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epiclamer · 1 year

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Can you please write a whumper to caretaker snippet please h Im sorryr please h

Anon— are you okay???

Disgrace

The villain had sworn that next time Sidekick showed up in their base, they’d kill them. Strip them of their dignity and pride and humiliate them in front of their team—if not the entire world. They would torture them every single day and berate them to no end.

Villain promised that they would suffer; and now they were seated here in front of them.

Shaking like a leaf in their bonds, one foot caught and clamped in what looked like a new age bear trap, was Sidekick. Doing their best to mask the pain in their leg while attempting to seem aloof.

“So. You little heroes think that because I let you off the hook once I’ll do it again?” Villain drummed their fingers rhythmically against the metal table they lounged at. Eye to eye with their captive.

“Villain I-I swear that’s not—”

“Save your sorry excuses. I warned you, Sidekick. Yet here you are again…”

From the sidekick’s view, the villain looked almost disappointed, as if killing them was going to be a nuisance to clean up, not that killing someone would be on their conscious for life. Sidekick was going to puke or pass out, they weren’t sure. All they knew was that either their foot would be amputated by morning or their head would be.

“P-Please, Villain, I told them— I-I said that you’d kill me if they sent me in and, and they knew— They would never do this on purpose I-I swear—”

At that, Villains gaze darkened, something horrible brewing behind their eyes. Quietly, they opened the bag they had entered with, a high quality, leather satchel and in it, a computer.

They flipped the screen open and tapped away at it for a second while Sidekick contemplated begging for their life once more. But before they could open their mouth, Villain spun the computer screen around, angling it so the contents were visible to the sidekick.

It was a video.

A body-cam video. Specifically, Teammate’s body-cam—since they were the only one not in the picture besides the sidekick. A lump formed horribly in their throat, why was their team having meetings without them? How had Villain gotten the tape? Were the others here too?

Too many questions flooded the up and coming hero’s head at once, adrenaline pumping through their body and filling their lungs until they couldn’t breathe. They were having a panic attack. In front of Villain.

Gods, they were so pathetic. Hero always hated when they cried like a baby, slapping them to get them to shut up and part of them wished the villain would now too. It would at least allow them to get a hold of their spiralling and the pain would be familiar, if not comforting.

“Sidekick.” Their name cut through the haze of panic as they gasped for air. “Look at me.” Villain’s hands were on their shoulders, shaking them roughly and they winced when their foot jostled. Snapping back to reality at the pain just in time to see the villain’s worried face staring back.

Worried? They must’ve been mistaken. They were an enemy. Hero had warned them about Villain and their cruelty, they had no remorse for heroes. That included Sidekick.

Carefully, the criminal smoothed the sweaty hair from Sidekick’s face, wiping away the blood and tears that covered their cheeks with a gentle hand like none other. No one had ever touched the sidekick so kindly before, it hurt their brain to picture it was coming from the one that had threatened to skin them alive last week, and they had to refrain from leaning into the touch entirely.

Villain stepped back, catching their softness with the other, before returning to their seat. Allowing a moment of rest for the sidekick to regroup, then the villain continued.

“If your team supposedly had nothing to do with your capture, then explain this.”

They tapped the spacebar and the video jumped to a start. Volume turned loud enough to echo slightly off the concrete walls around them.

“Think about it.” Came Hero’s crackling voice over the footage, in their hand they held the device currently trapped to Sidekick’s foot. “It would get them out of our hair for at least a week. Villain wouldn’t kill them, they’re practically still a kid, Villain has stronger morals than that.”

The rest of the group looked uneasy, silence stretching for another opinion to take place.

“Sidekick said that Villain swore to kill them next time—”

“And when was the last time Sidekick was right about something? Anything for that matter. They’ve led us straight into traps “due to their miscalculations”. Besides, I’ve known Villain the longest and they wouldn’t do anything like that.”

To Sidekick’s surprise, their team looked more reassured after that statement. “It was only once…” they whispered under their breath, defending their reputation to a crowd that would never hear them.

Hero groaned at the lack of compliance from the rest of the group. “Look, just three days ago they tripped over their own feet and sprained their ankle. That cost us medical supplies and precious time, imagine we didn’t have to deal with those losses.”

The heroes began nodding in unison, weighing their options. Less and less favourable to the sidekick’s survival.

“It was an accident…” Sidekick’s voice cracked and they hated the slight pity in the look Villain gave them.

“Not only that but they’re always complaining about needing a prescription refill for their medication or whatever. Nagging constantly about not being able to go on missions without it.”

In truth, Sidekick figured it was their inhaler that was being referenced. It was expensive to buy it and the agency promised to cover it with insurance, but they hardly ever did. It was starting to cut into their food rations with how much it cost and how many times they had to use it daily on missions. But it kept them alive, without it they would die and if they kept paying for it, soon enough they wouldn’t be able to buy their basic necessities.

“I have asthma, I-I need it to go running a-and fighting on missions…” They filled the question for the curious looking villain, who raised their eyebrows slightly in response before turning back to the video.

“When they completed their task force, their average was a minute forty per challenge.” Hero paused for what could only be dramatic effect. “The average among us, you might ask? One minute. On the dot.”

A clamour of voices spilled from speakers, multiple in agreement, finally deciding to use the sidekick as their sacrificial lamb all because they were too much to handle. Not because they sucked at their job, but because the other heroes found them annoying.

Sidekick shattered. Their heart breaking into a million different pieces, throat burning, eyes stinging with a new ferocity and heart beating like a jackhammer.

Villain closed the screen and the audio was cut short, they slipped it back into their satchel and sat patiently while Sidekick sobbed. Trying and failing to hide their face as their arms were tied tightly behind their back. They wanted anything but to have to look at the villain while they cried and they were sure Villain would exploit this moment later.

They didn’t know how long it was until they quieted down, reduced to heaving sniffles and the occasional outburst. Whether it came from the pain in their foot or the pain in their heart, Sidekick had no idea, they didn’t honestly care, this was the first time they’d been able to let all their emotions out in peace and it felt incredible.

When the young hero was in enough control to only hiccup every few seconds, Villain stood up, walking around the table and over to the other as they knelt down. Sidekick flinched, body too exhausted to try and remain collected, if the villain wanted to hurt them now then so be it. The day couldn't get any worse.

But they didn’t, the criminal knelt down and delicately they untied the sidekick, from their wrists down to their good ankle. Standing back up to see the shock portrayed in Sidekick's body language as they reached for their face to wipe their tears once more.

Wordlessly, once they were done wiping the sidekick’s face, they hoisted them into their arms in an attempted bridal carry. When Sidekick whimpered and sobbed against their shoulder, Villain only shushed them sweetly, leaving the room with them in their arms as the sidekick began to cry again.

They clung to the villain like a lifeline, crying out the hidden truths behind their so-called teammates' lies. Especially Hero.

Especially their mentor.

“T-the average time f-for sidekicks is two minutes.” Weakly they squeezed the villain’s shoulder in anger. “I-I was the t-top of my class and, and, and Hero— was just j-jealous because they never were.”

Villain shushed them again, reassuring the other as they spoke.

“T-they told me every time I-I messed up that t-they would hurt me b-because I deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve it--”

“I-I didn’t deserve it. T-they just wanted m-my performance t-to lower so I wouldn’t t-take their spot—” Sidekick seethed, "T-they whipped me, t-they beat me, they e-even w-waterboarded me, when t-they knew it was my biggest f-fear."

They wheezed, squeezing their eyes shut as they cursed under their breath at the pain in their foot. It was becoming unbearable. All to find out Hero was the one who placed it. That only made it hurt more.

"I-I was pronounced d-dead for a minute and a half-- a-all because they w-wouldn't bring my head u-up when I begged." Sidekick gasped, shaking hands prying at the villain's suit. "I b-begged for my fucking life a-and they still w-wouldn't listen--"

The criminal kicked open a new door, nothing like a cell one and took them both inside. Past hallways and storage closets until they reached an empty room with a free bed. “I know, I know. It’s okay, you’re safe now, okay?”

Sidekick shook, crying, laughing and hyperventilating all at once, it felt like their whole world was coming apart; the people they loved and cared for, everything they knew, all their training, all their hard work. Just to end up deep in the Villain's lair, an inescapable trap--placed by their own teammates--clamped on their worsening foot, an enemy comforting them and a betrayal worse than death destroying them from the inside out.

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sentientsky · 8 months

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“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Nina asked. “The poor guy probably just wants his space.”

The other woman turned to look at her from up on the staircase. Maggie pushed a lock of blonde hair back behind her ear. “I mean,” she began, one foot positioned on the next step up. “We already have this.” She raised a travel cup of espresso in the air. “And after all, I think he could use some cheering up. It’s been like two months, right?”

Maggie sighed resignedly and followed her up the stairs. “Okay, if you say so…”

They walked for a couple moments before coming to a stop in front of an apartment. All the other doors on the floor were painted a pleasant blue, she noted. This one, however, was a deep, rich black. Of course.

From underneath the door, the women could hear music, something familiar and with a steady beat. Maggie raised her hand and knocked.

Still, the music played on. And still no one answered the door.

“He’s obviously busy, Mags,” Nina muttered. It didn’t escape her notice that the other woman flushed pale pink at the sound of the nickname. Nina’s heart spasmed a bit in response, and she had to force herself to focus.

“I just—let me try once more, and then—” Maggie knocked again.

A beat.

Nina was ready to ask if they could leave when the lock on the door clicked open of its own accord. Well, alrighty then. They exchanged a look, and then Nina pushed open the door.

Immediately, the onslaught of angsty pop music poured through the threshold. Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone,” Nina noted. She herself had played the same song more than once as a young adult, often in the throes of a breakup.

The apartment itself was in complete disarray; papers and knickknacks strewn everywhere. Plants drooped sadly on the edges of the room. In the corner, a pile of CDs had been toppled over. Eccles cakes and half-chewed scones littered the floor.

There, in the middle of the living room (which certainly looked lived in, Nina noted), Crowley was sat on the floor, legs all akimbo and arms thrown across the seat of a rather uncomfortable looking sofa.

Maggie stiffened at the sight of him, holding the coffee cup between both hands now. The poor demon was dressed in boxer shorts and an ancient Queen t-shirt. His hair was bedraggled, brushing against his shoulders in loose scarlet waves. Juxtaposed to the devilishly cool “burnt out middle-aged rockstar” persona he embodied most of the time, this new appearance came across as particularly disheveled.

Nina hesitated, then took a step forward. The music still thrummed in her ears. “Crowley?” she asked, injecting as much kindness as she could into one little word.

Head lolling, the demon looked up at the two women before him. For once, he wasn’t wearing his characteristic glasses. Maggie made a little sound of surprise at the sight of the demon’s golden snake eyes. They were a rich yellow—the same colour as Mr. Fell’s walls, Nina silently noted. It seemed Crowley hadn’t slept in a century, (did demons even need to sleep?) his undereyes tinged a pale purple.

“Crowley?” Nina called out again. Maggie moved to stand beside her, leaning down closer to the demon’s level.

Without warning, Crowley’s eyes began to flood with tears and he crumpled into himself. Oh. Oh no. They’d made it worse, they’d certainly made it worse. Nina had said that coming here was a bad idea.

“That’s what Aziraphale used to call me!” he keened. His boxer shorts had ‘XO Gossip Girl’ emblazoned down the side.

“I mean, that’s your na—” Nina began, but then reconsidered and dropped into a crouch to pat the demon’s shoulder, voice hushed and soothing. “There, there. I know. It’s going to be alright.”

Maggie crouched beside her, and tried to offer Crowley the drink in her hand. He looked up for a moment, and there was a moment of recognition, his eyes scanning the takeaway cup. And then he burst into fresh tears once again.

“That’s what I ordered the last—” he made a little hiccuping sound. “Ordered the last time he and I went to your café,” he wailed. The poor thing was inconsolable; Nina’s heart ached for him. In between ragged sobs, Crowley extended his arm under the couch. There, it seemed, he had found a slightly droopy crepe that was…just shoved under the sofa. No plate, no nothing. Just crepe to floor. What the fuck. Don’t eat it, please don’t eat it, Nina chanted in her head.

He ate it, of course, still crying.

Kelly Clarkson finished singing, and the track switched. Now, a more upbeat tune rose through the apartment.

It’s Britney, bitch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you eat anything—” Maggie began, reaching down to pick up a crumpled twinkie wrapper from the floor. And then, without warning, Crowley brought a napkin to his mouth and spat out a congealed mass of saliva and half-chewed dough. He sniffed pathetically and bundled it into a tight ball in his hand before tossing it somewhere across the room.

“Oh…” Maggie murmured, placing the wrapper back where she had found it. “Oh no.”

Crowley looked up at the two of them with ragged eyes, glinting pale gold in the dim light of his flat. “Don’t even like the taste. But he likes ‘em, so…Who else is gonna eat’em, anyway? While he’s gone, you know? ‘S up to me” He sniffed again, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“Are you—” Maggie began, and her worried eyes flickered to Nina. “Are you drunk, Crow—Anthony? Have you been drinking?”

“And wha makes you think that?” he muttered. Nina cast her eyes around the room. Wine bottles littered the floor. The counters. One sat on the pedestal of a statue of an angel and a demon…were they supposed to be fighting, or…??

When she turned back to face him, he was drinking out of a curly straw. His cup read ‘MAMA NEEDS SOME WINE’. She sighed, and reached to ease it out of his hand. He pulled it out of her reach immediately, a disgruntled look clear across his face.

“Nooo, Az—Azira—a stupid angel gave this to me,” he all but hissed. “‘S vintage. 2004.”

The track changed again. Something slower, with a steady piano backing.

My lover’s got humour.

She’s the giggle at a funeral…

At this, tears began to form afresh in the corners of the demon’s eyes. Nina stood up, looking for the source of the music. She’d had her fair share of sad music wallowing, but this was becoming unhealthy, surely. Over in the corner, a fairly recent sound system stood sentinel. She pressed ‘pause’ and ejected the disk. “What’s with this music?” she called across the room.

In sloping handwriting, the CD read ‘bad bitches cry perpendicular to the floor’. Oookay then.

“‘S a playlist I made. But everything I play in that godforsaken thing,” he motioned to the stereo system, “eventually turns into music by this one Irish fellow.”

Nina wrinkled her brow in confusion.

“Jus’ like the Bentley. But more straightforward, I suppose.” He took another sip from his drink, and the two women watched on as dark red liquid carried up through the loops of the straw.

“This isn’t healthy,” Maggie began. “I know it’s hard, and it’s okay to be sad. But we can try baby steps, right? D’you fancy coming down to the café with us? Maybe sit and talk for a bit? Get some natural light?”

Crowley scrunched his nose and spat a piece of red hair out of his mouth. “M’ fine, really. Never been better. More independent, less—” he waved his free hand around vaguely, “mmgh…yeah, I got nothin’” He toasted them with his ridiculous white suburban mom cup.

“You’re crying right now. And how long have you been wearing that shirt?” Nina asked. The thing looked lived in. By a family of possums.

He looked down, squinting at wine stains that speckled the collar. “This is my best shirt.” He looked back up at them. “And ‘m fiiiine.” He reached one gangly arm across the length of the sofa and pulled out a pair of circular sunglasses. Putting them on, he peered up at Nina and Maggie. “See? Can’t even see the tears.” He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.

“Oh, hon. That’s not…” Maggie began.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Nina murmured. “Do you…” she looked around the room. Was that one of Mr. Fell’s sweaters hung over a chair? What had happened in that fucking bookshop? “Do you want to talk about it?” she finished.

Three hours later, Nina realized her assistant’s shift was nearly finished. From what she understood, Mr. Fell had left (his husband? Boyfriend? Wife? Immortal life partner?) Crowley for a business promotion somewhere far away. Crowley, for his part, was perched on the edge of the couch, wrapped up in the angel’s sweater. He sniffled, and pressed on:

“...And then it was 1967 and I was in my Beatles phase of course, because who wasn’t, honestly. And the bastard shows up in my car out of nowhere with a thermos. So I’m freaking out a little bit—in a very cool, suave kind of way, of course—cause this is one of the first times we’ve seen each other since the magic show,” he turned, looking between Maggie and Nina. “I told you about the magic show, yes?”

“Yes, you did,” Maggie muttered.

“Several times. The one where he told you to shoot him in the face,” Nina interjected.

“Well,” he waved his hand around. “I didn’t actually shoot him. Scared the fuck outta me, but—oh, I still have the photograph, you wanna see?” He moved to stand up then.

Maggie motioned for him to sit back down. “That’s alright. We’ll see it later—”

And he was off again, “So anyway it was 1967 and he’s in my car and he’s got a thermos and I’m all like ‘Are we gonna drink soup together? Is that tea? Cocoa?’ but noooo, he gives it to me and it’s fucking holy water. And he tells me he doesn’t want me risking myself. And—” his voice grew louder, more emphatic, “And he says ‘don’t go unscrewing the cap’. And by this point my stomach’s all in wobbly-wibbly fluttery knots and ‘m asking myself ‘what the bloody hell are we’ and I hate it ‘cause I’m a demon, right? And angels aren’t supposed to make you feel all—” he made a ‘pbttt’ sound and mimed a butterfly with his hands. Nina and Maggie exchanged a look. “Yeah. And then he says we should go on a picnic someday. Or to the Ritz or something. I’m losing my mind at this point, because is he asking me on a date? ‘M I out of my gourd? So, like any normal, reasonable person, I say I’ll drive him wherever he wants because then that means more time together which means more time to figure out this fluttery feeling or whatever. And guess what he says.” He looked at the two women seated on chairs in front of him. “Go on, guess.”

Maggie shrugged. “Sorry, no idea.” Nina shook her head.

“He says,” he leant forward on the couch. “He says ‘You go too fast for me, Crowley.” The poor demon let out an anguished groan and his head fell into his hands. Maggie reached forward to pat him on the shoulder.

[It went on like this for some time. They eventually got him to go to the park where he inadvertently began a duck cult; that is, a cult whose members consisted solely of ducks. Not a cult of humans dedicated to worshipping ducks. That would be stupid.]

this silly little crack fic is brought to you by me and my good omens brainrot (neil im in your walls). if u want to read my more serious stuff, you can find me furiously scribbling away in this corner of the internet: x

(side note: this particular story was inspired by a hilarious post from @miss-americanbi)

#i wrote this pretty quickly so its not gonna be great but whatver #i finally remembered to take my adhd meds + instead of doing my work im doing this. i love having hyperfixations sm (<<< lies lies lies)#im love nina shes so pretty and cool #full disclosure this is not to glamourize or make light of depression #this is literally just me transcribing the aftermath of my own messy queer breakup #i also dyed my hair w/ horrible box dye :) that was like 2 yrs ago and it STILL hasnt faded. demipermanent my ass #i was a fucking mess for like a year :)#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziracrow #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #crowley #go2 #ineffable wives #azicrow #maggie good omens #nina good omens #crack fic #ao3 good omens #ao3 author #good omens crack #good omens fanfic #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen #gay #queer #gomens

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