prompt: “That is the tenth demon summoning this week holy shit.” (anonymous requesting an exhausted Magnus and Alec reacting accordingly)
He came home to smoke billowing from the living room, clouds rolling around Magnus’s feet and pooling around Alec’s ankles. A massive demon was beside the table, hulking over Magnus, shuddering violently when Magnus let out another spark of magic. Alec recognized a summoning when he saw one; the pattern etched onto the floorboards, candles littering the room and Magnus keeping everything at bay.
When he heard his boyfriend arrive, Magnus nonchalantly looked over his shoulder, throwing a small wave and smile, as if he was making cookies instead of talking to beings from Hell. Alec waved back, Magnus’s smile fading fast, before heading towards the kitchen.
He’d been gulping down his third glass of water when he finally heard Magnus chanting through the walls, his velvet voice thundering wickedly, reminding Alec why Magnus was High Warlock in the first place. Alec lazily made his way back to Magnus, while the demon was being pulled back into Hell, a small screech ripping from it’s lips, bouncing against the walls. Alec winced at the loud noise.
“That’s the tenth demon summoning this week.” Alec muttered, strolling back into the room, his feet creaking against the floorboard. Magnus snapped his fingers and the sound stopped immediately as the flooring was painted in maroon carpet. Alec continued, unfazed, all too used to magic and Magnus. “Angel, and it’s not even Thursday yet.”
“Actually,” Magnus smiled tiredly. “It’s the eighth summoning. I’ve been counting.”
Magnus was swaying on his feet, 3 sets of Alec’s fizzing in front of him, and Alec quickly rushed to his side while he clasped onto his bicep.
“Magnus.” Alec hissed, concern and worry washing over the bite of his words. “You’re literally drained.”
“I’m not drained-”
“You can’t stand without toppling over!”
“Okay, so I’m a little tired.” Magnus conceded.
Faster than Magnus would have thought possible, Alec lifted him into his arms. Magnus squawked at the sudden movement, the world whirling around him before his cheek fell against Alec’s sweater clad chest, his entire body bobbing as Alec carried him towards their bed.
“I think I should get tired more often.” Magnus crooned, his arms automatically wrapping around Alec’s neck. “i quite like us like this.”
“Don’t make a habit out of this.” Alec murmured, walking as if Magnus was a feather. Magnus’s feet brushed against the border of the door frame, the familiar lilac walls surrounding them. “I prefer you healthy and able to stand on your own.”
Alec gently laid Magnus across the bedsheets, Magnus untangling his arms from his boyfriends neck, stifling an infatuated sigh. Alec was still hovering over him, his eyes checking every inch of skin as if exhaustion left scars rather than half-lidded smiles and purple bruises underneath Magnus’s usually bright eyes.
“Alec, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“Real-ly.” Magnus yawned, breaking the last syllable of the word.
He twisted his body, lifting his hips, grappling the sheets underneath and fumbling. Alec immediately gripped the blankets, swiftly pulling them over Magnus’s body, tucking him into the bed so thoroughly Magnus thought he wouldn’t be able to escape the next morning.
“Well,” Magnus started, his voice hushed. “Are you going to join me? You’re much more comfortable than a teddy bear.”
Alec rolled his eyes, Magnus snapping his fingers so that the room was drenched in darkness, while Alec crawled across the bed to the other side. He quickly shed his clothes, shuffling under the blankets, Magnus tucking himself into Alec’s chest. Magnus was asleep almost instantaneously and Alec gently ruffled his hair, strands stuck to his forehead from sweat. He admired seeing Magnus like this: not covered in make up or with styled hair. He loved seeing him look not so entirely perfect, like some being who was eons above Alec, just out of his reach. His arms encased themselves around Magnus, his chin delicately placed in Magnus’s rumpled, ravenous locks. Magnus subconsciously melted into Alec’s touch, his noise brushing against Alec with every movement and soft breaths caressing every second of silence.
Shin awoke sometime the next morning. How on earth he had managed to fall asleep, he wasn’t sure. Of course he had been exhausted, but…
Letting out a breath, he numbly adjusted his rumpled clothes and pulled himself off his bed. He should probably change into something fresh…
He did so, pulling his tattoo machine and ink out of the little autoclave—when had he even started that last night?—and stuffing them in his hoodie pocket. His hand ran into a few things he had gotten from the machine in the gift shop.
“I wonder if Ms. Maeno or Ms. Onzuka would have liked any of these…”
Although he had said it aloud, it hadn’t really registered as a thought.
Bleary-eyed, he made sure his glasses hadn’t been bent while he was sleeping in them. They seemed fine.
A blank expression remained on his face as he left his room. Coffee and something to chew on… He could find that easily enough, even with his mind as empty as it was.
Aziraphale sneezed again, looking shocked and offended and a little like a startled cat.
“Can one develop an allergy, my dear?” he asked, pulling a capacious white hankie - practically a tea towel - from his pocket and dabbing pathetically at his eyes.
“It’s psychosomatic,” Crowley told him, settling back on his elbows, shoes lightly dusted with grass seeds and summer.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said, then blew his nose with a ridiculous honking sound like a goose, or an articulated lorry, before tucking it up the sleeve of his cardigan. (His cardigan. In August. Crowley despaired, he really did). “I can’t be developing a psychology,” the angel continued. “Not at my age.”
Crowley turned his head to examine Aziraphale from behind his dark glasses. The angel looked precisely the same as he always had, as he always would, comfortably middle aged and rumpled, solid and unalterable and a force against change.
“Your age?” he said.
“I’m far too settled to try anything new,” Aziraphale insisted. “I intend to go on just as I am until - “ he waved an expansive hand - “the last trumpets, the overblown orchestral oom-pah-pah that heralds the end of creation, the passing wind that signals our passing.”
“You don’t half talk a lot of rubbish, Angel,” Crowley said. For a moment Aziraphale looked offended, even hurt, and Crowley laid himself back in the grass and closed his eyes and softly recited. “Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,/Only the lull I like, the hum of your valvèd voice.”
“Oh you big softie,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley didn’t need to look to know precisely the expression that accompanied the faintly choked voice. “You’ll have to update your romantical quotings sooner or later, you know.”
“Oh I don’t think so,” said Crowley, reaching over until he could wrap his fingers around the angel’s plump hand. “Not at my age. I intend to go on just as we are.”
Fandom: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary “Eggsy” Unwin Additional Tags: Fake Marriage, Everybody Lives, Post-Canon, Older Man/Younger Man, Rimming, Bottom Harry, long-suffering Merlin, 11k omfg how did this happen Summary:
“Caution in the field isn’t confined to simply an awareness of your surroundings,” Harry says, his tone stern but his breath soft and warm against the back of Eggsy’s hand. His gaze lifts, his eyes hooded as he peers at Eggsy over the rims of his glasses. “You’ve told a lie, Eggsy, and now that lie must be truth.”
(Or, that time Eggsy scored them a better table by saying it was his and Harry’s anniversary and quickly grew to regret it.)
Bad Ending for Taro: The Player finds his Monster Girl collection in his room, horrified the Player tries to get out! But.. Taro is at the door. "I see you've found my collection.." He mutters, his glasses fogged and an eerie smirk creeping on his lips. "Do you want to watch Godzilla with me? I have the HD version." The screen turns black, Game Over.
small excerpt from the beginning of my one shot featuring pastel eren and volleyball player levi. it’s not on ao3 yet (sorry, can’t do it from mobile) but perhaps i can do it when i get home c: (link to one shot)
Levi first falls in love with Eren when he turns the corner at school one summer’s morning to see a tall boy with brunet hair, thick black rimmed glasses, nails painted a pastel blue, tears streaming down his face and blood on his fist.
There’s a boy lying on the floor, clutching pathetically at his nose which is now crooked, blood coming from both nostrils, some mixed with saliva, dangling from the corner of his mouth. Eren stands above the boy, cradling his fist and adjusting his glasses. One of the lenses are cracked, and Eren takes them off to inspect them before slipping them back onto the bridge of his nose.
Levi’s shocked, and has a good reason to be too. The boy, Eren, is practically famous around school; everyone and their Mother’s have heard about the boy with pastel nails and cute hair clips who runs a Math club in his spare time and hangs out with girls. Levi is sure that Eren would hang out with more boys given the chance, but most of them laugh at Eren from behind his back, so Eren gives them the finger and then turns his back on them, going over to the girls of the school who love him. But never has Levi seen Eren stick up for himself in a way other than verbal defense. In fact, Levi has never seen Eren at all before that moment.
And, in fact, Levi has never felt his heart flutter in his chest in such a way and never has Levi felt such heat rise to his cheeks, felt the surge of nervous adrenaline.
Never has Levi fallen in love.
“Are you okay?” Levi chokes out - it’s pathetic, really. Eren jumps, wipes his eyes and turns around with wide eyes, giving Levi a nervous smile.