#ivy and eden text the same

[c-dcn]

-

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 3

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

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Crowley spent the two days drinking, thinking, and wallowing, in that order. First, he got rip-roaring drunk, then kept going past that into a maudlin type of drunkenness. That led to the thinking, which had been much harder than normal, but also much more honest.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon and he watched as all of London was bathed in warm light. He was scared. He could admit that to himself easily, especially when he was so drunk. What he was scared of was a little more complicated, and Crowley had been thinking on it for the better part of three hours. Because on the one hand, he was worried about Heaven and Hell and the safety of any hypothetical little ones. He really was. But on the other hand, he’d said something during their fight that he hadn’t realized he’d been worried about.

Demon spawn were A Thing, and they were generally terrible. Sometimes a demon decided to have some fun on the mortal level and demons weren’t known for being the most careful of beings. Best case scenario was something that was essentially a demon, but mortal. Worst case whatever came out was some sort of writhing mass of demonic energy and hatred. Would that happen to any of his offspring too? Or would the angelic influences cancel it out? But the Nephilim had been somewhat monstrous too, so was it a lost cause from both ends?

And that was where the thinking transitioned into wallowing. Because he was also drunk enough to admit that he really, really wanted to give in to Aziraphale’s badgering, hang the consequences. They’d at least have some time before having to face what they’d done. Who knew how long demon-angel hybrid babies took to form, or gestate or whatever (Crowley only knew as much as he did from his time working on a London pediatrics ward. He was supposed to have been sowing the seeds of evil in the new generation, but he ended up delivering and caring for more newborns than anything else). 

But the guilt would be too much. He couldn’t bring a child into this world knowing it was doomed to be some sort of horror that never fit in. He’d love them, of course, whatever they were or would become but to imagine the difficulty of growing up in a world that would detest them... Well, at least Crowley had been fully formed and matured when it had happened to him. 

He ran out of scotch on the balcony by noon of the first day. But he wasn’t done sulking so he moved back inside and on to the brandy. Brandy was the perfect spirit to drink while tormenting his plants, though there were only a few left in the flat. They were his favourite, and he kept them here to avoid the angel over-indulging and spoiling them. 

“Yooooou lot,” he slurred, brandishing his spray bottle in one hand and the brandy in the other. “You don’t argue with me! Y-y-you’re all jus’ plants!”

A hydrangea, who had long exceeded it’s expected lifespan by several years and was one of the most verdant plants in Crowley’s collection, leaned towards him sympathetically. Most of these plants had been with him for years and had grown a kind of fondness for their tyrannical, but caring master. Crowley spared the hydrangea a glance over, inspecting it for blemishes. He found none. 

“Yoooou’re not compli--complicated, you’re not good or-or-or-or evil. You’re jus’ plants!” The while lily near the door shuddered, knowing things were really bad if the demon was repeating himself. Crowley never liked to repeat himself. 

“If you wanna have b-b-babies you can jus’ drop seeds!” His voice cracked at the end so he wet his parched mouth with some more brandy. “I like sssseeds, such ma-marv-maver--nice little thingss.” Four letter words, good Lord he was sloshed. Dropping the spray bottle and picking up the watering can Crowley deftly overwatered a nearby ivy. Luckily the ivy knew better than to wilt. 

“Like little things, like babiesss, an’ kids. Not sooooo much t-teenagerss but they’ve got ssspirit!” All the plants were leaning in now. Some of them opened up a few extra blooms, offering comfort in the way only plants knew how. “Alwaysss thought I’d make a shit p-parent though, an’ look how Warlock turned out…”

“Could be different, though, raisin’ one and not t-trying to make it, you know, not the Antichrissst.” Indeed he hadn’t been so much raising Warlock as he had been coaching him. And if he and Aziraphale were to do it together properly this time who knows what could happen? “Still can’t though. Angel n’a demon, probably be smited for even trying. Smote? Sssmitten?”

He pondered that for a while, letting the last few glugs of water drip out of his watering can and onto the floor. It was a lost cause though because all he could think about was tiny angel babies with their soft, fluffy hair and little grabby hands. “D’you think they’d look like him? I hope they do.” Crowley was idly swaying back and forth, lost in his daydream. “Hope they have his nose an’ eyess at least, mine are terrible. But m’wings are nicer so…” 

“I don’t wanna be sscared,” he said quietly to his favourite rose bush. “I want to--I want to give Azirahale what he wants. I want what he wantsss, and if I gave in we could both have it but I’m ssscared!”

The argument last night had left Crowley unable to sleep, but he was getting tired now. Maybe he should use his last day and a half--he checked his fancy watch; day and a quarter--to sleep this off. Tossing the spray bottle somewhere towards the wall--it would be back in its place the next time he went to use it--and heading towards his bedroom, Crowley realized he hadn’t yet texted Aziraphale like he’d promised. No matter, his phone was on the bedside table anyway. He could let the angel know he’d be back tomorrow, and they could make up. Nevermind how that was going to happen, since they both still had opposing views on the matter.

The first time he had come to stay at the flat after he and Aziraphale had a tiff, the angel had blown up his phone with calls and texts. Crowley had done the same the first time Aziraphale locked himself away in his study and refused to come out. They had since come to an understanding and formed a system of brief check-ins and hard time limits to ease each other's anxiety. They stuck to the rules, and it seemed to be a good way of letting off some steam and ending arguments, as long as they talked about it afterward. 

This time, Crowley had been a little lax in his following of their rules. It had already been nearly an entire day of no-contact and Aziraphale had been sending worried messages for at least six hours. To his credit there were only a few voicemails, which Crowley would listen to later, and not the deluge there had been that first time. They were all standard fare, Aziraphale calling in the morning after Crowley left, then calling back around lunch. The angel was doing a good job of keeping the worry out of his voice, but Crowley could tell it was there. 

Immediately Crowley sent off a text assuring Aziraphale he was fine and had lost track of time, complete with heart emojis, then fell into bed. As drunk as he was it didn’t take very long for him to drift off, even though he forgot to change into anything comfortable or get under the covers. 

Crowley walked into their cottage in time for tea the next day carrying a selection of cake slices. He didn’t really have anything to apologize for, but coming back empty-handed felt wrong. Plus the cakes might distract from the hangover Crowley had. He’d meant to fix himself up before bed, but hadn’t and now his head ached too bad to focus on any demonic miracles.

“I’m home!” he called out into the foyer, toeing off his shoes and kicking them haphazardly out of the doorway. The house smelled like old books and tea, which was better than burning food. The second time Crowley had taken some time to himself Aziraphale had decided to take up baking to soothe his nerves. It hadn’t gone well. “I brought cake!”

Aziraphale came around from his study and stood in the doorway, hovering. “Welcome home dear. Did I hear you say cake?”

This was the routine when Crowley returned. Whether in the right or wrong he’d come back bearing treats and Aziraphale would flitter about like he didn’t know if he should stay or go. Eventually, they’d both sit down and talk about what happened, which had twice led to Crowley storming back out and more often led to lovely make-up sex. He wasn’t sure what to expect this time, given the thing they were arguing about. There wasn’t much to talk about, either Aziraphale dropped it, or he didn’t. Crowley didn’t want to think about what would happen if Aziraphale didn’t drop it.

“Yeah, picked some up on my way over from that little bakery where they mill their own flour. Figured it was pretentious enough that you’d like it,” Crowley teased, none too eager to get to the heart of their issues. What if he and Aziraphale couldn’t move past this? What if this was the thing that ended them, not their former sides, or the Apocolypse, or their opposing natures? Crowley wasn’t sure he could survive without the angel in his life, but he also wasn’t sure he could concede on this particular issue. He also wasn’t sure if he could stick to his guns for too much longer, given what he’d realized last night. 

“Oh hush you. Take it into the kitchen I’ll be there in just a tick.” Crowley nodded and went through, surreptitiously glancing around their home. Aziraphale was prone to fussing with the layout of things when he was left to his own devices, just like he had at the bookshop. There he’d been able to justify it as a tactic to confuse customers and discourage book purchases. In the cottage, however, it was obvious he did it from anxiety. Everything looked to be in order though, so Crowley continued on and set the cakes down on the table. With a snap of his fingers, the slices were laid out on plates and the kettle was boiling for tea. 

“Early Grey or Twinings?” he called over his shoulder towards where Aziraphale’s office was. He could hear the angel moving about back there and assumed he was cleaning up whatever he had been using to preoccupy himself with while Crowley was away. 

“Twinings please, dearest,” Aziraphale answered, his voice muffled. Must be messing with his book storage, Crowley thought, pouring each of them a cup with shakey hands. He really wished he’d spent less time drinking and sleeping yesterday, and more time actually thinking about what he was going to say to Aziraphale. All he’d figured out was that they had to worry about a lot more than just Heaven and Hell’s reaction and that if Aziraphale kept asking, he might not be strong enough to refuse. 

“Tea’s ready,” he mumbled, taking his own and perching on the edge of a dining chair. Of course, Aziraphale still heard him and walked quickly into the room looking more than a little flustered. With an excited wiggle he took a seat and began to fawn over the cakes. “Take whichever you want, I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure dear? That dark chocolate mouse cake looks right up your ally,” Aziraphale pointed out, digging into his strawberry shortcake. He was right, Crowley had bought that slice of cake specifically for himself. It would have been not too sweet and everything he liked in a desert, but the worry about what needed to be said had ruined his appetite. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” Aziraphale glanced down to his slice, then set his silverware down regretfully. “I said go ahead angel, I don’t mind.”

Aziraphale leaned forward a little, his hands disappearing under the table. Crowley knew from experience they would find their way under his thighs, crushed tight against the chair’s wood in an effort to keep them from flitting all over. Another habit from Aziraphale’s time with Heaven, where any stimming had been harshly discouraged. “No, I think we have a lot to talk about. And I want to apologize. Again.”

Crowley remained silent, knowing that Aziraphale had probably prepared what he wanted to say. As usual he was correct. 

“I was wrong to keep asking you about… it when you told me not to. I was being selfish, and not thinking about how you felt and terribly rude. And then you came back after I was so horrible and you came back with cake!” Aziraphale’s voice was getting louder and more high pitched as he went. It was obvious he was getting upset with himself but Crowley knew that interrupting him right now would only make things worse. “I got excited, and then I was pushy and I hurt you, dearest. I’m so sorry. I-I know I can be a little, well, tone-deaf but you said I was making you upset so explicitly and I just ignored you! How could I do that to you? Oh Crowley I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Aziraphale had begun rocking back and forth a tiny amount, quick little movements that he probably didn’t even notice he was making. “You’re right, of course. It’s so very dangerous, and I wasn’t thinking about it when you obviously had. I want to make it up to you, Crowley, if I even can.”

It hadn’t been what Crowley was expecting, given how persistent Aziraphale could be, and it was honestly a little disappointing. He may have been secretly hoping that the angel would be able to convince him, or had maybe thought of something Crowley had missed that would give them the go-ahead. But this was OK too, this meant they wouldn’t have to fight anymore and he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about it and they could move on. 

“Oh uh, yeah. Apology accepted angel. I’m sorry I stormed out.” Crowley was always quick to forgive Aziraphale, it was like it was impossible for him to stay angry at the angel. Though the way Aziraphale’s disrespect of his boundaries still stung, Crowley didn’t want to hold a grudge and make things worse, so he wouldn’t. 

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale stopped rocking but kept his hands firmly under his legs. Usually, this was the point where they hugged and made up, but his angel was still sitting, slightly tense. “Was your time away helpful?”

Crowley shrugged noncommittally. Aziraphale didn’t ask what he did when he was he spent time away after a fight, and he was immediately suspicious. “Sure, checked on the plants, slept for a while. The usual.” He left out the drinking. Over the last 5 years or so Aziraphale had grown concerned with the amount Crowley drank, even if he was an immortal being incapable of experiencing withdrawal. He had cut back, but times like the other night were another story. 

“Good, good.” The silence was back, and heavier. “And I assume that, from this point on, you do not wish to discuss that issue again?” The tentative nature of Aziraphale’s vice made it hard to hear if he was disappointed, or just being himself. Crowley cleared his throat. 

“That's probably for the best yeah.” But oh he wanted, wanted, wanted. It was killing him to deny them this thing that any old human could have easily. They could have anything else in the world, with their powers, but not this. 

“Alright, you won’t hear me speak another word about it. If you ever want to--well I’ll follow you lead dearest.” And Now Aziraphale was leaning over, one of his hands taking Crowley’s and squeezing. It was extremely warm from being tucked under his legs, but the demon still felt cold. “Now, if you’d like, I think you should try that ca--”

They were interrupted by an insistent knock on the front door. It was very rare for them to have guests and even rarer that they should drop by unexpectedly. The only other time anyone arrived was for deliveries, and even those were few and far between. 

“Oh, I wonder who that could be!” Aziraphale seemed all too eager to have something else to focus on, and to be honest Crowley was as well. He rose from the table, cakes and tea forgotten, and bustled to the door. Crowley stayed in the kitchen, trying to collect the unspooled pieces of himself. It was over, they had Talked, and now they could move on and everything would be just fine! Crowley repeated that over and over in his head, trying to drown out the wanting; just fine. He was so focused on not wanting that he almost missed Aziraphale’s sharp “oh dear!”. Almost, but not quite.

“Everything alright angel?” He was on his feet and sauntering into the foyer. Sometimes a particularly brave canvasser for some local church or scam organization would show up and Crowley had to scare them off. Often Aziraphale was too polite to do so himself, especially if they didn’t take to his subtle hints. Only once had the angel gotten stern with someone, and that had been when they tried to good old ‘foot in the door’ technique. In that instance, Crowley had had to save the canvasser form Aziraphale. 

That wasn’t what he found when he waltzed through the doorway. Standing there was Gabriel and Beezelbub in all their Heavenly and Hellish glory. They wore the same expression, of annoyance mixed with a large dash of disgust. “Oh shit.”

[justanotherdumpingground]

Chapter Reviews: March 5-9, 2019 + Thoughts on Upcoming Books

High School Story: Class Act Chapter 4:

Okay, so the bake sale went mostly well, and it's fun to sway Michael to vote for the twin, even though he originally supported Morgan. There are better candidates to vote for, boy. Still miffed that there's no substance to Cliff and Graham's romance together besides cutesy side stuff.

From what I've seen with Ajay's parents arguing, I think there will be a subplot that shows how arguing couples damage their children. While I applaud Picelberry's attempt to tackle this issue, I'm worried that it will be mishandled. The child abuse subplot involving Skye still needs a satisfying conclusion because the progress I've seen so far is Skye having Brenda as a parental substitute. I need to delve more into her home life and see to it that her story gets a satisfying conclusion.

Disappointed but not surprised that I have to pay diamonds just to learn about Ajay's home life. Look, I get that he's polarizing, but that doesn't excuse vital elements of his character being paywalled. Honestly, it's extremely stupid to pay diamonds just to learn more about a character, especially a love interest. I get that Pixelberry's a company, but in a game titled Choices, all plot and character arcs are supposed to be free to view, with premium options hiding mature content and other trivial things. Not doing so reeks of dishonesty.

The Heist: Monaco Chapter 14:

Dang, this is it, huh? It's like time flies by despite the incredible journey. I'm stoked and anxious at the same time for the journey ahead, now that the crown jewels are in my possession. It's super satisfying to see my crew trusting me despite my lack of premium options for most of them. I love seeing them bond together and having one another's backs during the heist.

So glad I picked the premium options to free Whisper and steal Ulrich's tools. I knew they'll come in handy for Sybil as well as me. And it was a relief I checked the blueprints and found the RGB clue on what to do to entee the vault. It indicates the color of the text I have to pick, and I sometimes thought I picked the wrong option whenever Sybil looks agitated.

It's satisfying to see Ansel locked in the car with Fabien driving him away. Good riddance to that smug snake.

Handcuffed by Sonia? This is gonna be good, especially since I like her enough to consider her a main love interest for my MC. I just hope her trust in me is enough.

Desire & Decorum Chapter 11:

After seeing another part of Briar's indecisiveness over who she'll pursue, I just wish she would make up her mind, because the setting up a character with someone reeks of lack of free will on the side characters' part and a blatant cash grab.

It's great to see my friends following me to Bath and look out after me. I appreciate them jumping at the call, but I also want them to work with me on the investigation freely instead of paywalling them. Also miffed that there's not much political intrigue and no incorporation of industrialization.

Not a surprise Duke Richards and Gideon are plotting to overthrow the Prince Regent, but I don't want the showdown against them to be anticlimactic. After all, the clues I've gathered so far should've had an edge in piecing together his ultimate motives and even gain bonuses along the way.

America's Most Eligible Chapter 8:

I still don't trust Ivy and consider her as much of a snake as Vince and Slater. She and Slater may not be on the same team, but that doesn't mean I fully embrace her. I admit that her plan sounds like an opportunity to discredit Slater for cheating, allowing me to act devious.

Can I say that the athletic outfit suits my MC well? Because he's a flirt, he should have no problems wearing enticing clothing that turns people's heads towards him. I think it would suit him more if the outfit's more revealing.

It baffles me that I have to pay diamonds to set other couples up. I know this practice exists since Choices's founding, but it still reeks of characters having no free will. I like Eden and Kiana together, but paying diamonds to ensure that reeks of greed and lack of logic.

At first, I'm not sure whether to win or not, but I ended up losing just to see more of Ivy's plan. Apparently, the winner gets to go on a date together. That made me think my MC would seduce Slater a bit, only for me to watch on YouTube that they get discredited if they won, and Derek and Kiana won anyway. It seemed that I dodged a bullet by not getting involved with Slater.

Open Heart Chapter 4:

This is an emotional chapter, and I love it. I get to see Ethan putting his energy on his patients, whom he genuinely care for, and seeing him sad at Dolores's death was heartbreaking. Even more so when her baby's revealed to be named after him. Since Dolores has sisters, this means baby Ethan will be raised by his aunts. I get that there are players who want the baby raised by Ethan himself, but if there are other family members willing to raise the child, then I say let them. Nevertheless, I hope this means he'll be more like Professor Enrique Vasquez through the use of tough love and nothing like Nick Peralta, whom I despise for being an ungrateful, disrespectful guest as well as a horrible boss.

After seeing people wanting Rafael Aveiro to be a love interest along with Kyra Santana and Sienna Trinh, I'd say nah. I'm more interested to see how my MC grows as a doctor than lust over any other characters. I like those three, but I think Ethan, Bryce, and Jackie are enough for me. Regarding people wanting Sienna as love interest, what if her boyfriend is really one of the nicest characters in the story and eventually dies in the hospital regardless?

As for Aurora, man, I'm shocked and horrified at her dismissal of Dolores's condition as smoke inhalation just because she wants a more interesting patient. I get that she wants to prove her worth as a doctor in her own right, but because she's a doctor whose job is to ensure the wellbeing of all patients regardless of condition, she has no right to be picky at which patients to treat.

Moreover, I'm even more disappointed at the writers for writing this. They could've used this opportunity to explore her even more, especially since the first three chapters show her chafing at living under her aunt's shadow, caring for Annie, being unable to treat her because she was summoned to her aunt's office, and giving some diagnosis on a patient. Pixelberry should've picked up from this and build her as a character who yearns to prove her worth by doing her job properly, not make her into someone people might as well continue to hate like handing Dolores to MC for having an "uninteresting" condition. This reminds me of the situation with Xanthe, but with differences. Xanthe's a courtesan who fits best as a love to hate character like Madeleine from TRR, built as a conniving strategist who has her political agendas that go beyond being merely mean and catty. As for Aurora, her appearances at the first three chapters shows that she didn't do anything remotely wrong aside from being aloof. It was this chapter that shows a crack in Pixelberry, who assumes the audience must continue to hate her even though she started as a mere rival with complex motivations. If Pixelberry's intention to bring Aurora down is to merely cater to their target audience with no regard to the unfortunate implications they've created, then they've succeeded. Now they just have to face the consequences.

Ride or Die Chapter 8:

Well, that confrontation with the dad is as heated as I thought. I understand that he doesn't want her daughter hanging out with criminals, but I think he's too overprotective of her daughter, such as keeping her sheltered even though she's now eighteen. That doesn't mean she should hang out with the MPC, but she should be taught to act with discernment and wisdom. In fact, I hate that the narrative wants me

As for Jason, I told the dad that he recruited MC as an informant, so now they're at odds with each other. That complicates the case with the MPC and the Brotherhood. It could be possible Jason or one of the detectives (the one with Russell Thibbs's model, to be exact). I'm leaning towards the latter.

I swear, Teppei Kaneko is dumb. His last meeting with the Brotherhood ended with him getting injured, and now he's going back to confront them again. Bah. Anyway, I rejected a tattoo (my MC's most like going to wear that sweater for the rest of the story) and ended up staying put (I would've spent diamonds to go with Mona to learn about the Brotherhood if the story is remotely any good, which it isn't).

Across the Void's return:

While a part of me is glad this story will progress to the end, I'm not super excited. There's too much focus on Pax and Eos in the first 13 chapters despite how annoying they are and how little they contribute to the story. Doing so keeps the story from exploring the setting, the plot from capturing my interest, and other important characters from developing properly. So far, Kepler's the only character we get to know, and we get to explore part of the setting through her, but I still want more than that. Other characters have potential, namely Lyra (because she's Senator Tauri) and Sol (because of his vast knowledge of various cultures).

The Elememtalist's return:

I'm pumped for this, though I'm also concerned that the quality will be worse, since the time gap between the first and second book is relatively short. I love how badass Shreya looks (Conjuring fire with just one finger instead of two hands? Awesome!), and I wish this second book will shed more light on the characters, explore the dynamics between the different races, and make Discount Dorian Pavus an interesting villain. Raife Highmore's a forgettable villain. By the way, why does the cover depict Beckett as kinda ugly? Maybe because of how thick his eyebrows are and the way he frowns.

New books and gender options:

I'm surprised and glad Nightbound and Passport to Romance will have the option to pick the protagonist's gender. That sounds like a long time coming, especially for Nightbound, which is a spinoff of Bloodbound. I like Bloodbound in some ways, but I'll always be irked at the inability to pick the protagonist's gender and the flimsy reason behind it. I get that Pixelberry thinks it will be a failure because of how clichéd it looks, hence why there's no option, but they've also released light-hearted stories with gender options. The funny thing about Nightbound is that I thought we'll have a co-protagonists system like TC&TF and MW. The man and woman fighting side by side gave me that impression.

I'm not super excited for Passport to Romance, even though it involves traveling and I get to pick the protagonist's gender. It would've been better if it's mainly an adventure book with romance kept to the sidelines. That way, one love interest won't hog the spotlight while offering little to no substance along the way.

Wishful Thinking being genderlocked and a romcom sounds like a disappointment, especially since it reminds me too much of #LoveHacks, which I dislike. Maybe it will surprise me, though.

After seeing the Q&A on Choices's subreddit, I saw a mention of a dark take on fairy tales, which captures my interest because I'd take a dark, gritty, and thought-provoking story any day. I also love the idea of a book where I rise to the top as some sort of "mean girl" for the sake of playing a conniving character who manipulates her way to the top, but I also want the protagonist to be a 3-dimensional character in her own right, and it would be cool if a worse outside threat is used as an opportunity to gain good publicity. Please make them happen someday.

[moonlights-inkwell]

Honey, You’re familiar

Summary: Studying in public brings around a stranger who looks a little bit too familiar to you. 

Jason Todd x reader 

Word Count: 2023

[part 1] [part 2] 

This took longer than i expected and isn’t as good as i would have liked it but ehhhh. 

Title from Hozier’s From Eden. 

As always, Gotham is a mess of wind and rain and darkness at six thirty, but for once you're able to find yourself watching the rainfall from the warm, dry, safety of the diner. It feels like god was throwing you some sort of bone after four years of questionable luck that had been started by Jason's death, and if you were more of a romantic you'd think it was due to it being Jason's birthday, but you've learned a long time ago that romanticism has no place in your life. The pattering of rain against glass makes you smile as you sit in the old corner booth of Pauli's, text book and notebook on the table in front of you beside the plate of slowly chilling fries- gently nibbling on them while you continue making notes for your next class. Pauli's is nowhere near as quiet as the library, but its more familiar to you and it comes with the perks of cheaper food on your off-day, and you'd much rather be in Pauli's if you're honest, especially in your booth by the window. It started raining after you had arrived, meaning that the old, stolen red jacket that rests on the pealing vinyl seat beside you is dry, and it has given you a reason to stay beyond the need to continue with your work. The gentle flickering of the florescent lights overhead and the sound of the old jukebox, hidden away in the corner by the counter while it plays songs from the eighties, coupled witht the sound of the other patrons talking around you help to keep you grounded even if it keeps distracting you from your literature essay: with your head bobbing along to Africa as you chew on a fry rather than continuing to write, wondering more about whether or not you'd rather hot chocolate or a milkshake than the subtle meanings behind the hidden subtlety to the 'romance' element of Wuthering Heights. Some of the more regulars had smiled at you or said hello to you on their way past; and it's appreciated, makes you feel like you're important to them, or at least worth remembering. You let yourself relax back against the pillowed seat of the booth, fingers digging through your jacket pockets for your wallet to pay for the milkshake. Your professor is gonna pitch a fit if it's late, but right at this present moment you can't seem to find it in yourself to give much of a shit. Since your attempted mugging a month ago you've tried to keep yourself as distracted as humanly possible to keep from thinking about it again, and working was doing an excellent job of distracting you, but it feels nice to finally be distracted from working again. Food, warmth, and being away from your apartment is nice; especially after waking up the other day to a window you knew you had locked being wide open. Maybe you're just paranoid, but being alone in your apartment right now sounds awful. Outside of the window Gotham is strangely beautiful, through the heavy rainfall flashes of red and blue neon from street-signs paint the wet streets with colour, letting their shine and brightness flare off of the rivulets of rain running down the window so that the once dark and dismal city is practically technicolour, and there's something unearthly about it in the darkness. You could almost tell yourself that the city that you live in isn't basically the crime capital of the world, well known for having a grown man dress up like a bat in order to fight criminals, and that idea of normality is nice for the moment being. You catch yourself contemplating what it must be like to live in some city that's safe and warm with no super powered villains running around only to remind yourself of how much you really do love the rain and darkness, and that it's safe and wonderful and what the hell would you do without the criminality to complain about while you work or talk to the other kids in you college classes. Nothing. That's what. Say what you want about how awful it is to live in Gotham (and you do, often) if the criminality of the city did anything it brought people together; nothing like spending every second day of February avoiding any form of public place with anything valuable for fear of Two-Face and grumbling about it, or communal complaints whenever snow appears on the fourth of July because Mister Freeze is on the loose again. It's strangely nice. On occasion, you wonder if that kind of connection is present in places with significantly less crimes, do people in Metropolis let out communal sighs and grumbles about their insurance together when Mr Mxyzptlk's on the loose the way you all do whenever reports of Poison Ivy breaking out of Gotham start to pour in? You tap your pen against your bottom lip before dropping it and the pretence of writing entirely, opting to just chew on a fry. After your milkshake comes to your table, you sit there re-reading what there is of your essay and cringing when you realise that all you've written is all of about three hundred words of a twenty thousand word essay. Damn it. Is it too much to hope for Scarecrow to break out of Arkham so that class will be cancelled? You'd rather risk Fear Toxin than your Professor's wrath. Fingers drum quickly against the paper covered surface of the table top. You're fucked, and you doubt you can use the age old 'I was mugged and they stole my lit essay' excuse on your hard-ass professor. Faking illness to buy yourself an extra day or two seems like the only feesable answer without being a straight up liar. Cracking your knuckles and then your back, you rest your head on the pile of paperwork, hands covering your eyes for a few seconds. You push yourself up after a few minutes of self pity, and try to scribble down any nonsense that might help to bulk it out. Your ears perk up at the sound of footsteps approaching your booth, but you only look up from your non-existent essay at the sound of a distinctly male, and vaguely familiar voice. "Can I sit here?" The man in front of you is tall, almost imposingly so, with black hair swept across his forehead which is broken through by a shock of white hair. You almost stare at the white locks before your eyes slide down to his eyes, almost shockingly green and framed by long eyelashes, and his freckled cheeks. His skin is tanned and it makes his dark hair and red hoodie stand out, and he smiles slightly at you. You almost whisper Jason's name before realising that it's impossible, and look away; taking in the diner behind him to see all of the full boothes before nodding slightly before looking back down at your sheets. Damn it. Handsome black haired men had become your type so long ago you assume you can relate it to Jason, something about trying to live what you and Jason could have had. It's pathetic and that's probably why you stopped even thinking about dating a long time ago, leaving you to dedicate yourself to your studies, especially when your putting yourself into crippling student debts. After you nod he sits on the other side of the booth while you try to focus on working again so that you aren't staring creepily at the handsome man across from you. To his credit, he doesn't attempt conversation with you and just sits there looking at his phone and sipping at whatever was in his mug, and you begin writing more than you probably have in the last three hours, spurred on by his presence and not wanting to make this awkward. It's strangely easy, with his silence and only the sound of a cheesy romantic ballad as background music, and it's... nice. The sound of the George Michael's voice is relaxing and you stop writing to tap your pencil against the table once more, searching for the right words to write but none seem to come so instead you reach for your book. Flitting through the copy of Wuthering Heights, you let your eyes scan across passages about wet and windy moors and tragic romance while searching out something that could help you but nothing stands out. He's more myself than I am. Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same. You find yourself rolling your eyes at the melodrama of it all. You like to think of yourself as a strong and independent person, and the idea of your life completely shutting down because of some abusive tool that the book romanticises makes you annoyed. You don't notice it but the man across the table from you smiles slightly at your annoyed face and then feverish scribbling of notes on the side of your copy of the text, lips turned up into something soft and sweet. The smile is soft and he lets himself take in all of your features as best he can, he takes another sip of his coffee and his face is neutral once more, as if afraid that you would look up and notice but you don't; too busy with your own indigence. He watches as you smooth your hair behind you ear and tilt your head, continuing in your annoyed writing. He pushes the sleeve of his red hoodie up beyond his wrist and lets out a gentle and resigned sigh. When you finally look up from your scribbling, the man is gone and you drop your pencil at his absence, raking a finger through your hair and cracking your back before looking out of the window once more. A wave of tiredness crashed over you and you let out a quiet moan, then finish the last of your milkshake and fries before looking out of the window. The raining has stopped and you decide that now is as good a time as any to finally head home; less than content with the work that you've done, but completely unwilling to write any more. As reluctant as you are to head home after the window experience, you can't stop your tiredness without caffinating yourself and you don't really want to do that. You collect up your papers and begin to shove them messily into your bag before stopping dead in your tracks at the sight of something that you never thought you'd see again: your grandmother's necklace, placed delicately in front of your glass as if you had put it there yourself. Your eyes widen and you only just manage to keep from staggering backwards, torn somewhere between horror and confusion at the sight of the silver chain glinting brightly against the dark table. The necklace is clean, with two slight chinks in the chain that look like they had come from being wound around a wrist an angle for too long, and it's tiny bird pendant in the centre, it's red jewel still perfect, shining and perfect set against the silver. Your fingers ghost around the chain, almost unwilling to accept it's anything more than some sort of dream until you actually touch the warm metal. Warm. Your eyes dart around the diner to try and look for the man who had been in front of you to try and demand how he had the necklace, but he isn't there. You start to worry about whether or not he had even been there. Once you've put the rest of your work into your bag, you pick up the chain and turn it over several time between your fingers. The warmth of the chain is almost enough to make you feel sick. After a few minutes of just holding onto the chain and staring down at it, you shove it into your bag along with your jacket before bolting off out of the diner.   How the fuck is your necklace here while Jason's dead?

@hyp-oh-critical

[mspinkpetite]

Trends of January

Hey guys 👋🏻 Today I'm gonna tell you the latest trends of January!! So here we go...... FASHION —•—•—•—•—•—• CIRCULAR CUTOUTS It's too cold for crop tops so why not try this? BIG BAGS As much as we love a stylish mini purse, these oversize totes and bags have stolen our hearts. Also, what’s to complain about a little extra space anyway? MAKEUP —•—•—•—•—•—•• GLITTER ✨ LIPS Glitter was the eye-catching lip finish of the season, and makeup artists coated models' pouts in sparkles of varying sizes EYE GLOSS Lids were similarly shiny, slicked with an almost-wet finish. Use a sheer product to keep the eyeshadow from looking messy as it moves; this one isn't meant to be long-wearing! HAIR —•—•—•—•—•—•—•—• BANGS Fashion month had a major brush with bangs, from wispy to sideswept to blunt. BRAIDS Braids are a runaway runway hit each season, and this time around, we witnessed them in every iteration on the catwalk. Favorites included the intricate updos tied off with yards of velvet ribbon at Erdem and the flowing Botticelli braids at Valentino — but these are all super pretty plaits worth trying, stat. YOUTUBE CHALLENGES —•—•—•—•—•—•—•—• 1000 DEGREE KNIGE CHALLENGE Well this is an odd one, but you know youtubers their job is to do that! This is the 1000 degree knife challenge basically  you heat a knife to 1000 degrees with A LOT OF BLOWTORCHES and then you cut into things! I mean this is soooooooo stupid but REALLY FUNNY so that's that. BEST BOOKS OF THE MONTH —•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—• BOOK NO.1 Gr 3–7—Russell, author of the best-selling "Dork Diaries" series, returns with an even dorkier character. Fans may remember Max Crumbly from Tales from a Not-So-Perfect Pet Sitter. Max, who was previously homeschooled by his grandmother, is having a hard time adjusting to life at his new public school. Max's biggest problem is a bully named Doug "Thug" Thurston, who traps him in his locker right before a three-day weekend, leaving him as the only witness to the sinister activities taking place while the school is closed. The story ends on a cliffhanger, a sure sign that this is not the last of Max Crumbly. Kyle Beltran's animated portrayal of Max helps bring the text to life so listeners (almost) won't miss Russell's amusing illustrations. VERDICT Recommended for "Dork Diaries" fans. BOOK NO.2 A young boy named Otto lost in the woods is rescued by three sisters imprisoned there by a witch's curse. In return, he promises to help break the curse by carrying their spirits out of the forest in a mouth harp and passing the instrument along when the time is right. The narrative shifts to the 20th century, when the same mouth harp (aka harmonica) becomes the tangible thread that connects the stories of three children: Friedrich, a disfigured outcast; Mike, an impoverished orphan; and Ivy, an itinerant farmer's child. Their personal struggles are set against some of the darkest eras in human history: Friedrich, the rise of Nazi Germany; Mike, the Great Depression; Ivy, World War II. The children are linked by musical talent and the hand of fate that brings Otto's harmonica into their lives. Each recognizes something unusual about the instrument, not only its sound but its power to fill them with courage and hope. Friedrich, Mike, and Ivy are brought together by music and destiny in an emotionally triumphant conclusion at New York's Carnegie Hall. Meticulous historical detail and masterful storytelling frame the larger history, while the story of Otto and the cursed sisters honor timeless and traditional folktales. Ryan has created three contemporary characters who, through faith and perseverance, write their own happy endings, inspiring readers to believe they can do the same. SPORTS —•—•—•— (Cricket) The ODI happened recently and India showed their real colours! ODI 1: This was at Maharashtra cricket association, Pune India won by 3 wickets which was really good! ODI 2: Barabati Stadium, cuttack India won by 15 runs also very good! ODI 3: Now this was not needed since India won the ODI series but yet did it anyway! This was at Eden Gardens, Kolkata England won by 5 runs! And that was the ODI series! So that's it for the month trends or I'll see you next month !! Xoxo Avi