#clever borrower au

[mocksart]

So, there’s this borrower AU *twirls my hair*

It goes like this:

Stanley is an average borrower. He lives in the walls of an apartment building with the rest of his colony. They take what they need from the apartment’s residents while remaining hidden.

Stanley is good at his job. He’s very clever. Stanley is so clever, that he often acts before thinking and relies on his smarts to get him out of whatever situation he gets himself into.

This method has always worked for him. Not once has he ever been caught or even seen.

But, there’s a first time for everything, Stanley.

Big shout-out to my buddy @lizzybeanbutt who joined me in my brainrot

[jusst-you-race]

max and charles, 18!

i hope you don't mind that i made this volleyball au (i miss it) and also that it's... not really a kiss <3 thank you for the prompt!!!

a kiss as encouragement

The whistle blows as Charles slams the ball down on the other side of the court, easily breaking through the opposing block. Max swears loudly, and Checo winces, shaking out the hand that the spike had hit. There’s a chorus of cheers behind him from his team but Charles doesn’t turn to them just yet, instead he waits for Max to look his way. It doesn’t take long, they always seem to find each other’s gaze across the net.  

Charles blows a kiss at Max. Max scowls in response.

“Oh my god Charles you need to stop being a menace or the other team is actually going to kill us.”

Charles rolls his eyes.

“It’s for encouragement, Pear.”

“Encouragement?” Pierre asks sceptically.

“Yes. They are playing terribly today. Max always responds well to being pissed off.”

They both watch where Max has pulled the other team into a huddle, and can just hear his angry spitting from where they’re standing. Daniel looks like he’s trying very hard to placate Max, Lando and Oscar look like they're trying very hard not to laugh. 

Satisfied, Charles turns back to his own team. 

Lewis is levelling him with a very unimpressed look. 

“Charles, if you’re done winding up our opponents now? I’d like to actually talk about strategy.” 

A little bit sheepish, Charles worms his way into the group huddle, tucking himself into Pierre’s side. He only half listens to what Lewis is saying; Pierre is setting today and Charles knows his play style back to front so he’s not worried about missing any tactics. Instead his mind wanders, as it so often does, to Max. 

The blown kiss had mostly been a joke, something he knew would get under Max’s skin, which is Charles’ favourite activity after volleyball. But really, deep down, when he forces himself to acknowledge it, he did sort of want to blow Max a kiss.

It’s not just a kiss you want to blow…

Charles ignores his traitorous brain. The little voice in the back of his head that whispers about Max when he’s caught off guard and not violently beating it back with a stick. It’s getting a little bit louder every time they play the other team, and today has been especially bad. Max had shown up in a clearly borrowed t-shirt that must have been from Lando, judging by how it seemed a size too small. The way the shirt hugs the swell of Max’s chest has been incredibly distracting today, and Charles is genuinely glad that Pierre has been setting. He would have been absolutely screwed if Lewis was making him work for it with his clever sets. 

“Charles isn’t listening, he’s clearly thinking about Max.”

Charles winces, caught, and embarrassed that even Valtteri has picked up on it. Lewis just rolls his eyes. 

“Well Charles will just have to keep up,” he says as he waves his hand to dismiss the team and steps back away from the court. Charles flashes him a winning smile in an attempt to placate him, and then strides to his position by the net. 

Max is directly opposite him now. 

They lock eyes as George prepares to serve somewhere behind Charles. He brings his hands up to protect his head without breaking eye contact with Max. 

The whistle blows.

Max blows a kiss.

Charles’ brain short circuits.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Zedkiel Settling In

Author’s Note: This is the next fic in the Raised on Terra AU! First. Previous. Next. A big thanks to @bleedingichorhearts for allowing me to borrow their OC, Zedkiel!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @sharenadraculea @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 

Warnings: none, please tell me if there’s anything that bothers you

Summary: Zedkiel takes his charges away from the nursery for a little outing. 

Zedkiel hummed softly to himself as he rearranged the baby slings carrying his tiny charges a little, so that they sat better. It had been a couple of weeks since he had taken his first caretaking shift with the little ones, and while he still reserved his judgment on certain caretakers, he could see that the others did seem to be trying their best to care for the infant primarchs. He still couldn't quite believe that he had been chosen to care for his primarch while he was so young and vulnerable. It was an honor that he wore with equal parts awe and pride. Zedkiel was also mindful to try and give the other three primarchs as much attention and care as he did give his own primarch, as all four of them deserved all of the proper care and attention he could give them, and not to favor his own primarch over the other three, as such favoritism would cause bitterness and resentment that would be nigh impossible to overcome, from what he had been taught in the week-long childcare course. 

He had decided to take them all out of the nursery room that they'd been confined to since they'd been removed from the incubation chambers four months ago. Zedkiel had also been forewarned about the potential time-travelling assassins and saboteurs who might try and take away any infant primarch they could get their hands on, which was why he had not taken his four adorable charges very far - just to one of the covered courtyards in the same wing of the Imperial Palace, to show them what plant life looked like, and to get a mimicry of what outside air felt and smelled like (clean air, not the heavily polluted, thin mess that was Terra's current atmosphere). His charges were growing well, according to the growth and weight charts that he had memorized. Zedkiel had been sure to pack enough formula for the four of them for when they got hungry in a basket, as well as a large, soft blanket to lay out for the little ones to play on, and a handful of their most favored toys.

The little generals were currently teething, and none of them were taking the soreness in their mouths very well. His own primarch often gnawed unhappily on his own fingers, whimpering at the pain. Twenty-A and Twenty-O for some reason alternated between showing their fingers in the other's mouths and sobbing their little hearts out while clinging to one another. Thirteen was very frowny and whimpered quietly, rubbing at his gums with his tiny fingers occasionally, and had taken to stealing any pacifier he could get his tiny hands on - whether it was his own or a brother's and sucking on it with the grumpiest little frown on his face. Zedkiel used cool teething toys and small amounts of infant-safe pain medicine when they got particularly restless, which helped to settle them back down again. 

The Raven Guard had also privately been thinking about giving them nicknames. It felt wrong to refer to his charges by their assigned numbers, for all that the teams of very talented and clever scientists and medical doctors were almost disturbingly comfortable with referring to them exclusively by their numbers, as were the rotation of custodes guards who protected the little ones from potential threats. He had asked once, if they primarchs had been given actual names, and informed that The Emperor had yet to name them, and as far as the Custodes were concerned, the primarchs would remain being referred to exclusively by their numbers until either His Majesty decided otherwise, or they earned a name, like the Custodes themselves earned names. Zedkiel... Wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

Zedkiel had been given a room in the Primarchs' Wing of the Palace, but he'd taken to sleeping in one of the extremely comfortable sofa chairs that were available in the Primarchs' nursery, especially as he was the one to answer their cries when his charges awoke at night, a monitoring device having been given to him for each of them. The trip was much shorter if he stayed in the room, and he wasn't the only Caretaker to have made this decision. The twins always slept better if they were in the same bassinet - and he had to argue with the Custodes Guard about it for days before they would agree to let him try it. He had been proven correct, as with the twins sleeping together in the same bassinet, they had both slept through the night for the first time. Thirteen, despite being a fairly quiet and serious little babe, very much enjoyed being gently rocked to sleep while being held close, one of his tiny ears pressed to Zedkiell's chest so that he could hear the Raven Guards' hearts beating. As for his own, lovely, mischievous little Primarch, the tiny raven king enjoyed hiding in his blankets and trying to pounce on one of his hands. A regular ambush predator, and one who would grow more powerful and dangerous at times. Nineteen also liked anything shiny and tried to grab for anything that caught his eyes and hide them in his bassinet. 

Which Zedkiel found endlessly adorable and entertaining. The custodes found the habit irritating, but as the little one was getting better at his stealth skills by swiping little golden decals off of them and hiding them successfully... None of them could really do much more than grumble, as these habits were signs that Nineteen was learning to use the skills that the Emperor had hoped to instill within his Primarch, as Nineteen was to be one of the stealth-expert Primarchs, and encouraging him to be sneaky and stealthy would help him develop his skills. 

The Raven Guard set each of the Primarchs down on the blanket he had laid out on the rich, dark brown earth of this internal courtyard. Before Zedkiel had brought them here, he had personally checked and double checked that each of the plants in this courtyard were entirely harmless if consumed or touched - both individually and together in combination. He had also the earth tested for any possible parasites or sicknesses that lingered in soil, which had come back clean. So little ones could safely explore this place, maybe accidentally eat a little dirt or plants and not potentially get sick, even for a handful of moments. Zedkiel was aware of the heightened  immune systems they had been blessed with, but he wasn't going to be the one to test out that aspect of his charges if at all possible. 

The twins decided to cuddle one another as their teal eyes peered cautiously at their new surroundings, neither of them yet moving from where he had set them down on the blanket, snuggled into each other. 

His own primarch rolled from being on his back to being on his belly, before going up onto his hands and knees, immediately starting to crawl for a large, leafy plant, dark eyes fixated on the bright red flower a good foot and a half above the ground. As soon as one of his hands touched the dirt he froze, pulling the hand that had touched the new sensation back and staring down at the dirt with inky black eyes. Nineteen poked at the dirt a couple of times with his fingers, as if trying to figure out what the substance was.

Thirteen crawled over to join Nineteen, letting out an unhappy squeak at the texture of the dirt, sitting down at the edge and pouting a little as he rubbed his tiny hands into the dirt for several seconds, next to his brother.

Twenty-A started to move towards the other two, pausing when Twenty-O whined. Twenty-A paused and nuzzled his brother for a moment before crawling his way over to Nineteen and thirteen, stopping a couple of inches behind the other two. A look of intense concentration appeared on Twenty-A's face as he reached out and-

Shoved Thirteen forwards into the dirt.

Thirteen, who had been balancing on both of his knees and one of his hands as he used his other hand to inspect the dirt wailed as he went face first into the dirt, tiny fists flailing at the indignity as dirt stuck to his face and chin. 

Twenty-A giggled happily and clapped his hands together as Twenty-O made his way over to Nineteen, a nearly identical look of concentration on his face as he pushed nineteen over into the dirt as well, his giggles slightly quieter.

Nineteen also flailed and began to cry.

Zedkiel stood, about to intervene and gently scold Twenty-A and Twenty-O for their mischief when His Majesty spoke, startling the Raven Guard "Leave them be. Brotherly squabbles like this are something that they will need to learn to navigate on their own."

The Raven Guard visibly startled back, having not realized that the Emperor was there and scrambled to stand up at attention, saluting the other, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the now squabbling infants "S-sire! I... I hadn't realized you were here. My apologies for ignoring you." He internally cursed himself. His awareness of his surroundings was usually much better. How had he not noticed the most powerful and influential single being in the Sol System? 

"At ease, Zadkiel. I just popped in to see how some of my generals were doing, and you were understandably focused on your charges as they started to squabble with one another." His Majesty ordered, waving his formality away with an elegant gesture of one of his hands. "I am well pleased by their growth, since you have taken over as their primary caretaking duties, although I will request that you not indulge the twins' clinginess so much. As they grow they will need to learn how to exist apart from one another. As my spy masters, they will be often apart from each other for decades at a time, if not centuries and will need to learn how to cope with each other's absence."

Zedkiel ducked his head, swallowing down any arguments he had against the Imperator's words, and nodded "Yes sire."

"Carry on." The Emperor ordered before leaving the covered courtyard.

The Raven Guard silently sighed after the other left. Part of him suspected that he had been indulging the twins' desire for closeness a bit much... But the censure from His Majesty still stung. His gaze fell upon his charges and a small smile played on his lips as he noted that they had stopped scrapping with one another and were touching several of the large, leafy plants that were very carefully tended to, each fascinated by the texture and perhaps the bright viridian color of the plant in question.

Thirteen gripped one of the leaves in his hands, dragging it to his mouth and ripped off a small piece, trying to chew on it with his one and a half teeth, bright blue eyes lighting up at the taste. "Bah! Baah." He burbled, tearing off several  more pieces of leaf and shoving them into his mouth.

Nineteen promptly shoved his own piece of a leaf into his mouth and chewed on it for a couple of seconds before spitting it out, an unhappy burble leaving him "Gah!"

Twenty-O took Nineteen's spat out leaf bit and began touching and ripping it into smaller pieces, occasionally taking the smaller leaf-shard up to his nose and smelling it. 

Twenty-A decided that one of the leaf shards that Thirteen was trying to chew was his now, and grabbed it out of Thirteen's mouth, or tried to.

In response to one of his brothers shoving his hand into his mouth, Thirteen deliberately bit down, letting out an angry little growling sound.

Twenty-A began to wail as he tried to get his fingers free, managing to do so with difficulty, sniffling and holding the "bitten" hand close to his chest, sniffling and hiccupping.

Zedkiel sighed, torn between trying to intervene in order to keep the peace between his charges, and the new order he had been given by the Emperor Himself to let the young ones sort out their little internal conflicts on their own. He wasn't sure if the infants were ready for that just yet. They were still so very young...

Before the Raven Guard could decide what it was that he wanted to do, two Custodes walked in and one of them ordered "You need to return the Primarchs to the nursery."

The Raven Guard was tempted to ask them why, but knew that he wouldn't get a proper answer if he asked anyways, so he put the infants back in their carrying slings - switching up where they were placed so that Twenty A was on the far left sling and twenty O was on the far right with thirteen and nineteen between them before he grabbed the blanket and baby toys. "As you command, Lord Custodes." He murmured with a silent sigh in his voice, heading back to the nursery.

[bird-slayer-brainrot]

Soldier On, Come Down - Chpt. 1. - - Ineffable Husbands WW2 au human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale angst multi-chapter

(TW this chapter contains light gore (st*bbing so that bit will be marked with the first and final world in red text)

London, 1939

Aziraphale, Principality and Angel of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, loved humans.

He had lived amongst humans since his assignment on Eden had ended, and he quite enjoyed his role as Heaven’s official ambassador to humanity. It had been a shock to receive such a coveted position (as much as Angels could covet, anyway).

The job had its downsides, like any, but for the most part, Aziraphale could overlook these. The books, food, wine and art made it worth it.

Humans were amazingly clever creatures, with a knack for imagining purposeful, advanced creations to Angel in Heaven could have ever dreamed of, if they did dream. They were masterful artists, poets, writers, inventors. Aziraphale, nearly six thousand years into this extended assignment, stood in awe at the inventions of the human race.

The motorcar, however, was an exception.

On a Saturday evening in Soho, Aziraphale was particularly bothered. He had plans to attend an Opera at the West End. These plans were interrupted when the driver had stopped him miles from the theatre. It was drizzling, as it often did in London lately, and Aziraphale crowded himself underneath a canopy to avoid getting soaked.

Aziraphale could have miracled the driver to take him to the right language, but with the state of England and the war going on, he felt it was best to cut down on miracle usage just in case he needed them for something important, which he probably would. And he didn’t want to risk Heaven the memo from heaven about too many frivolous miracles.

“Are you going in?” a voice spoke beside him. Aziraphale turned, ready to offer his apologises

He hadn’t realised he had been standing in the entrance way to a storefront.

But he was stuck on the words as he came face to face with the man.

He was perhaps the most beautiful person Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on.

Aziraphale was still staring when the stranger cleared his throat.

“Oh, my apologies.” Aziraphale said too loudly. The gentlemen was dressed in black and grey, which would have struck Aziraphale as unusual if, immediately after, Aziraphale noticed his striking copper hair. He wore it longer than was the fashion. He was also very tall, and slender. He held a black umbrella that he seemed to be in the process of wringing out his umbrella before he’d noticed Aziraphale.

“Are you alright?” the gentlemen said with concern. Aziraphale was still staring, so he tore his gaze from the gentlemen’s face.

“No. Yes. I mean.” Aziraphale stuttered. “I just got caught in the rain.”

The man nodded, the small smile still on his face, then he held out his umbrella.

“Would you like to borrow mine?” he said without hesitation.  Aziraphale looked up him again ready to insist he was fine, but stopped when he noticed his eyes.

They were the colour of liquid gold, except for the ring of green surrounding his pupils. It was deep, Earthy green Aziraphale last recalled seeing in the Garden back when he’d first received this assignment.

“No. No thank you.” Aziraphale said softly. “I think I should like to stay here.”

*

My Dear Anthony,

I hope by the time this letter reaches you in England that you and Anathema will be quite settled in, with Annie at university and you doing your things (I must confess, I don’t quite recall the word you used to describe your profession. It may come to me one day.)

I must admit, dear brother, that although you grumble when I express sentiments to you, that I will miss you terrible when you return to England. There shall be a Crowley-shaped hole in my heart, I should think, for a long time till come. Please do come back and visit us in California.

Thank you for taking care of Anathema. It has always been her dream to attend Oxford. Do you remember when she was a little girl, with her book on magic and fairytales? She’d take it with her everywhere.

She can be quite stubborn at times, but she is a remarkable young woman, and I know that, under your guidance, my dear Annie will be something great. Please give her my love.

Take care of yourself.

Your Loving Sister,

Lucy

-

Crowley smiled down at the letter from his sister. He would never admit it, of course, but he missed his sister terribly. California, too, with its bright, sunny weather. The rain and fog of London coloured the world bleak in comparison.

Crowley had been back in London for a month. Anathema, his niece, was due to start at Oxford, once she got her acceptance, in three months.

She was a standout in stuffy old England, with her American wardrobe, accent, and mannerisms. She stood out in LA, too. She’d spent the days

Crowley had an apartment in Soho that he’d rented out in the year he’d been in America. The death of Lucy’s husband and Anathema’s father had hit their family hard. With their pieces stitched haphazardously back together, Anathema had decided that Oxford was her calling. England was a fresh start, and Crowley had to return at some point. Her mother had, after some convincing, agreed.

He was meant to meet Anathema for dinner that evening at the pub they frequented later on. With nothing else to do, Crowley decided a walk and some fresh air would do him some good, and stepped out into the English rain.

*

The Drooping Donkey had all the grace of a typical Soho bar on a Saturday evening. There was a group of soldiers crowded around a pretty young woman playing the piano, a lively war-tune Aziraphale recalled hearing over the radio on the BBC earlier that morning when he was rearranging his Atlas collection. They nursed warming bears. Chatty patrons took up the tables. There was luckily one spare (Aziraphale may have the ability to have any table he wished to, however he believed in ethical use of miracles) and, after ordering a glass of the house red, Aziraphale made his way over to it and took a seat, content to wait out the storm before going home.

When Aziraphale looked up, he made eye contact with the red-haired gentlemen from earlier. He was alone at the bar, and when Aziraphale looked at him, he did something completely surprising. He smiled.

An hour later, Aziraphale was still recounting the event in self-pity. He could leave now, as the handsome stranger had left. In truth, he’d been too shocked by the gentlemen (who had, upon meeting him, offered him his own umbrella?) and had been unable to use his brain. He had no choice but to enter the bar after the gentlemen, who had held the door out for Aziraphale. Even now, Aziraphale replayed the memory of that brief, awkward interaction over and over in his head. It was pointless. It wasn’t like Aziraphale would ever see him again. He was a human. A handsome, kind human. Still, he had appreciated that small show of kindness. It left a warm feeling in Aziraphale’s chest. The war was getting to him.  

It was dark outside by the time Aziraphale exited The Drooping Donkey. The rain had cleared and, while the street maintained most of the business of a typical Soho Saturday, the sidewalk was mostly deserted. That’s why, when Aziraphale heard a noise like a group of hushed voices and a loud banging sound, he immediately rushed to the source.

The redhead man from the bar laid crumbled against the wall of a deserted alley. He was bundled behind bags of rubbish. Aziraphale hurried over to him, kneeling down to see better and miracleing a source of light. Aziraphale’s checked that the man was still breathing first, which he was, but was barely conscious. In the light, Aziraphale could see immediately that he had multiple injuries. His face was bruised, and his knuckles and hands were red. Then, Aziraphale spotted the spreading red across his stomach. Just below it, there was a knife.

It lay discarded in the wet, tossed carelessly, as though it had not just killed a man.

The stranger groaned as Aziraphale lifted the fabric away from the knife wound to locate the stab wound. It didn’t take long to find it. Blood gushed down the man’s abdomen from the puncture, and bile threatened to rise in Aziraphale’s throat as he realised that the kind stranger likely wouldn’t survive it. He had lost too much blood. Aziraphale had no idea how long he had been here, left like this. There was no time to take him to a hospital. He hadn’t been with a wife or friends at the bar. He would likely die here, cold, and alone.

Aziraphale reached down, pressing a hand against the wound, and healing it. It was overkill, to heal it completely, but the man looked in enough pain that Aziraphale couldn’t help but want to help him as best as he could. He spluttered at the motion, coughing harshly. Aziraphale stood up quickly, miracleing his trousers clean from where they had been stained by water and blood. He also miracled the stranger unconscious.

Aziraphale would have liked to have stayed with the stranger to make sure he got better, but he couldn’t answer the questions the man would obviously have. With any luck, the gentleman would wake up with a nasty hangover, with little recollection of what had occurred the night before. He’d likely interpret the black eye as being the result of a minor drunken scuffle. He would not remember Aziraphale, and Aziraphale would never see him again.

A kindness for a kindness was all it was. Miracling him out of sight, Aziraphale turned, and walked away.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Temper and Toil

Author's Note: More of Claude in Living Waters AU. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric. Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Arnault, Roland, Anegla and 'Becky'.

Disclaimer: Becky is the non-cannon name for the Reader Insert character bonded for Roland.

Summary: Claude meets Arnault and Roland for the first time.

Warnings: None, let me know if I need to add anything.

Past =-= Next

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Cedric and Ramiel had spoken to Arnault and Roland about their brother-cousins. Of playful Jophiel, of clever Catius, of calm Claude- and the Older Black Templars were curious about their friends that they had made. Same with Angela and Becky, curious about meeting more ‘apprentice aged mer-astartes’. As Cedric and Ramiel were called by the First Born Black Templars.

After the hearts-felt conversation that Ramiel and Cedric had with Claude, they’d asked him once more if he’d like to meet Roland and Arnault. Claude had thought about it after a while, before nodding and agreeing to meet these older Black Templars that mean so much to both of them.

Jophiel is with the Gannet harpies, helping them with hunting and other tasks that need the strength of a Space Marine to lift and move certain things. Catius had recently met Erriox and Lenora for the first time and is getting to know both of them a bit better.

Erriox’s questions about their histories as a whole had increased- the sharp eyed and keen sighted loyalist Iron Warrior curious as to their antics and reasons for doing what they are doing. Still, Claude shakes his head a little as he swims after Cedric and Ramiel as they talk about How Amazing Roland And Arnault Are. Again.

It was super cute- to hear how much both of them really cared for and looked up to the pair of older Black Templars. Claude kept a small smile on his face as he listened to their words, his eyes flashing teal for a moment, before setting back to raven black.

There wasn’t much he was able to do to help them back when they were space faring in the space hell that is the far distant future, from Ancient Terra’s point of view. But- hopefully there is something more than he can do here on Ancient Terra that he wasn’t able to do.

Roland and Arnault decided to change or show their true faces and decided to lay their hands on Ramiel and Cedric. To turn from hands of kindness, to hands of cruelty, his face shifted to something darker, and his hands curled into fists and his fingers sharpened into Night Lord claws, briefly before he shook his hands back into Raven Guard colors and configuration.

He will do what he must to help them. They had both been badly hurt by older Black Templars before. One of them died at the hands of an older Black Templar before- both had been traumatized by First Borns of their Chapter.

Claude will see what these older Black Templars are like, granted, from what Cedric and Ramiel have said, they are from before the Primaris Roll Out- which helps. He fixes his face with a calm look and swims closer and nods to Angela and Becky when they are introduced to him by Cedric.

“Hello ma’ams,” Claude says politely, noticing that one of them seems more nervous, while the other is more confident.

It’s understandable, space marines are powerful, large and dangerous. Primaris Marines are even larger than First Born. He approves of the caution, and does his best not to spook her further.

Being given sourdough bread- he’d had some during the picnic that Ramiel had set up had him perking up at her and saying, “Thank you! The bread is really tasty.”

He happily eats the sour-tangy bread, it's rich and full in flavor that dances on his tongue. He doesn’t realize it until he hears a chortle and stops, embarrassed that he’d started humming in delight.

He swallows the piece of bread and looks over at the Emperor’s Champion Arnault. Who’s scales and armor were gilded with the holy markings blessed by the God Emperor himself. He sees the other older Black Templar, who must be Roland.

Their armor indicates they are from the early M40s or thereabouts. Unless he got his Chapter Heraldry and history wrong. He nods to them and says, “Hello Sirs.”

He sees the assessing looks from both First Born Black Templars, he continues to eat the bread and watches them interact with their Bonded beloved person. How loving and affectionate they are with the women.

Claude tilts his head a little at some of the words they speak. He thinks they are being… flirtatious with the women. Which has both of the women fluster and giggle a little, playfully smacking them for their cheek at times.

How curious. He’d heard that being Bonded could… shift the priorities of an Astartes. But he hadn’t realized that it could… perhaps soften the edges of some of the First Borns. It was. Fascinating to see.

He concentrates and uses his warp-touched powers and can tell that the pair of women are Warp-bonded to the First Born Black Templars. He lets go of his abilities as he feels the strain start to tire him.

“It’s nice to meet the older brothers that mean so much to Cedric and Ramiel,” Claude says quietly to the pair of Black Templars, once they notice his presence again.

He’s content to fade into the background occasionally chiming, while watching Cedric and Ramiel interact with these older Black Templars. It’s understandable that the Lionshare of their focus is with the squires of their Chapter. And their darling Bonded as well.

There is an intensity to Roland and Arnault that has Claude’s caution up- but so far they haven’t done anything wrong. Just seems really… focused. Then again Sons of Dorn tended to get rather hyper focused on things, people or a concept.

He tracks their movements- particularly what they do with their hands. Claude has grown used to and very fond of Erriox. But Roland and Arnault are different, more than just being from a different gene-line than the Iron Warrior.

Claude tries not to get super twitchy with the way Arnault or Roland will lightly touch Ramiel or Cedric on the shoulder. All gentle, light touches. Innocent and without the intent to harm. But- while his logic knows that, something more instinctual does not.

Watching Arnault and Roland playfully sass and rough house with each other is fine, even if he sometimes tugs his fellow Primars Brothers farther away from them when they do that. Not intentionally placing himself in between the First Born Black Templars and his fellow Primaris, but it’s something he does more than once.

He doesn’t herd the women, but only just not. Damn. He needs to get a hold of himself and try to be more diplomatic. He wants to give them the benefit of the doubt. Really he does. But- he remembers the call that he got from an utterly distraught Cedric. Being told of Ramiel’s death- and at who’s hand.

How bitter he’d felt when the fucking high command had finally decided that killing Primaris Mariens willynilly for just being there. And for daring to be Primaris instead of First Born type. Claude kept a calm, placid look on his face.

Not that he had said anything other than try to comfort Cedric- and curse his uselessness and inability to help at that time. But this time, this time it will be different. He is determined that it will be different.

So if these two First Born Black Templars decided to reveal their true tempers and tried to hurt either of them. He’d… he’d see just how dangerous his Alpha legion venom sacs are. At the end of the visit, Claude lingered- asking politely to speak with Arnault and Roland privately.

They had agreed to it, and Claude says, giving them a smile, “I am glad that you are in the lives of my brother-cousins Ramiel and Cedric.”

“We are glad to have met them,” Roland says, wondering where this was going. The youngster had seemed a bit… twitchy from time to time during the visit.

“However,” Claude says, clenching and unclenching his fits, “They have reasons for… not being with a shoal of Black Templars. No doubt you two do as well.”

“How do you know we aren’t a part of a shoal?” Arnault asks, eyes sharp and assessing the Raven Guard Scout.

“I would have heard if there was a shoal of Black Templars roaming this part of the seas regularly,” Claude says honestly, “and the magical peoples wouldn’t be here if there was a shoal of your chapter.”

“Fair enough.” Arnault says with a shrug.

“If you hurt my brothers,” Claude says lightly, “No one will ever find your bodies.”

“Why do you think we’d hurt them?” Roland asks with a frown, insulted that this Scoutling would think he would, outside of sparring.

Claude’s face darkens briefly, “That is something I’m not going to tell you, not unless Cedric or Ramiel wants me to. But- hurt them and I will revisit the harm down a thousand fold.”

“Have they been hurt by older brothers before?” Arnault asked astutely.

“I am not at liberty to discuss their secrets with you at this time,” Claude says, although from his subtle flinch. That is a yes.

Which is deeply concerning and they now have several questions. From the stubborn tilt of the younger space marine’s chin, he’s not going to betray his cousin's trust, more than he already has.

Arnault and Roland look to each other and back to the Scoutling Raven guard. They will remember this conversation. And when Cedric and Ramiel come to visit them next, they are going to speak with them about why Claude feels the need to threaten them for their health and safety.

They had noticed the marks of trauma and pain in the Squires habits. They had thought it was from battle trauma. But from what Claude implied, it was more than that. More unfortunate and tragic than they had suspected.

“Good day, sirs,” Claude says politely, before swimming off to meet up with Cedric and Ramiel as they head off to somewhere else.

[merakiui]

thinking about modern au stalker kunikuzushi who has been stalking you for years and so at this point he's essentially witnessed key moments of your life from the shadows. he supports you through all of it, always pleased to know you're doing well or succeeding. one day he'll take you for himself and then he won't have to confine himself to the sidelines. the closest he's ever gotten was when he stood behind you on a crowded train. you didn't pay him any mind.

kuni loves you, but sometimes he can't love all of your choices. so when he learns you're pregnant, he's angry. very angry. so angry he thinks about punching a hole in the wall or marching right up to your door to demand you explain why you'd dare spread your legs for another person when he's all you need. he fumes for all of the nine months, so consumed with jealousy and anger and betrayal. how dare you. how dare you. how fucking dare you!

to make matters worst, he works receptionist at the local hospital and so he occasionally encounters you with your partner or with a friend; both are always so helpful and supportive when accompanying you to your check-ups. for the first time, he hates seeing the happiness on your face. he hates your partner, your friends, your round belly. he catches himself thinking violent, hateful thoughts. he never does anything, though. he smiles politely, talks kindly, has you check in, starts simple conversations like: "how far along are you?" or "it's supposed to be windy today. take care on your way home." they're all basic pleasantries, but you always answer sweetly. he wishes that was his baby inside of you. he wishes he was your partner. he wishes he could sew himself into your life as a permanent fixture and not someone trapped in the dark.

kuni marks off dates on his calendar, each passing day an indication that your due date is drawing inevitably near and that you're starting a family with someone else and he'll never be able to have you for himself. he hates feeling so hollow and incomplete when he thinks of you, your partner, and your child. isn't he deserving of a happy family, too? shouldn't he get that chance like everyone else? isn't he allowed to have happiness?

it's dr. zandik who delivers your baby. a healthy baby girl with bright, beautiful eyes. she's precious and has your eyes, your nose, your everything if kuni is concerned. any features inherited from your partner are looked over because overall she really is the sweetest miracle you could ever produce. kuni has always had a soft spot for weak creatures: for the elderly, for children, for little animals.

dressed in clothes borrowed from his sister, wearing makeup and a long, flowing wig, he stands at the viewing window and peers in at all of the crying infants in their cribs, swathed in soft fabrics, and it finally hits him that you're a mother now. a mother...

there are people around him, crowding the glass to peek at their newborn family members. he thinks someone asks him which child is his. mindlessly, he gestures to the one in the far corner.

dr. zandik is rather amused with the disguise, but he acts like nothing's wrong when he hands your child to kuni, who's pretending to be a relative of yours (that's the clever story they'll tell everyone when your baby is absent from your arms). in return for this favor, kuni has to do something very important for dr. zandik (after all, he isn't going to give without expecting to take something back in return). but none of that matters when kuni holds such a fragile life in his arms and he has to bite back tears because he's not sure if his makeup is waterproof. this is your baby. this is a part of you. this is the thing he's always wanted. a family. a reason to live. he's always wanted a genuine familial connection. and for the first time in his life, he's so indescribably happy. he was angry with you before, but all of that melts away when he holds your baby and she reaches out with a tiny, fragile hand to hold his finger.

the hospital never sees kuni or your baby again. conveniently, he put in his notice a few weeks in advance to avoid suspicion with the reasoning that he would be pursuing further education elsewhere. to the security cameras, it wasn't a man who took your child. it was a woman.

kuni knows you'll be devastated, but you don't have to worry! he'll be the best father, and while he's raising your baby (and keeping a very low profile) he'll continue to plan for the day when he inevitably steals you from your life and forces you into his. then the both of you can be parents, can have a family, can live a happy, wonderful, loving life. it will take time, but one day you'll get to see your little girl and, along with that, you'll finally get to meet him. he's nervous and excited all at once. perhaps these are those fabled first-time father jitters he's read about? :)

[twisted-tales-of-all]

Summary: Connected storyteller Haru's request- 'Hello! Seonghwa with 2 + 12 for the smut prompts please! Thank you for doing these also!'

2 - "You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat." || 12 - "You don't have to be gentle with me, I don't break easily."

Pairing: Seonghwa x afab!reader Genres/tropes: model!AU, makeup-artist!AU, smut, drabble Word Count: 641 Warnings: quickie, semi-public/risky sex, Seonghwa is a sly mf (affectionate), slight choking/breath play, protected sex, implication of more to come

As you finish preparing your workstation, the model you'll work on arrives, closing the door behind him before professionally greeting you, "Hello, I'm Park Seonghwa. Please take good care of me today!"

Turning to face him, you find a stunning masterpiece of a man. Tall, slender, unstyled hair that manages to fall almost perfectly, and a clean face that will make your job ridiculously easy. You introduce yourself and instruct him to sit down and get comfortable.

He doesn't talk much, so you concentrate, softly touching his face with your tools to apply the subtle look suited for the bright cameras.

With a cheeky smile, he breaks his silence, adding a teasing tone to his words, "You don't have to be gentle with me. I don't break easily."

Shocked, you stare wide-eyed at him, only inches from the wonderous features of his face. Your face heats up as you catch your eyes roaming down to his lips - the only part of his face that still needs make-up added.

"You know, I think your lipstick color might suit me. Mind if I try it?"

"Oh, sure!"

You turn to grab it from the collection, but he quickly wraps his hand around your nape and pulls you in for a kiss. Although your eyes remain open from his impulsivity and clever way of initiating, you find them closing as he pulls away in a desperate attempt to hold onto the feeling of his soft lips on yours. He takes a look in the mirror before deciding against the color smeared on his lips.

"Maybe I was wrong. Let me give it back."

This time, he wraps his arm around you at the waist, pulling you into his lap. He begins leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, careful not to mess up your fancy work shirt. You can barely believe that this is happening, claiming to yourself that it's a dream you'd rather not wake up from. As he tugs lightly on your shirt to ask for permission to go further, you warn him that people could walk in.

"Then, if you're up for it, let's make this quick."

Nodding, you stand up again, quickly dropping your slacks to the floor. He mimics your actions before lifting you onto the empty vanity next to yours. As he unwraps a condom that you didn't even see him grab, he reminds you to be quiet so that nobody comes in to make sure you're alright.

"Sounds like a problem for you. I'll just be put on a list to never work with you again, but it could ruin your reputation, Mr. Professional Model."

"Sassy, eh?" He lines himself up as he speaks, "I'll keep you quiet then, for the sake of seeing your beautiful face near me again."

As he eases himself in, he wraps a hand lightly around your neck but doesn't apply pressure. He leaves his hand there as he pounds into you sloppily. Whenever it looks like you might make noise, his grip tightens. He watches your reactions closely for this reason, trying to make sure you're enjoying yourself but not too much to alert anyone passing by the room.

He finishes rather quickly, pulling out and discarding the condom immediately. As you both get dressed again, he admits, "You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat."

"So then, come see it again. Let me fix your make-up before you go out there."

As he sits back down, he swears, "Believe me, I will. You didn't even get to cum. I have to fix that."

Before he heads to his shoot, he borrows one of the liners to write his contact information directly onto the back of your hand. As he opens the door, he leaves you with a wink and a burning desire to do more.

[maelstrom007]

I've got the @ghouljams Fae!au brainrot, and I needed to write more about my OC Mal. This time, featuring ghoul's OC Love, and Fae!Ghost. Thank you so much for letting me borrow them! I hope I do them justice, and they're not too out of character. While it's implied that Mal already knows Witch (I think their friendship started well before this) I thought this was an interesting way to bring Mal into the darlings and 141's sphere of influence.

I hope you enjoy!

Mal stood at the far wall of their crafting space, studying their old leather bound notebook. It was an account of every project they’d ever undertaken here at the shop, filled to the brim with notes. Currently, it was open to the last commission on their list for this quarter, someone wanting a garment that would fill them with confidence after a particularly difficult time in their life. Before them stood several cones of yellow and orange cotton that they had dyed with this intention in mind. Now to decide what it would become. Mal closed their eyes, imagining the customer in their head, how their shoulders had hunched and neck sunk involuntarily. They needed something to straighten up, bring some height back into their frame. A jacket would do them nice. 

Mal took the cones to their warping board, a square frame with pegs hanging on the wall, and readied the yarn. Before they began Mal closed their eyes once again, taking deep breaths and pressing their bare feet firmly into the floor as they grounded themselves. Once they were settled, they imagined in their mind what their customer would look like in this new jacket. How their face would be full of warmth and joy, how much taller they would stand, the swagger and spring in their step as they walked. Mal let the feeling wash over them, filling themselves up with the giddy confidence. Full of energy, Mal began the warping process, tying an orange yarn to one peg and wrapping it around sequential pegs until it was as long as their fabric needed to be, then doubling back and following that same path back. 

Maintaining this confident headspace Mal continued on, occasionally switching between colors to create a shimmering ombre across the warp. This warp will act as the vertical threads when they weave the fabric later on tonight. Already they could see the gentle halo radiating off of the threads as the intent gets buried deeper and deeper. By the end it’ll be radiant like the sun. 

The slight jostle of someone attempting to open the front door made Mal accidentally skip a peg, breaking them out of their concentration. Immediately the halo of the current length they were working on dimmed, forcing them to backtrack and do their best to bring themselves back into the confident headspace. They didn’t really care if someone was at the door, there was no reason for anyone to be there and thus no reason to give them the time of day. Pick up was always reserved for the last week of the month, and they hadn’t pulled aside the heavy curtains hanging from the gutters that prevented humans from seeing the shop, and warned Fae from entering without an invitation. No, those get pulled when Mal’s commission list was empty and ready for new customers. Which it wasn’t. 

The jostle returns again and only a well timed breath keeps the bubbling anger from making its way into the warp. They tied it off and stepped away with a sigh. They couldn’t afford to keep having their concentration disrupted by the mystery person at the door. 

Opening the door reveals a girl, smiling brightly, “Hey, I think your doors locked.”

“It’s not,” Mal replies. Not in the physical sense anyway. Witch’s wards are strong and clever like that. Although they will have to check up on the curtains outside. Nobody should have been able to find their shop with them pulled shut, although now there was a clear section that was pulled to the side where the girl seemingly forced her way through. Those damn Moth’s were probably nibbling on it again. 

The girl stares at them for a moment, as if expecting them to say more. Evidently the silence becomes too long as she presses on, “Aren’t you going to let me in?” 

“Why would you want in?”

“Because you’re a business? And I’d like to do business here?” The exasperated look on the girl's face is enough to set Mal’s teeth on edge. 

“Pushy aren’t you?”

“Yes. Now come on, I want to get something nice for my boyfriend and he’s going to pick me up any minute now.”

Something about the girl’s big, insistent eyes made Mal’s resolve crack, “Fine. You’ve caught me in an indulgent mood.” Mal turned around, walking back towards the counter, “What are you thinking of?”

When the girl didn’t immediately follow they turned around again, only to see her seemingly stuck mid stride, foot unable or unwilling to touch the hardwood floor of the storefront. Curious. The girl seemed perfectly human to them, but looks could be deceiving. 

“You’re welcome in, for this transaction,” her foot fell with a solid thump, and she continued walking in as if nothing had happened.

“So I’d like to get something for my boyfriend.”

Mal settled in and flipped their notebook to a new page, “So you’ve said.”

“Yeah, well I know that he likes to cover up a lot, but recently his gloves have been falling apart and what with Winter coming up I don’t want his hands to be cold-”

As the girl talked, Mal kept a close eye on her chest, watching for any tethers that shone brighter than the others. Humans, and sometimes Fae, had a hard time deciding what their real intent was for a gift, and sifting through their tethers was always easier than getting it out of them through words. Except that the more this girl talked, the more her chest started to light up like a god damn christmas tree. She was tangled and pierced and snared on so many hooks it was almost distressing, and one in particular burned so bright it almost hurt Mal’s eyes to look at.

“Excuse me,” Mal interrupted her, “but may I?” they said, pointing towards the brightly glowing tether at the center of her chest. 

“Uh, sure,” she said, slightly confused but trusting all the same. 

Reaching out they gently snagged the tether with the tip of their pinky finger. Even with that small amount of contact all they could think of was LOVE LOVE LOVE. So much love, and passion, and desperation, and protectiveness. 

Within the next second, Mal’s ears popped as air that used to be in the space behind the girl forcibly vacated in favor of someone apparating there in its place. Mal stumbled back, eyebrows raised in shock as the absolutely massive fucker came into focus. Piercing brown eyes peered out through a pale white skull mask, with one hand wrapping protectively around the girl's chest and the other landing solidly on the table creating an effective barrier between them and Mal. 

“What’s wrong, Love?” The man's voice was deep, and although he was addressing the girl, (the capital L was obvious in his tone) his eyes never left Mal’s. 

“Well I was going to get you a surprise gift, but I guess that’s not happening anymore.”

“Why were they touching you.”

Mal straightened, “I received permission, if that is your concern. I was only attempting to see what her true intent was for this gift.” Despite the way he was glaring, Mal could tell this man didn’t think they were a threat, at least not physically.

On closer inspection the guys gloves did look as if they were threadbare, ready to fall apart if a stiff breeze came through. He was fae, no doubt about it, and even his human form commanded respect. Mal could see the shimmery effect of the fae’s obscura, hinting at a much larger and much more. . .sinister silhouette. They could do better, break up the outline of his body like camo on a soldier's fatigues, but something told them that he wouldn’t appreciate being upsold at the moment.

“And what was my intention?” Love looked almost giddy to know, leaning over the counter top with a manic grin on her face. 

Mal quickly looked between Love and the man, trying to gauge the pro’s and con’s of this whole interaction. 

“Go on,” he said. 

“Well, it seemed like Love here wanted to stake a claim on you. To possess and protect you as much as you do her.” 

Like a seesaw, Love rocked backwards into the man's embrace, wrapping her arms up around his neck and giggling, “Yeah, I guess I am a little obsessed with you.”

For once he looked a little bit out of his depth, and once again Mal almost had to shield their eyes from the sun that seemed to light up between the two. Jesus these two were co dependent as all hell. 

“So,” Mal said, desperate to get this conversation over with, “any design you want in particular?”

“Oh, right, I think his gloves should be dark black, with white details that look like finger and hand bones. And can you make them really warm and soft? Am I asking for too much? You’ll tell me if it’s too much right? Also-”

Mal dutifully took notes, not even attempting to get a word in edgewise as Love rambled on. Briefly looking up, Mal saw the masked man curled contentedly around and over top Love’s much smaller form like a mountain sized cat. It was hard to find him intimidating now that his eyes were full of love and adoration. 

What a strange pair indeed.

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Little Dipper

27. Jewelry

From this list of gt prompts

AU: Undefined Thirteen AU

Note: Finally watched Power of the Doctor, and I already miss Jodie. I do love the idea of these two together, and I hope I can write more for them. Very very excited for Fourteen and Fifteen though! Soon...

p.s. TIL that 'dipper' is British slang for a pickpocket. Go figure.

~~~

“Zepheera!!”

The Doctor’s voice bounced off the jagged metal surfaces around her as she called out for her diminutive companion. She watched every step and peeked around and under every single thing in her path through the wrecked ship to be absolutely certain the four and a half inch tall woman wouldn't be overlooked.

Everything had gone to plan. …Mostly. Sure, being captured and separated from the TARDIS was never ideal, but they had an ace up their sleeve! Or to be more accurate, the Doctor had a borrower down her coat hood, completely undetected by their captors.

Like usual, they played to their strengths to get out. The Doctor ran distraction, letting her motormouth run free while Zepheera snuck around in the ship's nooks and crannies to find ways to sabotage the craft. 

It was a calculated risk. They were still within the atmosphere of a planet and not that far from its surface, and the Doctor insisted there was very little that Zepheera could mess with that wouldn't have some sort of emergency backup that would kick in eventually. It was simply a matter of throwing enough out of whack to cause a little chaos and give the Doctor a chance to gain her freedom and an upper hand. Worst case scenario, the ship got a little bumped and scraped if nobody could stabilize it before they hit the ground. 

And, well…

In the aftermath of the crash, the crew were now more concerned about the ship's status than keeping an eye on the Doctor, so long as she didn't run off on them. That left her alone in her search for her friend, desperately listening for any reply.

Finally, as she approached the bridge, she finally heard it. A faint but familiar voice ringing out distantly over her head.

“Doctor…!”

Blonde hair whipped around as the Doctor craned her neck to find the borrower calling back to her. It was all a bit of a mess to say the least, but she'd been traveling with Zepheera long enough to have really honed her keen eye for the tiniest movements. Up in what used to be the ceiling, a maintenance panel had come off and what looked like several rolls of wire had come undone. A tiny figure waved for the Time Lord’s attention in the hole the missing panel left.

“Oh, you're okay!” the Doctor beamed, beyond relieved to see Zepheera in one piece. She had no doubt that her friend was clever and hardier than she looked, but the crash had been a little more intense than anticipated and she couldn't help worrying. With a wave back, screwdriver in hand, she added, “A-plus work! Got my sonic back, and now we can figure out what's going on here, and how to get back to the Tardis!”

Zepheera gave an exaggerated shrugging motion with her arms as she looked down on the completely knackered bridge. “Got a bit carried away, I guess! Thought you said they had ways to keep it from crashing!”

The Doctor winced. “I may have got the model numbers muddled up. Ooh! Try saying that five times fast. Anyway, let's get you down from there! Can you climb these?” She gestured broadly toward the wires, which were long enough to make it all the way down to the bridge floor. 

The ceiling was quite a substantial height, and at a bit of an angle thanks to the ship being slightly wedged into the ground. That put the panel hole about thirty feet above the Doctor's head. Borrowers, as Zepheera had demonstrated on a number of occasions, were excellent climbers. The Doctor had no doubt in her skills, only the precarious nature of this particular circumstance. The wires all seemed rather slick, and wouldn't be likely to offer much in the way of purchase.

Zepheera seemed to be following the exact same train of thought as the Doctor, having gone quiet as her shape shifted slightly in the opening. Then she piped up, “Actually… I'll be down in a jiff. Get ready to catch me!”

The Doctor didn't have time to wonder what the plan was; Zepheera disappeared completely from the panel, leaving the Time Lord to hurry and get into position near the wires.

To her surprise, Zepheera leapt out of the hole, catching her fall on something draped over one of the wires to slide down like a zip line. The Doctor hadn't seen her use something like that before, and was certain that she would have by now if this was something Zepheera kept on her.

As the borrower slid further down the wire and closer to the Doctor, realization struck her. What little sunlight came in through windows and cracked seams of the ship glinted off the silver material of Zepheera's sliding device, the shape of which was awfully familiar. One of the Doctor's primed-to-catch hands snapped up to her left ear.

Her jaw dropped, and she shot an affronted glare to her rapidly descending companion. “Oh, you cheeky little–!”

She didn't have time to finish her grumble before it came time to actually catch Zepheera. She landed in a heap in the Doctor's right hand, breathing hard after such a leap.

The Doctor's earring chain lay across her lap, having done its job of carrying the borrower all the way down the wire.

“When did you even have time to nick that??” demanded the Doctor.

“Oi!” Zepheera shot back while she gathered the jewelry up in her arms and pushed herself up to stand on the Doctor's palm. “I didn't nick it. I borrowed it.” To illustrate her point, Zepheera took the two studs at the ends of the chain in her hands and held her arms out long for the Doctor to take it back. “Easy to forget when it doesn't come up much out in space, I know, but I am very good at it.”

The Doctor snatched the earring with a flat look at Zepheera before she deposited her to a shoulder to free up her hand. “Smart move,” she admitted. “Ask nicely for it next time, and you might earn bonus points.”

“On top of my A-plus?” Zepheera prodded teasingly.

Rather than rise to the bait, the Doctor simply started to replace her earring. This meant both her hands encroached on Zepheera's space, and she was lightly shoved off of the Doctor's shoulder to slide harmlessly into her hood.

Though she pretended not to notice, the Doctor listened for the telltale muffled “Oomph!” and the light squirming against her back before she started walking. She could already feel Zepheera starting to climb her way back up to the opposite shoulder.

“Right,” said the Doctor decisively on the way to one of the ship's numerous newly opened exits. “Back to business.”

[cloudcalico]

✧ 𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐓 𝟐: 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥… ۰ ۪۪۫۫ · 🩰

author's note: this was born as some kind of self aware twst au because idk, there's a shit ton for genshin so why not twst; I think I sent it to @honey-milk-depresso 's ask box before but I'm not sure, sorry for tagging if I was wrong rip-

more under cut!

*︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦ॱ ︶･ ˖ 🕯ॱ꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶︶꒦︶꒷꒦ﾟ✧.*

He was the first one to see you as you really were. And how beautiful you were… a sight he longed to keep all for himself, as he wished those brilliant eyes that followed his movements through the mirror of his room would only stare at him. You were… radiant. Full of life. Your presence was soothing, your voice calming when you mumbled to yourself. You made that little avatar of yours, that little persona that claimed to be lost in their world, look so dull.

He didn’t care that you lied; you were all but lost, you seemed to know things about him and everyone else that nobody knew! All he cared about was your love, the tender way you would look at him, and the smile that lighted up your face whenever he would tell you the silliest little thing.

That until he figured out those silly little things weren’t at all what he wanted to say. He craved for the occasion to confess his feelings towards you, and you only; not that little thief that wore your face and borrowed your voice, but was incapable of showing him all the love you held for him in your heart. But he soon figured out that he could never bring himself to say those words he rehearsed so many times in his head. Every time he opened his mouth in your presence those same, identical, sets of words would come out without him acknowledging what he said. And yet, you didn’t seem to mind, your smile would never falter despite hearing every day those same pre-made sentences that he kept repeating like a broken record.

Did you not notice? No, you sure knew that he was repeating himself. You were clever, observant, and knew so many things… there was no way you didn’t notice. But does that mean you knew? Did you know how much effort he was wasting into trying to talk to the real you? Those were questions you never answered.

Some days, he kept quiet. He listened to you as you told him about some silly little thing, confessed him secrets that you swore to keep or vented about problems of your life that you wished could disappear, and let you be comforted by those pre-set strings of words that always seemed to do the trick. Some other days your laugh would be just too lovely to the ear, or your cries too heart-breaking for him to stay silent, and he would struggle all he could to tell you those words that died in his mouth before he could even start.

And some days you wouldn’t show up at all, and all he could have was that little, dull shadow of you, too silent, too numb to even get close to how you made him feel. He would gently caress its familiar frame, trying to feel in it the same warmth that you surely had, yet all his fingers would meet would be the cold silhouette of something that only resembled you in its appearance. In those dead days, he would stare at his mirror, hoping to see that figure he slowly fell in love with, wondering about a day where he would finally get to be with you.

*︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦ॱ ︶･ ˖ 🕯ॱ꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶︶꒦︶꒷꒦ﾟ✧.*

↳ ❝ 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 !! ❞

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[basilbots]

Silly Celestials Shorts - A Gift

A oneshot focused on Eclipse and an interaction with Bloodmoon back when his vampire-ness was new, and all his relationships were still pretty strained. Despite the AU name this short isn’t so silly oops | Words 1047

“Sun Man.” An all too familiar voice called out in sing song.

Eclipse scowled, stopping his pacing to direct his attention towards the doorway. His remark about the inaccurate nickname was cut short as his orange eyes locked with the others, only a single star staring back at him. Their left eye was dark and empty.

“Where’s your other half?” Eclipse scoffed, glancing around in an attempt to catch sight of their twin.

Bloodmoon- Harvest shrugged nonchalantly, “Having fun with Father.”

That was strange… Strange indeed. Rarely did Bloodmoon split up and rarer were they apart. His casing prickled with suspicion and Eclipse had to focus to prevent his damn rays from giving away his wariness. If it was the other twin at least Eclipse would have been able to expect the typical insults and aggression that would likely turn into a fight. But Harvest? They were more clever, unpredictable, and twisted than their other half.

“What do you want?” Eclipse snapped, voice roughened into a snarl.

“Just to talk! I’m not here to mock,” Harvest held their hands halfheartedly up in surrender. 

Unwillingly memories of some of their “talks” from when Eclipse was trapped in Bloodmoon’s head came to his mind. Cheerful questions and a one sided conversation as painful shocks overwhelmed his senses. Times where there was a lack of any vitriol that fueled everyone else’s attacks on Eclipse, including their other half. It made it almost worse, somehow. 

“There’s nothing we have to talk about,” Eclipse lied, averting his gaze. 

Harvest cackled, their impish tail curling up in delight “Oh nothing? Nothing at all? No shared hunger between us because the great Eclipse is above such things?”

He clenched his fists and tried to ignore the incessant aching, the unnatural hollowness that begged to be satisfied by one thing and one thing only- Eclipse shuddered, forcing himself to focus again on Harvest. They watched him patiently, a stupid smirk on their face. The urge to claw it off was strong. 

“Get to the point, Harvest,” He said, clasping his twitching claws behind his back. 

Harvest hummed and sauntered up to Eclipse. If they noticed Eclipse having to restrain his violent intentions they didn’t care. He leaned away as Harvest got up into his space, glaring down at them. Their short stature almost made Eclipse forget they were a threat. Almost.

“We’ve obviously taken notice of your little… predicament,” The last word was infused with amusement. “So, my brother and I have graciously decided to let you borrow from our blood supply.”

…What?

Eclipse stared, dumbfounded “What?”

Harvest flapped a hand dismissively, “We know you’ve already stolen from it before. We just don’t mind if you take more. No need to be a shifty little thief about it, worrying about being caught.”

The suspicion returned full force as Eclipse hissed, “Is this some sort of dumb trick? Or a way to get something out of me disguised as a gift?”

Bloodmoon hated him. When they learned their glitched bloodlust had been transferred to Eclipse a week earlier they laughed. Told him this was karma and that they were happy Eclipse got to suffer as they do. They didn’t care about him before and certainly hadn’t shown him any sympathy now.

Harvest tsked disapprovingly, “We knew you’d be ungrateful even when faced with our generous offer! It’s why my twin chose to be off with Father. Temper and all.” They crossed their arms, “It’s not a trick nor a trade Sun Man. Is us being nice too much for you to understand?”

“When it’s you? Yes,” Eclipse scoffed. “I thought you found my pain hilarious. Why the change of heart?”

“Oh, it would be delightful to see you driven mad with feral bloodlust,” Harvest grinned at him sharply and Eclipse’s mind screamed danger. “However, we can't let that happen.”

Eclipse resisted the urge to step away, putting on a sneer instead, “Why not?”

“Because Father cares about you. Can’t imagine why,” Harvest rolled their eyes, disdain leaking into their tone.

Eclipse didn’t think the mad mistake of an AI from an already fucked up animatronic could be talking, and the look he shot them said so. The hint of jealousy was interesting though. If he was hearing it from this half the other must feel the same twice as strongly. The fact they cared so much about how Killcode felt was surprising. Maybe Eclipse could use that- 

A sharp pain in his hand caused him to recoil with a hiss, Harvest’s tail having flicked him like a whip, “Don’t plot! I can see it on your stupid sun face!”

“I’m not!” He snapped back, trying and failing to not sound like a scolded child. “I get it this is for Killcode not me-“

The confirmation that Bloodmoon wasn’t doing this out of any concern for him, even if Eclipse would have doubted it anyway, made him feel more hollow than usual. Eclipse convinced himself it was just the hunger getting to him. He ignored it and leaned into his anger instead.

“Whatever. Is that all you wanted to say?” Eclipse said, internally hoping this encounter would just end.

Harvest unfortunately found his impatience amusing, “What no thank you?”

Eclipse didn’t really want to do it. Didn’t want to get into another fight. But, lacking any damn self-control, he lunged and swiped his claws at Harvest’s face. 

They jumped back with ease before they could be struck and cackled, “Lucky you that Bloody isn’t here too! Can’t leave him out of the fun, can we? Goodnight Eclipse, and have a good dinner too!”

Harvest spun around abruptly and left Eclipse to his own devices. He snarled, staring at the doorway for a few moments to be sure they were gone. When he was satisfied he glared down at the hand that swiped at Harvest accusingly. Eclipse hated this he hated it.

Growling to himself he sat down on his cot and buried his faceplate in his hands with a small thunk. Whatever. Eclipse wasn’t going to scurry off and immediately take some of Bloodmoon’s supplies. He wasn’t desperate for their help! Eclipse could last one more night on his own. He curled up on his cot and ignored the twisted feeling in his gut. Just one night.

[mocksart]

Listen man I am now invested in your borrower AU

Please

Tell me more

Hi thanks for the excuse to ramble more about my borrower AU. I'm so, so normal about them!

Ok so, due to his own biases, the Narrator doesn't really realize Stanley is sentient at first. He's a man who has had a rough go at life and has coped poorly. He's a bit of a narcissist and only sees what he wants to see.

He has Stanley for months, putting him through mazes and making him solve puzzles, trying to determine baseline intelligence and general behavior.

He catches on pretty quickly that Stanley is a clever little creature, but his frustration with the disobedient little rat steamrolls any deeper reflection on his treatment of what he calls subject 427.

Under normal circumstances, puzzles and mazes are things that Stanley would enjoy quite a bit. His job back with his borrower colony was to determine the best ways to open up and access drawers, cupboards, boxes, etc.

But these are not normal circumstances. He's trapped, captured by an unknown bean in an unknown location. He's completly alone for the first time in his life. Well, almost. The bean who pokes at him and insults him doesn't make for very good company.

I'm a big softie at heart though, so a lot of my thoughts have been post-escape with them learning how to navigate their relationship. It takes time, but they eventually get to a sort of understanding.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: 

 "Of all the mindless, idiotic, pointless, senseless, half-brained, dim-witted, bone-headed, just downright stupid things that Ezra had done in the last seven years since Sabine met him, this one was the biggest one.

 It would've been okay if he'd just not told her how he felt. She didn't mind the mixed signals when he even told her it was okay with him if she went out with Tarik. 

 But then, for whatever reason, Ezra had somehow convinced himself it was a good idea to show up at the restaurant with arm candy of his own— one of the catty Togruta sisters who was more than excited for a "front row seat to the Rebellion's second favorite 'will they/won't they.'"

 Sabine's own date had been stupid enough to let them make it a double date— and that stupidity combined with Ezra's own was a recipe for disaster."

and the argument that follows in its aftermath.

word count: 1.6K

a/n: my mom's been rewatching the jonas brothers tv show, and the first season is one of my silly little comfort shows, so i've enjoyed joining her for it when i can. a couple weeks ago while watching an episode, i heard the dialogue "what about a guy NOT asking a girl out because he likes her, huh? have you EVER stopped to consider that?" "that makes LITERALLY NO SENSE!" and i couldn't help but think of sabezra, so decided to make a oneshot based on this episode. most of the initial dialogue and actions is pulled from the show directly, but everything past sabine's "i see your point," is kazzy original material because the rest didn't give enough closure for a oneshot.

takes place post canon in an au where ezra did not get purrgiled. shoutout to @kanerallels, as always, for betaing! also, huge shoutout to @jessicas-pi for letting me borrow a couple of her ocs! you can read more about them in her absolute masterpiece of a story, commit to the bit!

taglist:@laughingphoenixleader  @accidental-spice @kanerallels @piraterefrigerator @jedi-nurse @dootchster @lucasbridger  @redroverrider @light-umbra @commander-tech {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

We Gotta Work This Out

 Of all the mindless, idiotic, pointless, senseless, half-brained, dim-witted, bone-headed, just downright stupid things that Ezra had done in the last seven years since Sabine met him, this one was the biggest one.

 "If he didn't want me to go out with Tarik, he could've just said something, instead of butting into my social life like that," Sabine thought, fists clenched as she paced around The Ghost, "and if he wanted to be part of my social life, he should just say it."

 The past few months, Ezra had let hints of his feelings for her drop on more than one occasion, and she hadn't exactly been subtle about how she felt either. And yet, Ezra hadn't asked her out yet, and Tarik had, so of course, she'd said yes. She couldn't wait around forever just for Ezra to not say anything at all.

 It would've been okay if he'd just not told her how he felt. She didn't mind the mixed signals when he even told her it was okay with him if she went out with Tarik. 

 But then, for whatever reason, Ezra had somehow convinced himself it was a good idea to show up at the restaurant with arm candy of his own— one of the catty Togruta sisters who was more than excited for a "front row seat to the Rebellion's second favorite 'will they/won't they.'"

 Sabine's own date had been stupid enough to let them make it a double date— and that stupidity combined with Ezra's own was a recipe for disaster.

 Predictably, the romantic evening had fallen apart like a cheap ration bar. It started small, with a few clever and cutting remarks between Sabine and Ezra, but it ended with what would've been a not-so-friendly sparring match, if Am-Lee hadn't defused by asking them to pause so the holo of the moment she took for her gossip chain didn't turn out blurry. But instead of giving Ezra the butt-whooping he deserved, Sabine then took the high ground and told Tarik to take her home immediately.

 Unfortunately for both of them, home for Sabine didn't actually get her any further from Ezra, and as soon as he'd dropped off his date and returned to The Ghost, Sabine was waiting for him, arms crossed, not even having taken the time to change out of the dress she'd worn for her date.

 "What's up?" Ezra shrugged, using a casual saunter to hide how steamed up he still was.

 "'What's up?'" Sabine scoffed, "like you don't know 'what's up?' I don't understand how you could be so conceited, and selfish, and just thoughtless."

 "Yeah?" Ezra responded in kind, as though well prepared for her harsh words, "well, you are stuck-up, pretentious, and totally gorgeous."

 No insult he could've said would've thrown her off more than that last word.

 "Gorgeous?" Sabine asked.

 "What?" Ezra scowled.

 "You just said I was gorgeous," Sabine shook her head.

 "I meant adorable," Ezra poorly tried to cover, "so adorable you make me sick!"

 "I'm sorry," Sabine said, but by the end of her comment she was almost yelling, generations of Mandalorian rage flowing through her, "but if I'm so 'sickeningly adorable,' then why'd you come to the restaurant tonight?"

 Ezra changed the subject, his tone revealing that he was not a fan of that question.

 "Well, why did you go out with Tarik?"

 "Because he asked me!" Sabine was really yelling now, almost wondering why she'd fallen for someone dumb enough to even ask a question like that. "Isn't that how it works, Ezra? A guy asks out a girl because he likes her?"

 "Because if that's how it works," Sabine thought, fist clenched, "then it's quite clear how Ezra feels about me."

 "What about a guy not asking out a girl because he likes her, huh?" Ezra retorted, as if it were the most obvious and logical comeback in the galaxy and not a strong contender for dumbest thing he'd ever said. "Have you ever thought about that?"

 He walked past her, but she wasn't about to let him leave her before she figured out what his comment was even supposed to mean. She turned around and found he had stopped and turned back as well, and was looking at her.

 "What?" she asked, blood still boiling, wondering if she'd get clarification or just further confirmation of his stupidity.

 "I don't wanna risk everything you and me don't have together!" Ezra snapped.

 "That makes absolutely no sense!" Sabine snapped back.

 "Yeah? Well sometimes things don't make sense!"

 She tried to argue, but in the heat of the argument, she hadn't noticed the sudden heat of him putting his hand on her neck and pulling her close to him. Before she knew what was happening, their lips made their first meeting, and somehow, it was a beautiful one.

 Sabine wasn't sure how to respond to this— holy kriff, it was a kiss, he was kissing her— to this kiss. Her instincts told her to punch him in the gut, but her heart said to pull him closer, because she'd been waiting a long time for this.

 But she didn't have a chance to do either before he pulled away, and she breathed out in response a heavy, "oh."

 Because as upset as she was at Ezra, he'd just absolutely floored her. As much as she couldn't stand him right now, she'd really enjoyed that. As much as she wanted to claim she never wanted to see him again, she knew what she really wanted was to kiss him again.

 Ezra was right. Sometimes things just don't make sense.

 "I see your point," she nodded, looking away from him, still trying to process what had just happened, and not needing Ezra's stupid pretty face clouding her judgment.

 His kiss was reckless and impulsive and thoughtless and, once again, in true Ezra fashion, a downright stupid thing to do. Was this his idea of telling her how he felt? Or just a cheap attempt at shutting her up?

 Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips parted in some breathless, awestruck smile, then noticed that his eyes rested on her.

 "Why did you do that?" Sabine asked.

 "I don't know," Ezra shook his head.

 "You do," Sabine turned back to him.

 "You're right," Ezra nodded, slowly, "and I think you know too."

 Sabine bit her lip and nodded, then shook her head. After all the stupid things he'd done that day, he owed her, at the very least, the explanation they both knew was true.

 "I need to hear you say it," she said.

 She read the fear in his eyes. He had no way of knowing for sure she felt the same way. He could be risking seven years of friendship on an emotional whim— though, with everything that had already happened that day, it would be hard either way to salvage any semblance of the friendship they'd once had.

 He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it and shook his head.

 "That's what I thought," Sabine thought, shaking her head, turning away from him, walking away from him, "if he can't tell me how he really feels..."

 "I'm in love with you."

 Sabine stopped dead in her tracks. Had Ezra really just said what she thought he said?

 She turned halfway around, then turned her head a little further to face him, then shook her head in disbelief.

 "What?" she asked.

 "I love you," Ezra said, breathing heavily with fear, "that's why I did— all of that. I love you."

 Sabine smiled, then bit her lip, then took a couple steps closer to him.

 "You really mean that?" she asked.

 "Yeah," Ezra said, and his tone and the look in his eyes turned a casual word into a wholehearted declaration of love.

 Sabine stepped closer to him, and from the look in his eyes, she knew he had no idea how she'd respond.

 Which meant he didn't see it coming at all when she reached for his neck, pulled him closer, and planted her lips back on his. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, and as soon as Ezra realized what was happening, his hands were on her sides. 

 It was the kind of kiss that made all the years of waiting for it totally worth it. She heard him sigh, and felt his lips curve into a smile, and hers did the same, and it was the best kriffing moment of her life.

 They didn't pull their lips away from each other until all of that frustration and rage and anger had sunk away, leaving in their place just a carefree joy at each other's mere presence. Even still, his hands didn't leave her sides, and hers didn't leave his shoulder— though now her other hand had slid up to his face, her thumb now softly stroking the scars on his cheek.

 "Now, why did you do that?" Ezra asked, a playful look in his eyes and a smitten smile on his lips.

 "I think you know why," Sabine whispered, biting her lip to keep from smiling too much.

 "I need to hear you say it," Ezra smiled, and he teasingly brushed his nose against hers.

 She sighed, almost like a laugh, and looked deep into his eyes.

 "Because I love you too," she whispered.

 He smiled shyly, letting go of one hand's grip on her side so he could cradle the back of her neck instead.

 She closed her eyes and actually giggled a little, then pressed her forehead lovingly against his.

 Maybe he was still downright stupid sometimes— but hey, she was too. Maybe she still had a lot to learn about how love works— but hey, he did too.

 And now they could work it out together.

[llflorence]

When you are old - RatedE, Human AU, Professors, Soft, Gentle, Romantic.

He was late.

It was just after six in the evening and the sun was going down. Supper was long since ready, a lasagna bubbling cheesily in the still-warm oven. Easter break was well upon them. Aziraphale should have been relieved. But he was late, and no amount of pacing the front room was bringing Crowley home any faster.

Home. Wasn't that a splendid thing? It had taken the resumption of second semester for them to admit it. Crowley had stayed over most nights in January with various excuses: the heat was out at his apartment, the kids downstairs were partying again, he didn't have any clean clothes and could he please borrow Aziraphale's washer?

The honeymoon stage of their affair was hardly over. If Aziraphale was being honest with himself, he doubted it ever would. Crowley was incredibly clever and inventive. Sex with him never included the same body parts in the same configurations in the same location, wearing the same amount of clothing. And Aziraphale hadn't even revealed any of his fantasies. He was having much too much fun with Crowley's.

So when Crowley's lease was up in February, they packed up his things. It wasn't much. Apparently, most of his belongings were still in storage, waiting for the spring months when they could be moved to the River House. Aziraphale tried, to no avail, to convince him to bring his plants. The greenhouse had plenty of room for the green beauties. And the snakes were welcome, too, of course.

Something glinted in those ridiculous amber eyes. "In time, Love. Patience."

Aziraphale could be patient. He was doing it now, in fact. Between picking up and putting down his book to peer out the kitchen window for a long black car in the alley, he was waiting as gracefully as he knew how.

At half past, he popped open the bottle of wine and poured himself a generous glass. Perhaps it would help with the growing anxiety. Perhaps not.

After the second glass, he poured a third and began to compose a text message, staring out across the back garden and trying to sound as if he weren't worried. Crowley often worked late, got caught up with a student in their office or immersed himself in a podcast or Youtube and lost track of time. But he always sent Aziraphale a message with an apology.

Aziraphale's head felt a little floaty and his skin was slightly flushed. Nose tingling, face numb, he dismissed the flash of light inside the greenhouse as his delayed reaction to a passing car. But it happened again, and then once more. It couldn't be a trick. There was a light glowing from the building and a shape moving inside.

It didn't even occur to Aziraphale it could have been anyone else. He didn't need to check the alley. Didn't have to send his message. He set down his phone, secured the full glass in hand, and opened the back door.

Aziraphale was not prepared for what he encountered inside the greenhouse. Not only was it sweltering hot, temperature-wise, but his boyfriend was bent over, muttering to himself as he leaned forward into the koi pond. 

Shirtless.

The lighting was soft, one of those overhead strings that was meant purely for decoration. It lit up the man's back, sweaty as it was. His hair was tied up with one of those bendable plant stakes, lean muscles flexing taut and falling lax as he attempted to pull something out of the tank.

A drip of sweat trickled down the side of one shoulder, following the protrusion of the shoulder blade and into the fissure between the muscles in his beautiful back. Aziraphale moaned.

"Oh, my!"

Crowley heard the pathetically lust-filled sound. He turned to look over his shoulder.

"'Ziraphale! What time is it?"

Who cared what time it was? Aziraphale was busy.

Crowley laughed when Aziraphale followed the trail the drop of sweat had taken with a finger. "Crap, Darlin.' I was gonna surprise you! Guess I lost track of time."

A gap had formed in the jeans at the middle of Crowley's back, allowing Aziraphale to see that he wasn't wearing any underwear! This was normal, of course, but there was something inviting about the darkness below that hinted at the man's spread cheeks.

Aziraphale slid his hand into that space.

"Whoah, Babe! Let me finish, almost done! Can't you tell how bloody hot it is in here?"

The slight rebuff that came in the form of a wiggle of Crowley's spine sobered him a bit. Come to think of it, it was rather warm indeed.

"What happened?" he asked, hooking a finger in the loop at Crowley's back and crouching next to him. He handed the glass to his lover to be able to brace a palm on the tiled floor to better peer into the pond.

"Ohh!" Crowley sighed, pulling back and accepting the drink greedily. "You are a fucking Angel."

As he downed it, Aziraphale watched the swallowing motion of Crowley's throat. He so wanted to bury his face there. 

"Ahhh! That hit the spot!" Crowley looked over and grinned at Aziraphale, lips shining wet with white wine. He leaned in and kissed the corner of Aziraphale's mouth, inhaling deeply before laughing again.

"Oh, I must be late for you to start without me! What time's it?"

Aziraphale had to do some math. The synapses in his brain were misfiring. "Erm. Nearly seven?"

Crowley's jaw dropped and he set the glass carefully on his opposite side. "Oh, Sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I owe you big time."

Aziraphale wholeheartedly agreed. "Yes, you do."

"Well, I think you'll forgive me when you see what I've done." His smile was blinding. "See, the pond heater went out this morning, so I cranked up the room temperature —"

"The heater went out?" How had he not noticed? His fish could have died!

"Don't worry," Crowley cooed, pressing a hot, wet hand to Aziraphale's thigh. "I bought a better one and got home early to install it. Check out these features!"

The ridiculous man began pointing out the little thermostats and timers and gadgets and whatnots, and Aziraphale, hearing that word 'home' come out of Crowley's mouth, had never been so in love.

He tugged Crowley to his feet by the belt loop and crushed their mouths together. The empty wine glass splashed as it tipped over into the pond, and Crowley clutched Aziraphale's ass with both hands.

"Well, aren't you just —?"

Aziraphale yanked the door open and began to pull him outside, but Crowley resisted. "Hang on there, Angel Darling. I need to turn the heat down."

He produced a remote out of that impossibly tiny, tight front pocket so close to the tantalizing soft bulge of testicle, grinning wickedly as he punched a few buttons.

"It'll work inside the house too. You won't even have to set foot out —"

Aziraphale bent and hoisted Crowley over his shoulder. The man stuck his fingers under Aziraphale's loose shirt and into his trousers until he had a very firm grasp of both buttocks. He laughed and laughed and laughed until they were back in the kitchen, kissing and kissing and kissing.

"Angel," Crowley mumbled against the side of Aziraphale's cheek, hands busy slipping his jeans off like a snake shed skin. "What would you like me to do to you? Just say the word, and I'll do it."

Aziraphale knew. He'd been gearing himself up for it. Fueled by that little bit of extra courage, he leaned back against the counter and tried very hard not to beg. 

(That, he would save for later. It seemed to be something Crowley liked very much, often enough so that it would send him over.)

"You remember that thing you did with your finger?"

Crowley kicked free from his jeans, never losing eye contact. "You'll have to be more specific, Love. My finger's been in every possible hole you have and done some pretty shocking things."

Aziraphale vaguely recalled some of those moments, but one in particular had him practically panting.

"That time we skipped our fancy dinner date to stay home and take a bath?"

Crowley's face lit up; he remembered. "Ah, you require a little prostate milking? Is that correct?"

Aziraphale was never very good with dirty talk. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. Crowley did insist on calling him 'Angel.'

"Yes, please." Aziraphale paused to take a deep breath, fully aware that Crowley was waiting for more. "And I would like to lie on your lap while you –"

Crowley leaned forward with eyebrows raised, nodding encouragingly. Stark naked. "And?"

He placed hands on hips and allowed his gaze to trail a path from the top of Aziraphale's head to the bare feet on the kitchen floor. "What exactly would you like me to do while you're in my lap?"

Crowley was cruel. Aziraphale was still fully dressed.

Thoughts raced in circles inside his head, words lost along the way. Aziraphale wrung his hands and tried desperately not to sweat. "I – I don't know."

It wasn't good enough for Crowley. He clucked his tongue and swung slowly from side to side. The partially turgid length of him followed the motion a hair late. Aziraphale found himself hypnotized, found he couldn't look away as Crowley raised a finger to his lips and then sucked noisily on the tip.

"How about," he teased, pulling his fingertip out and studying it closely. "You're sprawled all Victorian-like in my lap, arse quivering in the air, leaking cock between my knees. And how about if you let me play until you're begging me to stop?"

Aziraphale hurried to discard his shirt, but Crowley stopped him.

"Ah ah. Let me. It's the least I can do for making you wait."

It was one of Crowley's favorite things, undressing Aziraphale. He verbally and physically worshipped each inch of exposed skin as he went, piece by piece, minute by achingly painful minute.

Aziraphale positively loved it.

He didn't realize how embarrassing his request was until he lay across Crowley's lap with his trousers around his ankles. There was something intimately terrifying about it, something that made him feel vulnerable and ashamed. But Crowley seemed to know how to ease those worries. With gentle, adoring fingers and encouraging, loving words. Aziraphale was literally in good hands.

"I love you like this." Crowley paused his gentle stroking. He'd arranged pillows for Aziraphale to rest on. Raised slightly, he was very cognizant of the fact, with Crowley's legs spread wide, their cocks were deliciously close. "All trusting and unafraid. Letting me tease and squeeze you."

Aziraphale scoffed. If only Crowley knew how self-conscious he felt, skin bare and on display, with the lights on, no less.

Crowley continued kneading the meat of Aziraphale's ass, moving closer and closer to the target destination. "And I know you think you're imperfect." A fingernail dipped into his crack and grazed the entrance. Aziraphale gasped. Crowley groaned. "But you're so god damn attractive. It's like you're made for me."

The words of praise went right to Aziraphale's head, and he wiggled his bottom a bit. He could feel the jiggling ripple effect as the loose flesh moved until Crowley grabbed and pulled, and a wet finger slid over his hole.

"Oh." It was frightfully thrilling knowing that Crowley was wetting him with his very own spit. 

Crowley did it again, finger catching the edge of Aziraphale's rim, teasing the pucker open. Moaning along with Aziraphale as he did.

"I will never understand how something so small can give so  much pleasure." His finger pushed inside, the fingernail a hard scrape as it entered. "Just as much enjoyment for the giver as the receiver."

Crowley shifted his body forward, pulling Aziraphale's cheeks apart with one hand and holding him against his chest. "I could do this forever, Angel. You hear me? Forever!"

Aziraphale closed his eyes as he focused on the stretching caress of Crowley's finger. They'd shared hundreds of I love you's and talked about the near future many times. But hearing Crowley confess eternity while the whole of his finger was shoved up Aziraphale's bum was overwhelming, to say the least.

"Gotta get the right angle," Crowley muttered to himself as he pressed and pushed and held Aziraphale into his lap. "Almost got it. Almost. There!"

The poking around was enough to send Aziraphale's gut clenching. But this, this – prodding of his prostate – was a shot of pure pleasure that exploded in his core.

"Oh, f –"

"Yeah," Crowley growled as he pulsed his wrist upward. He stroked Aziraphale from the inside, drawing out an urgent kind of primal need. Something he would never be able to hold back.

Aziraphale expected Crowley to stretch it out, to tease and cause frantic elation before pulling it all back. But his actions continued forward as Aziraphale began to cramp. His insides seized up and his body arched up.

"Fuck, Crowley." Several gasps in quick succession. "I'm going to c-come."

Crowley could be a bastard, but tonight he was anything but. He urged Aziraphale on with hot breath against the skin of his backside.

(Kissing was fantastic alone or in conjunction with touching. Kisses on his ass was something Aziraphale didn't know he needed so.)

Craving friction and feeling near bursting from agony, Aziraphale rocked his pelvis in Crowley's lap. His cock caught the couch cushions and pressed into the underside of Crowley's thigh. Something hot and heavy and soft and throbbing reached up from below. And Aziraphale came.

"Holy shit, Angel!" Crowley was always so surprised by Aziraphale's orgasms. "I bet you could squeeze my finger right off if you wanted to."

Aziraphale groaned in between panted exhales and the rapid pace of the pulse in his throat. Even though he was lying down, he was completely worn out.

Crowley gently pulled his finger out and resumed stroking the curve of Aziraphale's ass. He muttered things like, "So gorgeous," and, "luckiest guy on earth."

Several minutes later, stomach radiating warmth and soul sated, Aziraphale turned his body to look at Crowley. He was still studying Aziraphale's backside.

"Thank you, my Dear. Would you like to –?" Aziraphale didn't know if Crowley had come or not.

"Nah," his lover declined. "Figured I can have mine later."

Aziraphale, tired as he was, feeling lightheaded and a tad giddy, thought Crowley deserved the world after an orgasm like that. "That was absolutely perfect."

Crowley grinned at him and then lifted his head to the ceiling. "This whole thing with us is absolutely perfect."

They washed and dressed and returned to the kitchen for a great, big hug at the sink and a slow, deep kiss by the fridge. They ate mostly warm lasagne and finished off the wine.

Later, skin to skin under the covers, minutes after Crowley thoroughly rogered him from behind, Aziraphale thought about that word again: forever.

"Crowley? Can I ask you a question?"

Anthony J. Crowley, professional Bed Hog, rolled himself even closer. His leg was actually quite heavy atop Aziraphale's. "Angel? After what we did tonight, you can ask me anything,"

The question had drifted about his mind for a few months at that point. It felt right to ask it then.

"Have you ever – I mean, if it's something you're interested in – have you ever thought about getting –"

Aziraphale's phone rang from the stand by the bed. The glow from the screen showed the caller to be Anathema.

Adrenaline was immediately released and he flung his arm over Crowley's chest, stretching to be able to reach. 

"Anathema? Is everything OK?"

It was impossible not to hear the tired smile in her voice. "Yes, Uncle. Everything is just fine. Just wanted to let you know we have a baby, and it's a girl."

Aziraphale sat right up, and Crowley joined him. An arm slipped heavily around his neck and he was being hugged from behind.

"Are they here? Did it happen?"

Aziraphale was beyond ecstatic. He spoke to Crowley right into the phone.

"Yes! She's here!:

Anathema laughed softly and gave a deep sigh. "Here. Talk to Newt. They're here to give her a bath."

Newt was a blithering, stuttering mess. Spilling headlong into the tale of their daughter's birth. Aziraphale listened with a smile so large it hurt, and Crowley sought out his hand in the dark to press kisses to his knuckles.

"Tell them congrats," Crowley whispered in his ear. "Ask when we can visit. And if we can bring anything they need."

Aziraphale relayed the message and was invited the second visiting hours began in the morning. And then Newt went quiet for a moment. Hushed silence that allowed background noises to be heard.

"Listen. Aziraphale. Anathema and I have been talking. We would like you to be the godfather. If that's something you would like."

Crowley tightened his hold, squeezing the daylights out of him. He was just as excited as Aziraphale. Just as contentedly happy.

"Of course I'll be the godfather. I am honored! Thank you so much!"

The call was cut short when Newt was called away to help with the bath, and Anathema sounded exhausted, so Aziraphale wished her a good night's rest.

Crowley pulled him back into the tangle of blankets, shifting and prodding until Aziraphale was situated within his bodily grasp. "You're going to be such a wonderful godfather. I can already tell. I hope we get to see the baby lots and lots and lots."

Aziraphale, warm and snuggled and nearly brimming with tears of joy, thought about their visit to the hospital in the morning. It reminded him he'd been asking a question, and he wasn't to be deterred.

"Do you think you'll ever be married?"

Crowley stiffened and the humid breath on Aziraphale's neck stalled. For a moment, terror seized him and he wished he hadn't said a word.

But Crowley's body relaxed and he pulled Aziraphale impossibly closer. "I think that, yes, definitely. We could become an Us."

When you are old on AO3

[yesistolethisurl]

for the AU game: durgetash + medieval fantasy AU!

Aah, thank you for the ask! ☺️ We're borrowing from a couple of folktales for this one (mostly The Soldier & Death), but here we go:

Once upon a time, a poor couple gave their son to the devil in exchange for a flour sack. The devil told the couple that anything they ordered to get into the sack would do so, be it crops or game or wealth.

Years later, when the devil was at war with a local lord, the boy had grown into a man, wicked and clever. The war was at a standstill, but the man remembered the flour sack he'd been traded for, and returned to his parent's home to steal it. When he was discovered, he ordered them to get into the bag. He then surrendered to the lord the devil had been at war with, only to order the lord to get in the sack as well. When the devil tried to order the man back into his service, he bid the devil step into the sack as well.

Years passed and the man grew rich and powerful. The time came for the man to die, and death paid him a visit. Death knew him by reputation though, having "swallowed the devil whole," and decided to disguise herself as a young woman in order to get close to him.

The man was quite taken with her, but couldn't help noticing that the animals & plants around her grew sick and died. When he began to grow sickly, he knew that she must be Death, come to take him away. He ordered the woman into the sack, and the world became Deathless.

Years passed, and nothing in the world died, no matter how much it wanted to. The man left the sack tied up in a high tower so that no one would dare open it (though he himself peered into it from time, as Death was the most beautiful thing in his possession). One day, a raven flew up to the tower, and thought the sack would make for fine nesting material. The raven tore away the tiniest pinhole of cloth, and immediately Death escaped, sweeping the man, his parents, the lord, and the devil all back to hell. Death thanked the raven, and gave it a gift; while no one would ever escape Death again, the raven and it's family would always see her coming.

[ofmermaidstories]

hello, darling mermsy!! i’m back, yet again, with another brainrot proposal for you — but this time for our blasty boy!

we’ve heard of dekules, but are we ready for bakushang? shangkugo? (basically just katsuki as li shang, i’m realising only now that there’s no easy way to merge their names together <//3) they’re both tall, dark, brooding, but are soft and caring if you get through to them deep enough. our courageous, troublemaking Y/N and the newly appointed captain of the emperor’s army, bakugo katsuki! what a perfect match!!

i believe this isn’t by any means an original idea!! i know andy has a fic about this (it’s absolutely incredible, melted my brain just three chapters in) if u haven’t already read it!!! just wanted to get your take on this if u haven’t already done one yet, bc i recently rewatched the 1998 mulan and had the lightbulb to word vomit about this to you!!!

hansy!!! my love!!! i’m sorry, i meant to slip into your inbox to wish you well/ask how your exams went—are you free from the perils of schoolwork, yet??? you’re so clever, i bet you did well. 🥺🍀

but okay let’s play, LOL. War Paint was one of the very first BNHA x Reader fics I ever read so I will always be fiercely loyal to it!!! Saying that, and I mean this with nothing but absolute love Andy, DONT @ ME, but reading War Paint gave me less Mulan vibes and more Song of the Lionness ones.

(Simplifying it—really simplifying it—a girl pretends to be her twin brother so she can train as a knight! There’s lots of magic and even some romance and Tamora Pierce has been one of my favourite authors since I was a kid!)

I think it has to do with the fact that War Paint is focused on barrack/training/castle life and the subplot with the thief—whereas when I think of Mulan, I think of war.

Mulan is one of my favourite 🅱️isney movies!!! I first saw it when my primary school had a fundraiser—they set up a projector and screened Mulan and I very distinctly remember being overwhelmingly excited as the opening credits started (I nearly choked on my red twists/twizzlers) and my Dad telling me I had to be quiet LOL. If I had to make a graphic showcasing all the fundamental pieces of media to both my personality and who I became as a person, Mulan would be centre of it. 🥹

(PSA: true to your heart is a bop and has been in my liked songs on spotty ever since i’ve had an account!)

Tbh, I’d never seriously tackle a Mulan-inspired fic just out of respect for Andie Trousers Multipled by Several, but if I did, I would absolutely play hard into the war angle LOL. Maybe even indulge in some war crimes!!! You know that scene where they finally make it to the village in the pass and it’s been burnt to the ground? Yeah. Yeah. 😌 I think we can ramp that up. Have our Reader and Captain Bakugou & Co engage in some Revenge War Crimes. People are bastards in wars already, without feeling justified about it. I was literally just watching a documentary the other week about some Aussie soldier who’s facing trial (has faced trial?) for being an absolute cunt—one of his lighter cruelties involved him shooting a family’s tied-up dog as he searched their home, so take that, take the power people feel like they have when you give them a weapon and a uniform, and then put them in front of a massacred village and see what happens next. 🔪

And idk id guess there’d be a romance in there somewhere too. 💀💀💀💀 tbh im more interested in the war tho LOL. (BECAUSE!!!! LISTEN!!! i like a challenge!!!!!!!! And I think trying to fic-ify an AU that dovetails closely to the (🅱️isney) Mulan tale brings up a lot of interesting questions when it comes to world-building, and like what you need to avoid/honour, especially if you’re borrowing from an actual, real world culture for it. The Mulan legend is Chinese, for starters—and My Hero has a Japanese cast written by a Japanese man. So, okay, maybe to simplify things for ourselves we Fantasy-AU it—but then do we eurocentric the world around them, to play it safe? Is that less playing it safe and more whitewashing? My Hero being Japanese informs the canon characters, which are traits that spill over into our fanon. Traits that we love! So is it a disservice to them to strip them of it, just so we can play War? Does this stripping make it worse when we bring in atrocities like slain villagers, and revenge acts? Do we honour canon by letting them keep their Quirks? How badly does that ramp up things then???? Like, idk, I could literally bang on about this for hours (and have, in the group chat LMAO im sorry besties 😭))

This is literally too much overthinking for your ask, Hansy, I’m sorry. 😭 ITS IMPORTANT THO. Because the world around them informs our characters!!!! So pretending we sort all that out, now we have our upstart, hot-as-shit Captain Bakugou, who has idolised General Toshinori for years now—and he’s out to prove he can train the best of them!!! Except he’s working with like, farm boys! Gutter-rats, given the choice of this or execution! Maybe there’s a cohort of like, genuine scrappers, but Captain Baku here has deliberately been given the bottom of the conscript list: this is a test. And I!! Personally!!! Think that should make him an utter bastard when dealing with our Reader!!! I think in canon, Bakugou is like, learning that people need more than to be told “u suck, do better” so I like to believe Captain Bakugou would try—maybe he and his lil friends learnt hard in a trial by fire when they were kids, during the First War—so he’s earnt this leadership role. But he’s used to fighting with peers! Peers that knew what they were doing! And now he has to oversee the training of like, the most inept civilians he’s ever witnessed! I think we could justify him losing his cool—specifically with our Reader. 😌

A Reader who doesn’t take it!!! I’ve always liked that in 🅱️isney’s Mulan, she does it for her father. So I’d give that same motivation to our Reader—a tomboy who’s always been better at giving the village boys a run for their money in their little games, who’s always wanted to go and play with them when they roughhouse. Maybe to make things more interesting, we introduce a fiancé—one of those same village boys! They grow up together, have an arranged match. Maybe he’s genuinely kind, in love with Reader whereas Reader’s just kinda like, ho-hum—but then the War pt. 2 rolls in, and he’s swept off in the first round of conscription (so that there’s no one left to volunteer in Reader’s place for her dad, in the next round!).

Oh. You know what? We could ramp up that massacred village scene by making his platoon or whatever they’re called the ones that were stationed there—so Reader finds fiancé’s helmet!!!!! And then she’s all like, omg, 😧. And then she could tie it to her saddlebags and eventually bring it home to his folks. 🥺

(Reader and Bakugou could prop themselves up in their grief, maybe? Because I know in the film the stationed army is overseen by Li Shang’s father, right? So maybe in this version it’s like, idk, Jeanist or Edgeshot or something. Maybe Endeavour? Less because I think Bakugou would be cut up about it, and more because that means we could throw Todoroki in there as well, like, presumed dead (and then he’s NOT because I know Andy would have my head if I killed off her Special Angel Man in a fic!!!), but then that means in the meantime that Bakugou can mourn one of his besties (and they are besties!!!)).

I don’t want a dumbass Bakugou, either, so I think we’d have to follow Andy’s lead and have our Captain clue in early-on that Reader has been lying about their identity. And Bakugou just admires tenacity so he’s less like omg my gendernorms are being called into question and more like FUCK why won’t this useless extra get better at FIGHTING??? That could also maybe make any romantic moments kinda interesting—Reader could have this whole internal thing of, oh my God, he doesn’t know the truth, I’m terrible, is he going to be embarrassed when he finds out??? And then you have the actual reveal—someone else making the discovery, and wanting Reader executed for it, and then Bakugou’s refusal to do so is less a begrudging “you saved my life, and now my debt is paid” and more a silent confession of his feelings!!!!

I just—there’s so much you could do!! There’s so much you could do with all of that!!! Urk!!!! I wanna rip into it with my TEETH. I just—aJFDLKSFJLKSDFJLdmfhfskdmhj.