AJ Crowley and Harry Potter bump into each other in public:

Harry Potter: Oops, sorry about that.

Crowley: No, it was my fault, don’t worry about it.

Public: *stares at the two men making strange hissing noises at each other*

Both: Wait…

I need this fic immediately

Someone passing, whose business this whole affair was not, said “Speak English, this is England for fuck’s sake!” 

The young man and Crowley turned as one and hissed at the person, who suddenly remembered an urgent and important errand elsewhere and ran off to sort it.

Then they turned back towards each other. The young man scratched the back of his head. “Um, this is awkward,” he said, in English, “I don’t run into this often. On the street. Or… Ever. Actually.” He had casually laid a hand on his hip, and Crowley was suddenly sure that there was a wand concealed in that pocket. 

Crowley remembered that it was very common in England for serpent speech to be considered a trait of evil. Which, well… anyway. “It’s not common,” Crowley allowed. “Special circumstances all around, I’m sure.” He tried to think of a good way to defuse the situation. “Fancy a pint?”

The young man looked relieved. “Yeah.”

“Crowley,” he said, offering a hand.

“Harry.”

“C’mon, I know a pub nearby. First round’s on me.” 

If Harry was surprised by being led to the Cauldron Bottom, he didn’t show it. It was one of the few wizard pubs not attached to Diagon Alley in London- they were a growing population, but still unusual. It was middle of the afternoon and there were a few regulars at the bar, but it was otherwise quiet. 

Crowley nodded to the one-eyed barkeep, who nodded back, and then gave a friendlier wave to Harry. “Evenin’, Mr. Crowley, Mr. Potter,” she said. 

“Room in the back open, Jane?” Harry asked. “We’ve got some business to discuss.” 

Jane nodded. “Usuals for ya both?”

They nodded.

“Go on back, I’ll be right there.” 

Keep reading

I have just written the sentence “Cyclops! I am in need of more mayonnaise!” Truly, this is what it means to be fanfiction author 🙏🙏🙏

There was the quick tromp tromp tromp of boots on gravel, and then the back door was unceremoniously kicked open.

“POWDER MONKEY!”

The door slammed into the opposite wall so hard it stayed there, a common occurrence if the the dent in the plaster was anything to go by.

Sam and Dean’s hands leapt to their guns, startled, but Tavish didn’t even look up. “Hullo, Sol.”

A large man in a red coat loomed in the doorway. He wore an over-large helmet that drooped over his eyes, heavy black boots, and a bandolier of grenades. His mouth was set in a stubborn scowl.

“Cyclops!” He barked. “I am in need of more mayonnaise!”

Tavish frowned down at the book and traced his finger along a line. “I told ye this morning, that was the last jar I had. Add it to the shopping list.”

The man harrumphed and stomped over to a sheet of paper pinned to the wall, snatching a pen from the table on his way. Sam and Dean turned to follow him, hands still cautiously on their hips, and watched as he laboriously scrawled out the word “MAONAYZ.”

“What the hell,” said Dean.

* * *

[[READ MORE]]

I’ve thought about doing a TF2 x Spn crossover for a while, the crossover point being Demo and his monster knowledge. This bit popped into my brain during a shower. Other fun plot points include:

-Scout trying to out-tough the boys

-Soldier insulting Sam’s non military haircut

-The boys trying to help fight Demo’s cursed eyeball, and being increasingly weirded out by how casual the team is about it. They set up a drinks table and everyone brings snacks. Medic, Sniper, and Engineer at just chilling in lawn chairs and occasionally taking potshots. Heavy is going in barehanded. He is inhumanly large. Spy keeps popping in and out. He is living for how jumpy Sam and Dean are. Pyro is having way too much fun. Ms. Pauling gets to come because she is technically ‘on the job.’

-Pyro keeps trying to braid Sam’s hair. He keeps awkwardly yet politely brushing them off

-They learn about Demo through Bobby; he’s not exactly a hunter, more of a researcher

youre a genius and i love how you think @mandy984

Heart on My Sleeve

Marinette shrugged her shoulders twice. Damian’s arm was slung casually over her shoulders, and the weight was oddly comforting, as unfamiliar as it was.

The pair sat on the steps in front of the school, Marinette cuddled into his chest against the winter breeze. She was doing her best not to blush, and doing a damn good job of it, too.

The reason Marinette Dupain-Cheng was cuddling her month-long crush, Damian Wayne? Simple. He had decided that Lila wouldn’t dare flirt with him if he was taken, so he had asked Marinette, as his only friend in France, to pose as his girlfriend to get Lila to lay off.

Marinette, a damn fool at heart, had agreed.

And now she was bundled up in Damian’s coat, his arm slung over her shoulders. A blush fought its way onto her cheeks, and she shivered to pass it off as a symptom of the cold. Damian hugged her tighter in response.

“Are you cold? Do you want to go inside?” he asked, looking at her with concern in his eyes. Marinette flushed further at the closeness of his face.

“I- um- Yeah, I, yeah. Sorry,” she responded, actually shivering. It was truly cold out. As their classmates started showing up in higher numbers, Damian nodded and stood, pulling her up with him. He kissed her cheek for good measure. Marinette felt like her head was about to explode.

Walking into the building, Marinette leaned closer to Damian. She passed it off as simply her being cold, but she was so busy hiding her own blush that she missed the dusting of pink painting its way across Damian’s face.

In class, the two kept whispering to each other, though that was nothing new. Damian found little ways to have physical contact with Marinette: holding her hand on top of the table, sitting closer than ususal as if he was looking at something between them, and, his apparent favorite, draping his arm across her shoulders. When the bell rang for lunch, he picked up her bag for her.

“Oh, my savior!” Marinette giggled. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all,” she continued, moving onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, hon,” she said, taking his hand and walking out. Once they were out of earshot of anyone, she asked him: “Was that too much? If I went too far, let me know,” she worried.

Damian took her other hand, clasping both between his gently. “It was fine. The only thing...,” he trailed off, not sure on how to bring it up.

“The pet name? Got it, no nicknames,” she responded, nodding.

“No, I mean, pet names are fine, it just seemed kind of generic. You’re Marinette, I bet when you find the perfect someone you’ll have a plethora of personal monikers,” he responded, smiling at her. She smiled back on instinct.

“What should I call you, then? Dames? Dami?” she asked, grinning teasingly at him. This time, she caught his blush, which stopped her dead in her tracks. “Dami?” she tried again. He avoided meeting her eyes.

“That... should be sufficient,” he answered tersely. Marinette giggled at how incredibly tense he was. As they moved back towards populous areas, she took his arm gently in hers and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

Now they were both blushing.

This was gonna be a long con.