Two Seconds
Aziraphale had been since the beginning of all things. Spent over 6000 years on Earth. Yet these days his whole existence could be contained in two seconds.
Two seconds where his body had succumb against fervent heat and desperate love.
Two seconds where he had listened and understood "This... this is what you want".
Two seconds where his hands had allowed themselves to take. Pushing taut, lean, angular body closer to his own quilted form.
Two seconds of "taste him", his own desperate plea. Mouth lightly opening, tip of tongue daring to tease slightly chapped lip.
Two seconds that powerful grip had tightened dragging him deeper. Of lips parting just a little bit more, responding to him.
Two seconds he had permitted himself to inhale. To breathe-in that intoxicating blend of Hell's eternal embers and the Humane scent of extremely expensive cologne.
Two seconds of nothing else. Of being enveloped, inhabited, consu...
"Aziraphale, you are needed". Michael's voice yanked him back to reality, almost as quickly as his own discord once had.
"I'm coming, just a moment. Give me just two more seconds."
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I am a man who will fight for your honor
I'll be the hero you're dreaming of
We'll live forever
Knowing together that we
Did it all for the glory of love
You keep me standing tall
You help me through it all
I'm always strong when you're beside me
I have always needed you
I could never make it alone
Just like a knight in shining armor
From a long time ago
Just in time, I will save the day
Take you to my castle far away
I am a man who will fight for your honor
I'll be the hero that you're dreamin' of
We're gonna live forever
Knowing together that we
Did it all for the glory of love
We'll live forever (we'll live forever)
Knowing together that we (knowing together)
Did it all for the glory of love
Ooh, we did it all for love
We did it all for love
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*Peter Cetera - Glory of Love
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Oh no, I'm inspired...
"Pet" might not just be a short one off...
I have an idea for the beginning of Astarion and Tav's undead life together:
It had to be within the first six months after the Netherbrain; the Crimson Palace was still undergoing the exponential renovations and repairs from when Astarion allowed himself to release his rage for Cazador onto the walls. You were still calling master “Astarion.”
You and Astarion were lounging in the den on the massive sofa you had picked out at the furniture store in town together. The fireplace was blazing orange heat in front of the coffee table housing your love’s cup of tea. (Now that he has the appetite of a living man, he finds he is a fan of peppermint).
You have your feet lazily draping over Astarion’s legs as you lean against the armrest reading a book while he reads one of his own. He takes the last sip of his tea and he closes the book and pats on your thigh twice.
“Up now darling, I need a refill.”
You lazily shift your legs and twist them to rest your feet on the coffee table just in front of you, attention not lifting from the novel in your hands.
“Were you raised in a barn? Get your feet off the table!” he says through a laugh.
You grin at him, gaze moving from the pages to him. “Oh? Or what?” you respond playfully.
He leans down and caresses your jaw, forehead pushing against your’s. Your breaths intermingle; your mouths on the verge of a kiss.
That was the first time he said he needed to teach you a lesson.
I want to expand on how things got to where they are in "Pet." That sort of situation doesn't just happen with a little bit of compulsion magic! I want to explore how Astarion sincerely believed he was better than Cazador but only grew to become just like him.
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Wednesday and Xavier drabble
Woe be the forgotten at ao3
“She used to date our resident tortured artist, Xavier Thorpe…”
The name draws her attention from where it was dwindling, and calls to mind another time. A pleasant grey-scape sky filled with thundering clouds. A boy, short and round, red faced and crying ugly tears that brought a smile to her face. She enjoyed his distress, encouraged it with word and manner.
Strangely, the boy stopped crying despite her continued teasing and started to smile. Frowning, she prepared to unleash another barrage of insults for his ill-advised hiding location when he surged forward, chubby hands holding her shoulders in a disturbingly weak grip, before she could move to dislodge him from her person, he kissed her.
In retrospect, it was uninspiring and weak lipped, like his grip but it startled her, set her cheeks aflame in an unforgivable show of embarrassment that she would never forgive him for. Scowling darkly, she pushed him away but without the venom she had meant to place behind the gesture. His weakness must be catching, she conclude.
“Sorry, I uhh, just wanted to thank you.” He stuttered and blushed nervously.
But she had to admit, begrudgingly and only to herself, that she was impressed with his boldness.
It has been years since she thought on the boy and his transgression against her. She does not count what her unconscious mind conjures, her efforts to master lucid dreaming have been thus far unsuccessful.
Her musing has cost her precious attention, enough to allow the boy in question, who is not quite a boy any longer to approach them. Enid is unusually quiet beside her. A quick glance confirms that she is slack jawed and practically vibrating in poorly restrained excitement.
“Wednesday Addams. We meet again.” He drawls, an unduly pleased smirk tipping his lips in a way that cases her stomach to crawl.
“Xavier Thorpe. With your self-preservation instincts, I always imagined you would be dead by now.” Her sarcasm does not have the desired effect. It has the opposite, causing his smirk to grow in intensity, annoyingly bright in the dim morning light.
Long hands, stained black at the fingertips disappear into his jacket pockets, squaring his shoulders in a boyish imitation that is incongruent with his stature. She finds it oddly charming, and she wants to retch. “Sorry to disappoint. Without you there to save me I was forced to improve upon them. I'm proud to say I haven’t climbed into any caskets in years.”
Hardly an accomplishment worth brag about.
“Pity. I enjoyed thinking of your demise.”
Once again, he is attracted, not repelled by her acerbic tone. She resists the desire to cross her arms over her chest, to ward him off like a poorly executed hex.
“You’ve thought about me over the years?” He asks with an impish arch. “I’m flattered, truly flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be.” She scoffs, dead pan and completely devoid of emotion. “I see you are no longer vertically challenged.” The barb falls flat, sounding more complementary then the insult she intended it as.
Something is off, she is normally able to dispel unwanted attention with a practiced glare. Perhaps one of her fellow students is manipulating her for sport. She vows to investigate posthaste.
Two long legged strides, like a great spider, close the remaining distance between them and she is forced to crane her neck up, up, cocked at an unnatural angle to meet his eyes. They are green, flecked with gold around the edges that almost glow with undisguised satisfaction.
“No, not anymore.” His eyes look down on her, implying that she is at the disadvantage with her diminutive height.
From this position she can feel his breath ruffle her bangs, a wave of mint that contrasts with the lingering scent of paint thinner and cut paper that assaults her senses. Momentarily disorienting her and leaving her traitorous brain slow to respond.
To her horror, he interprets her silence as a victory. Ducking down, impossibly far because he is tall, almost as tall as Lurch, “Welcome to Nevermore, Wednesday,” he breathes in her ear, side steping her and Enid to return to his work.
A raven in mid-flight.
Her eyes are still curving over the lines of his work when Enid squeals like a banshee at her side. To her disappointment her eardrums are only stunned, not pierced as she was hoping. “Okay! What just happened??”
She remains silent. No answer she could provide would deter Enid from her speculations. It was best to keep her peace and plan her revenge in silence.
I ended up posting this at ao3. I'm working on another Wenvier fic that should be out next week!
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Narnia in Babylon Bee Headlines
Digory ignoring Polly and striking the bell:
Edmund longing for more Turkish delight:
When Edmund disappears during dinner with the Beavers:
Bree, on several occasions:
Aslan walking beside Shasta on the gorge:
The Pevensies on the way to help Caspian:
Lucy when Trumpkin suggests that Aslan may have become a dumb beast:
Eustace at the beginning of Dawn Treader:
Jill on the way to Harfang:
Ginger the Cat:
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