#dammit daisy

[firstdegreefangirl]

Chenford + 4. lending them your clothes

"Lucy, you're freezing." Tim rubs his hands up and down your arms.

"Tim, it's fine, really," she argues, but still pouts when he takes a step back.

"It's not. You don't have to lie to me about this." He adds or anything, but the words are muffled by the layers of sweatshirt material he's pulling over his head. "Here."

"It's fine, you don't have to be cold on my accou-"

"Arms up." Tim's voice drops into the sort of harsh command she's hardly heard since her days as his rookie. When she complies, he works the sleeves over her hands and helps keep her ponytail from snagging on the neckhole.

When his hands have smoothed the hem down across her waist, he moves away again. The fabric is still warm from his body, and the combined scent of his body wash and their laundry detergent envelop her.

The sleeves hang over her hands, the word METRO emblazoned down each arm.

Immediately, she's warmer and cozier than she's been since their shared stakeout began.

But the warmest thing of all is the smile on Tim's face, watching her relax into his sweatshirt.

Send me a Friends or More prompt!

[syl-stormblessed]

inside of you there are 2 wolves. one of them is listening to Regret Me on repeat. the other is crying in the corner because you’ll never get to hear “And Baby, when you think of me // I hope it ruins rock ‘n’ roll”

[jayssgatsby]

My sister asked her friend if she wanted to watch The Great Gatsby earlier. Cue me emerging from my room with three copies of the book, a playlist, a tumblr blog, an Instagram account, art, and over a dozen fic recs.

[piko-power]

I just woke up from this weird false-awakening kind of dream.

I woke up at 7, so I just went back to sleep, thinking about the Parade that's gonna come on soon and that I still have a few hours. This is where the dream started.

When I "woke up", I turned on the TV and put on the channel where me and my family usually watch the Parade. It's only a few minutes until the Parade so I left the TV on and just watch random crap on my Kindle.

Then I came across a Nintendo Direct that went live an hour ago. I checked it out, and it was cool! Lot's of new games I wanted to see, and this Princess Peach and Daisy third person game where they explore an old ruined, ancient city, accompanied by a younger Rosalina. (That's the Mario Galaxy's girl's name right?)

Then they played an Animal Crossing: New Horizons update FULL of things I wanted to see in that said update, including Villagers being given lore and their own events you can play out for them as the game goes on. (Like that wedding event or something)

I was starting to think that this is all too good to be true, 40 minutes into the Direct. I scrolled down to see the channel's name, which is, and I quote: "URL Of The Day"

Realizing that I was watching a fake Nintendo Direct, I was SOOOOOO understandably pissed. I clicked out of the video and then I noticed the clock.

Somehow it was 10:07 it the morning and I missed the first hour of the Parade.

I was so upset from missing most of the Parade because of a dumb fanmade Direct that I just, woke up finally. I even got worried for a second and checked on the clock, and it's 8. Thank God I didn't miss anything XD

I've been playing Animal Crossing too much. 😩

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 2 day 5, more in-between frames, woop woop!!!!

[mythologaze]

saw this on twitter the other day and genuinely have no idea how i've never seen this before but HERE'S HOW DAISY FANS CAN STILL WIN-

[asteralien]

i'm always wanting desperately to write about angels but gomens2 is making me borderline rabid

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

[fan-mans]

Tbh, a good character turning evil over the course of a story is equally, if not more narratively interesting in some cases, than a bad character being redeemed- especially f the motivation behind it is in some way understandable or outright noble (Going evil for a just cause, going evil for love, going evil for self-preservation, etc.)

[a-b-riddle]

A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter Two: Numbness & Pain

Daisy

I always used to think it was an exaggeration of how pregnancy is a constant state of exhaustion. But it was a lot of work growing a tiny human. Add in the fact that I'm still working 40 + hours a week and, of course, something is always causing some sort of discomfort or pain.

Swollen feet, back pain, nausea; I can't even find any solace in sleep. The 32 week mark felt so close, yet still so far. Another eight or so weeks of this seems like a drop in the bucket compared to how far along I am, but still. That still another two months. So far away when you want to be done, but still too short compared to everything I still have yet to do.

Another two months to set up a crib and wash her new clothes. Another two months to figure out a name and make decisions that I always envisioned making with a partner. Another two months of struggling to do things like picking up shit off the floor or staying on my feet long enough to make a decent meal.

But right now, I wasn't worried about the two months ahead of me and all the things I still have to do. Right now, I was looking forward to a three day undisturbed weekend. The pain in my feet and sciatica was becoming so bad, I had taken Friday off to see a doctor and spend the rest of the weekend doing nothing, but sitting in my modest little house and watching mind rotting television. I might even indulge in some spicy reading. Heaven knows its been too long.

Or at least, it hasn't been since them. That day in the office, but... that really didn't count. I often wrestled with myself about it. That one time erased any feelings I had for any of them. But I felt a bit pathetic how it now tainted every good memory I had with them. Kyle bringing me something to snack on when he realized I hadn't gone to the mess hall. Price always having a cup of earl grey tea cooling for me first thing in the morning. Two packs of zero calorie sweetner and a bit of honey.

Sweet like you.

I couldn't stand the smell of it now. I blamed it on the hormones. A lot of things made me queasy, but something about the smell of the bergamot, made me sick in a completely different way. A feeling not of nausea, but of... fear. Like the same way a pentagram could summon demons, earl grey could summon mine. As if John Price was somehow there any time the scent lingered in the air.

But he wasn't. None of them were. Fuck. Why did my thoughts always go back to them at some point? No. This was going to be a relaxing weekend god dammit. Fuck them.

Almost angrily, I hit the garage key fob, shutting the door and engulfing me into darkness; a thin line of light leaking through the bottom of the garage door. When I had opened my door, I could at least see a path to my mudroom. I grabbed my purse, ready to go in, when I felt it.

Hundreds of needles. Stabbing and digging into my feet. Not just the soles, but the entire fucking foot the moment I bared any weight on them. I pulled off my flats and it was then I noticed how angry they looked. Red and swollen and all but screaming at me to sit my fat ass back down. I wiggled my toes, trying to get some blood flow. Fuck. Why didn't they hurt while I was driving?

I manage to get onto my feet, using the car door as support. Steading myself until I was ready to take the first step. By the time I had managed to all but crawl inside, ten minutes had passed since my initial arrival time. I got off at 5:00, but usually didn't log off until almost 6:00. Granted, I work from home, but I had run out of a few essentials. Essentials now that were in the boot of my car.

Fuck.

10 minutes won't hurt. Not like there is any thing frozen. Speaking of which, I forgot my ice cream... dammit. I really need to start keeping a list on the fridge. It's hard to remember when pregnancy brain (or stomach) takes over and I slam a container in a single sitting.

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, I went to the kitchen. Which considering the town house, or terraced housing I suppose now, was perfect for a single and expecting Omega it was cozy. Not like the base where going from the common area to the chow hall was about a three minute stroll.

I get down and lay on my back. Carefully maneuvering so my ass rests against the cabinets before I hook the back of my heels unto the counter top so I could rest my feet a bit. Not the most sanitary, but it wasn't like I had guests. It was just me. For now.

It took a few moments to adjust. My back ached against the hardwood, but I could already feel the relief from my feet and legs. It wasn't all that shocking that I was having a hard time with them. I had gained a considerable amount of weight during my pregnancy. When I had brought it up to the OBGYN about possibly cutting back on food, her suggestion was to simply not weigh myself at home. Now when I went in for a visit they made me turn around before taking my weight.

It was hard. I've always had a problem with how I looked and now adding pregnancy then taking away the option to diet and exercise didn't exactly help.

I pulled out my phone and was preparing to open my kindle app when I saw a tiny red bar in the top right corner of my phone. Of course. I get nice and settled and my phone is on 2 fucking percent. Whatever. I tell Alexa to set an a timer for fifteen minutes and take a little nap. Maybe meditate.

A knock on the door quickly brings any possibility of relaxation to a pause. Margaret next door was dropping off Winnie off early to go to her book club. Margaret was a widow and a recent empty nester. She had spent her life as a mother and a homemaker. When I got custody of Winnie two months ago, she had quickly stepped up in helping me with everything from child rearing to managing my pregnancy.

"Hello, Maggie!" I greeted from the floor. "Hello, Winnie Darling." Winnie had the same sand colored hair as me and bright green eyes. Her face was a shade of red and I could smell her from the entryway. Someone would need a bath today. Fantastic.

"Oh, Dear!" Maggie fussed, setting Winnie down on her feet before coming over to me. "Are you alright?" Winnie didn't bother stopping to hug me like she normally would before making a beeline toward the potty. She usually was a creature of habit, but nature calls I suppose.

"Feet are a bit swollen." I waved off. "Just resting them a bit."

"I don't have to go tonight." She set her bag down. A deep green corduroy shoulder bag that always had just what you needed in it. A wet wipe, hand sanitizer, a spare tissue and even a stain pen when a spill happened at the most inconvenient time. "I'll stay and-"

"Maggie." I said, trying my best to sound at firm, but it was hard with her. No one told Maggie 'no'. "It's alright. Just a bit of water retention. Nothing to fret over." And it wasn't. I could already feel the pain from earlier subside.

"Really, it's no bother." She argued, bending over to unstrap one of her shoes. "It's a bloody stupid book anyway. I just go for the gossip really."

"Maggie." I tried again. "Really."  "It's getting close to the due date and I don't want to burn out on me just yet." It was a lie. Even with her greying hair, a deepened laugh line, Maggie didn't burn out. She was one of the few Omegas I had met in my life and she could run circles around any of them, myself included.

The sound of flushing sounded from the bathroom followed by the faucet. She huffed before slipping her shoe back on. "If you insist."

"I do." I encouraged. As much as I loved having Maggie's help, I hated feeling like a burden. She had raised her children. It was time for her to do things for herself. "Besides, we'll see you tomorrow after my appointment tomorrow." The bathroom door clicked open, revealing my little Win with the front of her smock covered in water. Fantastic.

"Hi, Mommy." Winnie finally greeted. Her freshly washed hands dripping water droplets onto the hardwood. "What are you doing?"

"My feet hurt so I'm just letting them rest." I explained, looking up at her. Winnie was rambunctious as most four-year-olds without a sense of self preservation are, but when I explained to her how careful she had to be now that I had her sister in my belly, her nature had become more gentle.

It worried me as much as it warmed my heart. 

"Why don't you sit on the couch?" She asked. Her head tilting to the side, face etched as if she were trying to figure out my reasoning.

"Because it helps when you lift your feet up high in the sky, Winnie Pooh." Maggie explained before looking back at me. "Well if you're sure-"

"I am. Go." I urged. "We'll see you tomorrow. Lunch around noon?" Spending time with Maggie didn't make me feel like such a parasite when I knew she enjoyed the company. Her children had all moved away, only one staying in the UK. She wasn't so alone, but neither was I.

"Wouldn't miss it." She gave a soft smile. The laugh lines around her face deepening. "See you tomorrow, Dearies." She said, retreating back outside. The soft sound of the door clicking behind her.

Winnie had laid down beside me. Yep. Definitely going to need a bath tonight. "How was school today?" Winnie went to a pre-school that was luckily covered under my insurance. Perks of being an Omega. I'll take it where and when I can.

She talked about going to the playground and painting. All the usual bits. Who she played with and new things she learned. Then came the question. A question she had asked before in passing. A subject I changed with ease before. 'Have you brushed your teeth? How about another episode of Bluey? Put on your trainers (because we can't just say tennis shoes anymore) and we'll go for a walk to the park. I had skirted around the question with ease. 

"Why don't you have a mate if you have a baby?" Winnie was too young to get the answers to a lot of life's difficult questions. Why did Tiffany not like us? Why didn't she get to see her daddy anymore? Why did that man look at you weird on the train, mommy?  I wish she would just stay this little. That she never needed or want to know the harsh truths about me, us.

"I..." I wracked my brain for an answer and just came up short. I couldn't think of a way to sugarcoat it. We almost had a mate. Mates. We almost had a pack that would have walked you to school on the mornings my feet were too sore or I was already running late. They would have loved you. "It... it's complicated, Darling." Is what I chose instead. The other worrisome fact is that Winnie was too young to understand the concept about mates. I had never broached the subject which only means she probably heard it from some little shithead at school. 

Wonderful.

"I'll explain it when you're older." I promise, closing my eyes and letting her snuggle into the crook of my arm. "Do you wanna rest your eyes with me?"

"Like when I'm five?" She asks putting one of her hands underneath my shirt onto my belly. It had become a thing she had started since I told her about the baby.

"Maybe six." I said, looking down at her. She gave a yawn before closing her eyes.

"I think five is better."

"Okay, Win." I said. "When you're five we'll talk about it." It was a promise I hoped she would forget. But I didn't want to negotiate with a four-year-old about something future me could deal with. I wanted just 15 minutes of this. I order Alexa to set a timer to make sure we haven't dozed too far off. Winnie still needed to shower and eat. I still needed to get the groceries out of the car. But I could spare another 15 minutes.

[firstdegreefangirl]

It's a better story for the GRANDKIDS.

they have GRANDKIDS now? Nice.

[alientee]

I need more chubby reader fics/HC with Ozzie or Vox I would kill for it!

I don’t know vox like that but because you’re his wife I got you!

Vox shows you off as much as he can. He needs to let everyone know he has the prettiest wife in all of hell. Will fuck with Valentino and let him know he could never. Always gripping your ass or your thigh. If you try to hold his hand he moves it away and goes straight for your back pocket. (The little shit) but if it truly bothers you he’ll hold your hand but pout about it.

“Vox honey can we hold hands?” He looks at you with his eyebrow raised “but my hands comfy right here” he digs his hand even deeper in your pocket

Will literally get you a dress whenever you both are out. He loves seeing the gown hug your curves and how you both match in aesthetic. He loves it when you wear sundresses the most, he likes watching you ass jiggle. He will literally take all of your panties and throw them In the trash. (Yes he’s that petty.) “Vox! We’re are my panties!” “Don’t know what you’re talking about baby!” He chuckles a little seeing all the underwear stuffed in the trash. “Dammit Vox there expensive” he rolls his eyes “Eh I’ll get you some new ones”

Has you model for velvette, likes to see you walk in her shows seeing you confident and happy. Has Vel make you diffrent types of costumes and lingerie. Literally puts you in a sexy pose on all his screens.

He doesn’t sleep on pillows. At all. It’s either your chest or your ass. He doesn’t care if your sleep or tired he will turn you over to get in there. “Vox please let me sleep” he grumbles back “I am baby I’m just getting the pillow ready” he starts kneading your ass

He likes to put you in his show, doesn’t care if you doing nothing he just likes looking at you and seeing your beautiful smile and how you have fun with it.

If you two are having a dinner in public in a private spot he will keep a hand on a titty at all times. And no he will not remove it when the waiter comes.

His nicknames for you are pound cake, baby girl, and daisy.

I hope I did him justice for you! @voxs2wifexd

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

Beginning|| Previous || Next

It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

[asmosmainhoe]

The brothers playing Mario Party

Notes: I am back home and got some fresh and nice headcanons!❤

Gender: neutral

Warnings: heavy language

Lucifer

It takes a looooot of convincing and bribing to get him to play that with you

He has no favorite character. Just press of shuffle and get it over with

After a couple of mini games he becomes slightly competitive. The ones that require a good memory or anything with math or numbers are totally his thing

Whenever he wins those games and you glance over in a stealthy way you can see him shake his fist in victory. Don't let him catch you though otherwise he will be moody and broody throughout the entire game to proof that he in fact does not enjoy it (he does)

At one point he is extremely close to the last star like it's right infront of him, but a computer snatches away, because they threw a higher number. And that's its for him. There is no way he will pick up the game ever again

"This game is an insult and I shall not tolerate such disrespect. Why should I waste my precious time with something that is purely based on luck and no skill at all?"

Then watch him win due to the bonus stars and all of a sudden it was all skill, baby

Mammon

No one stands a chance against him when it comes to the coin mini games and he's also either on first or second place with the others just to get more money

The only problem is that he spends it all on items by the time he reaches a star

"What do ya mean I can't buy it?! Give me the star dammit!"

And then when he actually can buy a star he either switches positions with another character or gets teleported onto the complete other side of the map

I feel like he would choose Waluigi as a character and you give him a weird look for that

"What? He has long arms! I gotta swoop away the money somehow!"

Everytime he wins a mini-game or it's his turn he imitates Waluigi

Leviathan

He's a Mario Party god

You and the brothers have to unite to genuinely have a chance of winning the game and Levi doesn't know how to feel about it. On one hand he's offended that everyone is ganging up on him, but on the other it rubs his ego the right way

But he's the worst when it comes to explaining the controls to the others. Levi is the type to just throw you into it and give you half-explanations during the most heated moments

"How do I jump?"

"With the button!"

"What button?!"

"Don't worry, you died anyways."

"YOU FUCKING ASS WIPE, NEXT TIME ANSWER MY GODDAMN QUESTION-"

If anyone steals Yoshi away from him he will cry

And if you choose Mario he will make fun of you

Satan

It brings out the worst in him. Just leave him alone and nothing will happen to you

Mammon once made the mistake to steal a star from him and Levi had to buy a new controller the same day

The way he gangs up on Lucifer. Even when the first-born isn't on the first or second place he will always choose him to either steal from or play a 1v1 game

"You do realize that you gain nothing by bullying me, right?"

"Wrong. I gain everything I could ever ask for."

He's pretty bad in the mini-games that require a lot of button mashing or evading objects or where you have to stay on a platform for as long as possible

What usually happens with the latter is that he accidently runs off it the moment the game starts

If someone wrongs him once he will make sure that the person does not win no matter what it costs

Daisy is his go-to character honestly. She seems so feisty in his eyes

Asmodeus

He's surprisingly great at the game! His reflexes and precision almost match Levi's in many mini games

But Asmo is always the last one who wants to move on from the training

"Come on, Asmo! It's been forever!"

"Don't stress me!"

The amount of swearing this man does during the game comes to such a surprise for you all. Especially when he's super into a mini game or something like that

Like that one time when Lucifer stole something away from right under Asmo's nose

"You fucking bitch."

The first-born was too stun locked by that otherwise he would have let hellfire rain down on his brother

Asmo immediately fell in love with Peach and Toadette and he takes turn in playing with them depending which Mario Party you guys are playing

Beelzebub

The only one who's here for the fun bonding time with his family. He loves seeing everyone sit together and playing something even if they're all murdering each other over it

Just like Asmo he's doing fairly good with the difference that Beel's luck is unmatched. No one knows how or why, but he somehow always lands on the best spots on the map

When he's the last one standing during team games he gets so stressed out that he becomes like Satan and just walks off the map or something

"You got this, Beel."

No, he doesn't. Why are you making him so nervous?

Someone always has to take over his controller when it comes to button mashing games. There are way too many controllers that got broken by him, because he pressed too hard

He likes playing as Toad or Donkey Kong

Belphegor

Unhinged

One thing about him is that he doesn't play to win. He plays to fuck with everyone. There is no sense or strategy. Only fuckery

Depending on who is on his team during these type of games he will sabotage it on purpose and is all in all backstabbing everyone left and right

He's very dedicated on bullying either Lucifer or Mammon, but Asmo also isn't safe. It's just so funny to hear him screech and curse like a sailor

The bullying is balanced and fair though, but he sometimes does pick out a specific victim like if Levi wins too many rounds then he will decide to make his life miserable for the next couple ones

He chooses Yoshi from time to time to make Levi cry. Other than that he thinks that Birdo looks cool, but he usually goes for villainous looking characters to really bring up the spirit

---

Masterlist

[kaldurahms-lover]

i need a long angsty daisy jones and the six fanfic where the reader is like billy’s tour girlfriend and she’s so hopelessly in love with him, looking at him through rose colored glasses and just seeing this perfect guy, having no idea about camila.

until she does.

and obviously she has to break it off immediately because she doesn’t want to be the other woman. she didn’t ever want to be in this position.

and so she goes to graham, and she gets camila’s address to write her letter, and it has to be a letter because she knows if she calls then camila will just hang up

because that what she would do.

and the letter is so heartfelt and warm and apologetic and very obviously tear stained when camila gets it that she just can't bring herself to be mad at this poor girl who got just as cheated as she did. at this poor girl who broke i up with billy when she found out bc she knew what he did was wrong

and so camila writes back, and a friendship forms. an unexpected friendship, but a friendship nonetheless

and soon enough, once the baby is born, the reader finds herself driving across states to come see camila and julia because dammit billy is in rehab and she wants more help than just her mom and she wants to meet her friend she’s been calling and writing and sending photos to and from this whole time

and you know, the reader stays longer than she means to

long enough that something more than friendship is buzzing between them

long enough that the reader has taken billy’s place in bed next to camila

long enough that when billy comes home from rehab, she’s holding julia while camila buzzes her lips against the baby’s stomach.

obviously he’s flabbergasted because what the FUCK is his affair partner doing in his house with his wife and baby and why does his mother in law look totally unphased….

reader simply kissing cami’s temple and handing her julia, saying she’ll give them some time alone because she understands that they need it

GOD having to have the talk about what that means for the relationship and everything i’d lose my mind

both of you eventually coming to the decision you’ll give billy one more chance

and once he gets over that fear he’s a good dad. a good husband, a good boyfriend.

and then daisy fucking jones shows up.

that’s all i’ve thought out so far

[mmufanatic]

Here's my favourite 10 Daisy moments for her birthday:

1. In AFT when her and Bertie are DELIGHTED that they are trapped in a house with a dead body.

2. In FCM when she's like 'Ew. A boy" and tells Alexander he can't be a permanent member of the Detective Society.

3. In JFP when Hazel tricks her into admitting that it's a murder in front of Kitty, Beanie and Lavinia and she's like ,' Dammit Hazel! I taught you to do that!'

4. In MAM when Bertie says " I didn't know he was your George ' and she's like ' He's not MY George. Ew.'

5. Again MAM when she says ' Even Bertie's caught it' like love is a virus.

6. In DSS when Daniel Miller says she can't be police because she's a girl and she says that Hatshepsut was only a girl when she became pharaoh. He says 'I expect people complained about her too' and Daisy says 'I expect she chopped off their heads'.

7. In DSS when George says ' I think we like each other enough to tell each other when we're going wrong' and Daisy just says 'I don't like you '

8. In The Drowned Pearl when her and George are arguing over who's in charge.

9. In MAM when her and George are talking about unsolved cases together (because they all talk about their special interests together even though they've only just met and !!!!!!)

10. In The Case of the Missing Treasure when she's just pretending that she doesn't know Alexander.