#666 words

[wildiwaslivid]

Eyes, Lips, Fingertips

A Good Omens one shot, rated T, 666 words

Can you ever have a first kiss for a second time? And this time, do it right?

[dalliancekay]

1920, Soho

*Bell jingles*

“Hello?”

“Hello? I am looking for Mr Fell.”

“That would myself,” Aziraphale smiles, walking over from the shadows, “How can I help you.”

“Well, you see, my name is Katharine and,” a well dressed but clearly not a terribly well-off woman walks into the shop, “I was wondering, someone suggested I ask you about that shop next to yours that is recently empty. I am looking to start a business - sell gramophone records.” Katharine pauses, “I was wondering if you would consider… I don’t have much, but I intend to work hard and I promise…”

She’s gently interrupted by Aziraphale inviting her in and asking if she would like a cup of tea which she readily accepts. She knows she’s rambling, not nervous exactly, but not holding out much hope anymore.

Once they are seated in the lovely shop Mr Fell has, Katharine feels steadier.

“Please, continue my dear. So, Tchaikovsky! Beethoven! Sounds splendid! And what brought you to London. Have you lived here long?”

Ah, her accent. Still, Katharine hopes that in Soho, not only posh pronunciation like Mr Fell’s is common, but peoples from all over.

“Well, jazz too, ragtime…” she says dreamily, “well, instead of becoming a music-hall star,” Katharine looks into distance, smiling wistfully, “I got a clerk job in the The Gramophone Company, and I still know some people there you see, who could help with supplying the shop. That was almost 10 years ago before I met Matthew and… Anyway.”

Katharine looks over at Aziraphale, “What about you sir, not married? Do you have any children?” Oh, is that too forward, maybe she should stay quiet, but Mr Fell seems nice and not at all stuck-up.

“Ah no, Aziraphale laughs, confirmed bachelor as they say,” he admits, his eyes twinkling.

“My uncle, the one I came to help was one as well. And his business partner, Mark. Repaired bicycles if you can believe it. And anything else that came into the shop. Which is why I would like to try my hand at repairing gramophones too. I enjoy that. Getting things to work again. Could be helpful in the business don’t you think?”

“A splendid idea,” Aziraphale pours more tea. “And would you be taking the premises above the shop as well? For yourself or…?”

“I, yes, I would like that, if that is suitable for you Mr Fell. Matthew - he was lost to the terrible war, and his parents are kind, but they don’t have much themselves. They are from a village close to where I grew up if you can believe it, Matthew was born here and… I have a daughter you see…”

“Oh, how wonderful! How old is your daughter?”

“She’s five,” Katharine smiles and feels much more at ease. This could work out. Maybe. It’s just…

“And how much are you looking to charge Mr Fell, I have a little saved from the pension but the rates I saw…” she trails off, thinking how the prices shocked her when she first looked into them. Soho, she was thinking, the place to start a small shop, surely. But then. In fact, she was about to give up, who after all, has £60 on hand to pay for the first quarter?

“A pound a week?” Aziraphale says, “and we see how you get on? When would you like to move in?”

“A poun-but Mr Fell, that is not even…”

“It’ll be perfectly satisfactory. In fact, I’m happy for you to start paying me once you are nicely set up. I am quite sure it will take a fair bit of your savings to start going. Here, let me draw up a quick contract for you. Would you like to sign it tomorrow? And as for myself, please do ask on the street if our neighbours would recommend me before you agree to anything.”

“But Mr Fell! I couldn’t, that is-“

“Nonsense, dear lady, I can see you will be quite the fit in here.”

[otoshigo]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary: Alastor accidentally finds out that the King of Hell is dating someone. He’s not sure what to make of this.

A/N: Good grief. Word limits are hard y'all. I thought at first I couldn't hit 666 words and then I overshot. I think I spent more time editing this fic than actually writing it. It was cute though. :)

[michaeldemiurgossociety]

As promised, here's another "Got the Devil's 666" prompt for you. These prompts are open to all writers. So, if you want to try your hand at writing fic, you need a break from your epic longfic, or you just want to try a different genre, these are for you. And don't worry, they don't have to be done within the month😉.

"In a universe where everything turned out fine, divine twins are reconnecting after an almost ~miraculous~ snowstorm hits LA."

666 word limit

Tags:

Got the Devil's 666

MDAS

Make Michael Great Again

And feel free to invite your work to the main MDAS AO3 collection for safekeeping ❤️

Like last time, we'll add any stories sprouting from this to the post. Have fun😁

Pictures generated through the Bing/Dalle-3 AI art generator

Our first entry!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52257733?fbclid=IwAR039LtdJyIvRnLzAPdag1BN-n9_8HCtj38Z0RV2qEP_psQq-UEnRyiIn94

Rating Gen, no warnings apply

[antikate]

Crowley was pressed into the corner of his bedroom, his hands clamped over his mouth. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale dropped to his knees beside him. “What happened? Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Crowley shook his head, and glared. He didn’t seem hurt, although he looked… dreadful. Dishevelled, but not in his usual artful way. He kept his hands over his mouth, but jerked his head towards the door.

“I don’t understand, what’s happening? Why aren’t you speaking to me?”

Crowley’s eyelids fluttered shut, and his shoulders heaved, and then he dropped his hands. “You need to go Aziraphale, right now, before I start talking and I can’t stop, but you’re not going to listen to me, are you, of course you aren’t, you’re the most stubborn bloody thing She ever created, it’s probably your third most endearing trait—”

He clapped his hands back over his mouth, horrified.

“This would be much easier if you’d simply explain to me what the problem is,” Aziraphale said, with a calm he didn’t feel.

Crowley shook his head, again.

“My dear whatever it is, I’m sure I can help you—”

The next headshake was even more emphatic, but Crowley’s eyes darted sideways this time to the bed, and a strange lizard-like statue, with a wide open mouth, on the dark duvet. It was clearly cursed. 

“Truth-telling curse. Please, angel, just leave, it’ll wear off soon enough.” With what seemed like a superhuman effort, Crowley shut his mouth again. 

“My dear boy, whatever you tell me, I’m sure it will be completely fine.” Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s knee. 

“Oh shit.” Crowley scrabbled further into the corner. “Don’t touch me, I mean yes, please, touch me, anytime you want, I’m open for touching, twenty-four-seven touching hours, shit shit shit this is bad, this is bad—”

“All right, I won’t touch you, I’ll just… sit here, and we’ll just wait it out together.”

“No, now I just have to look at you and think about you and that’s even worse, please just leave before I start talking about how your thighs look, the fabric’s all stretched over your legs! It’s obscene, you shouldn’t be allowed to walk around in public with thighs like that!”

Aziraphale looked down at the beige cashmere of his trousers. “A glass of water perhaps? Are you thirsty?”

“II’ve been thirsty for six thousand years, and you’re the only thing I want to drink,” Crowley let out a high manic giggle. “Oh no, I can’t deal with that puppy dog expression, now I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, please just say something else to distract me, will you, why don’t you start telling me about Sandalphon’s underwear or snuffboxes or—”

Aziraphale rocked back and considered Crowley carefully. He knew he should go but there was something horribly compelling about the river of words tumbling from Crowley’s unwilling mouth.

“--I’m willing to do anything, within limits obviously, not super into the idea of whipping and what-not, I’m getting ahead of myself, but I’d really like to suck your cock—” Crowley was saying “—and bury my face in your arse and make you scream, Aziraphale, angel—it’s not about sex, of course not, I’m not a monster, and I just want to be with you, and we could do that picnic—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly.

“I know,” Crowley continued desperately. “I go too fast. But I don’t have any expectations, it’s not about expectations, or obligations, but I can’t not say it. I love you. You don’t need to… reciprocate. Just so you know. But I do. It’s humiliating, I’m pathetic; but I’m yours.”

There was a moment of blessed silence, and Crowley stared at him, wide-eyed and stricken. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and reached, not for Crowley, but for the huge-mouthed statue on the bed. As soon as his fingers touched it, he felt the curse take hold, and knew he was hopeless to do anything but tell the truth. He gave Crowley a small smile. “Any questions?”

[rivelino0]

𝕭𝖆𝖉 𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖊𝖘

[tink-wondering]

fly free with me

Merthurrr

So, back with this ask game (maybe I should do an official Tumblr post... 🤔) where, if you give me a title and a ship, I'll write a ficlet (so not really the ask game, but 🤷‍♀️ )

First thought when I received that? Wing!fic...

Rating: Gen (implied Merthur)

Words: 666 😏😈

fly free with me

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur asks impatiently from behind him. “We don’t have all day!”

“No, but we got at least a few hours until sundown.” Merlin turns on the ledge to face the prat, batting his wings restlessly, or rather the wings flutter by themselves, betraying his nervous state. “You can go if you want, it’s not like I need you here.”

“And it’s not like you know how to use these,” Arthur points out while expertly flapping his own wings, elevating himself a few inches off the ground and moving next to Merlin on the edge of the roof.

Merlin frowns unused at being the one out of his depth. He usually has his magic to rely on, but now it’s the thing that is failing him. He thought, foolishly, that he could break Arthur’s curse with his magic. In the end, the spell had rebounded against the membrane of Arthur’s wings and hit Merlin before he could pull up a barrier.

“I still have my magic to protect me,” Merlin says stubbornly, even if he doesn’t completely trust it at the moment.

“And I have lived with this curse all my life.”

And Arthur is right. The Pendragon curse is active from birth, so wings are literally a part of him, meaning he is the best to show Merlin how these work—not that he’ll ever tell the prat.

“Fine,” Merlin sighs. “But if I plummet to my death, know that it’s your fault and your lack of useful advice that caused it.”

“Here I am, doing this out of the kindness of my heart, and this is how you repay me?” He brings a hand to his chest, in mock hurt, and lets himself fall backwards over the safety of the roof.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s heart beat fast within his chest until a loud yell of joy pierces the air; then, a pained grimace takes over his face. “You prat!” he yells against the wind of Arthur’s wings when he’s at Merlin’s level.

“Still not a word,” Arthur laughs joyously, and he speeds up spinning around, careless in his flight.

Merlin looks at the shrinking figure, the dark brown of his dragon-like wings glowing red as the sun shines through them. He admires the strength of his muscles as the blond glides overhead.

They divested their shirts earlier so Merlin could have a better view of the muscles involved and to practice the movements on the ground without the trappings of a shirt. However, Merlin has spent most of that time admiring the view rather than paying attention to Arthur’s words. Though they could be summed up to: “Trust your wings like you trust your legs.” To which Merlin responded that babies still needed to learn to walk, but Arthur had ignored him and pushed him to the ledge instead.

Merlin is looking down at the ground far beneath his feet, trying to spur himself to jump and fly, but the lack of control scares him and he doesn’t know if his magic powerful enough to stop his fall if his wings don’t respond or if his wings will even respond to his command or if—

A hand appears in his field of vision, breaking his spiralling thoughts. When he looks up, Arthur is smiling encouragingly at him.

“Trust me,” Arthur says confidently, not a question but a statement; and Merlin would always do, will forever do, with his life and his magic.

So he takes Arthur’s hand without a second thought and steps off the ledge. For a second, Merlin does pull them down, but then he finds himself floating, flying. It is an exhilarating experience, the absence of ground beneath his feet and the endless sky above his head.

“You did it!” Arthur smiles brightly.

Merlin nods, smiling just as brightly, as he holds on to Arthur’s hand.

Merlin did not break the Pendragon curse, but maybe he did something better. Because now, they can fly free in the endless sky.

Together.

[harryanthus]

black cherries and chocolate by harryanthus

there is something or well, someone in the walls.

written as a part of @1dtrickortreatfest

harry’s manip.