#they are also a bug that makes me nervous to stand under when they are on the wall/ceiling

[mollypaup]

Harvestmen are some of the most interesting bugs to observe btw. Every minute is nerve-wracking because I am So Scared that they are going to fall over.

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Anon request - "could you do a smut based on the reader and colby being good friends, but she secretly likes him, they do the q&a vid where colby admits to being a dom and then something happens with him and the reader after the vid and he like proves what he said?? hope this makes sense"

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, dominant!Colby, sub!y/n, mentions of alcohol, dirty questions being asked, flirting, use of pet names - daddy being one of them, rough unprotected sex, choking, oral (both), breeding kink?? Cream pie,, hair pulling, scratching, semi forceful actions, filth

Disclaimer: All of the questions expect for the kinks question are made up, along with the answers. Also sorry in advance if this isn’t my best work.

Word count: 4.4k | not edited

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"What's up guys. So as you can see, Sam has changed a little bit." He laughs as he motions to you sitting next to him.

You laugh and shake your head. Colby smiles and looks back into the camera, "No, Sam is actually behind the camera today."

Sam peaks around, showing his face extremely close to the camera, "Hello." He stands back up, sitting back down in the chair and Colby claps his hands together, "Well now that Sam got his three seconds of fame, let me explain why y/n is here."

You cross your leg over the other and lean back as he speaks, "I thought it would be fun to do a little Q and A, but not only on my personal channel, but with one of my closest friends, y/n."

Colby turns to look at you, "Y/n. Don't be rude, say hello." He laughs as you gasp, "Oh, gosh. Sorry." You wave, "Hello everybody."

"Thank you." Colby laughs and reaches down, "So.. you all know mine and Sam's drinking question Q and A stuff, so I figured we'd do the same here." He looks over at you, "You know how this works?"

You nod, "If I don't want to answer the question, I have to take a shot?"

"You catch on quick." Colby chuckles and sets a shot glass on the table, "So.. Sam went through our little twitter thread and picked out some good questions to ask us, from you."

"Now." He glances over at you, "I know I said they're for me, but we can accommodate with having y/n here, right?" He looks over at you and you smile, "Sure can."

You liked Colby. Not as long as you knew him for, but you've started to like him way more than a best friend over the last few months.

You were nervous, because you knew his fans are ruthless when it comes time asking questions about whether or not he likes being tied up, and since the questions are also for you today, what are you going to do? Lie?

"Alright." Colby's words snap you from your thoughts, "Let's get started."

"Okay, first question." Sam clears his throat but you cut him off, "Hold on, Sam. Sorry. Colby you have.." you reach over, pulling a piece of fuzz from his purple colored hair, "Fuzz, or something."

You wiggle your fingers as it floats down to the floor and you look up, "Sorry. Continue. That was just bugging the hell out of me."

Colby smiles, "Thank you."

You nod and Sam clears his throat, "Alright. First question. If you could design your own superhero costume, what would it look like?"

You raise your brows, "Wow I thought these were going to be bad." You laugh and Sam quickly follows up, "Just wait."

"Oh." You laugh and shake your head, "My super hero costume would definitely be something like.. oh gosh. I don't know. Like a mix between Wonder Woman's and Black widow? If that's even possible."

Colby nods, "Nice. Nice. Like a black bodysuit type thing with the tiara that wonder woman wears?"

You look at him, "I think so, maybe not having pants, but longer sleeves definitely and maybe a boy shorts type bottom and of course the tiara."

"Sick." Sam says with a nod, "Colby?"

Colby thinks for a few more seconds, "Definitely something like Spider-Man, maybe not a mask, but something I can wear under a button up and just rip it open and save the day." He points, "Definitely more black and a royal blue color."

You smirk, "Instead of the spider, have a big C and B on your chest in cool letters, that would be sick."

"Yeah, yes!" Colby snaps and points to you, "I like it."

You laugh and look back at Sam, "Alright. Next question."

Sam laughs slightly and you close your eyes, "Oh no."

Sam sighs, "What's an embarrassing thing you've done and never told anyone about?"

"If I never told anyone why would I say it here? Right now when there's a camera pointed at me?" You point to the camera on the tripod and laugh.

"For the goodness of this video?" Sam laughs and you shake your head, "I need a shot, Colbs."

He tilts his head, "Really? Will you tell me later?"

You laugh, "Probably not."

He sighs and pours you a shot, "Fine." He smiles as he hands you the glass and you take it, "Oh god. I hate straight vodka."

You wipe your mouth and set the glass down, "Your turn."

Colby sighs, "I think I'm going to have to agree with y/n on this one." He pours himself a shot and takes it.

"You guys are no fun. Get drunk so you answer." Sam groans.

You roll your eyes and Colby laughs, "Next question, dear host Sam."

Sam scrolls on his phone and smirks, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

You try not to make it obvious, but you look at Colby and he looks at you. You nod, "I mean, I would have to say so, yeah."

"Ohhh. Wanna tell us who you-"

"No." You cut Sam off and laugh, "that wasn't a part of the question."

Colby laughs and you can tell his eyes are still on you. He looks away as you look back at him and he shrugs, "I mean, with the right person maybe? So what, is that a yes?"

"I'd say so." You nod as you look from him to Sam and Sam nods, "Yeah, that works." He hums as he looks for another question, "Okay." He tries to hold back in his laughter, "Colby. This one is specifically for you."

"Oh no." Colby leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, "Hit me."

"Colby. Why do you have a pair of handcuffs in your room?"

Your mouth drops slightly. You knew about them because it's an on going joke between all your friends, but it still never ceases to amaze you.

Colby's eyes go wide and he gasps, "Oohhhkaaay." He laughs, "Why?"

"Yeah Colby. Explain why." Sam says, "What, are they from your god dang arrest or something? Props on a video.. really, what are they for?"

Colby reaches down and grabs the Tito's bottle, "um.. I mean.." he looks over at you, "I mean, no." He looks at Sam, "Definitely wasn't for those."

He untwists the cap then screws it back on, "Alright.." he leans forward as he sets the bottle on the floor, "I use them for personal fun, alright."

You cover your mouth and look at Sam who looks scared, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"That.." Colby laughs, "..would answer the question, though, right?" He looks into the camera, a smirk on his face, "I'm already.. I'm already getting embarrassed." He leans back, fixing his shirt and Sam shakes his head, "No."

"Judge is saying no." You point to Sam and Colby smiles nervously, "What? No?"

"Drink!" Sam yells and Colby goes to pour his shot before he finally spills, "I use them for.. sexual fun. Alright?"

He caps the alcohol and sets it back down. You can feel your cheeks turning red, but with this next question they're red no matter how hard you try to conceal it.

"Name two dirty kinks that you have." Sam raises his brows and Colby's mouth drops, "Oh god."

"Sam." You scoff and he laughs, "It's not me, I'm just reading the question from this person so yell at them."

"You know.." Colby starts, "I think it's only fair if y/n answers first on this one."

"No- don't do that." You laugh and cover your face. Sam laughs, "He's right." You look at Sam, "Of course you're agreeing with him."

You look at Colby with a smile, "Okay, fine." You take a deep breath, "I like.. wax play."

The look on Colby's face changes and he raises his brows, "Oh really?"

"Oh snaaaap!" Sam yells behind the camera. You hold up your hand, "Yeah, yeah, Colby. Your turn."

"Oh fuck.." he looks into the camera, "Sorry.. mom." He laughs slightly and reaches for the bottle of alcohol, "You know what.. I don't wanna answer now."

"No, no. You have to. I did, so you do." You lean back, crossing your leg over the other, "Come on. Let's hear it."

"I already said one. The handcuff thing." He pours the vodka into the glass, "Does that count as one?"

Sam nods and you sigh, "Good so now you only have to say one." You laugh as Colby caps the bottle, "Okay.. um.." he laughs slightly, "I like to be dominant. Alright.. there we go."

His words did something to you.

You squeeze your thighs together and he most definitely noticed that.

Sam erupts from behind the camera, "Whoooaaaaahhh."

You and Colby both laugh at him as he shakes his head, "The beans.. were spilled."

Colby rubs his eye and sighs, "I hate this." You nod, "Me too." He looks over at you, "What's your second kink Miss y/n."

"Oh we're back to that. Great okay." You look down and sigh, "I guess I might as well just.." you slap your hands into your lap and look up at Colby, "I like to be dominated."

"Oh shit." He tilts his head, eyebrows raising as he nods, "Go you."

"Moving on please." You try to deter from your answer, but it's hard when you said it on purpose.

You wanted Colby to know that you wanted him, but you didn't want to fully come out and say it.

Not yet at least, maybe when he's telling you to say it.

"Okay, okay. Moving on from that spice show." Sam laughs, "Next question."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"Alright. So that's it for this video, I'm actually surprised that we aren't drunk." Colby looks over at you, "Thanks for coming on and getting down and dirty."

You laugh, "Anytime, guys. This was.. if you look past the embarrassing part, it was kind of fun."

Colby laughs and nods, "Yeah. It was. He looks into the camera, "See you guys in the next one."

Sam cuts the camera off and stand sup to stretch, "That was.. something." He laughs and shakes his head, "You guys are going to be the stars of twitter when this drops."

"Why?" You ask knowing the answer. You just wanted to hear what Sam had to say.

He tilts his head, looking at you dumbfounded. He points to Colby, "Likes to be dominant." He points to you, "Likes to be dominated."

You roll your eyes, "mhm."

Colby laughs, changing the subject, "I'm going to go start editing this." He looks over at you, "You coming with?"

"Yeah, I'll be up then. Just to make sure you don't embarrass me."you tease and he smirks, "I would never."

You smile and look over at Sam a he snorts, "You guys.." he shakes his head and you tilt your head, "You guys.. what?"

"Just keep it down." He mumbles as he walks away. You laugh and look at Colby, "I'll be up." He nods and stands up to grab the camera off the tripod, "See you then."

You watch as he walks away, shaking your head as you think about what happened tonight.

You couldn't believe you were so open about some of the stuff you said.

Wax play?

Like being dominated?

A lot of that had to do with your comfortability level with Colby, if he wasn't there, you probably would have just drank, but at the same time...

You knew exactly what you were doing, and you think it worked.

You get up, making your way up to your room. You change out of your jeans and sweatshirt and put on a pair of shirts and a loose t-shirt.

You take a deep breath before going next door to Colby's room. You knock before slowly opening the door, "Can I come in?"

You watch a now shirtless Colby turn around and he nods, "Of course."

You walk in, closing the door behind you as you walk over to his bed and sit down on the end, "Get a lot done?"

He chuckles, "Just watching it.." his eyes move up your  legs, "So see where I can cut it, you know." He looks up at your face and turns back towards the computer.

You lick your lips, smirking as you bring your legs up to sit comfortably on the bed, "Can you cut out my sneeze, please?"

"Why?" Colby asks, turning his chair towards you, "I thought it was adorable."

"I hate how I sneeze." You argue and Colby rolls his eyes playfully, "Well I don't, so." He spins back towards the computer and you can hear Sam ask about the two kinks.

"Oh god." You groan, falling back onto the bed, "Just cut that whole segment out."

Colby pauses the video and you hear him turn towards you, "Now why would we do that?"

You look up at him and sit up, "Because I actually said what mine were." You laugh, obviously nervous, "That's.. embarrassing."

Colby pulls his lips between his teeth and sighs, "You know what I think?"

You look at him, "What do you think?"

"I think.." he leans forward, fingers tapping your knees, "You said it for a reason."

You chew on your cheek, trying to keep your composure, "Uh huh. Okay." You nod, "What if I did?"

"Then I know what I need to do." He moves forward, crawling up the bed as you move back, his body hovering over yours.

You stare to at him for a few seconds before he leans down, roughly attaching his lips to yours.

You hands slide up his chest, laying on the sides of his neck as he reaches down to spread your legs. He nestles his hips between your knees, grudging his bulge against your clothed center.

You whimper out, moving your hips, "Please."

It was like a switch flipped the minute you said you liked being dominated, because he's doing exactly what he said he likes to do.

"Beg." His voice is low and his lips move along your jaw, "Beg for me, baby. Tell me what you want."

You whimper, tilting your head back to give him room as he kisses down your neck, "Please Colby, I need you."

He sits up, your legs over his thighs, "Need me to do what, baby?" He pushes his hands up your thighs, slipping his fingers inside your shorts and pulling them away.

"Take off my shorts." You lift your hips, "Please."

He chuckles lowly and slowly pulls your shorts down. You bring your legs up as he pulls them over your feet and tosses them, "come here."

You get up, on your knees in front of him, "Tell me what to do."

He smirks, fingers moving to pull your shirt up over your head. His eyes scan down over your bare chest, "Move to the floor."

He stands up as you move to the floor, on your knees awaiting your next command.

Colby stands up, undoing his jeans and pushing them down. He sits down, in his boxers, on the edge of the bed, "Come here."

His eyes follow you as you move in between his legs. You look up at him and he reaches down, gripping your chin, "I'm going to take care of you, okay? But first.." he bites his lip, thumb hooking over your bottom row of teeth, "I want to hear you gagging on my dick."

Your breath hitches in your throat as your heart rate picks up, "Yes, daddy." You smirk slightly as you see his eyebrow twitch.

He nods with a small smirk, "Fucking right."

He brushes hair from your face, lifting his hips as you work his boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free and you immediately bring a hand up to wrap around it.

A low groan leaves his throat, lip pulled between his teeth as he locks eyes with you. He nods down, "Go on, sweetheart."

You lick your lips, leaning in to swirl your tongue around the tip. He gasps lowly as you wrap your lips around him, bobbing your head to work at coating him in your spit.

"Fuck, that's it." He moans out quietly. He lays a hand on the back of your head, pushing down, urging you to take him all, even if you can't.

He wanted to hear you.

You push your head down, his cock hitting the back of your throat which causes you to gag around him. He pulls your hair into a makeshift pony with his hands, "That's it."

You bob your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you gag on him a few more times.

Colby moans, pulling your head up. He grips your chin, squeezing as he leans in, "That's my girl." He bucks his hips, "Keep going."

You nod, moving your head back in to take him in fully, gagging around him as your hands move up to grip his thighs.

He moves your head up and down, pulling at your hair as the sound of your saliva squelching around him fills the room, along with the sound of you gagging.

He moans, "Fuck, that's my girl. That's my fucking girl."

He lifts your head, wiping away the spit from your chin with his thumb, "On the bed."

You quickly get up, still breathing rapidly as you get on the bed. He motions with his hand, "Hands and knees, baby."

You roll over onto your stomach from your back and lift yourself up. Your arms holding up your weight as you look over at him.

His eyes scan up and down your body, biting his lip before he holds up a finger. He walks over to his dresser, pulling out the - you guessed it - black fuzzy handcuffs.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him walk over to you with them, spinning them on his finger like a taunt.

"Do you want these on you?" He tilts his head, holding the cuffs up higher.

You nod, "Yes."

"What did you say?" He bites his lip, trying to fight back his smirk and you swallow, "Yes daddy."

"Atta girl." He winks and moves behind you, reaching down to take your one arm and bring it behind you. You rest your head down onto the bed before bringing your other arm back.

You feel the fuzz against your skin, biting your lip as you hear the click of the cuffs tighten around your wrists.

"You look so fucking hot like this." His hands slide down the small of your back, over the lace of your panties to deliver a smack to each ass cheek at the same time.

You whimper, jolting forward as the sting settles in, "Fuck."

His hands rub the red prints on your skin, "What do you want, baby?" He slips his fingers into the band of your panties, teasing you because he knows exactly what you want - he just wants you to say it.

"Fuck me, I want you to fuck me." You whine, "Please. Please."

"You don't want me to taste you?" He leans down, kissing your lower back, "you don't want me to taste what you've been flaunting around me for all these years?"

His words make your stomach flip, but in the best way.

"Fuck, yes. Yes, Colby." You move your head so you can try to look at him. He chuckles, "Yes, yes Colby what?"

"I want you to taste me." You breathe out, biting your lip as you feel him pulling your panties down over your ass.

He pulls them down to rest at your knees, "fuck, you have such a pretty looking pussy." He brings a hand up, teasingly sliding his fingers up and down your folds.

You whimper, pushing your hips back to meet his fingers more, but he pulls them away, "Mm, baby. You're so eager aren't you?" Colby moves behind you, bending down to kiss the small of your back again.

"Please." You whine, "Colby."

You head him chuckle, "Tell me again, baby. Tell me what you want."

"I want your tongue in me." You say, desperate for his touch, "Please, daddy."

You feel his hands lay on your thighs as his thumbs gently spread your folds open. He leans in, licking a strip up and groaning against you, "So fucking good, baby."

You moan loudly, wrists pulling again the retrains, "Fuck, yes."

Colby's tongue moves up and down a few times before pushing into you. He digs his fingers into your skin as he slides his other hand up to pull your hips back.

You groan loudly, wanting to do badly grip the sheets, "Fuck, fuck. Yes." You pant loudly, wiggling your hips as your eyes roll shut.

Colby pulls away, placing kisses up the back of your thigh as he sits up, "Your pussy is going to feel so fucking good around my dick."

He moves behind you, sliding his hand down to grip the center chain of the cuffs as he slaps the head of his cock against your pussy a few times.

"Tell me you want it." He demands, head of his cock sliding up and down your slick folds.

"I want you. I need you." You push your hips back, nails digging into the palm of your hands, "Please, daddy. I need yo-"

Your words are replaced by a long and loud moan as Colby slowly slides his cock into you, "You keep it up with that daddy shit and I might have to just make it true."

You moan in response, "Please.. daddy."

"Fuck.." he groans as he pushes his hips against you. His hands hold your hips tight as you stretch around him.

"M-move. Please." You whimper out, but Colby doesn't comply. He leans down, kissing your shoulder and you moan as his cock shifts slightly.

"Just give it a minute, baby." He rubs your hip, "You feel so fucking good. I could cum right now."

"C-co-"

He cuts your begging short, "Tell me what you want."

"M-move.." you whimper out quietly, the feeling of him just resting inside of you becoming unbearable.

"Louder."

You whimper, a little louder than the last, "Please move.."

"Mm. Louder baby. I wanna hear you nice and clear." Colby continues to rub your hip.

You move your head, "Colby.. please move."

"Mm. No I need you louder than that, baby." Colby chuckles and you sigh, slightly frustrated, "But Sam.."

"I don't give a fuck about him right now, y/n. I only care about one thing right now and that's hearing you beg for me." He pulls your hips back, causing you to moan at the pressure from his cock.

"oh my god." You moan out, making your voice louder, "Fuck me, daddy. Please move, I need you to fuck me!"

"That's my girl." He pulls out and thrusts back in, "Fuck, keep going baby. I wanna hear you."

You pull your wrists, whining when you can't move them anywhere, "Fuck, yes yes yes."

Colby lays a hand on yours as he thrusts, pulling the metal chain to the cuffs back with each thrusts, "Fucking hell, baby. You're so fucking good."

You moan out, basically screaming his name, "Fuck, Colby! Yes!"

You squeeze his cock, digging your nails into his hand. His thrusts are punishing, building up your orgasm quickly, "Shit, d-daddy!"

You whine, "So fucking close. So fucking.. close."

"Hold it, baby. Wait for me." He leans down, kissing up your back, "Wait for me."

A constant string of moans leaves your lips as your eyes roll back, closing as you try your best not to cum just yet, "Please." You breathe out, "C-Colby."

"Almost there, sweetheart." He whispers in your ear and you nod against the mattress and he groans, "Where do you want me?"

You just whimper in response and he sits up, "Can't hear you, baby. Tell me where you want it."

"Don't stop." You moan out, "Please daddy."

He grips your hips tight, "Fucking hell, you gonna cum for me?"

"Y-yes. Yes yes." You gasp, pushing your hips back as much as you can, "Fuck, cum in me."

His fingertips press into your skin harder, "F-fuck." He moans loud as his thrusts become sloppy, "Shit." He breathes out, voice shaky as you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You moan, breathing heavy as he gently rests your hips down onto the bed. He undoes the cuffs, rubbing your wrists as soon as they're off, "Are you okay? These didn't hurt you did they?"

"No." You try to shake your head, "No I'm fine, Colbs." You smile as he lays down next to you, gently pressing his lips to yours.

“So.. follow up question..” you look up at him, “Does this mean we’re together now, or?”

“you're my girl, now." He brushes hair from your face, "Thought me moaning out my fucking girl gave that away." He chuckles and you smile with a slight laugh, "Yeah, no you're right."

You sit up, leaning over to kiss him and he lays a hand on your back, smiling within the kiss, "Just be prepared for Sam to bitch in the morning because you were pretty loud."

You lean back, laughing as you push his shoulder, "Only because you told me to."

"Yeah, and you listened very well." He winks and pulls you back down for another kiss, “Next time, we'll take it a little bit slower, and more gentle."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Thank you for reading!

Love you all!

Like and reblogs are all greatly appreciated! 🖤

[minkdelovely]

homebodies

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Alastor x GN!Reader

tags: domestic!alastor, fluff, established relationship, alcohol consumption, not “explicit” but as a general rule MDNI 18+

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: more self-indulgence. just a little something that’s been on my mind since i watched ‘casablanca’ over the weekend. i tried my best not to get too ooc, but idk - i feel like under the right circumstance, alastor has great potential for coziness. here’s looking at you, kid.

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Tonight was the night. The decision was made a week ago and there was no way you would be backing down.

You didn’t know why you had gotten the urge one day, but once it was there you were determined on getting an antique TV. It had taken visiting several antique shoppes throughout Cannibal Town, but you had managed to find one: a 1949 Packard Bell television (or possibly Hell’s greatest dupe) that was in beautiful shape.

It had been so exciting rearranging your furniture to make room for it, and you set it up to play some of the movies you had also found. The perfect cozy piece that had been missing from the lounge area in your suite. You loved how it looked with the rest of your things, fitting in seamlessly with some of your other antique finds; the morning glory gramophone being one of yours and Alastor’s favorites.

Thinking of him, you began to feel a little nervous about your impulse buy. You knew how he felt about modern technology but… would a TV from 1949 really count? If the concern was Vox, surely the Vees wouldn’t be interested in bugging this old thing?

Uncertainty won out, and you decided to conceal it with a scalloped, ivory tablecloth, placing a vase of flowers on top to complete the transformation. Just until you could work up the courage to show it to him.

You had given yourself a week, and it was finally time. It had been all planned out, from what you’d be having for dinner to the movie you would ask him to watch. The two of you had a long-standing routine of staying in on Friday nights, with activities ranging from you each settling down with a book to dancing in the lounge all while the radio played. Needless to say, it had been a long time since you had felt so nervous about him coming over. What if he really hated it? Or worse… thought it was silly?

A distinct rapping at the door interrupted your spiral, Alastor peaking his head in before fully entering your suite. Despite the number of times you had told him he didn’t need to, the knocking was a habit he refused to give up. Tonight you were grateful, as it gave you the slightest bit of warning to pull yourself together before you hurried to greet him.

He was already removing his coat by the time you reached him, and he kissed your hand in greeting when you tried to take it. A gesture that still left you with butterflies.

“Evening, dearest. Tonight couldn’t have come soon enough, I’ve been looking forward to it for days,” he sighed, finally allowing you to take his coat as he loosened his bow tie with a tug of his fingers.

You would never get used to seeing him be so relaxed around you. He was always so composed and properly dressed that the moments in which he was casual were precious to you, like a secret.

“I know, you’ve been busy this week,” you commiserated, already reconsidering your plan of action as you put the coat away. It was rare that he was tired like this. “What would you like to drink? I’ll get it for you.”

Maybe this isn’t be the best time to try and spring something new on him, you thought as he took a seat at the small table in your makeshift dining area.

“Surprise me,” he said, resting his head in his hand. His eyes trailed you as you made your way to the bar cart, the lazy smile on his face making your heart jump.

Husker had recently taught you how to make a few cocktails, the Negroni turning out to be a surprise favorite. You made two and set his glass down in front of him, exchanging a silent cheers before taking a sip.

Dinner went off without a hitch, and you took turns catching each other up with superfluous details of the week now that you finally had the time. It was during all of this that you worked up your courage to stick to the plan. Maybe a movie might be a nice distraction?

“I bought something last week that I’ve been meaning to show you,” you said, fiddling with your glass.

He raised a brow and hummed. “And why the wait?”

“I was nervous at first, how you’d react to it — it’s nothing bad!” you added quickly, seeing the look on his face. His imagination could be the worst sometimes. “Just… unexpected? I bought a TV from 1949. It’s been hiding in the lounge.”

Alastor turned to look and you got up to remove its disguise. Seeing it for the first time since covering it, you fell in love all over again. It really did fit your space so perfectly.

“It’s not… terrible,” he conceded, standing over it with a suspicious air. “It doesn’t stick out, at least. And you intend to watch it, I presume?”

Here goes nothing.

“I do,” you said, not as confidently as you’d have liked. “I, um… I was actually wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me? It’s from 1942.”

“You don’t have to keep telling me which years they’re from, dearest,” he sighed, taking a seat on the couch. “But first, I’d like another drink.”

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“I’d like to think that you killed a man. It’s the romantic in me,” Louis said from the television, and to your surprise Alastor chuckled. Was he… enjoying this? You couldn’t help but dare take a peak, and the relaxed smile you found nearly killed you.

He was actually watching it! This was a victory you’d soon not forget.

You started to covertly look over at him as the movie moved along, curious to see which parts of it he reacted to. He was so absorbed that you were able to get away with it for nearly half the movie.

Alastor nearly caught you when the Paris flashback was over, giving you an unmistakable ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ look. You couldn’t help but laugh, and he soon joined in.

You picked up on moments here and there throughout the rest of it, mostly when involving Rick and Louis. And he really enjoyed when Victor began to sing La Marseillaise, singing along with just as much passion. Laughing when Ilsa pulled a gun on Rick, disappointed when she didn’t follow through.

Before you knew it, Rick and Louis were walking off into the proverbial sunset and the movie was over.

“I wouldn’t mind if you ever wanted to watch that again,” he said, looking down at you. You had been inching closer and closer to him throughout the movie, until he tucked you under his arm.

“Really? I’m so glad you liked it!” You couldn’t fight the smile on your face. This had gone so much better than expected, and you were just so happy. “Can I kiss you?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Goodness, so well-mannered tonight,” he teased with a laugh, voice low and eyes heavy. “I suppose, since you asked so nicely.”

The kiss had started chaste enough, before he said he wanted ‘payback’.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco

[ratsummer]

So my bestie was telling me the other day about Phantom wanting to practice kissing and I am running away with it!!

It doesn't take long after he's summoned for Phantom to want to kiss his pack mates. Unfortunately, he is a very anxious and not-yet-well-adjusted ghoul, so he agonizes over who to go to for a long, long time. They're all so beautiful, and everyone has been happy to help him, but the thought of kissing them... of being vulnerable in that way... He agonizes over everything that could go wrong for hours on end. After much sleeplessness and pacing around his room with a notebook (Cirrus taught him about decision trees) he finally decides Mountain is the safest bet.

First of all, he sees Mountain kissing literally everyone, all of the time, everywhere. Anyone can see he's good at it. Anyone can see he likes it! Also, both Swiss and Rain have independently confessed to Phantom that Mountain is the best kisser. Mountain has never laughed at him for not knowing how to do something, so he at least almost certainly won't be mean if he thinks it's weird that Phantom hasn't ever kissed anyone. Really, Phantom feels pretty safe that he can walk away from the situation unscathed, no matter which way things go.

So. It's gonna be Mountain. Phantom works up all the courage in his little heart and goes to Mountain's door. When Mountain greets him, he sees a skinny little ghoul (the littlest quint he's ever seen, that might never wear off) clutching his weighted bat stuffy close and barely able to stammer out a hello.

The one thing that Phantom had unfortunately left out of consideration was Mountain's height. Even glamored, the guy towers over him. He's also generally quiet, so he really just has a very consistenly... looming quality to him. Which is fine! So fine! But Phantom is already embarrassed and nervous and this big beautiful ghoul is just looking down at him with his big pretty soft gentle eyes and his sweet lovely smile and it's all so disarming and Phantom is just shrinking in on himself more and more and he can't even say hello to Mountain and he's such an idiot and he shouldn't have come and-

"Hey, snuggle bug, come here. Come back to me."

And, oh. Mountain is kneeling in front of him. He's shorter than Phantom now, but only just barely, and... wow, okay, Phantom can breathe again. And Mountain is just holding his hips and gently squeezing, and his big heavy tail is gently thumping on the ground, and he's still smiling that beautiful soft smile.

It's such a relief to have Mountain holding him that Phantom doesn't realize he's crying until Mountain reaches up to softly wipe his cheeks. And then Phantom is giggling, and his face is so hot, and then he starts crying for real, and he feels so stupid but also so safe. And he apologizes to Mountain over and over, sorry, he doesn't know why he's crying.

And around his gasps and half-stuttered apologies, he finally manages to confess. "I don't even know why I'm crying. I just wanted to kiss with you."

And Mountain is grinning so big and pulling him close, and even though he's on his knees he's somehow still making Phantom feel safe and small. And Mountain nuzzles up under his jaw, and presses a sweet, tiny kiss there. He cups Phantom's cheeks, and tilts his head down so he can press a lingering kiss between his horns.

"I would love to kiss with you, snuggle bug. Should we get in my nest?"

And Phantom can only whine and nod, knuckles white as he clings desperately to Mountain's shirt. He refuses to let go, even as Mountain stands and towers over him once more, stretching Phantom's arms out over his head. Mountain just laughs softly, not mean at all, and grabs Phantom's thighs to pick him up and wrap them around his waist.

Phantom squishes himself as close to Mountain as he can, snuggled up against his chest like a baby bat. He tucks his face into Mountain's neck to breathe in his warm, familiar smell, and wraps his tail tight around Mountain's hips. Mountain is rubbing his back, a deep, rumbling purr rolling through his chest as he closes the bedroom door and turns to his nest.

"Alright, snuggle bug. You're alright. Mounty's got you."

And maybe Phantom's entire body is finally relaxing from being so tense for hours, stressing over whether he should or shouldn't approach Mountain. Maybe his eyes are heavy from crying. Maybe he's finally warm and calm and maybe a big, cozy ghoul is kissing his hair and wrapping a big, cozy blanket around him.

Maybe he can get kisses tomorrow.

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Your dad’s best friend knows you better than you do yourself.

prompts. | Ari Levinson + dad’s best friend + “I dreamt about you last night. Every night.” + Daddy kink, requested by @ameerakane20.

pairing. | dark!dad’s best friend!Ari Levinson x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, smut, age gap, Daddy kink, mentions of non-con somnophilia, mentions of sex dreams, obsession, dry humping/grinding, orgasm (f), dirty talk, delusion, pet names, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

The sound of cicadas fills the air as you make your way downstairs, the door to the backyard open. The screen stays closed, though, to prevent any bugs from coming inside.

You know your father’s best friend is staying the night, but you didn't think he’d still be up. You can hear a football game playing on the television in the living room, and you walk past it in your venture to the kitchen.

A gruff voice calls your name before beckoning you to sit with him. You acquiesce, always intimidated by Ari. He’s quiet when your father is not around, yet always so intense. He practically sucks the all the air out of the room.

“You’re still up, huh?” he questions, even though it really isn’t that late. You’re a big girl. You can handle yourself. “Yeah… Er, where is he?” you ask, obviously alluding to your dad. “Oh, he went to the liquor store to get us a few beers,” Ari explains.

You nod your head. He pats the spot next to him, gesturing you to sit down. You do as he tells you, not wanting to be rude. But you also find your body listens involuntarily, almost as if he has complete control over it.

“You’re so quiet, aren’t ya?” Ari smiles, and you shake your head, also grinning. “It’s cute. I like it,” he says.

A few moments pass while you both watch the game on the TV, and you have a hard time breathing. You can’t deny Ari’s good looks, but being around him makes you so nervous.

As you’re lost in thought while staring at the screen, you feel a large, warm hand rest on your bare thigh. You’re wearing shorts tonight, as per usual, since it’s so hot. 

You turn your head and look at Ari, who’s already watching you with dark eyes. His tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and he gazes up and down your body.

“A– Ari?” you ask, nervous and aroused. “It’s Daddy to you, princess,” he roughly tells you, squeezing your thigh. “What?” you scoff as you go to stand up. 

The older man quickly pulls you onto his lap, though, and he holds you down with his immense strength. 

“I dreamt about you last night. Every night,” he whispers, nuzzling your cheek. His beard rubs against your skin, moving down to the crook of your neck. He presses kisses along the trail the entire time. “And I know you do, too, sweetie,” he hums, his hands groping your ass.

How does he know? The question dies on the tip of your tongue when he gives you a few spanks, making you yelp.

“I couldn’t just leave my girl by herself. And you were so wet, too,” Ari continues, his words horrifying yet true. Your dad’s best friend uses his grip to make you grind on his evident bulge, the pleasure nice yet wrong—so very wrong. 

You gasp at the sensation, loving the attention your achy clit is receiving. But you’re conflicted, and you want to do the right thing.

“Ari– Please, we can’t. Let me go—I won’t say a word, I swear,” you pant, his touch becoming addictive. You moan when he lands another smack on your ass, this time a bit harsher. “What did I say? Don’t make Daddy upset, baby.” 

“S- Sorry, D– Daddy. Please, leave me alone,” you beg, sounding a bit whiny as Ari continues to rub your pussy on his hard, clothed dick. “Why should I do that, honey? Hm? I’ve waited way too long to get you alone. I’m not letting you go,” he grunts, cock twitching under his jeans. 

“It’s wrong! You’re my dad’s friend,” you reason, and against your will, you can feel your climax nearing. It’s been so long since you’ve been fucked by a man—a real man. “And now I’m your Daddy. C’mon, it wouldn’t be my first time touching you, and that pussy’s been begging for me to fuck it,” Ari chuckles.

He picks up the pace on your hips, and your moans become louder despite your insistence on stopping. His previous words completely evade you.

“Aw, are you gonna come for Daddy?” he taunts, giving your ass a few light slaps. “Uh-huh,” you mewl, back arching. “Tell Daddy how much you want him, and I’ll let you come,” Ari suddenly demands.

You twist your face in frustration. You want to come so bad, but you don’t want him to keep touching you. Or maybe you do.

“I– I want you so bad, Daddy. I need you so much,” you whine, and Ari curses at your words. Just as perfect as he imagined. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Go ahead, come for Daddy. Make a mess in your panties,” he demands, and you do as he says.

The elastic band within you snaps as you hit your climax, pussy fluttering around nothing as you dampen your panties even more. 

“Doesn’t it feel so good when you listen to Daddy, baby?” he asks, and you can hear the strain in his voice. “Uh-huh,” you helplessly hum, riding out the rest of your orgasm. Ari keeps you going on his clothed dick until you try to push him away.

He pulls you towards his chest and holds you close, mouth next to your ear. “And even if you didn’t, I’d still get what I want. I always do.” 

[jinuaei]

Yandere!Siren Hybrid!Roach x Reader

OFC I can't make a random ass idea without making it a Yandere x reader LMAO Edit: edited to make it gender neutral :D

Inspired by Bluegiragi's Monster au

Warning: As always 18+ MDNI, Its yandere sweetheart, dub-con, somnophilia, hypnotization, being brainwashed ish? NSFW under the cut

Word count: 870

As the new rookie of 141, you've become somewhat of a precious little member of the team. Considering that you're the only human amidst the big burly hybrid men, it's no wonder they treat you like you're fragile, because lets be honest you'd probably die within seconds if you go against one of them. With that, Captain Price chose a less intimidating member to be your handler, which you're actually glad about since the others are too much for you, well, other than Gaz. Soap is too energetic and rowdy and is always trying to rub up on you. Ghost scares you as well as Konig, they keep glaring at you as if you murdered their dogs. Horangi's eyes-- well, sunglasses keeps following you, but his tail, standing up and all, whips about aggressively so you'd rather not become the tigers next meal. Although Gaz is nice, and never did anything to make you nervous.

Your handler is not as intimidating as you thought, considering his other teammates are. Gary Sanderson is his name, codename Roach as introduced by your Captain. You were curious why he didn't introduce himself instead of Price but you were informed that he cannot speak, which you were understanding of at first but then became awkward as soon as Price leaves because this man is just standing there, staring at you while you try to catch his attention, which eventually worked after a few minutes of waving in front of his face. But oh, if you could only see his expression the moment he saw you, would you have ever thought that your first friend would be such a pervert?

Even with the lack of communication you hit it off pretty quickly. At first he had to use pen and paper to talk to you, but when you expressed how you wanted to learn sign language he was pretty excited, as evident by his shaking and tight grip on your hand. So within a month, you learned enough to have a basic conversation with him. He's always so kind when you do it correctly, patting your head, nodding in pride, or caressing your cheek if he's bold enough. You thought nothing of it other than friendly touches.

But then you started to become more and more tired as the days pass, every morning you would have a pounding headache and sometimes your body also hurts but you thought it was the lack of sleep or the rigorous training the day before. However, red marks start to appear on your body, at first on your arm, but it quickly spread to your chest and more specifically, your neck. You told your concerns to Roach but he would only sign to you that it must be bed bugs, or mosquitoes. So as the kind friend he is, he offered his room and bed for you to sleep in while maintenance cleans out your room.

That night, you lay in his bed, yawning a goodnight as you start to pass out. Humming is heard before your body becomes relaxed and pliant, you're confused, trying to pin point where the noise is coming from but your thoughts are muddled, all except one, submit to me. Submit to who...?

You try to open your eyes but your vision is blurred. The bed squeaks and you feel weight bend the mattress close to your right thigh, and another on opposite side. The humming becomes louder when this happened, as if the noise is now on top of you.

"Relax..." The voice says, scratchy but soft, and against your wishes your body turns to mush, compliant to the man above you.

You can feel the vibrations when he kisses you, you can feel it when he nips at your neck, and you can feel it when his tongue licks at your wet opening. Every time he stops humming your mind becomes clearer, but then you get pulled under again as he whispers commands in your ear. Remove your clothes, open your legs, submit to me. Submit to him, submit to Roach.

Soon the humming turns into moans and whimpers, your body jerking in pleasure when you feel something hot and thick enter you. Roach moaning your name makes you quiver so deliciously, his voice and body making your mind blank. Not even noticing that your drooling now, eyes rolled back, whimpers and 'please please please' coming out of your mouth like a prayer. Finally the crescendo abruptly stops into a wet climax, and the siren falls next to you, still muttering your name.

Without him speaking, your mind clears enough to realize what happened and see the mess that you both are. Bites and marks litter around your neck and torso as a sheen is covering it, as if he was drooling as he tasted you. Warmth is oozing out of your abused hole and you gasp in horror when you registered that it was cum that was coming out of you. That gasp jerked him awake and he's pinning you down with his body, his mouth close to your ear as he hushes and consoles you.

"It's okay... you wanted it didn't you? Yes you did... now go to sleep darling."

[jotun-philosopher]

A narrative clothesline

The following ramble isn't what I think is *likely* to happen in S3; it's more of a narrative clothesline that my brain has constructed almost completely independently of any conscious effort on my part, influenced by various metas and my own and others' speculation, and it serves as a thing onto which I can peg images and vignettes and headcanons that I really like. (My brain is a very interesting place and tends to make stuff up without me noticing...) This gets VERY LONG, so have a bookmark handy!

Wackiness under the cut! Also torture, psychological abuse, violence, PTSD -- tread carefully.

Now, on with the motley!

***

Long, long before any sort of beginning, eons (if such temporal vocabulary makes sense here, given that time hasn't been invented yet) before a certain flame-haired starmaker realised he needed a hand with his blueprints, the Archangels Raphael and Azrael become suspicious of the Metatron and his interpretation of the Great Plan, becoming the first two angels *ever* to question when they start probing his motives. The Metatron takes great exception to this, and by the time he's finished with them, there isn't enough left to make two whole angels. Scenting a possibility for experimentation, he stitches these remnants together into a single new angel of lesser rank, who he hopes will be more compliant and biddable.

...Okay, you can stop laughing now.

[Main Titles]

See, in modern times (a couple of months or so after Gabriel's shock resignation), the Supreme Archangel "Raphael" -- resplendent in elaborately draped robes of Heavenly white (difficult to run or defend oneself in) with wide bands of elaborate gold decoration at the wrists and high collar (which, looked at another way, resemble symbolic chains) over bare feet (terribly angelic, but a classic way to humiliate captives while making it harder for them to flee). The overall effect is of regal, ethereal magnificence and dignity -- unless you know the full context, in which case the clearest impression is one of mockery, contempt and "We own you -- mind, body and soul -- and can do what we like to you with absolute impunity. Think about that before you consider rebelling."

The facial features and shock of fluffy white hair are heartbreakingly familiar, the utterly blank facial expression and stiff, upright demeanour less so. His voice, when he speaks, is many octaves below the 'soft bookseller' tones one might expect. Also unusual is "Raphael"'s tendency, when unobserved, to stare into space while touching his mouth or fiddling with a mysterious silvery trinket; otherwise, he goes about his duties in the manner expected of an Archangel, knowing only what he needs to know to prepare for the Second Coming. Which means that when his predecessor in post and a former Duke of Hell sneak in via an unregarded rear entrance to plant bugs, "Raphael" doesn't notice or react to them at all!

Cut to Crowley sprawling on a bench in some rural area, brooding deeply and looking portentously undisturbable (his native optimism is taking a while to rev up after the recent emotional whammies). When someone unexpectedly stands between him and the sun, he starts to snarl at them, only to be interrupted by a cheery, "Party name of Crowley?" Crowley leaps up, startled, accusatory and hostile, but the International Express delivery guy hastily clarifies, "It's ok, sir, just a mundane delivery -- but the lady was very specific about where to find you." Crowley (recognising the style) simmers down enough to take the letter with some grumbled thanks, opens it and is stopped in his grouchy tracks by a reference to the body swap that could *only* come from someone deeply familiar with the Nice & Accurate Prophecies.

Attention thoroughly caught, he scans the rest of the letter, swears in ancient Sumerian and bolts for the Bentley, nearly colliding with four startled, nervous-looking angels in militaristic garb. Crowley reaches for his crank handle, but then notices odd details -- the large wooden box one of them is holding, the dishevelled state of the uniforms, the insignia, all four of the angels bowing to him with deep and genuine respect... "Hang on, you lot are from Aziraphale's old platoon, aren't you? What the blazes are you doing here?"

The angel holding the box stutters in fright for a few seconds, but manages to get out, "Th-The L-T... He's...not exactly dead, but we're not sure what the Metatron did to him. W-whatever it was, it was bad, so we, that is the platoon, got together and drew lots and we gathered all the L-T's personal effects we could find and deserted..." The angel proffers the box to Crowley, while one of the less-intimidated angels explains, "You're effectively the L-T's next of kin, the whole platoon saw him desert in favour of you during the last go at Armageddon, and we've decided we respect him and you more than we fear the Metatron."

Crowley is very impressed, and says so. "But what about the rest of you?"

"They're back Upstairs, keeping watch over the L-T in case of untoward developments."

"Rrrrright... Oooooookayyy... I take it, then, that you're willing to take orders from me until the Second Coming is foiled?" The deserters nod. "Right, in that case -- you know where the Bookshop is? Meet me there, but don't teleport directly; it's too easily traced." The deserters salute crisply and set off flying, while Crowley climbs into the Bentley and takes a moment to investigate the box. It does indeed contain Aziraphale's clothes and personal effects, and he spends a couple of minutes just holding the familiar old waistcoat against his cheek and inhaling its scent, before starting the engine and veering off at speed. He's so awash with emotion that the one item missing from the box doesn't immediately register...

Back in Soho, things are fairly slow in Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death, so Nina's got time to chat with the customers. They're interrupted by the sound of a recklessly driven 1933 Bentley blaring Velvet Underground dopplering up the street in their direction. The Bentley turns within its own length and slips neatly into position outside the Bookshop, before disgorging a goth-punk redhead and a snatch of vocals -- "RUN RUN RUN RUN RUUUUN". The redhead slams the door, hefts a large box under his arm, yells, "FUCK THA SECOND COMING!!!!! HAHAHA!!" skyward (with accompanying hand gestures) and swaggers into the Bookshop as if he owns the place. Following a stunned silence, the customers ask, "Who...was that?" Nina replies, "Oh, that's Mr Crowley. He's one of our local, uh, characters. Basically co-owns that bookshop with his husband."

Inside the Bookshop, Crowley calls, "Oi, Muriel! You there?" and is answered by a nervous squeak from a pile of books on the mezzanine. He leaves the box by the till, bounces up there and glances from the haphazardly stacked volumes to the extremely worried scrivener hiding behind them. Plopping comfortably on the floor, he asks, "Lord of the Rings, eh? [waves the book in question] How're you getting on with Tolkien?"

Caught a little off-guard by Crowley's sudden appearance and friendly demeanour, Muriel replies, "Um.. I-I-I... It's good, but I found it a bit overwhelming. I-I liked the bit about the elves only guarding their forest, not ruling or owning it, though."

"Yeaaah, Tolkien's style can be a bit much if you're not used to it. He was a pretty interesting guy, though, great linguist. You'd've liked him. Anything else grab your interest?"

Muriel brightens up a little. "Yeah! The Discworld stuff is great! There's so much there to think about that I hadn't even considered before! There was this bit in one of the later ones, about sin being treating people as things, and um, I..." Crowley gestures for them to continue. "Well, it got me thinking about how the Metatron was before, with the stuff in the trial we saw, and just telling Mr Fell that I was going to be in charge here without giving him a say, which is a big overreach and a kind of theft, and I think the wards are damaged but I can't fix them myself because that would really be theft, and I think the building's a bit sapient and resents my presence, and I haven't opened or anything because I don't know how bookshops work and don't have Mr Fell's permission to sell things, and I... I don't want the Second Coming to happen because there are so many books I haven't read yet!!!"

Crowley makes a 'simmer down' gesture. "Okay. Taking it from the top: Thinking is always good, never stop doing it. You're absolutely right about Heaven and the Metatron sinning by treating people as things. We will need Aziraphale here to reset the wards, but there're ways to shore them up without committing metaphysical theft. This building may well be a bit sapient, like my car, because Aziraphale's put so much time and love into it. If you're truly against the Second Coming, then you have my permission to be here. Aziraphale actively tries to avoid opening or making sales anyway, so you're doing fine on that front. Okay?"

He's about to say more, but is interrupted by a sound from outside that could be described as "a six-foot-tall cat played by John Hamm negotiating the expulsion of a particularly obstinate hairball while in extreme emotional distress".

Of course, what is actually is, is a certain renegade Supreme Archangel who's seen something that's upset him to the point of dry heaving and loud emotional meltdown: "THEY KILLED HIM!!! THEY WIPED HIM LIKE THEY WERE GOING TO DO TO ME AND THEY PUT HIM IN MY OLD JOB AND THAT SOMEHOW MAKES IT WORSE!!!" Beelzebub tries to calm him down, and they eventually succeed in directing Gabriel's attention to the Bentley, the Bookshop and the startled redhead leaning out of the doors.

It's a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Crowley lets them into the Bookshop without a word of snark. He directs them to the sofa, pours himself into the chair opposite and stares at them with a quizzically raised eyebrow. "Why'd you come back?"

Gabriel is still gathering himself, so Beez answers, "We got talking... We both have a lot to atone for, and Gabriel wanted to repay you and Aziraphale for your kindness better than he could have done when everything blew up before [Gabriel nods emphatically]. Then we reasoned that the destruction of everything in Armageddon round two would catch us wherever we were, and we'd be just as dead as if we'd been executed for returning..."

"...so we figured, what the heck, let's make it worthwhile!" Gabriel takes a slightly shaky breath. "So we came back to help you and Aziraphale mess up this Apocalypse, and we snuck into Heaven to plant spy flys [Beez smirks while Crowley does an impressed double-take], but then we saw..."

"Yeah, I heard you." Crowley pulls out the letter from earlier and hands it over. "Aziraphale's not dead, he's way too stubborn for that. We have more allies than you think, but we've got to plan carefully or we're stuffed. Speaking of allies..." He launches himself upright and swaggers to the door, where the deserters he met earlier have just landed. In something of a Regimental-Sergeant-Major mode, he says, "Right, you lot, this Bookshop is pretty much HQ for now, but the wards are damaged and we can't properly repair them without Aziraphale. Set up a guard duty rota covering all possible entrances and exits, at the double, but keep it discreet. Got that?" That done, he gently dragoons Muriel into helping him get his plants out of the Bentley and into his and Aziraphale's bedroom. When he's alone once more, he spends a few moments puttering around, sorting out his angel's clothes from the box (noting the missing bow tie with a twinge of sadness) and lining up the plants on the windowsill and anywhere else they'll fit. That done, he sternly tells them, "Right, you lot, listen up! You live here now, got it? So you'd better look nice for when Aziraphale gets back or else!" The plants visibly stand to attention as Crowley wields his plant mister threateningly, before gently spritzing their leaves.

Up in Heaven, "Raphael" has by chance managed to scrape up enough independent thought to wonder about the strange silvery trinket he's been holding on to without properly noticing its existence. Once the idea enters his consciousness, it won't leave, and he suddenly can't focus on anything else [the vibe and camera angels I have in mind are very 'Professor Yana properly noticing his pocket watch', but less evil]. He happens to still be holding it when he starts absently touching his mouth again, he accidentally swallows it...And there's a burst of mental white light, a garbled flood of memories -- Aziraphale is restored! He takes a couple of seconds to reorient himself, stretches his neck from side to side, wiggles his shoulders and generally limbers up to be a Chaotic Murder Hornet... Then Saraquel forcibly re-imposes the "Raphael" persona, but squashing Aziraphale inside his own mind rather than erasing him outright; she has her own plans regarding the Metatron, and can't afford to let Azzy be too chaotic too early.

Aziraphale is understandably furious and immediately starts testing the bounds of this latest development with subversive intent. (Beware the fury of a patient angel!)

Back in Soho, a day or two later, Nina's becoming increasingly worried about Heavenly and Hellish matters that she's witnessed or inferred; she's feeling a little awkward about contacting Crowley, but sends a message across to the Bookshop anyway. Crowley swaggers across the road in reply at about closing time (after a long shift monitoring the spy-flys), helps Nina carry some stuff inside, then sprawls in a chair with a raised-eyebrow Look. "Got your message."

Under the pressure of the sunglasses and the eyebrow, Nina quails a little, but says, "I... I owe you an apology." Crowley's other eyebrow goes up. "For raving hypocrisy. I shouldn't have tried to lecture you on how to run your relationship right after telling you off for doing the same thing. I'm sorry."

"We're even, then." Crowley sits up and leans forward. "There's something else, though. You're scared, about something you can't ask anyone else about. What is it?"

Nina hesitates, worried about sounding odd, then says, "You know Wintersmith?" Crowley nods emphatically. "I was reading it last night, and the part where Tiffany's critiquing a romance novel's depiction of a sheep farm made me think about coffee shop AU fanfiction and the stuff they get wrong -- like the characters running off in the middle of the morning rush to interfere in their neighbours' love lives -- and then I realised there're a few things about Maggie that don't add up, and there're angels and demons all over the place and WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON???"

Crowley is more or less unruffled. Gently, he tells Nina, "I'm the last person to discourage asking questions, and I understand why you have them, but this is one of those situations where getting answers is a risk; you can't un-eat an apple and expect to get the same apple back afterward, and the truth you're asking about would probably look like cosmic horror from a human perspective. If you and any of the other Whickber Sstreet Traderss really want answerss, I'm prepared to give them -- say, tomorrow evening at the Bookssshop? -- but be very ssure you truly want to know. Ok?" Upon her confirmation, he takes his leave, sashaying back to the Bookshop as Nina starts to work out why he used an apple metaphor in particular...

The next evening, the Bookshop is more full of people than it has been for quite some time; the Whickber Street Traders & Shopkeepers have (as Crowley suspected) been wanting answers about what's going on since the Meeting Ball. He's trying to call the meeting to some kind of order when there's another knock at the door. Suspicious (everyone he was expecting is already present), Crowley approaches the doors just as two file cards are pushed through the letterbox, showing Prophecies 3008 and 5004. Once he's recovered from the surprise, Crowley tears open the door to reveal Anathema Device and Newt Pulsifer and invites them in without further ado. Introductions are swiftly made, and Anathema explains that she knew she'd be needed tonight to explain about Agnes, and wanted to take the opportunity to pass on the Nice & Accurate Prophecies card index to someone who'd truly appreciate it for what it is. She then has to shake Newt a bit, because he's been rooted to the spot, staring in awe around the Bookshop. "This place is brilliant! It's kind of the Platonic ideal of old bookshops! I... [excited squeak, gesturing]"

Flattered on Aziraphale's behalf, Crowley smirks, notes that it's kind of Newt to say so, then saunters over to the till and rings the handbell for silence. "I hereby call to order this Truly Extraordinary Meeting of the Whickber Street Traders & Shopkeepers Association. I know you all want answers about what's been going on, and you definitely deserve them. Where would you like to start?"

Nina raises a hand and asks, "That metaphor you used yesterday, about eating apples -- there was a reason you used that, wasn't there?"

"Ah, yessssssssss!" Crowley grins hugely. "An excellent choice! Imagine, if you will a desert, and within that desert, a huge walled garden with a certain tree in the centre. A certain demon has been told to 'get up there and make some trouble', but he isn't really used to being a demon yet and has doubts about this whole 'evil for evil's sake' business, so he does the least troublesome thing he can think of that fits the brief, finds the official response a tad excessive, recognises the cute Principality on duty at the Eastern Gate, slithers over for a chat, the angel admits to giving away his flaming sword out of compassionate concern, and, well..."

"Vavoom?" Gabriel seems to be trying hard not to squee too obviously.

"Vavoom!" agrees Crowley, not buying the act for a second. He proceeds to recount (in as concise a manner as he can) the 6000-odd years of his and Aziraphale's joint history, not going into too much detail on specific incidents, apart from the Job business (at the request of Gabriel and some of the shopkeepers who'd never liked the 'official' version -- Gabe's pretty good-humoured about how daft the whole affair makes him look) and somewhat on the Bullet Catch (to impressed noises from Mutt and his spouse). It's all surprisingly lighthearted until the account gets to the arrival of the Antichrist and the first Armageddon, at which point Crowley becomes focused and deadly serious, calling in frequent contributions from Gabe, Beez, Newt and Anathema (the story of the body-swap dodge gets a rousing cheer, though!) and emphasising that what ultimately resolved the crisis was humans being magnificently human. Things get even more serious when the explanations reach Gabriel's casting-out and the impending Second Coming/Armageddon v2, and once the story's finished, the Whickber Street Traders have a moment of overwhelmed silence.

Nina breaks the silence by rather numbly commenting that Crowley really wasn't kidding about the cosmic horror thing. Other traders join in, contemplatively noting that the Ineffable Husbands are humanity's unofficial godparents and the ultimate queer elders, and Mr Brown (who's old enough to remember both) remarks on the parallels with both the Cold War and the dark times when homosexuality was illegal.

The atmosphere is rudely broken by an indication that someone Upstairs wishes to speak to Muriel immediately. Beez, the shopkeepers and guests immediately dive for cover behind every available bookshelf, while Crowley and Gabriel throw Muriel candles for the summoning circle and take cover themselves.

Muriel greets the activated circle with a cheery, polite, "Hello, this is the Angelic Embassy in London, Muriel speaking, how can I help?" A familiar (?) silhouette forms in the light within the circle; the Archangel "Raphael" is checking in to make sure that nebulously defined preparations on Earth are going well, and he is in addition curious as to why there were so many humans in the Bookshop earlier. Muriel explains that they were hosting a shopkeepers' association meeting, adding on the spur of the moment that it's part of their Earthly cover. As soon as they mention that, "Raphael"'s expression visibly twitches and glitches, as if there's some fierce internal struggle going on, he hunches over, looks up -- and it's Aziraphale in control once more, forcing himself out from under the imposed persona and visibly terrified.

Gabbling with nerves and fidgeting agitatedly with his hands, Aziraphale delivers a frantic apology for messing with everyone's heads at the Meeting Ball and begs Muriel to pass the message on if they can, because he's not sure he'll live to deliver it in person or be able to make practical amends. While Muriel is promising to pass the message on, Mutt notices something about Aziraphale's hand movements -- subtle pulling and folding among the agitated flailing -- and laser-focuses on that through a gap in the bookshelves. Cautiously, Muriel starts to ask whether there're any messages for Crowley, but Aziraphale notices there's someone listening in on his end and frantically gestures for Muriel to stop talking (in the process concealing a subtle wrist-flick throwing motion). He has a split-second to make eye contact with Crowley and attempt to convey "I love you more than anything" via eyebrow movements, and to receive a raised-eyebrow nod that conveys "I love you too, I'm working on things down here, I know what I'm holding without looking, and the answer to the associated question is yes," in return, before the "Raphael" persona is forcibly reimposed.

It's unsettling to watch -- his body is yanked mechanically, involuntarily upright like a puppet having its strings pulled, and he settles too smoothly back into the formal posture from the start of the call as his face becomes utterly blank once more. The call ends in a thoroughly conventional fashion, leaving the meeting attendees creeping out from their hiding places looking extremely shaken.

One or two people, once they've found their voices again, start to wonder aloud whether Aziraphale's apology was remotely sincere. Crowley confirms that it was, in a tone that suggests he's perplexed and a bit offended that anyone could think otherwise. Mutt backs him up. "He was in fear for his life! Who'd waste time lying in that kind of situation?!" He takes a couple of calming breaths, "So, yes, completely sincere, but I got the sense that it was at the same time a sort of misdirecting patter. Did anyone else see what he was doing with his hands? Looked like pulling something out of his sleeves and throwing it out of the circle right before he..."

"You're absolutely right." Crowley holds out his right hand and opens it to reveal a small, roundish tartan lump. As he unwraps Aziraphale's bow tie from around the package, he continues, "The thing about conducting a millennia-long clandestine relationship with painful annihilation as the price of discovery is that you have to be, or get, very good at communicating in ways that won't be understood or noticed by anyone who doesn't know the full context [quick sideways glance at Maggie and Nina]. For example, this..." He finishes unwrapping the bow tie to reveal Aziraphale's signet ring. "...means, among other things, 'I trust you with everything that I am.'" No-one dares say a word as Crowley slips the ring onto the ring finger of his left hand and secures the bow tie around his watch strap. He then wearily dismisses the meeting, responding to queries from the Whickber Street Traders about how they can help by saying, "Just... Keep being human, as hard as you can. That's what did for Armageddon last time..."

Up in Heaven, Saraquel is worried and speculative as she watches "Raphael" depart to resume his duties elsewhere, looking unusually shaky. She consults the memory-mangling app on her angelphone and realises that repeatedly imposing the "Raphael" persona without first erasing Aziraphale has rendered that persona increasingly fragile and liable to be thrown off permanently at any time.

Aziraphale does just that as soon as he's sure he's unobserved, but (warned by his previous experiences) acts as if he hasn't, all while weaving a small illusion miracle to bolster the pretence until he's ready to cast it off.

A couple of days later, Crowley is sitting in Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death, brooding deeply and knocking back inordinate quantities of Nina's strongest espresso after a night watching the spy-flys. He's jolted out of his reverie by the arrival of the International Express delivery guy, cheery and businesslike as ever, bringing a letter from Anathema and a large parcel she's passing on for someone else. Crowley opens the letter first, reads it in mounting agitation, quaffs the last of his latest coffee and races back to the Bookshop. While Muriel's examining the letter, Crowley opens the parcel to find a number of things from Aziraphale -- Gabriel's scarf and tailored overcoat (along with an apologetic note about not being able to find more of his clothes), all records of his attempted execution and Gabriel's kangaroo court, information on the murders of Azrael and Raphael, a complete list of angels who've been memory-wiped without Falling (Muriel is perturbed to find their own name on the list), change logs for the Book of Life, details of other things the Metatron has been doing in an attempt to impede the Ineffable Husbands' ability to muck up Armageddon round 2; all in all, a very helpful mound of evidence for anyone intending to take down the system. In mounting fear for Aziraphale's safety and warned by part of Anathema's letter, Crowley leaves the Bookshop, the parcel and its contents under the temporary care of Gabriel, Beelzebub and Muriel and goes tearing off in the Bentley, Best of Queen blaring from the radio. Near the M25, though, the playback is interrupted by an ominous announcement: "Peoples of the Earth, please attend carefully. The information that follows is vital to the future of all of you..."

Up in Heaven, the Metatron is hijacking every sound-emitting device on Earth to transmit the "good news" about the Second Coming. He makes a smarmy, patronising speech about how wonderful it's going to be and how humanity should rejoice about the culmination of the Great Plan etc. etc. before introducing "Supreme Archangel Raphael" and handing him the trumpet to blow to formally begin hostilities. "Raphael" takes the trumpet (a tad dubiously, but the Metatron's too full of himself to notice) but doesn't immediately move to use it. Instead, in a deep and resonant voice, he says, "Before we begin, there is a quotation that I feel is very appropriate at this juncture." He then drops the "Raphael" illusion entirely and scrunches up the trumpet like tissue paper as he says, "As a wise and wily serpent once said, 'Great pustulent mangled BOLLOCKS to the GREAT BLASTED PLAN!'", his voice rising through the octaves to the familiar Aziraphale tones.

As Metatron has a major 'oh crap' moment (and Crowley, barrelling along the motorway, registers surprise, affection, pride and intense concern simultaneously), Aziraphale builds on his advantage of surprise to bluntly explain exactly what's really intended to happen, viciously and succinctly eviscerating the concept of 'Rapture' and the idea of Heaven and Hell giving a flying fuck about humanity, utterly condemning the celestial/infernal ego games and urging any angels or demons who've been doubting the plan to desert, explore life on Earth for themselves and make their own decisions.

Metatron, having recovered from the shock, tries to get his plans back on track. "My Lord Archan--"

"No." Aziraphale starts determinedly walking towards the elevators. "My name is Aziraphale. I am a Principality, and I claim the Earth and every living being upon it as my protectorate. The Archangel Raphael died a very long time ago, as you should know full well, Metatron, given that you murdered him."

The Metatron switches to faux-concern: "You have to do this! you're going against the Great Plan! You'll be damned--"

Aziraphale shrugs and keeps walking. "I am reliably informed that it's not so bad once you get used to it."

The Metatron is furious now: "You're a worthless remnant stitched together from worthless remnants, and if you want to have any value at all in your miserable little existence--"

Aziraphale makes a dismissive gesture and keeps walking, outwardly unaffected. (Cutaway to Crowley: "Oh, angel... I'm gonna pamper you SO HARD when I get you home...") He's making surprisingly good progress, between the confusion he's sown in the ranks and the support of those members of his old platoon who elected to stay behind and keep an eye on him. The Metatron manages to exhort a very few of the really fanatical loyalists to try to stop Aziraphale by force, heavily outnumbered though they are. Not many of them get through to Aziraphale, and he manages to dodge them in such a way that they end up hitting each other -- until Sandalphon, by an unlucky fluke, manages to catch him hard on the face. There's a breathless moment of shocked silence, broken by Aziraphale wryly snarking about how sloppy and complacent Sandalphon's form has become since Sodom and Gomorrah. He takes advantage of the confusion this causes to disarm Sandalphon of his sword and neutralise him, then hesitates as if to turn and support the anti-Armageddon rebels he's convinced -- they urge him to get back to Earth and Crowley. He does so with considerable haste, meeting comparatively little resistance. (Cutaway to Crowley, looking more worried than ever as the Heavenly transmission cuts off.)

[My ideas form a four-way branch at this point; the commonalities are Aziraphale crash-landing somewhere with his wings broken and/or on fire, Crowley picking him up and doing loads of healing miracles, creating a scabbard for the sword that Aziraphale is clutching like grim death, wrapping him in blankets, carrying him to the Bentley and driving him back to Soho, all the while fretting over him.

--Version 1: Aziraphale falls past an airliner and lands somewhere isolated enough that a search-and-rescue team with helicopter support comes looking for him. Aziraphale is traumatised enough to be very twitchy about letting the paramedics (who, kind or no, are after all strangers) do anything to him until Crowley shows up; he flatly refuses transport to a hospital and (by some chain of events) ends up staying the night with Crowley in the guest bedroom of a nearby cottage that proves to belong to Madame Tracy and Shadwell.

--Version 2: Aziraphale lands in the sea a couple of miles off Beachy Head, with his wings on fire -- or in some other highly visible way that sets off an immediate flurry of calls to the Coastguard. Eastbourne RNLI are tasked to the rescue, and once the Deputy Launch Authority's gotten over the initial 'WTF?' reaction, they decide to launch the station's Tamar-class all-weather lifeboat to fish him out (reasoning that when rescuing a casualty with a 12-foot wingspan, it'd be sensible to have the larger, more stable vessel). Crowley roars up to the lifeboat station in the Bentley right as the Tamar is launched, pops his wings and flies off after the boat with a cry of, "AZIRAPHALE, YOU MAD BASTARD, WHERE ARE YOU???" He actually finds Aziraphale first, grabs his hand and holds on to him with grim determination, which makes things a lot easier for the RNLI crew -- a demon with huge and distinctive wings is a heck of a lot easier to spot than a football-sized lump on the surface of even slightly rolling seas. Plus, between physical and psychological fatigue, injuries and voluminous, waterlogged robes, Aziraphale probably wouldn't have been able to miracle himself afloat long enough for the lifeboat crew to get there. Thanks to Crowley, though, get there they do, and once the Ineffables are safely on board they turn back for the lifeboat station; Crowley fusses around Aziraphale, doing healing and drying miracles and getting in the way of crew trying to do casualty care, while the coxswain tries to figure out how to put all this into the post-rescue report. Back at the station, the crew check the Ineffables over again, feed them choccy biscuits and hot sweet tea, then see them on their way. (And there's a *very* interesting segment on Saving Lives At Sea a few months later!)

--Version 3a: Aziraphale lands in St James' Park and drags himself over to their bench without intervention from passers-by, who (if they notice him at all) assume he's doing some sort of performance art.

--Version 3b: Aziraphale lands in St James' Park and is immediately besieged by solicitous bystanders -- some genuinely want to help, but some others in the crowd are classic Nice Little Old Ladies who think they Know Best and everyone should do as they say because they go to church in fancy clothes every Sunday; they barge around being unhelpfully helpful and ignoring or steamrolling over Aziraphale's protests that he's fine and just needs to rest, until one of them grabs his broken wing, saying, "My grandson's an ornithologist, dear, I know what I'm doing," and twists it. Aziraphale screams in agony and Crowley, already approaching at speed, teleports over and verbally tears the little-old-lady brigade a new one, all hissy and snarly and protective.]

Regardless of branch, cut to Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death, where Nina is wrangling a gaggle of obnoxious influencer types out of the door, to cheers from the regular clientele. One of them comments jovially about how worrying it'd be if she ever lost her knack for that, which leads to a more general discussion about people acting out of character -- fading abruptly when Nina notices something outside and makes a grim comment about people who normally drive like absolute bloody maniacs suddenly acting like they're transporting fragile glass sculptures. Crowley's driving is notorious enough in Soho that everyone immediately rushes to the window to see the Bentley creeping gently into its spot outside the Bookshop. Crowley clambers out slowly, closes the driver's door quietly and moves around the car while Nina and the customers speculate about the fluffy white bundle they briefly glimpsed in the passenger seat. Their hypotheses are blown out of the water when Crowley straightens up, holding a sleepy Aziraphale in a bridal carry (wings, robes, sword and all), bumps the car door closed with his butt and carries his angel gently into the Bookshop, popping his wings for umbrella purposes when it starts raining.

In the Bookshop, Gabriel, Beelzebub and Muriel are almost more perturbed by Aziraphale's injured state than they were by the Heavenly transmission earlier. Without anything being spoken aloud, they help Crowley get him out of the Archangel robes and tucked up in bed. Crowley takes a certain savage glee in picking up the removed robes, chucking them out of the window and setting them on fire before removing boots, shades and blazer and snuggling next to his angel.

The next morning, Crowley drifts awake to find that Aziraphale has wriggled around significantly during the night and is now clinging to him big-spoon style, with all the tenacity of a particularly traumatised barnacle. Unwilling to deny his angel the comfort and closeness after the trauma of the past couple of months, he dozes and snuggles quietly, until the sound of the angelic deserters changing guard duty shifts reminds him that the Bookshop still isn't fully secure. Aziraphale has by this time woken up and is keenly aware of the same issue. He's determined to get the wards sorted immediately if not sooner; Crowley knows he's right that it needs doing, but is worried that he's pushing himself too hard, too soon. They bicker about it lightly while getting dressed -- a process slightly complicated by Aziraphale still feeling rather shaky and having considerable trouble pulling his wings back in. Crowley helps out with some small miracles, hands Aziraphale his walking stick from 1862 and does his bow tie. He takes a step back to bask in the warm fuzzies of seeing his angel looking like himself again; Aziraphale in turn gets very mushy about the exact finger his signet ring ended up on, enough to grab Crowley's lapels and pull him in for a quick smooch before they get to work.

Downstairs, Gabriel, Beelzebub and Muriel are worriedly discussing Aziraphale and the upcoming apocalypse, until the angel in question appears on the mezzanine, chiming in with some authoritative, reassuring statement. Between his outfit, demeanour and wings, he cuts a very impressive figure; the effect might have been undercut by an uncertain wobble as he starts to go down the stairs, but Crowley deftly draws attention away from that while going backwards down the staircase ahead of Aziraphale, reassuring him along the lines of, "I'll catch you if you fall." Once down, Aziraphale is businesslike in corralling Team Ineffable to help scrub out the summoning circle and prepare for the re-casting of the wards. When the time comes for him and Crowley to actually perform that particular miracle, though, he hesitates, remembering everything that happened as a result of the last joint miracle. Gabriel picks up on this and points out that this time around, there's absolutely no need to be clandestine -- and given that the super-subtle hiding miracle clocked a game-breaking 25 Lazarii, he personally is very interested to see what this one'll do. Buoyed up by this, the Ineffable Husbands set to the working with a will, creating a fairly epic lightshow!

Cut to Heaven, where the miracle detection system goes interestingly berserk and then explodes.

Cut back to the Bookshop, where Aziraphale is leaning slightly on Crowley and making his way to his comfy chair as all the angel-adrenaline of the past few days finally presents its bill.

Shenanigans happen! Team Ineffable and their human allies do awesome things! The Second Coming is a damp squib because so many angels and demons refuse to play along! The whole rotten house of cards gets torn down! Jesus nopes out of the whole mess and leaves the Ineffable Husbands with a means of contacting him, along with an offer to do their wedding catering pro bono! Mysteries are resolved in the most positive way possible! All the other weirdness is explained! The Ineffable Husbands talk about stuff! The Metatron is permanently banished to an inescapable plane where he can do nothing except tread barefoot on Lego and sharpened metal d4s for all eternity! Crowley gets to ask questions of God and Aziraphale gets to call Her out in detail for being so fuckin' awful, treating people as things, condoning so much cruelty in service of a never-explained Plan and calling it 'love'! She offers to marry them then and there, but they both refuse because that feels too much like an offer of Heaven's approval on Heaven's terms, not theirs! (and so on and so forth)

A few nights later, Aziraphale and Crowley head to the roof of the bookshop. Crowley fishes out a sheaf of notes and sketches which he's been working on for the past week or so, sets them floating and flirtatiously asks Aziraphale for an assist with the night's planned miracle. Aziraphale (knowing exactly what's needed because Crowley's been consulting with him closely regarding tonight's hijinks) sets a miraculous filter over London that cancels out all of the light pollution without messing with the working of the streetlights and so on. As the sky becomes a glorious Bortle class 1 panorama, he hugs Crowley from behind and they both pop their wings as Crowley calls down cosmic dust from one of his nebulae and gets to work on it, making a ring. Once done, he turns to Aziraphale and stutters and mumbles at length, forgetting his planned speech now that it comes time to give it. He eventually finds some sort of words and goes down on one knee, offering the ring. Aziraphale is happy-squeeing and wiggling so hard he can barely put his acceptance into coherent words, but Crowley finally puts the ring on his finger and they proceed to snog each other senseless. After about five or ten minutes, a cork whizzes past their heads, close enough to ruffle their hair, and they look over the parapet to see the Whickber Street Traders breaking out the champagne, evidently having figured out what was going on treating it as something worth celebrating.

The next day, #DameVeraLynn is trending and Berkeley Square is playing host to an impromptu convention of very confused bird-watchers and breathlessly excited BBC reporters. Because the Whickber Street Traders are taking the view that 'if the Bookshop's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'', so the Ineffable Fiances don't find out until mid afternoon, when Mr Arnold drops by with the ornithological gossip and a brochure of upcoming concerts at the Royal Albert Hall. Other engagement presents come in from the Whickber Street Traders over the next day or two -- tiramisu brownies from Mrs Sandwich (her special extra-boozy recipe) for example, and a stack of Steeleye Span records from Maggie (Cam Ye O'er Frae France [one of my audio-stimmy faves], Thomas the Rhymer, The Making of a Man [Pterry's favourites], Gaudete [super appropriate for GO in like 3 different ways], The Dark Morris Song [my top favourite]), who thought Aziraphale might like them even if they're not his usual thing.

A few days later, Saraquel comes to the Bookshop having finally finished cleaning up in what's left of Heaven -- and immediately bounces off the restored wards. Trying not to be visibly intimidated by Aziraphale's obvious annoyance as he opens the doors, she requests entry, but he flatly denies her, icicles dripping from every phoneme. "You are directly complicit in the attempted or actual murder by ego-death of thousands of angels and two instances of attempted omnicide. You stole my memories and tried to squash me out of existence twice; don't you dare try to pretend you were being merciful there. You were perfectly happy to try to murder two of my neighbours who I consider valued friends. Your bridges are burned, Saraquel. You are not welcome here. Leave Earth of your own volition and never return, or Crowley and I will eject you by force." He takes Crowley's hand in preparation for a joint miracle, and Saraquel is alarmed enough to flee immediately (Michael and Dagon, lurking and observing in the background, wisely decide to bugger off to Betelgeuse rather than test the Ineffables' patience further). Aziraphale quietly closes the Bookshop doors and leans shakily on them and Crowley.

Cut to the Ineffable Wedding! It's a handfasting at Tadfield Manor, with the former Sister Mary Loquacious officiating. The occasion is very well-attended -- the Whickber Street Traders, Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell, Anathema and Newt, the Them, the entirety of Aziraphale's old platoon (who adapt the tradition of forming a sabre arch for the newlyweds to walk under), Gabriel and Beelzebub are in attendance, with Muriel as Best Person. The catering is being ably handled by a cheerful guy who seems to produce amazing food and drink out of nowhere, the reception playlist is delightfully varied, and a good time is had by all! The Ineffables take a breather in the Bentley afterwards to let the fact that they did it properly sink in, then hold meaningful eye contact for about five seconds before smooching passionately and driving off to their honeymoon.

At a certain South Downs cottage, on an early summer evening -- there's a garden full of fruit and vegetables and herbs and spices and flowers. Aziraphale brings tea and cakes out to a neat little table on the patio as Crowley finishes intimidating the climbing roses on his mini-observatory and sashays over, pausing to pluck an apple from the tree. They share it as they appreciate their freedom to be truly together, as well as how far they've come since making that nebula...

[Pan up to sunset over picturesque landscape, roll credits]

***

Whoof, that was a bit of a marathon! As I said at the start, I doubt most if any of the events recounted above are going to happen in Season Three, but my brain does tend to run away and do its own thing! For what it's worth, what I think is *likely* to happen in S3 is a combination of elements of The Magic Trick You Didn't See (especially the burning-cinema-screen in the opening sequence as a pointer to memories/data files being corrupted and restored from backup) and @vidavalor's terrifyingly plausible and well-grounded hypothesis that Final-Fifteen!Metatron is actually Satan, Aziraphale has capital-F Fallen and is going to start S3 amnesiac and in Hell. (The Great Balls Of Fire meta dropped when I was partway through writing this post, and on that basis my brain has careened off in an entirely different direction XD) *meep* I guess we'll just have to exspecta videque!

[hopelesslywanderingone]

the dress

I have never been more anxious in my life.  I’ve been thinking about this for months now, but now that I’m finally standing in the middle of my kitchen, smelling the roast cooking in the oven, I can hardly breathe.

When I hear his car pull up, the anxiety comes to a head.  I force myself to walk to the front door, going over what I rehearsed once last time.  

But the second I hear the keys in the door, I find myself pushed up against the back of it, blocking him from opening it any further than the half a foot he already has.

“Baby?  What’s going on, you okay?” He asks.  I can tell how confused, and slightly worried, he is.  I let out a shaky, uncomfortable breath.

“I-” I swallow, taking a deeper breath and laughing again nervously.  “Oh god.  I’m sorry.  I planned a thing and now I’m really re-thinking the thing. Oh god, this is embarrassing.  Just wait outside a minute, maybe I’ll-”

There’s no weight on the other side of the door anymore.  He’s backed off.

“What kind of a thing, baby?”  He asks in that strangely calm voice, like this is a casual day-to-day occurrence.  Like he knew all day that he would have to come home and talk me off a ledge before he could get in the door.

“A- a thing.  A thing for you that I thought you might like but now I feel ridiculous and I think that maybe I’ll just, um, not...”  I trail off, still gripping the door, but not moving.

“I think maybe you should let me make that judgement for myself, don’t you?”  He has stepped back up to the door and nudged it gently towards me now.  “You also know that I most definitely will not think that something you’ve taken the time to do for me is ridiculous.”

I consider this.  That’s true.  What’s the worst that can happen, it doesn’t do it for him like I had hoped?  He’ll still like that I went to the effort to do something like this for him.  And really, he was going to love it.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “Okay, give me a second and then you can come in.”

He steps away from the door again, and I back up to the spot I had imagined myself standing.  I fix my hair and adjust my dress quickly.

“Please come in.”  I say, and slowly he pushes open the door.

He has never been speechless before. Never.  There have been plenty of times where silence stretches on as he contemplates how he wants to say things, where he waits purposefully to let me squirm.  This is not that.  This is pure, unexpected speechlessness. 

I’m nearly giddy.  I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face as he continues to look me up and then down, over and over again.  Why was I so nervous to do this?  I feel a rush of confidence I didn’t expect.

“May I take your coat?”  I ask, and he’s still so enthralled by my look that he doesn’t notice my little smirk.  That’s probably a good thing.

“You certainly may.”  He says when he finally meets my eyes again.  As he shrugs it from his shoulders and I turn to hang it in the closet, I feel like a bug under a microscope.  He watches me like this often, but now it feels renewed.  A new curiosity, a deep probing gaze.  I turn, my mouth open to ask if I can fix him a drink but I don’t get any of the words out.  

He wraps an arm around my waist and the other hand settles on the back of my neck, pulling me in for a hard kiss.  When he pulls away I am truly one of those girls from the movies, who has forgotten who she is and what she’s doing.  Now he’s smirking down at me as I look up at him, I am sure visibly affected.  The power dynamic has been righted.

“May I- may I fix you a drink?” I ask, mildly breathless and willing the fog of arousal to clear a little from my brain.  

He smiles and brushes a hand along the side of my hair that’s pulled back with the comb.  He nods, leaning down to kiss me softer, and then letting me out of his hold.

I straighten my dress again on the way over to the drink table I’ve set up.  Normally, all the liquor and glasses are shoved into a tiny cabinet at the top of our pantry.  I’ve washed the glasses, arranged three of his favourite liquors, and bought one of those decanters to hold his favourite scotch - the ones that rich men have in their offices, except this one isn’t real crystal.

Still, as I bring him over his tumbler, I can tell that he likes the set up.  When I hand it to him, he wraps his other arm around me and brings me to his side as he takes a drink.

“You look incredible.”  Even as I was hoping for a compliment, I still flush with his words.  

To begin with, it was always jokingly.  I should be a house-wife for Halloween.  Yes, I should wear that yellow skirt with the buttons up the front that looks straight out of the fifties.  Yes, he does like being the provider.  No, he does not want me to help him do the bills (this I tentatively ask one day, praying that ‘no’ will be the answer).  An off-handed comment about trying on that classic-fit dress that all sit-com Moms wore.  

A far less off-handed comment about how he really likes the look of those dresses, and would really like to see me in one.

So, never being one to do things half way, I buy one of the dresses.  It fits like a glove, one of the halter-style ones that a women might wear out on the veranda serving iced beverages.  It’s soft white, with flowers of blues and greens and reds (Sir likes floral print).  I buy a pair of soft blue Mary Jane’s, a little more modern looking, that match the colour of some of the flowers.  I do my hair with that kind of fanned out wave down one side, and pull the other half back behind my ear with an old comb I found at a vintage shop.  I do my make up soft but with a little winged eyeliner and a muted red lipstick.  I have never felt more feminine in my life.  

“It’s hard to decide whether to watch you float around in that, or to take it off you right now.”  I giggle, he looks like he’s legitimately debating.

“I was thinking that you might like to read the paper while I finish setting out dinner.”  I pick up one of the two papers I bought at the store today.  Sir does like to keep up with the news, but we decided it made more sense to just read the articles we wanted to online for the time being, before subscribing in paper to anything. 

“Dinner?”  He raises an eyebrow.  I blush.  This is where I was nervous he’d think I’d gone too far.  Too much a roleplay, too involved.  Maybe I should have done just the dress.

“There’s a roast in the oven.”  I glance towards the kitchen, keeping my eyes from him.  He turns my head back to look at him.

“I look forward to having dinner.  And you.”  Corny as it may sound, it doesn’t when he’s boring a hole into your innermost psyche.  

“I’m all yours after we eat, then.” I hear myself say, but am really just focused on the way his hands have tightened on me and the way he’s looking at me.

“You’re mine until then, too.  You’ve never been more mine than you are right now.” 

[usedtobecooler]

hi friend! merry christmas! also little drabble request: eddie trying to serenade you to ask u to date him but he's so nervous hdhdjdjd

eddie has an acoustic guitar that he literally never uses and actually threw in his closet around a year ago, so it’s buried under a mountain of worn clothes that he never bothered to put in the washer because he only wears the same three outfits on rotation anyway. he plucks it out from underneath some questionable smelling socks and tunes it just for the occasion. cursing to himself about how rusty he is — playing sweetheart was easy in comparison to this shit.

he arrives at your window truly like something out of a john hughes movie. you’re standing with your arms crossed and a small smirk playing on your lips as he struggles with putting his fingers on the correct cords, it’s actually kind of comical because he’s a phenomenal guitarist so this should come naturally to him. but, he’s nervous and in a panic and painfully aware of the fact you could shoot him down and tell him to fuck off.

“jesus christ, fuck, shit — stupid crappy guitar, what the,” he’s muttering to himself, hits a bum note that has you both hissing through clenched teeth at the same time. he looks up at you, face and neck flushed red in embarrassment and a downtrodden look on his face, “man, i was gonna knock your socks off with a rendition of barracuda. cause it’s your favourite song, i remember you told me that.”

you smile at him, eyes going all gooey, because of course that’s how eddie would try to woo you — in the exact way he’d want done for him, “eddie munson,” you feign shock, hand over your chest, and you don’t miss the way he goes all bug eyed at the way you say his name, “were you coming over here to ask me out?”

“this was lame, i know, let’s just pretend it never happened,” eddie’s little sad puppy dog eyes and pouty lips make you want to run down the stairs and kiss him, because he’s just so dumb. you’d been waiting months for him to ask you out, how could you ever say no?

“that new pizza place? friday at seven?” you do it for him, finding enough courage for the both of you and he flusters, stammers over any words he had waiting to come out. he nods his head, gets spooked when he hears your neighbours door open and bolts without as much as a goodbye.

he shows up at your house in his crappy van at six thirty on friday, it’s pouring with rain and he’s in an actual jacket with a hood on it for the first time in his life, “i remembered you saying your mom works late on fridays, thought you might want a ride?”

[socialcarcrash]

What do you think Hodgins favorite way/ways to stim are? (I hope the question makes sense)

YES OMG THANKYOU FOR ASKING THIS!!!

very excited to answer this cause i could talk about it all day, im a hodgins audhd truther at heart!! i tried to just add a few for now, but i will 100% talk about this again :)

so i think hodgins stims in quite a range of ways, the first thing that comes to mind is watching his bugs (colloquial, stand down entomologists) for hours whenever he feels overstimulated. It is a perfect thing to do when he feels the need to be more discreet, as he might not know whether the wider jeffersonian team would be as accepting as his closer friends (that are all also neurodivergent by the way)

we also see in canon that he does pressups when he is under great stress, so that makes me think hea definately a vestibular stimmer!! My man paces a lot and i think he rocks from side to side when hes standing still and thinking (not projecting at all i swear). Also i did a post on this a while back, but guve my man a spinny chair? and he will THRIVE i tell you!!

When he is infodumping i think he has quite expressive hands, which is definitely a way of him stimming and letting out that excess excitement energy, and hes definitely a music stimmer!!

I so me, but i think he is always listening to music and he stims to it lots, 8/10 times its a perfect way to calm him down if hes overstimulated or wake him up if he feels overtired. overall its an amazing way of regulating himself!! i like to think he is a 'hand conductor' kind of person, if you get what i mean. He conducts the music as he listens, or does a little air guitar thing :)

When he is really overstimulated, i think he would definitely appreciate someone (most likely angela) running their hands through his hair and hugs sometimes too, but only once hes managed to remove himself from the overstimulating environment.

Clothing wise i think he has the tendency to rub the corner of his lab coat or shirt collar between his fingers when he gets stressed or nervous, his lab coats are all slightly worn away on one specific corner and only the silly neurodivergent scientists know why!!

Also a little unrelated, but Jack Hodgins number one big light hater!! You can sometimes catch him in the lab with sunglasses on when hes feeling tired or a bit overwhelmed, and his house is COATED in small lamps and lights, just to avoid using the big light.

hes so me fr (audhd)

[thenanbakacorner]

Hi there ! I'm a huge fan of your work and when I saw your request open I was truly excited !

If possible, could I request for a fem!reader (If you want it can be gender neutral !) who is cold, distant, strong and absolutely crazy violent. That kind of tough women, similarly to the warden, she always has a death glare and it scares the sh*t out of anyone who comes her way. But then when her s/o is around she softens so much (highly protective but tries to restrains herself because some of these insults are just friendly, instead she grits her teeth holding herself back)

Maybe with cell thirteen ?

Sorry if I ask too much I understand if you delete this ask, You truly have amazing writing skills so I got slightly carried away ! Thank you & have a great day/night, please take care !

Thank you so much for the kind words!! ｡^‿^ ｡ Hope you enjoy!

* * *

🔓Jyugo🔓

Even now, Jyugo is surprised he managed to win your heart, what with your scary demeanor and attitude

Even you can frighten him at times with that death glare of yours

But then, when it’s just you and Jyugo, you’re much softer to him, and it’s such a stark contrast to how you act around strangers

It gave Jyugo whiplash the first time he experienced your change in attitude, it absolutely shocked him how gentle you can actually be

He was nervous at first about being affectionate with you because he feared you’d be turned off by any kind of attention in that manner just because of how violent you can be

But once he knows you’re okay with it, he’ll be the ultimate cuddle bug, and only he will ever know what it’s like to hold you in his arms

He can be protective of you, but you’re definitely the most protective one in the relationship

Often times, you’re the one who ends up whacking people in the head for so little as looking at Jyugo the wrong way, even when Jyugo swears to you that it’s fine and not to worry about it

Then again, he supposes it’s a good thing to have someone who cares about his safety and wellbeing so much

🎲Uno🎲

Uno was hesitant on trying to court you the first time he met you. That death glare of yours is sca-ry!

But eventually, he works up the courage and lo and behold, you end up together!

He doesn’t even have to worry about shooing off any other guys that try to flirt with you-- you handle it just fine on your own and make it clear with that scary aura of yours that you aren’t interested

He loves being able to make big scary you melt into a puddle under his touch and affection. No one but him is capable of taming such a beast!

He also may or may not like it when you get very protective of him. It feels nice having such a big strong woman looking out for him

That and it’s kinda hot to him, ngl

Always compliments you for being so tough and awesome any time you spoof off a fellow inmate who got on your nerves

Totally brags about being the one guy that managed to win your hard heart.

He doesn’t have to worry about backlash from those he brags to cause you’d easily kick anyone’s ass if they fucked with him

🍩Rock🍩

To be honest, your tough and rumble attitude is what made Rock fall for you to begin with, aside of your already good looks

In his own words, it’s not every day you find a woman quite like you. Tough, brave, capable..

Doesn’t mean he wasn’t at least a little scared of you at first, though!

The two of you really are perfect for each other, and your strength combined makes you practically untouchable

Very few inmates ever try to throw hands with the two of you, cause they know they’d get fucked up if they did

After all, both you and Rock go by the “You mess with him/her, you mess with me” quote!

Even though you can stand up for yourself just fine and scare away people with just one stare, he still protects you if need be

Totally swoons and thinks “That’s my girl” any time you give someone who messed with you a piece of your mind

But yet, it reminds him not to mess with you the wrong way himself lest he end up in their place

💊Nico💊

Many inmates end up wondering how out of all people, you started dating Nico, the most innocent and bubbly boy there is. After all, the two of you were like, complete opposites!

Well, you know what they say-- opposites attract, am I right?

Nico was undoubtedly very frightened of you at first, but as he got to know you, he started getting feelings for you nonetheless

Whatever it is that attracted you to Nico in turn, he couldn’t be happier to have you as his

Nico’ll never have to worry about being unsafe as long as he has you. After all, you’d gladly pummel anyone who hurts him in any way

How could you not? He’s such a sweet boy who deserves all the protection and love he can get from you, despite your cold attitude

Plus, you can’t help but find yourself going a bit soft whenever you’re around your little ray of sunshine

Whenever you get into a confronation, Nico will at first try to pry you away from the situation and convince you to just let it go

If you glare at Nico, though, he quickly backs off with his hands up. After all, he’ll always have a little bit of fear when it comes to that tough side of yours

[i-write-boop-spoops]

Guzma with a transitioning S/O headcanons

Thank you so much for the request (u know who u are :) ) Hope you like it!

I hopefully kept it vague enough to work for all kinds of transitiom.

warning: non-descript mentions of transphobia

disclaimer: i am not trans so if i have gotten anything wrong or misrepresented something, please don't be afraid to reach out and let me know :)

SO

Guzma, well…

He’s not the most knowledgeable about being trans

Bit unaware of a lot of the terminology and discourse

"Pronouns? Like on and in and beside and shit?"

"A binder, you mean like, for school??"

However that doesn’t mean he ain’t an ally!

Plus there are defo trans grunts in team skull

Only natural, since it's full of misfits seeking a new, more accepting home

So he's already supported others with their transition

He is very much supportive of you! 

After all, you’re his boo - no matter what!

You were nervous when you came out to him

It can take a lot of courage and emotion to come out, having him react so receptively - it was such a relief

Do NOT listen to Guzma when it comes to choosing a name (if you're changing yours)

They will all somehow be super edgy or bug-related

In other words, very cringey

Actually something like Spyder would be pretty dope ngl

If you're transitioning to something more masculine/androgynous, Guzma can really help you out there

After all, he's a pretty masculine guy, basically came out of the womb that way, so he's happy to take you under his wing and lend you his stuff to make your transition easier

do you really want his 7-in-1 body wash and Haxorus body spray though??

If you're leaning more towards a feminine identity, he'll do his best to help, but Plumes is the one who'll guide you!

Acting like a big sister and all!

You need a new wardrobe?

Boy’s got you covered!

He doesn’t have a lot of money, but he’s trying his best

So it’s mostly second-hand places

And maybe some of the grunts use their five-finger-discount to sneak you some stuff

You try discourage that... but they don't listen lol

It's for a good cause, okay?

Guzma'll try direct you to the sluttiest outfits 

He’s shameless, what can I say?

That being said, it's your body, it's your choice in how you present yourself, so he won't push too much

But still, it's nice to know that he still thinks you're hot AF

Also, the grunts are a crafty bunch, so your clothes can be altered too!

Leave it to Plumes to deal with your hair

Even get you some wigs if you're looking for longer hair

You know team skull is at pride every year

Guzma's obviously there too, and if you're ready for it, he'll proudly show you off!

ANYONE

And I mean anyone

Who misgenders you

Or is just flat gross to you

Is either

a. Bout to be sent home to their mama’s by his troop of fearsome insects

b. Attending an impromptu meeting with his fist

He will not stand for transphobia  at all

But towards you? - the bigot is straight up FUCKED

Knowing you have big bad Guzma on your side, makes everything easier

He loves you - he’ll protect you no matter what

In the unfortunate event that your family isn't supportive

You know you've got a loving, supportive (if a bit choatic) home over in Po Town

[circusgoth-dotcom]

The Girl Who Chased Bugs

Ship: Aniol West & GraveRobber (platonic), Aniol West & Shilo Wallace (platonic)

Word Count: 1397

Summary: Wow, I did not mean for this to get this long but I don't really know how to split it up so bear with me. Aniol and GraveRobber have a chat when they are interrupted by a familiar face. Also this isn't necessarily canon to my ship timeline I just wanted to write Aniol and Shilo interacting. CWs for canon-typical themes, let me know if there's anything else that needs a warning, I'm tired and can't tell. (genuine)

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

On the shadiest streets in the city, people like the GraveRobber dwelled. Illegal Zydrate dealers and Zydrate addicts, those just trying to get by and those looking to make a quick buck… there was no “middle class,” there hadn’t been one for a long time. There was the bottom of the beer barrel and the corked top of a bottle of champagne. Aniol was about the only person who existed and flowed between that high and low. He whistled a tune that connected him with the GraveRobber as he walked, drawing the eyes of the prostitutes on the corner and their potential customers. It didn’t take long for the pale man with colourful streaks in his greasy hair to materialise out of the darkness, whistling along with Aniol as he took up stride at their side.

“What’s new with you?” He asked as the tune came to an end.

“I was wondering if I could interest you in a job,” Aniol hummed.

“In addition to what I already do?”

“Never mind the Zydrate business, I want to put you in a film.”

GraveRobber slowed to a halt while Aniol managed a few more steps forward before turning to face him.

“I don’t know, pretty bird. Don’t you think that’s a bit risky, putting my mug on the big screen? You’re not trying to put me out of business, are you?”

Aniol stepped toward him, taking his angular face in their hands and examining his features closely. “A little make-up and prosthetics and you’ll be unrecognizable. I promise you, my artists are just as good as surgeons, and of course they’re under a contract that says they can’t say shit about dick unless I say so, so you wouldn’t have to worry about your identity getting out beyond the dressing room.”

The GraveRobber considered this for a moment before the two of them were distracted by the sound of a can bouncing off of the curb. A girl standing anxiously under a streetlight gasped and stepped back, obviously not wanting to be seen.

“What’s a girl like you doing out at this time of night?” Aniol called across the alley.

“Kid? Is that you?” GraveRobber added, curiously familiar. The girl hesitantly skipped across the road to join them.

“I'm sorry, I-I promise I wasn't stalking you, I was following a bug…” She looked around, “I’ve lost it, now…”

“You know this young thing?” Aniol asked, his expression slightly concerned. He lowered his voice, “She's not a customer, is she?”

“No! This is… well, I never did catch your name. But it’s kind of funny… you were chasing a bug the first time we met.”

The girl smiled coyly. “That’s right…” her brow then furrowed. “But you also got me caught.”

“I understand that you aren’t supposed to be out either way, so I’d prefer if you thought of it as me doing you a favour, kid.”

“My name is Shilo.”

Recognition flashed on Aniol’s face, and he could see that it made her nervous. “GraveRobber’s right, you shouldn’t be out.” He crossed his arms. “You’re clearly young and inexperienced, for one. This city’ll eat you alive if you’re not careful.”

She pulled her bag closer to her side, a determined look on her face. “Who’re you to say I’m inexperienced? I’m seventeen, I’m practically an adult.”

“And yet you’re sneaking around like you’re twelve,” GraveRobber quipped, making her face turn pink with embarrassment.

Aniol moved to whisper in his ear, “This is one of my friends’ kids.”

Surprise captured him and he huddled with Aniol in an attempt to talk more privately. “Really?? How do you know?”

“I’ve never seen a picture of her, but how many Shilos do you meet on a given day? She already reminds me of him, too.”

“What are you two murmuring about over there?” Shilo asked. The GraveRobber popped his head up.

“Nothing. Just discussing who should take you home.” He shoved Aniol forward. “How about my friend, here?”

“What? No, I don’t want to go home yet!” She frowned at Aniol. “And don’t I know you from somewhere…?”

It was Aniol’s turn to blush. “I assure you, you don’t,” he answered firmly. Not like my face has been in magazines and on posters and billboards, my trailers on public television screens…

“So you’re saying this complete stranger should take me home?? Doesn’t that seem a little against your ‘protect the child’ M.O.?”

“Yes, well, I trust Aniol very much--”

“Robber.”

“Aniol… oh my God, you’re Aniol West!” Shilo pointed at him while his flush crept into his ears.

“And you are not nearly old enough to be watching my movies.”

“Well I’ve never seen any of them… I just recognized you from one of my magazines. You know Blind Mag?”

Aniol sighed while his friend looked very bemused. “It’s none of your business, kid--”

“Of course he knows Mag,” GraveRobber butt in theatrically, “all good artists know each other.”

This made Shilo’s eyes sparkle. “Can you get me her autograph?”

Aniol frowned. This was far too complicated for his liking, knowing the history interwoven between Nathan, Mag, Marni, and Shilo, though Shilo didn’t know it. He spoke very deliberately, “If you promise me there will be no fuss in going home tonight, I’ll think about it.”

She thought hard about it before nodding in agreement. “Deal. But you have to walk me, and you have to tell me all about being a director.”

GraveRobber snickered at Aniol’s reluctant expression.

“Fine…” He glared at his friend. You ass… and you don’t know the half of it! “GraveRobber, turn around and plug your ears.”

“Why…?”

“Just do it.”

“Fine, fine,” the GraveRobber did as he was told while Aniol stepped closer to Shilo.

“A final condition, your father absolutely cannot see me.”

“Huh??”

“Trust me. I walk you to your house, and then I’m gone. Just be prepared to get inside as quickly as physically possible.”

“Okay…” Shilo studied him for a moment. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He tapped the GraveRobber on the shoulder.

“You can take your hands off your ears, now.”

He turned back to them. “All settled, then?”

“Yes, I’m taking Shilo back home right now. Don’t think you’ve escaped my film proposition, however, I will be finding you again later.”

“You want to put him in a movie??” Shilo asked, giggling.

“What, you don’t think I have the chops?” GraveRobber asked in a jokingly aggressive manner. She continued to laugh, doubling over slightly. It warmed something in his cold, black, Zydrate-slinging heart. Aniol checked his watch.

“C'mon, Shilo. Ciao, Robber.” He pat the GraveRobber's cheek affectionately. He took his hand and kissed their fingers.

“Until I hear your siren’s song once more, Aniol.”

Aniol smiled, then began leading the way out of the alley.

“How do you know where you're going??” Shilo asked, jogging to catch up with him.

“I thought we agreed we would only talk about my career?”

“Yeah, but you're acting weird. And like, a different sort of weird from… what did you call him?” She gestured back down the alley. The GraveRobber had disappeared.

“Robber. Short for GraveRobber. I don't think he remembers his first name. Shilo, there's a lot you don't know… about everything. At this point, I don't think staying inside or sneaking out can help you.”

She was quiet as they walked along the dirty road, their faces lit in a flurry of neons as they passed by signage and under streetlamps. “You know my dad, don't you?” She eventually asked. “How? Were you a patient of his?”

“I won't tell you these things,” Aniol insisted, turning the corner. “Now, either ask me something about movies or please, be quiet.”

Eventually, she did begin asking about Aniol's work, which he patiently explained each process of, from writing to casting to actually filming something. Soon, they appeared at the back end of Shilo and Nathan's home.

“Can you climb the fence?” Aniol asked. Shilo nodded.

“Of course I can, I've been doing this since I was thirteen.”

“Thirteen?!”

“Shhh!!”

“Shilo…” Aniol’s tone was distinctly parental as she began the climb. She looked down at him as she scrabbled up onto her balcony. They shared a long gaze before she slipped inside and drew her curtains. Aniol exhaled and made his way back to his own home. Oh, Nathan…

[dee-in-the-box]

thinking. about the way i write Dee.

like, think about it: she probably spent the most time around Jack when she was alive, since we know Peter moved out at some point, and that means that Jack would've been the main guy taking care of her. we all know how Jack is. who's to say he didn't rub off on her a bit?

(also thinking about how she said "I didn't go down easily the first time, either!" and "To call my death clean would be to call Fredbear "big-boned."" because. It Gives Me Thoughts.)

like. i always project onto her a little bit. she gives off the vibes that she would've been a "weird girl" (read: autistic) when she was alive. like, she's generally off to herself, she's generally off doing odd things during recess, like watching cool bugs move around or swinging by herself while humming. sometimes she just kinda. stands around and watches everyone else. not because she's trying to be creepy, she just finds it fun. (< i did the "Stand To The Side And Watch Everyone Else Play" thing when i was little. also the swinging.)

she'll stare off into space for several minutes, and it concerns quite literally Everyone else besides Peter and Jack ('cause they Also do that). she'll just sit down and happily draw cats and Nothing Else for like an hour and she'll be like "ooo that was fun! :D"

she fidgets with her scarf when she's overwhelmed or nervous. she kicks her legs under the table. she hums various nursery rhymes.

and now, onto Dee being Chaotic As Hell!

i think Jack lets her swear. with permission. i mean, canonically speaking, she has sworn before, and has no problems with others swearing around her. like, imagine this five-year-old girl, all dressed up nice, just talking to you about cats like "so yeah, I think cats are cool as FUCK-"

given that this was still during a time where young girls were taught/expected to be nice, polite, quiet, and just generally not draw attention to themselves. Dee fits most of these...but she has to remind herself to be polite, because dear lord, is it hard to not call people assholes to their faces sometimes-

Jack would sometimes take her to work at the Diner, and she'd have to (as nicely as possible) make it clear to Henry that she wanted to be left the fuck alone. she doesn't trust this man, and she doesn't want to interact with him more than she has to.

(also, fun fact! my headcanon is that Dee fought back hard as she was being murdered. we're talking kicking, scratching, and biting Henry. and when i say bite, i don't mean she gives a moderate-strength bite that leaves a temporary-ish mark, i mean she bites him hard enough to break the skin.)

and i think this would extend to after her death! Dee knocking stuff off of tables like a cat while making eye contact with Henry and/or Dave! her just causing general chaos as a ghost!!

like, didn't Henry basically say that he was trying to trap Dee because she was causing so many problems? how much trouble was she causing in the short time between her death and when Henry basically forced her to possess the Puppet? apparently enough to where he went "Yeah, we need to take care of this, like, as soon as fucking possible."

like!! give me chaotic Dee!! she deserves it!!

[snowypolaroid]

4, 5, 6, 10, 13, 14, 15 with ragatha please?

and 1, 2, 3, 12 for gangle

certainly! hope these suffice!

ragatha -

4 - what is their laugh like?

i think her laugh is very bubbly and hiccupy

5 - do they enjoy tickling?

id say she does, as long as it isnt from someone like jax who'll push her past her limits KJSHDJSJSKF

6 - are they more often a lee or ler generally?

she switches alot. she tickles other circus members as a way to cheer them up or just play around but also ends up the lee alot too because please rags give yourself a break

10 - are they embarrassed about their ticklishness, and do they try to deny/hide it?

i think shes shy about it and tends to deny being ticklish SFJSHKDH the topic makes her incredibly nervous when its targeted at her

13 - is there a spot that they can’t stand to be tickled, either because it’s just too sensitive, or it’s uncomfortable/painful/etc? what is it?

she strikes me as the person to have unreasonably ticklish thighs, she cant handle it there for too long she will DIE

14 - would they ever purposefully bug a friend/partner/sibling into tickling them, and if so, how would they go about it?

she never really asks, it kinda just happens but when she DOES want it she gets all shy and is all rambly like "yknow if you want to but you dont have to but if youre up for it totally but again no pressure and you dont have to and-"

15 - does teasing affect them?

yes . very

gangle -

1 - on a scale of 1-10, how ticklish are they?

i feeeeellll like gangles not all that sensitive but still sensitive enoigh to get her squealing and kicking. 6/10

2 - where is their most ticklish spot(s)?

twirl a feather inbetween her ribbons where her sides are she'll go insane also the like.. back sides of her legs

3 - which spots are they not ticklish?

her mask probably SHDKSKS

12 - is there a specific spot that they enjoy being tickled, either exclusively or more than other spots? what is it?

gangle is cat-like to me so like pomni shes a fan of under the chin tickles . i mean seriously she literally goes :3

[scorpiongrassfield]

You think you’ve got it figured out

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It’s certainly possible that the shadow knew Theo well enough that his house was important to the shadow as well. But how did the shadow know exactly where Theo’s phone would be? Why hasn’t Theo mentioned this friend of his, if they were so close. He could have forgotten, especially with the shadow’s comment about Ametrine’s abilities. 

To say that shadow and Theo knew each other is technically right, but only so far as a person can know themself. 

The angle of possession would explain a lot of things. If the soul you’ve been visiting is Theo’s and not yours or the shadow’s, it would explain why his house is there, why the woods are there, why the forget-me-nots offer respite. 

But how does a ghost possess another ghost? Pat isn’t sure it’s possible. Hanging out in a person’s soul seems to be quite a different matter than possession. 

There’s a crackling sound coming from somewhere outside, but you pay it no mind. 

“I think… That you and the shadow are the same person,” you finally conclude. 

“Wait, what?” Pat says. That’s not what they were expecting you to say, clearly. 

“It makes more sense than not,” you defend. 

Theo is watching you very calmly, not a hint of surprise on his face. It’s not like him, but how well do you really know him, anyway? 

“Oh, I don’t think that’s possible. I never met you and Pat before you came here, and you’ve given the impression that the shadow knows the two of you very well,” he says. 

“Possession makes more sense. Aren’t we speaking to the shadow now?” Pat argues, gesturing to Theo. 

“Sort of, I think,” you half-agree. “But to Theo’s point, how can the shadow know us if Theo doesn’t? I think I can answer that with another question,” you say, pacing as you think. 

“ Pat,” you say, and wait for them to look at you, “Can Ametrine really erase a person’s memories?” 

Pat freezes, horror dawning on their expression. “No, there’s no way…” they mutter. 

“And even if it seems impossible, everything else adds up. The shadow doesn’t need a body to possess because it… no he, has the same soul as Theo. The two of them sound alike not just in voice but in manner of speaking. Theo, when you’re feeling confident you talk like him. And when the shadow is feeling nervous or lost he talks like you,” you say. It feels strange to feel sure of something for once. To finally cut through some of the foggy confusion about everything that’s been happening. 

The crackling sound gets louder. 

“Oh. Well that certainly is interesting, but it does also seem impossible. Even if someone had erased all of our memories, as you’ve suggested, there’s still the matter of how the shadow knows you. If he’s a guardian, he can’t be me because I haven’t moved on yet,” Theo deflects. He doesn’t seem to realize his misstep. 

Pat turns their full attention to Theo, looking at him like a bug that’s been caught under a plastic cup. 

“How do you know that?” they ask, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Know what?” Theo asks, the picture of innocence. 

It clicks for you, too. 

“We never explained the rules of how guardians work to you. How do you know they need to move on?” you ask. 

“Ah, that’s unfortunate. I’ve never been very good at acting or keeping secrets,” Theo says apologetically. He rubs at the back of his neck the way he and the shadow both do when they’re feeling embarrassed or nervous. 

“How do we know you?” Pat asks, frowning. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can say,” Theo apologizes. 

“Why not?” Pat demands, frustrated. 

“Do you hear that?” Theo says. 

The crackling has grown louder still. Fire. 

“I need to go stop that from consuming this place entirely before you w- before you figure this out. Sorry. I wish I could help more but it’s all so unstable, you know? They don’t teach you how to do this in guardian school,” he says with a fake smile. 

He gently rouses Concrete, who makes an unhappy sound at being awoken. Then he picks the cat up and sets it down on the ground as he stands up. 

“You were in pieces over this just a little while ago. Why are you so calm now?” you ask as you follow Theo to the door. 

“Well… I think it’s a little like defusing a bomb. Either I’ve gotten this right, or we’re all doomed already. I can’t bring myself to worry about it now,” he says. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pat shouts as they follow the two of you. 

“You’ll figure it out. You’re very close already. Now um… Please don’t try to follow me? It’s very important you finish this. Or else… Well, it would be bad,” he says. 

He starts to slowly fade out, his image getting dimmer and dimmer until he’s only a silhouette, a shadow. 

“We’re not just going to let you face whatever danger on your own,” Pat says, crossing their arms, “Even if I am pissed at you for being secretive. And cryptic.” 

You do not make any comments about hypocrisy because now is not the time. 

“You won’t be able to follow me if you try. I’m going to try to add another layer or two of insulation. Try to keep her from finding her way to you before… Well. I can’t say. I’m sorry. I know this is frustrating… Um. Goodbye for now. I’ll see you on the other side,” Theo rambles. Then he steps through the door without opening it. 

Pat immediately tries to open the door. It is locked. 

The windows no longer show the woods outside. 

It seems the two of you are stuck here, for now. 

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