly. However, he’s the same as always, shattering my imagination with his words.

Victor: It’s just an advertising tactic by the resort.

Kitten: Meow~ 

Before he finishes speaking, a soft sound drifts from the thick clump of grass at the side. My eyes brighten instantly.

MC: See? The Cat Resort lives up to its name.

Very soon, a calico cat leaps out from the thick grass, its black eyes seeming to scrutinise the both of us.

I squat down, wanting to reach out to play with it. However, it’s incredibly proud and aloof.

MC: ...what a cold cat.

The “cold” calico cat avoids my outstretched hand and goes to Victor’s feet, circling him in a clingy manner.

MC: Why is it only warm towards you?

Victor: Your earlier enthusiasm probably gave it a scare.

Kitten: Meow~ Meow meow~

The kitten lifts its tiny head, raising a paw and “condescendingly” leaves two paw prints on Victor’s trousers before leaving in a leisurely manner.

Victor: ...

Watching it jump back into the grass, I retract my gaze, continuing forward with Victor.

MC: I didn't expect you to have an affinity with animals. Whenever I want to get close to the stray cats below the company building, I have to “give offerings” of cat food first.

The gentle evening breeze brushes past. In this leisurely atmosphere, Victor’s tone is casual and relaxed.

Victor: Maybe the cat food you bought doesn’t taste good.

MC: I buy high quality cat food, okay?

Engaging in idle chatter while walking, we soon reach the houses that have been prepared for us.

Detached glass houses scattered in a disorderly fashion appear before our eyes. What surprises me is that the small house Victor is staying in happens to face mine.

The two windows aren’t that far apart, and they face each other, conjuring a carefree atmosphere. 

MC: I didn’t expect our residences to be so close by. This way, we could start chatting just by opening the windows.

Victor: ...I won’t do such a silly thing with you.

MC: I was just kidding. See you tomorrow! Rest early, CEO Victor.

Waving at him happily, I turn around and push open the door to the small glass house.

-

Everything in the small house is as exquisite as the exterior. Through the transparent ceiling, I can see the glow of sunset.

Now that I’ve returned to the residence, the exhaustion from the journey immediately spreads through my four limbs. With a “plonk”, I fall onto the soft bed.

It is only after releasing a huge breath that I think about shutting the curtains. When I walk over to the small balcony, I see the person standing opposite.

Victor is holding a cup of coffee at the window, and is currently meeting my gaze.

He has removed his outer jacket and has his sleeves rolled up, making his entire person seem much more relaxed. I can detect a smile from the expression in his eyes.

Recalling how I looked sprawled on the bed earlier, my face instantly heats up.

MC: [whispering] That’s so embarrassing...

Pretending to be calm, I shoot Victor a smile, then tug on the thick curtains firmly.

The room instantly descends into dimness, and also covers the slight tinge of red on my face.

Buzz buzz - at this moment, my phone vibrates.

Victor: There’s a meeting tomorrow. Sleep early, and don’t get overly excited.

-

Upon waking up, the room is so dark that there doesn’t seem to be any light coming in. Drawing the curtains, I realise that the sky’s almost dark.

Warm yellow lights from the opposite house enter my vision, reminiscent of tender candlelight in twilight.

At some point of time, it had started raining outside.

And behind that curtain of rain, there’s an indistinct figure.

Victor seems to be reading documents while sitting by the window.

MC: He’s still busy with work at this time?

After thinking about it, I put on a coat and sneak out of the door.

-

MC: Thanks for your help.

Carrying the congee I purchased as a take-out, I walk down the glass-roofed corridors. Falling rain patters outside the corridor, embellishing the night with even more coldness.

Kitten: Meow~

At this moment, a calico kitten suddenly appears at the side, and it’s clearly the same cat Victor and I met before.

With the same happy and contented gait, it comes up to me, then lifts its head to stare at me.

After being confused for a few seconds, I lift the congee in my hand, and the kitten’s line of sight slowly shifts upwards too.

MC: Turns out you’re just a little greedy cat despite your aloof appearance. But I can’t let you eat this. I still need to feed a “big cat”.

Despite me leaving mercilessly, the calico cat follows behind me all the way.

MC: Fine, you can visit Victor with me then.

It lets out an excited “meow”, though I’m unsure if it understood what I said.

MC: I’ll take that as an agreement.

When I walk to the small glass house, Victor’s room is still lit. I pick up the cat and lean towards the window, tapping on the window with a thud.

The figure sitting in front of the window pauses. The curtains which weren’t closed completely are pulled open.

Victor’s face appears in the window clearly. When he sees me and the cat in my arms, he’s slightly stunned for a moment, obvious surprise flashing across his face.

Warm light illuminates the room with a soft and comforting glow. Even Victor, who is sitting amidst the warm colour, seems to become much gentler.

Lifting the kitten’s paw, I wave it a few times in greeting.

MC: Hello Mr Victor. We’re here to give you a present.

He chuckles in resignation, the word “dummy” leaving his lips silently.

Victor sets the documents down neatly, then gets up to open the window. While supporting the window frame with a hand, he looks down at me with a scrutinising gaze.

Victor: What are you doing outside this late instead of sleeping?

MC: I should be the one asking you that. Why are you still working this late!

Hearing this, he lifts his hand and rubs the space between his eyebrows, but the veins in his eyes can still be seen faintly.

Victor: There’s an issue related to an acquisition by LFG. Goldman called and asked for my opinion.

MC: Is the issue serious? 

Victor: It’s manageable.

He sets down his hand and brings it to me. I stare at this unfurled hand, blinking in confusion.

Victor: Didn’t you say you brought something for me?

Only now do I remember my official business, and I hide the thermal bag with the congee within it in my arms.

MC: Victor, are you going to take my congee and then ask me to leave?

Victor: ...when did I say that. It’s just that a certain someone has a “tough battle” to fight tomorrow, and has to maintain her vigour.

MC: I’m fine. I just took a nap and feel so much better.

While we’re talking, the kitten in my arms suddenly meows impatiently. Then, it leaps out of my arms. 

It jumps into Victor’s room deftly, then stands on his desk, licking its paw calmly.

MC: ...it really likes you. It doesn’t even want my congee now.

I grumble, and Victor suddenly chuckles softly.

Victor: Didn't you buy the congee for me? I don’t intend to share it.

Hearing this, I recall the serious matter I came to attend to by making this trip.

I scan my surroundings. It’s still raining, and there’s quite a distance to the door. And this window happens to be sufficiently low.

After giving it some thought, I roll my wrists, then speak.

MC: Victor... move a little to the side.

Victor: What are you planning to do now?

Victor arches his brows in a lack of comprehension. However, he follows what I said and shifts away from the window.

In the next second, I support myself on the window frame, hopping across smoothly.

When Victor sees the faint footprints on the windowsill, he’s silent for a few seconds.

Victor: ...

Victor: Looks like you truly had sufficient rest. You’re full of energy.

MC: This is a special situation. Scholars in the ancient times would leap over walls to meet beautiful women. Today, I’m leaping over the window to bring you congee.

I retrieve the piping hot congee from the bag, placing it in front of Victor.

MC: For you. Have some supper before continuing work.

Victor lowers his head to look at the congee, the corners of his lips curling upwards indistinctly.

Victor: Is this what you called “catering to my tastes”?

MC: That’s right. So I hope CEO Victor would help me out tomorrow in preventing awkward silences.

Victor: It depends on your performance.

He picks up a spoon, stirring the slightly solidified surface of the congee slowly. The fragrance of rice makes my stomach grumble uncontrollably.

Smelling the fragrance, the calico cat circles our feet, meowing coquettishly.

MC: It seems hungry. The congee I ordered is pretty bland. Why don’t you share some with it?

Victor: Looks like it isn’t the only hungry one.

Victor gives me a meaningful glance, then splits the congee into three portions. The portion that he blows cool is placed in front of the kitten, and another is pushed in front of me.

Victor: After you’ve finished eating, go to bed.

MC: I didn’t even say that I wanted to eat...

I can’t help but mutter to myself while happily taking a spoon and sending a scoop of congee into my mouth.

Victor: The proportion of water and rice is wrong, it wasn’t cooked long enough, and it doesn’t bring out the taste of congee.

Hearing VIctor’s comments, I pause in my movements, then release a soft ‘hmph’.

MC: I wasn’t the one who cooked it, so your words don’t hurt me.

Ten minutes later, three completely clean bowls convey the greatest gratitude towards the chef’s hard work.

The satisfied calico cat has long since found a space on the carpet and rolled into a ball, snoring and sleeping soundly.

Victor: It’s also time for you to return and sleep.

MC: I still don’t feel like going back. I just had a nightmare, so I don’t feel drowsy at all. Why don’t I stay behind and accompany you while you work? I could wait for tomorrow’s sunrise too.

Victor: ...seems like you just want to use my room to watch the sunrise.

Seeing that he remains unmoved, I raise my hands, looking at him with a face filled with sincerity.

MC: I’ll definitely keep quiet throughout, and won’t disturb your work!

Victor doesn't say anything, returning to his documents. He seems to have tacitly allowed me to “run amok”.

I sit on a sofa chair at the side obediently, supporting my chin with a hand while sneaking peeks at him.

Beneath the warm lights, the side of his face seems to become much gentler. However, his slightly furrowed brows reveal a faint sharpness.

Rain patters down outside the window, a stark contrast to the tranquility within the house.

Looking at Victor’s figure, my eyelids grow heavier and heavier...

Victor suddenly senses a weight on his shoulder. He turns his head, only to see that the girl who claimed that she wasn’t drowsy is currently sound asleep, eyes shut tightly.

Victor: MC? 

The girl wrinkles her nose, as though she’s having a beautiful dream, or feeling nostalgic for the delicious food from earlier.

He recalls the story written on the wooden signboards earlier in the evening about the kitten which taps on windows and sends gifts. A soft chuckle rises from his throat.

Along the horizon, a hazy ray of light sneaks in through the window in front of them.

🐈 Phone call: here

🐈 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[thepringlesofblood]

heroforge hoes: pt 1(?)

i keep making guys in heroforge. i don’t know why. is this what ocd is???? i can’t stop????

anyway. i want to share these so that I can stop working on them. so that I can go “there. it is done. it has been put out into the world, and it is complete. stop adjusting tiny little things and do your fucking homework. or eat. or sleep. or shower.”

also, i am weirdly proud of them. but the point of me posting them is so that my brain will consider them “finished” and will stop adjusting every. little. thing.

99% of these are blorbos from my various shows. these are the ones I will be posting (in a series of posts so I don’t waste ALL of today), bc part of this obsession seems to be with getting things “right” - i.e. accurate to the source material. by solidifying one representation of them, and throwing it out into the internet, i’m filing them away under “vetted and approved.”

so please, please, please do not comment “oh you missed this actually :)” no matter how well meaning. keep it to yourself. I guarantee you, I have already thought of it and attempted to do a heroforge representation of it somehow. it’s a good system but it is limited. compliments are fine just. i can’t fix these. fix them yourself if you want but don’t tell me about it.

I’m going to do screenshots as well as links. heroforge is a free service and doesn’t have any ads or anything so it’s not gonna throw a bunch of popups at you. (you can buy heroforge pro but it just unlocks some extra stuff and early access).

For this one I’m going to start with just posting my good omens characters.

one of the first guys i made was Aziraphale, and I’m pretty proud of how he turned out

I was kind of PO’d that I couldn’t put the watch in his jacket but I think it worked out fine. I was originally going to give him a full afro (I’ve always liked the afro = halo look in aziraphale art) but the one they had kind of blocked off part of his face so I went with a shorter one. still a great style, just didn’t really work for me.

One thing I do wish heroforge had is the option to give a character stretchmarks*. I’ve always loved the headcanon of aziraphale with golden stretchmarks. I cobbled together these two options from other kinds of body decals, and I think they’re decent, but still. hf lets you make your characters pretty fat but the proportions can get a little fucky sometimes, especially when you consider that these guys were designed to be 3d printed.

*whenever I complain about heroforge not having something, understand that I am both a. very appreciative of it as a free, kickstarted service with limited staff and time and a variety of options for players of many different cultures, play styles, campaign settings, abilities, gender identities, etc. and b. thinking every goddamned day about the TWENTY-ONE discrete kinds of eyebrow scars you can put on your guy (and they all look the same!!!)

anyway.

here’s crowley!

smallest face tattoo I could find, I think it worked out OK. the shoes actually have the “reptile: black” skin texture lol but hf doesn’t really render individual scales for reptiles most of the time so it just looks black :/ he gets a molotov cocktail bc there’s no tire iron or car/bentley situation and i think he deserves it. as a treat. for the wine bottle on the ground you have the option to both put a label on it AND put a symbol on it, which is great, and there’s a LOT of symbols to choose from, but none that are just “scribbly writing that looks like a wine label” so i chose a rune of draconic power. I also wanted to do some secret scales for him, but again the body decal gods were not in my favor. here’s the two options I came up with.

the “dapples” are p cool and it’s awesome that they have so many options for vitiligo, but also given the sheer volume of “lizard/snake person/dragon/crocodile” options they have it’s real weird that there’s no all-purpose “scales” body decal.

speaking of snakes...here’s an all-snake person crowley. they let you be a “naga” (half-snake half-person, like a mermaid but snake) or a “serpent-folk” (a person-size snake). i didn’t do a naga since I have a person-crowley and a snake-crowley so just like. jam em up in your imagination.

as you can see, surprisingly few scales. the “bands” on the bottom are a body decal called “coral snake” that was the closest I could get to an overall scaly look. they got the belly scutes, the head, the hood (which is optional i just thought it looked nice on him), the tops of the forearms, the hands and some shoulder and back scales. but the real snakey bit - nada. fascinating. i still like him. I would’ve made him all one color and less shiny, but the “coral snake” bands have to stand out somehow, and I figured i’ll make up for the lack of scales in shininess

and the final good omens character I have made...anathema!!!!!

this one was Hard. so we got the Book, we got her bread knife (something left out of the show that I personally love), and I couldn’t really find many weird witchy looking instruments so I went with some bottles. her outfit is really just 50 shades of green and black, but it has all this lace and different kinds of fabrics to keep it interesting. here she’s just. different greens. and blacks. hf can’t do lace (completely understandable can u imagine trying to 3d print that??) and while you can sort of do different textures, it’s just not the same. I think she turned out OK though! glass in the glasses kind of just got in the way of seeing her eyes, so I took it out. I was surprised at how thick the frames are! they’re all like that - very sturdy. also this jacket is called “undercover jacket” hf my guy that is the loudest looking jacket i ever seen in my life.

now you may say ‘fuck finally, that’s the last good omens character i’ll stop reading this post now’ but ohohoho not quite so. you see. i do have several permutations of aziraphale and crowley, so while they’re not new good omens characters they are new takes on the boys.

now. before we go any further you must check out @worse0mens​ and their many wonderful fics on ao3. these versions of aziraphale and crowley are based on their marvelous Lord of the Rings AUs, and were made early into my heroforge phase, when it was mostly just me playing dress-up with this dnd character creator, before the Madness set in and it became an ocd thing. they’re some of my favorites of all time!

I’ll link the fics each of them came from next to each character, but I cannot suggest enough that if you like Good Omens aus or fics of any kind (perchance, omens of another kind?) I would highly recommend checking them out! ^v^

enough dillydallying, here’s Orc Crowley from “The Orc and the Elf” “What Remains of a Heart” and “The Good Orc”!

ladies, gents, and those of us who know better, you cannot make this dog look not derpy. i hate even saying derpy but there’s no other way to describe him. I tried every menu and sub-menu to see if there were any controls for the warg’s expression but alas, no dice. the warg mount just. looks like that. it’s a dope ass character model though can’t complain about that in a 3d printed model you’d never notice it, he just stares like he sees the end of all things and comprehends none of it. though maybe that’s accurate for some dogs. Rover didn’t strike me as a pinnacle of intellect when I was reading the fic (he is of course still a very very good boy!) but I did want to try and making him look more dynamic. c’est la vie!

I really had fun making this guy. one great thing about the heroforge coloration system (which I will always sing the praises of, it’s WILD how customized you can get without it being a burden to do for each character, there’s so many options) is that you can make anything glow if you want. I decided to give crowley little a eyeglow. as a treat. and I’m super glad I did! it makes them so distinct.

so. one of his hands is gripping the mane to hold on and one is just sort of. floatin. this is because for some reason, of the 3 “riding a horse/pony/warg” poses, none of them is “holding on to the very fast thing you’re riding” I guess it’s to make held items easier to distinguish, but it’s weird that it’s not even an option for characters who aren’t holding things. I had to get in the “advanced poses” menu and really finagle to get that one hand on Rover’s mane (that’s why its clipping through), and after those 15 minutes or so were spent I decided you know what, crowley’s a big strong orc, maybe he only needs one hand to hang on after all!

For some reason, I always wind up picturing crowley with freckles, and I am a sucker for magic people having like. glowing or weird freckles that look like stars. idk where this love came from but here it is. the fic describes crowley’s skin as “pebble-gray” so I went with a bright metallic silver for his freckles, and I’m really proud of how it turned out!

also for some reason while there’s a million daggers/shortblades you can have, only like. 5 of them can come in sheaths. the rest just hang loose wherever you decide to put them. hazardous! so crowley’s “twin daggers” wound up being kukri knives, since tbh I thought they looked cool and the basic “sheathed dagger” is like. really really small. which is great for some things but I figured crowley would have something with a little more heft.

the fic describes crowley’s sword as a “scimitar”, and the 2 swords hf has with “scimitar” in the name were just not sparking joy for some reason, so I looked up the sword I thought looked best (the janissary kilij) and it turns out it is a type of scimitar! incurable pickiness justified.

I pretty much just pictured elf aziraphale as normal aziraphale but with elf ears (i am not a huge elf fan, I very much enjoyed the fic dunking on thranduil lol), so I didn’t wind up making him.

I did make the hobbit!aziraphale from worse0mens’ other lotr au, There and Back Again (And Again, And Again...) though!

for some reason, when you click on “halfling” as an option, they don’t give you the hairy feet. idk if this is a dnd change for copyright reasons from the tolkien estate (everyone knows “halfling” = “hobbit” its just a matter of intellectual property and shit) or what, but I was kinda sad, since I was excited to have a woman with obvious body hair (there’s no decals for body hair either, except for upper chest hair). I tried to find various hairy-looking shoes, but no success. I did give her the vitiligo leg/foot decal and colored all of the patches to match her skin tone except for the bottoms of her feet, which I did a slightly darker color, to indicate calluses bc hobbits walk barefoot everywhere bc they’re just Built Different. I tried not to go too overboard with it though since she is a very clean and fastidious lady and generally just hangs out in her house (oh, to be a wealthy single hobbit spending the day reading unbothered by the whims of society...)

hf also doesn’t do patterns on clothes, unless they’re physically molded into the cloth (like anathema’s jacket). so no tartan :/ I imagined aziraphale to have a dark green tartan shirt under her vest for some reason so I chased that bliss, and otherwise generally followed the “brown and cream” theme.

I was going to try and get some braids and beads in her hair (if ya know ya know) but the braided buns all got rid of the loose strands framing her face and the other braids were really really long and kind of clashed with the vibe, so i stuck with the unbraided bun. and there’s no hair beads. which is fair tbh its a very specific thing (then again.....21 eyebrow scars)

for reasons unknown to me, some objects have a myriad of decals to choose from, and some only let you have blood splatter (and more recently, dirt stains or colorful powder stains). like, anathema’s “ornate book”? only blood splatter. but these books on the tops of the stacks here? a bajillion options. I went with a dragon (bc lol smaug-shadowing for the hobbit, which takes place after this fic) and some flowers to make aziraphale’s folk medicine book ;)

I don’t want to just complain abt all the stuff hf doesn’t have bc it’s a good, free service with no annoying ads, so I do want to say that the default coloring for the books and cups looked really nice - I only made a few tweaks, which is a big deal for my very picky eyes. letting you pick a “theme” which automatically colors clothes/gear/everything but the actual person is really useful for when you don’t want to go as deep in the paint as I usually do. you can still color each individual item if you want, but if you don’t want to do that it offers an alternative where it shows you like 10-15 basic color schemes for you to pick from. 

I had to decide b/w the bowtie and the zirak-baraz necklace, and I went with the bowtie, since the necklace options really don’t jive with the look and she wears it under her shirt a lot of the time anyway. also, aziraphale + bowtie = iconic. the normal plain bowtie looked weirdly big on her and kept clipping so I went with another one that was wild west themed or something, but I think it still works.

I did run into hf’s weird ideas about body configuration here. they do let you make your guys decently fat, but it’s really hard to get a ratio that doesn’t look grossly exaggerated, and its partly based on species. the default setting for halflings is like, REALLY skinny, which sucks, and the default for p much all “female” versions of species is large tits and small waists. the waist slider is honestly kind of bullshit in terms of making realistic people. i 100% get that some people like to make cartoon-y looking guys or more caricature-like looks, but since I prefer more realistic-looking characters, I pretty much ALWAYS have to turn the waist slider all the way just for them to look healthy. and then it creates a weird dent where you can turn up the other sliders for weight but the waist is stuck at its maximum so you get these hourglass shapes with sharp corners. it gets covered up a bit when you put clothes on at least, you really can’t see it with aziraphale thankfully. but it does wind up putting a cap on how fat you can make your guys without them looking really unbalanced and cartoonish. I wanted to make her much chubbier but this was sort of as far as i could get with the waist restriction and clipping (and thats a whole other issue) without her look really unbalanced, and *SPOILERS FOR THE FIC* i wasn’t trying to make aziraphale in her pregnancy era here, and idk if it would’ve worked out well. *END SPOILERS*

For dwarf!crowley I wound up making 2 versions, one casual and one in traditional dwarven clothes (and a little grimier) on a pony (if you know you know), mostly bc while i love me some dwarves, i am not a tolkien expert and have only a loose grasp on the aesthetic. some of crowley’s outfits described in the fic are pretty basic, some more complicated, so I decided to do one for each.

here’s casual crowley

I wanted to give them matching teacups so it looks like they’re toasting each other ^v^

also crowley’s tea is way lighter than aziraphales bc i firmly believe this is a ‘coffee as dark as my soul’ ‘so like white chocolate mocha?’ relationship.

the dagger sheaths got me again with this one. crowley’s dagger is specifically described as having a leather sheath, and being as long as aziraphale’s arm. couldn’t get the dwarven runes bc again, the decal gods did not will it. this one is actually called a “disciple of death dagger” - yikes! at least there’s no skulls or anything lol

he’s got the “thin black shirt” from when he’s chopping wood, plus the axe. I couldn’t exactly get a serpent beltbuckle, but I tried to at least get some silver things on him to nod at the whole “crowley silvertongue” thing.

his pants are actually fucking mariachi pants. one thing that does kind of piss me off w hf is that there’s not just. a normal, basic ass pair of pants. or plain leggings. everything has a belt or fringe or pleats or something. the closest you get is scrubs but the drawstring just makes em look like sweatpants. and its not like there’s not basic shit for shirts! there’s a bunch of plain ass t-shirts! but this was sort of the closest I could get without having an extra belt. I will say that you will not lack for belt buckles in heroforge, but they are all the same basic, utilitarian kind for the most part.

both dwarves and halflings by default are really really short. I’m glad the fic specified crowley as 5 ft and aziraphale as 4 ft, which tracks w general tolkien lore n shit, but i had to scale them up a lot from the default setting. huh. another dnd difference?

hf also decided when you click on male dwarf, you still get decent sized tits. I think its the muscle in a compressed space. I am not opposed! i decided he gets to keep them, as a treat. he’s pretty muscular (”lanky for a dwarf” but dwarves are fuckin absolute units) so it checks out and it really works w the 3 button shirt v sexy (can you tell I think dwarves are more attractive than elves?)

the “earring” is my attempt as using the clipping to my advantage to make it look like a hair bead. I think it’s not bad, though you can definitely still tell its on his ear.

one thing that surprised me is the options for wearing braids: single braid (several variations, including queue (think the dai li from atla)). hair down with two braids on top (see above). cornrows (and several combinations of cornrows and afros/natural textured hair). braided bun. “bun held with stick.” “thick braided curls” (held back in an updo).

it surprised me bc #1 good on you hf for having a variety of options for people of color, i wish this wasn’t surprising but still, props #2 you can’t have pigtail braids (2 braids one on either side of your head), and #3 there’s only 1 option for having straight hair down and having braids mixed into it. idk maybe this is a regional thing to where I’m from but people having one or more braids mixed into straight/wavy hair that’s not tied up or in a bun or anything seems p common to me, and at the very least p common in the popular perception of dwarves and their aesthetics. not upset just confused.

I tried to make him a little bit paler due to the dwarf-living-underground thing but i cannot give up my freckle headcanon unfortunately - i just made them very light. maybe he gets them when visiting the shire.

here’s the other one, w the dwarven gear on the pony

it stopped letting me upload screenshots. I have committed way too hard to this. this might be a counterproductive endeavor. we’ll see I guess. here’s the url in case it fucked itself over https://www.heroforge.com/load_config%3D502896335/

the fuckin. even on a pony they don’t give you reins. i am confusion. w a warg i kinda get it theres not much to hold onto but a pony or horse? no excuse. reins let me at em. i did go through the trouble to get both his hands in there bc crowley does have a history of being bad with horses, and idk if this followed him into this au or if its ok bc its a pony, but i figured he should have both hands in there just in case. he’s very determined at the moment.

I really like the “roan” face decal bc it lets you get your guy grimy around the edges of his face, and as we all know grime is VERY important to the lotr experience. hopefully one day when I have a normal relationship with heroforge i can make an aragorn and he can be so so grimy. or perhaps i can just look up someone else’s aragorn heroforge to check on the grime factor.

its. tilted. the pony. its like tilted to one side. i don’t know why this is. it didn’t start out like that. i don’t know how it got like that. was it all the advanced hand posing to get crowley to grab onto the nonexistent reins??? how would that affect the pony tilting??? maybe he’s going around a very fast corner.

ok thats it. fuck. maybe this way a bad idea. either way, i am putting away these designs and saying “these are complete. I do not need to spend any energy on them anymore. they are done.” I’m even gonna mark their names to say they are done.

if you stuck w this all the way through you’re a fuckin lunatic and i love it.

i use tumblr primarily to either spit things into the void and get them out of my head, keep up on memes, and reblog/compliment fanart, so I really don’t care about any criticism, constructive or not**, and am very much asking you to not do that. compliments are fine just like. please don’t insinuate I should continue to work on these, or find problems with them. they are done. they have taken up far too much brainspace, and I need to let them go. this is me sending them off into the world. i mean use them for your dnd or whatever if you want, just talk to @worse0mens​ if its one of their characters obviously.

hope you’re doing well and that this was fun and not depressing. I am growing and healing each day. ^v^

**unless you’re worse0mens bc some of them are your characters and I want to be as respectful as possible towards them

[thatrandomwriter]

Taken Prisoner

Merle Dixon x female reader, set in Woodbury

Warnings : cursing, sexual language, violence

After checking several nearby stores and having one too many close calls with walkers, Glenn and I had finally found what we were looking for - baby formula for Judith. Maggie had offered to come too, but she was far better with the baby so it was just Glenn and I.

“We should get back, don’t wanna keep Judith waiting,” I said, eager to get out of the open and back to safety. You never could be too cautious.

Glenn nodded. I reached down, packing my bag and checking to ensure my gun was secure in my waistband, along with the couple of knives I had concealed about my person. It had become an unconscious habit of mine to check for them all every few minutes or so, just in case. Distracted, I didn’t hear anyone approaching until a confusingly familiar voice made me snap around, “Now where is it y’all good people calling home?” A man was approaching from behind a van parked a few abandoned cars away. A man I would recognise anywhere, and as his eyes caught mine, I could see recognition slide over Merle’s face as he realised who I was.

“Merle? You’re alive?” Glenn was as shocked as me, but seemed to find words far quicker. He was also quicker to hostility, hand twitching to his gun, but guns were the last thing on my mind.

I stepped towards Merle, a walk that transformed quickly into a jog and then a run as I flung myself into his arms, relief and happiness entirely overwhelming the rational side of my mind. He hugged me back immediately, muscular arms enveloping me, holding me tight and secure to his chest. We had been close when we had camped outside the city; he was the one who had brought me to the group. Probably only because he thought I was fuckable. But after a couple of weeks, what was once shameless flirting turned into a real friendship. And of course, I had always been too proud to admit that I might be interested in Merle as more than a friend. In the end though, none of that had mattered when he was handcuffed to the roof and seemingly gone for good. I had thought I would never see him again, and I had never been more overjoyed to be wrong.

We finally broke apart, but only by a few centimetres.

“Missed me?” He grinned the infuriating grin that I suddenly realised I didn’t find infuriating anymore, a reminder of how much I had missed everything about him.

His smiling eyes suddenly glazed over, expression dropping to a neutral mask as he stared over my shoulder. I turned and his arms dropped from my body. Six or so men, all armed with guns, all pointed at Glenn, whose gun had been confiscated, and at me. For a moment I thought they were strangers, but one glance back at Merle told me all I needed to know. He had drawn his gun too, but it wasn’t pointed at any of the strangers.

It was pointed directly at me.

For a moment, I froze in shock. Only for a moment. As soon as I had come fully to me senses, I raised my hands in surrender, backing away from Merle and in the direction of the strangers. Slow enough for it to look like scared confusion. As soon as I was within a metre of them, I nodded at Glenn, a warning before I darted towards the armed men, flicking a knife out of my sleeve and into my hand and in one smooth motion slitting the throat of the man closest to me. He fell to the ground, choking and spluttering. Glenn hit one of the men hard in the nose and then in the gut. I moved to the next, holding a knife to his throat, about to slice into his jugular.

“Hold on there honey, don’t make any stupid decisions,” Merle had a gun pressed into the back of Glenn’s head. Some part of me had thought that somehow, if we had managed to take on the strangers, Merle would have taken our side. Clearly I had been sorely mistaken. There was no way out of this. It was two to four, plus the man Glenn had attacked who was slowly standing back up.

I dropped the knife, and then the gun in my waistband. They didn’t need to know about the other knives I had hidden.

“Check she doesn’t have anything else hidden on her. Wouldn’t want a repeat of Bentley.” One of the strangers commanded. I assumed Bentley was the man whose throat I had slit. I felt a strange sense of pride that even though I had been overpowered, I hadn’t given in without a fight.

“Sure thing, Martinez,” Another man answered and stepped forward and roughly patted me down, fishing out my two remaining knives from my clothing. So much for keeping them hidden.

Glenn and I were shoved roughly into the back of a truck with three guns pointed at us as we were driven away, Merle and Martinez in the front. The drive gave me time to realise how stupid I had been, trusting Merle despite having no idea where he had been for all the time we had been apart. Of course he had found another group - how would he have survived cutting off his own hand otherwise? Glenn hadn’t been as stupid as me. He had known straight away that Merle wasn’t to be trusted. If only I had followed his instincts instead of mine, then this never would have happened. I managed to catch his eye, and mouthed ‘I’m so sorry,’ in his direction. He shrugged. Not an angry shrug, more of a ‘what did you expect?’ sort of motion. Somehow his acceptance of the situation made it worse.

When the truck finally stopped, we were roughly guided forward again, this time down some stairs and a few grimy corridors to two rooms. They pushed Glenn into one, me into another, and I heard him struggle and groan as the thuds of fists and feet hitting flesh filled the air.

“Stop! Stop hurting him, hurt me instead, please, please just leave him alone,” I yelled out, hoping that by some miracle I would be listened to, but no response. Just more of the horrible sounds coming from Glenn’s cell.

*

It had been at least a day- there was no daylight down here, but that was my best estimate. Martinez had come into my cell a few times, but I had not suffered half as much as Glenn had. Even so, I was painfully sore and covered in blood and bruises. I was sure more of me was bruised than not. But they seemed to have realised pretty quickly that neither of us would give up where we were staying, and at this point Martinez seemed more concerned with hurting us than with finding out where Glenn and I had come from. I hadn’t seen Merle since the drive to wherever we were. Part of me was glad,but some foolish part of me thought that maybe if he saw what was happening to me, he would help me. I knew that this was stupid, but I could help but hold on to that tiny, ridiculous hope.

A few hours passed and it had been a while since anyone had come into mine or Glenn’s cells when an unfamiliar man entered my cell, followed by Merle who was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Now here’s what’s about to happen. You’re going to tell me exactly where you and your friend have been staying and how many people you have. Understand?” While he looked unfamiliar, I recognised his voice from hearing him give orders to Martinez and the other men who had imprisoned Glenn and I. He was the Governor.

I scoffed, glaring up at him and Merle who was deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“You wanna play it like that? Be my guest.” The governor, still calm collected, turned to Merle.

“You know what to do,” he said, and Merle nodded, leaving towards Glenn’s cell. Obedient and quiet - two words I never would’ve dreamed could describe Merle.

I began to hear muffled groans of pain from Glenn, making me wince with every sound. I deserved this, not him. The governor smiled at me, watching my obvious distress.

“Leave him alone.” I demanded, only succeeding in making his smile wider.

“You know what you need to do, then I promise, we’ll leave him alone,” he moved forward, uncomfortably close, “Or maybe you need a little more persuasion? You know, it’s surprising how long a person can survive without their eyes. Or their feet. Or even their hands - isn’t that right Merle?” he called out the last part to the opposite cell.

“Sure is boss,” The first time I’d heard Merle speak since getting here.

“Now I’m sure you know what I’m getting at, but just in case, I’ll be clear. Merle is pretty handy with a hacksaw as I’m sure you know, and while we need you and your friend to be able to talk, we really don’t need you for anything else. So if him losing a hand, or both, or even worse, would get you talking then I’m sure we can all agree it would be worth that sacrifice.”

He wasn’t bluffing. He opened his mouth to yell the order to Merle, but I interrupted, “The prison. We’re at the prison. Please, please just leave him alone, you don’t need to do this. Please.” My resilience had broken. We could defend the prison. We could. But I couldn’t listen to Glenn getting tortured for any longer. I just couldn’t.

The governor chuckled. “Thank you, wasn’t so hard now was it.” He got close again, and in a sudden move he struck me across the face. Hard. For a moment, the world blurred with dark spots, before I lost my vision completely and fell into darkness.

*

I could feel myself being jostled in the arms of someone carrying me. They felt familiar, and I spent a few seconds trying to place who it was, still not fully conscious. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes and saw Merle’s determined expression. He glanced down at me, but before I could ask him what the fuck was going on, I fell into darkness again.

*

The next time I began to be aware of my surroundings I felt the thin, scratchy softness of a prison mattress. Slowly, I opened my eyes, this time managing to hold onto consciousness. When I sat up, I saw Merle sat at the end of my bed. Hunched over - sleeping, I assumed. Looking around, I recognised my old cell. Finally something I could use to my favour. I reached under my pillow and grasped the familiar handle of my final knife, which thankfully hadn’t been moved.

I pushed the knife to Merle’s throat. His eyes snapped open, and he raised the blade attached where his hand once was, before relaxing when he recognised me.

“What the fuck, Merle. What the fuck!”

“Calm down honey - saved your life, didn’t I?”

“Oh that’s what you call it? You took me prisoner and watched the shit get beaten outta me and somehow you’re the hero?” I pushed the knife harder against his neck and I could tell how much he was struggling against himself not to fight back. That made me even more angry. What made him think I couldn’t kill him right then and there if I wanted to?

“I didn’t have a choice. But I got ya outta there, that count for nothing?”

I continued to glare at him. He smirked at me, infuriating and insanely attractive all at the same time, before gripping my wrist and pushing me back against the wall, forcing me to drop my knife.

“I saved yer ass, didn’t have to, but I did. The governor, he saved my life, but I chose you for fuck’s sake. I missed ya, didn’t you miss me?”

Of course I did.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” This was probably the first time I’d heard him apologise for anything.

Of course I’d missed him. A lot. And some part of me knew that he was being sincere, that he had missed me and mourned me as much as I had him. I had missed him more than anyone else we had lost, and I had no idea what I’d do if I lost him again. But I’d always been terrible at putting those feelings into words. So when I finally kissed him, I hoped I got the sentiment across. It took him a moment to register what was happening, but when he did his good hand cupped my face, sliding to my back to pull me closer into him, while his other arm braced against the wall behind me. He had released my arms, so I let my hands wander his torso, something I had longed to do for far longer than I was willing to admit. His mouth was rough and hard against mine, his teeth scraping my lower lip, stubble scratching my face. It was a sensation I had imagined so many times, it was hard to believe it was real. That Merle, obnoxious, stubborn, perfect Merle was kissing me, and I was kissing him back with all I had.

[whisker-biscuit]

Silent as the Grave: Epilogue

Fandom: Sly Cooper

Summary: Here, two months later...

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

The door to Mrs. Puffin’s office slides open and a little raccoon tiptoes inside. He shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can, then heads for the window on the opposite side of the room, armed with nothing but his cup phone. Opening it just a crack, the kit reaches through and drops one metal cup just past the sill. When it hits the grass outside with an audible thunk, he nods to himself in satisfaction before closing the window and making a beeline for the trash can next to the headmistress’ desk. String trails him all the way there, colored by crayon to match the carpet so it will go unnoticed.

It’s easy as pie for him to climb inside and hide, folding his arms and legs to his chest with plenty of room to spare when he lets the lid of the can come down above him. Just for good measure, he grabs a handful of crumpled papers and sprinkles them over his head, hoping that will be enough that the blue of his dad’s hat won’t be noticed if anyone opens the trash can.

Then he leans back and waits in the dark. The only sound he makes is the beating of his own heart.

Not long after, the office door opens again, and the raccoon holds his breath as he hears Mrs. Puffin’s heavy footsteps pad through the room. She settles down in her office chair, obvious by the creak of wood and plastic, and begins scribbling away at her desk.

Sly holds perfectly still in his hiding place, listening to the old woman work. Every now and then, she grumbles something to herself, and once even gets up to walk around the office for whatever reason. His heart hammers in his chest as he hears her pass right by the trash can, and for a terrible moment fears she’s going to notice the string on the floor, or see it leading from window to can.

But she doesn’t notice it; nor does she take off the lid to throw something away. She goes right back to her desk and her work. The raccoon would sigh in relief, but he doesn’t dare to do even that. He simply stares at the slight crack of light where the lid meets the rest of the can, willing the daylight to go away as fast as possible.

A thief must be silent. A thief must go unnoticed. Sly just has to wait for an hour, according to Bentley, until Mrs. Puffin locks up and leaves for the night, and then he can get to the most fun part of the plan. He pretends his dad is watching him right now. He can practically hear his voice reminding him to be patient. “Haste makes waste,” he’d say, “and gets you wasted.”

Sly hopes he’s proud of him.

The headmistress moves around the room again, and this time her perfume is close enough to make him involuntarily wrinkle his nose. He wishes his dad had taught him how to make time pass faster in his head, because he really, really wishes he could do it for real.

It’s going to be a long hour.

The Happy Camper Orphanage is quiet. Children and adults alike are asleep, day staff are packing up to go home for the night, and the evening janitor is getting cleaning supplies from the closet on the first floor.

Only a little bit cramped from not moving at all, Sly stares at the crack he can’t see anymore as Mrs. Puffin switches off the lights and leaves her office. He stays still, waiting until he hears the lock turn and her footsteps disappear down the hall. Then he brings his cup up to his mouth.

“Bentley, you there?” He whispers. “Come in!”

There’s no response. Carefully, very carefully, he opens the can lid and peeks out into the dark room. The string suddenly pulls taut from the direction of the window, so the raccoon tries again.

“Bentley, this is Sly! Do you read me? I’m in position!”

Outside, having just pulled up at that very moment, Murray taps his toes at the pedals of his bike, watching as Bentley sits behind him in the tethered wagon with the other cup held up to his ear. He seems to visibly relax at Sly’s voice, which Murray can barely hear.

“Excellent! My ingenious cupunicator is flawless!” The turtle can’t help but exclaim about his invention. “As long as you hold onto your end, we’ll be in constant contact…and with my advice, you can’t fail.”

The two of them see Sly open the window and give them a thumbs up before disappearing back into the office. His escape route has been made. Bentley grips the side of the wagon, excited and terrified all at once.

“Begin Operation: Cookie Connection!”

Inside, the raccoon wastes no time. Looping the communicator around his waist, he puts his hands against Mrs. Puffin’s desk and pushes with all his might, tongue sticking out in determination. It scrapes backwards inch by inch across the floor towards the bookshelf, way too slow for his liking. They only have five minutes from the time that the headmistress left to when the night janitor shows up to start cleaning - they’d timed it for weeks now - and every second counts.

Finally, the desk is close enough to the bookshelf, but just as Bentley predicted, it’s not tall enough to jump off of to reach the top of said shelf. Sly runs for the floor lamp by the door and hauls it between the desk and the bookshelf. He steps back to admire the path he’s made.

“Okay, Bentley, everything’s ready,” he says, confident that he can reach that top shelf where the cookie jar sits just begging to be stolen.

The turtle doesn’t share his certainty. His voice comes out a screech over the cupunicator. “You don’t have the cookies yet? We’re out of time! We have to scrap the mission!”

Sly doesn’t know how long it took to set everything up, but he can’t hear anyone in the hallway, and that means he still has plenty of time. He climbs onto the headmistress’ desk without answering his friend, determined not to let the gang down when he’s so close to their goal.

He takes a running leap off the desk and grabs the lamp’s chain. It clicks the light on as he swings back and forth, nearly falling as he makes the mistake of glancing at the ground below.

“Yi!” He squeaks, losing his nerve for just a moment before pushing the fear aside and launching himself towards the bookshelf. His hands catch the edge of the very top of it, sending a thrill of adrenaline through him.

As the raccoon grapples for footholds, struggling to push himself up the rest of the way, his hand closes around his cup.

“Okay! I’m in position, sort of…” Sly grits out, and resists the urge to look down again. The bookshelf sways dangerously, making him gulp. “Y’know…this is pretty high up…”

His friends share a nervous glance at the status update. Murray starts biting his nails as Bentley double checks his calculator clock and nearly has a heart attack.

“Sly, we’re out of time!” He calls, seeing they are most definitely past the five minute mark. “Get out while the getting’s good!”

“Almost there…” The raccoon murmurs to himself as he finally gets one knee onto the top of the shelf.

Sitting next to the cookie jar a moment to catch his breath, Sly takes his dad’s hat off to wipe his brow. Having put the cupunicator back at his belt while he was climbing, he hadn’t heard Bentley’s most recent warning. The light of the lamp illuminates his goal, but just as he puts the hat back on and starts to reach for it, a sound makes him freeze in place.

Uhh…” He swallows, hearing distant footsteps, and hopes it’s just his imagination. “Is that you guys I hear in the hall? I thought you were going to wait outside?”

The turtle’s voice comes in loud and clear this time, sounding as alarmed as he feels. “What do you mean? We are outside!”

Those footsteps stop just outside the office. Sly feels his whole body go cold.

“Uh oh…” His tone is distant and detached, even to himself. His hands twitch against the smooth surface of the cookie jar’s lid. “Then that must be the janitor at the door…”

It’s the worst possible outcome. It’s everything they feared. Getting caught red-handed on their very first heist, with no way to get away fast enough. Sly fixes his dad’s hat on top of his head and feels his heart plummet as the door’s lock clicks open.

But one member of the gang hasn’t given up just yet.

“That’s it! I’m pulling the plug on this myself!” The hippo begins pedaling as hard as he can, as Bentley wraps his arms around one side of the wagon with a silent squeak. “Hang on, Sly!”

Sly hears Murray’s voice through the window, and that’s all the warning he has to brace himself as the string around his waist snaps tight.

“Huh?”

The very next moment he’s flung straight off the bookshelf and right out the window.

“WHOAH!”

He grabs the string tether with one hand and his dad’s hat with the other, pulled along like a fish on a line as Murray drives them away from the house and down the hill. They pick up so much speed that the hippo loses control of the pedals; they spin out of control all on their own while he fights just to steer the bike.

“B-Bentley, where are the brakes on this thing?” He cries.

“Th-That was my project for next week, I’m afraid!” The turtle exclaims, so overwhelmed he’s practically in shock.

They hit a harsh bump and it’s enough to derail the bike completely. Murray barely rolls out of the way as it flips onto its side, and catches Bentley in the nick of time as he gets flung out of the wagon, head and limbs tucked into his shell.

Sly comes flying in like a bullet, tumbling head over heels into the now-empty wagon. He groans, dizzy and blinking as he sits up with his hand still gripping the edge of his hat.

“Sorry, guys…” Murray whimpers, feeling scrapes all over and worried that his friends are hurt.

The raccoon squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Y’know, we’re all pretty lucky…”

“After that disaster?” Bentley squawks, finally pulling out of his shell to stare at him like he’s crazy. “What do you mean?”

Sly opens his eyes as the stars disappear from his vision, then gives the rest of the gang a huge grin. He leans forward and pulls his dad’s hat off his head, holding it out to them upside down.

It’s filled with cookies.

“...Lucky I inherited my dad’s fast fingers!” He announces, full of pride. Bentley’s and Murray’s eyes go wide with amazement. “Dig in, fellas!”

“Hooray!”

As the three of them settle down in the wreckage of their getaway vehicle, enjoying the spoils of their first successful heist, the raccoon puts his hand on his hip and takes a vicious, satisfied bite of chocolate chip. He looks up into the starry night sky. The moon is bright and full and clear, and Sly feels a swell in his heart.

He knows he’s made his dad proud.

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

A/N: And with that, history was made.

We did it. I'm honestly in shock. When I started this fic, I had no idea how long it would get nor how long it would take to get there. There were definitely times I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to finish it, even as we were nearing the finish line. Thank you all so much for your overwhelming support, kind words, and patience. I doubt I would've ever been able to push through to the end without so many wonderful people reading and supporting this fic.

If you're craving more of the gang before they became the world-famous thieves we all know and love, rest assured there will be a sequel. I can't really say when, because I want to get a few other projects and unfinished works knocked out first, but it WILL happen, and hopefully it won't take another 3 years lmao. In the mean time, keep your eyes peeled because I'm not done with the Sly series by a long shot :)

[holycatsandrabbits]

Love’s Endless Light: A Good Omens serial romance

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Chapter 9: Of Love’s Own Making

1941, London, England

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, so he kept them closed around the handle of the bag of books that Crowley had rescued for him from the doomed church. Beside him, Crowley’s hands were wrapped around the steering wheel of his automobile, which was just as sleek and elegant as the demon himself.

There were so many enormous things that Aziraphale wanted to say, and none of them would organize themselves properly in his mind. He settled for something small. “Um— I noticed you didn’t have your halo out. Like in Gaul, with the— the consecrated ground there. Ah, what was it? 57 AD?”

“52.” Crowley’s voice sounded just as shaky as Aziraphale’s. “Yeah, I don’t know what that was in Gaul, geez. Like a whole holy— holy hill, maybe. Somebody blessed the entire bloody countryside. The church wasn’t so bad. Just burned my feet a bit.”

“I can take a look back at the shop,” Aziraphale said. “If you— if you’ll let me.”

Crowley didn’t say anything, but at least that wasn’t a No. Aziraphale watched him drive, all confident moves and graceful hands, but filled with a tension that was sharply obvious. Aziraphale wanted desperately to touch Crowley, just to brush a hand against him in case— in case this wasn’t real. Azirpahale had dreamed up so many scenarios for their possible reunion, everything from accidental meetings to boldly arranged declarations of love. Of course, there had been no fantasies about Crowley putting himself in danger once again to save Aziraphale.

Crowley parked the Bentley outside the bookshop and followed Aziraphale in without a word. Aziraphale flew into an anxious tizzy then, getting things settled, coats and hats, Crowley sitting down, something to drink, put the books somewhere safe. Finally there was nothing left to do but kneel on the floor beside Crowley’s feet.

“Ridiculous serpent,” Aziraphale murmured, because that was what he always said when Crowley got himself injured.

Crowley huffed out a bit of a laugh. “I’m not the one involved with Nazis.”

“It was a perfectly good plan,” Aziraphale protested. He used shaking fingers to untie Crowley’s shoelaces, and Crowley gave a little hiss of pain when Aziraphale slid the shoe off. The sock stuck a bit, but the burns weren’t really all that bad. And now Aziraphale had the opportunity to touch Crowley. As it turned out, he was real.

Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s foot in his palm and let the glow of his angelic aura surround the injury and repair it. “I thought I’d never see you again,” Aziraphale managed to say.

Crowley’s voice sounded choked. “You know, if we hadn’t— I kept thinking that on my way to the church. If we still had the Arrangement, you wouldn’t have gotten into trouble with the Nazis. Maybe. Probably. You’d have talked to me about it, at least. I mean, you didn’t talk to me about everything, but— you would have about this, angel, you were so proud of your stupid plan, you’d’ve told me all about it, and I’d’ve said, That’s a stupid plan, and then— well. We wouldn’t have had to be in the church when we blew it up, I don’t think.”

“Probably not,” Aziraphale said. He stole a glance up at Crowley. His dark glasses were still on, but Aziraphale had the suspicion that his eyes were wet behind them. He turned his attention to Crowley’s other foot, gently removing the shoe.

“Anyway, I wasn’t going to let you get discorporated,” Crowley said.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley reminded him quietly.

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s foot in his palm and let his aura blaze bright around it. Crowley shivered as the burns faded. “So what have you been up to?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m an agent of Hell in a war. Lots to do. Not that the humans need much help. How many have you saved?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, unable to keep a fond smile off of his face. “None, as far as anyone knows.”

Crowley smiled back. “Right. But how many?”

“Seventeen here. Forty in Poland. Austria sixty-two. Germany fifty. Small numbers in the face of such slaughter.”

“But you can’t have Gabriel finding out.” When Aziraphale didn’t answer, Crowley spoke in a softer voice. “It’s war, angel. It’s just as wrong as every war ever, starting with the one in Heaven. You can’t fix it.”

“You and I should never have fought,” Aziraphale said fervently. “We shouldn’t have— Crowley, I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale was crying then, so he got up and walked off a bit, amongst the cluttered shelves, past souvenirs of places that Aziraphale had visited alone, past new books Crowley had never seen and bottles of wine he’d never tasted.

Aziraphale sensed that Crowley had followed behind him, but he didn’t expect to be turned and pressed up against a bookshelf and to have Crowley’s mouth fitted against his, Crowley himself now in a place he’d never been.

It was a glorious kiss. It had to be, thousands of years in the making. Aziraphale finally had Crowley in his arms, all the beauty of him, all the strength, the grace, the little movements Aziraphale had long since memorized, all new and startling when made against Aziraphale’s skin. The kiss had been open from the first, and Crowley’s tongue moved against Aziraphale’s in slow, thorough slides, desperation held in tight measure, forced patience, hard-fought gentleness.

Crowley’s fingers tangled into Aziraphale’s curls, and the whole rest of his body was being used to keep Aziraphale flat against the shelf. Aziraphale’s hands would not open, they only clutched, moving restlessly from Crowley’s lapels to his arms, to his hips. And it was not a quiet kiss. For all its romance, it was also a heavy, lustful thing, full of gasps and moans and the creaking of the shelf behind them.

When it was over, Crowley kept close, his breaths panted out onto Aziraphale’s mouth. They said nothing. There was nothing left that was unsaid now, except for the one secret Aziraphale intended to keep. He should have said it: The pain of this is my fault. But he was too ashamed.

Instead, they acted on what they did know: that they were in love. That it was not safe. That they still had their issues, unresolved.

That the Arrangement was once again in effect.

Crowley put his shoes back on and gave Aziraphale a smile as he left. There was little to smile about, really, but Aziraphale found himself returning it, just for that one brief moment, with the demon half out the door into the dark night, and the angel being left alone with two chairs.

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Coming August 20: "Tollense," my next serial romance. A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

My previous Good Omens serial: Mr. Fell’s Bookshop

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Image text: Love’s Endless Light by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits) Chapter 9

As Aziraphale and Crowley slowly fall in love over the millennia, Crowley discovers that Aziraphale is keeping a very dangerous secret.

[psychospeak-blog]

Won’t Go Slowly Fast Forward // Return to Play

It wasn't what he was used to at all.

For Tyler, doing media was just part of being at the rink sometimes, the typical answers coming to him as automatically as putting his gear on.

He was not used to being responsible for making sure he was fully in frame, the dogs weren't wandering around, that the background behind him wasn't too distracting, that the lighting wasn't too bad.  

Like so many other things in the past few months, there were a lot of changes.

Once you got used to one constant, there was another switch-up.

But, luckily, there was one thing that Tyler was used to, and that was change.

Yet, he couldn't say he really had a problem with having to walk out to his living room, pop open his laptop, and ease back into his chair to do media.

The answers about the excitement surrounding the return to play and competing in the playoffs came easy to him, following back into that routine that felt familiar to him, a thin smile coming to his face as he talked about getting back to the rink, the one thing he'd missed out on during the past four months, eyes brightening as he talked easily, glancing at the home behind the screen, where he'd spent more time than he would have thought this year, yet not missing the easy summers in Ontario like he thought he would.

It wasn't like last year when he'd felt this pull to go home, becoming more imperative feeling once his mind had been taken off competing for the Stanley Cup.

Now he felt even more focused, his life being segmented into more distinct sections.

Or so he thought, his words and then his thoughts being interpreted by the thundering of feet slapping against the hardwood floor, which had been almost constantly filling his open home the past few months.

"Hey, bud, what's up?" Tyler said softly, his interview falling silent as he looked beyond the screen in front of him.

"Dada, daddadda," Bentley babbled, keeping his arms held up by his sides until he reached Tyler's knees, Tyler looked back at the screen and grinning when he saw the back of Bentley's head reflected in the video, his little hands pressing against Tyler's thighs.

"Oh, we have a special guest."

"Yeah," Tyler grinned towards the camera, turning his attention back to Bentley.  "You coming up?"

Tyler slid his hand under Bentley's bum, supporting him but letting him do all the work of climbing up.   "Yeah, you got it, use your legs," Tyler said, sliding his hands around Bentley's torso once he had made it up, turning him around to sit on Tyler's lap, "can you say hi?"

Tyler leaned down to look at Bentley's eyes, opening and closing his hand in a wave, trying to encourage him to do the same.

"Dada," Bentley said in response, turning his head to look up at Tyler, who smiled in response, trying to direct Bentley to look at the camera instead, scooching his chair back when Bentley began pounding his hands against the desk, delighted by the sound.

Tyler heard Y/N's "sorry, sorry," before he saw her, rushing towards the two of them with her arms outstretched, her feet light as though trying to avoid attracting even more attention, Tyler laughing at her.

"Mama," Bentley cooed.

"Yeah? What were you and Mommy up to?" Tyler asked softly,  laughing at Y/N's arms extended into the frame.  "He's fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tyler said easily, the twitch of his brows letting her know he thought she was crazy for asking.

"So I guess this is a good time to ask you how you've been keeping busy."

"We've just been hanging out at home," Tyler said, switching the hand he was holding Bentley with, snaking his other arm out to grab for Y/N's wrist to try and pull her into the frame, trying his damndest not to laugh at the way she was resisting, knowing how much she'd rather stay hidden when it came to these types of things.

"Have you been in Dallas the whole time?"

"Uhh..." Tyler said, pulling harder against Y/N's wrist, "We went back to Canada when this whole thing started  because she wanted to be with family for his birthday."  

"Well, happy belated birthday."

"How old are you?" Tyler asked Bentley, holding one finger up and then sweeping it up under his chin, Bentley's lips turning up into a smile.

"Other than that we've just been hanging out with the dogs, going on lots of walks," Tyler said, pausing before he remembered the dogs were outside, nodding towards Y/N, "she's on a pretty strict bread-making schedule so we can't go too far."

And now she laughed, shaking her head.

"It's really good bread though," Tyler said, Y/N taking this time to sneak away to the kitchen, staying close by in case she needed to grab Bentley, trying to avoid checking how her bread was rising, still feeling Tyler's eyes on her.

"We started a garden too," Tyler said,  " I built a little garden bed thing out of some wood I thought was pretty good.   I'm proud of it "

"What are you growing?"

"Tomatoes are our best," Tyler said, extending his hands apart, "and we've got these giant zucchinis too."

Bentley screeched and Tyler laughed, looking down at him, "Yeah, you like picking tomatoes, huh?  And then the dogs try and lick them off his fingers."

"How have you been able to keep up with your training with everything being so different?"

"Oh, it's been fine," Tyler said shrugging his shoulders as if that was the easiest adjustment to make, " A group of us have been going over to Jamie's to train in the morning. And then this guy loves getting pushed in the stroller with the roller blades on, and he's getting pretty chunky so it adds a lot of weight.  Legs are feeling pretty good, so it wasn't really all that much of an adjustment getting back on the ice."

"What do you think about adjusting to the new format and the bubble?"

"I don't think it'll be that big of an adjustment," Tyler said, running his free hand over his face.  "The biggest adjustment is gonna be being away, the dogs are used to having me around all the time, being home with this guy all the time, and he's so young that there's no way he can understand what's going on.  Or that he even remembers me not being here."

And just like that, Y/N's heart broke, looking at Bentley so comfortable and content in Tyler's arms, not quite knowing how he'd react to being separated from his daddy.

"But at least we got Facetime and stuff," Tyler said, trying to remain positive, bouncing Bentley on his lap and making him smile, and Y/N let herself focus on looking forward to the fact that Bentley was old enough now he'd be able to recognize Tyler on T.V. and be able to have quasi-conversations with him on Facetime.  And she was kind of excited to be able to do little art projects with Bentley so they could send little notes to Tyler to make his hotel room feel a little bit like home.

Because, in a way, they were going with him.

"I might have to pack some bread in my suitcase, too. I've been taking some to the rink, but I don't think I'm going to share this stuff," Tyler said, bending down to look at Bentley, "And we'll have to have virtual hockey lessons, huh?  'Cause Mommy doesn't know how to shoot a puck."

Tyler's eyes drifted up towards the kitchen, grinning when he saw Y/N giving him a look, unable to hold back his laughter.

And, maybe like there had been a silver lining to the changes that had rocked Tyler's world, like getting to spend more time at home with his family, doing interviews from home wasn’t quite so bad.

[hailhydra920]

A Chance Protector Pt. 2

Pairing: Lumberjack!Steve x reader

Summary: The town welcomes you

Warnings: none

Part 2

           Steve parked his truck and ran a hand through his hair, hoping to make himself a bit more presentable. He brought the collar of his flannel up to his nose and frowned. Pine needles. No matter how hard he tried, he always smelled of pine needles. It wasn’t a bad smell or anything, he just figured it might bother some people. He opened the door to the community center and spotted Bruce talking with Clint, Bruce’s eyes lighting up as he spoke. That man was very passionate about the things he spoke about.

           Bucky walked up to Steve, clapping him on the back with a smile. “So, you decided to show up! I’m proud of you. Finally coming out of that lonesome lumberjack shell of yours.”

           Steve let out a transparent chuckle. “I guess. I don’t smell too strongly of pine, do I?”

           Bucky rose an eyebrow before smirking. “Why?”

           “Don’t give me that look. I just don’t wanna scare away everyone.” Steve refuted.

           “You smell fine. It’s that beard I would worry about. You look like a Wildman!”

           Steve quickly brought his hand to his beard, his fingers softly going through the rough hair. He trimmed last night after cutting up about a cord of wood. He thought he did a decent job.

           “I’m joking, pal. You look fine.” Bucky said with a smile. “Rumor has it you’ve already met the newcomers.”

           “I’d say that rumor is correct. I helped her bring in some boxes. No big deal.” Steve shrugged.

           “Okay…”

~~~~~~~

           You drove to the community center, Ronin and Dawn giddy in their seats. Once you parked, they practically sprung out of the car. They raced to the doors, smiles on both their faces. As soon as you guys entered the room, it seemed like all eyes were on you. Ronin and Dawn timidly stood behind you, their little heads peeking from behind your legs.

           “Don’t be shy! Have some goodies for you!” Bruce said with a warm smile.

           That got Dawn and Ronin happy, and walking toward Bruce. People began chatting with you as Bruce talked with the kids. Steve watched subtly from the other end of the room, his fingers gingerly combing through his beard. He watched as you talked with everyone, a smile stretched across your face.

           “You’re staring.”

           Steve broke out of his trance and turned to his friend. “No, I’m not. I’m examining.”

           Bucky chuckled in amusement. “She’s not some tree you’re about to chainsaw and you’re worried which way it will tilt. If it involves humans, I’m pretty sure it’s just staring.”

           “I’ll, uh, just say hi to her then head back out.” Steve said letting out a breath.

           “What? It’s going to snow soon.”

           “Exactly why I should get started. Wood won’t cut itself.”

           “Alright, pal. Be careful. I know you’re strong, but exhaustion does happen. Just know your limits.” Bucky warned.

           “Yeah, yeah. See ya.”

~~~~~~~

           You talked with the sheriff, Tony, and his wife, Pepper. You met Paster Bruce and the local doctor Thor. You met Sam and his endearing charm. He was very sweet and introduced you to everyone, including the schoolteachers, Wanda and Vison, the candy store owner, Loki, and Bucky the mechanic. You were coming to adore this town. They all seemed so friendly and seemed to really care about one another. You saw Dawn and Ronin playing with some of the other kids and smiled. This was the life they needed.

           You saw Steve walking toward you, his smile soft. He ran his hand through his hair one more time before opening his mouth. “What do you think?”

           “I think this place is the best place I’ve ever moved. Everyone is so nice. I really like it.” You answered.

           “That’s good to hear. Well, I really have to get going before the storm hits. Wet wood is a pain.”

           “Stay safe. And I’ll see you around I guess.”

           “Good day, Ms. Y/n.” He said before nodding to you and walking out the door.

           The grey clouds seemed to swirl above him, and he sighed. He better get layered up.

~~~~~~~

           Flakes of snow and sawdust danced in the air, some tickled Steve’s nose, and he let out a huge sneeze. He took a couple breaths, his breaths coming out in white puffs. Adjusting his beanie, he cranked his chainsaw and began cutting the logs again. The roar of the chainsaw echoed through the once quiet forest. He loved the seeing the logs get cut into smaller pieces, it was soothing in some way, like he could achieve something. Stacking the smaller logs onto the big trailer, he seemed to effortlessly lift them. Once he got a good amount, he decided he should head home. Snow was gathering in his beard and he was starting to get cold.

           Knocking the snow off his boots, he hopped into his truck, his dog, Bentley, jumping in before him. Taking a few minutes, he warmed up his hands, blowing his warm breath onto them. He grabbed his seatbelt, clicking it into its place, and began to drive away. The wipers on his windshield moved wildly trying to keep the incoming snow off. He whistled an unfamiliar tune, ruffling Bentley fur before turning onto a dirt road.

           “I’d say we did an honest day’s work, eh, Bentley?” Steve asked looking at his trusty companion.

           Bentley barked happily and wagged his tail. Steve smiled and pulled into his driveway, the truck wobbling slightly as it rolled along the rocks. He let Bentley out of the car, and he unlocked his house, a blast of warm air hitting both of them. Steve sighed in contentment as he reveled in the warmth. He ran his fingers across the picture of him, Peggy, and Bentley. Bentley let out a low whine, and Steve sighed and pet him.

           “I know, boy. I miss her too.”

~~~~~~~

           You gently closed Ronin and Dawn’s door. They had finally fallen asleep, and you were glad. Stepping into the kitchen, you washed the few dishes in the sink and put them away. Boxes were stacked in the living room, and you groaned. Unpacking felt like too much work, so you opted for a shower instead.

           Warm water cascaded down your skin, and you winced slightly as it rolled across your healing wounds. Purple splotches covered some of your back and thighs, a painful reminder of why you moved here. Wanting to stay positive, you began to hum and tried to enjoy your shower the best you could. This place would be better for you guys, and HE would never find you guys here. You guys would be safe, and safety was your first priority for you and your children.

Permanent Tags: @sleep-i-ness​

[princessconsuelapark]

my ultimate Sam and Dean are soulmates playlist | 61 songs, 3 hr 59 min

I started putting this together over my summer SPN re-watch, and I thought I'd share it with you all, so we can all cry over our Wincest feels together. It has all the usual cliché songs, and some of my own favourites. (Very country-heavy, so if that's not your thing proceed with caution.) I'm a writer, so lyrics are very important to me - I linked them for every song. All songs are individually YouTube linked, alternatively you can find the Spotify version above. I included some comments and explanations for all my choices, as well as quotes from the show. Happy listening! | Last updated: 18 November 2020

Carry On My Wayward Son by Supernatural: The Musical Cast // lyrics // Cliché and all that, but a good place to start.

Somewhere Only We Know by Lily Allen // lyrics // Even as children - as tumultuous and layered their relationship has always been - it was just the two of them, alone, in their own little world. I Found by Amber Run // lyrics // I found love where it wasn't supposed to be.

Fade Into You by Mazzy Star // lyrics // Unhealthily codependent Weecest vibes.

I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys // lyrics // Secrets I have held in my heart / Are harder to hide than I thought. Something's Gotta Give by Christian Kane // lyrics // Wanting to get out of town as a metaphor for Dean wanting to act on his feelings for Sam? Yes, please. Christian Kane being a country god? Absolutely. The fact that this man was actually on SPN as Dean’s freaking love interest, and Jensen and him got to sing together still makes me the happiest person on this planet.

Don't You Wanna Fall by Frankie Ballard // lyrics // So, I love the lines Fall down here where an angel should know better than / To walk around this world with me, because god, Dean so often thinks he belongs in Hell, and is terrified of forcing his little brother into anything he doesn’t want. But still, he can’t stop himself: Don’t you wanna fall? (Shoutout to any Destiel shippers out there, because what a perfect song for you guys too, wow.) Thinking of You by Christian Kane // lyrics // Dean, just before Sam leaves for Stanford. (Link is for the Leverage version, because I love that show, and because Eliot Spencer is an angel. Funnily enough, Alona Tal was actually in that very episode, and did actually sing this song - you can find that here.) Hold On by Limp Bizkit // lyrics // I'm waiting for you, I know you're leaving / I'll still adore you, you never need me. LOST BOY by Troye Sivan // lyrics // Thinking about little Sammy’s stolen college admissions guide. Arms of a Stranger by Niall Horan // lyrics // Some jealous!Dean, while Sam is at Stanford angst.

Walking Away by Lifehouse // lyrics // Silence is all we have to give / And the memories of a life I wish we'd lived.

San Francisco by Niall Horan // lyrics // Listen, it’s a song about pining and not being able to let go and love in San Francisco. I mean, where do you expect my mind to go? Stanford Wincest all the way. How Did You Know? by Jedward // lyrics // I don’t wanna hear a bad word about Jedward, they are good lads. It’s a cheesy song, but hey, I love it. Sam comes back. Well, here I am / I couldn't stay gone. Drive by Halsey // lyrics // All we do is drive / All we do is think about the feelings that we hide. And the California never felt like home to me line! So perfect. "We made a hell of a team back there." (01x01 Pilot) Belong by X Ambassadors // lyrics // This is where Sam belongs, really. Riding shotgun, in his brother’s car, on the open road. Link is a fanvid that makes me feel things. Go and watch it, because it’s everything.

You Could Be Happy by Snow Patrol // lyrics // “Sam, you were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” (01x11 Scarecrow) Do the things that you always wanted to / Without me there to hold you back, don't think, just do.

Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov // lyrics // "Who was that?" "My brother." "What did he say?" "Goodbye." That soft, disbelieving, confused look on Sam's face when Dean tells him he's proud of him. When it turns out Dean loves him enough to let him go. It should make him feel happy and free, it should make him loathe his childhood, defiance should fill him to the brim. Instead it makes him run straight back to Dean. (01x11 Scarecrow) Hey Brother by Avicii // lyrics // Faith. (01x12) Link is a fanvid, because reasons. Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you / There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do. Sober Me Up by Frankie Ballard // lyrics // Sam always seems to make the world all fall into place. (Sort of 02x03 Bloodlust vibes?) But baby when you kiss me all the demons seem to disappear.

Always Gold by Radical Face // lyrics // “Killing this demon comes first, before me, before everything.” “No, sir. Not before everything.” (02x07 The Usual Suspects) And they said you were the crooked kind / And that you'd never have no worth / But you were always gold to me. Sold My Soul by Zakk Wylde // lyrics // Bit on the nose, but my god, how fucking real. (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Let Me Sign by Kirk Matthews // lyrics // "Well, then let it end!" & "I'm gonna take care of you." (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Follow You by Bring Me The Horizon // lyrics // “I mean, you sacrifice everything for me.  Don’t you think I’d do the same for you? You’re my big brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Say Something by A Great Big World // lyrics // "I just wish you'd drop the show and be my brother again. Cause... just cause." (03x07 Fresh Blood) Take Me To Church by Hozier // lyrics // “This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? […] Dean’s your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too.” (03x11 Mystery Spot) Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert // lyrics // "You're my weak spot. And I'm yours." (03x16 No Rest for the Wicked) Everywhere we go we're looking for the sun / Nowhere to grow old, we're always on the run / They say we'll rot in Hell, but I don't think we will / They've branded us enough, "Outlaws of Love". Wanted Dead Or Alive by Bon Jovi // lyrics // Well, I had to include this one, for obvious reasons. (03x16 No Rest for the Wicked) In Other Words by Ben Kweller // lyrics // Dean's going to Hell. Sam's not okay. In his eyes I see the fear. Real With Me by Cady Groves // lyrics // Dean is not dealing well with remembering Hell. Sam is upset that he's not opening up. And it was never about what you were not / But I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars // lyrics // None of it matters. Leaving for Stanford, choosing Ruby, the demon blood, that he’s Hell’s chosen. Dean will always come for his brother, no matter what.   Stay by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Sam leaves. It's fucked up. "Hey, you, uh... wanna take the Impala?" Dean doesn’t trust him, not like he used to, but he would say anything to make him stay. (05x02 Good God, Y’all) Hotel Room by Calum Scott // lyrics // They die in a motel room. They find out they share a Heaven. Sam can't find the words to explain. He wishes Dean would just give him time. (05x04 The End) So I kind of wrote a ficlet about this...? Read it if you fancy. Here Tonight by Brett Young // lyrics // The Wincestiest Wincest song to ever Wincest. The lyrics! Sometimes they can just take a minute to sit on the hood of the Impala and watch the stars, Apocalypse be damned.

I Hold On by Dierks Bentley // lyrics // “Sam, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.” (05x22 Swan Song) Dean believes in his brother, and I’m a sucker for pick-up truck metaphors Lifeboats by Snow Patrol // lyrics // The look on Dean's face when he hugs Sam, when he realises that Sam's back, that he's alive. (06x01 Exile on Main St.) Potentially also some Purgatory vibes. Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones // lyrics // The moment Sam turned up on his doorstep, there was no question he'd choose him. Choose him over Lisa and Ben. Choose him over everyone. “But the minute he walked through that door, I knew. It was over. You two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing I've ever seen. And as long as he's in your life, you're never gonna be happy.” (06x06 You Can’t Handle The Truth) Heavydirtysoul by twenty one pilots // lyrics // “Pick one... Sam’s soul or Adam’s.” “Sam.” (06x11 Appointment in Samarra)

H.O.L.Y. by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Oh, this song. A bit of religious irony and whatnot, but my god. The lyrics are everything. You're the healing hands where it used to hurt immediately makes me think of how Dean helped Sam turn the pain from his scar on his palm into “stone number one, and build on it”. (07x02 Hello, Cruel World) I mean, Sam can't even tell what's real anymore, but he trusts his brother. Blindly and with everything he has, because that's who he is. But then there’s also Dean making his promise in the church, and Sam choosing him over dying in 09x01 (I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here). God. Just. I love this song for Sam and Dean.

Through The Dark by One Direction // lyrics // "We'll figure it out, okay? Just like we always do." (08x23 Sacrifice) Leave Out All The Rest by Linkin Park // lyrics // Sam is okay with sacrificing himself. He is ready to die. When my time comes / Forget the wrong that I've done. Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance // lyrics // “There is nothing, past or present, that I would put in front of you... I need you to see that." (08x23 Sacrifice) Okay, but look at the lyrics, and try and convince me this song is not about Sam and Dean. Love Will Tear Us Apart by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // "You wanna know what I confessed in there?" (08x23 Sacrifice) TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan // lyrics // The look in Sam’s eyes changes, his face falls. "How do I stop?" He chooses Dean like he always does. (08x23 Sacrifice) Brother by Kodaline // lyrics // “Come on. You and Dean? That’s something special, don’t you think?” (09x08 Rock and a Hard Place) Link is a gorgeous fanvid, go watch it and cry. Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons // lyrics // Dean really messed up this time. Gadreel fall out stuff. Sam breaks up with him in a motel car park in Wisconsin. (09x12 Sharp Teeth)

better off by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler // lyrics // "Something's broken here, Dean." (09x12 Sharp Teeth) & "No, Dean, I wouldn't." (09x13 The Purge)

I Can't Go On Without You by KALEO // lyrics // Sam taking Dean’s body home, laying him on his bed, drinking by himself in the dark. (09x23 Do You Believe in Miracles) I Won't Give Up by Noah Guthrie // lyrics // "I am going to save my brother." (10x01 Black) Sam never gives up on Dean. Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE ft. Gavin DeGraw // lyrics // “I never even said thank you, so…” “You don’t ever have to say that, not to me.” (10x04 Paper Moon) Link is another beautiful fanvid, because I can’t help myself. Sittin' Pretty by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Sam's sunshine and he’s endless planes of warm skin, soft long hair, and sometimes Dean looks at him. Really looks at him. (No, okay, but the Chevy line really made it for me.) Blood Brothers by Luke Bryan // lyrics // "I don’t need a symbol to remind me how I feel about my brother.” and "The two of us against the world!” "What she said.” (10x05 Fan Fiction) I don’t know, country songs just make me think of Sam and Dean, okay.

I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Daniela Andrade // lyrics // “This is my life. I love it. But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother. And if he’s gone, then I don’t…” (10x18 Book of the Damned)

Golden by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // Dean is so so broken. “No, there is no other way, Sam. I’m sorry.” (10x23 Brother’s Keeper)

Church by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // This whole song screams Sam and Dean to me, and initially I thought of Sam’s Wall breaking down, but then I got stuck on the lines And if death is the last appointment / Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room / I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom and that’s so clearly Dean killing Death, unable to murder his little brother in the end, because his devotion to Sam runs too deep. (10x23 Brother’s Keeper) In which the SPN writers and Pete Wentz really should get together and discuss over-the-top religious imagery. You are doomed but just enough. Right Back Home by Lifehouse // lyrics // “We are home.“ (11x04 Baby) Be There by Seafret // lyrics // "Bring him back. Bring him back and take me instead." (11x17 Red Meat)  You're my way out / You're my way through / And I can't, I can't / Be without you.

Only the Brave by Louis Tomlinson // lyrics // “I need him, he needs me.“ (11x23 Alpha and Omega) With or Without You by U2 // lyrics // The absolute poetic tragedy of 12x09 (First Blood). The way they don’t even have time to really look at each other after six weeks apart, that they are both ready to die for each other without a moment of hesitation.

I Won't Mind by ZAYN // lyrics // “I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are. Because our lives? They're ours and maybe I'm too damn old to want to change that.” (14x13 Lebanon)

Fine Line by Harry Styles // lyrics // "Just us.” (15x19 Inherit the Earth)

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Careful What You Wish For

December 13, 2021

Prompt - Wishes

Characters - Miles, Royce, Bentley, and Butchy

This is like an AU-ish thing. Some parts are canon and others aren’t, and I hope it’s easy to tell what’s what, but I’m not sure how to describe this other than “you’ll see” so just a warning.

Notes - This was almost the first time I introduced the Murphy boys’ father in a speaking role, but I decided against it in favor of saving that for another couple of posts I plan on making after the prompt month is done. Also, I know it isn’t Friday the 13th, but I love Friday the 13th (the day, not the movie lol) and just thought this would be fun to work with.

Friday the thirteenth never seemed to bother Miles. If anything, his day usually seemed to go even better when it was Friday the thirteenth. To most who knew him, it infuriated them that he was so calm about a day that they were so superstitious about, but Miles just let it go and allowed the day to pass with relative ease. It wasn’t something he did on purpose; the day was just like any other for him. Nothing big ever really happened.

Well, for the most part.

“Did you make a wish?” Butchy asked that night as he joined Miles on the front porch.

Miles took a sip of his coffee and sighed, “Nope, not yet.”

Butchy glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before staring back out at the water. “Why not? There are plenty of stars and it’s Friday the thirteenth - your lucky day. You’d have double luck. Something eating at you?”

It didn’t take much for Miles to nod in response. “What isn’t? I promised my brothers I’d bring them here as soon as possible and it’s been almost two years. What kind of brother am I?”

It was Butchy’s time to sigh as he leaned against the porch railing. “A good one.”

Miles scoffed but quickly apologized as he knew Butchy was only being supportive. “I just don’t see it.”

“Miles, we’ve been over this,” Butchy claimed, placing a hand on Miles’ arm. “You can’t beat yourself up for something out of your control. You just bought a house of your own and, while I bet you’d love to have them as much as the rest of us would, you have almost no furniture.”

“I know… I just want them to be with me,” Miles said forlornly. “They don’t deserve to be stuck there with that mother- that- that- moron.”

Butchy chuckled at Miles’ choice of words. “Good catch. Lela would be proud.”

“Thanks.”

With a nod, Butchy went back to the topic at hand. “I completely agree with you about that, though. They shouldn’t be stuck there, but there’s no way to do anything without evidence and the possibility of getting you in trouble.”

“If he cared in the slightest about his car being stolen, he would’ve hunted me down to kingdom come,” Miles explained with a huff. “I just wish I could go back to that day and tell them what my plan was so they could be at least a little prepared for when I was gone. Maybe they'd be better off if I had done that in the first place.”

Butchy chose not to say anything for a while. The two stood in relative silence - bar the crashing of the waves on the sand and the faint music coming from Big Momma’s as the surfers threw another one of their shindigs - while both contemplated on their conversation. “Why don’t you bring them down to visit for a week?”

Miles’ eyes widened as he turned to Butchy in wonder. “Really?”

Butchy smiled and patted Miles on the back. “Yeah, why not? The last time you went to see them was in October and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind staying with us if it means they’re able to see you more often.”

Miles just sighed with a smile as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders in an instant. “Are you sure?”

Butchy chuckled, turning to Miles and placing his mug of hot chocolate on the porch railing before taking Miles by the shoulders. “I’m positive. We’ll look into prices for train rides and flights and we’ll try to get you out there.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you want to, yeah, we'll find a way.”

“Thank you, Butchy.”

True to his word, the next day, Butchy, Mick, and Lela brought Miles to a train station in Tampa. While the trip would be fairly long and he’d arrive in Myrtle Beach just around dinnertime, it would be worth it just to see his brothers again. Miles boarded the train fairly quickly after it was announced over the speakers that it was boarding. After being directed to an empty seat, Miles sighed to himself, muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Not long after, the train pulled from the station and, due to having to wake up at the crack of dawn to catch the train, Miles decided to sleep until they reached Charleston, South Carolina. He could go to his uncle's house and borrow his car for the rest of the ride to be with his brothers. He bunched up his leather jacket and tucked it against the icy window before resting his head against the jacket and relaxing into a light sleep. Sadly, what felt like only minutes passed before the train jolted, waking Miles from whatever sleep he could’ve gotten. When he finally rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Miles glanced around the train, finding only a man in a conductor suit sitting across from him, staring out the window.

Suddenly wide awake at the idea of the man just sitting there, watching him, Miles pushed himself to sit up straighter and pulled his jacket from the window it was pressed against, ready to pull it on. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was asleep for so long that we-” Miles cut himself off as he glanced out the window, a wintery, snow-covered scene passing by. “Is that snow?”

“Perhaps it is, Miles,” the man in the conductor’s outfit replied.

Miles froze and locked gazes with the man, finding himself almost uneasy at the man’s small smile. “I never told you my name.”

“You didn’t need to.” The man raised a single finger, pointing at the sleeve of Miles’ jean jacket. Sure enough, near the cuff of his jacket sleeve, his name was embroidered in Lela’s signature design - swirling letters and a small daisy.

Miles sighed, relaxing back into his seat. “Okay, sorry about that, but is that really snow outside? If so, I definitely missed my stop.”

“As I said, perhaps it is snow, but I suppose we’ll never know. Either way, you haven’t missed your stop,” the man - if Miles dared to examine his outfit in the slightest, he’d find the man’s nametag read Nicholas - said with that same smile Miles had been put off by in the first place.

Before Miles got the chance to question the man, the man rose from his seat, stepping out from his side of the booth. “Enjoy your time with Bentley and Royce, Miles. I’d make it count if I were you.”

Miles simply gawked at the man as he left the train car, attempting to process everything the man had said to him in the last few minutes. Deciding he was still half-asleep and that the man was simply being nice to him, Miles leaned back against the window, staring into space as the train slowly pulled to a stop. It wasn’t until Miles exited the train that he realized that one, the ground was completely snow-free and, two, he’d never told the man anything about where he was going or who he was visiting. But, when he turned back around to confront the man about this, the train he’d just left was completely gone, as though it had taken off down the tracks without him knowing.

Realizing he’d never get the chance to confront the conductor - if he even was one - Miles sighed and began heading toward where he knew his brothers would be - their father’s house. Somehow, it never occurred to him that the train had been destined for Charleston, a city that was about a two-and-a-half-hour drive from his hometown, where he’d arrived.

Miles smiled as he walked up Duffy Street. As much as he’d practically despised being under his father’s tyrannical roof, he had to admit that walking back up the street toward the house was almost something out of a movie - memories of riding bikes with his brothers and the rest of the neighborhood kids, leaving handprints in the freshly set sidewalk after the town workers left their neighborhood, coating their driveway in sidewalk chalk, and walking his brothers to school. As he finally reached the house in question, Miles smiled. His brothers’ bedroom light was still on.

Miles made his way to the side of the house, finding his way to the window that led into his brothers’ shared bedroom and peering inside. Royce was laying on the floor, surrounded by schoolbooks and journals while Bentley was resting against the wall beside his bed, doodling in a notebook Miles had given him for Christmas not long before he’d left for St. Pete. As Miles observed them, attempting to figure out a way to get their attention, Royce sat up and began speaking softly to Bentley, an eighth-grade history book in one hand and a notebook in the other.

‘Odd,’ Miles thought to himself. ‘Royce is wrapping up tenth now. I hope he's not doing Bentley's work for him again.’

Miles froze as Bentley shifted on his bed, turning so he could lay down. The boy paused, the rest of his sentence to Royce falling short as his gaze met Miles’ and he waved. Royce quickly turned and smiled before standing from the floor and making his way to the window, pulling the window open so they could talk.

“I thought you were in your room, Miles,” Royce spoke softly, pushing his reading glasses further up his nose. “Are you sneaking out or something?”

“Can we come?” Bentley asked as he joined his brothers. “Or do you need us to cover for you in case Dad asks?”

As his brothers’ words sank in, Miles paused, glancing between the two of them. It wasn’t hard to notice how different they looked from the time Miles last saw them in October - Royce’s hair was kept in loose rings, something he’d been neglecting to keep up since Miles had left home, while Bentley was significantly shorter than he remembered, only coming to Royce’s jaw. The last time he’d seen them both, Royce’s hair was held back with about a bucket of gel and Bentley almost came up to the top of Royce’s ear.

It was almost as though they were… No, that couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Royce and Bentley shared a look before Royce reached out the window and waved a hand in front of Miles’ face. “Earth to Miley,” the boy teased.

“‘Miley’?” Miles repeated quietly. “You haven’t called me that in… in years.”

Royce turned to Bentley and the two shared a concerned stare before turning back to Miles and kneeling on the floor so they could be eye-to-eye with him. “Miles,” Bentley began, reaching out the window and putting a hand on Miles’ arm, “are you okay?”

Miles shook his head briefly, swallowing thickly before meeting his brother’s gaze. “Benny, how old are you?”

Now it was time for his younger brothers to be truly concerned. Bentley grinned confusedly but replied honestly. “Eleven and ten months to the day, just like I was when you asked me this morning for our countdown. Why?”

An ice-cold chill ran down Miles’ spine as he soaked up his brother’s words like a sponge. His brothers - the ones he had every intention of bringing home with him, at least - were supposed to be almost thirteen and fifteen not, from the sounds of things, eleven and thirteen. “It’s January thirteenth? Of nineteen-sixty?”

“Yeah,” Bentley answered slowly. “It’s your birthday tomorrow. Miles, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m losing my mind.”

“It sounds like it too,” Royce claimed with a grin.

Miles sent him a look which, to Miles’ surprise, Royce merely snickered at instead of schooling his expression into a more serious stare as he’d been doing more frequently as of late. Miles smiled and shook his head before gesturing for the boys to come outside. “Get your jackets and climb out. We’re going to the beach for a bit. We’ve got lots to talk about.”

“So, you’re from the future?” Royce asked as he stared at his brother skeptically.

“Yes,” Miles replied.

“And you don’t know how you got here,” Bentley added as he attempted to draw in the sand, “but you were on a train to visit us and now you’re in the past?”

“Yep, and tonight is the night I’m supposed to leave.”

Royce turned his head, meeting Miles’ eyes. The older man, now appearing as a seventeen-year-old version of himself, froze as he realized what he’d said. “Leave? Leave where?”

Miles sighed as he had wanted to avoid the topic, “You never did miss anything I said.”

“‘Did’?” Royce echoed as his eyes widened. “Like, in the past, ‘did’? Am I dead in the future?!”

“No!” Miles exclaimed quickly, “No, no, no! I just meant that you’ve always been very good at picking up little things I say, even if I never meant to say them.”

As things calmed down once more and Royce all but flopped into Miles’ side with an exaggerated sigh, Bentley piped up, “So where are you leaving to?”

Miles sighed once again, not even half prepared for whatever their reaction might be. “St. Pete Beach, Florida.”

Even if Miles had been even remotely ready for his brothers’ responses, it wouldn’t have mattered. To his complete surprise, they just sat there, leaned against him with matching nods of what seemed to be acceptance. They seemed almost eerily calm about his words, both of them turning and wrapping an arm around him as they relaxed on the sand. Miles switched his gaze between the two of them before staring out at the water and questioning why they were so calm.

“You’re almost an adult; I had a feeling this would happen soon,” Bentley mumbled into Miles’ jacket.

Royce nodded slowly before peering up at Miles. “We’ve talked about this before, remember? We had it all planned out. Did something change?”

Miles sighed, laying back in the sand as he thought over everything that had happened after he left their childhood home. Royce and Bentley quickly followed, using Miles’ arms as pillows as they stared up at the sky, waiting for their brother to answer. “So much changed. I met an amazing group of people you’ll call family, I just bought a house for us right on the ocean, and there’s this restaurant we could walk to from the house where everyone is amazing and friendly. It’s- It’s like another world down there.”

Royce glanced at Miles out of the corner of his eyes with a smile. “Do they like us?”

To that, Miles smiled and nodded. “The most important ones have met you three times, I think, and they love you to pieces.”

It was Bentley’s time to look up at his brother, turning onto his side to see Miles better. “Do we like them?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to move in with me down there if you didn’t,” Miles answered.

Smiling at their brother’s words, Bentley and Royce relaxed against Miles’ arms once again. A moment of nearly complete silence passed - the occasional seagull and the crashing waves being the only other sounds in their secluded spot on the beach - before Miles chuckled. Bentley and Royce turned to Miles with identically raised eyebrows.

Deciding to answer their unasked question, Miles sat up with a laugh under his breath. “It’s just that you two are taking this whole ‘I’m from the future thing’ really well. Almost like it’s no big deal.”

Bentley shrugged, sitting up and shaking sand from his hair. “You’re our big brother, Miley. Even if you told us the grass was blue, we’d believe you.”

“Besides, if it’s anything like that time machine movie you took us to see,” Royce began with a smile as he sat up in the sand and ran a hand through his curls, “you’ll erase our memories and none of it will matter.”

Miles laughed this time, placing a hand on both of his brothers’ heads. “I love you guys.”

Royce and Bentley responded with matching “love you too”s before wrapping their arms around Miles’ shoulders. Miles sighed, relaxing into the hug with a smile as his brothers clung to him. “I really hope this isn’t some wild, ice-cream-induced dream.”

As they pulled back from the embrace, Royce and Bentley swiftly reached up and pinched Miles on the arm, making their oldest brother yelp. As the two of them dissolved into fits of giggles, Miles simply smiled, grateful to see them happy despite both of them knowing that he’d be leaving them later that night.

After walking around town, eating at the diner, and going to the movies, they made their way back to the house they called home and climbed in through the boys’ bedroom window. They spent the next hour or so talking about things that Miles had experienced in his future life - people he’d met, things he’d done, places he’d been to. After a while of chatting about everything and nothing at the same time, Miles glanced at the clock on Royce’s nightstand and sighed.

“It’s time for bed, boys.” Matching groans of complaint were his only response, to which Miles chuckled, “I know, I know, but you both need your sleep and I have to get ready to leave, remember?”

At that, the boys went quiet and Royce detached himself from Miles’ side, making his way to his own bed as a silence fell over the room. “Do we have to stay here?” Bentley asked, tugging at Miles’ shirt as the older boy stood.

Miles sighed, reaching down to tuck the blankets around Bentley as the almost twelve-year-old laid down. “You have no idea how much I wish I could take you both with me, but you have to stay here just a little while longer until the Miles that you know has a house you two can move into.”

Bentley smiled sadly as Miles placed a kiss to his head. “Thank you for coming back to be with us, Miley. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Benny,” Miles said with a small grin. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll see you again soon.”

After pressing one last kiss to Bentley’s head, Miles moved to Royce’s bed, finding the thirteen-year-old curled on his side with the blankets already pulled up to his chin. As Miles sat on the edge of the bed, Royce turned to face him, silent tears welling up in his eyes as he launched himself into Miles’ arms. Miles swiftly enveloped his brother in a tight squeeze, running a hand through his curls with a sad smile.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Royce complained softly so Bentley couldn’t hear him. “What will we do about Dad? I can’t even protect myself, how am I supposed to protect Benny?”

Miles took a deep breath and sighed. Sadly, this was a question he’d been prepared for. “You’re a smart boy, Royce. Use that to your advantage. If he starts anything, lock yourself and Benny in here and leave the way we did earlier. Go down to the library or something until you think it’ll be safe to come back.”

Royce nodded slowly against Miles’ chest. “I could get a job like you did. I can help you save up money and we can move in with you faster.”

Miles shook his head as Royce leaned back from the hug. “Save your money, baby. Don’t tell Dad you’re making any money; he can’t take what he doesn’t know about. If you need any help - and I mean any help - you call Uncle Tommy and he’ll come get you and bring you back to his place. I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll get a few jobs and work my butt off to get you home with me.”

Royce nodded slowly with a soft sniffle, attempting to blink away the stinging in his eyes as the room went quiet again. Once Royce laid down and was tucked in by Miles, Bentley yawned loudly from his bed. “Miley?” Bentley asked tiredly from his side of the room. Once Miles acknowledged him, Bentley spoke again, “Are you happy in Florida?”

Miles smiled. “I’ll be happier to have you both with me, but yes, yes, I am.”

“Good,” the youngest of the brothers said before rolling over and making himself comfortable. “You deserve to be happy.”

After talking with Royce for a little while longer, Miles climbed out of their window and into his own room, not wanting to risk being found by their father. Looking around his old room, Miles felt a wave of nostalgia rush over him. His bed was completely unmade - his teenage self definitely lived by “I’ll just sleep in it again” reasoning - his desk was covered in comic books and journals, and a couple of suitcases Miles knew all too well were just barely visible from their hiding spot in the closet. With a deep breath, Miles grabbed the suitcases and tossed them onto his bed. After popping them open, Miles grabbed some of his clothes and began filling his suitcases with almost everything he owned.

Some of his comic books he’d give to his brothers as, once he’d gotten to Florida the first time around, he’d regretted not leaving them some. Some of his sweaters and hoodies were set aside - he wouldn’t need them in Florida and his brothers loved them anyway - as well as his latest journal. Once his suitcases were full - it didn’t take much as they weren’t the biggest - Miles closed them up and set them by the window before going back to where he’d left his journal and opening it, scribbling out a short note to his brothers in the back of the book.

‘RJ and Benny,

Just know that no matter what happens or how long it takes, I will be back to bring you home. Thanks for spending the day with me, even though I’m not technically your Miles. It felt great to be back with both of you again and to see you both so happy. Next time I see you both - in my future, at least - we’ll see a movie or maybe we’ll hop on a train and go straight to Florida. Who knows? I’d like to, anyway. I love you both more than words could ever say. See you in the future.

Je t'aime pour toujours.

-Your Miley.’

Miles closed the journal and pushed it into a small lockbox he’d kept his money in over his time living there. The box was big enough for a few of his sweaters and some of his comic book collection which was more than enough for him. After making sure their father was sound asleep in the living room, Miles snuck into the room, grabbed the man’s car keys from the coffee table, brought the lockbox into his brothers’ room, and left the key for it inside a letter he’d already prepared for Royce, and escaped back to his room.

Before long, Miles climbed out his bedroom window and made his way to where his father’s car was parked in the driveway. Before he could get in, however, he heard a loud train whistle blow nearby, making him jump. That hadn’t happened the first time he’d left home. Slowly, Miles turned, finding a train screeching down the middle of his street, steam billowing from underneath as the train pulled to a stop. As far as Miles was aware - which, of course, he was, as he’d lived there his entire life - there had never been any train tracks there. Before he had the chance to question anything - like, you know, his mental health or if he was even alive anymore - the conductor from earlier stepped down from the train and stared expectantly at him.

Miles dropped his suitcases, taking off in a run in the man’s direction. “You-!”

“Will be very late if you don’t board right now, Miles,” the man interrupted with a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’ve seen your brothers. Now, I believe it’s time for you to return.”

“Return?” Miles repeated. “Return where?” The man, Nicholas - yes, Miles had taken the time to check his name tag this time - simply smiled and gestured to the train. This time, Miles wasn’t irked by the man’s demeanor. “But my brothers-”

Once again, Nicholas interrupted Miles, “Will be upset with you if you don’t meet up with them soon. Now, boarding or not boarding?”

Miles turned to the train with a wary stare before sighing and giving his answer to the man.

“Hey, kid,” a gruff voice spoke as Miles slowly sat up and yawned. Miles glanced around blearily, rubbing one eye as the other landed on a tall man in a railway worker’s uniform. “Yeah, you,” the man spoke again once Miles spotted him. “Welcome back to the land of the living, kid. We’re in Charleston which means it’s time for you to get off before we turn around and head for Georgia.”

With that being said, the man turned and left, not bothering to wait around as Miles gathered up his things and made his way off the train. The walk from the train station - which Miles had been to numerous times to visit his brothers - to his Uncle Tommy’s place was only about fifteen minutes long, but it felt like an hour passed before Miles showed up at the man’s house, planning on asking to borrow his uncle’s car so he could drive the next two and a half hours to his father’s house. If he remembered his brothers’ schedules properly, Royce would be just getting off of work, and Bentley would be at the park as he always was after finishing up at his busboy job.

To his great surprise, instead of his mountain of an uncle opening the door, it was pulled open by someone who looked an awful lot like his baby brother - dark, golden blonde hair and piercing, steel blue eyes that glowed in the light that came from the porch sconce. As soon as Bentley’s eyes met Miles’, they widened as a smile beamed across the young teen’s face. “Miley!” he screeched, launching himself onto his oldest brother.

Miles quickly embraced the boy in return, smiling as he realized that Bentley now came to just under his chin. He didn’t have much time to think on the matter as Royce quickly joined them, having run from somewhere in the house when his little brother had yelled. Once he saw Miles, however, any concern was thrown out the window in favor of joining Bentley in tackle-hugging Miles.

“Miles, you’re back!” Royce exclaimed, throwing his arms around Miles’ neck.

Their uncle soon joined them in the doorway, watching with a smile before telling the three boys to go inside. Royce and Bentley had no hesitation about pulling Miles up the stairs and into Bentley’s room. “How’s Butchy and Lela?” Bentley asked as Miles sat on his bed and looked around the room.

“Yeah, and what about Mickie? How is she?” Royce added as he sat on the end of the bed.

“They-They’re good,” Miles replied slowly as he took in how well-decorated the room was. There was a desk covered in art supplies and stickers Bentley had probably gotten from the comic book shop, a wardrobe with a mirror on one of the doors, posters of Bentley’s favorite superheroes, and pictures of family members scattered over the walls. It suited Bentley in so many ways. “When did you guys move in here?”

Bentley and Royce glanced at each other before Bentley allowed Royce to speak. “Miles, you helped us move in back in August, right before school started.”

Miles turned to his brothers curiously before slowly shaking his head. “No, I think I would… remember that…” Miles sighed heavily before laying back on Bentley’s bed and staring up at the ceiling. “Great, I’m losing my mind all over again.”

Once again, Royce and Bentley shared a look before joining Miles in laying back against the mattress. A minute or two of silence passed before Bentley sat up and turned to the side to face Miles. “Is this like that time you said you were from the future?”

Miles quickly sat up, taking Bentley by the shoulders. “Say that again?”

Bentley sent his brother a confused, raised eyebrow, but repeated himself, “Is this like when you said you were from the future?”

“You remember that?” Miles breathed softly, a smile forming on his face.

It was Royce’s turn to sit up and speak, “It was kind of hard to forget. You gave us one last great day with you before you left for Florida just like you said you would. Almost everything you said, came true.”

“Almost?” Miles repeated.

Just as Royce was about to answer, Bentley cut in, “Wait, are you just now coming back from that? Is this the future you were talking about?”

Miles glanced between his brothers, taking one of their hands in both of his before smiling. “You know what? I think this just might be better than what I had talked about. You’re going to have to fill me in on what I’ve missed because,” Miles scoffed happily as he looked around the room, “I guess I’ve missed a lot.”

Royce and Bentley leaned in front of Miles so they could smile at each other before nodding to Miles and beginning to tell Miles everything that had happened since he’d left for Florida. As the stories began, Miles began to fill in the banks, pulling bits and pieces of memories out of seemingly nowhere. By the end of their conversation, Miles had taken his brothers into a hug, just grateful to be with them and to know they were in a safe environment until he’d be able to bring them home with him. It was more than he could’ve ever wished for.

[ineffable-snowman]

Fic: For Want of Snow

Hi @smeltster, this is your gift for the GO Events gift exchange @good-snowmens. Happy Good Snowmens to you!

Thank you very much to @artemis for beta-reading!

***

For Want of Snow

“You don’t have snow anymore in London,” Aziraphale had said wistfully one day while they were strolling through St. James’s Park, Crowley with a black umbrella and Aziraphale with a tartan one to protect themselves against the steady drizzle.

Personally, Crowley could do without the snow. The usual London weather in December – grey, cold, rainy – was bad enough. Nevertheless, he had filed that information away for later, and when he came across a snow globe in a shop (as you do), he bought one for Aziraphale.

“Oh, how delightful,” Aziraphale said happily as Crowley presented him with the snow globe and removed a stack of books from the coffee table to place the snow globe there. Crowley, in turn, removed the books from the floor and squeezed them onto the shelves.

“Need to keep things tidy,” he offered as a mumbled explanation at Aziraphale’s questioning glance, all the while trying to forget how, just a few months ago, all the books and sheets of paper on the floor had so quickly caught fire. Then he flopped down on his sofa, half listening to Aziraphale prattle on about some theatre production he wanted to see, but mostly glaring at the blessed fireplace to make it very clear that it was never meant to host a fire again.

“Are you quite alright?” Aziraphale’s voice jolted him out of his glaring.

“Yeah, sure. Just cold.” Nothing unusual about snakes disliking the cold, right?

Aziraphale immediately got up to fuss, offered him a woollen tartan blanket (which he naturally refused), and a cup of tea (which he allowed).

“I could light a fire,” Aziraphale suggested.

“No! No, not necessary, I’m already much warmer, this-” Crowley sloshed some tea over his trousers and suppressed a hiss “-works wonders. What were you saying about that musical play?”

The distraction worked – for now. It did nothing to make the images of the bookshop on fire in Crowley’s mind disappear, though. 

Crowley’s gaze kept drifting to the snow globe where the snowflakes floated dreamily down onto the little house between pine trees. The brightly lit windows looked cosy, and an idea started to form in Crowley’s head.

***

Hell used to hold Crowley up as an example for efficient evil deeds organisation. What he was planning now was not exactly evil but it warranted the same kind of attention to detail (maybe even more).  

He started subtly, making the Bentley play White Christmas whenever he drove Aziraphale somewhere. Then he placed adverts at the places Aziraphale frequented: picturesque images of snowy villages and woods, vacation homes, cottages to rent, property for sale.

“You know, it would be nice to have a White Christmas again,” Aziraphale said when they were sitting, once again wet from the London rain, in the Bentley and the song Winter Wonderland began to play.

Crowley hummed his agreement. “Makes it really Christmassy, snow. Very festive.”

“It’s a shame neither of us took weather management courses, back in Heaven.”

“Yeah, would’ve been more helpful than choir practice.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!”

Any other day Crowley gladly would have taken this chance to bitch about Heaven with Aziraphale but now he needed to focus on his mission. The car in front of them stopped without knowing why, right next to a travel agency with a big poster in their shop window that showed a cottage in a winter landscape.

“You know,” Crowley said offhandedly, “there are places where you could have a White Christmas.”

“Yes, in Lappland or Siberia. I’m sure it would be wonderful to go there but you know how I love the English Christmas traditions.”

“There are English places where you could have a White Christmas.”

“Oh? Where would that be?”

“Tadfield. For example.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Uh.” From very thorough research about which part of the UK had the highest probability of a White Christmas. “Had a chat with the Antichrist’s father. Not Satan, obviously, still not on speaking terms since you know. His human father. Anyway, they’ve had White Christmases for several years now, he said.”

“How lovely. Tadfield is not very far, maybe we could go there on Christmas Day for a walk in the snow.”

Crowley shrugged. “Could rent a cottage for Christmas.”

Aziraphale turned to him, a worried look on his face, and shit, shit, shit, too fast. The song changed midway (I’m dreaming of ice in the sunshine) and the snowy cottage on the poster turned into a tropical island. Crowley wanted to hit himself for being such an idiot. Why couldn’t he leave things be? Things were fine now, why couldn’t he just be satisfied with what he had?

“I meant only so we could have a place to warm up,” he said quickly and honked at the car in front of him to finally get moving, for Heaven’s sake! “You know, after a walk in the snow, you need a warm place where you can have a hot drink and I don’t think they have cafés in Tadfield, so.”

“Oh. Yes.” Aziraphale hesitated. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “We could do that.”

***

It took careful planning. First of all he needed to rent a cottage. Not just any cottage, the perfect cottage in the perfect location. A cottage that was also potentially for sale.

Then he kidnapped the holiday decorator at Harrods (but paid him generously, so it wasn’t really kidnapping) to hang up Christmas lights, holly, garlands, and of course to put up and decorate a huge Christmas tree. Crowley visited the cottage himself to make sure the decorations were appropriate, paying special attention to the angel ornaments because they must not resemble certain archangels. While he was there, he also gave the Christmas tree a very strong talking to not to shed a single needle.

Then he brought everything you needed for a perfect Christmas, which was mostly food and drinks. There was some minor blackmail involved when he bullied the waitress at Aziraphale’s favourite café to give away their hot chocolate recipe. He needed three days of practice and several cartons of milk until he got it right without any miracles. (It was the first and hopefully last time his kitchen ever experienced any real cooking.)

On the morning of the 25th, Crowley was thoroughly exhausted but positive that his demonic plan was flawless. What could go wrong? Still he hovered in front of the bookshop’s door, wondering if he should ring the bell, if Aziraphale had forgotten their plan, if all of this was a phenomenally bad idea, if –

Aziraphale opened the door and smiled at him. “Ah, good morning.” He was wrapped in a thick coat and a fluffy woollen scarf. “Merry Christmas!” He handed Crowley a present.

“Ah.” Crowley’s hands moved of their own accord and took it. So that was a thing now. They gave each other Christmas presents now. “Thanks.” Why had no one informed him? He did not have anything for Aziraphale. (Did a cottage count?)

“Open it. You’re going to need it today.”

Crowley carefully opened the golden wrapping paper. He was not prepared for this, the idea that Aziraphale had chosen something for him and then wrapped it and put a bow on it. It was not even midday and things were already getting out of his control.

Inside the box were a thick red scarf and a pair of earmuffs. Crowley would have complained about the fluffiness of the earmuffs but at least they were black and it was his first ever Christmas present from Aziraphale, meaning he would kill anyone who tried to take the earmuffs away from him.

“Ah-hm, guess they could be useful,” he said and Aziraphale’s face erupted into a happy smile.

“Oh, I hoped you would like the colour. You never wear proper winter clothing. It’s no wonder you’re always cold…”

Crowley drove them out of the city while Aziraphale prattled on about bearskins and muffs. Crowley would occasionally comment with a hum but was mostly wondering what it meant that Aziraphale had decided to give him a Christmas present and worried about him staying warm and had gone to the trouble of choosing colours which Crowley liked.

“Oh dear, is the tape deck not working again?”

“Hm?” Crowley startled. The Bentley was playing Crazy Little Thing Called Love. As it had when they had driven off, thirty minutes ago. Crazy Little Thing Called Love was not a thirty-minute-long song, was it?

“I thought Adam had repaired it,” Aziraphale said.

“No, it should-” Crowley thumped against the disc compartment until it played Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture “-definitely be working.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

The music that was dramatic enough for this day had not been composed yet but Crowley let Aziraphale choose another CD and resolved to pay more attention to the music from now on.

Fortunately, the drive was not that long and they soon arrived at the outskirts of Tadfield where the cottage was located. The village was in walking distance but far enough away so they had their privacy.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley suppressed a flinch. Did the cottage look too similar to the house in the snow globe? Was it too obvious? “You don’t like it?”

“No, I mean, yes, I like it, it is absolutely wonderful. What a lovely place you have found!”

Crowley let out the breath he had been holding. Aziraphale liked it. He thought the place Crowley had found absolutely wonderful. His plan was working.

“Right! Let’s have a look inside?” Crowley got out of the car and winced when he stepped into the snow. He had forgotten to miracle his shoes waterproof. He would fix them later. For now he opened the front door for Aziraphale, proud to show him the festively decorated interior.

“Oh, look at that, how gorgeous! But who decorated the place like this?”

Oh no. Too much? “Er, it was just…a Christmas…special…deal. To get the house like this. Didn’t know it would be so bright and festive.” Crowley made sure to make a properly disgusted face.

“It is marvellous. Makes you want to stay inside all day. But we are here for the snow, of course. But we must sit down here and have a drink later and really appreciate the decorations.”

Good, Aziraphale liked the interior and wanted to stay, just like he was supposed to. Crowley ticked it off his mental list.

Now to the unpleasant part: snow.

At least Crowley had his new scarf and earmuffs. That did not keep his fingers warm or stop his nose from running, though. Also, walking in the snow was a nuisance. It was exhausting, his shoes and trousers got wet and he stumbled or slipped every few meters. But Aziraphale had flushed cheeks and commented happily on this and that, and it was really annoying and ridiculous what Crowley was willing to do to make that bastard smile.

Aziraphale, naturally, walked on the snow, almost gliding over it as if it was nothing, just leaving the faintest of footprints whereas Crowley trudged a few feet behind, wheezing and sometimes blessing at the bloody snow. Crowley knew that, technically, he should be able to do the same, what with angels and demons being of the same stock. But he also knew that he really needed to know that fact for it to work, and his brain refused to cooperate. Stupid brain, stupid snow.

“It has been some time, hasn’t it?” Aziraphale had stopped and was waiting for Crowley to catch up. He offered Crowley his arm, and Crowley was not against linking arms or holding hands, not at all, but this was humiliating and he wanted to be the one to extend a hand… but there was no way he was going to decline such an offer. Grumbling, he linked arms with Aziraphale and let the angel pull him up.

“There you go.” Aziraphale patted his arm and smiled at him and Crowley was glad he was wearing his sunglasses because getting such an open smile from up so close was shocking. (Also because the snow was blinding.) “You’ve done it before, so there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work now. You just have to believe in it.”

Crowley snorted. Believe in it, that was really the core of the problem. Demons weren’t supposed to – the fickle snow under his feet already gave in at the barest hint of that thought but Aziraphale tightened his hold just in time. An angelic miracle surged through Crowley’s body, making him shudder. It should work now, being supported by the angel’s powers. It did, he stayed on top of the snow even though his legs were a bit wobbly.

“Now, that’s better,” said Aziraphale. “See, it’s just like – what is the saying – riding a bicycle.”

“Never really liked those either. Not enough wheels.”

They discussed vehicles of transportation while they walked towards the forest. It was exhausting to make conversation and at the same time keep his senses tuned for any humans along their way who needed to be distracted. Not to mention the permanent miracle to keep his body temperature up and not succumb to the temptation of hibernation. Then there were the snow-covered branches that got into his face. Why had any human ever thought it a good idea to go for a walk through a snowy forest for fun?

When they had finally spent the scheduled amount of time in the forest, Crowley directed their steps towards the village and made sure to pass the bookshop in a side street with the FOR SALE sign in its window. (As the owner had not known she owned a bookshop 24 hours ago, she was all the more happy for that sign, not least of all because it would bring her unexpected money.)

“Oh, nice bookshop.” Crowley slowed down his steps in front of it. “Would be a shame if someone bought it who’d turn it into a mobile phone shop. Or an estate agency.”

Aziraphale looked pained at the mere idea. Good.

Next stop: the bakery, which for miraculous reasons was opened on Christmas Day.

“How about a little snack?” Crowley suggested.

“Oh, yes, it smells heavenly.”

Crowley harrumphed because the fact that Aziraphale’s favourite bakery had, at short notice, decided to open a branch in Tadfield had nothing at all to do with heavenly influences. He urged Aziraphale to try the ciabatta with roasted garlic and fennel because Aziraphale always insisted that he had never eaten better ciabatta.

“This is good,” Aziraphale said when he tried it. “Mm, I think it’s almost as good as Francesco’s.”

Almost as good?! Who in this bakery had screwed up? Did Crowley have to kidnap Francesco, too? Aziraphale kept on praising the bakery but Crowley was already drawing up new plans on how to insure there was the perfect ciabatta in Tadfield.

Back in the cottage, Crowley immediately went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. This was the tricky part of the plan. The milk could not be trusted. And the cream could be a real bitch.

Right, he could do this. He had succeeded in his kitchen, so he could do it here as well. Saucepan, milk, cocoa powder, sugar, cream, chocolate chips, a pinch of vanilla, a pinch of cinnamon, miracle, pray, hope that it would not boil over. Well, he had nine more cartons of milk, just in case, and enough cocoa powder for at least a year, but he did not want to keep Aziraphale waiting for too long.

After a few minutes, he proudly poured the hot chocolate into a mug. Now for the garnish. Whipped cream, marshmallows, chopped chocolate, candy cane, flake, cinnamon stick – the mug was too small.

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley hissed at it but he refrained from using a miracle because Aziraphale was snobbish about miracled food.

His hands were sticky with a mix of hot chocolate, whipped cream and marshmallows (because naturally he had spilled something) when bringing Aziraphale the mug but Aziraphale’s delighted and grateful expression made up for it. Another successful stage of his plan!

“This is very good. Where did you learn how to make it?”

“Not that difficult, really.” Crowley dropped down on the sofa in exhaustion.

“Won’t you have some, too?”

Oh, right. That was a thing, drinking hot chocolate together after a walk in the snow. “Of course, just getting mine…”

So, back to the kitchen. Saucepan, milk, cocoa powder, miracle, candy cane, done.

Hot chocolate was not Crowley’s favourite drink (especially not with hurried demonic miracle flavour) but it warmed him up. That, and watching Aziraphale with his flushed cheeks and content smile savour his drink.

“So. This place isn’t half bad,” Crowley said.

“It is absolutely lovely. Maybe we could, I don’t know… return here next year for a day or two?”

Returning sounded good, a day or two not good enough. Time to fortify the temptation.

“We could stay for tonight. Go for another walk. Could go at night, snow in the moonlight – looks nice, doesn’t it? Or tomorrow we could go to – to – to the hill. It’ll be a nice view from there, all the snow and…trees!”

“That does sound rather nice. But we couldn’t just stay here, could we?”

“Why not?”

“Well, it must belong to a human.”

“Yeah, it does. But the owner said it’s free for the next few…” centuries, decades, years “…months.”

“I see. In that case...” Aziraphale gave him a questioning glance as if waiting for Crowley to say it.

“Yes?” Crowley leant forward, waiting for Aziraphale to say it.

“I mean, as it is already getting dark…”

“Yes, very dark.”

“I mean, we could stay for one more…day, I suppose. Go for another walk in the snow.”

“Great.” Crowley gulped down the rest of his hot chocolate (and offered Aziraphale the candy cane). Everything was going according to plan, he had reached his goal for today. He would initiate the next stage of the plan tomorrow. For now, he could relax for a bit, and he really needed the break from all the minor or major miracles of the last few days, and the bloody snow. He sagged down further into the cushions of the couch. Warmth started to crawl back into his body, from his hands, which had held the mug with the hot drink, to his core until finally his whole corporation felt pleasantly heavy. Aziraphale seemed perfectly content, nibbling on his candy cane, and so Crowley could be, too. His breathing slowed down and he closed his eyes for a bit. Everything was so warm and nice and safe and… wait, what was that? He did not remember getting under a blanket. But it was a nice blanket. Very soft and very warm. He slowly blinked his eyes open. Everything was brighter. Where were his – ah. His glasses had been placed on the coffee table, next to five empty mugs and a stack of books. Oh no, was he back in the bookshop? But no, the bookshop was more dusty and stuffy. He was still in the cottage. They were still in the cottage. Aziraphale was sitting in the chair opposite Crowley, entirely engrossed in the book in his lap. Sometimes the hint of a smile would tug at the corners of his lips.

This was what Crowley had imagined. Well, not completely, to be honest. For example, he had not envisioned being covered with a woollen tartan blanket but the damage was done, no need to throw it away now. Besides, he was so very comfy in his cocoon of warmth. He stretched sleepily and wrapped the blanket more firmly around himself.

Aziraphale looked up from his book and the hint of a smile turned into a full smile when he caught Crowley’s eye. “Oh, you’re awake.”

That was food for thought, that Crowley got a bigger smile than the books. Crowley was not prepared for this – this – this four-letter word, all of it directed at him so openly.

“How long have I been…?”

“A bit more than two weeks, I think. Ah, maybe three. I haven’t been keeping track of time very thoroughly.”

“Two or three-?” Crowley sat up and got tangled up in the blanket. “But…” All of his careful laid out plans and he had simply overslept!

“It’s fine. I contacted the owner of this cottage. She said she did not have any other bookings and that we could stay for as long as we wanted. In fact, she seemed to be under the impression that we were going to stay for a bit longer anyway.”

And now that woman had messed it up even more! What was Aziraphale thinking? “Ah. Humans. Don’t really have a grasp on time,” Crowley tried to play it down.

Aziraphale placed a bookmark into the book, closed it and put it on the table. “I’ve been thinking.”

Oh no. “We need to talk?” Crowley ventured, dread growing, because those words were just as ominous.

“Yes.” Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. Then he looked back up at Crowley. “Do you want to stay here?”

Of course he had worked it all out. Clever bastard. Stupid of Crowley to think otherwise, stupid of him to fall asleep and let Aziraphale overthink it for two or three weeks instead of being distracted and tempted by hot chocolate, ciabatta and little bookshops for sale.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prodded.

How could he get out of this situation with both of them keeping their dignity intact? “Er, mnk. It’s not that bad here? I guess I could see myself staying here. Just, nhm, sleeping for a bit, you know.”

“And…do you want us to stay here…together?” Aziraphale’s voice had gone almost inaudible on the last word.

Crowley gave a big, hopefully very casual shrug that was meant to communicate just how unaffected he was by all of this. “I wouldn’t mind. Only if you want to, of course. Do you? Want to?”

“No, Crowley, I asked you if you wanted to stay here together.” Aziraphale’s voice had grown louder again, almost resolute now.

There was no way out of this. No shrugs, no half-answers, not even falling asleep for another few weeks could get him out of this situation. Right, be brave now.

He looked at Aziraphale and Aziraphale looked calmly back at him. It suddenly did not seem so frightening anymore. It would be fine, whatever he said. Aziraphale would still shelter him from the rain or help him walk on snow; would never cast him away.

Crowley gave a jerky nod.

“Good.” Aziraphale smiled tentatively. “Then we will stay here.” He nodded, as if to confirm it to himself, then grabbed his book with trembling fingers.

“Your hands are shaking,” Crowley said.

“Indeed, they are.” Aziraphale watched his own fingers as they opened the book on the page he had marked. “It’s just a lot.”

“I get that.” Crowley really did. He knew that Aziraphale by now had probably worked out the details of his plan with the numerous miracles to get them here and it should be humiliating but somehow it was okay because Aziraphale was just as nervous and was willing to do this with Crowley. “We don’t have to right now, we could just come here on vacation once a year or-”

“No, I want to.”

Huh. That had been easier than expected. Several stages of the plan were suddenly redundant. “What about your bookshop?”

“I was under the impression that you had already purchased that little bookshop in town?”

“Not yet but…I could.”

“Right.”

Crowley noticed how tensely Aziraphale’s fingers held the book, almost crumpling its pages. He knew how much Aziraphale loved his bookshop, and although it was flattering to think that Aziraphale would give it up for him, he never wanted Aziraphale to give anything up. “Or you could keep your bookshop. London’s not that far. We could go there once a week so you can open it every Tuesday or so. Won’t make much of a difference for the customers.”

Aziraphale considered it for a moment but then he shook his head. “No. I want to live here, I really do. It is perfect. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Crowley was lost for words. They were here, together, and they were going to stay. What else was there for him to say or do? Perfect, yes.

“I hope you’re well rested?” Aziraphale asked. “Because I’m planning on taking you up on that promise of a moonlight walk in the snow.”

“There’s still snow?!” Hadn’t he slept long enough?

“Indeed there is, and it looks marvellous.”

“Guess I owe you.”

After being asleep for so long in the warmth of the cottage, the cold outside was a bit of a shock. Aziraphale offered his arm again to assist Crowley, who, after a few uncoordinated steps, got the hang of walking on snow much quicker this time.

“Still hate snow,” he grumbled but it wasn’t that bad really.  Yes, it was bloody cold but there were some upsides. Like the snow glistening in the moonlight and Aziraphale still holding him close, which wasn’t strictly necessary anymore and therefore even better.

They were on their own, not a sound to be heard but their breathing and the rustling of their coats. In the distance, the village laid asleep, no lights to be seen, just the smoke from the chimneys showed that humans lived there.

They walked towards the forest. The snow covering the ground was untouched but for some tracks that animals had left. The branches of the trees were hanging low with the weight of the snow. Everything felt a little unreal, it couldn’t be further from London’s hectic and loud atmosphere. It made Crowley all the more aware of everything, like how close they were pressed together. Aziraphale with his thick winter coat felt like a big comfy cushion against Crowley’s side.

They kept walking for hours like this, sometimes exchanging a few hushed words but mostly just enjoying the stillness of the world. Just walking and being here, no deeds to be done, no need to tempt or plan or work miracles. They kept walking until the break of dawn. Without discussing it, they directed their steps towards the village where one by one the lights in the houses went on.

“How do-ooaah!” Something hit Crowley right in the face and he staggered, lost his footing and landed on his bottom in the snow. “What was that?”

“I believe a-” Aziraphale ducked to avoid the next missile “-snowball. How rude.”

“Snowball.” The best thing about snow. Crowley was already sculpting his own snowballs and then started the counter attack. He liked sleeping, good food and moonlight walks well enough but he was still a demon, and using that annoying, squishy, cold stuff for snowball fights – brilliant idea. He was chasing the screaming kids around, bombarding them with his snowballs, ignoring Aziraphale’s complaints (“Crowley, you can’t use miracles against children!”).

“He’s the Antichrist, he can defend himself!” And his friends could just as well. Only when Crowley let snowballs the sizes of snowmen rain down on them, did they retreat.

“Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale admonished him while patting down the snow from Crowley’s coat, scarf and hair.

Crowley cackled. “That was fun.” He snapped his fingers for a new pair of sunglasses because the other one had been lost in the fight and was now probably buried somewhere in the snow.

“You look frozen. Let’s head back and warm you up. Maybe with some of that delicious hot chocolate you made. Are there still ingredients left or do we need to buy something?”

“I think we still have some,” Crowley said, thinking of the nine cartons of milk in the Bentley’s boot.

Back in the cottage, Crowley miracled his clothes dry and headed for the kitchen. Aziraphale followed him.

“How did you learn to make such scrumptious hot chocolate? Can you show me? What’s the secret?”

“Uh, possibly the milk.”

“What’s with the milk?”

“You heat it.”

“Yes?”

“It’s bloody difficult! Milk’s always trying to boil over and it makes a mess…”

“Yes, it sometimes does that.” Aziraphale stepped next to Crowley and examined the stove and the saucepan. “I think I can handle the milk.”

Aziraphale turned out to be a natural in heating milk. No boiling over, no stench, no flames, no ruined saucepan, not even spilled milk on the floor.

“You’re good at that,” Crowley said in surprise and added the cocoa powder.

“Oh, well, it’s not the first time I’ve made hot chocolate. Would you pass me the whisk, love?”

Crowley crashed into the countertop and spilled half of the sugar he had meant to add next. He stared at Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled bashfully, his cheeks flushed red. He knew what he was doing, that bastard. He meant it.

“The whisk.” Crowley cleared his throat because his voice had come out very undemonic. “Right, yes, sure.” He passed it to Aziraphale and then got more sugar and the other ingredients.

Emboldened by Aziraphale’s bravery, he stepped a little closer so their shoulders brushed against each other. Aziraphale stopped breathing but he did not flinch away. He was still smiling when he whisked the milk and the cocoa powder. Crowley took his time adding the sugar and chocolate chips. And afterwards, he just stayed where he was and even dared to, very lightly, place a hand in the small of Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale wriggled a little closer and suddenly it was very easy to place his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Crowley could not tell how long they stayed like this, Aziraphale whisking the hot chocolate and Crowley staring almost transfixed into the saucepan, inhaling the chocolaty scent and the warmth and Aziraphale’s closeness. What did it matter, they were not in a hurry, and the milk behaved for once.

[miastideclock]

3RACHA Reaction To Their Girlfriend Speaking A Different Language

heyyy? could i request a 3racha reaction to their gf being from a diff country, and how theybreact to her talking her native language on the phone or when she's upset or something??? thank youuu

hEAVY WARNING, i speak NONE of these languages fluently, so like- bear with me, and please let me know if I’ve made any mistakes ehehe thanks y’all, i like barely understand two of them, ehe

Major thanks to  @stoysolaxd​ for helping with the Spanish part! 

-                

CB97 (Bang Chan)

NORWAY

Sitting in the studio while your boyfriend was working was one of your favorite pastimes, which worked out quite well, as that was where Chan spent ninety percent of his freetime. You sat on the floor, your back leaning against the couch, your arms resting on the coffee-table in front of you as you noted on the pieced of paper you had.

“What do you think?” Chan asked after a few minutes of silence, turning around to look at you. The sheet you had at your hands, was lyrics and notes Chan had written, waiting for your approval.

“I love it, I absolutely do. Just give it-” You started, but your phone soon went off. You quickly apologized to Chan and picked up, seeing as it was your mother. Chan instantly nodded, it not being a problem. It was a very casual studio session, so there was no hurry or stress around anything.

You greeted your mother, who cut right to the chase, asking if you were bringing Chan home for christmas.

“Ja, jeg kan snakke med ham om det. Okay, mamma- men har du tenkt på at kanskje han vil feire jul hjemme? Nei, det er greit, jeg skal spør han senere. Vi snakkes senere, glad i deg.” *”Yeah, I can talk to him about it. Okay, but mum? What if he wants to spend Christmas at home, did you thing about that? No, okay, I’ll ask him later. Talk to you later, love you.”

Chan had told you this before, but it never stopped being the truth- he could listen to you speak Norwegian forever. The way you rolled your r-s and how different it sounded to both Korean and English. He also admired that you could speak so many different languages so effortlessly.

After you hung up, you turned to look at your boyfriend looking at you with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Are you okay?” You asked him as you placed your phone back in your pocket and got to your feet, walking over to him.

“Yeah. I just can’t believe I’m dating a bilingual queen.” He said, smiling, making you laugh.

“Actually, there is something my mum asked about.” You started, sitting down on his lap as he had leaned back in his office chair. He hummed as a way to make you continue. “She wants so meet you. You have any plans for Christmas?”

Chan turned his head so he was looking directly at you, his jaw having dropped by now. “Really? She wants me there?” His words were happier than you had ever heard them before. You nodded with a chuckle, pulling your phone back out and going onto SnapChat. You quickly snapped a picture and started typing.

“Han sa ja. Plis vær greie når vi er der!” *”He said yes. Please be good when we’re there!”

SPEARB (Seo Changbin)

GERMANY

The couch in the studio was the most comfortable thing you had ever sat on, which was great, since you seemed to find yourself here all the time. Especially now, right before a comeback. You would spend day and night in here, helping Changbin and the boys. 

But today, it was only the two of you. He was sat reading over some note she had gotten from another JYP producer, trying to figure out who he could incorporate that into their new song. 

“Babe, it’s been a few hours since we last ate. How about I go down to that place you like on the next block, and I bring back some food to enjoy while we take a little break?” You suggested after a few minutes of silence. He looked at you with a smile and nodded, about to say what he wanted, but was cut off by your phone blaring a familiar ringtone. You quickly excused yourself to answer it.

“Hey, ist es wichtig? Ja, ich bin gerade mit meinem Freund im Studio. Kann ich dich zurück rufen? OK, tolle! Tschüss!” *”Hey, is it important? Yeah, I’m at the studio with my boyfriend right now. Can I call you back? Okay, great! Bye!”

It had been one of your friends from back home, but you could call them back later when you walked to the shop. When you turned back, Changbin was looking at you with a big smile. You gave him a look, essentially asking him what he was smiling about. But without him having to say anything, you connected the dots.

i’ve connected the two dots, you didn’t connect shit i’ve connected them

You and your boyfriend had talked about it time and time again, that he loved listening to you talk in your mothertongue. His biggest dream was going to Germany with you, and listen to you order dinner, talk to you family, or just listen to you sleep-talk in german. 

“You sound good, baby.” He smiled, and right after those words left his lips, his eyes lit up.

“That’s it! The backing! The speaking- who says it has to be in Korean?! They should be in german! Babe, you could do that, right?” He was ecstatic, so much so that you completely forgot how nervous you got in the booth- but that was a problem for later. Right now, you and your boyfriend decided to go to the restaurant and eat there, as a way to get their mind completely refreshed.

J.ONE (Han Jisung)

SPAIN

Jisung had been sitting in the studio since this morning, not having gotten the chance to eat, promising himself he would as soon as he got the track just perfect. But being the perfectionist he was, he had issues with that. 

Luckily for him, he had you as his girlfriend, who always made sure he was okay. So as soon as you realized he hadn’t eaten or drank any water in what is presumably way too long, you went to town. 

You picked up different types of meats and carbs, not knowing what he was in the mood for. When you had gotten back, he was in the bathroom, so you took the opportunity to make the spread pleasing to the eye. You used the coffee table in the room, and placed the different dished out, making it look as yummy as you could. 

“Oh hey, I didn’t realize you were back- Woah! What’s all this?” Jisung spoke as he entered the room, not seeing the table at first. 

“Well, I didn’t want my little musical talent to go hungry, so I brought you a little something.” You smiled, proud of the presentation. 

“First of all, never call me that again ew. Second, this isn’t a little something- this is a buffet!” He said, making you laugh at both his first and second statement. He then hugged you tightly, thanking you from the bottom of his heart. You hugged him back, letting your head rest on his chest.

However, your moment was ruined when your phone started ringing, the sound coming from your purse. You pulled away from the hug and saw it was your co-worker. You quickly picked up, already being asked if you could cover their shift.

“Oye, acabo de ver tu mensaje. No puedo hacer eso ya que estoy en Corea en este momento, visitando a mi novio. Lo siento. ¡Vale adiós!” *”Hey, I just saw your message. I can't do that since I'm in Korea right now, visiting my boyfriend. Sorry. OK, bye!”

You then hung up, placing your phone back in your purse. “Let’s eat!” You spoke, sitting down on the floor by the coffee table, not caring for the couch. Jisung followed suit, giving you a grin as he did so. “What?” You finally asked.

“You’re so hot when you speak Spanish.” He grinned, making you chuckle and roll your eyes. He had told you this before, so it wasn’t anything new. 

“Just eat you dork.”

Hope you like it!!

-Bentley

[dejayoonw]

hold tight , jjk

part 5 | make it up

word count: 4.3k

warnings: jealousy, mentions of drugs, dirty talk, praise, pet names(baby girl, little girl, pretty girl, she calls him daddy), jk has a big dick, oral (m receiving), deep throating, face fucking, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, spanking, finger sucking, like one (1) pussy slap, he cums in her mouth

a/n: this is part five of my social media au hold tight & will probably make most sense if read along with the rest of the au.

~~

“Come on, we don’t want to be late do we?” tugging your best friend's hand towards the door you wondered how Jungkook would react if you were to be a little late to the wedding, would you get to see him annoyed like the first time you met him just before he recognized you? You hoped you’d get to see that side of him again, liking it more than you cared to admit. Pushing your thoughts to the back of your mind you got into the passenger seat of Tae’s Bentley, it was his proudest possession to date. You were happy that your best friend's hard work had paid off enough that he could afford something like this, plus for the two of you to live in an upscale apartment. Of course the two of you shared the rent on the place but still, you were proud of him for being so successful while doing something he loved. 

Pulling up to the wedding venue you smiled to yourself as Tae pulled into the parking space next to Jungkook's car. Your smile was soon wiped off your face the second Jungkook stepped out of his car. He was wearing tight black pants that accentuated his thighs with a button up shirt tucked in, two of the top buttons undone to show off a little bit of his chest. The only disappointment was one of your favorite parts about him, his arms littered with tattoos, had been covered by his sleeves. And yet, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to be disappointed, not when he looked this good. You will yourself to stop gawking at the boy, letting your eyes meet his only to see him already looking back at you with an uncharacteristically smug look on his face. You couldn’t care less that you’d been caught, in fact you were glad he’d seen you. You threw a wink his way and turned to your friend, taking the camera he’d lent you to use for the job out of his hands. Poor Tae was doing his best to ignore his best friend eye fucking the guy he’d hired, he found himself wishing more and more that Hoseok had been available. 

Throughout the wedding you made sure to focus on the job, as much as you wanted to flirt with the pretty man in the oh so tight jeans you didn’t want to mess things up for Taehyung. So you kept to your section of the venue and did as you’d been instructed. The ceremony surprisingly seemed to go by quickly though the reception was lasting a lot longer than you’d expected. You weren’t sure how many people kept the photographers around throughout the whole reception but you guessed if you had a rich daddy to pay for everything you might do the same. Just as you were about to take the fortieth picture of the bride's grandmother doing shots with yet another man in his twenties you heard your name being called. 

“The groom said they’re about to move the party to one of his friends' houses, it’s just their friends. He invited us.” Taehyung told you quietly so no one would overhear. Jungkook stood next to him though his eyes were anywhere else but on you or Tae. 

“So they want us to take pictures of their friends doing coke and getting fucked up?” You mumbled not exactly excited about the extra work. Jungkook snorted at your response, you couldn’t help but smile a bit, feeling proud. 

“No they want us to come get fucked up with them. Or, at least I don’t think that they’re planning on doing drugs.” Taehyung seemed to be questioning whether he should even go now, worried you might be right. 

“Look at them Taehyung, of course they're going to do drugs. Why should that stop us from partying like Belford? We can be The Wolves of Walmart.” Taehyung shook his head at your ridiculous joke, especially considering you probably had just as much money as any of them, but chuckled nonetheless. How the two of you had even stayed so close into your adulthood was honestly something you both wondered everyday. You two were so different. Where he worried about things like drugs and shied away from anything overly sexual you didn’t bat an eye to it. You weren’t necessarily into coke or anything hardcore like that, but you’d smoked your fair share of weed in your lifetime. 

“We’ll go if you want to but if anyone offers me a line I’m leaving.” Tae said, shuddering slightly at the thought. You smiled up at your soft hearted best friend finding his caution endearing. This was why you’d been able to stay close, because the differences the two of you had always seemed to be nothing in comparison to the adoration you held for each other, platonically of course. Once upon a time you might’ve harbored a crush for your introverted, modest friend but then he came out to you in tenth grade and you quickly got over those feelings. Besides, you were more into the bad boy type anyways. 

“Are you coming too, Jungkookie?” You asked looking up at him through your eyelashes, eyes opening just a little wider. How could Jungkook say no to you when you looked at him like that? As much as your relentless teasing made him feel like he might have an aneurysm, he couldn’t resist spending more time with you. It felt weird not having you messing with him today, so maybe you’d talk to him at the party. This was probably the last time you’d see each other anyways, he should make it count. 

“I’ll go for a bit.” The cute little smile that took over your face was enough to rid Jungkook of any second thoughts he might’ve had. Jungkook saw you as this powerful intimidatingly sexy woman who somehow still emitted the cutest energy. How would he ever survive tonight with you switching back and forth so drastically? 

It didn’t seem to be a concern once the three of you got to the party. Ever since you walked through the door you’d been swarmed by multiple people. It was one after the other, even if Jungkook had worked up the courage to talk to you he’d never get the chance to. So he sulked on the couch, squished in between a couple engulfing each other and the arm of the couch. He’d lost Taehyung a while ago, though Jungkook figured he’d found someone for himself. 

You loved your viewers, well most of them, there were definitely a few on the weirder side that occasionally took things too far, but overall you loved them, you were so thankful to them. It was times like these though, that you wished your job wasn’t so public. You’d been stuck in the same spot for the last hour, person after person had come up to you to ask if you were Honey from onlyfans. You hated that you sounded so snobby in your head but you really just wanted to talk with people normally tonight, you were there to have fun after all. Not that talking with your viewers wasn’t fun, you just really wished it didn’t feel like work sometimes. You’d zoned out on the guy next to you who had been telling you all of his favorite videos of yours in great detail. Your eyes found Jungkook across the room, a strong pout on his lips as he played on his phone. You tilted your head slightly wondering what had him so upset and why he wasn’t enjoying himself. 

“Yuta, dude, leave that poor girl alone. Sorry Honey, he doesn’t know how to shut up sometimes.” One of the girls, who’d earlier introduced herself to you as Sorn, said trying to save you from her friend. Honestly Yuta wasn’t bothering you, it was just that he’d been rambling for the last 10 minutes and you would much rather be figuring out what’s going on with Jungkook right now. You smiled over at Sorn silently thanking her. 

“It’s no problem, I think it’s sweet that you enjoy my content so much Yuta. I do think I'm going to go check on my friend though, again, it was nice talking to both of you.” You said, smiling sweetly at Yuta while winking at both of them before making your escape to Jungkook. You say yourself on the arm of the couch he was sitting on, catching his attention right away. You couldn’t help but notice the annoyed look on his face when he looked up at you. 

“Why are you pouting over here all by yourself?” You asked him trying not to laugh at how obvious it was that he was struggling not to look at your legs that you’d draped over his own. 

“Not all of us have a fan club everywhere we go to keep us entertained.” Jungkooks sharp tone had caught you off guard and shamefully sent a wave of head down to the pit of your stomach, but maybe that was the drink you’d been nursing since you’d gotten here. You weren’t sure why you found yourself wanting to make it up to Jungkook, you hadn’t done anything wrong. It’s not like the two of you came together or anything. Yet here you were, giving him your best apologetic eyes, with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Jungkookie, I didn’t mean to make you jealous.” You said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t think you were still teasing him. Jungkook didn’t know where this shift in attitude came from but he could swear he’d seen this look somewhere before. 

“I’m not jealous, what do I have to be jealous over?” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince himself or you but it was clear neither of you were buying it. You didn’t push it though, you didn’t know why you felt so compelled to make things right with him. Maybe it was just instinct because you were admittedly attracted to him and you tend to submit to the people in your life who you connected with physically.  

“But still, we’re friends and I let you sit over here alone while I talked to a bunch of people. I should’ve stayed with you. Let me make it up to you?” There was no way in hell Jungkook was reading this right. You were sat with your legs draped across his lap, your fingertips grazing his shoulder and every so often they’d brush his neck just slightly, but there was no way you were saying what he thinks you’re saying. 

“What, um, what do you mean?” He asked, avoiding your intense gaze. 

“Anything you want, name it and I’ll do it.” How was this happening? Jungkook had to be reading it wrong. But, what else could you mean? His mind was racing so fast, he felt himself freaking out. Before he even thought about it Jungkook was mumbling something about finding a bathroom and stumbling off away from you. Jungkook wasn’t even sure how he found the bathroom, but all he knew is he needed water, now. 

Splashing some of the water onto his face Jungkook attempted to calm himself down. Why had he gotten so freaked out? This wasn’t like him, normally he was good at getting people he was interested in, man or woman. Why did you make him so nervous? Just because he’d seen you naked before didn’t mean you’re any different from the people he’d slept with before. Except you were, he hadn’t slept with you. He’d just seen some pictures and maybe a video or two(or fifty) of you. He’d fantasized about you without even knowing you and now he knew you, kind of. He felt creepy. Why did he though? You posted that stuff for people like him to look at, you made it clear that you knew he’d seen your stuff and you didn’t act like you felt weird about it. In fact, you acted like you liked it. So why was he hiding in the bathroom? You’d basically just offered to fulfill all the fantasies he’d had about you. He had never been one to run from that kind of offer before, at least not from someone as beautiful as you. 

The more Jungkook thought the more he hated himself from most likely missing his chance with you. How many of your viewers could say they’d had this opportunity? He didn’t know, but the answer was none. You’d made it a rule a long time ago not to sleep with any of your viewers. There was just something about Jungkook, which is why you’d made your way outside the bathroom to apologize for freaking him out. You weren’t sure why you thought he’d wanted to sleep with you in the first place. Sure you knew he’d seen your stuff online but that didn’t mean anything. Jungkook didn’t see you at first when he opened the door but when you’d called out his name he was glad to see you. 

“I’m sorry I forced myself on you like that, I think I just read the signs wrong. I got carried away because I think you’re really attractive and, I don’t know, I’m sorry.” You kept your eyes on your hands folded in front of you. You had this pitiful look on your face like you were ashamed of yourself. Jungkook was disgusted with how hot he found it. Why did literally everything about you turn him on? More importantly why hadn’t he jumped at the opportunity to act on it when he first noticed that you were willing. Yoongi would’ve called Jungkook a little bitch if he’d seen the way he’d been acting around you. 

“Shut up and get in the bathroom.” Your eyes went wide as you checked to make sure it was actually Jungkook’s mouth those words came out of. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the stern look on his face. Where had this come from? Where had he been hiding this side? You knew if you walked in that bathroom you’d be getting exactly what you’d silently(and not so silently) been begging for since you met Jungkook. He didn’t want to push you, but he couldn’t deny the excitement he felt when you rushed past him into the bathroom.

“If you don’t want to do this we don’t have to.” You told Jungkook when he shut the two of you in the small bathroom. You wanted to give him the opportunity to leave before anything happened. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel pressured. 

“I can assure you babygirl, I want nothing more than to show you just how much I want this.” Before you could process his words Jungkook's lips were on yours, kissing you like a man starved. His lips were soft and he wasted no time being gentle, sliding his hands in your hair and tugging your head back further to give him better access as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Then, before you could get used to the feeling of his mouth on yours, his lips left yours and attacked the skin on your neck. Sucking, nibbling, and licking as he tried to find your sweet spot. Your fingers were desperate to cling onto something, moving from his back up to the base of his neck you raked your fingers through his hair as his mouth worked wonders on your neck. You were a whimpering mess as he left little marks all over your neck. Jungkook smiled at the sweet sounds leaving your lips, feeling proud of himself for getting this kind of reaction without even really doing anything. You could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties and you ached for some kind of relief. You involuntarily pushed your hips into his, feeling his already forming bulge causing both of you to moan at the sudden contact.

“You better keep your hands to yourself if you want this to go well for you, little girl.” You had to stop yourself from moaning out loud at his words. Jungkooks grip on your hips was tight enough that you’d probably bruise but all you could feel was pleasure. 

“Kookie please,” You begged, dropping down to your knees in front of him, taking his large hands in yours. “wanna make it up to you.”

You wouldn’t continue without his explicit permission, so you gazed up at him with wide eyes. How could Jungkook say no when the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen was on her knees in front of him begging to suck his cock? 

“Go ahead baby girl, show me what that pretty mouth can do.” He said letting his hand fall to the back of your head gently. His cock was practically screaming to be let out of the tight confidments of his jeans. As you cautiously undid the zipper and button and pulled both his jeans and his underwear down at once Jungkook let out a soft noise at the relief. You gawked at his size, he was probably the biggest you’d ever had, prettiest too. Your mouth was watering at the sight, he was perfect. 

Looking up at him you were stunned again by the beauty that is Jeon Jungkook. Staring down at you with his mouth agape he brought his hand to your jaw, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip. Keeping your gaze locked with his you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out just slightly, licking at the pad of his thumb. Jungkook groaned slightly as he finally guided his cock into your mouth, watching you close your lips around the head and started slowly bobbing your head up and down his shaft. You began to use your tongue as you quickened your pace. Jungkook was mostly silent but you could tell he was enjoying himself when he tightened his grip on your hair every time you took him deeper.

You began to use your hands a bit, causing a moan to leave his lips at the feeling. You then took his cock deeper, finally making him buck his hips forward, hitting the back of your throat. Rolling your eyes back you pushed your head down further on his cock hoping he’d get the hint. Thankfully he did, tangling his hand in your hair to hold your head still, he bucked his hips again, harder this time, shoving his cock even farther than before. He repeated the motion, fucking your face until you had to tap out. 

Pulling off of his dick with a pop, you were gasping for air, your chin covered in saliva and your hair was a mess, you looked perfect. Quickly Jungkook pulled you up by your arms needing to feel your lips on his again. Your pretty little hands snaked their way up Jungkook's shirt, feeling his abs as he kissed you. How that simple action affected him so much Jungkook didn’t know, but he did know he was in for it. Sex before didn’t come close to how it felt with you and he hadn’t even fucked you yet, how was he ever supposed to have sex again with a random girl knowing it could be this good with you? 

You lightly traced Jungkook’s abs letting your hand slowly fall down to his cock, pumping it in hopes of getting what you wanted. Jungkook kissed you a little harder making you moan and rub your thighs together for some relief. Needing to feel you Jungkook pulled your hand off him and roughly turned you around, pushing you against the bathroom counter. You whined at the feeling of his hard cock against your ass. 

“You’ve been such a good girl baby, sucking my cock so well. Feel how hard you made me?” He whispered, his raspy voice sending more heat to your dripping core. His arms wrapped around your waist, his hand cupping your clothed pussy making you whine out. “Want to be my good girl? Want me to fill up this pretty little pussy?

“Please.” You begged, wanting nothing more than to be his good girl. Jungkook pulled your dress up over your ass, yanking your soaked panties down letting them fall to your ankles. His hands gripped your ass as he admired the pretty sight for a moment before he dipped one finger into your entrance almost groaning at how tight and wet you were. 

“Fuck babygirl, who did this to you? You’re soaked.” He teased, adding another finger to stretch you out enough for his cock. You let your head fall forward, loving the feeling of Jungkook's fingers pumping in and out of you. Then suddenly he pulled them out and slapped your aching pussy causing you to yelp. “I asked you a question, pretty girl.” 

“You did.” You whined out, pushing your ass back into Jungkook's hips, needing some relief. Thankfully he shoved both fingers back in, feeling satisfied with your answer. But he wasn’t done teasing you. 

“Are you sure it’s only for me? Not all those other people you were ignoring me for?” He asked, curling his fingers up and hitting your g-spot. 

“No, fuck,” You moaned as he continuously hit that spot, you were so close. “It’s only for you, daddy.” 

Jungkook groaned at the nickname, he’d never cared much for it but something about the way you said it made his dick twitch. He pulled his soaked fingers from your pussy ignoring the whine you let out in protest. He spread your juices all over his cock before lining the head at your entrance. Both of you let out gasps of air and soft moans as he slid his cock into you. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good.” All you could manage to reply with was moans of agreement as he bottomed out. Both of you needed a moment to not cum right away. The feeling was too good. Needing him to move you ground your hips into his making him groan out a sweet sound as he gripped your hips tightly to stop you. Before you could beg him to move he had pulled back almost all the way out and slammed his hips back in forcefully. Your head fell forward as he repeated the action at a fast pace. His hands left your hips to squeeze your ass, letting one hand fall down to spank you, surely leaving a handprint. 

Needing to get deeper Jungkook pulled your leg up onto the counter, gripping at your thigh tightly. You moaned at how deep he was getting now, knowing it wouldn’t be long before you were coming apart. Jungkook shushed you letting his free hand wrap around to shove two of his fingers into your mouth to silence your loud moans.

“You’re doing so good for me pretty girl but I need you to be quiet okay? We don’t want to get caught, do we?” The thought of someone catching the two of you had you clenching around Jungkook's cock, making his hips sputter for a moment. “Oh you like that idea? The thought of someone finding out what a slut you are for your daddy?” 

Jungkook's hand left your thigh and immediately found your clit, rubbing at a fast pace to match the way he was pounding into you. You moaned loudly around his fingers, biting down on them lightly causing a hiss to leave his lips. Your leg that had been holding you up was starting to feel like jello but you ignored it as you came undone all over Jungkook's cock, clenching and shaking in his hands. He held out, fucking you through your orgasm until you let your leg down so you could hold youself up. Jungkook quickly pulled out ready to cum on your back until you dropped to your knees and opened your mouth wide. Moaning at the sight Jungkook let his load spill all over your tongue only getting a little bit on your lips. You kept your eyes on his as you gathered his cum on your fingers and popped them in your mouth making sure you got every last drop. After you swallowed you opened your mouth to show him, making him smile down at you, grazing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Did I do good?” You asked softly, still staring up at him with wide eyes. 

“You did amazing baby girl.” He told you, pulling you up to stand. He chuckled and held you still when you wobbled slightly still not fully able to stand on your own. Crouching down, Jungkook pulled your panties up your legs for you and let your dress back down. 

“Thank you, daddy.” You told him, partly teasing and partly serious. He rolled his eyes and smirked at your words placing a soft kiss on your cheek. The moment was interrupted by a banging on the door, making you two jump apart.

“Yo, are you two idiots not done yet?”

[slashyrogue]

Whumptober Day 23: Presumed Dead

The phone call came exactly twelve minutes before Will Graham was supposed to be in his office for an appointment. 

“Hello, Will,” he purred, leaning back in his office chair, “Is there something...?” 

A sniffle, followed by what sounded like a choked back sob, came from the other end of the line. 

“I...I can’t come in tonight.” 

“Is there something the matter?” 

Will sniffled. “I...I think Buster is dead.” 

Hannibal paused. “Think?” 

“He...” Will sighed, “..I let the dogs out like I always do and they ALWAYS come back. They all came back but him and I heard him cry out but I can’t find him and there’s blood in the snow and it’s so dark....I keep calling but he won’t come. He’s a good boy, Dr. Lecter. He always comes back. Always. I heard some wolves last night in the woods behind my house. I...” 

“Do you need some assistance? I can drive to your home right now and---” 

“No no,” Will said, almost too loudly, “You just...go home. I’ll...” 

“Will, I have nothing keeping me from coming to you. I will be there.” 

Will sniffled again. “Thank you, Dr. Lecter. I...” 

“Hannibal,” he said, standing and putting on his overcoat, “I’ve told you plenty of times to call me Hannibal. We’ve gotten to know each other long enough for you to drop formalities.” 

He heard Will laugh a bit. “I guess. I...if you could bring another flashlight that would help. I’ve got my gun in case of...emergency. I’ll be looking out for you.” 

Hannibal smiled. “I will be there soon.” 

“Thank you, Doctor...Hannibal. I...I could really use a friend right about now.” 

He felt his heart beat just a bit faster at Will’s wording. 

“I’m glad to be of service,” he purred, heading out the door, “Stay positive, Will. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” 

“I’ll try. See you soon.” 

Hannibal unlocked his Bentley before he got inside and was excited to be seeing Will again at his home. Their tentative friendship was growing steadily and yet he was growing ravenous for more. This seemed to be a good step in that direction. 

He drove toward Wolf Trap, ready to assist Will in a rescue or ease his pain at a loss. The pack of canine companions were important to Will, and he knew if one of them died he’d need a shoulder to cry on. 

Hannibal was eager to be that shoulder. 

The drive was quiet and gave him enough time to think about what might happen after if the worst had happened. He’d assist in the animal’s burial, and perhaps offer to cook Will dinner. The intimacy could perhaps lead to a furious jump in their friendship and perhaps more. 

Hannibal realized with surprise that he very much wanted more. 

He grew steadily more excited as the drive went by, and as he rolled into the driveway he nearly leapt out of the Bentley to grab his flashlight. 

“Hannibal!” 

Hannibal looked up just in time for several dogs to rush at him in excitement. He made sure to bend down and pet quite a few, though he lamented the hair that would cover the bottom of his Armani trousers. 

“Hello to you too,” he said, as one of the dogs licked his hand. 

Will ran up a moment later, panting for breath, and carrying a dog in his hands. 

The animal was wrapped in a towel. 

“Buster, I take it?” 

Will grimaced. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I tried to call you but I don’t think the signal’s that great sometimes on the road. I feel like an ass that you came all this way and he’s just....here.” 

Hannibal smiled, bending down to pet Buster’s head. “He is uninjured?” 

Will nodded. “He actually attacked a bunny if you can believe it. I finally called him a couple more times and he came running up with the dead carcass in his mouth.” 

“A gift for his master,” Hannibal said, staring up through his lashes, “You should be proud.” 

He laughed. “That he tore apart something and brought it to me?” 

“He thought to give you his kill, Will. It’s a very important thing for any predator.” 

They shared a look that lasted far too long before Will spoke. 

“Well,” he mumbled, “Um...I tossed it back. So I guess I was an ungrateful master.” 

Hannibal smiled and stood straight again. “I’m certain you’ll have more...gifts...in the future.” 

He smiled. “I’ll remember to be grateful for the next carcass I get as a gift.”

“I should hope so.” 

They shared a chuckle. 

The dogs started to prod Hannibal’s hand for pets again, and he tried to accommodate but they became a bit too excited. Will whistled and they all ran off at his command. 

“Sorry, I...they...we..don’t have visitors much.” 

“I’m sure,” Hannibal said, pulling out his keys, “Well, I suppose I must get back on the road. I’m happy you found Buster.” 

Will nodded. “Thanks.” 

“I will see you at our next appointment. Goodnight, Will.” 

He turned away and headed back toward his car feeling oddly rejected. This night had not gone at all as he’d expected. 

“You wanna come in for a drink? I was just about to make dinner or order a pizza. I can see if I have steaks?” 

Hannibal looked at Will in surprise. “I would be delighted.” 

Will’s smile made his chest ache. “For a drink or the pizza?” 

“Both.” 

“You’re sure you even know HOW to eat pizza?” 

Hannibal walked back up to Will again, pet Buster, and smiled. 

“I’m sure you can show me many new....delights...I haven’t had before.”

They shared a look that felt different. 

“Yeah,” Will said, licking his lips, “I can try.” 

They began to walk toward the house and Hannibal’s early upset faded away. 

This night hadn’t gone as he expected but perhaps it would end even better than he’d hoped. 

The night was still young and full of possibilities.