#not to sound snarky but like. maybe you should actually read the books rather than going through them based on vibes?

[dyna-myght]

I really can’t relate to this ngl. I can tell you so much about the books I’ve rated 5 stars bc I loved them so much.

[prettierthanurbf]

So What?

Y/n walked down the halls to find her best friend, getting the overwhelming feeling she’d be stuck walking into class alone, when she finally bumped into someone she knew. “Oh, great.” She mumbled irritably.

He turned around with a grin. “Well, hello, y/n.”

She rolled her eyes at his cocky grin. “Where’s your brother?”

The question just made his grin grow wider, making your patience even thinner. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He teased.

She let her eyes wander around the halls to avoid eye contact when her eyes landed on him, sighing in relief, she pushed past his brother and hurried off to Tom. “Hey.” She said happily.

He looked up from his book. “Nice of you to wake up early for once.” He teased.

She laughed. “My parents are going to cut me off if I miss school to sleep in.” She explained.

He looked over her head, his eyes stopping on something that made his eyebrows furrow. “Mattheo’s staring at you again.” He whispered.

She quickly spun around to meet Mattheo’s eyes, turning back around so quick she almost fell over.

Tom helped her stand. “You alright?” He asked concerned.

She put a hand to her head. “I swear if he hexed me I’ll burn the little bastard.”

Tom chuckled. “Now I might just help you with that.”

Before y/n could say anything else, the teacher opened the doors for everyone in the class to walk in.

The whole class was a blur, mostly because y/n was asleep through half of it and hurrying to copy off of To ‘a notes during the other half, paying no attention to the teacher whatsoever.

Tom had to talk to one of his teachers before the next class started, which left y/n waiting outside on a bench alone with a book until class started.

Mattheo, who had grown bored of his friend group, walked off to bug y/n, sliding onto the bench and taking the spot a little too close to y/n.

She didn’t glance up from her book or move. “What?” She asked calmly.

He raised a brow. “No snarky comment? Hm.” He hummed. “Are you feeling alright?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Mattheo?”

“Ah, there’s the tone I was looking for.” He grinned. “What’re you reading?”

She clicked her tongue. “You could check the cover, you know.”

He shrugged. “It would sound so much better coming from your lips than mine.”

She shut her book, her finger holding the page she was on, snapping her head to look at him. “What do you want, Mattheo?” She repeated, this time a little less calm.

He smirked. “Maybe I want to help with your anger issues.”

“Maybe you should work on yours first.” She said back.

He laughed. “We could work on it together.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’d rather burn. Over and over. For eternity.”

He shrugged. “I could make it worth your while.”

She raised a brow. “What’s your angle, Riddle?”

He looked away with a small grin. “There’s no angle. I just think we could help each other out.”

“Have fun finding someone for that because I’m not your girl.” She slipped a small piece of paper into her book before getting up.

“But you could be.” Mattheo mumbled, but y/n had already walked off with all her things.

His shoulders slumped. “Great.”

Tom walked over to him laughing. “Did you seriously think whatever you were planning would work?”

Mattheo scowled at his brother. “It’s not like you’ve tried getting with her. Why is she so difficult.”

“She’s not into like that.” Tom said in a ‘duh’ tone.

Mattheo scoffed. “All the girls are into me like that.”

Tom shook his head and laughed a little more. “Not the one you like like that.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t like her like that, Tommy.”

“Then stop going after her, because I swear on my life and hers I will make yours a living hell if you break her heart or mess around with her for kicks. Got it?” Tom said sternly.

Mattheo put his hands up, a familiar teasing grin growing on his face. “It’s not that deep, brother.” And with that he walked off, another grinning glance at Tom before going straight ahead to see if he could find y/n.

He didn’t see her until school was over, when the clouds were making weird shapes up and the colors were changing from the sun going down, the black lake always looked prettiest at this time of day, which is why Mattheo chose to walk alongside it, also in hopes he’d find a weird creature in the water and draw it.

He came across y/n when he was walking back to the school, she was laying on her back, her head rested on her book bag, with a different book in her hands than she was reading hours prior. He walked over to her confidently.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

She sighed. “What?”

He sat down beside her. “So this is what you do after school?”

She rolled her eyes. “Quidditch practice was canceled today.”

He nodded. “Totally forgot you were on the team.”

She glanced at him. “Is there any reason you’re here or what?”

He shrugged. “Just wanted to know how you were doing.”

She pulled a piece of paper put of her robe, handing it to Mattheo without looking away from her book. “You read that and tell me how you think I’m feeling.”

His eyes scanned over the paper. “An animagus? Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Now I’ve got to wait for my uncle Newt to come down here and talk to me about everything.”

Mattheo handed the paper back. “So you can’t go home?”

She shook her head. “Apparently my brothers tore up the place pretty bad and they’re trying to get it under control.”

“So why don’t you just stay with me and Tom?”

She snorted. “Because it’s you and Tom. I swear both of you don’t know how to not argue, especially when you’re trying to do something ‘important’.”

Matthe scoffed. “We do not!”

She raised a brow. “So we’re just gonna play that game now?”

He shrugged. “I mean…”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot if you think you don’t argue with your brother a lot.”

“Just stay with us.” It came out more as a plead than a suggestion, which was not Mattheo’s intention at all.

Y/n laughed. “Beg me.” She joked.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, ha ha, very funny.” He said sarcastically. “Just stay with us.”

She glanced at him from her book. “If I do will you go away?”

“Maybe.” He said.

She shrugged. “Fine. Just let your brother know so it’s not a surprise or anything.”

“Okay.” Mattheo got up. “Did you finish the other book?” He asked, stopping himself from running off to find his brother so he could talk to y/n some more.

She looked up at him. “Yes. I had most of my classes to read through it.”

“How long have you had this one?”

“Since lunch. Why?”

He grinned. “No reason, no reason.”

“Why?” She repeated, this time sternly.

Mattheo looked down at her. “You’ll find out.” He winked at her before running off to find Tom.

When Spring break rolled around, y/n, Tom, and Mattheo went to Tom and Mattheo’s mansion they inherited when their dad mysteriously passed away.

Y/n explored a little since it was a bit of an upgrade from where the Riddle brothers were staying when she last stayed with them.

She stepped into a dark ish bedroom with lots of books. She walked over to the blinds and pushed them open so she could get a better look in the room.

“I usually like the curtains closed.” Mattheo said, scaring the shit out of y/n.

She turned to him with a hand over her heart. “Warn a girl next time, Mattheo!”

He laughed. “Sorry, sorry.”

She continued to look around. “You know, your room is the darkest one in this whole house. And the most gloomy.” Her eyes landed on the bookshelves. “Except for the books. They’re gorgeous.”

He chuckled. “You can go ahead and take some if you want. I’ve read all of them so I don’t really care.”

She raised a brow before laughing. “You’ve read all these? Like actually, actually? You’re not screwing with me?”

He shook his head. “Is that a surprise?”

“Yes! In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you open a book.”

“You don’t spend any time in the library.” He stated. “That’s where I am during my free time.”

“When you’re not walking around the lake.” She said.

He laughed. “You stalking me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mattheo. I’ve seen you walking around like a loner because I spend most of my time by the lake. It’s where some of the hot guys at our school swim so it’s a pretty good view.”

Mattheo clenched his jaw before letting out a forced laugh. “I forgot you like staring at strangers who are half naked.”

She shrugged. “If they’re hot, they’re hot. I gotta stare.”

“You’re not like… staring at them like that, are you?” He laughed. “Cause that would be weird.”

“Oh, like how you look at me?” She said, raising a brow as a grin pulled at her lips.

He chuckled. “Now, darling, I think you’re just seeing things.”

“Oh?” She asked, walking over to him. “So if I were to take my sweater off you’d keep looking at my eyes?”

He laughed awkwardly. “Well, I think a lot of people would look, honestly…”

She raised a brow. “If your brother was changing you’d look at his chest?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. Obviously not.”

She nodded. “But you’d have a problem looking in my eyes instead of at my chest?”

“Well you’re not my sister so I can look.”

“Well now you just sound like a creep.” Y/n teased.

Mattheo scowled. “Well now you’re not being fair.”

“Oh no?” She grinned, unzipping her hoodie and sliding it off her arms. “My eyes are up here, Mattheo.”

“Screw this.” Mattheo mumbled annoyed. He cupped y/n’s face gently before pulling her in and pressing his lips against hers.

She pulled away for air after what felt like a short time period. “You do that to all the girls who try to take their sweater off?” She asked dumbfounded.

He shook his head and laughed, his hands still cupping her face. “You’re so blind sometimes, y/n.”

She raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “No?”

“You sound unsure.” She teased. “But you are.”

He rolled his eyes, pulling his hands away. “You are more than I am.”

“I’ve been in love with you since I met you.” She said quietly. “And you never noticed.”

He grinned. “So the flirting was getting to you?” He teased.

“I’ll cut your throat.” She said quickly.

He chuckled. “I’ll take my chances.” He pulled her in for another kiss, pulling away when he heard footsteps getting closer to his room.

She quickly pulled back and stood by the bookshelf, getting a book off the shelf quickly. “What’s this one about?” She asked calmly.

Matthe cleared his throat. “Uh, uhm… werewolves.” He said after clearing his throat.

Tom knocked on the door frame. “Hey, there’s hot water on the stove right now. I’ve got to stop by the market to get some more stuff for dinner. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Mattheo grinned at y/n as Tom walked off to get his shoes on and leave for the market.

[holden-caulfield]

Hi! Hope everything is great with you! ❤️ are you taking requests now? I have an idea for a Draco x reader fic. If you want to write. It’s ok if you’re not feeling it or if you’re not taking request ☺️

I was thinking about plot with something like that the reader and Draco are always on each other and fighting, but secretly like each other. They fight to make the other to notice them or to interact. One day the reader borrows a book at the library and made some notes in it (even if she’s not supposed to, just a bad habit that she has). She just writes some thoughts or comments regarding the book or life in general. And then Draco borrows the same book after the reader and sees that there are notes in the book but don’t know who made it. He likes the notes and decided to write his own notes in the book. The reader borrows the book again and see the notes that Draco wrote. So maybe they go back and forth writing notes in the book or even change to another book. Then I don’t know about the plot only that they end up together and it is a fluff ending ❤️

Oh. God. This request was e v e r y t h i n g, i loved it so much, thank you lovely anon!🤧

Wouldn't You Like To Know

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: draco and reader hate each other but a common interest might change everything.

Warning: none :)

Word Count: 1207

//

Nothing could make you angrier than that slytherin prick, Draco Malfoy, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to loathe him. There was something just so intriguing, so intoxicating about the boy that made you forget about how much of a haughty twat he actually was.

He seemed to be always picking on you, always having to comment on your choice of clothing of the day or stating how 'immensely insufferable' you were. You obviously never backed down, taking every chance you got to talk with the slytherin, even if it was just to insult his incredibly unnatural, yet entrancing hair or his arrogant ways.

You hated the boy, but you couldn't ignore him. Even though you very much wanted to on certain occasions.

It was saturday, a moment to finally be able to relax a bit and forget about lessons for a while, but someone decided to importune you. It was way too early to engage in a full battle, so you saved your efforts, leaving him in the hallway with his clique and a snarky reply. He had a rather surprised look on his face at the lack of interaction, but you couldn't notice it.

You made your way to the library; it seemed to be the only place you could find solace in. Reading had always been a way to unwind for you, therefore it was no surprise that the library was exactly where you were headed.

You skimmed through the long shelves of books, stopping your finger on a very old-looking volume. You took it out carefully and found yourself a cozy spot in the library, near a window so that you could see the lovely morning unfolding.

It was a copy of your favourite book of all time and you could swear the vintage-like look of the tome was due only to your continuous readings. You loved that book, every time you read it feeling like the first time and successfully taking your mind off of whatever you were worried about.

You started reading it for the hundredth time, taking your time while doing so, and without even realizing it you were starting to underline certain sentences. The quill and ink in front of you on the desk seemed to be begging you to use them and that you did. You highlighted all of those phrases that struck something you, you wrote tiny notes near the words you found the most interesting and you realized that when it was too late. The damage had been done, so why stopping?

You kept reading for a long time, the sky visible through the windows changing vastly beside you until it was already past lunch-time. You closed the book lovingly and put it back where you found it, sure to be able to return later, and took off towards the great hall.

Unbeknownst to you, that was also someone else's favourite book because when you came back, more notes had been added. Tiny messages in the most elegant calligraphy you had ever seen were adorning the pages you had previously stained. What really surprised you was that most of those short lines were actually replies or simple comments to your own.

'This is my favourite line.'

'I'd argue that the best line is actually at the next page.'

'This passage, i will never get tired of reading it.'

'How could one get tired when it's the best piece of literature ever written?'

You were completely shocked but somehow your heart warmed at the gesture: a stranger liked your same exact book and took the time to reply to the silly comments of some heedless student, it sounded almost romantic.

You immediately took a quill with the intention to add more comments but froze as you dipped it in the ink. What were you going to write?

You stopped to think for a moment and the most obvious question came to mind, so you retrieved the quill from the inkwell and wrote onto the last page, the only blank one.

'Who are you?'

You let the ink dry and placed the book back in its place, planning to come back the next day and find an answer.

It was silly really, to be so excited just because a couple words exchanged with a stranger. It had no meaning either: said stranger might have had the same habit as you, writing in all the books they read, or maybe said stranger only found your comments funny and wanted to add their own.

Nevertheless you returned to the library the next morning, very early given the fact you hadn't really slept the previous night, excitement flowing freely in your veins and keeping you awake. You hurried to the chosen section and grasped the book, clutching it in your hands as you brought it with you towards your usual spot.

You opened the book and quickly browsed through the pages until the last one. A reply was there, but not the one you were expecting.

'Wouldn't you like to know...'

What now? You couldn't just keep writing there, you couldn't just change book and keep on writing on every single volume in the library...

Defeated, you stood up, book opened in your hands as you walked through the library you knew by heart, trying to decipher who your mysterious correspondent could be.

"You?!" your eyes shot up from the book to meet his grey ones, Draco Malfoy.

"What? Can't even visit the library now?" you replied, eyebrows raised. You noticed he was oddly eyeing your book and slowly closed it.

"Why do you have that book?" he asked again, almost ignoring you with his eyes still set on the tome.

"I was reading it? That's what i usually do with books, you know."

"Are you sure? Because i have a feeling you write in them." your displeased frown soon turned into one of stupor.

"You?!" he nodded, smirking; for the first time you noticed a tinge of genuineness in his smug grin and the thought that maybe, just maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't the bully everyone thought passed through your mind.

You didn't know what to say and apparently neither did he for you both remained still and silent, staring in each other's eyes. It wasn't awkward: you looked into his grey orbs with longing, as if you had always known he could have been what you wanted and finally were able to see this side of him, the side of him you were in love with even if you didn't know it existed.

He cleared his throat then, making you focus back on reality.

"Although i enjoy the library, i think we should find a different place to talk about... this." he motioned to the book and your dreams completely shattered. He was probably not pleased with the discovery, one of the students he hated most exchanging notes with him. "Maybe at hogsmeade, tomorrow, at 8?"

"You don't hate me?" as relief washed over you, surprise did too.

"Not really, i actually quite like you, but i thought you hated me so i played along." you smiled at the unexpected confession and he furrowed his brows. "So, is that a yes? Because i can go back to hating you if not and forget everything."

You chuckled lightly, rolling your eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know, Malfoy..."

//

Taglist <3

@turn-to-page-394-please @gwlvr @dracosaccount @astoria-malfcy @dracomalfoys-wh0re @eunoniaa @cherie-draco @oeuryale @wh0re4blaise @90smalfoy @sanctimoniousslytherpuff @maybesandohnos @dracoswhore007 @macheregrace @paulina1998 @bungunz @malfoysbiitch @dreamy-clousds @malfoyxxdraco23 @saayanaaa @xlauren-malfoyx @riddleswh0r3crux

[if your name is crossed out, check your privacy settings!]

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 16: Tulips

With the possible exception of all of the eighth years getting along and actually becoming friends, regardless of their former rivalries, the first half of Draco's eighth year at Hogwarts was remarkably ordinary. Funny how it took a war to see that they were all just children and all being used as pawns in a bigger game.

There was also, for Draco, the realization that he had a bit of a crush on Potter. He found that he actually really enjoyed the other boy's company; he enjoyed his snarkiness and the way that Draco could see mischief in his eyes. He liked the way Potter listened, liked the way he always seemed to want to casually touch other people. He liked him, plain and simple.

But other than the unlikely truces turned friendships (and in the case of Potter, turned crush) nothing weird happened, no one tried to kill him (or other students), no prophecies were unveiled, there were no dementors, no psychopath teachers, nothing. It was almost enough to make Draco bored.

Almost.

There was nothing strange until one unassuming morning in March, when they were all sitting in the great Hall, eating breakfast, and quizzing each other for the upcoming test in Transfiguration.

Potter interrupted the heated debate that Draco was having with Granger with a blurted, "What the fuck?"

Everyone looked over at him, including Hermione and Draco, to see what had happened.

"There's a tulip in my coffee cup!" the other boy said.

"So there is," Draco replied in amusement.

Everyone chuckled and Potter tried to figure out who had put the bright yellow tulip there but Draco really didn't have time to think about that because he and Hermione were back to arguing about Transfiguration theory.

He probably wouldn't have thought about it again but that evening as they got ready for bed, Draco felt a strange twinge in his magical core, like you got when you were preparing to cast a strong spell.

Before he could really dig into what had happened, Potter's bed curtains flew open, "Alright, you lot," he said, a laugh ruining the stern look he was attempting. "Who put this here?" he asked, holding out a red tulip that he'd apparently found on his pillow.

(Read more below the cut)

Each of them denied having any knowledge of how the tulip could have found its way into Potter's bed, but a bit of unease settled in Draco's stomach. Potter put the second tulip in with the first in the vase on the windowsill and laughed it off.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there was a story he'd been told as a child. A story that he couldn't quite grasp but filled him with a bit of apprehension none the less.

Still, this was nothing like the sort of anxiety that Draco had been accustomed to forcing himself to sleep through for the past few years, so he put it from his mind and went to sleep.

And again, he might have been able to forget about it, if it weren't for the fact that the next morning he felt a tug at his magical core and then a few minutes later, Potter appeared with another tulip. White this time and he'd found it in the pocket of his robes. "Seriously, what the hell you guys?" he laughed.

Everyone else laughed too, but Draco frowned, the memory of the story niggling at the back of his mind once more, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He continued to try to remember throughout the rest of the week and Potter continued to get tulips. They showed up in his book bag, the showed up in place of his quills, they showed up on his plate at meals, they showed up everywhere and anywhere. One even replaced his loofa in the shower.

By the end of the week, Potter was getting a bit irritated and he'd had to enlarge the vase multiple times to fit all of the tulips. Draco wasn't sure why Potter hadn't just thrown them out, but it wasn't his place to say anything, certainly.

On Saturday, when everyone had gone off to Hogsmeade for the morning, Draco fire called his mother.

"Draco, darling," she said, smiling at him, "I'm so pleased to hear from you. How are you?"

He endured the predictable pleasantries before he said, "Listen, mother, the reason I called," he paused there because this was all a bit ridiculous. "Well, it sounds silly really, but there was a story you told me when I was little," he said. "Something about a wizard who had flowers appear out of nowhere? I can't remember it."

"Why?" she asked, her face serious. "Draco, why are you asking me about that story?"

"No reason," he said quickly. "It's just something that came into my head," he lied.

"Who's receiving tulips, Draco?"

"It's nothing!" he repeated. "And I never said there were any tulips."

"If I tell you the story, will you tell me the truth?"

Draco sighed but nodded.

"The story," she began, "was about your great, great, great uncle Silas. Silas was a difficult man, everyone always said so. He was haughty and rude; he was quite clever but not terribly gracious about it."

"Mother," he interrupted, his knees were growing cold and sore from kneeling on the common room floor, "could we just skip to the meat of the story."

"Yes, alright," she sighed. "Long story short, Silas fell in love with a muggleborn. His family obviously refused to let him get married, assuming that the love would fade eventually. There was an arranged marriage in there as well, but that's not really important. What is important, is that the person he fell in love with began to find tulips everywhere. Every time she went to pick up something, it turned into a tulip; at her home, her work, everywhere she went, tulips."

Draco felt something in the pit of his stomach drop. This couldn't be happening.

"He was pining for her, heartbroken that he couldn't be with her," she said. "Now, magic can't create something from nothing, so in each of the tulips was a little bit of Silas' magic."

"Like a horocrux?" he asked in horror.

"No, darling, nothing so sinister as that. But the flowers were slowly draining his magical core and he was growing steadily weaker." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "So, as the story goes, when he was so weak he could barely summon the strength to stand, he went to her to confess his love. What did it matter if he was going to die? When he told her of his love, she kissed him and his magic was restored. The family was convinced that it was true love and that the love that bound the two of them together was obviously stronger magic than that of blood status."

Draco rubbed a hand over his face, "So, this was a true story?"

"Yes, it's all rather well documented as it would have to be in the case of something like this." She gave him her most commanding look, "Now, I've held up my end of the bargain, so it's your turn. Tell me who's receiving tulips, Draco."

"Harry Potter," he whispered.

Her eyebrows rose, "You have to tell him, Draco."

"I can't!" he said, shaking his head, "You know I can't. He couldn't possibly feel the same way, he couldn't possibly love me, too-"

Something shattered behind him and he yanked his head back to see the boy in question standing there, bouquet of tulips in his hands. The vase had dropped and been smashed, water was soaking into Potter's socks but he didn't seem to notice.

Draco promptly ended the fire call with his mother and wondered if it would be possible to transfer to Beauxbatons to complete the year. It was either that or he should just go off to die.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Most of it," Potter confessed with a little wince. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but then I heard her talking about how everything in that girl's life became tulips and I knew you were talking about me. I didn't realize how the story would end," he hastened to add. "I just thought that she might know something about a curse or spell that had been cast on me."

Draco rubbed his forehead, "Look, could you just forget about the whole thing?"

"Forget about it?" Potter asked, sounding a little hysterical at this point. "Draco, it turned six quills into tulips in the past three days. Six!" he shook his head. "No, I can't forget about it and I certainly can't let you die."

Draco stood up and balled his hands into fists, "Always ready to play the hero aren't you?"

"What?" the other boy asked, obviously taken aback.

"Ready to play the martyr," he sneered. "Well I won't have it. I won't have you tying yourself to me just because you're afraid that I'll die if you don't return the sentiment."

"But I already do return the sentiment," Harry said, sounding bewildered. "Sorry, maybe I should have said so, but I thought that was obvious from the story."

"What?"

"Well, your mum said that it was true love's kiss that restored his magic, true love that made it possible for the flowers to appear in the first place. I just assumed it was obvious that I was in love with you, too."

"You are?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe that this was possible.

"Yeah," Harry replied with a little shrug. "I mean, I thought maybe it would have been good to start with a date or something," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's why I'm still here, I wanted to invite you to go to Hogsmeade with me."

"You did?"

Harry nodded again. "But I'm glad to kiss you, for the unselfish reason that it will restore your magic," he said, glancing down at the flowers in his hands before looking back up, "And for the selfish reason that I would really just like to kiss you."

"You would?" he asked.

Harry huffed at him, "Are you going to stop sounding like you doubt every word out of my mouth?"

"Sorry, it's just-" Draco started but then Potter was across the room, dropping the tulips as he cupped Draco's face in his hands and leaned in until they were a mere inch apart.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his eyes flickering between Draco's.

"Yes," Draco breathed.

Harry gave him a little grin and leaned in to kiss him, his soft, full lips, gently caressing Draco's, and Draco felt like his heart stopped beating for a moment before a surge of magic, and joy, and love came rushing in and filled him to bursting.

He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and pulled him in closer and Harry hummed, molding his lips to Draco's for a moment before pulling back and resting their foreheads together.

"That was-" Draco started.

"Fantastic," Harry agreed. "Do you feel better? Not going to die on me or anything?"

Draco laughed and pinched his side, "I think we were a long way off from that."

"I don't know," Harry replied, tilting his head to press a kiss to the tip of Draco's nose. "There were an awful lot of tulips."

"Yes," Draco replied, pulling back to look at the tulips strewn about the floor, "And you've dropped them all on the ground. That's quite rude, you know."

Harry huffed at him, "Prat," he said fondly before drawing away to swish his wand and collect all of the tulips and put them back into the repaired vase. "So," Harry said, "I think tulips may be my new favorite flower."

"Mine, too," Draco replied with a smile.

And when they got married, two years later, there were tulips everywhere.

Day 15: Wings | Day 17: Salt

[moonbeam-writing]

♡ Day Three: Stupid Cupid ♡

❥ Character: Karma Akabane (Assassination Classroom)

❥ Prompt: Enemies/Rivals to Lovers (+ a hint of Mutual Pining)!

❥ Quick Note: I don't even know how to explain how much fun I had writing this and I'm so excited for the other drabbles to be posted!!

❥ Warnings: None!

❥ Word Count: 2,012

— ♡ —

(Y/N) left out a long sigh as she sat on the balcony of the girl's hotel room. The Kyoto trip had been far more exhausting than she anticipated, though that was partially her fault. With Koro-Sensei as a teacher and Karma back from suspension, she should have known better.

(Y/N) and Karma grew up together, and despite being civil enough to each other, their personalities seemed to clash just enough for something of a rivalry to be formed. Neither of them even knew what they were fighting with the other about. It wasn't who was stronger or more violent, nor was it about who was smarter. They just seemed to need to be better than the other and that was that.

Rio Nakamura, on the other hand, was convinced that she knew the reason. According to her, their little competition was based on who could hide their feelings better. Rio and Koro-Sensei were so sure that the two had feelings for each other, though, obviously, neither of them wanted to admit it.

(Y/N)’s best friend and their teacher came up with a bunch of reasons as to why the two wouldn't admit things. Some of the most likely reasons they had come up with was that Karma just flat out wasn't the type who knew how to deal with his feelings, (Y/N) would be too anxious to make the first move and would rather die, the two were just intimidated by the possible change that it could bring.

As much as (Y/N) hated to admit it, they were right on some level. She liked him, but was horrified by the changes it could bring. The two had spent so long arguing with each other that she wasn't sure what they’d do otherwise. She didn't know where she’d be without Karma’s snarky remarks.

“Penny for your thoughts, sunshine?” A relatively fitting and oftenly used term for Karma Akabane: Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Suppressing an smile and instead, rolling her eyes, (Y/N) turned to Karma. The usual smug and teasing smirk he normally wore was plastered onto his lips and all she could do was look back out ahead of herself again before answering.

“Maybe if you were someone else.” She quietly chuckled to herself, moving her eyes to look at him again. “What are you doing here, anyway? Isn't Koro-Sensei still on the loose?”

“Probably.” The redhead shrugged, mirroring the girl beside him. He had to admit, the girls had a nice view.

Karma’s answer took (Y/N) by surprise. “What do you mean? Normally you’re first in line to go after him.” Her shock sounded in her voice and Karma couldn't keep his smirk from widening. “Also, what are you doing here? The room you would have needed to go into to get here is for the girls.”

“Aw, come on, (Y/N)!” Karma heaved a dramatic sigh. “Can’t I just come talk to my favorite girl?”

Though he posed the question like he were kidding, Karma was being completely honest. Despite how the two would often bicker like children, Karma really did feel somewhat close to the girl. After all, wouldn't it be rather difficult not to feel close to someone you've argued, bantered with, and competed against since you were little?

Granted, aside from the rival status that had been bestowed upon them, he recognized that his rivalry with (Y/N) was far different from his rivalry with Asano. He couldn't possibly convey how grateful he was for that. He wasn’t sure that he could cope if (Y/N) hated him.

This rivalry was much more positive and the two of them knew it. They were always secretly proud of whoever came out on top, outwardly giving a sarcastic comment or childish gesture. The two of them also always had the other’s back, despite not always outwardly showing it. That being said, (Y/N) has always blamed Karma for that, due to the fact that he could always seem to take care of himself.

“There’s no way I’m your favorite girl, Akabane. Your favorite girl to annoy? Sure. However, Okuda’s actually your favorite girl.” (Y/N) responded, keeping her tone witty and joking, however there was a slightly bitter edge to it.

(Y/N) would have loved to believe that she was Karma’s favorite girl like he had said, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. With Okuda’s brain power, specifically in regards to science, Karma could find quite the partner in crime inside of her after finding her wild side. After all, that was one of the things that Karma did best, at least in (Y/N)’s eyes. He was always so good at helping people let go. 

“Ha ha, I can understand where your mind is probably at, but you’re wrong.” Karma pointed out, turning himself to look at (Y/N) once again. “I barely know her. You, on the other hand, are someone I know. I’ve been bickering with you for years, (Y/N). If you didn’t amuse me in some way, we wouldn’t talk anymore, and I talk to you the most.”

Karma’s words left (Y/N) feeling conflicted. Was he being honest with her? He normally always was, but for some reason she just couldn't find herself believing it. What he said might have been true under normal circumstances, but (Y/N) couldn't see herself as someone who would fall under “normal circumstances”.

Despite her thoughts, (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh a little, though once again, it was more bitter than she anticipated. Regardless, the devilish boy beside her loved the sound.

“I’m sure. Just go back, Karma. Everyone’s probably going to come back soon, you wouldn’t want any of the questions that would follow if you were seen here with me.”

“Okay, and? Half the time they don't question my motives for things, and even then, I don't care.”

(Y/N) mentally swore to herself. She should have known that he would have a way to counter anything she said. Karma always did and it didn't sit right with her sometimes.

Despite how much she secretly adored the sadist, their rivalry absolutely wasn’t good in terms of how (Y/N) would occasionally see herself. To (Y/N), Karma would always be better than her, he would always be right. She had to admit that. It made her proud of him, sure, but it was also frustrating. She couldn’t help but get into her own head about it. (Y/N) always tried her best to get ahead of him, and though she’s supposedly had a few victories, (Y/N) knew that Karma was always going to be better than her. It was just an unspoken fact at this point.

“Right,” (Y/N) relented with a sigh. “Sorry.”

“You should be!” Karma answered as though he were stating the obvious. The girl beside him flinched slightly as though she had done something wrong.

Though Karma wasn't always the best with his own feelings, he could read others like a book. Even more so the girl he has always considered to be his best friend and one-and-only. Karma knew exactly what’s been going on in her head and it bums him out every time. So, with all of that said, the boy decided that tonight he’d put all of his thoughts about her out into the open. She seemed as though she needed to hear something nice about herself.

“You need to think more of yourself, (Y/N)!” Karma couldn't help but smile at the slight widening of (Y/N)’s eyes. Her reactions were some of his favorites.

“What?” (Y/N) almost immediately felt guilt pooling in her stomach. It were as though she were a little kid again and she was caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to and (Y/N) knew Karma noticed. He was too observant to miss it.

Karma’s smirk was as lively as ever. As nice as he wanted to be to the girl beside him, he couldn't help but tease her a little. If anything, he was sure it might cheer her up a little.

“You're so mean to yourself! You spend so much time worrying about whether or not you can actually compete against me, you've been destroying yourself.” He noticed (Y/N)’s grip on the rail in front of her tighten. “If you worry so much about something you’re already succeeding in, you’ll get wrinkles. The smile lines by your eyes are cute, but do you really want more?” He chuckled out, noticing the slight slack in her grip on the railing and the genuine, amused laugh that left her. It was small, but there.

“Getting kind words of caution from you? I never would have thought. To what do I owe the pleasure of those words, Akabane?”

Karma mentally celebrated his win in his head as amused and playful sarcasm laced itself in her words.

He gave a false hum as though he were in thought. “Do you really want to know?”

“You literally just dug yourself into a hole. You know I hate it when people hide things from me.” Karma just laughed as (Y/N) sat there with a pout. “Karma!” She whined. “Tell me!”

“You really wanna know?”

The two could feel the anticipation in the air. It sat heavily between them, but it wasn’t necessarily negative.

“Of course I do! You know I do.”

Once again, Karma found himself snickering at (Y/N). She could just be too cute at times.

“Okay. In that case...” In a very fitting fashion, Karma sat quietly for a moment, adding to (Y/N)’s suspense. “I love you. You’re my favorite rival, my best friend, and somewhere along the way I realized that I love you. You’re the best, (Y/N), and honestly better than me at most things unless it’s math or torture.” He threw a mildly flirty wink her way, taking in the way she averted her gaze away from him, the barely noticeable tint to her cheeks and ears. Karma knew he made the right move.

The two found themselves engulfed in silence again, still full of anticipation, though this time was different. It hinged entirely on (Y/N).

“Really?” Her voice was soft as she looked at Karma in surprise. He nodded at her with a shockingly soft smile. “I love you too.”

Karma grinned widely at her. “I'm not entirely sure on what to do next, I'm going to be completely honest with you.”

The pair laughed together and (Y/N) reached out to take his hand. It was all so new for her and it genuinely made her nervous, but she couldn't help it.

Using their connected hands, Karma pulled (Y/N) closer to him. Nothing big happened, just the two holding hands and being close together.

Until, they heard some noise, that is.

(Y/N) and Karma weren’t sure just how they hadn’t noticed before, probably from being so wrapped up in each other, but nearly right in their line of sight was Koro-Sensei, scribbling away in his little notebook.

The shock of their teacher seemingly coming out of nowhere faded quickly though, as Karma pulled out one of the specially made guns from the pocket of his pants and shot at Koro-Sensei. Unfortunately for the new couple, none of them hit, however it got him to stop writing about them, so they didn't exactly lose.

“You know, I always knew this day would come!” Koro-Sensei exclaimed in his usually theatrical way. “I knew it as soon as Karma was let off of his suspension.”

“Um, okay?”

“Ah, young love. Well, I’ll let you kids get back to it! Though, the girls are back, so good luck!” And just like that, their teacher blasted himself away from the situation at Mach 20.

“Okay, Karma.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “We have two options. You can either help me sneak away, or we can face the music.”

“We'll just see what happens first.”

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Strange Times - Dr. Steven Strange x Reader - Words: 2,225

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Sorry if Dr. Strange is a bit OOC because I'm not SUPER experienced with his character but I wanted to give him a shot! Hope you like my other fandom references 😜 Let me know if you pick up on them!

"Y/N," Hawkeye said, walking up to you. "You've got a mission." Your eyebrows raised dramatically as you lifted your gaze from the bowl of cereal you were currently consuming. 

"Me?" You asked mid-chew. Clint rolled his eyes at your manners, or lack thereof, but nodded. 

"You're ready," He assured you. Him, along with the other Avengers, had been training you now for the past few months. While your control over your power had greatly improved, you still weren't completely confident in yourself. "All it involves is catching a guy who'd been working in Research and Development on one of Stark's projects. He apparently decided he could get more money if he stole it and sold it to the other side so we need to catch him before the deal goes through. He should be landing in Madrid now. The deal is set for tomorrow morning. You have until then."

"Okay," You said slowly. "I guess I'll get ready then?" 

"Yep!" He chirped, grinning brightly. You grumbled about the lack of prep time and stalked away trying to hide your nerves. You got dressed and left in record time. The small jet you'd been assigned for your mission had the location pre-entered, thanks again to Hawkeye, so you reviewed the file during the flight. 

"Great!" You groaned, going off on a rant to yourself as you kept reading. "He's stolen an unstable prototype of a personal time travel device! How was this guy not checked out before? Matt Smith doesn't sound suspicious at all!" The computer on the jet beeped at you and you saw that you were approaching the landing site. Quickly putting the file away, you prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Once you landed you carefully made your way to the small hotel Smith was supposedly staying in for the night. Your first obstacle, of course, was persuading the clerk to let you look at the guest list. Once you did, however, you quickly snuck up to his room on the 3rd floor and went in.

"Well well well," You heard someone say once the door closed behind you. You whipped around and saw a shadowy figure in the corner. "I mustn't have made a very strong impression if the Avengers sent me fresh meat. Poor girl. You have no idea what you're up against do you?" He flicked a light on and you saw the prototype in his hand. 

"You're right. I don't. But neither do you," You retorted. Concentrating on the barriers of the room, you lifted the gravity in it while keeping yourself grounded. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," You smirked. "So why don't we make this easier on the both of us and you hand it over now?"

"Well, you make a good argument. But how about no?" He smirked back. You felt a click around your wrists and were suddenly pulled back against the wall. "I have heard of you, my dear," He sneered. "So I was well prepared for any of you." As he revealed the small propulsion device he was wearing, he started gliding towards you, no longer affected by the lack of gravity in the room. "I don't really want to hurt you," he said. "I just want you to watch as everything you've ever known is destroyed!" As he continued monologuing, you noticed orange sparks appearing behind him. At first you thought he was activating the device. But moments later, the sparks turned into a circular portal and a tall man with a red cape stepped through. 

"Hand over the proto-whoa!" He yelled as he was inadvertently affected by your gravity manipulation when he entered the room. His cape though seemed to react and started flapping, pushing him back towards the ground. "As I was saying," He said, clearing his throat and trying to regain his dignity. "Hand it over." 

"Why should I, Strange? Of what use is it to you?"

"Doctor Strange!" You thought. "That's who he is!" You'd heard of him before but had never met or seen him. While you did wonder why he was there, you were awfully glad for the help. 

"I was bored and needed some entertainment," He shrugged. "Now if you don't mind, I'll be taking that now." Strange reached out to grab the device out of the man's hand but you noticed Smith was going to try to fly away. You quickly adjusted the gravity again, keeping everyone on the ground. 

"Hey!" Smith yelled. "That's not nice!" You rolled your eyes and Strange easily snatched the device from him. Smith struggled to reach for it but Strange smirked. 

"Be a dear?" He said to, apparently, his cape. The cape flew off his back and curled it's one corner around the device. It then hovered up near the ceiling, out of reach. 

"So that's why Stark said his costume was creepy," You thought, chuckling lightly. Strange glanced at you oddly but didn't address it. 

"Could you-" He trailed off, motioning slightly around him.

"Oh! Sure!" You replied quickly, letting the gravity return to normal. Smith immediately tried to get away but Strange pulled out an odd glowy rope and whipped it around him effectively restraining him for the moment. 

"Not so fast," He said to the man. Turning to you he motioned for you to come closer. He made short work of the cuffs on your wrists before transferring them to Smith' own hands. "Ok, off you go," He said, opening a portal in front of the man. He unceremoniously shoved him through and closed it behind him. "He'll be taken care of," Strange said to you, motioning for the cape to return to him. He then handed the prototype back to you.

"Thanks," You mumbled, feeling quite silly that you couldn't handle the mission on your own. "Why did you come here anyways? Did Stark or one of the others send you?"

"No, I came on my own. You see, I keep a watch list of individuals and beings from all realms that may be a threat to this world. When Mr. Matt Smith there stole that device, he jumped to the top."

"Oh," You said. "Well, I suppose I'd better get back. I'll probably need to debrief and should probably train a bit more so I can handle myself better next time."

"You did fairly well for someone without much experience although you certainly need more training." You rolled your eyes at his statement. Having heard of his reputation for being snarky, however, you weren't all that fazed. "Perhaps you would like to come to the Sanctum with me? I'm quite sure we have a book that could help you." Now that surprised you. You didn't expect him to be nice at all. Maybe he's not as bad as Loki said he was. 

"So, is the Sanctum a fancy library and you're the fancy librarian?" You joked. He laughed and shook his head.

"The Sanctum is much more than that and Wong is the fancy librarian!" He grinned. He opened a portal in front of you that, apparently, led to the Sanctum. Before stepping through it, though, you remembered your own transportation.

"Oh! Actually I have a jet I came in. Can we take that back? I just know I'll be read the riot act if I leave it behind," You said.

"That would be fine," He replied. "Besides, it will give us more time to get to know each other better." A light blush rose to your cheeks as you followed the Doctor out. 

"Am I crazy or is he flirting with me?" You thought. "Crazy, definitely crazy." As you kept walking, your internal monologue also continued. "He is quite handsome though," you mused. "Kinda looks like that guy from the tv show BFF/N watches."

"Nice cape," You commented, trying to make conversation. The cape seemed to bristle at your comment and he smoothed it softly at his side. 

"It's a cloak, not a cape. And it's the Cloak of Levitation, an ancient relic." 

"Oh," You said quietly. "Sorry."

"Quite alright. It's easily confused to the untrained eye." He paused for a moment before adding, "And thank you." You smiled slightly and continued walking in silence.

"So what's your name?" He asked, once you got in the jet. 

"My name-name? Or my made-up name?"

"Both," He replied, entering the Sanctum's address into the computer. 

"Well, my name is Y/F/N, but I go by Andromeda Nova, or Nova for short."

"Not bad," He said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "So tell me about yourself, Nova." He'd taken off his cape before he sat and now it was hovering near him. 

"Alright," You said nervously. You were slightly intimidated by the more experienced superhero who suddenly seemed to be interrogating you but you went ahead with telling him your story of how you got your powers.

"So you went to the Avengers for help?"

"Yes. I had no idea how to control it and, well, everyone that I had been friends with before were afraid of me except for BFF/N." You giggled slightly and smirked. "I guess you could say you met me at a very strange time in my life." He laughed heartily at your pun and you relaxed a bit. As you continued telling him about your training with the Avengers, you decided to take off your own cape and tossed it over a nearby chair. Eventually, however, you got tired of just hearing your own voice since he kept asking you questions rather than speak himself. "Do you mind if I put on some music while we talk?" 

"Oh not at all!" He replied excitedly. You grabbed the tablet that controlled the sound system and scrolled through the library.

"Any preferences, Strange?"

"Whatever you want." You nodded and scrolled a bit more before finally hitting shuffle on one of your favorite playlists. "And, you can call me Stephen if you want." Seconds after the song started, he smirked.

"Waka Waka, Shakera, 2010." Your jaw dropped, eyebrows raising comically. "Surprised?" You nodded, speechless. "Let's try another, shall we? Computer, next song." The next song started and now it was your turn to grin. Just before he opened his mouth, you beat him to it.

"Ride, Twenty One Pilots, 2015. Computer, next song." He raised one eyebrow, impressed, before closing his eyes to concentrate on the next song. 

"Just The Way You Are, Bruno Mars, 2010," You said at the same time. He smiled widely and let the song continue for the moment. Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, you got up to look, almost doubling over in a fit of giggles. 

"Should we be concerned?" You asked the doctor, who seemed just as shocked as you when he walked over to see what you were looking at. Apparently Cloak had gotten the dancing bug and decided your cape would make an excellent partner. 

"I have no idea," He replied, biting back a laugh. "It's been a while since he's been with another cape, so," He trailed off, both of you laughing once again. "Wait, is yours a cape or a cloak?"

"Whatever it is, he likes it!" You exclaimed, watching the odd waltz continue. Once your laughter calmed, you noticed he was staring at you. You cleared your throat and looked at him questioningly. "That, um, that's a lovely dress. A, uh, very nice color," He said quickly, stumbling over his words. 

"Uh-huh, sure," You said, sarcastically.

"Really! It is!" He cried, embarrassed that you caught him staring.

"Yeah, well, my BFF keeps saying it's the same color as Sherlock's purple shirt of-woah!" You suddenly were thrown off balance as Cloak flew over and shoved you toward Stephen, who, of course, caught you before you fell. 

"I'm so sorry," He quickly said. "Apparently he needs a reminder that, while he is the Cloak of Levitation, he's not my wingman." He said the last part in almost a hiss, directed at the offending object. Cloak shrugged and, if it had eyes, you were sure it would have rolled them. 

"It's quite alright," You assured him. Realizing you were still in his arms you blushed brightly. "Maybe I should-"

"The music's still playing," He interrupted.

"And?"

"May I have this dance?" He smirked. 

"I suppose," You sighed. "But only because I think you'll be a better partner than capey over there." Cloak, who was still nearby, reached out to whack you for your comment. Strange quickly whipped open a portal instead in front of the fabric and you heard a yell from the other side before Cloak quickly retreated and he closed it. 

"Who was that?" You asked.

"Cloak may or may not have just accidentally slapped Wong's backside." Cloak crossed what you supposed was his arms and had the audacity to look upset. You shook your head and chuckled lightly. 

"I have a strange feeling we'll get along just fine," You smiled, holding your hands out to him for your dance. He smiled back and took your hands, swaying gently to the music. 

"Only time will tell." 

In An Unidentified Location Only One Portal Away

Matt takes a look around to make sure no one is watching him. "Well, it would seem my work here is done," He said, grinning to himself. "Toodle-oo!"

Marvel (all characters) Taglist

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@whatafuckingdumbass

@ladylulu143

@lokislittlesigyn

@gaitwae

[pocket-void]

A Cup of Coffee

A/N: I am so incredibly relieved to have finished this, but anyways! This is the second fic for Smaller Sides to Life, and I hope it’s alright. (Might make a mini list for that eventually) ^///^ I feel better about this story after thinking about it, and honestly I’m pretty content! Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day/night. u///u

Pairing: Loceit Words: 3596 Content: Flustered Janus because it just kind of turned out that way akjefabekf, it’s mostly Janus’ POV, there’s like a handful of swear words, it is fully light hearted u///u Summary: Janus and Logan always share the kitchen in the morning, being the earliest ones to rise. They never really talked, nor were they ever close, but it turns out that maybe they both have wanted to be.

Google doc if you like reading Cambria font or something, since I haven’t quite figured out Ao3 and don’t know if I ever will. >///< Also I believe uh, @sophiexteresa you wanted to be tagged...?

“Tssss...ouch.”

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee.

Some days it’s rich, fulfilling, and satisfying; a perfect and refreshing way to start the day. A cup that wakes you up with a gentle spreading warmth and wraps you in its delicate aroma that soothes your mind.

Other times however, it’s bitter, bland, and too watered down to really be properly enjoyed, resulting in a disgusting aftertaste that lingers just at the back of your throat; a constant reminder of what could’ve been, a better cup of coffee. It’s doubly worse when the coffee is not only bad, but also way too hot. The only possible benefit of the harsh sting that comes from the first sip is that it completely numbs the taste buds, effectively nullifying the admittedly awful flavor of the beverage, which of course will inevitably come creeping back regardless because there never truly is an escape from the shame and disappointment that is failing to make something as easy as a cup of joe. 

Perhaps the simple truth was just that Janus was not very good at making coffee. He was never going to admit that, obviously. Heavens no, he’d rather down another cup of scalding bean water before that ever happened. It’s not like he’d be able to taste it right now anyways, with his stupid numb mouth and all. Still, the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep something as simple as coffee consistent was definitely an odd flaw that weighed heavily on his stubborn pride, much more than any petty insult ever could. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it all that made it feel like such a thorn in his side. Hypothetically, one should be able to follow a procedure each and every morning and end up with a, if not identical, similar tasting brew each time. Well evidently that was not the case with Janus, much to his chagrin. Out of the seven days in a week, he could maybe make a decent pot only during two of those days; maybe three if he was lucky. Over the course of a year he has drunk more overheated, burnt, and under extracted cups of coffee than he could even bother to count, which he didn’t, because it was frankly beyond embarrassing at this point. If coffee wasn’t such a crucial part of his morning, he wouldn’t hesitate to label it the absolute bane of his existence. Curse those pesky grounded beans.

“...Are you alright?” A voice calls out from the other side of the kitchen. Seated at the dining table just a few feet away was Logan, halfway through a book just like he was on most days. His own empty mug casually placed atop a scattered collection of papers that no doubt contained endless notes on various facts, vocabulary words, and details of the coming week’s activities.

Of course, how could he ever forget the second most embarrassing part of his already lackluster mornings. The fact that the only other intelligent person in the living space had to watch him do this ridiculous charade every day. They’re the only ones who’d ever be awake at this time of day, as such is the fate of two people with actually proper sleeping habits. He has no clue how Logan manages to bear witness to this laughable display with a straight face, though perhaps the man was just not really paying attention. As he was, more often than not, too absorbed in hastily scribbling down notes about whatever topic had caught his attention that week to probably care about Janus constantly burning his delicate tongue over and over again. Which, to be fair, was a good thing. Wasn’t it? Totally. Right. Of course he wouldn’t want Logan to see him act a fool, why was he even asking. It’s not like anything he was doing was ever going to be as interesting as whatever the man was reading up about, as disappointing as that was. Not that it mattered currently, seeing as how for once he did manage to notice and- Aw shoot he completely forgot about that didn’t he.

Janus simply makes a face and squints, lips still slightly parted as he held his tongue between his teeth. He sighs and, with a mildly sarcastic gesture of one hand, replies with simply “Yes”.

Logan responds by raising an eyebrow, gaze still remaining firmly upon him.

Now maybe it was the way the gentle sunlight filtered through the slightly fogged up windows, or the way the dust danced under those soft golden beams, but the sight of Logan seated at the table somehow seemed to shine with an almost unfair ethereal glow. Now if only the reflection of his glasses didn’t also obscure his eyes...

Janus blinks. “Oh it’s just great.” He finally complies, rolling his eyes and ignoring the fact that he was probably just blankly staring for the past few moments. You know, like a fool. Which he was not. “Nothing big, just the usual.”

“The usual.” Logan repeats, sounding rather unimpressed. To which the snake reacts to by immediately placing a gloved hand over his heart.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

“Quite the contrary,” The other shuts his book. “I am well aware of the fact that you tend to make this mistake on a nearly daily basis.” 

The record scratch was almost audible.

“You-” Janus practically stumbles at the revelation that Logan was, in fact, actually aware of his struggles with the abominable coffee machine and its products’ disastrous burning touch. Memories of his daily mishaps slowly begin to flood his mind, and as he recalled each and every previous morning, the sound of nails being hammered into what might as well be the coffin of his tattered pride echoed louder and louder in his ears. Well it was either that, or the blood that was currently rushing through them from his suddenly racing heart. For a moment he wasn’t even sure how to respond, but the creeping heat that soon invaded his face was all too prevalent to ignore; a burning sensation rivaling even that of his tongue. 

In hindsight, he was perhaps the foolish one to not expect someone as perceptive as Logan to notice such things. Maybe it was wishful thinking at best. But surely nobody could’ve foreseen Logan ignoring the mistakes he was making even after taking note of it, right? Logan, who’s known to instinctively attempt to remedy mistakes when he saw them. Logan, who gets way too caught up in silly errors and misunderstanding figurative statements. Surely he would’ve said something, anything. But he knew? He knew and he didn’t say anything? He knew and he just watched as he made a fool of himself every day? What would’ve been the purpose of that? Was he secretly mocking him? Did he find this amusing? Janus winces. That thought perhaps stung more than it should have. 

He quickly turns away with a flick of his capelette and pretends to occupy himself with cleaning up the counter. Focusing his attention to the obnoxious yellow of his gloves rather than the gaze he still felt on his back. “Ah, so you knew.” Janus mumbles, managing to muster up his best attempt at remaining casual. “Did you even need to ask, in that case? Didn’t think you would be paying attention to whatever I was doing.” Honestly—now ain’t that a joke—he wasn’t really even sure what else he could say to that. “You have better, less mundane things to be paying attention to, no? Surely I’m nowhere near as interesting as the books you oh so love to stick your nose in.” The soft chuckle that emanated from behind just made him want to coil up into a ball and dissipate even more, but he stands his ground. He’ll just...get through the morning and subsequently try to never think of this moment ever again. He’s totally fine. 

“I wouldn’t say you aren’t interesting, Janus.”

Ok nevermind, maybe he isn’t-

“I beg your pardon?” Janus almost instantly snaps his head back towards the man at the table. A decision he immediately regrets as he locks eyes with a softly smiling Logan—gently leaning forwards as his chin rests upon crossed hands—and Janus feels his composure once again fly right out the window. 

“I said I find you interesting.”

He takes a deep breath. “Don’t repeat that, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said-”

“No no, I didn’t mean that, actually stop.”

Logan quirks his eyebrow yet again, in the snarky yet triumphant way that showed when he knew he was right about something. While the confidence was admittedly charming, Janus for one really wishes he’d stop doing that. Especially right now.

“Would you like me to elaborate?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.” No he fucking didn’t, why the hell did he say that. He nods curtly, setting his coffee cup aside as he awkwardly leans against the counter for support more than anything else. Ignoring the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave this current predicament, he hoped to god, the bastard, that the panic settling in his bones wasn’t showing on his face.

Logan smiles a little. “Well personally, I rather enjoy our time in each other’s presence during the morning.”

He enjoyed his company? “Well I certainly wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’ve also observed that you tend to have great difficulty making your preferred morning beverage the way you like it, correct?”

Ouch. “No?”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Logan replies without pause. “While I find your persistence admirable, I think we’ve reached the point of reasonable doubt a good while ago.”

“Mhm, yeah, great. Great. And are you just going to sit there and humiliate me, or are you actually trying to make a point?” Suffice it to say, he was not a big fan of hearing about it.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to offend or belittle you in any way.”

Janus scowls. “So what? Have my mistakes finally bothered you enough to actually speak up about it?”

“Well, I had anticipated you asking for assistance one of these days, but it seems like I have underestimated your tenacity.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he opens up one of his notebooks. “Truly a miscalculation on my part.”

“Miscalculation?” He gives a weary glance at the notebook. Logan had tons of them; each one having a different color or pattern that denoted their specific purpose. A sudden realization hits him as he gets a brief glance of the yellow cover. “Have you been observing me??”

“For the past few months, yes.” The man looks back up with a click of his pen. “Is there a problem?”

Is there a problem? How the hell does he just say these things? Of course there was a problem! How in the world was he supposed to live this down knowing that Logan didn’t just notice him every morning, but also was most likely taking excessively extensive notes? He was beginning to think that his attempts to make himself less conspicuous in the morning had subsequently led him to be less perceptive about what the other was doing instead, and that was an irony that he did not want to think about right now.

“Well I simply don’t see any benefit for you in doing that.”

That actually seems to make the other take pause. “There is no benefit.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There is no benefit.”

“You really need to stop repeating things when I-” Deep breath Janus, deep breath. “I’m not actually asking you to- Nevermind that, why are you doing this then?”

Logan lightly taps his pen against his chin. He shrugs. “I just wanted to figure out the best method of assisting you.”

“Oh and why would you ever care to do that?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. Just a quiet, all encompassing silence interrupted by only the occasional distant chirping of birds, as the two remained where they were in the kitchen on what was supposed to be a typical Tuesday morning.

Truth was, he didn’t want to hear it. And for one moment, just that moment, time seemed to slow. As Janus stands by the counter, with the bittersweet smell of his still cooling cup of coffee gently wafting his way and his eyes still focused on the twinkling starry blue that was Logan’s eyes, something within him was absolutely terrified. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know why. Or perhaps he did, but for the sake of himself he had never dared to acknowledge it. He couldn’t. How could he? His world sat upon an ever delicate balance, and he was not one to step towards any risk of tipping that scale. So he never did. As much as he wishes he could. To be important. To be just a few feet closer. To be just one seat away. To be sitting at that table, silently listening to Logan rant about the latest book he oh so loved to stick his nose in, and to take a sip out of a cup that was not his own. As much as he wishes he could. But no, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Yet a part of him still hopes, and he curses himself for it.

Every part of his body is telling him to get out right now. To run. To spare himself the agony being here instead of literally anywhere else. To save himself before whatever words that were about to leave Logan’s mouth completely shatters the status quo that he was already accustomed to. He knew he was hoping for too much, it was too late to take anything back, and at this point even if it were just a kind hearted gesture from a well meaning acquaintance, he didn’t think his currently pounding heart could bear the affirmation of what he already suspected. It was frankly a lose-lose situation. A situation he should’ve known better than to get himself into. A situation where he knew the best solution was just to leave.

Which is why within that moment, just one moment in which time had seemed to slow, when Janus is suddenly pulled back into reality as he now finds himself glancing upwards at Logan, who was now standing a mere two feet away. He instinctively attempts to take a step back, but his heel taps against the counter, clearly surprised at the sudden shift in positioning. Had he really been that lost in thought? Janus finally breaks away his gaze to look to the side, holding his breath as if he were bracing for whatever the other had to say next.

“Am I not allowed to?” The unexpected softness in Logan’s voice was so incredibly unfair, and it obliterated any guard that he could have ever possibly put up. 

“I- No, you just...” He inhales rather sharply. Get a grip. “Just why would you-”

“Janus.”

He looks back and suddenly they’re face to face, barely a few inches apart, and within moments he completely forgets how to breathe.

Logan laughs. He laughs. With a tenderness he has never seen etched across the man’s typically serious face. Janus stares, completely mesmerized by the beautiful yet admittedly confusing sight, and forgetting about just why he was so flustered not too long ago. He feels his hand be slowly taken into another as Logan lifts to hold it within both of his own.

“Would you mind if I made your coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks, voice barely a whisper and lips still curled in an enchanting smile.

It was a request that barely registers itself in Janus’ mind, but he quickly manages a nod after swallowing practically nothing; his mouth suddenly dry. The only thing he could focus on was just how darn close those lips were, or how deep his eyes were, or how he still smelled faintly of chamomile tea, or- “Please.” He states, with whatever remaining dignity he had left.

The other seemed pleased with the answer, and the silent understanding that was present between them felt almost too nice to be true, yet it managed to put all of his worries to rest. Part of Janus wishes time could stop right here, with his hand delicately held between Logan’s and his heart quietly swelling within his chest; the other part promptly snaps him out of that ridiculous fantasy to focus back on what was actually happening. Logan hadn’t yet moved from where he was.

“Uh…” Janus lightly bit his lip, the next thing almost paining him to suggest. “Could you perhaps...let go now?” 

“Of course.” Logan says, loosening the hold on the other’s hand. An admittedly disappointing gesture, but it’s not like anyone was going to admit that. “There are still tasks that we must both attend to.” But before he steps back to return to his seat, he gently leans in to lift Janus’ hat and plants a soft kiss upon his forehead. The expression Janus showed as a result is surely priceless as his eyes grow wide and heat instantly flares across the rest of his face yet again. He couldn’t even get a word of protest out before Logan walks away after a small pat on his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“...Right.” He replies, and promptly excuses himself from the kitchen as fast as humanly possible. He genuinely didn’t think he could handle staying there for much longer. His head was still spinning from everything that had happened, and the simple promise that was to be fulfilled the next morning sat heavily on his mind for the rest of the day. Did he know what he was doing? Was it on purpose? Was he allowed to believe in what he hadn’t thought was possible before? Janus places a hand over his forehead, the feeling of warm lips touching against his skin still rather fresh in his memories. Maybe, he could allow himself to enjoy it? What a dangerous thought, but ever so enticing. Here he thought that he could avoid it forever, and eventually it would be forgotten. Like a fool. Which he just might be.

It was something he’d probably never escape, but was it a curse? Or a blessing? Or perhaps it was neither, since neither of those things exist. But alas these feelings did, and if he couldn’t throw them away, then he’d have to keep them.

The next morning inevitably came, and with great anticipation Janus pauses a few steps before entering the kitchen. He places a hand over his heart, as if the action would somehow manage to soothe its wild rhythm, and takes a deep breath. He enters, hesitant and still groggy from just getting up, completely not knowing what to expect.

Logan was there, as usual, sitting at the dining table, papers scattered all across the surface and eyes attentively scanning through the pages of yet another book. It felt almost like a crime to disturb his concentration, but a new detail catches Janus’ eyes. A second cup, placed but a foot away from the other on the table; the area around the mug being mildly less cluttered as if to make room. 

Janus finally steps forward to make his way to the table, his arrival being politely greeted with a “salutations” from the other, and immediately given an offer to sit.

“Here?” He gestures, giving a tentative glance towards where he was used to standing. A comfortable distance away, by the counter. But now that safe haven seemed so far away.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that he pulls out a chair and takes a seat. His eyes wander towards the various papers that cover most of the table’s surface. Notes, facts, and schedules, just like he always imagined. The confirmation of being correct about something never fails to amuse him. He sneaks a peek at Logan, whose gaze also shifts up from his book without lifting his head.

“Reading about coffee today are we?” Janus chuckles.

“There can be a surprising amount of depth to any subject.”

“Hmm.” Janus hums. “...Tell me about it.”

And so he does.

While the two sit in tranquil harmony, with Logan explaining the intricacies of coffee, from its history to its benefits to its various methods of consumption, and Janus patiently listening while staring down at the drink that was poured for him beforehand, in the cup that he has always used each and every morning before. Amidst the pleasant atmosphere and the comforting voice of another, he eventually takes a sip.

It was perfect.

“I’m pleased you like it.” Logan comments, noticing the content expression on his face.

“You really did your research huh.”

“It took a few months. It was difficult to gather data when there was no consistency in the methodology that you used.”

Janus coughs and glances away again, but he hears the small chuckle underneath Logan’s breath.

“I can walk you through the process one day if you’d like.”

“I think I’d rather leave it to you.”

“A wise course of action.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.” Janus mumbles, smiling a little to himself and completely accepting defeat in that regard. 

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee. And now, sitting here at the table under the gentle light of the rising sun, perhaps every following morning could be similarly warm, fulfilling, and just as perfect as well. 

After all, every cup was now going to be just the way he likes it.

[itsclydebitches]

Hello again! Im the tinfoil hat anon with the long ass asks and I finally had the time to read your response. Thank you, it makes my day reading your answers. I honestly just enjoyed them over a cup of coffee like a good book.

Now, the gun pointing scene I mentioned was in fact the one from the droid fight facility like the other anon suggested. But I really liked that you covered the boat scene too, I haven’t thought of it much myself and now I definitely have!

I also would like to mention I love your “candy bar” choice analogy and I 100% agree Hunter’s “invitation” to join back wasn’t welcoming in the slightest. It is very likely just an obligation as you said. Sort of “you gave us a chance, we owe you a chance too”.

And the problem with it is now I am struggling to figure out how the batch members might change their attitude toward Crosshair going forward, especially Hunter. As of right now Crosshair’s best relationship is not with his brothers but with Omega(as surprising as this is). And I think he does realize now she cared about him the most out of all of them during the short time they interacted(both 1st and last episodes). Even between themselves(not counting Omega) I find most of the bad batch members to be cold and distant to each other. They feel less like a family than Rebels for example. And they aren’t even a “found family”(a trope everyone loves) but an actual one! And I get that they’re soldiers and supposed to be tough, I don’t expect them to share all “the feels”. I just can’t put my finger on it but something feels off. I agree with your previous post, the show doesn’t do a very good job showing or even telling they love each other.

Will Hunter and co only start caring about their brother again only after he leaves the empire?(assuming he does at some point). What about Disney’s prevailing theme and message that “family always love and care for each other no matter what”? I guess it’s “family always love and care for each other but only if you’re good guys making right choices”. There is no room for mistakes or wrong decisions. In the last episode everyone form the batch seemed to have given up on Crosshair(besides Omega). For now their attitude seems to be just “you’re not our enemy” and that’s that.

I realize Crosshair is a “bad guy” and consciously made his choice(and we know it’s the wrong one) but to me it felt like he thought he didn’t even had a choice or rather became so lost and confused he actually thought he chose the empire as “the lesser evil”(as in the less shitty choice out of all the other bad ones). We as audience have the benefit to know exactly how atrocious the empire really is but maybe Crosshair still doesn’t realize that.

So what exactly must Crosshair do to get back “in their good graces” as you say? Start saving “the good guys”? Save the bad batch multiple times? There is a popular opinion on how Crosshair can redeem himself. That he eventually heroically sacrifices himself to save them. I personally REALLY hope it’s NOT what’s going to happen but I heard so many people speculating his story is set up to be redemption=death. I know you mentioned you don’t want “Vader style redemption” either. Personally I think it would be a waste of a character who has a lot of potential. And I just think that the batch kind of don’t really deserve his sacrifice(maybe save for Omega) after how they never tried to save him themselves and how they treated him overall. Maybe he will risk his life to save Omega at some point and that will “prove” to Hunter he cares? Although he has already shown he cares by saving her(even if in Crosshair’s own words it’s just so they’re “even”). And the thing is, he doesn’t need to prove that he loves them, he already did that in episode 15 and made it clear he does care. He actually went to extreme by shooting his squad to prove his loyalty. What were the moments the batch demonstrated they care about him? Hunter saying “you never were our enemy” and taking his unconscious body to safety? To me Hunter “not leaving him behind” during bombardment felt more like guilt about the last time it happened and an obligation to Crosshair for helping them with droids, rather than them showing care. And I kinda of think if that was any random civilian(or anyone other than an enemy or a threat) they would carry them out too just because that’s what good guys do and not because it’s their brother. You also mentioned that minutes later Hunter snaps at him with “if you want to stay here and die, that’s your choice” which I agree can be interpreted in different ways. And I think it’s one more point to it being an obligation that in Hunter’s eyes is fulfilled now. He corrected his mistake of leaving a brother behind and saved him this time, now his guilt won’t burden him any longer.

Anyway, I can’t wait for season 2 and I appreciate you and all the anons sharing the tinfoil hat, interacting and speculating together. Those discussions have been a lot of fun!

TLDR: How do your think the relationship between the brothers will mend or evolve in the next season? Do you think S2 will improve in portraying the batch more as a family rather than a group of mercs doing missions together? What are your thoughts on the popular idea of Crosshair’s redemption by ultimate sacrifice? As in, how likely do you think this scenario is?

Anon, that is just wonderfully hilarious to me. Ah yes, the sunrise, a good cup o' joe, and the overly long character analysis of a snarky, fictional sniper. Exactly what everyone needs in the morning! 😆

You know, TBB is far from the first show I've watched where there's an obvious, emotional conclusion the creator wants the audience to come to—the squad all love each other Very Much—yet that conclusion isn't always well supported by the text. It creates this horribly awkward situation where you're going, "Yes, I'm fully aware of what the show wanted to do, but this reading, arguably, did not end up in the story itself. So what are we talking about here? The intention, or the execution?" It's like Schrödinger's Bad Batch where the group is simultaneously Very Loving and Very Distant depending on how much meta-aspects are influencing your reading: those authorial intentions, understanding of how found family tropes should work, fluff focused fics/fan art that color our understanding of the characters, etc. And, of course, whether someone saw TCW before they watched TBB. I personally wouldn't go quite so far as to say they're "cold" towards one another—with Crosshair as an exception now—but there wasn't the level of bonding among the squad that I expected of a show called The Bad Batch. Especially compared to their arc in TCW. The other night I re-watched the season seven premiere and was struck not just by how much more the squad interacted with each other back then, but how those interactions added depth to their characters too. For example, Crosshair is the mean one, right? He's the one picking fights with the Regs? Well yeah... but it's also Wrecker. While they're trying to decide what to do with Cody injured, Jesse calls out Crosshair on his attitude—"You can't talk to Captain Rex like that!"—and Wrecker's immediate response is, "Says who?" and he hefts Jesse into the air. And then he just holds him there, clearly using his superior strength to do as he pleases, until Hunter (sounding pretty angry) tells him to put Jesse down. If Wrecker had put him into a more classically understood bullying position, like pinning him to the ground, it would probably read as less funny—less "Haha strong clone lifts Jesse up in the air!" and more "Oh shit, strong clone can do whatever the hell he wants to the Regs and few are able to stop him." It's such a quick moment, but it tells us a ton about Wrecker. That he's going to stick up for his brothers, no matter the context (Crosshair deserves to be called out). That he will gleefully assist Crosshair in bothering the Regs (something that is reinforced when he later throws the trays in the mess hall, after Hunter has already deescalated the situation). That he's likely been hurt by awful treatment from the Regs too. That he'll only listen to Hunter when it comes to backing off. Little of this work—that interplay among the squad that shows us new sides to them other than basic things like "Wrecker is the nice, happy brother"—exists in TBB.

Or, at least, little exists after Omega becomes an official member of the squad.

Because, as said previously, she becomes the focus. I don't mean that as a total criticism. As established, I love Omega. But if we're talking about why the squad can feel so distant from each other, I think she's the root cause, simply because the story became all about her relationships with the Batch, rather than the Batch's relationships with each other. Having dived headfirst into reading and writing fic, it occurred to me just how many of the bonding moments we love, the sort of stuff we'll see repeated in fics because we understand that this is where the story's emotional center is, are given to Omega in canon:

Someone is hurt and in need of comfort. Omega's emotional state is the focus + moments like her being worried over Hunter getting shot.

Someone needs to learn a new skill. Echo teaches Omega how to use her bow.

Someone reveals a skill they never knew they had before. Omega is a strategic genius and plays her last game with Hunter.

Someone is in serious danger and in need of rescue. Omega rescues the group from the slavers + is the most vocal about rescuing Hunter. (Which, again, is a pretty sharp contrast to the whole Crosshair situation.) Omega, in turn, needs rescuing from things like the decommission conveyor belt.

Similarly, someone is kidnapped and in need of rescue. Omega is kidnapped twice by bounty hunters and the Batch goes after her.

Someone saves another's life. Omega saves Crosshair from drowning.

Someone does something super sweet for another. Wrecker gives Omega her room. Omega gives Wrecker Lula.

A cute tradition is established between characters. Wrecker has his popcorn-esque candy sharing with Omega.

Someone hurts someone else and has to ask forgiveness. Wrecker is upset about nearly shooting Omega and they have that sweet moment together.

Note that most of these examples could have occurred between other Batch members, but didn't. Someone could have created a space for Echo on the ship too. Wrecker also could have apologized to Tech for choking him, etc. It's not that those moments shouldn't happen with Omega, just that there should be more of a balance across the whole season, especially for a show supposedly focused on the original squad. Additionally, it's not that cute bonding moments between the rest of the Batch don't exist. I love Hunter selling Echo off as a droid. I love Wrecker and Tech bickering while fixing the ship. I love the tug-of-war to save Wrecker from the sea monster. Yes, we do have moments... it's just that comparatively it feels pretty skewed in Omega's direction.

So, as a VERY long-winded way of answering your question, I think we need to fix the above in order to tackle Crosshair's redemption in season two. Now that we've had a full season focused on Omega, we need to strike a better balance among the rest of the squad moving forward. We need to re-established the "obvious" conclusion that the rest of the Batch loves Crosshair and that's done (in part) by establishing their love for one another too. To my mind, both goals go hand-in-hand, especially since you can develop their relationship with Crosshair and their relationships with each other simultaneously. Imagine if instead of just having Wrecker somewhat comically admit that he misses Crosshair (like he's dead and they can't go get him??), he and Tech had a serious conversation about why they can't get him back yet, despite very much wanting to. Imagine if Echo, the one who was rescued against all odds, got to scream at Hunter to go get Crosshair like Omega screamed at them to go back for Hunter. Imagine if we'd gotten more than a tiny arc in TCW to establish the Batch's dynamic with each other, providing a foundation for how they would each react to Crosshair's absence. Instead, what little we've got in TBB about Crosshair's relationship with his brothers is filtered through Omega: Omega's embarrassment that she knocked over Crosshair's case, Omega treating Crosshair's comm link like a toy, Omega's quest to save Hunter that just happened to involve Crosshair along the way.

Obviously, at this point we can't fix how the first season did things, but I think we can start patching over these issues in season two. It would be jarring—we'd still be 100% correct to ask where this "Brothers love you, support you, and will endlessly fight for you" theme was for Crosshair's entire time under the Empire's thumb... but I'd take an about-face into something better than not getting any improvement at all. It is frustrating though, especially for a show that I otherwise really, really enjoyed. For me, the issue isn't so much that the show made a mistake (since no show is perfect), but that the mistake is attached to such a foundational part of the franchise. Not just in terms of "SW is about hope and forgiveness" but the specific relationship most clones have with each other: a willingness to go above and beyond for their brothers. The focus on Omega aside, it's hard to believe in the family dynamic when one member of the family was so quickly and easily dismissed. I couldn't get invested in Hunter's rescue as much as I should have because rather than going, "Yes!! Save your brother!!!" my brain just kept going, "Lol where was this energy for Crosshair?" It messes with your reading of the whole story, so in order to fix that mistake going forward, we need to start seeing the bonds that only sometimes exist in season one. Show the guys expressing love for one another more consistently (in whatever way that might be—as you say, soldiers don't have to be all touchy-feely. Give us more moments like Wrecker supporting his brothers' bad habits) and then extend that to Crosshair. Which brother is going to demand that they fight for him? Which brother is going to acknowledge that they never tried to save him? Which brother is going to question this iffy statement about the chip? In order to buy into the family theme, Omega can't be the only one doing that emotional work.

Ideally, I wouldn't want Crosshair to go out of his way to prove that he's a good guy now. I mean, I obviously want him to stop helping the Empire and such, duh lol, but I'm personally not looking for a bunch of Extra Good Things directed at the Batch as a requirement for forgiveness. Simply because that would reinforce the idea that they're 100% Crosshair's victims, Crosshair is 100% the bad guy, and he's the only one who needs to do any work to fix this situation. Crosshair needs to stop doing bad things (working for Empire). But the Batch needs to start doing good things too (reaching out to him). Especially since Crosshair made a good play already, only to be met with glares and distrust. He saved Omega! And AZI! And none of them cared. So am I (is Crosshair) supposed to believe that saving one of their lives again will result in a different reaction? That doesn't make much sense. And no, his own life wasn't at risk when he did that, but does every antagonist need to die/nearly die to prove they're worth fighting for? As you say, he's already shown that he loves them, far more than they've shown the reverse. Every time Crosshair hurt them (attacking) it was while he was under the chip's influence. In contrast, the group has no "I was being controlled" excuse for when they hurt him (abandonment). Season two needs to acknowledge the Batch's responsibility in all this—and acknowledge that they're all victims of the Empire—in order to figure out an appropriate arc for Crosshair's redemption.

Right now, the issue is not Crosshair loving his brothers, the issue is how Crosshair chooses to express that love: trying to keep them safe and giving them a purpose in life by joining the organization that's clearly going to dominate the galaxy. The only way to fix that, now that his offer has been rejected, is for him to realize that a life on the run from the Empire, together, is a better option for everyone. And the only way for that to happen is for the Batch to seriously offer him a place with them again. They need to make the first move here. They need to fight for him. And yeah, I totally get that a lot of people don't like that because it's not "fair." He's the bad guy. He's with the fascist allegory. He's killed people and has therefore lost any right to compassion and effort from the good guys... but if that's the case, then we just have to accept that (within the story-world, not from a writing perspective) Crosshair is unlikely to ever come back from this. When people reach that kind of low, they rarely pull themselves out on their own. They need other people to help them do that. Help them a lot. But with the exception of Omega's reminder—which Crosshair can't believe due to how everyone else has treated him—they leave him alone and seem to expect him to fix himself first, then he gets their support. It needs to be the other way around. Support is what would allow him to become a good guy again, not "Well, you'll get our love when you're good again, not before." That's unlikely to occur and, as discussed, it doesn't take into account things like this bad guy life being forced on Crosshair at the start. If the story really wanted this to be a matter of ideological differences... then make it about ideological differences. Let Crosshair leave of his own free will, right at the start. Don't enslave him for half the season, have him realize he was abandoned, imply all that brainwashing, give him no realistic way out, and then punish him for not doing the right thing. This isn't a situation where someone went bad for the hell of it—the story isn't asking us to feel compassion for, say, the Admiral—it's a situation where Crosshair was controlled and now can't see a way out. That context allows for the Batch, the good guys, to fight for him without the audience thinking the show is just excusing that behavior. They should have been fighting from the start, but since they didn't, I hope we at least start seeing that in season two.

Ultimately though... I don't really expect all of the above. The more balanced dynamics and having the Batch fight for Crosshair rather than Crosshair going it alone... I wouldn't want to bet any money on us getting it, just because these are things that should have been established in season one and would have been more easy to pull off in season one. (If the Batch wouldn't fight for Crosshair while he was literally under the Empire's control, why would they fight now when he's supposedly acting of his own free will? It's backwards in terms of the emotional effort involved.) But again, it could happen! I'd be very pleased if it did happen, despite the jarring change. I don't want to make it sound like I think they're going to write off Crosshair entirely. Far from it, I think there are too many details like his sad looks for that, to say nothing of Omega's compassion. But the execution of getting him on Team Good Guys again might be preeeetty bumpy. I expect it to revolve around Crosshair's sins and Crosshair's redemption, even if what I would like is balancing that with Crosshair's loss of agency, the Batch's mistakes, and their own redemption towards him.

Honestly though, I just hope that whatever happens happens soon. It's a personal preference, absolutely, but after a season of Crosshair as the antagonist, I'm ready for him to be back with the group, making the Empire (and bounty hunters) the primary enemy. Whether his return happens through a mutual acknowledgement of mistakes, or through Crosshair being depicted as the only one in the wrong who has to do something big to be forgiven... just get him back with the squad lol. Because if the writing isn't going to delve into that nuance, then the longer he remains unforgiven, the longer some of us have to watch a series while going, "Wait, wait, wait, I really don't agree with how you're painting this picture."

[trashboatprince]

I finished the audiobook for Good Omens!

Here’s some stuff about it, if you wanna know, along with things I enjoyed about it. 

-Crowley sounds both tired and jumpy through the majority of this, and that’s very fitting of how he is in the book. He’s a snarky snake, but he also is anxiety-ridden and we all know how we sound when like that

-However, maybe it’s because I’ve listened to a number of David’s Tenth Doctor audio adventures over the past few months, but there are moments where Crowley doesn’t quite sound like Crowley, he sounds more like Ten. I mean, yeah, same actor and all, and sort of the same accent, but Crowley always sounds different to me compared to Ten, but there are a few moments in here where I feel like I’m listening to Doctor Who adventure then Good Omens. 

-What the fuck is up with how he says his final line? Boy, did you lean in and whisper-hiss that into your husband’s ear??? Is that the mood???

          -(I might draw this later.)

-The bookshop burning scene was... a weird mix of emotions. He’s still panicked, but it’s an angry panicked, not like how he was in the show, but more of ‘holy fuck, this can’t be real’ kinda angry panic. A bit better than how Radio!Crowley sounded, but the TV version will always be the best version in my opinion. 

           -tbh I still don’t really know what the feeling is in that scene in the book. It’s hard to get a grasp of Crowley’s emotions about it. I mean, I’ve seen some really good fanart where he is in that unsettling state of panic where he’s blank-faced, or he’s putting on a front but he’s broken, but reading the book makes it really hard to tell. I guess it’s up to how you wanna read it. 

-That Fucking Bastard Michael Sheen (affectionate) pulls off ‘I work in customer service, don’t test me’ Aziraphale very well. This is the voice of someone who owns his own business but doesn’t want anyone to buy anything from him ever. He nailed it perfectly, and the bastard tone of book!Aziraphale is brought to life. I think Musical!Aziraphale is still the most bastard, but Michael did a great job.

-His absolute, astonished glee when he finds out he’s on TV after possessing that evangelist is a straight-up highlight of the whole recording

-His ‘oh fuck’ is really funny

-Shadwell sounds like a pirate and it seems very fitting

-I don’t like how The Them sound, they sound too much like adults, so it’s weird. Well, Pepper was fine, but the others sounded much older than 11 year olds should sound. Still, great acting, wrong voices

-Anathema and Newt sound fine, but I especially like Newt because he’s played by Arthur Darvill! Rory Williams! Actually, this isn’t the only audio thing he’s in that involves Michael and David in the cast, he’s Shakespeare in The Sandman, with Michael as Lucifer and David as Loki! 

-Madam Tracy continues to be amazing, no matter who plays her

-I LOVE how the Four Horsepersons sound, all of them are fantastic

-The narrator doing the sound effects is just... *chef’s kiss*

-We finally get to hear how ‘Ngk’ sounds, and it’s the sound of someone who just realized he is royally fucked for all eternity and has no way to truly express this, so he just makes a sound.

(David pulled it off because this guy just knows how to make sounds that are keyboard smashes)

-Michael sounded horribly pained and annoyed when he read Aziraphale’s reaction to Crowley pointing out all the things he can’t get in Heaven is beautiful

-This is the third time I get to hear David do the infamous, drunken bookshop scene, and while I personally like his live reading of it the best out of the three, this one sounded hilarious in its own right, mainly because Michael makes it sound like Aziraphale is drunk on the floor while David sounds drunk on the ceiling rather than them sitting across from one another

-David’s ‘Hm!’ when Hell is talking to Crowley after he escaped Hastur and Ligur killed me, I don’t know why

-NANNY AND FRANCIS!!! David and Michael played them again, they didn’t have to, but they did! This is straight-up my favorite moment in the whole recording because I was allowed just a little more content of my favorites! (Yeah, I know it’s just Crowley and Aziraphale, but let me have this..! You all know that my wife is Nanny and I love her husband nearly as much).

          -Also, they left in a mistake David made as Nanny. 

-The adult playing Warlock as a tiny child will send you for a loop

-The footnotes are read aloud, it’s beautiful

-Aziraphale ending up in other people’s bodies being read out loud is a highlight. It’s already a fun chunk of the book, but to hear Michael be snippy about not being in the right area is hilarious to hear.

-We get to hear David shout at the plants again 

-Neil reads the forward! 

-I forgot how much of the book sounds like something by Douglas Adams, and I mean that as a compliment. 

-The whole Tadfield Manor scene is wonderful, I LOVE how Michael and David sound as Aziraphale and Crowley in this scene 

-The Other Four Horsemen! We got them again!

-Angel!

-My dear!!! 

-Season two, please, can we have one ‘my dear’??? As a treat??? 

-Over all, this was a delight, glad I got it! But I’d rate it as a 7/10, same rating I give to the book itself (TV is a 8/10, but the Radio version is a 9/10, still my favorite).

[dreamydarkblue]

this letter is a riptide in the ocean

|randomscenarios I

rating: T

warning: swearing

word count: 1917

tagging: @lasswithumor @ravenadottir @bubblelaureno @ariendiel

notes: memories are weird, they hit you when you least expect them. and inspiration is the same, but they fuel each other. opening up is hard, but through a nameless letter that will never be sent is easier. imagination runs wild. for the music suggestion, the cut that always bleeds by conan gray.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey you,

It's been quite long hasn't it? I am sorry I don't have the courage to do this rightfully, and not like a coward hiding behind a letter. I am sorry. But you know I have never been like that, I could never be like you. Even when we first met, I was hiding behind my mother's legs.

Oh, I was so nervous, I never liked new places, you know it. We were living in the city, in the poorer area, and then we went to your family's house. It was huge, everything was too big. Why did you guys have an elevator in your house, weren't those for corporate buildings? And then you guys were intimidating too, I mean you were nice, don't misunderstand my words but you can understand where I am coming from, right? Your dad was a big name and your mom was a successful business owner. Then you had everything, the looks, the charming and kind personality, the brains. How could I not hide behind my mother when you guys were everything we were not? Everything that we could never be.

And then I still remember how you welcomed me, I could never forget those memories even if I wanted to. And trust me sometimes when I felt alone and like crying, those were the only ones that I couldn't shake off. You shared your toys with me, gave me a tour of the house and even shared little secrets only you knew. I felt special that day, like you liked me. But I never tried to ask if it was like that, it would be a foolish thing to do. I didn't want the disappointment of it not being true and it was rather silly.

Of course you didn't like me, it was out of kindness that you were doing that. Even if you did, we were young children back then. Any feeling you felt, you didn't know what it was. I still have that yellow plushy you gave me. It feels nice thinking about it.

That happened the second time we were there, I was much calmer. Still a bit too excited but who wouldn't be, when it was so different from what I knew? We had dinner together and your mom made one of the best pasta I have ever eaten. Then we walked up the stairs to your room, and you challenged me to lift the dumbbells sitting in the corner. Of course I couldn't lift the ones you suggested but, I wasn't going to back down just because it was impossible...

That sentence does summarize my personality well, don't you think?

Well, after my numerous tries I finally did lift them, just a little. But it was a win for me, and I still remember your laugh. It was contagious, I loved it so much. I even put myself through that just because I knew the silliness would make you laugh.

I miss those days, now all I can do is imagine.

And after that whole thing, you prized me that yellow plushy that now sits in one of the boxes I put away in a corner. I can't bear seeing it, it actually makes me cry and you know how hard it is for me to cry. But I love it so much. It's so stupid, that it makes this happy to think about but it does. It's about the only thing I have that is not memories.

And then we stopped hanging out, and all I had was my unknown feelings and that damn plushy. I was too young and dumb to be upset about it, but I knew I was sad. I knew it hurt in way I couldn't comprehend.

I missed you a lot during those years. Whenever someone talked about you, suddenly I was in the room, listening attentively. And whenever my mom and aunt joked about you and I, I didn't show it but it was too much. It made me happy to know I wasn't the only one having those thoughts but it hurt.

It hurt to know that I would never have that with you, when you were the only person I wanted it to be with. It hurt to know that we probably became strangers, and you didn't even think about me. It hurt to know that even if we did meet again, you wouldn't like me.

I lost that innocence, maybe you liked me because of it. Anything I had was less than what you deserved, and I didn't like how I looked, how I talked, how I was too nervous to be something.

Those thoughts always made me mad that I felt like that, because I wasn't some dumb bitch that lived in a dream, and didn't realize how impossible it sounded. I knew it was impossible, that's why it made me mad. I wasn't in control, I couldn't stop myself from feeling like that. And that was angering me.

After some years of denial, I kind of forgot about it. Yeah, I did think about you whenever I heard the word first crush, but still it was better. And then you fucked up.

My aunt and mom decided it would be a good idea to visit your mom. And me being the dumbass I am, I decided to go along with them. Maybe you would talk to me again, maybe you would say hello. Even just seeing you would be enough for me, I was desperate more than I realized.

We sat in the living room, except you. You were in your room, and I can't blame you for it. You probably would have been bored just like me, and it was better to play games with your friends. You never saw me doing it but I was trying to impress your mom. And you too, I brought a book with me and read it. So silly, I know. You probably would have laughed if you knew my intentions then. But still, you didn't get out of your room, probably because of the things I listed. I understood that but I never understood the way you acted when we ate dinner together. Why were you so cold and snarky? I said something to your sister and you acted like you didn't want me there.

Was I too annoying? It's hard to remember now, maybe I acted too bratty, maybe I was too weird, maybe I tried too much. But it didn't matter, I got the answers to my questions.

I was right to be angry with myself, I was right. We would never be something other than old acquaintances. I was right to not like my self, not like how I look, not like the way I acted. But you hurt me a lot, you asshole.

Did you know that I held back my tears in the car ride back home, because I couldn't explain why to my mom if she asked?

Did you know that I still can't wear the things I wore that day without something in me breaking?

Did you know the things I wrote from that, how many pages you are written on, how many songs I feel you through, how many movies I dreamt us in?

And I felt so stupid, I still do, and I don't think I will ever not feel like that. My non-existent confidence is the evidence you need. I see myself in the mirror and think if you would like the reflection. I sometimes act a different way and your words from the silly chat we had rings through my head. You are like a cloud looming over me and I don't know if it will rain.

And then you became worse. I had forgotten about it, moving on from the silly crush you were but then you reminded me.

My mom came back from a visit to your dad and I wasn't going to ask about you, I promised to myself. I wanted to, so bad, and because of that I didn't.

But fuck me, you talked to her about me. You asked her how I was doing it and how was school going. How I could go to that school that I wanted. I don't want to believe my mom, and the fact she says she didn't start the talk about me. I don't want to feel helpless again and believe that you still remember me. I know that if I do, it will be a long time until I get back up again.

Still, every time I go back to you. And your beautiful black hair and eyebrows. Your eyes were such a beautiful brown, and I hate my brown ones, for they could never be like that. Your hand were so soft and the time I held them, I didn't know how much I should have been thankful. And I still go through the phone your mom gifted me. It had your photos in it, the only ones I could hold onto.

And this whole quarantine thing happened, everyone decided to talk through zoom. And our parents suggested it too, I hated it. I hated how I immediately thought about you and how I got sad because you probably wouldn't show your face. Two could play that game, and I didn't want to show mine because of other reasons already.

Then you once again surprised me, talked to my parents and asked about me. I don’t know why you did it, maybe because you didn't see me and wanted me to suffer because of it. Maybe it was genuine curiosity or it was just kindness, nothing that should be thought after this much. But of course I did. And I even got closer to the screen so I could see you, risking myself getting exposed.

You looked amazing, just as I remembered but much more mature. Is this what soulmates were, would that be reaching too far? Because every time I start about forgetting you, something reminds me.

I am still hopeful and you would probably tease me about it. But I can't lie to myself anymore, I lie to everyone else and that includes you. It hurts to know that I will never be enough. I can't be happy and hopeful, either, because I know how it ends.

It ends with me dreaming about us, dreaming about your arms around me and your face close to mine.

It ends with me thinking of you as I sleep, trying to see you at least through my subconscious.

It ends with me doubting myself and trying to feel emotions when someone asks me why I act like that.

It ends with me writing a letter addressed to you even though no one other than me will ever see this.

I hope you get the things you want from life, I hope someday we can meet again. And if we meet again, I hope I impress you.

I miss you, F.”

I wrote the last line as I held back a storm. I folded the paper, put it in a letter and hid it in a drawer.

That was my sorrow story, every night to feel undeserving of love. Feeling like a joke whenever my friends said someone might like me. Feeling your eyes on me even though, we haven't been in the same room since 6 years ago.

Your cloud loomed over my head and I welcomed the rain.

[deepperplexity]

Title: Train Ticket Madness [pt.1]

Imagine request by avisfortunae @ Wattpad: "I wonder if Snape has ever been on the internet?"

Summary: "Snape is trying to travel by train but in muggletowns all over the country technology is taking over! So now you need a smartphone or a computer to buy a ticket or refill your travel card - Snape, of course, has neither. So he is forced to visit the nearby library to ask for help, with a disgruntled sneer. But there he is met by you - a muggleborn witch/wizard and former student - who gladly but nervously assists the impatient professor." (Summary accepted by the requester.)

Pairing: Snape x Muggleborn Reader

Setting: Public muggle library in a small town

ABBR.: │ (y/n) - Your Name │ (y/l/n) - Your Last Name │ (e/c) - Eye Colour │

Word Count: 4243

Warnings: Some sexual hints, some sensual thoughts, PG13, Swear words

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

The library was calm, just the ordinary seniors who were reading the morning newspapers and a few commuters who were waiting for time to pass until they could catch their trains; most likely headed for work or school. You, however, already were at work.

It was a temporary station as a librarian in a Muggle library situated in a sleepy little town where nothing ever happened - but you loved it. The friendly people, the routines, the quiet and the calm. It all suited you rather well actually. Lulling around the little library placing books, helping users and keeping everything organized.

It was quite nice most of the time. When the library users behaved as they should and there were no significant malfunctions in the computer systems - as long as those two things worked then your day usually worked out perfectly fine.

As part of the morning routine; you were just turning on the four computers in the library for users when your usual morning was about to become highly unusual. As you rose from having pushed the little start button on the forth computer you brushed the hair out of your eyes and what you saw stunned you. You were literally shocked into a fixed state.

In the doorway, leading out of the library, stood none other than your previous potions professor. Professor Snape, in all his black glory, stood with a sneer and a disgruntled look that covered his pale face in the doorway of your library. What the devil is he doing here?! The thought crossed your mind so rapidly that you barely had time to register it.

You shook your head, your heart was beating a little harder and you closed your mouth as you had apparently been gawking with open mouth and wide eyes. He's not my professor any longer, he's an ordinary user and he looks to be in need of assistance. That's all, okay (y/n), you can do this.

You put on a professional smile, straightened your back a bit and walked over with as much confidence as you could muster up in your rattled state. But, for every step your feet took your heart beat a little harder, your breaths were drawn a little quicker and you could feel a stupid blush spreading over your chest, throat and face. Despite trying to calm yourself down you were a nervous wreck. Chill, stop, just calm down. There is no way in hell that he knows. Just treat him like any other user.

As you got closer your old professor spotted you and started to move towards you, it only took him three strides and then you were just inches apart. "Professor Snape," you said and he gave a curt nod, "I'm surprised to see you here of all places, how can I help you today?" Your voice was calm and friendly, professional. You, however, felt anything but calm.

Professor Snape gave you a weird expression with a raised eyebrow, "You work here Ms/Mr (y/l/n)?" You nodded and locked your hands in front of yourself. A self-defence thing to physically block out others; that you had been working on getting rid of. Yet the professor intimidated you instantly triggering the habit.   "Well," he said with that gruff voice, "I'm in need of a ticket and the infernal machine at the station is turned off or malfunctioning in some way." His voice was low and yet it made you and the air around the professor vibrate with force. His force. The power that you sensed crawled beneath that pale skin of his.

You gave him a wider smile, an attempt to calm yourself a bit in all honesty. "Well just download the app to your phone, connect your email and bank card and then you're good to go, professor," you said with a cheerful voice that barely managed to hide the unstableness you felt. Your pulse quickened still and it felt as though everyone in the damn library could hear your pounding heart.

He gave you another raised eyebrow and you mentally smacked yourself - he probably doesn't have a smartphone; or even a phone... Damnit (y/n), use your head and stop embarrassing him - and yourself for that matter!

You cleared your throat and loosened your hands that had been clenched for a while at that time. "Umh, or you can just use one of our computers to order your ticket. I just started them, please follow me, professor." You turned around and exhaled shakily. You started to walk and the black mass of glorious male fell in behind you. You squared your shoulders slightly, another attempt to calm yourself - you were still failing miserably at that task of course. He did that to you, he had done that to you for many years. Not that he's aware of it. And that's my own fault I guess. But come on, he's unobtainable and closed off. It's not like he'd even ever look at someone like-

"I believe it should be Mr Snape, Ms/Mr (y/l/n). Since I'm no longer your professor there is no need for you to use that term." He said as both of you walked towards the computer you had started only moments earlier; that effectively interrupted your wayward thoughts. Well, I enjoy calling you professor... Mr just sounds, not like you or adequate tot hat power sensation you give of... "Umh, I'd like to keep calling you professor, if you don't mind." You breathed out with caution.

The blush grew ever redder, it made you feel hot and bothered and so damn silly. "Very well, Ms/Mr (y/l/n)." What this man does to me... It's been two years already! I need to just get over these stupid, silly emotions! Pffth, who am I kidding... You can't just get over love, no matter who it is you love or how unreasonable that fucking love is... When the other is exceptionally, annoyingly gorgeous in every damn way it's impossible to get over it. 'innit?

You pulled out the chair for professor Snape as you also moved the mouse and the screen flicked to life. You tried hard to ban your thoughts but they remained persistent as professor dark and dangerous was so damn close to you. You could literally smell him; sage, peppermint and a distinct smell that was all his own. If you could have bottled it you would have. For fuck's sake, this is stupid! But fuck he smells like heaven. Or hell perhaps? I have no idea but I want to bury my face in that chest and just inhale that- wooh tiger, calm down! Your face was getting hotter by the second. You knew nothing good could come from your silly thoughts, only pain and agony. Possibly a muffled orgasm - half-enjoyed in a weird position - in the staff bathroom later...

"Here you go," you said with as much ease as you could force and straightened up as the professor sat down, "the printer is over there and it's free of charge for the first 3 papers." You forced another professional smile for a second before spinning on your heel and heading away from the man clad in black that made your knees weak, your skin burn and your heart pound. Not to mention your mind apparently gorging in heady thoughts not fit for work.

But the retreat was short and you had no time to gather or calm yourself down before the intimidatingly perfect man was stood right behind your back once more. You felt him before you saw him. "Professor?" You said questioningly as you turned around to face him once more. He seemed highly uncomfortable - and that made you curious as hell. What was going on with the otherwise stone-faced man? He almost seemed embarrassed, but that wasn't possible, was it? No, not professor Snape. He'd never be embarrassed, would he?

His gaze shifted slightly from side to side as if he was checking if anybody was within earshot - but you were alone in the furthest end of the library. Hidden among bookcases and displays. "Will you help? I..." He cleared his throat, "I have never- I have never used the computer or the internet's thing..." His gruff voice vibrated through you and for a second you were dumbfounded. You just stood there for a moment until your brain kick-started.

For fuck's sake don't embarrass the man! Speak (y/n)! "You-? Umh, sorry but, what?" Snape narrowed his gaze and you wanted to shrink, fall through the floor or maybe do a little dance? After all, you could help the all-knowing professor Snape with something he was not knowledgeable in. This is just not happening...

"Do you intend to gawk forever or will you be a professional and do your job?" His snarky remark made you giggle and shrink at the same time. It made you weak at the knees and strong pounding erupted, well, somewhere else. "I'll- I'll help professor, excuse me, I'm sorry it's just... Never mind." You walked back to the computer and grabbed a second chair on the way.

"Please, sit." Snape took the seat next to you and the heavenly smell hit you once more, it distracted you on most levels, to be frank.   "Umh, well first we need to go out on the internet and type the address for the ticket company," you said as you followed up your words with actions on the computer. "And then we need from and to where your heading, and at what time." The professor looked on the screen, he's leaning closer, isn't he? Fuck that smell again... You inhaled without thinking about it.

"I need to go from this station to, to Cokeworth." You nodded and typed in the destinations - but you could not quite help but wonder as to what was in Cokeworth and why the professor was taking the train? Surely he could just apparate? "Strange apparatus," the professor mumbled beside you as he leaned even closer as he inspected the screen as you typed.

The page loaded, the screen flickered slightly and the alternatives arrived. "Here's your options professor," you said while your eyes were fixed on the screen. The professor's thick, pale hand appeared and he pointed at one option. You would not have chosen that option but okay. You clicked it and the trip appeared. It showed two train changes and then a bus trip.

"Now you just need to pay and print and your good to go." Your voice was cheerful - a giddy feeling filled you since you could actually help the man you adored and held so high - and you turned your head rapidly. Your face very nearly got pressed against the professor's face. He was so damn close you could see the details of his skin and the exact colour variations in his onyx eyes.

Your breath caught and the professor stared into your eyes for a mere millisecond but it was enough. You leaned back so hastily the chair seemed to disappear and you had definitely landed with a hard knock against your back had it not been for professor Snapes eerily fast reaction. He had grabbed your hand and held you up as you laid parallel with the floor yet had not completely fallen thanks to his ice-cold grip around your warm wrist. Where your pulse was pounding as if you had just run a marathon or two - revealing how flustered you were by him.  

You looked at his hand, the strong grip the only thing that kept you from falling, and then your eyes wandered up the length of his arm clad in black and all the way up to the professors face. The perfectly glorious face clad in pale skin framed by long black hair with two deep eyes, hooked nose and thin lips as the centrepieces of its composition. So fucking beautiful. His eyebrow arched as you looked a little too long perhaps. Surely the rumours aren't true? About his, his mindreading - are they?

"Your pulse is racing, Ms/Mr (y/l/n). Are you, are you alright?" You shook your head and pulled yourself up with a shaky movement. From almost falling or from his touch? You couldn't quite tell at that moment. "I'm, I'm so sorry professor Snape," your voice was shaking a bit and you felt a bit woozy. Having been so close to his face was apparently a bit of a shock for your whole damn body and mind. Everything was tingling and your mind was actually blank for a moment. That never happened.

Professor Snape let go of your wrist and you instantly felt bereft. But you also became painfully aware of how close you were sitting. His knee was touching yours and if you leaned in just a tad your chin would touch his shoulder. His smell made you woozier and his proximity was just too much to handle when the thought of never getting what you had longed for for so many years hit you as hard as a goblin would pound REJECTED on a pour mans loan application at Gringotts.    

You rose from the chair in a panicked movement. It toppled but didn't fall. "I, you, I have, you just need to pay and press print," you stuttered out. Your pulse was truly racing, your heart pounded, the world felt fuzzy while you felt torn apart. In a desperate need to get as far away from the man as you were to get closer to him than his own clothes were. Your head was spinning with thoughts, his smell pressed its way into your nose and you felt helplessly broken for a moment. Memories of longing for him during classes crept up and it made you feel small and unimportant all over again.

"Ms/Mr (y/l/n)? Are you alrig-" "I'm fine!" You held your hands up and backed away as the professor rose from his own chair in sublime composure and grace. "Are you su-" "I'll send Melinda over and she'll help you with your train ticket." The words were rushed out of your mouth and you couldn't look at the man any longer. The perfect man you had before you. I love you insanely, intensely, irrevocably. Forever. I...  

You felt hopelessly entangled with your emotions and thoughts, all things were screaming at you to kiss the man or to run away screaming - neither option felt like an actual option. So the thought reappeared as tears were hardly kept at bay by your weak will. I love you insanely, intensely, irrevocably. Forever. But you...

A cold hand lifted your slimmed chin with power. Forced your head to tilt and your eyes to leave the floor. His touch felt different. His face looked different. Stained with horror and something that looked like regret. Or perhaps disgust? You couldn't quite tell. But why was it even there? "(y/l/n)... I, had no idea you felt that way." Your eyes widened, it can't be? Can he read my-? "I can and I apologies for doing so but-" OH MY GOD NO!  What have I done?!

Your face turned pale, you felt the red colour leave and a cold sensation took its place. He had just read your mind, but how much had he read? Surely he hadn't, before, had he? You were certain he had not read your mind earlier - those thoughts would have warranted some sort of reaction from the man - had they not? Perhaps you were of so little interest that they meant nothing to him?

You shook your head, it didn't matter. What mattered was that the man you loved above all else had just read your mind as you were silently confessing to those feelings of passion and affection. "(Y/n)," his voice was dark and ruff as he spoke your name, "I apologies, I usually do not pillage or invade others thoughts but you-" You janked your head away to avoid eye contact with the man you were certain felt disdain for your feelings, or perhaps for you. Judging by the look of horror he wore.

"Don't, just, don't. I'll leave." The words left your mouth as the tears dried up without ever having been spilt. You felt disgusted by yourself; simply because of what you read in his eyes a moment earlier when your world had crashed around you. Your fantasy world that is - the world where you were free to be with him and he had wanted you. Now that was all smashed and crumbled. Shot to hell so to speak. Not even your thoughts were you allowed to have of him any longer.  

He said something but you didn't have the strength to bear his words and they were muffled out unconsciously as your legs took you away from the computers, through the library and into the staff section where Melinda was sat by her desk - tapping away at the keyboard that you couldn't hear.

You said something to her, she stood up with a strong nod and the next moment you were getting dressed in your own office section. You changed your shoes, put your jacket on and closed the office door. You felt weirdly numb; detached. The world fell away from around you; turned in to a foggy mushy mess of grey. It felt hollow.

You left the building through the back door for staff only and embarked on your walk home - not even remembering your bicycle. Your thoughts didn't even come, it was eerily quiet in your head and your body felt bizarrely disconnected from it.  You were just walking apathy without awareness of your surroundings.

Did he really mean that much to you? Were those silly fantasies really that important? Was he truly that essential to your daily life? Yes, yes he is evidently that painfully and alarmingly fucking important to me. Apparently. All this for a stupid ticket. Because of the muggle world using so much technology... Fucking train ticket madness!  

You sighed a helpless breath out. Your head sank even lower as your shoulders hunched and it felt for a moment as if nothing could fill the void that took up more and more space in your chest for every step you took away from the library. "(y/n)!" You halted mid-step as your name was called with a deep, gruff voice that echoed around you in the short tunnel you apparently were in. You knew the tunnel but that voice felt otherworldly.

You shook your head and took another step - sure that your broken heart filled your head with hallucinations of the man you loved so deeply. "(y/n)! Stop!" The command stopped you right in your tracks. The voice was stern and brusque, almost harshly bitten out - yet it was not. It sent shivers of pleasure and sorrow down your spine as the wind picked up slightly. Howling and whistling through the tunnel.

"Don't run from me young lady/man," Snape said from right behind you, "not after a confession like that." Your face contorted into a sneer for a second and then you turned; a sharp spin on your heels and you were face to face with him. "I made no confession!"  you yelled with a shaking voice, "you read my mind and-" "And I did apologies for that but you-" "You had no right!" Your voice wavered and lowered, "you had no right..."

Your hands were balled into fists and your lip quivered slightly. "I had no right but you gave me no choice." You huffed and turned your face away from the glorious man casting pain and sadness into your life with his internet ignorance and train ticket need. It had been a normal day, you had had a good morning - especially the shower you had indulged in before work that had given you time to fantasies about the man standing before you. Before that whole world crashed. Perhaps that was the last time you came with him on your mind? Probably not, he'd always be there but differently now perhaps?

"(y/n)? You gave me no choice, what did you expect when you acted the way you did?" Your head whipped back so your eyes met. His onyx to your (e/c) ones. "Well, I'm so damn sorry for trying to help you with your train ticket and internet ignorance!" you yelled with a snarly voice, "I'm so damn sorry that this stupid little girl/boy has trivial feelings and stupid little thoughts and ridiculous hopes and absolutely senseless dreams about someone like you! How dare I even think of such an amazing man as you with my tiny brain and feel passion with my worthless little heart?!" His eyes grew darker - how was that even possible?

Your words were harsh, but not towards him. Your words were nastily cruel, but not towards him. Your anger was directed toward him but the callous meaning behind the words was how little you thought of yourself in comparison to the man standing before you who had for years occupied your heart.

"Do. Not. Belittle yourself in that way (y/n). Do. Not. Diminish your feelings in such a manner. I will not stand for such actions by you. Understood?" Snape's voice was a low, vibrating growl. It was amazing you could hear him, yet you heard his voice as clear as your own thoughts. Your own thoughts that were spewing all kinds of horrible scenarios at you as the man you loved seemed to drift further and further away from where you wanted him. With you.

"Well I'm sorry for being a silly little girl/boy with such feelings and thoughts about the perfect professor Snape. I'm sorry I made you take such an important position in such a useless persons life as mine. This little, silly person had obviously no right to fall for such a man... How sickening for you to hear those disgusting thought about love from such a person as me." You could not help but shrink and shake.

You had known your feelings would be not just unrequited but hated by the man whom they were for. So you had never said anything. In the hopes of at least keeping your fantasy world with him as the centrepiece for all things good and lovely.

"I hold no such aversion towards your feelings. Quite the opposite, (y/n)." His hands landed on your shoulders, they were large and heavy yet felt too light. Wait, hold up, what did he just say? "You- you, what?" In that instant, the world seemed to go silent. "I do not dislike, oppose or disapprove of your feelings and thoughts." The words were said slowly and with clarity. But you found them anything but clear. "I- I don't-" "(y/n), stop. I am telling you that I too house those feelings towards you. For a long time now. But you were my student and I never thought such a magnificent person such as you would feel any appeal to a man such as myself."

To you, it sounded as though he managed to squeeze more self-loathing into that second half of a single sentence then you could if you filled a book with it. It shook you to your core. You had never heard his voice as harsh as when he spoke of himself in that short moment of time. "But, you're amazing..." Those were the only words you could extract from yourself as the whole world started to spin with force and full colours once more knowing he was in fact answering your feelings of affection with likewise emotions.

As you looked into his eyes he smiled. It was the first time you had ever seen him smile - in more than a tight tug of the left corner of his mouth - and it kickstarted you. Your eyes watered, your heart pounded and colour flooded your skin once more. Your little words of adoration had made the stern, hard, closed-off man smile. Just the thought of that made your knees weak. No, wait, your knees were shaking and buckling. You were going to fall to the ground at any moment, shit.

But you remained upright. As if by magic. But it was not. "I got you." Those little words of reassurance flooded you with warmth. "Am I dreaming?" 'cus it feels like it... "No. You are not." Without thinking you threw your arms around him and buried your face in the crook of his neck. His smell was inhaled through your nose and you felt another surge of warmth flood you in every way. One arm was laid around your waist - holding you up - and his other hand was placed at the back of your head. He was pressing you even tighter to his body and for a moment you could have sworn he was shaking just as badly as you.

"Severus," you mumbled his name into his neck, "I think I'm gonna pass out." "I got you." You turned your face towards him as he eased up on his grip at the back of your head; you wanted so badly to kiss him. Like you had dreamt of so many times. The thoughts of kissing him invaded your mind but before you could even ask his lips were pressed against yours with desperation and the world exploded in colour and warmth.

I hope you enjoyed this fic! <3 It was only supposed to be about 2500 words but I had lots of fun writing it so it turned out to be over 4000 words - and I might do a part 2 if that's something you guys would want? ^^ Perhaps a little more intimate continuation?    

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

Taglist: @tahliamalfoydepp  @lizlil​ @the-one-who-is-chaoz 

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Dodge and Parry (Rated NC17)

Summary: Crowley discovers that he is rather enamored of his angel's bruises ... especially the ones that go farther than skin deep. (2006 words)

Notes: I wrote this for Kinktober 2020, the prompt 'bruises'. So I was going to write a piece about bruise worship, which this sort of is, but it went much deeper. I will try to come up with something kinkier and more fun another time XD

Read on AO3.

“How does that feel, angel?” Crowley asks, soaking his washcloth completely, then wringing it out over Aziraphale’s scalp. “Too hot? Too cold?”

“Neither.” Aziraphale hums happily with eyes shut. “It’s perfect. Sublime, I should say. Like soaking in a nice, warm cup of tea.”

“We’ve added enough dried flowers and wot not that you could just be,” Crowley comments, swiping a hand through the water, swatting at a cluster of rose petals, lavender, sweet jasmine, and chamomile.

“Hmm. Then you could drink me,” Aziraphale says, sinking deeper into the steaming water.

“Ngk … I … I could …” Crowley stumbles, but he recovers, a triumph since that remark from his angel almost had him choking on his tongue. “But let’s save the sweet stuff for later, eh? We’ve gotta get you fixed up.”

“Yes … let’s. Then … I can do you …” Aziraphale mumbles, drifting off, his cheeks rosy from the warmth and the company. Crowley soaps up his cloth and runs it over Aziraphale’s arm, sliding past a mark that has blossomed considerably since he last saw it. He runs the cloth over it again and it seems to darken, the cream-colored suds rinsing into cloudy water and revealing a plethora of purples swirled together, related to one another by hues, tiny freckles sprouting along the fringe like shy violets.

A galaxy of them really.

Crowley isn’t normally fond of scars and bruises, especially on his angel. Aziraphale bears many types of blacks and blues, with varied stories behind them. Older scars on Aziraphale’s corporation - ones following mortal paths and having faded to silver - come by way of other angels who delight in his suffering. Crowley has seen every one of those, categorized their existence, set their placements to memory. A touch of his fingertips tells him when they were created … and by whom.

Crowley has gathered a list of enemies on his angel’s behalf, and that list is long.

Very long.

Not all of angel’s bruises are visible to the naked, mortal eye, but they’ve dimmed his aura considerably.

Crowley never thought the humans’ quarantine would get to Aziraphale. Being locked inside, forbidden to go out and socialize, leaving him heaps of time to read his books, seemed like a dream come true. With no one coming into his shop to browse, there was nothing keeping him from doing his crossword puzzles till his heart’s content. And it seemed that way for the first few months.

But it didn’t stay that way.

More and more, Crowley would catch his angel sitting in a chair by the window, staring up at the sky, sighing deeply as if for a long lost love, which seemed utterly preposterous to Crowley since every book Aziraphale could ever want lay in a stack beside him. Aside from that, he had his music. And cake! Why, they’d been baking cake every single day! So much cake, in fact, that any poor soul who so much as poked their head out of their door received a cardboard baker’s box packed to bursting with confections, passed along at a socially safe distance courtesy of a long, wooden shepherd’s crook.

And thanks to a wonderful service with a mildly vulgar name, whenever Aziraphale so desired, a delivery person dropped by with a box of his favorite sushi, which Crowley generously tipped for.

But Aziraphale still wasn’t happy. And he was becoming less happy by the day.

Something had changed.

He mentioned several times to Crowley that he felt hemmed in; that lately, being locked inside made it difficult for him to breathe. He longed to walk through the park, soak in the sunshine (when it made itself available), and feed the ducks again.

Crowley didn’t understand it. Aziraphale despised exercise to such a degree that if he sat at Crowley’s kitchen table, preparing to sup, and discovered that he’d left the butter in the fridge, he’d rather do without then to get up and fetch it.

It wasn’t until days later, when Crowley found a stack of newspaper clippings hiding underneath Aziraphale’s ledger, that he began to catch on:

Covid cases increase rapidly as next steps planned

'Tier Three' Covid restrictions in announcement on Monday

More than 80% of positive UK cases in study had no core symptoms

It wasn’t the toll quarantine was taking on Aziraphale. It was the toll this disease that caused the need for a quarantine was taking on the humans he was so fond of. That time spent staring at the sky, Aziraphale spent praying, wondering why the Almighty would let this continue, let so many of Her beloveds die and for what?

From the expression on his angel’s face after, Crowley assumed he got no answers.

It was like the Ark all over again, only without the refreshing rain, and with no rainbow in sight.

Determined to take his mind off of it, Crowley arranged a private movie marathon for his angel at his flat. They sat on his sofa with homemade snacks and watched some old Errol Flynn movies. And it worked! After a while, Crowley started watching Aziraphale more than the film, his angel that much more entertaining. Aziraphale had started the way he watched every movie - sitting primly upright, hands folded in his lap, eyes glued to the screen. But over time, he’d started to inch forward, lean in, muscles twitching to recreate the fight scenes - the swipes of a sword, the parries, his feet shuffling enthusiastically in place to mimic the steps of the actors’ retreats like they were performing a gavotte.

Encouraged that this was a way to break through Aziraphale’s melancholy, Crowley recommended they dig out the old fencing foils and have at it, sans protective gear in honor of old Errol. Besides, they didn’t need it.

“Oh! No, no, no!” Aziraphale argued at first, even with a smile on his lips. “I couldn’t! It’s been so long!”

“Nonsense!” Crowley retorted, heading for his closet. “You were an expert swordsman centuries ago. I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully now. It’s like riding a bicycle.”

“And how’s that, dear?”

“Once you fall off, you get right back on.” Crowley tossed Aziraphale a foil, which he caught without looking, and Crowley smirked knowingly.

Crowley didn’t give Aziraphale a chance to back out, didn’t salute him like at the beginning of an official duel. Crowley came at him like a buccaneer, crowing and catching Aziraphale off-guard. But Aziraphale fought back. He wasn’t upset by Crowley’s abrupt start. On the contrary. He laughed at Crowley’s antics, especially when he tried to evade by climbing over the sofa, and then onto an end table. His joy was infectious. It rang through Crowley’s flat, made the plants (which had initially recoiled at the sound of clashing metal) stand straighter, wave their leaves and cheer. It rose up inside Crowley as if the joy were his own, making him laugh, too.

Laugh till he snorted, which he hadn’t done in a long time.

But it didn’t last as long as Crowley had hoped.

Aziraphale got lost somewhere in the fight, lost in thinking, his mind drifting in all directions while he dodged and parried by rote. His face grew tense, his expression morphing from concentration to anger … to vengeance. He went after Crowley with clouded eyes, as if everything pent up inside him - the sadness and the anxiety - had found a weak spot in Aziraphale’s armor.

And now, it was starting to break through.

Crowley didn’t know who Aziraphale saw when he looked at him. Those world leaders who didn’t take this pandemic seriously, who didn’t act quick enough, who were greedy.

Beelzebub and the Dukes of Hell, whom Aziraphale credited for the speed in which this disease took hold, and the blind, stubborn stupidity of those who refused to do their part to stop it.

Gabriel, who has long since laughed off any correspondence Aziraphale has sent him regarding the matter, rejecting the last dozen with a very snarky ‘Return to sender!’ emblazoned in gold across the envelope.

Or the Almighty, who has the power to stop this but who has refused, and doesn’t have the decency to tell him why.

Or maybe he simply saw Crowley, who treated the whole thing like a joke, not only taking a nap for the first few months but then extending it, leaving Aziraphale alone when he might have needed him most.

Aziraphale attacked, closing in on Crowley fast, fighting with more fist than blade, and Crowley defended.

They struck one another at the same time - Aziraphale bringing his wrist down on the bridge of Crowley’s nose, Crowley’s guard-covered fist coming up to block and accidentally clocking Aziraphale on the jaw.

Both stumbled back, seeing stars.

Had they been human, Crowley’s nose would have broken, and Aziraphale’s jaw would have shattered. As was, Crowley’s nose ended up a bit crooked till a minute ago when Aziraphale snapped his fingers and set it straight. Aziraphale’s jaw still sported an indigo bruise reminiscent of a mum.

“Oh … oh my dear boy! I am so sorry!” Aziraphale apologized profusely when he saw Crowley’s nose, blood pooling underneath.

“Wot?” Crowley sniffed, wiping his Cupid’s bow with the back of his hand, examining the stain left behind with swimming eyes. “Oh, this? It’s nothing. Barely a scratch. Think nothing of it.”

“But … but …” Aziraphale stuttered, on the verge of tears. He dropped his sword, almost dropped to his knees, too, but Crowley hurried forward and gathered him up, wrapped him in his arms and held him.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, hugging Aziraphale tight. “It’s going to be all right, angel.”

“Do you … do you really think so?”

“Yes,” Crowley said with a sigh. Whether he did or not didn’t actually matter. But no one, angel or human, was going to get through today and on to the next if they didn’t believe it was at least possible. Crowley had to hold Aziraphale together, even if he did it with lies. He had to keep the one angel left on earth who still cared going. “I do.”

That’s when Aziraphale’s tears began to fall.

Crowley held him.

An hour went by, and Crowley held him.

Crowley declared Aziraphale the winner, and as a reward, offered to give him a bath and miracle him healed.

But when he got his angel naked and saw the bruises glowing on his skin, he hesitated. He shouldn’t be attracted to them. He shouldn’t find them appealing. On top of being physical damage to Aziraphale’s skin, some of them were bred out of despair. They should have repulsed Crowley, but they were actually glorious, like a small corner of impressionist art brought to life and tattooed on his skin.

Because not all of these new bruises, exploding with vibrant color and depth, were bad. They happened when Aziraphale was still smiling, still laughing. When his leg banged the corner of a table during a particularly rowdy retreat. When he tried to follow Crowley vaulting over the back of the sofa, misstepped, and landed on his knee. When their foils tangled together and Crowley accidentally kicked Aziraphale in the thigh in his effort to separate them. Aziraphale had watched Crowley fly backward, land on his heel, and spin three times like a ballerina, stopping in a perfect arabesque, just to then trip over air and land in a chair. Aziraphale threw his head back and laughed so hard, he walked right into Crowley’s (blunted) sword, the flat tip leaving its circular shadow behind.

Those bruises …

Those are bruises of pleasure.

They run deeper than skin.

And Crowley is quite satisfied by that.

Crowley almost regrets his promise to rid Aziraphale of them.

But being the one who gets to heal Aziraphale is an honor all its own.

However, he realizes with a grin, there is a way to get them back.

He’ll memorize these, too. Their exact locations.

And freshen them up later with his mouth.

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 2

Read on AO3

Masterpost | Taglist

First/Previous | Next

___

“And you haven’t acted in front of an audience in years?” Celia asked Roman amazed.

Roman shrugged nonchalantly and told her: “No, I haven’t had the time. But apparently, I haven’t lost my edge. I’d hope I’d get to act some scenes with you the next time, so I could impress you a bit more and see how talented you are yourself.”

The middle-aged woman giggled and her friend in the background rolled her eyes, as she waited for her to finally get to her, so they could go home.

“Oh, you rascals, you! You embarrass me!” Celia said and Roman winked at her.

She then finally bid him goodbye and Roman waved her and the others who were leaving. He had promised to stay back and help to clean the place up. With him it was only Rodriguez, the owner of the little room they could rehearse and meet in, Samantha, the group leader, and Jay.

Why exactly Jay had stayed though, Roman was a little confused about. The man, probably around thirty, had a rather heavy limp on his left leg and needed a stick to get around. But then again, Roman would not go and complain about him staying here. He watched them from the side, while making snarky remarks and banter with Samantha, who answered just as snarkily.

Roman almost dropped the chairs he was carrying as he heard Samantha gasp offendedly after Jay said: “No, of course your recital of Tamara’s monologue was so much more inventive than Jane’s! I mean who else would be able to butcher her lines filled with wit with such a graceful off-beat delivery but you? Definitively, not Jane.”

Grasping, Roman set the chairs down as Samantha appalled herself. He clutched his hand in front of his mouth to stop himself to laugh out loud at the exchange and the sass these two displayed. The dryness and dripping sarcasm in Jay’s words really did it for Roman. Also, it probably didn’t help that he found himself drawn towards the expressive face of his. There was happening so much at once; slight movements of his eyebrows, a little tremble from his lips there and then and the quick darting of his eyes.

So, when they had eventually finished to clean everything up, Roman was not unhappy to find himself left alone in the company of Jay, as Rodriguez and Samantha bid them good night.

With a smile Roman eyed Jay from the side. His attire was simple, black shirt, black slacks and black shoes. And a black bowler hat, which had quite some flair. As of now, he sat on the little wall next to the stairs, holding the top of his cane with both hands. He had slender shoulders and love handles, and Roman assumed that he was about half a foot smaller than him. Maybe a little less, but since he hadn’t seen him standing straight it was hard to guess correctly.

“Like what you see there, Mr. Superstar Actor?” Jay suddenly asked with edge in his voice.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up for a second. He had been caught staring, hadn’t he? Quick he caught himself, put on a smirk and replied: “I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy it. But I suppose I should leave a little of the astonishing view for the others, huh? Can’t be too greedy, can I?”

Jay’s mouth opened a little and he just looked at Roman for a second, before he closed his mouth with a little chuckle and looked to the side.

“You are a terrible flirt, Mr. Roman. Just terrible,” he commented glancing over to him with a grin he didn’t bother to hide.

Roman wiggled his eyebrows and leaned against the wall next to the entrance door. Jay’s eyes followed him and he liked the attention the man gave him. It felt a little like dancing, acting even.

“You would not believe, but people have told me that before,” Roman said grinning and watched Jay turn his attention to his hands.

“No, really? After seeing you talking so humbly with Celia, I would never have guessed,” Jay said with a sarcastic eye roll, as he reviewed his fingernails with great detail.

Roman felt his lip twitch but managed to keep up a smile, before he answered in a more sincere tone: “I figured she was having fun talking to a younger guy like me. So, I played along. I mean that is what we come to do here, right? Act and have some fun. Not be yourself for a few hours.”

A layer disappeared for a moment. Jay’s oak brown eyes drifted away before they landed on Roman again. A lot reflected in that short look of his, too much for Roman to register, before it had evaporated and coolness took its place.

“Not be yourself for a few hours? Who are you then but an actor?” Jay asked and Roman tilted his head from one side to the other.

“I think, I like it better for you to not know that. Otherwise you had to tell me who you are, if you are not here, and I kinda like you better with a flair of mystery draped around you.”

“Me? Mysterious? Why would you think that?” Jay asked with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Eloquently Roman stepped away from the wall towards Jay, who observed him curiously. Quick Roman joined his hand behind his back and leaned forwards, just slightly overstepping the edge of Jay’s personal space. Stiff Jay looked into Roman’s eyes and for a split fragment of eternity they lost their train of thoughts. They lost the hold on their masks and lost themselves in the other’s eyes.

Then Roman batted his lashes and smiled smugly.

“Because I like to imagine that I entered the part of my story, where a mysterious man in black, with a stylish cane and bowler hat came to show me a new way of life. An adventure I would never have dreamt of,” Roman said and stepped back beginning to walk backwards down the stairs.

Jay laughed and held his hand over his stomach as he did so. It almost sounded a little like a cartoon villain but Roman caught himself thinking that it was simply endearing.

“And what will your story be? A tragedy or a comedy?” Jay asked as Roman stood on the lowest step and leaned his hand against the pillar by the wall.

A shrug. Roman’s smile faded a little. Turned into something more sincere. More vulnerable. But Jay was too far away to see and Roman grinned again as he answered: “That only time will tell. So, stay tuned! I’m looking forward seeing you again in two weeks! So long Jay!”

Theatrical he bowed and walked away towards his car, hearing the man sputter something behind him. It might have been a Goodbye or a swear for simply walking away. Roman grinned and was happy to find out at their next meeting.

“¡He vuelto!” Roman announced as he entered their apartment over their store and closed the door behind himself.

As usual, there was no immediate response and Roman put his stuff aside before he walked down the hallway. The door to Remus’s room was open and the light was turned on. Relaxed Roman looked inside and found quite the surprise.

Remus sat on his bed, a pile of books sitting in front of him on which he had placed a hand mirror. Next to that strange set up was the little vanity box, which was opened and several brushes and powder puffs were scattered around Remus, who was currently applying a layer of lilac eyeshadow around his eyes.

Roman stared at him with big eyes. He also wore a neon yellow tank top, over it a pine green shirt with funky pink, purple and orange spirals and zigzag patterns on it, which he hadn’t buttoned but tied the bottom part together. And to add to the eccentrics, he also wore the pale blue pair of dungarees, the carriers not put over his shoulders but letting them hanging by his sides.

Finally, something reminded Roman of the fact that he himself was in fact alive and he should probably ask his brother what all of this meant. He shook himself out of the trance, reached for the light switch next to the doorframe and pressed it twice to get Remus’s attention. Remus let his brush sink down and looked over to Roman.

“Oh, you’re back from practice?” Remus asked and looked at him intently.

“Yes!?” Roman said and signed giving him a poising look. “And you’re putting make up on?”

“Obviously. Also, you need to get changed. We’re going out tonight. I’ve put something out for you,” Remus said unimpressed and motioned for him to get into his room and start getting ready.

“We’re what!?” Roman signed looking absolutely thrilled if though confused.

Remus sighed and rolled his eyes. A little too shyly for his brother to not be suspicious he answered: “The guy from the tattoo studio next to us came by and invited us to go to the jazz club down the street. The bookworm is also there and apparently the pet store dude plays in the band there? I don’t know. Something like that.”

Roman marched in with the most shit-eating grin and let himself drop down onto Remus’s bed. Teasingly he wiggled his eyebrows and signed: “This guy from the tattoo studio wouldn’t happen to be astoundingly hot, huh?”

Annoyed Remus shoved Roman to which Roman only giggled and led to Remus shoving him even harder so he actually fell from the bed. But Roman only laughed louder and Remus had to kick him to the shin to stop his laughing.

“Hey!” Roman cried out, which in return made Remus laugh and his brother pout miserably.

“Don’t make that face! You knew that I’d do that if you’re just being a little brat,” Remus defended himself and let his legs dangle from the bed side.

Roman rubbed his shin, pouted a little more but then gave in and signed: “Fine, but is this actually about him? And what’s his name? And what in gods name do you want me to wear?”

Remus circled his shoulders and jumped to his feet. He stretched his hand out to Roman, helped him up and motioned him to follow him, while explaining: “The name’s Patton. Pastel punk. The guy has cyan hair and it looks kinda rad. Also, he blushes very hard and that makes him a fun target to mess with.”

Remus stopped in front of Roman’s door and let him enter first, curiously waiting for his brother’s reaction. Roman walked inside and before he could inquire more about the blush-y, kinda rad guy, he spied the clothes on his bed and clicked his tongue. White t-shirt, his favourite red jacket and black slim fit jeans. While the top part was fine, he was not so sure about the jeans.

He just shot a look back to Remus, who immediately rolled his eyes and gesticulated avidly nagging: “Don’t look at me like this! They fit you very well and they are not too small. Just put them on.”

“But I’ll look fat!”

Remus let his shoulders slump and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished he didn’t have to have this conversation as often as they did, but here they were.

“Ro, you are fat,” Remus began for the zillionth time as gently as his tense nerves allowed it, “and that is fine. It’s nothing bad. Stop telling yourself that it’s bad. And those jeans will not make you look any bigger than you are. They’ll just compliment your legs and backside and hide the zones you want to hide.”

Roman still looked unsure and Remus sighed and put his hand on Roman’s shoulder. Gave it a squeeze and made sure that he looked into his eyes before he spoke again.

“Do I look like I want you to embarrass me in front of the possibly most attractive pastel punk I’ve ever met?”

A chuckle spurted out of Roman’s mouth. Remus knew now that he would try. That he would be fine.

Yes, Roman would be fine and tonight they would have some fun, with a pastel punk, a bookworm and the jazz playing pet store guy.

___

@aprincehasgotoslay

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

For this fic: @frawkeye, @arodynamic-enby, @espepspes, @ladysuperheros, @bullet-tothefeels, @fukindork, @shadeofadye, @magic-but-its-green, @liv-is-a-fander

[bluefirewrites]

Sky High Mall!AU

Hey, this is an excerpt of something I started for Sky High a while ago but never got around to finishing. I’ve been thinking about this particular work because I might rework it for Julie and the Phantoms one day because it has so much potential. Thought it would be cool to share. 

So this is an AU where the kids don’t have powers and they all work at the Sky Shopping Center. It’s a Zach/ Magenta centered story with side Warren/Layla.

It would be Rated T and there is use of language in here. Enjoy! 

Magenta didn’t hate her job. But she could admit that it gets pretty tedious at times.

She really shouldn’t complain. It was a huge step up from working at the pet store. At least, here she didn’t have to clean up after guinea pigs and trying to stop kids from eating dog treats.

But it was a summer afternoon and here she was rearranging the wacky greeting cards at the mall book shop when she would rather be at home, maybe catch whatever’s on TV- really anything to keep her mind off of a certain someone...

“Why the long face, Maj?” The purple haired girl snapped out of whatever daze she was in when all of the sudden her best friend, Layla, bounced into the shop, donning her signature pigtails and wide smile.

“Did you scare a customer again?”

“No,” Magenta scrunched her face, taking the excess cards in the box and moving it to the register, “Why does that happen often anyway?”

Layla trailed behind her, maneuvering through the shelves and a couple of customers, “Maybe it’s because you just creep up behind them before you ask if they needed help.”

“Oh good, I thought it’s because I dress like this,” She gestured to her combat boots, ripped stockings, and well of course her half-dyed hair. Magenta knew her outfit didn’t scream, ‘Customer Service’, but she was always down to help a customer find a book. She had pretty much devoured half the books in there, and had reccs from her fellow book-nik friends in case she encountered the other half.

“You’re lucky though. At least, you’re not forced to wear a uniform,” Layla worked at this organic juice bar in the mall food court so of course they would have made her wear something to prepare whatever smoothies they make. The redhead did a little twirl to show off her all green attire, from the shirt, to the pants, and even her blueberry-stained apron tied at her waist.

“But you look so cute,” Magenta  tilted her head and pinched her friend’s cheeks, “Like happy broccoli.”

Layla gently brushed away her hand, pouting, “If I wanted to be patronized, I should have stayed at school. But come on, I’m off now. I just wanted to see when you’re on break,”

“Got another hour,” Magenta normally would have been off by now, but she ended up taking the evening shift this week. She wanted to change it up, for reasons that may or may involve avoiding someone who she knew worked the mornings.

“I’ll wait,” Layla leaned against the counter for a second before jumping up, eyes wide, “Oh, did it come in yet?”

Layla was referring to a gardening book that she had put in a request for some weeks ago. That girl had a green thumb through and through. Ever since they were younger, Magenta had the pleasure of sharing her strawberries that her family had grown in their backyard garden. Always the freshest, sweetest thing she had ever tasted and Magenta refused to eat any other strawberry to this day.

“Oh yeah. I think Warren got them in this morning,” She threw her head back to yell at her coworker who was stationed on the opposite side of the register, “Yo, Peace?”

If Magenta scared the customers, then Warren Peace straight up terrified them. The older guy was somehow wearing a long sleeve red shirt, slashed at the elbows, and leather, fingerless gloves on this June afternoon and seemed to glower over at everyone who would dare interrupt him from his latest reading.

At least, Magenta would smile at the patrons and actively tried to assist them. He mainly stayed behind the counter and rang people up and would occasionally restock the shelves that were a little too high for either Magenta or their manager, Jeannie, to reach.

She liked working with Warren. He knew just as much about books as her and it was fun to go on and on about their favorite authors, which of the classics were just over-glorified insights of the white man’s mind- stuff like that. Also, she was pretty sure that Warren had her beat with snarky remarks and could keep up with her sick sense of humor.

The long haired dude looked up from the book he was reading, eyes squinting at the two girls. “Purple. Hippie,” he addressed, annoyed to be ripped away from George Orwell.

Layla waved, dismissing his souriness, “Where’s the stuff from this morning?” Magenta asked.

“In the back. Where it’s supposed to be,”

Magenta pursed her lips, “Oh sorry, I mean, can you be a doll and get it for us?”

“No,”

Layla leaned over to rest her chin on the counter, “Please, Warren?” she batted her eyelashes for good measure.

Warren looked into her brown eyes and Magenta knew it was over. The boy growled before uttering out a “Fine!”, slamming his book on the table and stalking off to the back room.

Magenta whistled, impressed, “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Get him to do stuff,” This hadn’t been the first time Warren did something un-Warren like for Layla’s sake. Magenta could count with one hand how many times Warren would actually do what was asked of him, and most of those times involved Layla in some way.

“I ask nicely. You should try it,”

“I didn’t think Hothead over there responds to nice,” Magenta noted a customer waiting to pay for their books and hopped over the counter to reach the register, 

 “...Has a stick so far up his butt that if you’d lip lock with him, you’ll get splinters,” she winked in Layla’s direction, “And I’m pretty sure you wanna do that regardless,”

Her friend flushed instantly at the insinuation, “Shut up.”  

“Make me, Broccoli,” 

She took the books from the customer and began ringing them up. The man looked to be a regular so she knew he was used to her weird antics around the store. Magenta thought for sure the stick up the ass comment would have repulsed any other old man. He merely chuckled at their interaction.

Magenta was beginning to catch on that Layla was crushing on her coworker, but figured that what was stopping her from pursuing it had been the fact that Warren is friends with her ex, Will. Her and Will were on good terms, of course, having known each other longer than Magenta had known Layla. But like, Bro Code and everything- she didn’t want to make it weird.

“Okay, someone has a bit of an attitude today. Something’s up,”

“Have a nice day” Magenta bid the customer a goodbye and handed him his bag of books before turning to Layla, “and no, I’m fine.” She shut the drawer till harder than intended which earned a side eye from the red head.

Warren emerged from the back room with a big book, sliding it over to Layla on the counter, “Here you go, Hippie. One, Gaia's Garden: A Guide to Home-Scale Permaculture, 2nd Edition.”

“Thank you so much,” Layla sent a grateful expression his way and Magenta swore that the brooding boy’s lips almost quirked into a small smile… like a real one.

Layla pulled out her wallet and handed the money over to Magenta, rattling off ecstatically about this book she was dying to get, “Been trying to get a hold of this forever. Trying to do a more polyculture type of gardening because I learned it would soon develop an environment where there’s no need for pesticides,” she glanced at Magenta, “You know how I feel about pesticides.” At which, the purple-haired girl nodded.  

“I heard the whole, line by line, neat way of laying down crops is just Euro-centric, colonizer bullshit anyway,” Warren remarked which made Magenta raise an eyebrow.

“Since when do you know shit about gardening?”

Her co-worker waved her off. Layla appeared to be surprised and a bit impressed that Warren knew something about her field of interest, “Warren is right though. The whole polyculture gardening is much more sustainable and we do look to Indigenous cultures for that technique.”

Then, Magenta watched as her two friends were engaged in some sort of awkward stare-off, with one of them breaking the gaze to either tuck a hair back or just to switch between looking at the other or looking at the floor. It was cute.

It made her sick.

She groaned out loud, “Do you guys have to do that here?”

That brought them out of that, Warren hurried off to his side of the counter, back to his book and Layla turned to her friend, exasperated, “But seriously though, Maj- what’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” she gave Layla her change and the receipt for the book, making a move to get away from the register.

“Maybe it’s because she just saw her ex walking around with a new girl,” Warren casually remarked as he turned a page.

Traitor!

Magenta whipped around to glare at him, but alas he was too preoccupied with Big Brother at the moment.

Layla’s eyes widened, mouth gaping, “No,” she turned to Warren, “Where?”

“Food Court,” he replied, sounding disinterested but Magenta knew he was taking some sick pleasure from this.

“Are they still there?”

“Jesus, Layla. I don’t know!” Magenta threw her hands up in the air. 

Thankfully, the store was clear for now. They honestly didn’t get a lot of traffic around this time. She wouldn’t be too stoked for everyone in the store to know her relationship woes. 

 “I’m fine though. It’s no big deal.” she tried to assure Layla, but her friend was not having it.

She placed her hands on Magenta’s shoulders, “I know it’s been months, but you don’t have to be over it just yet. It’s gonna be hard seeing him with someone else, of course,”

“It’s not hard seeing him. Just annoying,”

“When Will and I had ended things, of course it was good and it was for the best, but like seeing him with his girlfriend was weird at first. But I got used to it,”

Magenta sighed, getting where Layla was coming from but it was different, “Yeah, but you and Will played out differently. Lash and I… we crashed and burned.”

She had dated Lash for a good while, like around 5 months. It had been the longest relationship she had been in, and it had started off so well. They had even met here at the mall when she had first started working at the book shop and he started at the skate shop. 

They had a lot in common back then, never minding getting up to mischief and always doing spontaneous things with him. Things that she certainly was not proud of and had earned her a certain reputation at school.

But Magenta could admit that she had been a different person back then when she was with him. Someone she didn’t want to be again. But still, seeing him again after the breakup, with another girl still stung. Even though it was her who broke it off.

She should have known what it was gonna be like, dating an older guy- an incoming senior now- but she thought it meant he was gonna be more mature and that he was gonna be more upfront with her. It unfortunately had meant the exact opposite.

“You can’t help it. You like bad boys. Been that way ever since I met you,”

“I just like people who don’t take shit from people. They just happened to be wearing chains on their jeans and maybe sporting a juvie record,”

Magenta seemed to have a preference, but all for good reason. If she ended up with some goodie two shoes, it was gonna be this morality contest where he would end up judging all the shit she had done, like her own couple stints with the law. She’d rather hang with people who didn’t judge her, and that meant those who have done things just as bad or even worse than her.

“Then how come you haven’t hit up Warren yet?” Layla asked, with mild curiosity.

“He reads Hemmingway, And likes it,” Magenta’s face scrunched up in disgust, “Also, there’s a thing as being too on brand. I just know that it’s not gonna work. We’re too much alike.”

“Nah. Warren’s so much nicer,” Layla’s hands were still on her shoulder and she playfully swatted them away, “You know what? I’ll catch you later. I don’t wanna sit in here for an hour in my own stickiness.” she gestured to all the fruit stains all over her clothes just as a family came in to browse the store.

“Ew, Layla. There are children in here,”

The redhead gave an unamused grin at the innuendo before walking out of the store, calling out to Warren,“Make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless while I’m gone!”

“Not my job,” The long haired boy called from his seat, “Not like I can stop her.”

‘Fuck you,’ she mouthed at her coworker before going off to see if Jeannie needed her to do anything else around the shop. It was only 4 o clock but she knew it was gonna be a long rest of her shift.

[ourownsideimagines]

They Say You Can’t Go Home Again, but I Found Home in You (Crowley x Fem!Angel-ish!Reader)

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Fem!Angel-ishReader, Madam Tracy, Shadwell, Gate Soldier

Requested: Yes 

Requested by: @adela-topaz-caelon

Point of View: Third Person Reader

Summary: (Name) is an Angel who, while not fallen, was booted from Heaven. She and Crowley have been dancing around their feelings for each other, and Aziraphale decided that the start of the apocalypse is a good time to finally point it out.

Warnings: I may have cursed? Otherwise, just the usual minimal editing.

Words: 1669

A/N: This is done in one large part, then a small little drabble kind of thing. 

—-

By standard terms, (name) was not an Angel. Not anymore, at least. She had not fallen after the “Great War”, but quickly found that she did not belong - if threats from Michael and Gabriel weren’t enough to get the point across, being thrown out by Sandalphon and Uriel definitely was. 

(Name) had fallen, just not in the most traditional way.

A fallen angel, though, was a fallen angel in Heaven’s opinion. She would no longer be allowed into Paradise, not that she much minded. She had her Heavenly-issued body and the ability to create miracles. What more could she need?

After a few hundred or so years she came to one conclusion. Friends, she decided. She needed friends.

So she sought out the only being she thought might be even the slightest bit kind to her - the Principality and (former) Angel of the Eastern Gate, Aziraphale. He’d been living on Earth for years, and sure, maybe he knew about her ‘fall’, but there was a part of her deep down that prayed to whoever might be listening that he wouldn’t care.

It was just after the flood, and Noah sailing his arc that (name) went looking for him.

And hundreds of years later, the two were closer than close could be. And, of course, being friends with Aziraphale ultimately meant becoming friends with a certain yellow-eyed demon. (Name) was surprised to say the least when she’d first learned of the friendship, though seeing as Aziraphale was affiliating with her she couldn’t for the life of her think why he wouldn’t befriend an actual demon.

At first, she and Crowley got along as well as two fallen angels could (though he sometimes refused to refer to her as such, since she was simply booted while he had to burn the whole way down). They clashed on various occasions, snarky remarks were swapped, and looks were taken in secret.

(Name) would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to Crowley. There was just something about his cocky personality that drew her in. And those eyes. Those eyes could kill her and she would thank them.

Of course, (name) would never admit this out loud. There was no way she’d ever admit to actually liking Crowley - at least, not yet.

As the impending end of the earth advanced, she found herself sticking around the angel and the demon more often. She’d accompanied them to care for Warlock, posing as the new house cleaner. She kept an eye on both Aziraphale and Crowley, acting as a buffer for anything too brash. She would comfort Warlock when the two became too much for him, telling him they were just ‘old, silly fools’, then offering to sneak him into the kitchen to steal some cookies. (Name) didn’t have a side, as far as she was concerned (unless, of course, she was counting the side she, Crowley, and Aziraphale had unofficially made). She saw no wrong in contradicting either of their doings.

Crowley, or Astaroth, as she’d been going by had been rather upset about this. She didn’t want the plan to be messed up, but after that time she’d caught (name) reading to Warlock in the middle of the afternoon until he began to nap she said nothing more on the situation.

(Name) had liked Crowley’s longer hair. She was disappointed when he decided that, when he was no longer Nanny Astaroth, that he would cut it short. More masculine. Not that he looked bad - no, far from it. She just wondered, silently to herself, how nice it would have been to be able to braid it.

Perhaps, if they truly stopped armegeddon, he would grow it back out and allow her to-

No, no. She shouldn’t be thinking about that. There were much more pressing issues, such as trying to figure out her way over the hellfire that had taken over the M25. (name) had gotten a call not ten minutes ago from Crowley, telling her to get to Tadfield’s air base. 

Had (name) been told from the beginning that this is where she would end up, she would have laughed and asked ‘in how many years?’ before going off to perform another miracle (almost 6000 years, would have been the answer, not that she would have expected one).

The rain was beginning to come down hard, and in the distance she could hear police sirens. She needed to get over the fire wall, and she needed to do it now. If her watch was right, she didn’t have nearly as much time as she hoped she would.

Knowing she had only one choice, since she would not survive driving through it, (name) focused on one thing and one thing only - her wings.

It had been centuries since she’d stretched them out, and the sound of her jacket ripping made her wince. She could miracle it back together later, but the sound was unpleasant all the same. When they’d finally finished breaking free, she stretched them out. She used the smallest amount of her powers to keep them dry, and after taking in a deep breath, she launched into the air like someone who was riding a bike for the first time in years - shakily done, but done nonetheless.

The flight to Tadfield was the most liberated (name) had felt in a while. Far below here, people buzzed in panic, and she eventually caught sight of a speeding car she would have once recognized as Crowley’s vintage Bentley. She heart dropped as she watched flames lick the carriage, and melt away the tires. She was certain he would make it to Tadfield, but at such a cost it hurt even her.

On the short list of things that Crowley loved, (name) knew the first to be his car (she secretly hoped that she was second). As she approached the airbase, she began feeling winded.

She really hadn’t done this in a long time.

(Name) touched down a short five minute walk from the airbase. She didn’t want to risk the chance that someone would see her and try to shoot her down. From down the road, she saw three figures. One was an older man, a large obtuse gun strapped to his back, another a soldier holding his gun close, and the last a woman dressed in very colorful attire. Even from afar, she knew the woman - even if she didn’t recognize the face.

“Aziraphale?” She called, and all three people turned. The soldier raised his weapon, but (name) went straight to Aziraphale.

“Ah, (name),” She smiled gently. They embraced, but (name) quickly pulled away.

“Who’s this?” She asked, gently flattening Aziraphale’s sleeves.

“Oh, right. This lovely woman is Madam Tracy. Madam Tracy, this is my good friends (name).” There was no pause between Aziraphale’s words and the woman's. “Oh, a pleasure.”

“Very much so,” (name) agreed. She got the sudden feeling that the others were staring at her, but she ignored it. “What happened to your body, Aziraphale?”

“Ah, yes, about that. Got discorporated. How did you know to come here?”

“Crowley called-” (name) paused when the familiar tune of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody, and the smell of burning metal and rubber breached her senses. She turned quickly, watching as the flaming Bentley swerved around the turn and came to a stop at a safe enough distance.

The door open, and Crowley slipped out, a book in one hand as he used his foot to kick the door closed.

“Wouldn’t get that kind of performance from a modern car!” He said, albeit not with much heart. He didn’t even look at the Bentley before making his way over to them. (Name) lurched forward towards him, and he stepped back in surprise. She gently grasped his arms, looking at his soot covered face.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” She said. Crowley’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he was looking behind her.

“Uh, you, um,” He was stumbling over his words.

“What?”

“Your wings,” He said, and (name) felt her blood go cold.

She had forgotten about her wings. She backed away, suddenly embarrassed, and willed them away.

“Next time you decide to drive your car through a fire, at least let me know beforehand.” She muttered. “I saw you about a mile back and got worried.”

“You were worried about me?” He smirked. She rolled her eyes. “I’m honored, really.”

“Shut up.” She said.

“Crowley, (name), I do believe the flirting can be saved for later.” Aziraphale interrupted you. “As cute as watching you two had been for the last handful of centuries, I really do think getting inside is out main objective, yes?” (Name) felt her cheeks flush red.

“We’re not- she’s not-” Crowley stopped suddenly. “You’re not… You’re not flirting are you?”

“Are you serious? At a time like this?” (Name) motioned to the armed guard.

“I was just curious.” He mumbled. (Name) sighed, but grabbed Crowley’s hand.

“We’ll talk about it later, Crowley. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

---(a little added bonus because didn’t exactly wanna write the whole airport scene)---

“Would anyone here care to explain to me what exactly is going on?” Adam Young’s father asked. Crowley turned to (name), whom had clung to him amidst the stopping of time and Satan rising. She  was winded, to say the least, and she was prepared to sleep for years, even if she didn’t truly need to.

“I should ask you the same.” Crowley mumbled. (Name)’s eyes snapped up to him. “What is going on… here… between us?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Aziraphale interrupted the two of you. “You to have been in love with each other for years, honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

“Aziraphale,” You hissed.

“I’m just so tired of seeing you two dancing around each other. It’s ridiculous.”

“Aziraphale-” Crowley’s words were cut off suddenly when (name) grasped his scarf, tugging him to her. He stared at her, eyes wide open. (Name), not exactly caring whether or not anyone was watching gave him a gentle smile.

“C’mon you old serpent. Tell me where you think we are.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Aye, But We're Loved by Our Mommies and Dads

Hello, hi, hey there internet. So, this is weird timing with the ask I got earlier today, but I’ve been hoarding a different ask from @ glowofthevendingmachine that said: “every time will scarlet calls emma swan ‘em’ in all was golden in the sky my heart grows about 49 sizes.” And, like, same. My love for Will Scarlet knows no bounds, no matter what ‘verse I am writing in and it’s been nearly a year since I’ve written any All Was Golden in the Sky so here’s some.

In which we have: snarky!Will, magical!Emma, pirate-mode-activated!Killian. Banter! Friendship! Allusions to cute kids! Who steal things. Or. Will Scarlet teaches Emma and Killian’s kid to be a thief.

-----

“Make him stop looking at me like that.”

Emma can’t help her laugh, even through tight lips, a smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth and betrays her feelings about everything that has happened in the last sixteen minutes. Because everything that has happened in the last sixteen minutes is somewhere in the realm of absurd and not entirely surprising. 

Will’s eyes keep darting around the room, arms crossed over his chest until Emma is a little concerned that he’s actually going to crack one of his ribs and—

Killian hasn’t moved. 

Or blinked. 

His fingers keep fluttering over the hilt of his sword. 

“Ok, now that’s just unnecessary,” Will grumbles, slumping further in the chair. 

Emma laughs again. 

She needs to come up with a better word than absurd. 

“Seriously, Em,” Will continues, “can you not do something about this? I thought you were the Savior. Save me.”

“What would you like me to do exactly, Scarlet?”

“Look at the face thing he is doing! Right now! He’s trying to intimidate me.”

“I’m pretty positive it’s working. Are you starting to sweat a little?”

“This is not funny.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“No,” both Will and Killian respond, and Emma has to actually put her hand over her mouth. Her chest aches while she tries to contain her laugh, lungs burning with almost too much oxygen, which is a nice change of pace from previous experience and—

“We did get your boot back, babe,” she reasons. 

Killian doesn’t look away from Will. Who pales noticeably. “That’s not the point, Swan.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Will echoes, and all the oxygen files out of Emma. In a rather large and dramatic sigh. 

“You really are not helping your own cause at all,” she mutters. “And strictly speaking, the point of this might actually be at the end of Killian’s sword.”

“You’re making jokes.”

“Because you are both being idiots.”

Will huffs, Killian finally turning his attention to Emma — so he can immediately gape at her, as if suggesting this isn’t the most serious thing they’ve ever dealt with is the peak of betrayal. The muscles in her face are going to freeze. 

She bites down on her finger. 

“He’s the one who did it, anything that happens is Scarlet’s fault,” Killian says, waving the hand still not gripping his sword in the air. Of course, that leaves him brandishing his hook at Will instead, which also leaves Will even paler and—

Emma pulls Killian’s arm down, fingers curling around cool metal until some of the fight almost visibly falls out of him. 

Will exhales. 

“Still not helping,” she sneers. 

“Ok, ok, ok,” Will says quickly, scrambling back up with both of his hands held in mock surrender. “Let’s not send me to the brig or anything.”

Emma’s head falls to Killian’s chest, nearly tripping over her feet when he tugs her closer to his side, like the closeness will help him remember that they shouldn’t actually send Will to the brig. 

For teaching their son how to steal things. Multiple things. Everything from earrings that had been on her dresser to a small stack of papers from DunBroch on Killian’s desk to, this morning, his left boot. 

That’s the problem. 

Or so Killian claims. Emma doesn’t really…get it. 

They got everything back. 

And yet. Here they are. With the fluttering fingers and an exceptionally sweaty Will Scarlet and—

“You’d have to be on a ship for that,” Killian says, soft enough to be entirely threatening. Emma jerks her head up. He’s totally doing the face thing again. 

Will swallows. “Yuh huh.”

“It’s a dungeon when you’re in a castle. That’s basic knowledge. Read a book.”

“Ah, well—not all of us grew up staging a covert relationship with a magical princess, so…”

“Do you not have any sense of self preservation?”

“I didn’t think I needed it with you, honestly.”

Killian deflates slightly, even as the arm around Emma’s waist tightens a fraction of an inch. She presses her lips together again, gaze darting between Will’s still lifted hands and Killian’s clenched jaw, doing her best to make sure the magic she can feel curling at the base of her spine doesn’t manifest itself into protection. 

She’s only seventy-two percent positive Killian will actually draw his sword. 

She admittedly needs to get better at math. 

“Hey, uh, Em,” Will mumbles, “your…well—your hair is doing that thing again.”

Emma hums in confusion, which is not only dumb, it’s pointless because she knows exactly what he means and why it’s happening and it hasn’t happened in years. She’s usually in much better control. 

“Oh shit,” Emma growls. She pulls herself out of Killian’s grasp, shaking her hair onto her back like that will fix everything and not send lines of light across the entire room or—“What is that?”

Will twists, glancing in the direction of Emma’s pointed finger, and Killian absolutely kisses the top of her hair before he moves. The light jumps. 

And lands directly on the small pile of loot in the corner of the room. 

Emma doesn’t even try to mask her gasp. 

“Is that—“ she starts, but Killian is already nodding and it was a dumb question anyway. It’s not just toffee. At first glance, it appears to be every single sweet made in the entire kingdom, chocolate bars and bags of something that smells almost like lemon and the last thing Emma expects is for Killian to throw his whole head back. 

And laugh. 

Rather uproariously. 

Will’s eyes have gone very wide. 

“Is he—is he still going to stab me, do you think?” Emma only needs four steps to walk forward, lift her right foot and kick Will soundly in his left ankle. “Shit,” he hisses, “you are a violent bunch, aren’t you? A match made in heaven or the Underworld or whatever.”

“Killian, give me your sword.”

“Aw, c’mon, that’s—“

“I thought we weren’t making jokes?” Emma snaps, and it’s been years, so her threat is only a little empty, but Killian is still laughing and she genuinely did not understand why he was upset in the first place. 

So. Maybe she’s the absurd one. 

Will shrugs, a lopsided smile and tilt of his head, leaning forward to flick his finger against Killian’s side. “Hey, you know you sound like a crazy person, right now, right Captain? I wasn’t trying to offend or anything. Or, uh—you know, step on your piratical toes.”

The laugh stops. Rather abruptly. 

And Killian doesn’t spin, so much as he moves in slow motion — Emma’s teeth digging into either one of her lips and her breath catching noticeably in her throat and—

“That probably would have hurt when I only had one boot,” Killian drawls. 

“You got it back.”

“Right.”

“Do you not have more than one pair of boots? How is that possible? Are you not a royal pirate?”

He tosses a bag of candy at Will. 

Who catches it. 

“Oh my God,” Emma exclaims. “What the fuck is going on right now? Seriously!”

Killian grimaces, the toe of his recently-reacquired boot twisting under him when he suddenly appears particularly interested in the floor. Will’s grin stretches. 

It takes her twenty-four seconds to understand. 

Give or take. 

“Is that,” Emma groans, the tips of Killian’s ears going noticeably pink, “are you kidding me?”

“You’ll have to be more specific, love.”

“Did you want to teach our kid how to steal things? Is that honestly what you were mad about?”

“Well, when you say it like that…”

Her jaw drops quickly enough that something cracks as well, more dramatically exhaled oxygen and wide eyes that are starting to water. From surprise. And emotion. Possibly a little magic. 

She can’t believe their kid stole toffee. 

The more things change, or whatever. 

“It wasn’t so much that I didn’t get to teach him how to pick-pocket,” Killian reasons. “Just that—”

Will shakes his head. “This was not pick-pocketing. We’re not using that term. That requires some finesse and let me tell you, your kid does not have that yet. This was just generic looting.’

“Nah, looting is bigger. Also, that’s another thing that’s really better suited for ships.”

“Should you be writing down the rules, do you think?”

Emma stomps her foot — and neither one of the men in front of her jump to attention, technically, but it’s pretty damned close. She’ll make sure to remind them of that eventually. “Ok,” she says, “so if it wasn’t being upset about the petty theft, then…what was it?”

Killian’s fingers find the back of his neck, tugging lightly on the hair there. It’s almost enough to distract Emma from the general color palate of his ears. 

“Babe…”

He squeezes one eye shut before he answers. Will does a piss-poor job of not laughing. 

Although slightly better than Emma does of not being impossibly endeared by the whole goddamn thing. 

“He shouldn’t be stealing things,” Killian explains. “Not really. I mean—he lives in a castle and he’s got everything he could want, right?”

“Are you double checking with me?”

“Of course not. I mean—no. That’s—“

“Absurd?” Emma suggests. 

“A little. But—God, fuck you, Scarlet. This is seriously your fault. Because first I was disappointed that he was doing it and then I was even more upset that he could do it and…” 

It’s Will’s turn to flush, an inhaled hissed in between his teeth because he understands as well as Emma. Captain Killian Jones, royal consort, former Dark One, True Love, part of the goddamn prophecy that saved them all does not want his kid to be anything except good. 

As if he could. 

With Killian Jones as his father. 

“Oh, well, now I feel like a dick,” Will mumbles. “I wasn’t trying to fuel the circle of self-loathing.”

“And are we equating pretty talented at petty theft to being bad?” Emma adds. 

“Phrase that better, Em.”

She shakes her head brusquely, a step back into Killian’s space and fingers curling around his jacket lapels. So she can tug lightly. “At least we know he’s good at something, huh?”

“Jeez.”

“Swan,” Killian chides, but she just tilts her head up and pushes up on her toes and the scruff on his jaw scratches at her mouth when she presses a kiss there. She can feel him exhale. “It’s not exactly the talent I was hoping to pass down.”

“Well, I’m much better at it than you. so—“

“—Uh, excuse me,” Will cuts in, “but who got the kid to pick things straight out of your room?”

“Are we patting ourselves on the back for that?”

“At least not stabbing each other.”

“I was never going to stab you,” Killian says. “I just—if anyone’s going to teach the kid how to pirate, then it should be me. Right?”

“Sounds like you’re double checking again.”

“And I think you’re a much better pirate than Scarlett,” Emma adds, not bothering to move away from Killian’s cheek. It’s easier to feel his answering smile that way. 

“High praise,” he mumbles. 

“It is our kid.”

“Which is probably why he wanted to steal the candy,” Will points out, standing up in a huff of limbs and vaguely sarcastic expression. “Alright. No more thief 101 with the mini royal. He can learn at the feet of his one-booted father.”

“We got the boot back,” Emma says. 

Will hums, nose scrunched and brows pinched and Emma flicks her fingers before she can even think of all the reason’s it’s exceptionally petty to do just that. He stumbles back under the force of her magic, Killian’s laugh echoing off the walls again and maybe directly around Emma’s heart and she’s not all that surprised when he kisses her hair again. 

“Gross,” Will gags. “Do I need to sign a blood oath, or is my word that the kid and I will find some other bonding activity good enough?”

“Get out, Scarlet.”

He salutes. “Your Highness. Captain.”

And Emma barely waits until the door is closed behind him before she glances up at Killian, laughter and absurd practically hanging in the air because—

“You actually want to get the kid to steal something of Scarlet’s or you just want to do it ourselves?” she asks. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Eh, we’ll let him grow into piracy, shall we? Plus, we’re more well practiced.”

“You just want immediate revenge.” He nods, lower lip stuck out just enough that Emma can properly nip at it when she kisses him. “Pirate.”

“Indefinitely. C’mon, let’s go steal something.”