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anundyingfidelity · 2 years ago

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CATCH FEELS — Adam Warlock x goddess!reader

Summary: You're very happy seeing Thor again after your ways parted. Adam is not sure he's liking the god of thunder's visit.

Pairing: Adam x asgardian goddess!reader.

Word count: 1.5k.

Notes: reader is the goddess of joy and peace, some descriptions of reader wearing dresses, reader is as around the same age as Thor, female pronouns use.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

A sigh escaped from Adam's lips... by the tenth time in the day.

He watched you in silence from afar. How happy you looked, how your laughter got louder and your smile grew wide, all meanwhile you spent some time with Thor, the god of thunder himself.

Less than a couple of hours before, Adam came back from a lonely mission and he was atonished to find out you were not alone. In fact, you had a visit. He certainly did not like your visit immediately. Something inside him grew up, like a rejection toward the asgardian god.

When you met a few months ago, Adam remembered you telling him the story of Asgard and its people, and how you ended up with the guardians after Thor left the team to look for Sif. Suddenly, as time passed and you became very close friends, a weird feeling flourished inside of him. Adam then realized he loved you, but he was too scared to confess.

Tired of just being a viewer on your little chat with Thor, he started to walk to meet you and the god, who was now occupied having a small talk with a kid.

"Adam!" you beamed once he was near, you ran to him and hugged him tightly. "You're back! I'm so glad you're here, I missed you."

The golden boy embraced you with a smile on his lips. "I've missed you too."

"Hey, I want you to meet someone. He's very important to me, I know you're gonna have a great time with us-" taking his hand and not stopping your talk, you brought Adam closer to Thor, who just finished his chat with the kid. Unaware of what you did with your small action, Adam felt his heartbeat increased, and his face started to burn at your touch.

"So this is the new addition? The golden man?" Thor beamed once Adam was literally in front of him, with you presenting him like a proud mother.

Thor patted him playfuly in the shoulder with such joy and embraced the golden man with his strong arms. Adam realized asgardians did give good, big hugs, but Thor's hug was nothing like yours.

"Let's have a special dinner today!" you stepped in, happy that your best friend finally met Adam. "People around here have been missing you, Adam, and you'll like Thor, I'm sure."

You took his hand again, a beautiful smile that crinkled your eyes on your face. How could he say no to you? Of course, you were the goddess of joy and peace, and there was always something bright you saw and this was the perfect opportunity to introduce Adam to Asgard and your culture.

Adam nodded with a grin. "I'd love that."

A long week was waiting for him.

Adam got lost in the story that Thor was telling. One of Thor's hundreds of times he saved the universe or a planet that he really didn't pay too much attention to. He was focused in one thing: you, sitting in the middle of both, the asgardian god and him.

You smiled and chuckled through the epic story telling Thor was giving to the guardians during the dinner, he was certainly getting all the attention that night. You were enjoying yourself, unlike Adam, who was just pretending to listen to the asgardian god, instead he was focusing on your reactions and how beautiful you looked with that shiny, golden dress on you.

Adam was totally hypnotized on your figure that he didn't expect Thor to smash his empty cup to the ground.

"Another!" The god yelled, making you laugh and the Guardians celebrating him around the table. Even Nebula curved her lips a little, and that was a lot to say.

"Mead?" you asked Adam, offering him a little of the asgardian liqueur you prepared. The guardians giving all the attention back to Thor, as Drax loud voice boomed the dining room while they chatted.

"That would be great," the golden man nodded. "And the food is delicious, thank you."

You filled his cup one more time for the night and smiled wide. "You're welcome, I'm truly happy to have you here."

"Y/N!" Thor loud voice called you, immediately you were forgetting about Adam and totally inmersed in Thor's conversation about an old battle that Drax was requesting to hear.

So he was long ignored, prepared for the rest of the night to be the same, but he couldn't leave the dinner because you prepared it for him and the guardians to have a good time, however, he wasn't having it.

Running was a hard decision right now.

Knowhere looked better and the people were happier, you were a lot of help for that. The citizens loved you and Adam couldn't blame them. Each day that passed by, his love for you grew up inside of him, but also the strange sensation of having Thor around was getting stronger.

Two days have passed since Thor arrived, and he was supposed to leave soon, however, his visit felt eternal for the Sovereign. He couldn't help but feel bitterness each time you left to follow the blonde, tall muscular god and do the tasks you'd normally do with Adam instead, such as fixing things around for the citizens or teaching the new kids and their families about Knowhere, its culture, and the different planets and galaxies around.

Standing and helping Drax while fixing a metalic huge door, Adam didn't measure his strenght over the pipe of the balcony in his hand as it folded like it was a simple piece of clay in a matter of seconds. The cause? Thor hugging you tightly in front of his eyes.

"Hey, golden man! Be careful!" Drax warned, but he noticed what was Adam looking at.

You and Thor. Of course it had to be.

The muscle man began to stand up and came closer to Adam, who was ashamed of what just happened.

"Just tell her."

"Pardon?"

Drax rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. "You liek Y/n, she doesn't know and that's certain, so tell her."

But Adam wasn't certain that you liked him back, so he just nodded, dismissing his words. "Let's keep working on this."

Adam didn't even notice he did what he did because of you. And it wasn't fair for him. As the week went by, he started to break things accidentally every time you were seen with the god of thunder. Adam got called out often, but he couldn't stop himself. It was this weird feeling someone taught him so long ago taking over him as time passed by, but Adam did not remember its name.

Soon your mood changed once you knew Thor was leaving the next day, and it looked like the gods or the universe were again with Adam, as you were the only ones left in the dinning room that night.

"Adam," softly you called his name. "I'm sorry..."

The golden man was confused. "What for?"

"I just feel like I've been away from you these past few days, so I want to apologize for that," you were not as cheerful as normally and it hurted him.

"It's okay," it wasn't. "I know Thor is important to you... but I would prefer to be with you instead."

He did not mean to voice the last sentence.

"Well, you are with me now," you stepped closer to take his hand, a smile curved on your lips. "And I won't be leaving, Thor will. So you will have me here for a long time."

Adam nodded in silence, squeezing your warm hand. He tried to speak, but nothing came. He wanted to let you know how much he loved you, but he thought it wasn't the time.

"Is there anything you would like to say?" you asked, as if you were reading his mind.

"No, not at all. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah-"

"I love you."

"W-what?"

"Adam, I love you," you repeated. "I'm sorry if it's not prompt, I promised Thor I would say it to you once you were back."

His heart fluttered at your words and his cheeks burned, your hands never stopped touching the whole time. You felt the same too. And that was also why you were spending so much time with Thor.

"I- I love you too," he stuttered. "And I never found the time to tell you, so now I'm sorry for being shy about it."

After that, you stealed a kiss from him. A quick, innocent, short kiss tasting his soft lips.

"I hope you were not mad or jealous of Thor," you joked.

Jelousy. That was the word he was looking. That's what he felt. But he would never admit.

"I wasn't jealous, I was being absolutely reasonable... in my head."

You chuckled and kissed his lips one more time.

"Sure, golden man. We will have our own time together from now on."

There was no reason to be jealous anymore.

#adam warlock x reader #adam warlock imagines #adam warlock x you #adam warlock imagine #adam warlock x y/n #adam warlock #adam warlock x female reader #marvel imagines #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #adam warlock fanfiction #adam warlock fluff

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sachiko6243 · 2 years ago

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The good old Doc - Part 14

Missed the start? No problem, here is the first part, the following ones are always linked at the end, so you dont have to search endlessly. 😉

Summary: Lieutenant Lilith Adams enlisted back in the military, only to be met with a certain cocky pilot. Overcoming certain past traumas, she tries to fit in with the team of pilots as their personal medic. Soon finding her stuck between a certain good looking aviator and her work morals.

This is a series which is currently in the making, so I don’t exactly know how long it is going to be. ��

Word count: 2781

Warnings: generally none, maybe some for those who have deeper knowledge of military stuff. I do not and I am sorry in advance, if I got things wrong (you are welcome to correct me in the comments)

I will be on vacation for a week. Thats why I posted part 14 and 15 today, so that I dont have to interupt my time off. I hope you guys understand. Have a great week. 🥰

The next Monday, I found myself called to the Admirals office with the rest of the team. We were all waiting for his arrival. And by the looks on Warlock’s face, the situation was critical to say the least. Nobody dared to talk or ask questions. The tension in the room weighting us down like we were buried alive. When Cyclone rushed into his office minutes later, we all jumped to our feet, saluting him. He waved us off, without saying anything. Slumping into his seat. Another swing of his hand signaled us to sit down. Quickly we shuffled into our seats, eyes curiously trained on Cyclone. He was reading through a file over and over again, seemingly not willing to accept what was written there.

“I have bad news.” He said after a while, shutting the file. His face showed no direct sign of distress, but I could read it in his eyes. “Apparently, our borders have been breached by two enemy carriers, accompanied by five warships. As far as our knowledge goes, one is filled with ten SU-51 and the other with several helicopters and support aircrafts. Our base is the closest to the next carrier. It is currently turning to pass our coastline. The daggers will fly their jets and land on the boat, while Lieutenant Adams, me and all our bags and supplies will be picked up by a helicopter. Prepare for the mission, call your family. This mission is classified, so if you must, lie. Everything else will be discussed once we land on the carrier. Time is of essence. Take off is in two hours. You are dismissed.”

As soon as he finished talking, everyone rushed out of the room. While I was running towards my office, I called my mother: “Mom. Its me, Lillith. I am pulled for a mission. I don’t know how long it will be and I am not allowed to tell you more.” She interrupted me: “What do you mean, pulled for a mission? Why cant you tell me anything?” Her voice was laced with worry and I could practically see her pacing around, wherever she was.

“It’s a classified mission, that just came up a few hours ago. We get mission details when we depart. Don’t worry. I will be fine.” I tried to calm her, but she was over the edge already: “This came up in the last hours? That means something dramatic happened. You are deployed with aviators. Your missions are always planned out over months. We are getting attacked, aren’t we?”

She of course knew how the military worked, having connections all her life. But I couldn’t tell her. “I cant deny or admit anything, mom. You have to trust me, okey? This is the last phone call for a while. I will not take my phone and I don’t know if we are allowed to call from where we will be. If something happens, be assured I love you, okey? You have been the best mom, someone could have asked for.” I tried to keep my voice steady, to not further upset her, but a few sniffles escaped nonetheless.

“I love you, too Lillith. Just promise to come home again, okey?” I could hear her crying, even though she was hiding it pretty well. But I didn’t know anything that was about to happen. And one of the first rules in the navy was: Don’t promise something you cant keep. “I will try my best, mo. But I have to go. I love you, bye.”

Before she could answer I hung up, turned off my phone and locked it into my safe. Then I started to view over my medical supply bag. Luckily it was complete. Then I packed my go bag. The three sets of my uniform, I always kept on base, my first aid body kit, a book and the small plushy my mother gifted me when I was accepted into the navy. Then I practically ran across the base to the called out meeting point. The helicopter was already waiting. Cyclone and the pilot started to load it with the bags the team brought in. As soon as he saw me, Cyclone came over and took the heavy bags from my shoulder.

“There was enough time, for you to do two rounds.” He said, voice stern. Concentrated on what was about to happen. I ignored him. “Where is Jake?”

“He already dropped off his things. I believe he is doing the last check ups in his jet.” Cyclone answered. “Yes, you may say good by to him.” He added, once he saw my face. I didn’t need to be told twice. Racing down the runway, I crashed through the big gate, my eyes frantically searching the hangar. When I made out Jake, I walked over to him. He noticed my appearance as soon as I stood next to him. Stopping his check up, he took me in his arms. That was the moment I started to uncontrollably sob into his chest. Letting go of all fears bottled up inside of me.

“I know, darlin. I know. But I promise, whatever we are about to do, I will do everything in my power to protect you, okey?” He whispered, caressing my back. I wiped my tears away. “But what about you?” I asked, voice, thing and shaken by my cries. He offered me one of his big flashy smiles. “Well, I believe in the best medic of the navy, to stich me up again.” His playful comment had me laughing. “Just promise not to do something stupid, okey? I know how you fly and I swear if you pull some risky shit and die, I will come to wherever this afterlife is, and kill you again, understood?” Jake let go of me, saluting rigidly. “Understood, Ma’am.”

I pulled him down by his vest, pressing my lips against his. This kiss was filled with desire, pain and uncertainty. But I swore, that I would do whatever it would take to keep him safe. And I truly believed he would do the same. With that safety rushing through my veins, I ended the kiss, stepping back. “See you on the carrier, aviator.” I smiled tilting my head, watching him climb onto the wing of his jet. “See you soon, medic.” He answered, smiling at me, while he put on his helmet. Turning around I made my way back to Cyclone and the helicopter.

The flight didn’t take long. And while I was squeezed between Cyclone and what felt like tons of stuff, I learned, that the pilot was my old companion Mickey from Afghanistan. He was like me a total sucker for madness, so I wasn’t surprised to learn he volunteered for this mission. “Tell me, Wifey. Is there some man in your life, or do I still got a chance?” He playfully asked over the coms, not knowing the whole dagger squad was connected with us.

“Back off, man. She is taken by a real pilot.” I could hear the possession lacing Jakes voice. Mickey didn’t seem to be impressed that much, ignoring the unfamiliar voice in his headset. “Didn’t know you would fall for an aviator. I always thought you would go for a real man. A man that knows how to handle a combat and not just drop a bomb from thousands of feet of air.” Snickering he turned around to look at me.

“Stop it, Mickey. They don’t know you and probably now think you are a piece of shit. And to answer your question, you never had a chance.” I said, squinting my eyes at him. He placed one hand over his chest. “You hurt my feelings, little Lady. All this time I believed I was your favorite pilot, only to then be replaced by a voice in my head.”

Rooster laugh rang through the coms. “I swear, whoever you are… I really like you. We should go for a beer after this shit show here. My name is Rooster by the way. The best of this squad.”

“Shut up, Rooster.” Jake interfered. “And my name is Hangman. I am Lilliths boyfriend and the best. Because unlike little Rooster, I am already have to take downs registered in my file.”

“Still, Maverick has five. Makes him an ace and the best.” Phoenix interrupted him. “Phoenix by the way. I fly one of the double seaters with Bob. Say hi Bobby boy.”

“Hi… I… uh… I am Bob.” Bobs voice was quietly heard. Payback was the next to speak. “If we already are bragging: My name is Payback and if you ever find out, why I am called that way, then pray you are not the one on the receiving end.” His introduction had everyone laugh, remembering how he would throw out several people out of Pennys bar each Friday night. “Yeah. And I am Coyote. I am just existing. That’s all.” Jave spoke after the laughter had subsided.

“You have a cool team, Wifey. But still. I think we Marines are better.” Mickey cockily shot back. Our bantering got interrupted by the control tower on the ship: “Tower to dagger squad. Runway clear for landing. Mickey you can hover.”

So, we did. One by one I watched the squad land their jets on this short excuse of a runway. And with every time they managed to drop and catch the rope taut to slow their landing I was whisked away. I knew what good of a pilots my team were, but seeing them act it out whipped me from my feet every time. Once the runway was cleared from any jets, ropes and crew members, Mickey got the permission to land as well. Quickly the helicopter was unloaded, the bags stowed away and the quarters obtained. I was sharing with Phoenix. Bob with Maverick, Coyote with Jake, and Rooster with Payback.

Not even half an hour later, we found ourselves scrambled into the very small control room staring at a wall of screens. Cyclone was explaining what happened and what our mission would be. Apparently, the team was called to take down any aircraft in the airspace inside the US sea area. I was supposed to expand the team of medics on board, having detailed information on the medical history of the dagger squad. Nobody knew exactly why our borders have been breached and any signal towards the enemy ship wasn’t answered. And based on the route they were taking the as well didn’t seem to steer outside of our borders, making their actions officially an attack on the safety of US citizens.

I looked at the clock on the wall. Nearly 5 pm. That meant this meeting was about to be over and we could take our dinner in the great mess hall. My thoughts about nutritious but bland military food where suddenly disrupted by Cyclone addressing me directly: “Lieutenant Adams. After this meeting, please accompany Lieutenant Smiths to the medical quarters and get familiar with the area. This meeting ends now. You are dismissed. Mission tomorrow starts at 0800.”

“Yes, Admiral.” I quickly answered, letting my eyes scan over the crowd. A tall woman with brown hair smiled at me, identifying herself as Lieutenant Smiths. After we were dismissed, I waved my team goodbye, telling the I would meet them in the mess hall. Then I made my way through the crowd towards Lieutenant Smiths. She offered me her hand. “You can call me Cookie. Whats your name?” She had a bright angelic voice, I could not quiet connect to her tall, and fit statue. Shaking her hand, I answered the question. “Lieutenant Adams. But everyone calls me Wifey.”

She laughed at my name. “Wifey, huh? How did you get your callsign?” I tilted my head, smiling and following her through the corridors, trying my best to get them stamped into my brain. “My first deployment got me on a base where I was the only woman. Being the medic I was their contact person for any problem they had. And one day, when a Marine came in with a dislocated shoulder, I had to completely knock him out on medication, because he wouldn’t sit still. When he gained his consciousness back, he mistook me for his wife. After that, my name was set. How did you get yours?”

“I loved cookiees, so I used to dress up as the cookie monster from the sesame street back in elementary school.” She answered, pulling a small bag of cookies out of her pocket. “Besides that, I always carry a bag with me. You never know when you need them.” Opening the bag, she offered me one. I took it gladly, since this was the first thing I had eaten in the last hours.

After a while we reached the medical bay. Two men and another woman were waiting for me. Pointing towards a smaller thin man, Cookie started to introduce me to them. “This is Apollo, he got his name, because his last name is Armstrong. The woman next to him is Bambi. She got her name, because of her doe eyes.” A blond woman with big blue eyes waved at me. “The last one is Beetle. Whenever we are in an area with many insects, you can bet they all swarm around him. We haven’t figured out why yet, but the study is still running. If you have a guess, we take it, doesn’t matter how wild it is.” A tall darkhaired man with a mustache offered me a bitter smile. “Yeah, about that. If you ever need any insect or spider removed just call me. My presence alone will lure them in.”

After a short walk through the med bay, we made our way towards the mess hall. The dagger squad was already waiting on a long table, so we joined them. Luckily, they were connecting with each other quickly, so a was able to zone out. Letting my thoughts wander, while quickly shoveling down the food I thought about what would make someone act out this clear of a war threat with us.

It wasn’t that I was scared of the mission. But I was concerned with the plainness another nation was breaking a truce. What if this was something planned from a long hand, baiting the US military to act, then making us look like the aggressor? What would happen then? Would we be at war, with said country? What country even was it, that send out this ship? It wasn’t sailing under any flag, nor did it answer any calls. And worse of all, what if someone of my team would get hurt? I couldn’t do anything, if they get shot down somewhere over the ocean. And who could guarantee, they would be able to return alive with a rescue helicopter?

The longer I thought about tomorrow, the more agitated I got. Not noticing my leg jiggling, I was startled to feel Jakes hand on my thigh. “Whats wrong, darlin?” He quietly whispered into my ear.

“I am nervous.” I answered. “What if this is a trap? This ship isn’t sailing under a flag, not answering any calls. Who would do something like this?” His hand started to caress my leg, trying to calm me down. “I am sure its nothing. Probably just some miscalculation and they don’t understand us, or don’t get our calls. We will scout and that’s all. In and out quickly.”

“My guts tell me otherwise.” I mumbled, not looking up from my plate. Jake put an arm around me, pulling me into a hug. “Everything will be alright. Its normal to worry before a mission. Especially since your last got you kidnapped and tortured. But if something goes wrong, I will protect you and I promise to come back to you. Even if that means I have to slaughter a whole army by myself.”

“You are a jerk, Jake.” I laughed, letting my body sink into his. He laughed at my comment, getting up from his seat. “Lets get you into bed, darlin. Otherwise, I am sure, the enemy will turn their ship as soon as you would catch their eyes.” I squinted my eyes. “Is there something you wanna tell me, Bagman?” I threatened, causing him to raise his arms laughing. “Not at all. You look beautiful like a sunshine when you wake up. I am sure the creature crawling around in the kitchen making coffee is just in my imagination.”

“I hate you.” I grumbled, not taking the hand he offered me.

“No, you love me.” Was all he said, guiding me towards Phoenix and my quarters.

#hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #top gun

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ordinaryschmuck · 2 years ago

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Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3 made me cry three times.

Hey, that’s one per movie...Yeah, this movie’s awesome.

If you couldn’t tell, this is a very emotional film for sure, and a part of why that works so well is because it’s these characters. The Guardians are some of the most likable characters in the MCU, so seeing them go through a lot of hard stuff in this movie hits ya where it hurts because of how much you care about them. Especially Rocket, who I might not see the same way again after this movie due to his crazy tragic backstory.

Speaking of which, shit gets DARK with Volume 3! Do you like animals? Then maybe don’t watch this one, because there are scenes where animals get tortured, mutilated, mutated, and even killed throughout the film. You don’t see the REAL brutal stuff, but the implications that James Gunn puts in might actually be worse than SHOWING us. But don’t let that make you think we DON’T see any gruesome stuff in this. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3 is one of the few MCU projects that EARNS its PG-13 rating, having some VIOLENT imagery and deaths. For example, there’s a moment where you see what a character really looks like, and it might just be the goriest thing the MCU has ever had, which is the biggest compliment I can give.

But despite all that, it’s still funny! Like, REALLY funny! And the jokes don’t spoil and dramatic or serious moment in the film, either...Well, except for maybe one or two scenes, but that’s NOTHING compared to films where the jokes completely harm the final product like Thor: Love and Thunder. Here, the jokes are perfectly placed, are rarely forced in, and are ACTUALLY funny. Me and everyone in the theater were cackling with laughter a LOT throughout the movie. I could barely restrain myself from belting out a laugh or two half the time.

And the action. Holy SHIT, the action! These “trilogies” in the MCU really know how to save the cool stuff for the third movies. Iron Man 3, Captain America: Civil War, Thor: Ragnarok, Spider-Man: No Way Home, and now THIS FILM all feature some of the most epic, creative, and fun action scenes and set-pieces in the MCU. There’s a hallway fight that might just top Daredevil’s due to how violent and creative it is with these characters, their powers, and how they kill people. It really does feel like James Gunn wanted to give the fans a few final cool battles before leaving the MCU forever.

Which brings me to another thing about what makes this movie awesome: It is a clear send-off for James Gunn and the Guardians. The movie makes it VERY clear that this will be the last time all these characters will be together. Hell, the credits features pictures of the Guardians throughout their journies and adventures in the MCU. The most we’ll PROBABLY get are cameos, but other than that, this is the end for most of these characters. And WHAT an end it was.

If there’s anything to complain about, there’s two problems.

#1, Adam Warlock. The character isn’t...bad and Will Poulter nails the voice I always pictured this character having. But he doesn’t really nail who Warlock is in the comics and, overall, he’s kind of...pointless. You can easily write him out of the movie and make a few extra tweaks NOTHING would be missing. Honestly, it feels like the only reason why he’s here is because Volume 2 teased his appearance and James Gunn had no choice but to...bring him in for this last ride. Also, Warlock has the worst costume in the MCU. I mean, look at this:

What even is this?

Which brings me to #2--Which is my most nitpickiest complaint: Star Lord doesn’t wear his mask. Ever. Throughout all two hours and a half hours of this film. It’s part of a bigger complain I have where characters don’t mask up as much as they should in these movies, but it doesn’t stop how distracting it is. I don’t want see Chrisp Ratt’s stupid face in this. I want to see STAR LORD.

THIS! I want to see THIS! And the crazy thing is that Volume 3 finally gives the Guardians their comic accurate uniforms, but don’t go all the way in giving us Star Lord’s mask. Not even the original one they made for these movies. Part of the fun of superheroes are their cool and iconic costumes so it sucks that we don’t get to see enough of that. Imagine if Spider-Man: No Way Home or Captain America: Civil War didn’t have Peter and Steve wear their masks for the big and epic fights, including the finale battles. It wouldn’t be great, would it? Seeing Tom Holland and Chris Evans fight instead of Spider-Man and Captain America.

LET YOUR HEROES WEAR MASKS, YOU COWARDS!

...But other than that, this movie’s a near perfect 9/10 for me.

Now, does this mean Marvel’s back on their game and they’ll be making good movies again?

...We’ll see.

For now, I’ll remain hopeful. Because while the MCU is going through a bit of a rough patch with its films and recent shows, there’s still some fun to be had. I’ll always keep an eye out for what they have next, even if it’s not always as good as it could be, it’ll always lead me to seeing...

A fun, nostalgic thrill-ride that honors Spider-Man and what makes him so awesome.

A touching tribute to Chadwick Boseman and how much he and the character he portrayed meant to others.

And this final ride that’s fun, tragic, and complete in all the right ways.

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mcu reviews #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #rocket raccoon #star lord #adam warlock #quick thoughts #what i thought about

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

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idanit · 4 years ago

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possibly underappreciated Good Omens fics I enjoyed once upon a time

Indirectly inspired by a video series about fanfiction I watched, I decided to pull together a list of Good Omens fics I have bookmarked as stories I enjoyed, but which have less than 250-300 kudos at the time I’m writing this. No particular order. They’re accompanied by short excerpts from my private fic reading notes (not originally intended to be read by anyone but me, mind), sometimes slightly edited for clarity—and, sometimes, the comments I left on the fics.

This list sat in my drafts for a long time and the recent S2 announcement reminded me of it. I’d love it if it inspired you to do something similar! Spread the love.

And mind the tags, please.

△ = general and teen ▲ = mature and explicit

thermodynamic equilibrium ▲ 7K the author has such an ear for dialogue and is unapologetic about what they want to write the characters like. They think of the characters as a mix of TV and book canon, but they feel like a homemade blend to me. (...) It’s very funny.

such dear follies ▲ 6K I can really picture this Aziraphale—Crowley as well, but her especially. She’s rather distinct. (...) Nice writing.

The Words Were With - △ 1.2K post-Blitz vignette, Aziraphale realizes what he feels and wonders if they're human enough for this. I liked it, and I liked the tag "transhumanism, but in reverse?", too—what an interesting idea. I'd say it's a vignette in a dire need of a follow-up, but, well, there's the show. The show is the follow-up. It fits very nicely within the canon and I totally believe it could have happened, like a deleted scene.

Gossip and Good Counsel △ 19K/? I love their companionship and how they're set up to be opposites by the management even though they get on pretty well. It feels very in keeping with the canon, but I feel like the fact that it's an F/F set in this particular time period adds a meaningful layer to the situation. It's women supporting each other in the world of men, working with the personas that are created for them, but, privately, being normal, well-rounded people. (...) and of course your writing is always a pleasure to read. (...) SDHDGDHDHDG Maisie is truly an Aziraphale.

Crowley Went Down to Georgia (he was looking for a soul to steal) △ 6K This was nice. Based on a song I didn’t know. Crowley goes to a funeral in the USA, one of a fiddler he knew and lost a bet to once. (...) The fic has not one but two songs composed for it and embedded inside it and that makes it even better. I really enjoyed the experience.

The Thing With Feathers △ 18K WARLOCK you'rE HORRIBLE AND I LOVE IT I would read an entire novel-length fic just of Crowley fighting his battles with Warlock. Written like this? It would be a blast. (...) The OCs are believably characterized and well-loved by the story. (...) Everyone seems to need a friend in this house. (...) This was so fun, and at the same time, their mission has weight here (...) We wonder about what the future holds even though we know it.

Here Quiet Find △ 11K This fic aimed for my head and the aim was sure precise. It was a story of Crowley sensing Aziraphale's distress and finding him in a self-quarantined English village in the seventeenth century, tired and anxious. It's hurt/comfort, so there was washing and bedsharing and I had to love it, so I did.

outside of time △ 2K Post-Almostgeddon, (...) nicely-written, short, but strung with a soft kind of tension and unspoken words. There's no drama, just "can we really", and "do you really" of sudden freedom. They fall into being inseparable. Book canon, which I like for this story (sitting on a tarmac). I liked the footnotes. There's a mention of Eliot. All in all, very much yes.

She'asani Yisrael △ 2K It’s Crowley going through a two-hour service and drinking blessed wine. He also keeps an eye on a boy he was asked to. It’s 1946. It was pretty good, so far the best Jewish GO fic, I think, from the ones I’ve read.

To Guard The Eastern Gate △ 11K I loved it. You really made Sodom feel lived-in; the description of Keret, Hurriya and Yassib's house and relationship were great. I got attached to both them and the city (...) Aziraphale and Crawley’s interactions were generally very entertaining. I laughed (...) Your rendering of their voices just lands so well (...) But then oh, the entire ending (...) hurt, hurt a lot, and your descriptions are so vivid.

If you’ve been waiting (for falling in love) △ 14K AAAAA a good ending line. The whole paragraph, in fact. I love a good smattering of philosophy in my fics, and this was really nice. I can get behind Thomas Aequinus's and Crowley's view on eternity. It's (...) a pretty simple fic (...) - the courage to express yourself and take a risk is awarded with winning what was at stake by the virtue of reciprocity - but the way it was intertwined with a study of how they would experience a forever was done well.

Holy unnecessary ▲ 2.2K It's well-written. (...) this is my type of sexual humour if I have any. So subtle. Blink and you'll miss it. Lovely.

The Parting Glass △ 17K Through the ages, they're dancing around their relationship until after the Armageddoff. (...) Wow, this was really, really nice. Very simple in its concept and nothing I haven't read before, but very well-executed. (...) AAAAH I LOVED the first chapter. I always like abbeys as settings, that's a given, but the banter, the good writing, the moral ambiguity!

Name The Sky △ 33K This Crowley is different, but very intriguing. Without his sarcastic talk, and much more animalistic. (...) I love how expressive Crowley is. (...) This fic has a very nice balance of drama and levity. I don't love Crowley-before-the-Fall stories very much, but with this execution I can read about it. (...) Okay I've read Crowley offering fruits, and even Aziraphale biting fruits, but the two of them sharing the apple? Outstanding. Ingenious. What a take.

A Flame in Your Heart △ 5K post-Blitz (why are so many dance fics post-Blitz?), they go to the bookshop and have an actually believable conversation. Then they dance the gavotte. It was really nice! Believable writing, emotions, the dancing! (...) Of course it's too early for them, (...) but the author's note? yeah.

Put down the apple, Adam, and come away with me ▲ 32K At this point it's just reading original stories with characters with names and some personality traits that I recognize. (...) I really enjoy this, the careful dance, the opposition between their views. (...) This is well-written, wow. (...) it's not an easy read (...) this story feels very believably 50s, but also reaches out to the present time.

Liebestraum ▲ 10K/? It really is like music. I'm enjoying the writing a lot. (...) oh my actual god. This, this? Wow, uh. This came for my throat. (...) THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION, THE MOTIF RETURNING, THE AUTHOR KNOWS WHERE IT'S AT (...) Excellent. This hits the right beats so precisely, (...) and with feeling, too.

Down Comforter △ 2.4K and they lay down in angeldown, a soft rug ‘neath their heads– alright. Well, Crowley lies under Aziraphale's wing on a Persian rug after the Apocalypse, and they talk (...). It was sweet.

The Corsair of Carcosa △ 5K Crowley wakes up from a nap, visits Aziraphale for some drinking, and they read The King in Yellow that he happens to own. Good writing, so I'm bought. Aziraphale mentions Beardsley, so I'm bought twice over. My god, a discussion of etheral/occult madness? Caused by some wrong/true reading? Yes.

Very Good, Omens! △ 6K It's rather well-written, well-pastiched. People don't do that too often, nowadays - try to write in the style of a particular writer. (...) I love wordplay like this.

Reviving Robin Hood: The Complicated Process of Crème Brûlée △ 30K it's well-written (...), has a rhythm to it, and quiet humour. (...) Finally some nice, good, light writing. The attention to detail! (...) I'm still reading most of it aloud, the rhythm of it compels me to. (...) okay this does sound like Pratchett&Gaiman, the Good Omens itself (...) The fic is meandering, hilarious, sensitive in all the right places, and overall lovely.

my dear acquaintance △ 1K Oh. Oh. Yes, yes! Aziraphale in Russia, Russia I've never been in, but I can feel the snow and the evening of. Very real, and the bar, too. Attention to detail - vodka flavoured with dill, what on earth? Yes. He would totally have a distinct taste in operas and he would totally complain about a subpar one. I'm glad Tchaikovsky's there.

there is a crack in everything △ 1.8K This was good! Ah. Inspired by a comment (...), I went looking for Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese fics—really, what a big brain moment someone had and why have I never thought to look for them? This is Crowley getting suddenly anxious and Aziraphale going out of his way, through all his layers of not-thinking and denial, to console him. I also really liked how the Arrangement is a carefully unacknowledged partnership-marriage.

Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars △ 6K No conflict, no plot, one tiny arc like a ripple on the surface of water on a calm sunny day - of Aziraphale discovering Crowley’s scars. It's the South Downs and it's early summer. They bask and swim in a spring. Non-sexual nudity, love in the air like a scent. Nice.

Nineteen Footnotes In Search Of A Story △ 0.4K This is a Good Omens story told only through footnotes. Your mind can fill in the gaps. Fascinating (...). Also, it’s an experiment so apt for this particular fandom.

Hell on Earth △ 6.5K Oh, I loved it! How could I not love it: it's Beelzebub-centric, it's historical, it has classical painting, and even a hilarious scene with a cuneiform phrase, as if I didn't enjoy this story enough already. There are so few Beelzebub fics out there and I find searching for them very difficult (I accept recs if anyone has any), and it's such a shame, so this was really like a gift to the fandom. I absolutely adore the way you portrayed them, small, frightening, powerful, and confident. Also, it was super fun to see how different Crowley seems when we're not in his POV or in a story about him and Aziraphale. (...)

Go Up to Ramoth-Gilead and Triumph △ 24K Daegaer is... pure class. (...) hdhdhdh what pfttt why you so funny (...) I love this Crowley. (...) This got unexpectedly intense. (...) I love the little nods to the fact that Israelites, especially the poorer ones, still believe in other gods. I also really like that they sleep on roofs. It's just the kind of detail that grounds the story and shows that the author is, in fact, a historian.

#good omens #good omens fic rec #fanfiction #fic rec #idanit reads #i also have a multifannish F/F rec list in the works #all my bookmarks are private but i feel the need to share the love

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lady-divine-writes · 6 years ago

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Eternity

They give up eternity to be with one another.

To live the rest of their lives on Earth as humans.

No more tempting, no more blessing. No more bowing to Beelzebub and Gabriel.

No more worrying about the Ineffable Plan.

Let fate do its thing while they focus on themselves and their happiness.

Complete and total freedom.

And for Crowley, for the first time officially, free will.

They talk about it for over 200 years before they put any plan into action. It’s the only way they can see being together without Heaven and Hell dogging their every move, without the constant threat of Hellfire and Holy Water for what they’ve done.

For Crowley, however, it’s more. It’s insurance – making certain that Aziraphale wouldn’t fall, wouldn’t become a demon.

Wouldn’t lose his claim on an Eternity in Paradise.

With the use of old scripture that Aziraphale procures from the estate of a deceased archeologist, and with the help of Anathema and Newt’s great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren, they find a way. They call in some favors, tear up old contracts, exploit some loopholes, and voila.

Humanity.

The loss of magic takes some getting used to.

The first thing Crowley attempts to miracle is the boot off his car. That’s the day he learns he can no longer park wherever he wants whenever he wants.

And that’s kind of a bummer, along with the discovery that, without his demonic power, his Bentley only caps off at a respectable 75 miles per hour.

Still, they recognize that they’re luckier than most.

Having lived close to 7,000 years by now, Crowley has enough long term stock built up to keep them comfortable for more than a millennia.

Way more money than they’ll ever need.

So they spend it. They travel the world, see everything all over again anew with mortal eyes.

They don’t set foot in London again for close to a decade and it doesn’t dawn on them to care.

But what for immortal beings is barely the blink of an eye, they begin to understand what it means when humans say, “It feels like a lifetime.”

And before they know it, before they’re both ready, that lifetime starts coming to a close.

At the ripe old age of 83, (well, 7,283) Aziraphale begins to slow down.

He doesn’t walk as quickly. He has a hard time getting up. And he coughs all the time – hard enough to shake his body and turn his face bright red.

Hard enough to frighten the life out of Crowley.

Aziraphale doesn’t leave the bookshop most days. It’s been more like home to him than any place in the world. He stays in the back room, stretched out on a sofa, wrapped in a multitude of blankets, reading a book. Those round glasses he used to wear for show are prescription now. Without them, he’s nearly blind.

Some days, Crowley reads to him. On those days, Aziraphale falls asleep leaning against his shoulder, a small, contented smile on his lips.

As Aziraphale gets weaker and weaker, Crowley often asks him, “Do you regret it? Giving up immortality to live as a mortal with me?” And Aziraphale always answers the same: “Not one minute, my dear boy. I only wish we could do it all again.”

Crowley was prepared to go first. He had been for years. Wishful thinking since he knew deep down Aziraphale would take that journey, and without him.

“Heaven wanted their angel back,” people say at his funeral.

Little do they know how right they are.

Crowley doesn’t worry about Aziraphale in the afterlife. He knows in his heart that, regardless of Gabriel’s constant groaning that he’d never give Aziraphale a reference, he had a place reserved for him in heaven.

Crowley knows it just as surely as he knows he doesn’t.

It’s a thought that’s kept him up at night.

There’s always a chance that no one would want him, so he’d probably live forever.

As it turns out, someone does.

Hell tries to tempt him back.

Hastur finds Crowley at the bus stop late one night, drinking red wine from the bottle and staring at the empty space beside him, picturing Aziraphale there that first night he offered to let him stay at his place. Funny thing was, that image had started to get clearer every night he went there.

Hence, he’d started going there a lot.

Hastur tells him he’s been given permission to offer Crowley anything his heart desires. He’s still highly prized in Hell after all, especially after that switcheroo stunt he and Aziraphale pulled. Demons still talk about it – not that an angel infiltrated their midsts and pulled a fast one on them, but how the demon Crowley walked boldly into the head offices of Heaven and spit fire at the Archangel Gabriel.

“The tale has been exaggerated over time,” Hastur says sourly. Nonetheless, Hastur offers him power, a dukedom in hell, free reign. Just ask for it, and he’ll have it.

Crowley polishes off his bottle, then asks for his husband back.

But that, Hastur can’t give to him, even if he wanted to.

Which he doesn’t.

Crowley tells Hastur that regrettably he must decline.

Hastur shrugs. “Don’t worry,” Hastur says with a wicked grin. “In six months, you’ll be ours.”

Crowley doesn’t go back to his flat that night. He simply stays at the bus stop, thinking that part over.

Six months.

He only has six months.

It’s not enough time.

It was never enough time.

They never had enough time.

When the sun comes up, he hears a bird singing, and for some reason, that prompts him to pray. But he doesn’t pray to God.

He prays to Aziraphale.

“What do I do?” he asks. “With the time I have left? How do I make it worthwhile?”

He’s not sure he gets an answer, but he gets a ton of ideas.

Now that he knows how much time he has to work with, he sits down at his office desk and decides on the best way to use it, the mantra, “What would Aziraphale do?” always on his mind.

So he ties up loose ends, starting with his finances.

He has no dependents, so he starts giving money away.

First to the human families he and Aziraphale have known and loved throughout the years, starting with the descendants of Anathema and Newt, Warlock, Adam and The Them. He sets up trusts, then donates the rest to various non-profits Aziraphale would have loved – libraries and museums, animal shelters and wildlife sanctuaries, women’s shelters and orphanages, and selfishly, a botanical garden or two. He sets up scholarships in Aziraphale’s name, has school reading rooms named after him, even backs two start-up French restaurants of very deserving new chefs, requesting only naming rights in return.

Those two restaurants, which cater to the elite and the homeless alike, become Aziraphale Fell’s and The Angel Room.

By the time Crowley is done, he has created a legacy for his husband that will hopefully keep his memory alive for an eternity.

The only request he makes for himself as he drafts his will?

Bury me with my husband.

When that day comes, when he feels it in his bones that his time’s nearly up, he gets dressed in his finest black suit with the addition of his husband’s favorite tartan collar. Long unable to drive, he takes the bus to his husband’s plot. He brings along his favorite rubber tree (which earns him more than a few strange looks), and sits on the grass in front of Aziraphale’s headstone.

It’s consecrated ground, but it doesn’t burn his skin, and even if it did, that wouldn’t keep him away.

Crowley doesn’t know what’s waiting for him on the other side.

When Aziraphale passed on, Crowley panicked. Everything he had, his whole world, died that day.

After he put Aziraphale in the ground, he felt he had nothing to live for.

Now he accepts that what happens will happen.

That’s the Arrangement (this one worthy of the capital A) they made at the beginning of all this. They’d enjoy the time they were given and let fate do its thing.

His ending was written the moment he became mortal.

As Beelzebub always said, what is written is written.

Maybe he’ll be talking about it again with Beelzebub soon.

Best case scenario, he disappears, but he doesn’t think that’s in the cards for him. Not after everything he’s done. He expects fire and he expects pain.

An eternity of it.

As the sun starts to set on him, he talks to Aziraphale one last time. It’s the only real joy he ever had in his life, talking to his angel. That’s the way Aziraphale’s life ended, too – sitting beside his husband, going on and on about the life they shared together, what a blessing it was, how much he loved it.

How much he loved him.

He thanked Crowley, too. Thanked him for everything – from that first day on the wall to his last one, and every one in between.

That’s the way Crowley wants to go, even if Aziraphale isn’t physically with him. Though he’s always felt Aziraphale with him – the same as in the pub so many years ago after the fire in the bookshop. He feels Aziraphale with him now, sitting beside him, listening to every word Crowley has to say. He recounts the events of the past few months the best that he can remember, talks about the people he met, the things he did in Aziraphale’s name, the lives he’d been able to touch using Aziraphale’s memory as his guiding light.

And he tells him he loves him more than a dozen times.

It gets cold early.

It’s late spring, but Crowley can’t stop shivering.

The rubber tree cozies up to him, tries to give him comfort, but it’s not enough.

He’s simply so damned tired.

He puts his head down, laying his cheek approximately where he assumes Aziraphale’s heart would be. He whispers what’s left, everything and anything he can think to say.

He closes his eyes.

A few minutes later, he’s not cold anymore.

And he hasn’t disappeared.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to light – a light so bright, he should want to turn from it, but he doesn’t. It doesn’t burn his eyes, it doesn’t frighten him.

It’s warm. It’s comforting.

And it knows his name.

His angel name.

But the only voice that matters is the one that whispers in his ear long before his eyes become accustomed to the light.

The voice that welcomes him home.

“Hello, my dear boy. I’ve missed you terribly. It’s so nice to see you again.”

(Inspired by the Michael Sheen tweet where he says that maybe Aziraphale and Crowley give up immortality to live with one another as humans. I’m sorry if it’s crap. It took a lot out of me to write it.)

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

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callunavulgari · 6 years ago

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TOP 25 FICS OF 2019

1. these roads will take you into your own country by @notbecauseofvictories | American Gods | Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney | WIP | 33k

Here’s a joke for you: a Muslim, a zombie, and a leprechaun walk into a bar in Misery, Indiana. No one stares, because no one in the puckered, shitty asshole of Misery, Indiana gives a fuck. The Colts are playing.

Heather Says: So. It’s funny that another of @notbecauseofvictories‘s stories is at the top of my list again this year. Keep in mind this list is sorted by when the fic was read rather than favorites (because that would get real complicated real quick). Clearly there must be something about January. There’s just something about the writing that is easy to slip into, be it a Star Wars fic or a Labyrinth fic or even a fic about Johnny and the Devil. This was lovely and I can’t wait until it’s finished.

2. eighteen wheels on an uphill climb by @honkforhankcon | Detroit: Become Human | Hank/Connor | 91k

Hank is going to die. He’s going to die right here in Kentucky, 53 years old, halfway to broke, and tragically sober. Survived only by a nine-year-old St. Bernard and the 31-year-old twink who delivered the fatal blow.

Heather Says: I don’t think that this is the first DBH fic that I sought out after beating the game, but it is the first that I loved enough to make it to this list. I didn’t think that I would go for a modern au for this fandom, certainly not a modern au wihere Hank is a truck driver and Connor is a sex worker (albeit briefly?) but here I am.

3. Fuck pride (pride only hurts, it never helps) by ImogenGotDrunk | Detroit: Become Human | RK900/Gavin Reed | 41k

After the android uprising, Connor becomes a permanent fixture in the DPD. That’s fine. Gavin can accept that. The dipshit’s more human than he used to be, and a decent detective to boot. Gavin can deal with him being around. What Gavin cannot deal with is Connor’s replica; two inches taller, blue-eyed, and with a mouth that Gavin doesn’t know whether to punch or take between his teeth. The RK900 model has been assigned as his partner for the foreseeable future.

Heather Says: I also never thought that I’d like a fic with Gavin in it. But I got curious about all the Reed900, and well, this fic really won me over. The writing is fantastic, and it softens Gavin while still keeping him believable. Also, well, I like the enemies to lovers thing.

4. Almost Cool by @blacktofade | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 30k

While filming the Yuma Territorial Prison episode, Shane gets bitten by what he thinks is a bat. Spoiler alert: it's not.

Heather Says: This is actually the first thing that I read for this fandom. In fact, this is the fic that got me into Buzzfeed Unsolved in the first place. I’d seen a lot of art and gifs and fics pass my way, but I was only ever slightly interested in what I saw until this fic came through my inbox and piqued my curiosity.

5. Pride by @astolat | Game of Thrones | Jaime/Brienne/Cersei | 22k

Jaime didn’t understand why Cersei suddenly insisted on trimming his hair and shaving his beard, but he also didn’t care to fight her on it, even though he’d just as soon have kept the beard: it was bitterly cold in the small tower room with its arrow-slits.

Heather Says: Wowza. This fic was intense. I’ve always loved Jaime and Brienne. I’ve loved them since the second book, which was read at least a few years before I started loving them in the show. Adding Cersei to their dynamic would have probably been almost impossible to pull off if it was anyone else, but @astolat lives to surpass my expectations.

6. Skin and Scales by Ernmark | The Penumbra Podcast | Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla | 18k

The man glares, and this time, Damien is certain it isn’t a trick of the light: those eyes are violet as amethyst. He wears disdain like a second skin–- or, perhaps, like the scales that he is missing. “Lord Arum?”

Heather Says: I was one of those people who skipped through all of the Second Citadel episodes during my first listen through of Penumbra. The stories were good, but the pull of Juno was too great. A couple months after I finished, I went back and listened to everything I didn’t. And let me tell you. Lizard monster. Honorable knight. Bookish girlfriend. Poly. It hit every single button I had and then some. This fic really hit the spot when I ran out of story.

7. someone you like by caela | She-Ra | Adora/Catra | 5k

catwithabat u think ur so hipster but u just look like a lesbian 27m she_ra @catwithabat bc… i’m a lesbian. lmao 5m

Heather Says: Noooot usually a big fan of high school fics. Namely because I’m not in high school anymore and well, after you read so many in your teenage years they sort of lose their luster. This one was phenomenal enough to change my mind.

8. Sands of Time by @tirsynni | Legend of Zelda | Ganondorf/Link | WIP | 98k

Link awakens in the desert with no idea how he got there, to encounter his worst enemy...except it was the King of the Gerudo, not the King of Evil, he faced.

Heather Says: I have seen a lot of really good Link/Ganondorf art over the years, but never really stumbled across a fic that didn’t have judicious amount of non-con involved. But the Breath of the Wild 2 trailer happened, and everybody started drawing really pretty art, so I went looking. And lo and behold, @tirsynni saved the day with this gorgeous time travel/fix-it fic.

9. killed with kindness by veterization | Persona 5 | Akechi/Akira | 52k

Goro can't quite figure out why so many people keep acting like they're his friend. (Or: the one where the Phantom Thieves decide to know thy enemy, befriend thy enemy, love thy enemy, crush on thy enemy).

Heather Says: I’ve read a couple of veterization’s fics over the years, and to date they have never disappointed me. They published this in June, and I think I clicked on it mostly because I was bored and hadn’t read any good P5 fic yet. This was basically just what the doctor ordered, and I was really happy to find something where Akechi’s story went ever so slightly different.

10. paper thin by @ebonybow | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane/Sara | 9k

Shane’s new neighbors are a morning-sex kind of couple.

Heather Says: So I went into this one knowing very little about how Sara fit into things. I didn’t know she was Shane’s girlfriend. I’d never even seen her, but I clicked because I like poly and I trust the author. I was 100% not disappointed. There’s also another fic with a very similar dynamic here, which is also aces.

11. damn.nation, now available on itunes by @kaikamahine | Good Omens | Aziraphale/Crowley | 11k

When lowly tempt-pusher Amphora (formerly of Stairwell 7B North, before she Fell,) gets the notice that end times are nigh, she gleefully quits her job and cancels her Netflix subscription and takes her place among the legions of hell. This, it turns out, was a bad plan.

Heather Says: Elizabeth may have only written one fic this year, but she made it a damn good one. I’ve always loved her OCs especially, so I was pretty tickled that this is 10k+ of outsider pov. Also, demons! Demons are great! This demon is great! I want like 9 seasons and a movie about Amphora, just saying.

12. The Dragon and Her Wolves by hapakitsune | Game of Thrones | Jon/Sansa/Daenarys | 60k

When the truth of Jon's birthright is revealed, control of the North and Daenerys's claim to the Iron Throne are both called into question. To preserve their tenuous alliance and secure her rule, Daenerys puts aside her personal feelings to arrange a marriage of political convenience between Jon and Sansa Stark.

Heather Says: What do you mean season 8 didn’t exist and the show totally ended with a three way relationship between the two most powerful women in Westeros and Jon Snow? Never been a big fan of Jon/Sansa before this, but this is another of those writers that I would literally trust if they wrote a fic about a fork and a spoon.

13. never tell me the odds by @wildehacked | Wolf 359 | Eiffel/Hera | 9k

“I tried Star Wars," he says, adjusting the phone under his neck, "and it was way underwhelming.”

A shaky breath from her end. “Well, where did you start?”

Heather Says: I don’t remember which of @wildehacked‘s fandoms I started reading first. Most recently it’s been The Magnus Archives (more on this later). The point is, they’d written Wolf 359 fic and it had Hera and Eiffel and it was literally everything that I’ve been looking for since the series ended.

14. Find Me Somebody by raiining | Good Omens | Warlock/Adam Young | 11k

“You left me,” he said. “You both left me, for him. And I can’t even blame you, because I’d have left me for him too.”

Heather Says: There was an Art. The art was lovely. So I went looking, because that’s what I do when faced with beautiful art depicting a rare pairing. And I found the holy grail. Like, possibly my favorite Good Omens fic? Ever?

15. flirting with fire by @brawlite | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | WIP | 7k

Steve's a cop, Billy's a firefighter. It's not a grudge, it's just a regular old small town rivalry.

Heather Says: Okay so brawlite has written a lot of great stuff this year (more on that later), but I read this in bed at the beach house this August while I was reeling from both a horrible sunburn and like seven hours of mild to moderate day-drinking while everyone else was still throwing back shots right outside my bedroom door. Jaws was playing on the tv and I wasn’t even paying attention to it, because THIS. Long story short, I’ve been thirsty for more ever since.

16. gold, when you find me by mmtion | The Flash | Iris/Barry | 53k

It's not that Iris hates The Flash, per say - more that she hates writing about The Streak in a weekly, pun-heavy comic based on The Flash.

Heather Says: I never would have thought that a canon pairing would make it to my Top 25 list, but here we are. I like Iris/Barry a lot better when they don’t grow up together and spend a lot of time playing the Superman game, apparently. Also, this was really well-written, and sexual tension has never been something I’ve felt from Barry and Iris, but I felt it in this fic. Just. Damn.

17. never gets old by @brawlite & @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger| Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | 78k

Falling in love with a cam boy named KingSteve isn't the smartest thing Billy Hargrove has ever done, nor is it the most healthy -- but the good choice is rarely ever the fun choice, and Billy is all about living life fast and loose.

Heather Says: Told you I’d come back to it. brawlite and toastranger are a fantastic team. last year was cherry pie and under the covers, this year it’s camboys and cop/firefighter dynamics. Also, I have a really strange fascination with fics where a character has an instragram. It’s really, incredibly strange. Also also, every time I see this fic title I get that one Discovery Channel song stuck in my head. And no, it probably isn’t the one you’re thinking.

18. ways to save the world by @wildehacked | The Magnus Archives | Martin Blackwood/Jon Sims | 19k

“I left you,” Martin says softly.

Heather Says: And we’re back at wildehacked too! The Magnus Archives was a thing that happened to me. This is I think the first fic I read for it while listening, and it was so very close to what we got in canon. I think when it comes down to it though, I still prefer this fic, even if the ending of this season was pretty fantastic.

19. The Denial Twist by beethechange | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 35k

“This is kind of surreal,” Shane says, taking a sip of his tea. It’s piping hot and delicious, except it tastes like hot chocolate and not like tea at all. “Sort of—Wonka-esque, right? Or Alice in Wonderland.”

Heather Says: While the vampire one is my favorite both because it is excellent and because it was my first, this one was bizarre and sexy and also I read it like only a month or so ago! The dancing was my favorite part, but having dreams to work with made this story fantastically interesting and I loved every second of it.

20. silver in our lungs by taywen | Spinning Silver | Miryem/The Staryk Lord | 4k

The marks had been with Miryem for as long as she could remember. There were a number of them, all the same shade, following one after the other around her left wrist. They were pale as old scars, though they felt no different from the rest of her skin, and her mother claimed that Miryem had been born with them.

Heather Says: I really like soulmate aus. There’s so many different ways to twist them and the way they can sometimes change the dynamic entirely and other times not change them at all is just fascinating. I’ve been hoping there would be more Spinning Silver content on ao3 and running into this while I was trying to decide what I wanted to do for yuletide was a real treat.

21. you got me begging, begging, i'm on my knees by plalligator | The Queen’s Thief | Attolia/Eugenides/Costis | 5k

Costis has a particularly enlightening evening. (or, that struggle when you're a guard who's in love with your rulers and it turns out you would kind of like it if they bossed you around a little)

Heather Says: I accidentally re-read the King of Attolia and it made me consider ships I had perhaps not previously considered. This was really lovely and just steamy enough.

22. something more alive than silence by pageleaf | The Queen’s Thief | Attolia/Eugenides/Costis | 21k

It was a good thing that six months after the king had promised to halve the guard, he still hadn’t done it, because since then, there had been two attempts on the king’s life.

Heather Says: I want to only type the words AGONIZED NOISES to describe this fic because that’s basically my headspace when I get 21k of a shiny new ot3, but I mean. Really. This is super good and maybe my favorite yet? Why didn’t I start reading this fandom when I first read the books?

23. Timing it Right by DragonBandit | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 14k

The dragon chooses, Mark knows that as well as any boy born in a weyr. He'd never considered what that would mean if the dragon picked someone you hated. He's starting to think that was a mistake.

Damien's gold rises at Whitney. Mark tries to make things right.

Heather Says: This should actually be somewhere back in March, but I apparently closed out of the tab at some point. I never really got into Pern much. I have the first three books, but got most of the way through the first one a long time ago and then never picked it back up. I didn’t think I would like this, mostly because of the fact that I hadn’t gotten into the books, but was surprised to find that I absolutely loved it.

24. Keep It In Your Sights Now by LuckyDiceKirby | Shades of Magic | Lila/Kell/Holland | 9k

Holland travels with Lila and Kell. Somewhere along the way, they reach an equilibrium.

Heather Says: I love the new things I’ve discovered during my yuletide trompings. I don’t think I ever actually considered this pairing when I first read the books, but I am just so enamored with the idea of the three of them together. Like, why did I not realize that potential back then? This was lovely, and I loved it, and I want so much more out of this pairing than what ao3 has to offer me.

25. Charioteer by petrichoral | The Queen’s Thief | Gen & Costis | 13k

Captured in battle and stuck in the Mede capital, Costis has given up all hope of seeing his country again. But Eugenides has a habit of turning up where he's least expected.

Heather Says: Technically this shouldn’t be on here because I only read it today, but it was really wonderful and so canon typical. Gen and Costis were perfect in it, Irene was perfect in it. Everyone was perfect and nothing hurts.

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frizz22 · 6 years ago

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Summons

@conejocabron: Madam Spellman prompt. Lilith panicking because she feels Zelda summoning her with urgency but when getting there Zelda is, just plain drunk.

Enjoy! Read on ao3

They’d only been in charge for a month.

A tumultuous month at that. Other covens and warlocks had tried to swoop in and swallow their little group up. Claiming it was for the best, but she and Zelda knew they just wanted the glory of saying they were now in charge of one of the more prominent Churches of Darkness.

They’d held them all off, whether with negotiations, partnerships or blunt threats; their coven held their own and grew.

Despite the progress and smooth sailing for the past week, Lilith insisted that Zelda summon her should another threat appear, not wanting to lose the precious ground they gained.

She also didn’t want to be like Lucifer who had made her terrified of summoning him simply for instructions. He’d started to lose her loyalty some time before that, then his pursuit of Sabrina alienated Lilith further. And when he’d decided to punish her because she’d summoned him, questioned him... well, Lilith didn’t intend to make the same mistakes as her predecessor and lose her greatest ally.

And.... and perhaps there was another motive behind it as well.

A more personal one Lilith refused to acknowledge. One that whispered that she cared, rather deeply, for the strong, intelligent, secretly compassionate woman.... who also happened to be absurdly beautiful.

Prior to her revealing her true nature, Lilith had few interactions with Zelda. The witch intrigued her, certainly, especially after Zelda had burst into the room, crackling with power and finished the exorcism. But beyond that, Lilith had little reason to think of her.

Until Zelda helped Lilith onto the throne.

Until she became the first high priestess in the Church of Lilith. Until they fought side by side in a variety of ways to protect what they’d both worked so hard to achieve. Until they spent hours together pouring over texts and making sweeping revisions and raising witches up within the church to the same level as warlocks. Until Lilith got to know her, hear her biting wit, learn what her laugh sounded like, acquaint herself with the curl of Zelda’s lips when she smiled.

Until she came to relish the time they got to spend together.

So, perhaps her motives for asking Zelda to summon her should trouble arise weren’t as transparent as the witch imagined; but she didn’t want any harm to come to one of the few living beings she trusted and cared for—she’d already lost too many.

First Lucifer—when he transformed into Satan, then Stolas—when he betrayed her to Lucifer and forced her to kill him, finally the sweet mortal Adam, he’d truly been Mary Wardwell’s, but Lilith had come to trust and care for him in her own way only to lose him as well. And now, well, now she had Zelda and while there was no Lucifer to steal her away, Lilith still worried something else would harm Zelda.

Zelda rarely summoned her, regardless of Lilith’s assertions. When she did summon her, the spell was always tinged with the implication that Lilith could come when she chose, that Zelda wasn’t in great need of her new Queen, she merely needed to discuss something when Lilith had the chance.

Which meant, when Lilith was lounging in her new throne late one night, going over a series of documents Zelda had recently given her, she was startled when a summoning spell came through that demanded Lilith’s immediate attention. Flying to her feet and not bothering to put her heels back on, Lilith teleported to the Spellman home, ready to lay waste to whatever had frightened Zelda enough to call her with such urgency.

Appearing in the foyer, Lilith made straight to the parlor where a fire was going, spell already in hand. Bursting into the room, she was stunned to find Zelda draped on the couch, drink in hand.

Cautiously approaching, Lilith crouched next to Zelda. “Where is it?” She whispered, thinking the woman must be in some kind of spell induced stupor.

Head lolling over, Zelda’s mouth spread into a wide smile. “Lil,” she breathed, clumsily sitting up.

Placing a steadying hand on Zelda’s shoulder, Lilith cast a quick spell to reveal anything harmful in the house and it came up empty. Confused, she turned back to Zelda. “What happened?” She insisted, checking the woman for injuries or residual magic.

“I missed you.” Zelda admitted, attempting to whisper and failing.

She blinked, nonplussed. “What?”

Slugging back the rest of her drink, Zelda set the glass aside, almost missing the side table, and took Lilith’s face in her hands, sending thrills through Lilith’s body. “I. Missed. You.” Zelda repeated, biting her lip as she stroked her thumbs over Lilith’s cheeks. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks, Lil, I wanted to see you.”

It was then Lilith registered the words. Zelda had missed her, wanted to see her, had given her a nickname... and she couldn’t fight the blush and smile that crept across her face in response. Then she realized something else.

Zelda was drunk.

There was a glaze to her normally sharp green eyes and her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol. Some of Lilith’s excitement at Zelda’s declarations and physical affection waned, it wasn’t that Zelda felt the same, she was just intoxicated…. Extremely so.

Sighing, and gently taking Zelda’s hands between her own, Lilith stood. “Zelda, how much have you had to drink?”

Face scrunching adorably, Zelda cocked her head at Lilith. “What does that have to do with anything? Can’t I just want to see you? Spend time with you?”

Carefully leveraging the redhead up and ignoring how the words made her heart ache—for surely It was the incredible amounts of alcohol speaking and not Zelda—Lilith slipped under Zelda’s arm and wrapped her own around the witch’s waist to prop her up.

“We can do that when you’re sober.” She murmured, leading Zelda to the stairs. It was slow going, the stairs, and Zelda stumbled, giggled and spouted soft, sweet sentiments the whole time they made their way to her bedroom.

Once there, Lilith waved a hand to change Zelda into the nightgown laying on the bed and gulped when she saw the dark blue silk contrasted on Zelda’s pale skin; the depth of the neckline didn’t help matters either.

Grinning, Zelda stood up from the bed where Lilith had parked her. “So eager to see me out of my normal clothes, are we?” She teased, running a finger along Lilith’s cheek and standing far too close.

Biting back a flirtatious remark, Lilith let out a strained chuckle instead. “You should sleep, Zelda.” She guided the woman back to bed.

“Oh, but there are much better ways in which this bed could be used.” Zelda purred, her hands finding Lilith’s hips and squeezing deliciously.

And Lilith almost let a ‘Satan, help me,’ fall from her lips out of habit. But she’d overthrown her old master and now had no one to pray to when she needed help resisting the tempting witch in front of her.

Deliberately removing Zelda’s hands, Lilith pulled back the covers and helped the redhead slip under the covers. “I’ll go mix up a hangover potion for you for when you wake.” It was easier to avoid Zelda’s comment completely than to try and address it without making the situation worse.

As she turned to leave, Zelda’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist. “Stay. Please?”

She paused for a moment, but finally nodded and rounded the bed to climb on top of the comforter Zelda was tucked under. Lilith laid there stiffly, unsure what to do. Normally she wouldn’t hesitate to follow someone’s leads, but this was Zelda and she didn’t want to ruin anything. The witch meant more to Lilith than a quick, if satisfying, romp.

Zelda who was on her side and facing away from Lilith, blindly reached behind her until she grasped Lilith’s arm. Zelda then tugged until Lilith rolled over and spooned her; once her arm was draped over Zelda’s waist, the redhead interlaced their fingers.

Humming contentedly, Zelda settled more heavily against Lilith. “Feels better than I imagined,” she murmured.

The comment had Lilith perking up. “What does?” She asked tentatively, scooting closer until her knees were notched behind Zelda’s completely.

Wriggling a little, Zelda adjusted her hold on Lilith’s hand and pulled her more tightly in. “This.” She sighed, drifting off almost immediately, the alcohol assisting the process.

Heart pounding, Lilith could only assume Zelda meant being held by her. Exhaling slowly, Lilith buried her nose into Zelda’s hair and tried to match her breathing with the witch’s in her arms.

At some point she must have fallen asleep as well. Because the next thing Lilith knew, she was waking up to sun streaming through the window.

It was then she noticed that during the night they had shifted. Now on her back, Lilith was stunned to find Zelda sprawled half on top of her, face pressed almost into her neck. For a moment, she considered teleporting away, avoiding the whole ‘morning after’ and hoping Zelda didn’t remember what happened. Just as she’d made up her mind to do just that, the arm Zelda had draped over her abdomen tightened.

“Don’t even think of moving.” She mumbled, her breath ghosting long Lilith’s skin making it hard to concentrate. The redhead then surprised her further by tipping her head up and placing lazy kisses along Lilith’s neck.

Swallowing roughly, Lilith loosed a shuddering exhale. “Zelda....” she managed in warning, though her hand had come up and wound into her high priestess’ red locks on its own accord.

“Hmm?” She placed a few more choice kisses along Lilith’s skin. “I already made a fool of myself last night. It seems I said many things and when I woke up next to you, I found I didn’t want to take them back.” She pulled back then to look Lilith in the eye, and, really, no one should be allowed to look so deliciously rumpled in the morning—it did things to Lilith. Zelda’s next words recaptured her attention. “Do you want me to stop?” And from the arch of her brow and the glint in her eye Lilith could tell Zelda already knew the answer.

Not one who enjoyed being predictable, though, Lilith suddenly rolled them, so Zelda was trapped beneath her. “Not at all.” She purred, leaning in to wipe the smug smile off Zelda’s face with a kiss.

NOTE: I jumped ahead on my list again. But after the last prompt I needed fluff and a lot of the prompts at the top of my list right now aren’t fluffy. Sorry! Hope you still enjoy :)

#caos #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #Zelda Spellman #lilith #Madam Satan #zelda x lilith #madam spellman #fluff #!drunk Zelda #writing prompt #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #AO3 fanfic #ao3fic

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crispy-crowley · 6 years ago

Text

Ketubah (Aziraphale/Crowley)

Aziraphale grabbed the mug by its porcelain wings. In the next second, it nearly went falling towards the ground. Above the desk, there, by the window, hung a lively and ornately drawn Ketubah. The only problem with that was… well. He didn't really remember getting married.

Thanks to the lovely @theirdarkreturning for the prompt! Hope you enjoy :D

After things went sideways and the Ineffable Plan overtook the Great Plan, things were supposed to go back to normal. They went back to exactly how Adam had viewed them before. No horsemen, no Gabriel, and no antichrist involved.

Some things were different, admittedly, and Crowley was pretty sure he was the first person to notice.

He was sitting in the back seat of Mr. Young’s car, five minutes past the “end” of the world, after he’d begrudgingly agreed to give him and Aziraphale a ride back away from the air base. There was a faint buzz of the car as he looked out the window towards the darkening fields around them.

“My. To think what would have happened if the young boy really had been Warlock,” Aziraphale said. Crowley took a sharp intake of breath at that. Well. That certainly was a thought. He pulled his hand up, going to grab the bridge of his nose, when his reflection in the car mirror caught his eye.

His eyes. Specifically his eyes. They were blinking, his usually snake-shaped golden eyes, and yet the pupils were more… round. More human-like. They had the same color irises, and the pupils were still kind of slits, in a way, but rounder than they were meant to be. His head tilted in the reflection. Well. That's awful strange, isn't it?

Some things, like the Bentley and the Bookshop, were a Godsend. Their own little slices of home were returned to where they were meant to be. Some things, though, weren't quite so black and white.

The people killed by the Kraken were still dead, but the government was trying to cover that up as a “mass illusion.” Probably cell phones, insisted the Prime Minister. Aziraphale had been certain she had to be having a laugh at that, but then again. Who could tell these days. Heaven and Hell weren't quite as clear cut as they used to be.

It was Crowley who had suggested the body-swap idea to bring back some more normality, and frankly, Aziraphale couldn't be happier that he did. The whole matter was rather stressful, but that didn't mean it didn't spruce up the day a little. He was very proud of his performance, actually. He did do a mean Crowley impression. In fact, there was no one he knew better.

So, finally, things were going to be okay. He could return to the bookshop, left alone by angels and demons alike, just him and Crowley. Finally. As it was always written.

Aziraphale shut the door behind him, leaving the streets of Soho and the Bentley behind. A few weeks had passed already, and he and Crowley had just gone for some truly scrumptious pastries in Greece. He rather missed Greece sometimes. True, Rome was where he made his home most of the time during that era, but the ancient Greeks? They were quite a people.

There was a certain smell the bookshop possessed. Aziraphale took a moment, letting it wash over him as he walked past the doorway. He couldn't help but smile at his new books Adam had made appear. Prophecy books were always his favorite. It was rather sweet of him, really, to think of him like that. Perhaps it was an oversight, but Aziraphale saw it as a thank you of sorts. A way of saying he was valued.

He gently removed his coat, placing it on the back of his chair. Oh, dear, he'd left his cocoa out again. He really should learn to clean up after himself. After all, it had been over 200 years since he'd been living here, and it was about time he began to act like it! He grabbed the mug by its porcelain wings. In the next second, it nearly went falling towards the ground.

Above the desk, there, by the window, hung a lively and ornately drawn ketubah. The only problem with that was… well. He didn't really remember getting married.

It is of note that Adam Young was indeed raised Jewish. His father, of course, with a surname like Young, was a Jewish man. His mother was not, and that technically made him goyishe, or legally “not Jewish.” That said, he grew up in the Temple in Tadfield, and he was raised like any other Jewish boy in the town. Wensleydale in particular would get confused, sometimes, when he spoke about things like a mezuzah, or Hanukkah, or specifically the Ketubah. Adam didn't mind explaining. He thought it was kind of cool, in a way.

His mom and dad had theirs proudly displayed in the kitchen. It's a handwritten document, all the way from Israel, stating the true and faithful nature of his parents’ marriage. As far as eleven-year-old Adam was concerned, every married couple had one.

This, coupled with the fact that he was entirely certain that Crowley and Aziraphale were his godfathers, lead to a fairly simple conclusion: They, of course, were married, and as such had a ketubah in their living room.

Truth be told, it was a lovely ketubah. Adam’s imagination must really be something. Not that surprising, considering he was the antichrist and all. But really, it was something beautiful. A large black oak tree stood on one side, a silver-white birch on the other. They intertwined together, the Hebrew text on either side. There were ruby red leaves on both trees.

And underneath, in his very own handwriting, Aziraphale recognized his own signature.

On top of that? He recognized Crowley’s.

His phone was in his hand before he even had taken off his shoes. It rang once, twice, before Crowley picked up. “Miss me already, angel?”

“Not… quite. You, erm, may want to see this.” With that, he hung up, eyes still lingering on the wall. If Hell found out about this-- if Heaven found out about this-- there was no way the bodyswap trick would work twice. They were doomed.

So they wouldn't find out, then.

Crowley opened the door to find Aziraphale pacing in the front of the bookstore, several books on religious lore scattered around his feet. He was holding one open in his hands as he walked, nervously scanning over the words.

“My, angel. What's got your panties all in a twist?” Crowley asked. Truly, the little store looked like a construction zone.

Aziraphale’s head jerked up. “Crowley. You are a Sheyd, correct?”

“Well, I suppose. I mean, most people use the blanket term demon for all of us at some point, but I am one of the sh--”

“But you are experienced in Judaism, yes?” Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Right. Good. Right and good. Now, um, how does one cancel a ketubah?”

Crowley paused. His confused expression grew to rather incredulous. “I'm sorry, cancel a ketubah? It’s not an Amazon order, dear, you can’t just—“

Aziraphale shut the book in his hands with a sigh. Well, if he couldn’t tell Crowley, he couldn’t tell anyone. That person could read him quite like a book, if he had ever read.

“I, um. Funny story, really, we, heh. You know about the whole apocalypse?”

“Yeees?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Of course he knew about the bloody apocalypse. It had only been last week, for Satan’s sake.

“Well, as Adam arranged things, it seems he sort of, hm, bridged a gap of logic? I suppose? And he… well, he sort of--”

“Spit it out, angel.”

“Crowley, we’re married.”

Wait. Married. Married? Oh, come on, Adam. Crowley had at least wanted to break a glass and throw a party at his wedding. Then again, considering who his and Aziraphale’s in-laws were, it was probably best they didn't.

A courthouse wedding suited him anyways. He always wanted to run off and do something wild and rebellious, but now, during their “lay low” period, probably wasn't the best time.

“Well, I suppose it is a long time coming,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I mean, I would've assumed it would happened ages ago.”

“You what? Crowley, we are not in a-- in a relationship of any sorts! That's preposterous!”

“Is it though?” Crowley asked, giving Aziraphale a moment to think. Well. There was no one else he could really trust or relate to, and the humans lived such tiny lives, and Crowley was his best friend, and he had been madly in love with him since the early 1940s. So… wow. Maybe he did have a point.

“Well what will we tell Heaven and Hell? Surely they would disapprove.”

“Oh, angel, please tell me you don't care what they think. They’ve revealed their true colors, who cares if we reveal ours?”

Aziraphale looked slowly around the mess the room had turned into. His glance meandered up to Crowley with a sigh. “Say. How's about we get drunk?”

A smile cracked over Crowley’s face. “Oh, my dear, I thought you'd never ask.”

Two hours had passed, and they had made their way over to Crowley’s home in attempts to find more alcohol. Of course, being a demon of sorts, he was loaded with the stuff. Amber scotch bottles sat empty around them, and knowing the situation, it was a minor miracle they weren't numbering in the double digits.

“And don't get me started on Gabriel. He's such a shvantz… a schmuck. A putz. A…” Aziraphale trailed off, a giggle falling into his voice. “A penis .”

“Wow. You sure showed him, huh? Is that the best insult you've got?” Crowley asked. He casually threw a leg on the table, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Yes, I rather think it is,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “At this rate, I could be a proper demon, even!”

“Sure you could, Zira,” Crowley remarked. “Y’know, I'm fairly certain two demons can't get married, so then we'd be in even more of a ruddy mess. Can you believe the Duke of Hell trying to fill out paperwork on that one? I think Hastur would gouge my eyes out.” Aziraphale nodded solemnly, his smile slipping just a little. Crowley, who was convinced he knew everything about the angel, noticed straight away.

“You alright, dearest?”

Aziraphale shrugged, his eyes set rather steadily on his glass of scotch. “‘M fine.”

“Ah-ah, angels can't lie darling. Tell me what's the matter.”

Aziraphale momentarily met his gaze before his eyes sunk down again to the drink at hand. “I just wish we could have done this differently.”

Crowley paused, lowering his foot off the table. Oh, shit. This was going to be serious, wasn't it?

“You know, the whole marriage thing. It's supposed to be special, isn't it? A ceremony, a bouquet, a lovely gown. Seven circles, a father walking a betrothed down the aisle. Not just… I don't know, my best friend and me framing a marriage certificate. I wanted to--!” Aziraphale trailed off. He set his glass down with a start. “I wanted to kiss you, Crowley! On my own terms! I wanted to be the one to confess to you, and I wanted a lovely little honeymoon down in New York, and maybe a nice little stop in Vienna. I wanted things to play out slowly, nicely, not… so fast. Why is everything so fast ?” Aziraphale’s voice was cracking now, his gaze steadily on his drink. He didn't think he could say any of this looking Crowley in the eye. He thought he just might break.

Crowley slowly reached for his sunglasses, pulling them down off of his nose. He put his other hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, giving a small smile. “Hey. Hey, there. It's alright, I promise you.” Aziraphale looked up slowly, their eyes finally meeting.

“Your eyes. They're… they're human,” he muttered, looking at the round pupils, the amber irises.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley continued, glossing over the comment. “You and me. We have an eternity to figure this out. We don't have to take it my speed, doll. I'd slow down time for you.” Aziraphale nodded, his fear all but melting out of him.

“You know,” Crowley said, “you're the bravest, the most interesting person I've ever met.”

All of a sudden, Aziraphale couldn't take it anymore. He leaned forward, firmly pressing Crowley’s lips to his. Crowley floundered for just a second, surprise and astonishment taking over. But then he pressed back, eyelashes fluttering closed and heart leaping in his chest.

They'd take things slow. One step at a time, always, until they're both as happy and content as any married couple.

And maybe one day, Crowley would dawn a long black dress and watch as Aziraphale walked down the aisle in a suit of white. Maybe he'd circle his husband seven times, before a glass is broken and they're both hoisted up on chairs among friends. Well, they'd need friends first for that, but maybe. Only the future would tell. And ever since Anathema burned the new ones, no prophecy could predict what would happen next.

But as Crowley leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale again, his strange and ineffable husband, nothing that far ahead mattered. What mattered was this very second.

Crowley was done moving too fast. For Aziraphale, he'd slow down time.

@litttlebrave @madhbh

#aziracrow #fanfiction #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow fanfiction #aziracrow fanfic #fanfic #good omens is jewish and so am i #phale #original post #text

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luckyspike · 6 years ago

Text

Adventures in America, Ch. 7 - The Mix-Up Kid

In which the storm chasers enjoy the delights of a Waffle House

Adam learns Warlock’s birthday

And a storm brews ahead

Yes, figuratively, but also literally. This is a tornado-chasing fanfiction, honestly. Did you think I wouldn’t actually put a tornado in the damn thing?

Start from the beginning: ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6

or follow this link to my fanfiction tag

Adam could have whooped when Noel informed him and Lucky that they wouldn’t be meeting in the lobby until eight the next morning. “There’s gonna be storms, probably to the northeast, but it’ll be afternoon by the looks of it. Get some sleep tonight, boys, an’ we can meet up for a late breakfast and decide where we’re headed.”

They didn’t unpack much - pajamas, toothbrushes, and that was about it. Adam took a hot shower, quick as he could, and when he got out, he found Lucky laying on top of his covers, earbuds in, face-timing with a friend. Adam gave him a thumbs-up - his turn for the shower if he wanted it - and settled onto his own bed, pulling his phone out and making sure he was connected to the wifi before he texted his parents to see if they were awake - they hadn’t been, but they were so eager to hear from him that they took his call, voices thick with sleep but happy nonetheless. He could hear Dog snoring on their bed in the background.

They were happy to talk to him. They were glad to hear he was having fun, and reminded him to be careful and stay safe. He told them about Lucky, and Noel and Rachael, and everything he’d learned so far. “It sounds like a good experience,” Arthur Young said. “Just ah … you do know when the tornadoes are coming, don’t you?”

“I mean, largely. They can be unpredictable.” He heard his mother make a worried noise. “No, mum, but like, they have this program called Baron, it’s running all the time, and it shows radar and gives warnings, and Rachael and Noel have been doing this for ages, so they’re really good at it too. And careful.” He considered telling them about the safety precautions Noel had reviewed earlier, but considered that the things he had warned them against might actually be more alarming than the safety instructions that followed, and he decided to leave it out. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry, promise. How’s things at home?”

“All well and good,” his mother replied. “We miss you of course, and Dog misses you - he was sniffing around in your room the day you left - but Anathema said she’d have a word with him and he’s settled down since then.” He heard the dog’s collar jingle as his mother, or father maybe, presumably gave him a scritch behind the ears. “He’s a very good boy.”

Adam grinned at the unmistakable sound of a small dog’s tail wagging so hard it was beating against the bed cover. “Aw, yeah. Give him a hug for me, yeah?”

“Of course, love. Arthur, hug Dog, would you? He’s closer to you.” Adam’s mother yawned, drowning out some of the grumbles in the background and the sounds of more happy tail-wagging. “Have you spoken to your friends? Oh, and Anathema and Newt asked about you this afternoon.”

“Not yet, figured it’s kind of late. I’ll send an email.” He yawned as well, prompted by his mother. “Maybe in the morning. You can tell them I’m good though, if you see anybody.” He yawned again. “Sorry, I’m kind of beat.”

“Jet lag,” his father answered sagely. “You ought to get some rest then, Adam.”

“You guys too,” the boy added earnestly. “Sorry to call so early - I’m all messed up with the time zones -”

“No, Adam, we’ve been waiting to hear from you.” He smiled, and the slight ache of homesickness that had settled in his chest as soon as he’d boarded the plane lifted a little at the warmth in her voice. “Text anytime, love, and we’ll talk if we can.” She blew a kiss into the phone. “But get some rest for now, alright? Sleep well, and let us know how tomorrow goes!”

“Will do, Mum, Dad. Talk to you guys later. Lots of love.” He ended the call, and sat back against the pillows, continuing to tap on his phone, sending the video of the hail storm off to the group and his sister. To his surprise, Pep texted back almost immediately, sending a message of ‘Dude what!’. He paused. Then he called.

“Hey storm rider!” she answered. “What’s up, Adam? Cool video!”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Hah. What are you doing up?”

“Driving in to London with the girls later today, and I couldn’t sleep. Hopefully Addie is willing to drive because I’m going to be napping.” She yawned. “So how’s America?”

“Crazy.” He laughed. “I went to Dunkin Donuts this morning.”

“Mm. America runs on Dunkin, I’m told. You meet anyone cool?”

“Well, the people I’m with are really cool.” She made a curious little noise. “So there’s Noel and Rachael, the guides - I told you about them. They’re super nice. And I think between the two of them they might know everything about weather. We drove for like, 11 hours today, and you know we only went through two entire states?”

“Wow.”

“And I napped for part of it but a lot of it they were teaching us stuff … Man, Pep, there’s so much.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “I know you guys always made fun of me for how much I talk about weather sometimes, but honestly I don’t know like … anything.”

“Well, maybe not compared to the experts,” she teased. “But compared to me and Brian and Wensley you know way more than any of us.” She coughed. “So who’s ‘us’ on your trip? There’s another student?”

“Oh! Yeah. He’s cool.” Adam heard the shower shut off, and wondered how much he should really say. “He’s American, but he lived in London for a while, he said. You know, I think his dad might have even worked at the air base?”

“No,” Pepper laughed. “No way. Only you, Adam, would find the one American in the entire world who even knows about Tadfield and grew up in London. And of course he’s obsessed with weather. You should find out if he lived in Tadfield at any point, like when he was a baby or something.”

Adam considered it. “Nah,” he said at length.”What’re the odds?” He yawned, as Lucky stepped out of the bathroom, dressed only in boxers, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel. “I’m sure we’ll talk about it at some point.”

“You’d better. Tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, me too.” He heard the sound of sheets and pillows being pushed around. “Might try to get a couple hours before I have to go.”

“‘M gonna go to sleep too.” He let his eyes drift closed. “Jet lag’s brutal.”

“I bet. And all that time in the car probably didn’t help.” She yawned again. “Can you send us more videos tomorrow?”

“If I see anything, yeah.”

“You think you might?”

“Dunno. Everything’s supposed to happen in the afternoon, so we’re gonna wait to see what the morning looks like.”

“Well. Send us stuff even if you don’t see anything. Send us videos of weird Americans.”

“Yeah, okay. Talk to you later, Pep.” He hung up the phone, laughing while he did so.

Lucky flopped into his own bed, yanking the covers up over himself. “Friends?”

“Yeah, back home. Pepper.”

“Isn’t England like … six hours ahead of us?”

“Yeah.” Adam shrugged. “I dunno, she said she was up. Figured I’d give her a call.” He grinned at his phone, before locking the screen and plugging it in to charge. “I sent the gang a video of the hail. Most of them prob’ly never seen hail that big before.”

“Yeah, that was wild.” He folded his hands behind his head. “Hope we get a tornado tomorrow.”

“That’d be cool.” He sighed. “Pep told me to send more videos. Said if there wasn’t anything interesting in the weather I could send her videos of crazy Americans.”

Lucky laughed. “I’ll act extra crazy tomorrow if we don’t get any weather. You can send her a video.”

“I’m not sure she’d count you since you grew up in London.”

“Nah, only until I was eleven, and even then other than the like … the housekeepers and the gardner, everyone was American. Well, except Nanny. But she was Scottish.” He shrugged. “Then my dad got reassigned back to the States and I’ve lived stateside ever since. So I’m pretty American.”

“Eleven?” Adam asked, pointedly not opening his eyes. “Huh.”

“Yeah it was weird.” Lucky yawned. “There was this whole thing in the middle east and then boom, back to America, no more England. Honestly, I think my mom was just sick of random diplomatic trips. I’ll tell you about it some time, that whole trip to the middle east was so weird.”

“Yeah,” Adam replied, faintly, feigning fatigue. “Yeah, gotta remember to tell me about it. Never been to the middle east.”

“You’re not missing anything. Avocado farms and weird professors and that’s about it, far as I remember.” He shut the light off, and rolled over, away from Adam. “G’night, dude.”

“Night,” said Adam, on autopilot. Minutes later, he heard quiet snoring, and all the better, because his mind was racing.

Most eighteen-year-old boys are, by nature, not particularly introspective. They may be bright, the may be clever, they may be well-educated and top of their class and very high-achieving, but it’s the rare boy who is capable of reflecting on all of the information presented to him, reconciling it with what he already knows, and then reaching accurate, logical conclusions that may be distressing to him. Often, denial worms its way in early, and until the correct answer knocks the boy in question directly on the head, the powerful lure of denial will always draw him away, convince him that another conclusion is more likely, or more desirable.

Adam Young, though, was not most eighteen-year-old boys. To start, he was the Antichrist, even if he’d turned his back on that years ago and preferred not to think of himself in those terms. Further, he was quietly introspective, a trait he’d developed due to, well, being the Antichrist, and always, in spite of himself, watching his own thoughts for hints of Not Being Adam. Messing About. Antichristly things, essentially.

That could be to his advantage even now, though. And right now, his mind was cranking into overdrive, combing through what he knew. Warlock Dowling - father might have worked in Tadfield, was working in England when Warlock - Lucky - was born, Lucky was raised in England. Satanist nanny and monk gardner. Random trip to the middle east when he was eleven, followed by a sudden departure from London, never to return to the UK again. Or the middle east, come to think of it.

Adam wondered if he had stayed in touch with anybody from London. Particularly, the nanny and the gardner.

It all sounded very suspicious.

“We would have been with you from the beginning, you know, but there was a mix-up,” Aziraphale had told him once, years ago. Adam remembered that he’d gone to Aziraphale crying - it happened sometimes, more then but still these days, blessedly rarely - about what he’d done in the few brief hours when he really was the Antichrist. The things he might have brought about. The fate he and the world had so narrowly avoided. “We would have loved to be with you.” Adam remembered how the angel had hugged him, stroked his hair, dried his tears. “It was an unfair burden to lay at your feet, Adam, and Crowley and I always wanted to help but … there was a mistake. Best laid plans, and all that. It doesn’t undo what was done, and I am frightfully sorry about the lead-up, the way we treated - or didn’t treat - you, but know that had we known, we would have been there. But Adam, even then, you were brilliant. You are brilliant.”

There was a mix-up.

Warlock Dowling snored gently.

The next morning dawned hot and humid. Lucky and Adam woke with the alarm around nine, and lazily set about getting ready for the day. Adam checked his phone to find messages from his friends about the hail storm (“don’t let those brain you,” from his sister and, “dude what if it hits you,” from Brian), replied when he felt it was indicated, and pulled on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. Lucky was ready to go shortly after, and they stepped out of the motel room and into the air. Lucky made a noise of disgust.

“Talk about humid.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Adam agreed, trying to ignore how his t-shirt was already sticking to his skin, even though he’d only just come outside. “Good storm weather though, yeah?”

“Should be. I’m sure we’ll get a look at the radar over breakfast.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get us a tornado today, huh?”

“Or some serious hail,” Adam agreed. A part of him - a large part of him - wanted to say sod it to the weather and have a serious talk with Lucky about his upbringing, his birth, his life to that point. How old was Lucky? They were roughly the same age, Adam knew that, but they could easily be a year or so apart, and all of the stuff that sounded suspiciously occult might have just been a coincidence. After all, it was all relatively easy to explain, in the harsh light and oppressive humidity of the Oklahoma day: American diplomat posted at a British airbase, family moved to the nearest metropolitan area, lived there for years, made a brief foray to the middle east - and America was so involved there around that time, Adam remembered, that that was hardly unusual - and then returned to America. Unusual, certainly, but not … occult. And having a diplomat for a father wasn’t exactly commonplace, so even then a bit of unusual-ness could be forgiven.

The Scottish Satanist nanny, though, reared her presence in his mind. The monk gardner. Good and evil.

Adam shook his head, when he realized that Lucky was speaking to him. They’d walked to the truck together while Adam thought and, on autopilot, he had set his stuff in the bed of the truck and closed the gate. Noel and Rachael were nowhere to be seen, not yet, but Adam thought he heard them talking on the other side of the motel. “Huh?” he said, looking to Lucky.

“Nothing,” the other boy shrugged. “Just talking about the radar. All this moisture and warmth - if we have any cold air from the northwest at all, we run a really good chance of catching a storm today.”

“Yup.” Adam leaned back against the truck and looked around the parking lot idly, arms crossed over his chest in spite of the heat. He met eyes with a stranger - a businessman, by the looks of him, dressed all in brown, with neatly-combed salt-and-pepper hair - that was sitting on the trunk of his rental car, reading a book. The two exchanged taut smiles, and the stranger returned to his book. “Hopefully out in the middle of nowhere, where we can get a good luck without too much people an’ stuff being around.”

“Yeah, that’d be ideal.” Lucky waved to Noel and Rachael as they approached. “Hey guys!”

Rachael raised her thermos in greeting. “Morning morning! You guys ready to hit it? The radar looks pretty good.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep.” Adam opened the back gate of the truck for her, and she tossed her bag in. “You hungry? I’m starving. Hop in, we’re gonna hit the Waffle House and go over the game plan.”

“No Dunkin?” Lucky looked surprised.

“Gonna mix it up today, get exciting.” Noel snickered. “And also she has her own bag that she used to brew a pot in the room earlier this morning, so she’s already fueled-up.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “She’s an addict, guys, I’m telling you.”

The boys laughed, while Rachael pointed out, “There’s worse things. Alright, load up, we have a storm to talk about, and I want some waffles!”

The Waffle House was such a uniquely American experience that Adam started taking video almost as soon as they entered. From the way the entire restaurant greeted them as they walked in, to the waiter’s accent, to the menu itself, he sent all of the snaps to his friends. There was no reply, not when it was so early in England, but he looked forward to the messages that would probably come through later, after everyone was up.

He tucked into a truly massive waffle and two eggs for breakfast, topped with a few strips of crispy bacon. It tasted exactly like he’d imagined it would, and he devoured it with gusto, finishing before Rachael even got through her second cup of coffee. Noel, still working at his omelet, pulled his laptop out of his bag and handed it over the table to Adam. “Check out the radar, Adam, and see what you think. There’s some really interesting stuff shaping up; let me know where you think it might be.”

Adam cracked the computer open. Next to him, Lucky studied the screen intently with dark eyes while Adam poked the cursor around the radar screen, randomly at first, and then slowly in a more organized fashion, tracing fronts and pressure systems, gradually hovering more consistently over a spot in mid-Kansas. Lucky nodded, never speaking, when he agreed, pointing at times. Across the table, Noel and Rachael shared companionable silence, Rachael with her coffee cradled in her hands and Noel slowly working at his omelet.

“Ready to show your work?” Rachael gestured to Adam to turn the laptop around, after he and Lucky had exchanged a few words and seemed to settle on a location. “Let’s see it.”

“I think,” Adam said slowly, pointing to the screen, “the best shot of anything happening is going to be right around here.”

“Hey!” Rachael grinned broadly. “Nice job, guys!”

“Yeah?” They exchanged a high-five. “Yeah!”

“Maybe a little more east,” Noel added, after he’d swallowed his last bite of omelet. “But really good for day two! What made you settle on that area?”

Adam and Warlock traded off explanation duties as Rachael settled up with the waiter, she and Noel adding information and correcting them as needed. In the truck, they settled in, Rachael in the driver’s seat for the first leg, and set course for Kansas. There wouldn’t be as much lecturing today, Noel assured them, and although Adam was eager to learn, he was truthfully a little grateful for the break. As they drove across the plains, he and Lucky put their headphones in, Adam listening to his downloaded playlist of tried-and-true favorites while he took video of the blue skies and white clouds, saving them to send later, when he could get to wi-fi. Around nine, he did get a text from Aziraphale - Crowley’s phone, of course, but the grammar and punctuation gave the angel away - bidding him to stay safe and out of trouble. He smiled, faintly, and settled back in the seat to watch the landscape drift by.

Lunch was sandwiches from a little deli they passed on their way through a town for gas. Adam savored the turkey and cheese in the back of the truck, Noel informing them that the time would be tight for the afternoon storms and they couldn’t afford a proper stop. He must have drifted off after he ate, because the next time he woke it was because Rachael had nudged his knee. She pointed to the screen of her laptop, excited. Adam leaned in. “Look at this,” she said, excited. Adam nudged Lucky, who had likewise drifted asleep with his headphones in, and ignored the muzzy noises the other boy made as he woke. “See the body of it there? It’s been holding steady for the last hour.”

Adam squinted. “Is that a hook echo?” He pointed to a part of the screen. Rachael, thoughtful, turned the screen to look. “Ah, no! But it might be an elephant trunk-type signature …” She studied it for a few seconds. “We’ll keep an eye on it. You awake, Lucky?”

“Mm yeah.” Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, Lucky unbuckled his belt, the better to lean forward and study the computer.

“Check out the base velocity data.” She changed views, and both boys blinked. “Do you know what you’re looking at?”

“Not … really.” Adam cocked his head. “Something about the wind speed in relation to the radar site?”

“I think I’ve seen it before,” Lucky chimed in. “Is it … wait. Green away and red toward? Or red away? Or is it speed …”

Rachael shook her head. “Not quite, but you guys are already ahead of the game - a lot of chasers your age don’t know anything about base velocity until after their first chase. So Lucky, it’s red away, and green toward.” She pointed to the screen. “Doesn’t really have anything to do with the speed of the winds, just how they’re moving in relation to the weather station. So when we’re looking for rotation, obviously, we want to see red and green really close to each other, right?”

“Makes sense,” Lucky agreed.

“So look here.” She pointed. “Now this stuff up here -” she twitched her hand to gesture vaguely at a scattering of red amongst green, “- I think is just artefact but this, this looks concentrated. See that?”

Adam and Lucky exchanged a look. “Like, it’s the dot, right?” Adam guessed.

“More or less.” Rachael flipped back to the regular radar view. “But you see how it correlates to a high-precipitation area? Means there’s probably a mesocyclone in there.” She clenched and unclenched her fingers, excited. “We might get a tornado today, guys. Definitely a lot of lightning, if the precipitation holds together.”

“How far out are we?” Lucky asked, shifting anxiously in his seat.

Noel answered this time. “Probably an hour or two. We should start seeing some more interesting clouds soon. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Adam and Lucky settled back, each looking out of their own window, while Rachael and Noel talked about something else - photography, something with Rachael’s lightning set-up - in the front seat.

“Have you ever seen a tornado?” Adam asked Lucky, as he craned his neck to see more to the front of the truck.

“Oh, yeah! Not up close, but one time in Virginia there was a little one and I could see it from the back yard. It didn’t last very long, but it was really cool. You?”

Adam thought about the tornado in Tadfield, when he was eleven. “Nah,” he said, stuffing the memory away. “Been in a few bigger storms, but you know … England.”

“Yeah, really severe weather isn’t really a big thing over there, huh? They get tornados though sometimes. I think.”

“Really little ones usually, yeah,” Adam agreed. “They don’t last long, normally, or do much damage.”

“I know another chaser from England,” Noel chimed in as he drove. “He comes over for the season every year. We were talking about it one time, he said that England has the second-most tornadoes per land area in the world.”

“Seriously?” Adam blinked.

“Yeah, but it’s a small area.” Lucky frowned. “And they’re not big?”

“No,” Noel agreed. “Not usually. He lives right in what he calls England’s tornado alley.” He laughed. “A little southwest from London I think he said? I can’t remember the name of the town. Most of the twisters there are around 95MPH wind speed, so they’re not really that powerful, but he told me he chases over there sometimes, if he’s home when they’re around. He showed me a few photos.”

“It was pretty cool - you don’t really think about tornadoes in England,” Rachael chipped in, absently. “Where in England is Tadfield, Adam?”

“Northwest of London,” he answered, using the city as a reference point. “About, oh, two hour drive I think, usually.” He did not add that most of the recent times he traveled to and from London by car, the car was being driven by a demon, and travel time was therefore significantly reduced. “It’s not a big village at all. Biggest thing there is the air base, and even that’s pretty small now. Population-wise, anyway. It’s mostly computers.”

“I think that’s why my dad got reassigned to London,” Lucky said thoughtfully. “Plus, you know, diplomat. London made more sense I guess.”

“Yeah it would do.” Adam looked sidelong at the other boy. Lucky didn’t notice, staring out of the window. “So you were born in London?”

“No, actually. It’s kind of a crazy story - my parents were supposed to fly in to the air base together, but my mom ended up having to go alone for a few days because there was something with the president? I dunno, Dad never actually said what it was. But anyway Mom flew in and then like, went into labor while she was staying at the air base waiting for him, so I ended up being born there.” He shook his head.

“Oh.” Born at the air base. Adam could have laughed with the relief of it. Another thought occurred to him. “Aren’t pregnant women not supposed to fly, though?”

“I dunno, probably.” He shrugged. “I guess when the president says go, you go.” He snorted. “And then, so like, she’s at the air base, but then she said they didn’t have a doctor that knew how to deliver babies? So she had to go to this weird hospital with nuns to have me. Worked out in the end, Dad got there after I was born and we went to the place in London like they’d planned.”

Weird hospital with nuns. The words echoed in Adam’s ears, in between the pounding rush of his own heartbeat. Weird nuns. Satanic nuns, maybe? How do you ask if someone was born in a hospital full of Satanic nuns?

“Wild story,” said Rachael from the front seat, but as far as Adam was concerned, she might have been a thousand miles away. “See the clouds up ahead?”

“Supercell!” he heard Lucky say, distantly, and the other boy - the other boy who was born in a weird hospital with nuns, to a politically-connected family, and then raised by a satanic nanny and had a monk for a gardener, and then went to the middle east when he was eleven - leaned forward to start chattering on with Rachael and Noel. About storms.

Adam loved weather, but at the moment, nothing could be further from his mind.

“When’s your birthday?” he blurted out, stopping the other three mid-conversation. And then he blinked, realizing what he’d done, as Rachael and Lucky looked to him, puzzled. “Sorry, never mind, wasn’t paying attention.” He forced a weak smile.

“August 23. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam lied, immediately turning to look out the window. “Wow, check out that cell!”

“... Yeah. It’s big.” Lucky looked over to Rachael, who had raised her eyebrows questioningly. Even Noel was glancing curiously between the two students in the rearview mirror. Lucky shrugged at Rachael, the universal ‘I have no idea’ gesture. “You alright, Adam? Really?”

“Fine.” We have the same birthday, born in a weird hospital with nuns, we’re probably the same age, they thought I was him, they thought he was it, it was him, it was this guy …

“Nerves are totally normal,” Noel said a little more quietly, not taking his eyes off the road, or the storm cell ahead. “Don’t worry - we’re gonna get plenty of videos if anything happens, but we’ll keep our distance. It’s early still - by the time we’re five weeks in you’re gonna wanna drive the truck yourself.”

It was him, he was the mix-up, it was - And then Adam stopped himself, because some part of him realized that this wasn’t productive, he wouldn’t change or alter anything with this line of thinking, and furthermore, he was in the back of a truck which was headed straight for what looked, on radar, to be a supercell with significant tornadic potential. “No, it’s fine,” he insisted, with a shake of his head. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry, really, I think I’m just still a little messed up from the time change, but I’m fine. Seriously,” he added, when Rachael and Lucky looked to him, radiating concern and curiosity. “Let’s do it - I’m so ready.”

Rachael watched his face for another minute and then made a decision, apparently, because she nodded ever-so-slightly, and turned back to her laptop, maneuvering it so the two in the back seat could have a better view of the screen. “Good, because you see that on radar?”

“Hook artefact,” Lucky breathed, as Adam watched the picture twist on the screen, the red blob at the center of the storm leaving a trail to the southwest that was just so slightly starting to curve north-easterly.

“I think so. Let’s take a look at the base velocity.” As she switched views she grinned, and Adam saw what she was moving to point toward right away. “See it?”

“Mesocyclone?” Adam asked, eyes wide, insisting his brain focus on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to really process the fact that he was sitting with the other Antichrist - the not-Antichrist, the mix-up kid - and hunting tornadoes with him later.

“I think so.” Rachael looked up, out of the windshield, and the students followed her gaze. Ahead, the clouds towered, gray and ominous and piled on top of one another, all the way up to the stratosphere. “Looks good for a tornado, guys.” A bolt of lightning shot through the clouds, illuminating pockets and curves. “Let’s get it.”

Now with Chapter 8!

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #adam young #warlock dowling #aziraphale #crowley #the one where they go to america #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #the love song to storm chasing via fanfic that no one ever asked for

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shellheadtmarc · 6 years ago

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it’ll be a tic before i get a full write up for my canon divergence, so this is gonna be the bulletpoint highlights you need to know. there are no endgame spoilers here, this is all pretty much straight from infinity war and infinity gauntlet (1991 comic). okay. there’s some shifting shit because strange wasn’t originally in possession of an infinity gem (that was some illuminati shit) but here we go.

bruce is still the one to warn strange that thanos is coming.

a little too late, thanos gets the time stone, bleecker street is a fucking wreck, strange gets his ass beat.

strange soul hugs with adam warlock, who pops out of his cocoon. gets convinced by doing so that adam warlock is the leader they need to back in this.

thanos snaps. the end. there’s no warning, no avengers in space, nothing. he snaps and they never see it coming.

the destruction on earth is catastrophic. california falls into the pacific, japan sinks completely, eventually they come to the realization that the earth has been knocked off its orbit, so there’s a permanent ice age/planet death coming. there is no five years later because there won’t be a five years later if they wait.

supers of all stripes - avengers, inhumans, mutants - divert what catastrophe they can. landing planes, pulling ships to shore, saving babies from burning buildings...but they can’t be everywhere and a lot of people die. they’re also missing people because some disappeared in the snap.

they gather finally under adam warlock. tony’s part of the advance strike team to go head to head with thanos. strange portals them there with adam warlock’s guidance.

the fight does not go well. tony dies brutally in the battle and his, and everyone else’s body that didn’t make it, is sent back to earth.

the celestials show up, huge cgi battle transpires, thanos kicks the shit out of the universe and wins. leaves his body behind.

dumbass forgot he still had the infinity gauntlet on. nebula grabs it, snaps, and everything thanos fucked up reverts to 24 hours before with the exception of nebula still has the gauntlet.

tony revives on earth where he was 24 hours previously. he remembers his death - he’s one of the few that does. the rest of the story he only knows through being told.

which it all boils down to adam warlock getting the gauntlet, thanos in his stupid little hut powerless, and the fate of nebula unknown.

tony’s trauma triples with the knowledge he’s died and been resurrected.

this is the bare bones, i swear it sounds better than it reads right now version. i’ll get a proper write up soon, but. none of this really matters in the end, like it’s not like it’s sunday dinner conversation. but i’ll add a new layer of nuance and tony’s semi-retirement after this happens.

this is also to start bringing the mcu in line with 616 storylines. fyi.

#⚛ (protocol: psa) / gotta say this clear so you can get it straight #// it sounds so cheesy put like this but #// let me have a little time for a proper write up #// and i mean i can always answer questions #// but it's all directly going to lead to semi-retirement for iron man #// not full because he won't #// he just won't #// but he'll be reserves #endgame spoilers #// i realized there was a tiny spoiler sorry guys #avengers spoilers #avengers endgame spoilers #avengers: endgame spoilers #a4 spoilers

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dantes-wombat · 7 years ago

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First in a hopefully long line of Malec prompt fills. Prompt “Don’t hide from me when you get hurt” provided by my lovely bff @oneiricjourney

read on ao3

Nephilim and Warlocks battling demons together hasn’t been known to happen very often – a historical fact that seems quite nonsensical to anyone witnessing what Alec and Magnus can do together.

Strictly speaking, they should both avoid close-range combat. Alec is lethal with a blade but it’s nothing compared to what he can do with a bow and some arrows, while Magnus excels at the occasional ball of warlock fire and defensive magic. They should need a skilled melee fighter to keep any demon getting too close at bay.

So far, nothing has ever managed to get too close.

Where before Alec had always been on some vantage point at the outskirts of battle, securing the perimeter and taking out threats to his teammates with carefully aimed arrows that never missed their mark, he’s now in the thick of it. Surrounded by a swirling circle of protective blue flames, he and Magnus now make up the impenetrable centre of the battlefield, raining down a destructive mixture of demonic fire and adamant arrows on their enemies. As long as Alec and Magnus are standing, their party cannot lose. The demons seem to know it, too, and keep throwing themselves at them in a way that makes it easy for Isabelle, Jace and the rest to pick off those that remain.

It’s the most efficient they’ve ever been while hunting. And while Magnus has a day job and a reputation to maintain that keep him from joining Shadowhunter missions too often, he insists on staying at his boyfriend’s side whenever Alec is suddenly called away. Somewhere deep down, they’re probably both aware that they enjoy it a bit too much – the heady rush of anticipating each other’s every move, of deadly synchronicity, of simply letting go.

Alec knows that he himself is not invulnerable, far from it; no demon hunt goes by without at least some scratches and bruises, though rarely something an Iratze couldn’t fix. His ever-growing collection of scars is a testimony to deeper wounds, a testimony that all Shadowhunters share. Magnus’ skin, on the other hand, is flawless, all traces of former hurts vanished by the touch of his own magic or others’. When he fights, Magnus is an awe-inspiring vision – fast and graceful, cat-eyes blazing golden, his raw power masterfully controlled but unleashed in the blink of an eye if danger approaches those standing beside him.

Which is exactly why at some point, Alec has mostly stopped being too worried about Magnus in battle. Not an easy step for someone whose defining characteristic is worrying about his loved ones, but when they're back to back and he can feel the strength emanating from his lover's body, it's hard to feel anything but invincible.

Their latest mission had been different, and not in a good way. While Valentine is gone and the Shadow World on its way to back to peace and strengthened collaboration in the aftermath, single cells of fanatics keep popping up and try to spread unrest. Always on their heels come the deformed shapes of demons, altered and tamed in a network of hidden laboratories.

Three hours later, Alec is still flat on the sofa, feeling sore all over. It’s been awhile since Magnus excused himself to the bathroom, and the loft’s been eerily silent since the water stopped running about twenty minutes ago. Getting up is still out of the question though, at least until the Chairman jumps up next to him and curls up into a dark, fluffy ball. Shaken out of the light doze he was dropping into, Alec decides to finally get up and investigate.

With soundless steps, he walks towards the slightly ajar bedroom door. For a moment, he can barely believe what he sees in there.

Magnus is in front of the high mirror, shirtless. His face is clean of make-up and his hair is falling into his face, soft and still damp after the much-needed shower that washed off all the sweat and blood and demon ichor. So far, this is part of their usual after-mission routine. What shocks Alec is what Magnus seems to be inspecting in the mirror, head bent over his left shoulder: a barely closed gash surrounded by discoloured skin right on his back.

Alec’s sharp intake of breath is loud in the otherwise silent room, and Magnus jerks around towards him, looking caught. It only takes him an instant to school his features into that neutral, bland smile that Alec has learned to recognize as fake.

“Alexander,” he says pleasantly, not an ounce of discomfort in his voice, “ready to go to bed?”

Alec steps closer, ignoring the question. “That wound on your back – when did that happen? And why hasn’t it healed? You must’ve closed it with magic.”

Magnus looks tempted to deny the existence of any wound, the well practised mask still in place, until he drops it with a sigh. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to reply, but by now he also knows that Alec won’t back down until he gets an honest answer.

“It happened right when we were jumped by those would-be Circle members. I was grazed by a Seraph blade – it wasn’t – isn’t serious!” he adds hastily as Alec blanches.

Alec usually tries to avoid thinking about what his own weapons could do to the man he loves. What they have already done to other Downworlders. He’s right in front of Magnus now, instinctively taking his hand and moving a thumb over the rings the warlock never seems to take off, not even at night. Magnus would never hesitate to fall back behind Alec and his team if he were truly in danger, Alec is sure of it; nevertheless, this is a nasty reminder that they’ve grown overconfident, too convinced that their combined skills make them untouchable. It’s about trust, and his own failure to shield Magnus from harm.

“I...I’m sorry I didn’t notice, but-” As expected, Magnus waves his apology off impatiently, but Alec isn’t finished. “Why would you try to hide it?”

Alec is aware that Magnus’ make-up and flashy outfits are not simply expressions of his personality, but also act as a shield, a front that makes others see the High Warlock of Brooklyn instead of a person who needs to cope with 400 years of heartbreaks and crippling periods of loneliness. To Alec, he has never looked more vulnerable than he does right now, with this open and slightly ashamed expression on his bare face.

Magnus hesitates, eyes dropping.

“I see how you look at me when I fight,” he eventually says in a small voice. “I know how much you love it when I’m powerful enough to burn a bunch of demons down to ashes.”

The look on Alec’s face must be as incredulous as he feels, because Magnus only meets his eyes for a fraction of a second before moving as if he means to put some distance between them. Alec’s hand moves up to his cheek immediately. There’s no resistance when he turns Magnus’ face back towards him.

“If you know me so well, you must also know how much I hate seeing the people I love get hurt. How much I want to take care of them, protect them...how much I enjoy sharing my strength with you, whenever you need it.”

He’s cupping Magnus’ face in both hands now, a gesture he loves for its intimacy, the way he can softly trace his lover’s cheekbones with his fingers. Magnus always looks slightly broken when he does it, completely disarmed, but at least he’s listening to Alec now, really listening.

“You don’t have to be that untouchable warlock all the time. You’ve patched me up so often, you’ve saved my life more times than I can count...you’re allowed to need help sometimes, too.”

Magnus’ arms come up around Alec’s shoulders, his eyes brimming over with emotion, so Alec draws him in, lets him hide his face against the rune covering his neck. He brushes his fingers carefully through the shorter hair at the back of Magnus’ head, lips close to his ear.

“Never hide from me when you get hurt...okay?”

He feels the whispered “okay” against his neck more than he can hear it, but it is enough.

#shadowhunters #malec #malec fic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #prompt fill #my writing

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