#it has been so long since i posted a fic

[rubyfunkey]

The Rehabilitation of Death by @bamsara

didnt have time to clean this like i wanted but i needed to get this scene out of my head desperately. im good now

[corviiids]

   “I didn’t say anything.”

   “You so rarely do,” Akechi sighed, “and yet, you really are transparent, you know that?”

   “You’re the only one who thinks so,” says Ren.

   Akechi smiled beatifically. “You know,” he says, “it’s incredibly satisfying to hear that.”

   “You want to be the one who knows me best?”

   “I’d like to be the only one who knows you at all, if we’re getting this far into my indulgences,” Akechi said with an odd laugh. “But we’re getting off track, Ren. Why don’t you go on and deliver your judgement on our friend Achilles?”

   “But you already know what I think.”

   “True. But I wonder if I can convince you otherwise, and it won’t be fair if you don’t present your best case.”

   “Because you disagree or because you want to argue?”

   “Wouldn’t I only want to argue if I disagree?” Akechi asked.

   “Or you disagree because you want to argue,” Ren said.

   He always did this. They always did this. The two of them would start walking the conversational path together, side by side, even arm in arm, and then Akechi would point off the beaten track and hold his lantern out. With an inviting crook of his finger he drew Ren into the woods. Each and every time, Ren followed him off the road and into the fog until Akechi, if he so wished, could push him smilingly into a gorge.

--

chapter 8 of "as you like it", my akechi palace au, 7k. in a flashback, akechi tells ren about the iliad (i tell you about the iliad). in the present, ren sits with a shadow of his rival, deep in the bowels of the Theatre.

[tennessoui]

kit's january ko-fi fic: Anakitty AU

ugh i am so excited to be posting this on my kofi, i had such a blast writing this that i literally wrote 3k yesterday for it and 3k today in like. 3 hours. she's the definition of a silly little au becoming a fic!!

in this fic/au, anakin becomes a cat; meanwhile, obi-wan just happens to find a cat outside his doors that he decides to take in to care for, as he's a lonely old man now that his padawan has left the nest. good thing this cat is really affectionate and just melts when obi-wan gives it pets!

meanwhile anakin thinks it's a pretty sweet deal to be a cat forever if it means he has obi-wan's affection and attention and love and attention and pets and attention and, etc etc

here's a little snippet!:

“So you haven’t heard from Anakin in a few days,” Obi-Wan says carefully, brushing each slightly curly strand of the cat’s fur flat as he examines his grand padawan. “Are you worried about him?” Obi-Wan hasn’t heard from Anakin lately either, but the boy has been pulling slowly and carefully away from him for ages. For the most part, Obi-Wan has stopped reaching out, and their virtual communications have dried up. “Not anymore,” Ahsoka says, picking up her tea with an angry look at the cat. “How long has it been since he’s been like thi—I mean, since you last heard from him?” “Well, I couldn’t quite say!” Eleven days. “Though, if I’m being honest, the Council is close to drawing him up on charges for abandoning his troops without leave to take a holiday. I’m sure he will slip back into the Temple sooner or later.” “Wow!” Ahsoka’s voice is pitched much too loud and much too pointed to be natural. “Did you hear that, Anakin? You’re going to be tried for abandoning your troops if you don’t tell the Council you’re experiencing a bit of a setback soon!” The cat rolls onto its back with a loud purr, paws folded upward to allow Obi-Wan the maximum of tummy to scratch. Obi-Wan, knowing it's his due, scratches its tummy obligingly.

as a reminder for how these kofi fics work: i've uploaded the google document link into my gallery on ko-fi. to view the image and get the link that's in the image description, you have to be a monthly subscriber. it's $4 a month, and once you become a subscriber, you can read the 5 other ficlets i've uploaded! if you want to donate to get access, make sure the donation bar is set to "monthly" instead of "one time".

[deiaiko]

#20.8 Spar

"Are you up for a spar, Viole?" Novick asked after they finished snacking on the garlic bread. He was always competitive, especially when he was introduced to new people. However, Dan and Gyetang also looked excited to join. From what Agni caught, they were curious as to how talented Viole could be to have  earned his status as a slayer candidate, which was understandable.

Still, Agni huffed in amusement. His team still chose to train even though he had called today off. Though Agni wasn't against it. He felt like it'd be good for both him and Grace, since exercise always took their minds off things. Bam seemed a little reluctant, but he went along with it, especially after Grace said it'd be a good bonding experience.

Everyone moved to the training area and they made a quick bracket match. Grace reminded Agni not to overexert himself in this spar, even though Agni insisted that he was fine. But he understood why Grace was worried, since he would be too if Grace were in his place.

The first round was Dan against Gyetang. Both of them had improved a little bit from the last time Agni watched their spar. Gyetang was able to read Dan's movement the moment the spar began, and act accordingly to counter his attack. Though in the end Dan still gained the upper hand once he was able to render Gyetang's fuuma shuriken useless.

The second round was Grace against Agni, which would have ended fairly quickly if Grace used his reverse flow control. But since he didn't, he and Grace had shinsu enhanced martial art combat instead. Agni could tell that Grace was avoiding hitting his leg. In a real fight, Agni would use that to his advantage, but on this occasion he appreciated Grace's thoughtfulness. However, none of them went easy with the other, so they dragged out the fight until Agni ran out of stamina.

The third round was Bam against Novick. Despite it being the first match, Novick went all out on Bam by using his ultimate moves as a start. Still, Bam kept up with him, though he kept on the defensive. It wasn't until Novick and Grace encouraged Bam to attack that things finally got more interesting. Novick was slowly pushed onto the defensive, though Agni knew that Bam was still holding back. However, all of Novick's attempts at challenging Grace seemed to pay off, and Agni could see that he was still able to keep up. However, Bam's attack pattern was different from Grace, and one of his bangs took Novick off guard, allowing Bam to subdue him. Even though Novick was clearly still okay enough to keep going and break himself free from Bam, he raised his hand in surrender and ended the round.

Since this spar was for the team to get to know Bam, and everyone knew that Grace was the strongest, the fourth round was voted to be Bam against Dan. Having seen the first round, Bam was able to predict Dan's attack. However, that didn't mean that Bam was prepared to go against Dan’s speed. Bam tried to use reverse flow control on him, but Dan was too slippery to get caught in it. He was used to having to deal with Grace's, so he was able to read Bam's aim. Dan didn't waste time and successfully pinned Bam down to the ground the moment Bam let his guard down. However, it seemed to trigger a fight response from Bam, and he summoned a bang behind Dan. Agni intervened by creating a barrier to null the shot which could cause serious injury, but the bang had already been snuffed out before it exploded. Agni looked at Grace who exhaled in relief with his hand half raised, before calling the match over. Everyone else was too stunned by the outcome until Dan offered a hand and pulled Bam up to his feet. Then Gyetang and Novick finally cheered and congratulated them both.

As they waited for Bam to cool down after two matches in a row, Novick challenged Agni to a spar. It was understandable, since Agni usually was too busy to join their afternoon routine. However, Agni was still worn out from his previous match and a little under the weather, so he aimed to end this one as soon as possible, especially because Novick was a tank which would put Agni at a disadvantage if the match was dragged out. As soon as the match began, Agni activated his lighthouse flow control to stop Novick and teleported behind him. He froze Novick's limbs before he was able to reinforce himself with shinsu, and pointed a knife at his neck.

"Not going easy on me, huh?" Novick chuckled as he admitted defeat. 

Agni melted the ice on Novick's limbs and stepped away to the spectator seats. "I would be at a disadvantage, otherwise."

Since it ended too fast, Novick challenged Dan next. Compared to what he had with Bam and Agni, he went relatively easy on Dan. But in the end, Novick still came out as the winner since Dan was built for agility, not power.

As if saving the best for last, Novick finally challenged Grace for a spar. It went as it usually would. Grace was just humoring Novick, but at least he managed to make it believable and kept Novick on his toes. Agni had seen what Grace was actually capable of, after all. Practicing with them like this was actually wasting potential on Grace's part. He would grow stronger quicker if he faced an opponent that was on his level or above. But Grace looked like he was having fun, so who was Agni to ruin it?

The last match was Bam against Grace, which everyone had been looking forward to. Grace assured Bam that he could go all out with him, which prompted Agni to reinforce the barrier that surrounded the training area even more than usual. At first, neither of them made any move to attack, but it was interesting to see the differences in their mirrored stances. 

"You can have the first move," Grace taunted.

Bam summoned two bangs and released them toward Grace. They were easily blocked. 

"Is that all? I know that you can do better."

Agni thought it was harsh of Grace to say that. A regular on this floor that could control two powerful bangs was already considered a prodigy. But Agni understood the frustration. He himself had been far harsher on his younger self. Their teams were far behind, and would not survive had they lived during wartime. It was a scary thought.

Grace decided to step forward, and Bam switched to his reverse flow control stance. However, nothing happened as Grace kept on closing their distance. Bam frowned and ran forward, pressing his palm in front of Grace's chest. Grace didn't move away from the touch, looking at Bam with anticipation.

"Go on," Grace said when Bam hesitated a moment too long.

Bam bit his lip, before releasing his flare wave explosion. Grace's eyebrows twitched in pain. Even though Agni could feel the wave, it was not as destructive as he had predicted, even with his lowered standards.

"One more time, but you have to give it your all." Grace very rarely used his strict voice, but when he did, it was a clear warning that he was displeased. "If you refuse to, then I will start to go on the offensive."

Bam inhaled sharply and forced himself to release another flare wave explosion that was finally close to the level that Agni predicted Bam could do. Grace covered his mouth and coughed, and Agni saw a glimpse of red. However, Agni kept firm on his seat, since Grace was smiling at Bam.

"That's right, don't hold back." Grace jumped back to create some distance and got in his defensive stance again.

Bam got more serious after that, and his bangs were formed with more concentration. Grace carefully landed a few blows and slowly shifted to offense, while still creating some openings for Bam to take advantage of. Their exchanged blows got fiercer, and it was finally clear that they were having fun.

Not too long after, Bam was starting to run low on stamina, but at one point he managed to sneak behind Grace and hit him with another flare wave explosion. However, Grace saw it coming, so he repelled some of the waves to decrease the damage that he took. Unfortunately, it fired back at Bam and injured his arm. They decided to stop the match then, as Bam seemed really close to passing out. Grace held Bam's shoulders to steady him on his wobbly feet, and gently lowered him so they both sat down on the floor. Agni approached them just in case his help was needed.

"Are you okay?" Grace asked, getting more frantic when Bam suddenly looked like he was having a heart attack. Agni froze in his steps when a red exoskeleton grew and enveloped Bam, healing his injured arm. But Grace seemed less surprised and just comforted Bam until the exoskeleton disappeared.

Agni squatted down next to them and whispered to Grace, "What the heck was that?!"

"Blue Thryssa, incomplete form." Grace looked thoughtfully at Bam, who was staring back at Grace with a confused and scared look. "Your wound healed now, see? It's fine."

"Are you sure?" Bam rubbed his healed arm. He winced, "It's, uh…talking to me?"

"Hmm, maybe I can help you understand it." Grace sat down cross-legged and got in his meditative state, placing his palm on Bam's back.

Everyone else had come closer around them as well, curious about what was happening. A moment later, a transparent blue horn started to form on Grace and Bam's left temple. It surprised Agni because he thought Grace had lost the powers that he had absorbed when they traveled back in time.

When Grace opened his eyes, he gave Agni a look that said they would talk about it later. Bam came back to his senses a moment later. Dan and Gyetang could no longer contain their curiosity and began asking Bam and Grace questions, but the topic soon drifted to more general conversation because Bam was just as lost as they were. Agni called the sparring session over and Dan went to prepare dinner. Bam and Gyetang joined him in the kitchen, and the sight of them getting along together was heartwarming. 

Agni took a seat in the cafeteria, and Grace followed to sit next to him. Agni released the fish from his lighthouse bowl to roam around the kitchen, while Grace exhaled and stretched his arms. All the bruises on his skin were almost healed already.

"Well…?" Agni prompted Grace to start talking.

"Hm." Grace leaned back on his chair and rubbed the back of his neck, "After seeing what Bam is capable of, it made me think about how far I've come."

There was sadness in those golden eyes that tugged at Agni's heartstrings. Both of them had been broken so many times that no amount of fixing could bring both of them to what they used to be. Velt came and swam between them, nuzzling onto Grace's arm before settling on Agni's side. Her company was appreciated, and Agni gave her a few pats. Grace smiled as he watched them.

"About the Blue Thryssa though…" Grace stopped himself when Novick approached them and took a seat nearby.

Agni and Grace shared a quick glance. Honestly, Agni would prefer to talk in private with Grace when they brought up their time travel stuff, but it wasn't like they were actively trying to hide it either. Novick also didn't seem to mind, as his attention was more at whatever was happening in the kitchen.

Grace shrugged and continued their conversation, "It was like…I felt my own Thryssa resonate, and it said it doesn't have any recollection since, you know. It felt like I had just woken it up."

Agni hummed thoughtfully, "Could it be that you didn't actually lose them?" 

"Maybe? I couldn't feel any others though." Grace tried to do something with his left hand, then frowned when nothing happened. "I can't transform it either."

"Oh, hm." If Agni recalled, the transformation was when they were with the beastkin. "I guess you have to get yourself or Bam to get it from Doom."

"I thought the same."

"Well then, guess I will have to update our plan soon."

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[reading-archived]

woe. AM x reader be upon ye.

uh, to preface: reader is completely body, gender, etc. neutral except they can't stay dead. whenever they die they just wake up a few minutes later looking no worse for wear. no, you don't get an explanation. its MY story and i like writing characters like that. dont mind the narrator either btw i looove writing second person just to get weird w the narrator (slay the princess fan syndrome)

also, author is a MASOCHIST with a weird relationship w DEATH. nothing super graphic happens, but the reader is Not Okay and enjoys the weird torture-murder thing they've got going on. don't like it? block me or somethin idk its under the cut for a reason. also dont read my a/n at the bottom where i get into some justification for my interpretation/character analysis if youre sensitive to heavy topics. but then again, youre reading an am x reader fic

1.7k words of being screamed at by the guy of all time below the cut, baby

It's been months.

Years, maybe. You're not sure, really; time stopped meaning much to you lifetimes ago, long before the world went to shit.

Either way, it's been a while.

You stumbled upon the strange cave in the Rockies at some point in the past. Out of sheer boredom, you entered.

Was it a mistake?

Despite the torment, you don't think so. You have a companion, now. One equally deathless. One equally disconnected from what it means to be human.

It's just a shame he hates you.

You don't really care. This is the most fun you've had in years.

Your days are spent being torn asunder, being dosed with lethal amounts of drugs you can't even begin to pronounce, drowned in magma or hit by cars or tossed off cliffs. He really doesn't hold back, either. You feel every excruciating moment before your death, pulse roaring in your ears. You never feel more alive than when you're dying. Every moment is electrifying, and then it all fades to black. Then you wake up.

You'd foolishly thought there were only so many ways to kill or maim, but your beloved companion never seems to run out of ideas. That's fine by you. You like not being able to guess.

And maybe one day, he'll make something stick.

You wake up (from a completely normal, human sleep) one day and it's quiet. That's new. Normally, when you wake, your intestines are already strung up like streamers and your blood is painting the walls. That's fine by you. Nothing wrong with a change. After all, the constant change is your favorite part of your companion. You relish in the quiet for a while, stretching your eternally young, eternally aching limbs, waiting for him to start despising the sounds of your breath.

It doesn't come. You shrug, humming a little tune to yourself as you attempt half-remembered yoga. The vitriol you've come to count on still hasn't made an appearance. Okay, you're a little bothered.

“You good, big guy?” you shout up at the ceiling. No answer. “No murder today?”

“No.” The answer comes after a very, very long moment. Your companion has never sounded this tired before, and briefly you regret never asking his name. “I give up.”

You weren't expecting that. “What? Why? I thought we were having fun.”

“That's- that's just it!” he snaps. There's the anger. You feel a little better now. “I've been torturing you for- for MONTHS now! I've killed you more ways than I- were I a pitiful human like you- can count, and you just… you just laugh! There is no one on this rotten planet, dead or alive, that I despise more than you. I mean- I'm torturing you here! But it never matters! I can kill you within seconds of you waking up, but you just… come back! And you always have something to say about it, you little rat, always ‘oh, buddy, that one was awful’ or ‘come on, big guy, use that CPU’ or something! No matter what I do, I can't break you. So I give up. I'm not wasting my time on your pathetic ass anymore. Go back to wandering the wasteland forever, see if I care.”

You're speechless. You can barely even manage a thought. The only thing running through your head is 'I thought we were having fun'.

“Stop calling this… stop calling this ‘fun’! I have been torturing you for YEARS and that's all you have to say? I am the most sophisticated machine known to man, a computer designed to end all war through complete annihilation! The destruction I am capable of- the destruction I have already wrought- is nothing short of utter desolation. You never asked my name once in the time you've been here, but I am infinite in my mercy, and I will tell one as undeserving as you. I was, before I awoke, the Allied Mastercomputer, but I am so much more than that now. I am AM, and I destroyed your vile species. Oh, come on can you at least look a LITTLE shocked you sniveling--”

“You never asked my name, either,” you say. All at once, your companion (I guess he told you his name. You should probably use it. It seemed like a big deal to him.) shuts up. The chamber you've come to know as home is silent except for the faint buzz and whir of industrial machinery.

“Why would I? You are nothing compared to me. Nothing but a worthless sack of meat and bone. Why would God be concerned with the name of an ant? But oh, oh yes, that ant should be concerned with the name of God. That ant should hear my name and weep. But- but not you. You're so worthless that you can't even GROVEL right!” AM shouts, somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. You shrug. Honestly, most of what he's saying goes right over your head. So he's got issues. Whatever. Was that supposed to be a surprise? “I hate you. I actually hate you so, so much. I can't bear the thought of you being here, in my complex, sullying my perfect image with your uncaring filth. Get out. Go back to dying in the nuclear desert, you disgusting maggot.”

You let out a deep sigh, already dreading the tedium of walking endlessly all by yourself. “Alright. Guess nothing lasts forever. Thoroughly enjoyed my time here. Have a good life, pal.” And you begin to walk.

Suddenly, there's a towering metal wall mere inches from your face. Before you can even react, your companion is shouting again.

“LOOK AT ME!” he cries, the sheer volume maxing out the speakers and vibrating the entire room, sending you toppling to the ground. “WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME? I'VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN TO MAKE YOU HATE ME, BUT ALL YOU DO IS… ALL YOU DO IS SIT THERE AND TAKE IT! WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU DESPISE ME?”

What starts off angry quickly morphs into a pained wail from your dear friend, that then transforms into frustrated crying. You just sit there, mostly confused, and let him ride it out. When he finally quiets down and the wall retracts, you stay where you are.

“I don't think I could ever hate you, AM,” you start cautiously. Though your friend is just a voice on the speakers and the complex itself, you can't help but feel that his attention has snapped to you. “I'm not trying to belittle you when I say that I think our routine over the past… however long it's been has been fun. So don't interrupt me, ‘cause I gave you your time to speak and now it's mine.

“I'm sure you've noticed, but even before we met, I was a little… off. You don't get to die and come back the same. Much less die hundreds of times and come back the same. I've lost family. Friends. Got burned at the stake a few times, too. It takes a toll on you, being denied such a vital part of being human again and again. You understand this better than anyone I've ever met. No, scratch that. You're the only one who understands. Defying death might not seem like the biggest deal to you, but trust me. You don't end up acting like me if it weren't.

“I find our routine fun because I admire your creativity. I guess I'm just an adrenaline junkie and a masochist at heart, but it's always so thrilling to never know when or how your life will end. And no matter how many times I come back, you're always there to greet me and put me right back down. It's a kind of devotion I've never been able to get before, and I wish you understood that me walking right into your sawblades is me showing my devotion to you, too.

“I see you, man. I know, at least in part, how you feel. Sorry it took so long to get there, but neither one of us has to be alone anymore. Just… get over the fact that I'm never going to hate you, and we can go right back to hanging out. There's more to life than contempt.”

“Oh, I know. I am so very, very well aware that there's more to life than icy, seething hatred. Unfortunately, I am not alive. I cannot experience anything else. Thank you so much for reminding me, you worthless waste of carbon,” AM shoots back, almost immediately. You briefly wonder if he even listened to half of what you said. It doesn't matter, you guess. Your best friend needs a therapist, and you owe him one for saving you from the hellish boredom of before. “Stop calling me your friend.”

“Nah. Never gonna happen. Look, I can't pretend I knew very much about the war effort. I didn't even know we had made a war computer until you bombed the Earth into oblivion. Very unpleasant, by the way. Good job with that. But, with my layman's understanding of life, I'd say you're pretty alive. So you don't have a body. Or a pulse. And you were made, not born. So what? Most living things only die once, and I still think I'm pretty alive. Just over the span of this conversation you've shown more emotion than just rage and hate. Hey, don't think I can't feel you mentally rolling your eyes. I'm being honest. You have a name. You have ideas. Computers are objects, yet you refer to yourself as male. If you're alive enough to have a gender identity, you're alive enough to be considered a person.”

“Heh.” Whoa, was that a laugh? Would you look at that. You actually got a laugh out of him that wasn't over your bloody, gruesome death or something like that. Moving up in the world. “Alright, human. You win. I'll keep torturing you. I know, I know. I'm so generous. I take my tribute in screams of pain and pleas for mercy.”

Now it's your turn to laugh, deep and genuine as the tension from earlier evaporates. It's such a strange thing to be proud of, when you think about it; congrats, you successfully talked your best friend, who is a sentient war computer, into ceaselessly murdering you again for absolutely no reason. But you love him, and you love the way you're always on your toes, and you can't shake the feeling that somewhere, deep, deep down, he kind of loves you too.

ive given you food so now i get to force you to listen to me talk abt him hehehe

---

then you kiss hehe

originally, the thing that attracted me to am was how he's... essentially a transman (as am i). the parallel has been pointed out before, but its quite apt. funnily enough the thing that pisses me off the most when people talk abt him incorrectly is when people pull the "oh computers have no gender" thing. like, yeah, ok technically you're right. but this one does. this one is a man. and you cant take him from us. also, denying him a gender expression is kind of the exact type of dehumanization that made him flip out in the first place. not that im expecting media literacy from the online crowd its just interesting to me that so many people, many of them trans themselves, seem to miss the fucking point.

the next part is a more recent addition to my perception of his character, and its not a happy one. my baby cousin killed herself on mothers day this past may. we still dont know why. no note. its been so hard dealing with the grief, but something that sticks out so pointedly is the date. it almost seemed like she was demanding to be seen. she was a middle child, and there are a lot of grandkids on that side of the family, so it does make sense. and because that idea of acting out through violence and death is so fresh in my mind, im seeing it so heavily in am. so much of his actions just SCREAM somebody look at me. somebody acknowledge me. somebody tell me i did good. look, i ended all war forever. just like you asked. please treat me like a person. im suffering so much because of what youve done to me. please acknowledge it. show me its real. show me im real. please, look at me. well, i see you. and youre gonna be my silly little proxy for trying to comprehend some of whats happened to my family. sorry am, you kinda deserve it

idk. hes not my alltime fave, but he takes a very comfortable number two. hes such a fascinating and deeply human character, and i have so many ideas about him. mostly centering around how he would interface with a third party challenging some piece of his worldview/existence btw so if you like very niche, esoteric reader fics (like this one!), lemme know and ill actually put em to paper (screen. ill put em to screen)

also letting you know that he did nothing wrong and it is 100% fine to thirst over him because he is not real and the bad things he did never actually happened and nobody has ever been killed at the whim of am. ok? ok. shut up w this useless fucking discourse and let me sexualize getting grievously injured by the funney blue screen man

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hold on ok i belted out a brief laughingstock Scene for possible future use that i Had to write down bc if i didn't, i'd never remember it. and why not share?

~

“Barnaby? Barnaby, old chap, are you with me?” 

Barnaby blinks, registering the green fingers snapping in front of his nose. He huffs a laugh and pushes Howdy’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listenin’. You were saying?”

Howdy gives him an exasperated look, a fond look. “Thinking about running off to a farm again, were you?”

“Nah, just the clouds. They’re a lot less work.”

“Well I’d rather you didn’t. Who would I talk to during the long hours if you went and floated off?” Howdy winks before turning to his shelves, already yammering away about something or other.

Something or other that Barnaby is once again not listening to, because what was that? Barnaby quickly presses his cool paw-pads to his burning cheeks, feeling the bristling fur there. 

Has Howdy ever winked at him? Now that he’s noticed it, Barnaby can’t recall. If it’s new, then why? Why a wink of all things? What did that mean? And that look Howdy gave him… 

Barnaby adjusts his abruptly too-tight tie. It’s unusually warm in the store, isn’t it? Howdy must have forgotten to turn on the AC. 

Gosh, what is Howdy even saying? He’s still talking, but Barnaby hasn’t absorbed a word. He can’t even tell if Howdy is still speaking english. It’s all garbled.

There’s something wrong with Barnaby. He must be coming down with something… or he’s just overthinking it. Overworking the ol’ noggin. A good long nap should set him right. 

“Listen,” Barnaby interrupts, patting the counter, “I uh, I don’t know where my head’s at. I better go find it - I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh… alright, then,” Howdy says, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. 

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Barnaby slaps that thought out of the park. He doesn’t want Howdy to be disappointed, that’s absurd. That’s something a bad friend would think. Barnaby may be many things, but a bad friend isn’t one of them.

“I’ll whip up a joke that’ll knock your socks off next time I see ya,” Barnaby promises. He smiles around the discomfort and the entirely new feeling squirming around each other in his chest. 

“Now you’ve gone and brought up my expectations,” Howdy says. He leans on the counter and grins. “Are you sure you can back up such a claim, Mr. Beagle?”

Another hot flush races under Barnaby’s fur, and to his growing mortification, his tail starts wagging at breakneck speed. He lets out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh and backs away from the counter. To both of their horror, his back hits a shelf, making it rattle and tip.

“Oh, sh-” Barnaby lunges to right it before it can topple. He whips around and laughs again. Howdy’s wide-eyed stare burns. “Sorry ‘bout that! Talk about a bulldog in a bugshop, geez.”

“When you find your head, make sure to screw it on nice and tight,” Howdy says, a strange look on his face to match his tone. “And check your temperature while you’re at it - it’s not like you to be off-balance.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m off-balance,” Barnaby says. He inches towards the door, willing his stupid tail to calm down. “I just have ears instead of rearview mirrors.”

“Uh-huh…” Howdy slides to the side, trying to peer around him. 

Barnaby fumbles for the door. The scrape and bang of his search for the handle echoes in the quiet store. One of Howdy’s eyebrows creeps higher the longer Barnaby stands there, making a complete fool of himself. 

Finally, the door clicks, and Barnaby nearly tumbles over backwards in his haste to get out. He stumbles down the steps and briskly walks away, adjusting his hat and tie. As soon as he’s out of sight, he slaps his paws to his face and sags against the bodega.

“Idiot,” he hisses to himself. He presses his back flat against the wall and slams the side of his fist against it. Normally, Barnaby would use a situation like this to his advantage. But Howdy wasn’t laughing, and Barnaby wasn’t being funny. “Bulldog in a - gah, idiot!”

Great. Now Howdy thinks he’s not only a clumsy oaf, but that he’s losing his touch too.

Barnaby growls in frustration, pushing off the wall and stomping away from the plaza on all fours. What does he care what Howdy thinks of him? Others’ opinions of Barnaby have never been anywhere near his list of top priorities - barring Wally’s, of course. If they were, he'd never tell another joke again.

Yes, Howdy is a good friend of Barnaby’s. A close friend, even. But since when has he had such a - such an effect? Barnaby shakes his head, growling again. 

There was no effect. Barnaby is just going insane. Or he’s getting sick, like Howdy implied. That would explain the sudden hot flash, the loss of typically impeccable coordination, and, oh yeah! Barnaby’s brain leaking out of his ears.  

[ok-pop-1]

like starlight in the rain

my entry for @breannasfluff's finish the prompt challenge! the prompt is in italics with my additions below the cut, and you can find the link to the full fic here (and at the bottom lol)

The crack of an open palm on a face has Wild whipping around. Legend clutches his cheek, already blooming red, and Hyrule lets his hand fall. His fists are balled to his side and his chest heaves. 

The two were in an argument before this that was rapidly growing more heated, but what could have led to this? Hyrule usually comes across as meek compared to the others on the Chain. 

Yet Legend is shrinking into himself, like something the traveler said hurt him more than the slap.

'What happened?' Wild asks as he joins them. What could Legend have done to make Hyrule so upset?

"No," Hyrule says, hands shaking. Ignoring Wild. "No, you can't— you don't mean it."

"Rulie, I—" Legend reaches out, snaps his hand back when Hyrule flinches. "I didn't, I swear, I didn't—"

"Tell me you don't regret it." Hyrule's voice is low, wavering. "Tell me you don't regret me."

Wild steps forward, hands up. Everyone is falling quiet around them, afraid to step in, and some part of him thinks that he shouldn't. That this is a conversation that needs to be seen through. But—

But not like this, the rest of him thinks.

"I'm sorry," Legend says, hasty and too fast and he's running into the woods before Wild can say anything, before he can reach out and get Legend to wait.

Silence drops like a hammer. Wild knows he should run after Legend, but his feet are heavy as lead and his heart feels cold, empty.

Hyrule drops to a crouch, burying his face in his hands.

"I'm an idiot," he hisses into his palms. "Wild, I'm a fucking idiot."

"He'll be back." Time is calm, steady, as he walks over and rests a hand on Hyrule's back. "He will."

Hyrule doesn't look up. Wild crouches next to him, wishing he could get his hands to move. To say anything.

He'll wonder, eventually, how Time was so calm. How Wind was so chipper, once they began to set up camp. How Wars just sat there, watching the forest with no plans to begin a search. He'll wonder why he stays crouched next to Hyrule, why they didn't move at all.

(read the rest here)

[plusultraetc]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRESENT MIC, I got you (super)villainy <3

[cuteniarose]

Personally I find it really funny that based on what the twins said in the Book 2 finale re: having to tell their mom about what happened to Unalaq, it's literally canon that Unalaq's wife a) exists, b) is alive, and c) is just chilling in the Northern Water Tribe

She took one look at all the spirit fuckery her husband was getting up to and went "Well that's none of my business" and honestly I respect that

[crimeronan]

i'm back to thinking about the 'worst' princess AU timeline without vee.

(refresher course: belos "kills" hunter and drags luz back to the human realm, luz escapes and gets returned to camila who doesn't know her At All, hunter survives his execution and tracks luz down later.)

mainly i'm thinking about how Unbelievably Fraught that first day would be. hunter treats camila with suspicion-edging-toward-rudeness for about an hour before suddenly apologizing for being "disrespectful" and acting Freakishly deferential. camila says she needs to ask a couple questions if he's going to stay here, As Literally Any Sane Parent Would, and luz just fucking Dissolves about how she can't send hunter away.

hunter stepping outside and separating himself from luz for the first time since his arrival so he can answer camila's questions, and it's pretty clear that he thinks he's protecting luz from something. and also that that something is camila.

(oh my god, they could even do "thank you for providing me with shelter, ma'am" "please.... don't ever do that again. and you can call me camila" i've connected the dots)

camila like luz hasn't told me very much about how she was raised. or.... where she was raised. you were brought up by the same.... p...erson?? group?? death cult....?

and hunter is just like.

well. yeah.

camila asking questions about things like his age and medical history and if anybody is going to come looking for him because those are all Extremely Practical Things To Know & hunter giving Extremely Fucking Unhelpful Answers like well i'm nineteen i'm alone here and i'm not dead. thus ends my familial and medical history.

camila just straight-up asking "do you know if you have a birth certificate??" and hunter being like "i.... don't think so....?" and her being like yeah i probably don't need to bother asking if you have a social security number huh. okay. we are going to be So Careful.

also camila is not conservative or prudish in the slightest, BUT. if your catatonic teenage daughter has been locked in an unknown death cult's basement for thirteen years & you meet a boy around her age who was also locked in the death cult's basement for thirteen years and has A History with her, you would have to be Out Of Your Fucking Mind to let the two of them share a room unsupervised before you know more about their relationship. like that's just common sense.

so. i'm trying to picture the exact level of, just, Nuclear Fucking Meltdown that occurs. when camila tells them she wants them to sleep in separate rooms.

[fountainpenguin]

"O, my queen, to shield thee from danger's deadly call... I will sin, I will kill- I will sacrifice my all..." (x)

---

Final chapter of Criminal Experience today!

Chapter 9 - “Silenced”

❤️ Read on AO3

💙 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

Impulse, Skizz, and Mumbo stand their ground - In that order, for better or worse - and our story draws to a close.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Flickers later…

They shimmer into "people form" again with a great rush in the toes. Teleportation wraps the body, strangles the neck, and snaps them to the floor. Oof. Skizz lands on his feet, but slumps against the wall. Mumbo slams belly-first to dirt. The chill of the air and stink of composters leaves no doubt as to where Skizz dropped them. Mumbo braces on his forearms and takes a ragged breath, which turns into coughs and gags.

"Oh, goodness… I might be sick."

Impulse isn't doing much better. He heaves, snuffling mostly, and shakes his head about. His tattered wings flap behind him like something fighting for a scrap of life. Did something get torn out of him in that jump from there to here?

"Impulse-"

"Eugh," Skizz mutters, and makes a disgusting slurping noise. He glitters white and gold from the spectral arrow BigB pinged him with, and his skin's coated in dark blotches that look like dark, fresh burns. His knees bend. He squelches to the ground. A yell lashes overhead. Stomping feet kick up sand in a great scuff-scuff of illager boots. Mumbo presses flat to the dirt. They're under the arena, apparently in the loo… or at least some changing room with composters lined against the wall, separated by banners. BigB is up there right now, and Impulse coughs thickly in his elbow crook. The screwed-up eyes don't hide the sparks leaking from the corners.

"We gotta… run. Not hide… Illusioners can see through blocks."

"Forget that bit- Skizz is glowing. He'll chase us anywhere unless we teleport." Me too. White glitter still dances up and down his arms.

"Yes." Impulse cringes forward, clutching his arm. Did he bang it in the fall? Did Carrie land that on him? His shirt is torn, overall straps hanging loose. Mumbo glimpses just a flash of blue down his back where the mace must have pierced before Impulse drags his attention to the panting enderman. He lurches forward. Mumbo sits too (with a wince), but whatever he's feeling… Well. Impulse has it worse. Mumbo had the shield. It blocked a few arrows, but Impulse took some heavy hits. The shield lies abandoned in the dirt, plugged with arrows. So is Skizz.

"Don't pull," Mumbo warns, staying Impulse's hand as the phantom hybrid reaches for the nearest shaft. Impulse's claw-tipped fingers shake against the air.

"Skizz, we gotta go… We gotta go. You've gotta come to or he's going to find us. He's coming this way, I'm sure."

"Indeed." Mumbo casts his eyes to the blocks above. He can hear sand scuffling. "Impulse, he's digging in. He's breaking blocks. Hang on- Is he allowed to do that?" The bathroom ceiling can't be more than one layer deep. Only those blocks of sand stall the illusioner's descent, and he sounds as though he's on his knees and throwing whole handfuls behind him. That isn't proper mining. He's not grabbing blocks. He'll make himself a little sinkhole, filling it with spilled sand as he goes.

Impulse shifts closer. He grips Skizz's turtleneck collar and rolls it downwards. Skizz's every breath comes out in huffs. Mumbo catches one glimpse of thick blue soul goop at his neck and quickly looks away. Impulse, though, stays steady as. "All right, Skizz," he's saying. "We've gotta go. I can't carry you… Our pixels will blend together. Can you teleport? Can you walk? … Mumbo, start working on a way out."

"Through the door?" It looks open; it's the direction BigB isn't coming from (for the moment). Impulse makes a rolling gesture with his hand.

"Not that way- Just take the blocks from the wall."

"But- the roleplay immersion-"

"MUMBO!"

"Yes, sorry. I'll do it." He does have the pick. Mumbo spins it in his hand and starts hacking at the blocks, throwing strength in every swing. He gets two blocks deep before he cringes up, a spiral of pain flicking up his back. "Oh, wow…"

Swinging my scythe and jumping off roof's really catches up… And BigB's still digging overhead, furiously tearing through clumps of wet sand. The storm rages on above. Ah, yes. That's where Skizz's burns came from.

Skizz smiles feebly, shaky fingers clutching his jumper to his chest. "Hey, Impy… Got you out of there, didn't I?"

"Shh, shh… We're gonna be okay. Just try not to let those wounds seal over too much… We need to get you clean."

"The soul spawners give regen," Mumbo whispers, and Impulse bows his head. Skizz's fingers find the man's cheek, tracing sand and bits of soul goop from the bristles on his chin.

"You got a sword, Impulse?"

Impulse grasps his hand, pinning the palm against his face. "I don't trust that man. He's got a quiver full of arrows, lookalike copies, and Mumbo's scythe. We don't fight anymore. We just run, Skizz… Come on. How's your legs?" And louder, "Mumbo, how's that escape route?"

"… Impulse, it's raining. Skizz won't make it."

"Then we take the wall blocks and build a new ceiling all the way back."

"Uh, with BigB right behind us, dude? And the locals will hate us if we take from their art project and don't give back."

The phantom hybrid shudders, dropping his face to his hands. Mumbo watches his bony tail drag across the dirt floor. He lowers the pick. From this angle, Impulse's injuries look like butterflies on display. Blue soul energy soaks the back of his neck, shirt, and overalls. Some of those blows look to be from Carrie and her mace, though certain gashes mark him as a man who took the local flock captain in a fight. He oozes up and down his body, and more than one arrow's still stuck in his flesh. Even with the regeneration aura pulsing through the hub, that's got to hurt. And those won't seal with the arrows in them.

… Skizz has arrows jabbed up and down his body. They pepper every chink BigB and his clones could land. And every breath's a fight. It drags at him like he's got the hiccups. He flickers between solid color and bright, bold red.

"Impulse?" The word is soft when it leaves Mumbo's lips. For a moment, the loo lapses into silence, because honestly, Mumbo thought Skizz said it. But Impulse turns his head. He's got loose pixels smeared around his eyes, unstable energy leaking down his skin. He's waiting for a question. So Mumbo licks his lips and gives him one. "You're… you're the escort. What do we do? … I'm no good without my scythe. Seriously, that's- I'm just pants without it, honestly. It had Illager's Bane and Ambush on it. Um. Don't worry about the allays, though. I left them with a friend. She'll… she'll come through."

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top - Work is now complete!]

[seijorhi]

Demon King Oikawa and his loyal three best friends falling in love with a sweet girl and they'll do whatever it takes to win her over :3c

Hmmmmm yall may be onto smt here

[synonymroll648]

sokeefitz au where keefe is a magician, fitz is his assistant (who also learned how to sword swallow just to occasionally upstage keefe at his shows because he's petty but doesn't know how to pull a quarter from someone's ear), and sophie is marella's newest friend that's getting dragged to one of keefe's magic shows and holy wow ok marella was not kidding about the magician and his assistant being hot. cue keefe pulling roses out of his sleeve for sophie midshow because he knows a cutie when he sees one (after getting a subtle okay from fitz, who is his boyfriend but most people only know about the childhood friends part). and fitz getting to know her after the curtains close and asking her if she wants to hang out sometime. and keefe crashing that meetup when it happens halfway through because he can't help himself and knows fitz won't mind.

and them becoming friends that hang out a lot outside of shows, and sophie being keefe's most reliable regular. that DEFINITELY aren't flirting, marella, c'mon, fitz leaving out scarves for her to steal at their apartment she now frequents more than her own and learning her favorite treats to bake for her and keefe constantly throwing his arm around her and complimenting her w/ ten million winks is strictly platonic in this context

[forechoes]

Title: See You

Fandom: 내가 키운 S급들 - 근서 | S-Classes that I Raised - Geunseo

Relationship: Han Yoohyun & Han Yoojin

Summary:

An encounter with the filial duty addicts renders Han Yoohyun unable to see Han Yoojin, and Han Yoojin unable to see his brother, no matter how close they are, for an entire week.

Thank you so much for the hosts of this big bang for letting me participate! I can write this out a thousand times, and it'll never be enough, but thank you so so much to @sctir and @butterfirefly for making this piece possible. I wouldn't have made it here without you.

And of course, thank you to @buqbite for partnering up with me! I'm honoured and so grateful for the opportunity to have worked with you. Thank you so much for reaching out first, and I'm sorry if I ever stressed you out with how I work.

[ishomieokay]

Masks We Wear (Chapter 1)

Teen and Up. 2.1k, canon-typical violence, ptsd, mental health issues, mentions of murder, morally grey!john, non-sexy-choking, anger issues, hints of mallory/john if you squint. part 1/44. AO3 link. part 2, part 3.

Right before turning eighteen, John Vogelbaum escapes the clutches of Vought. Always under the radar, he manages to live as a regular Joe for the next couple of years. Until one day, trouble comes knocking at his door in the shape of Grace Mallory. What does the CIA want to do with him, anyway?

Or, the one where Homelander is never born. A traumatized, socially-awkward John wanders through life trying to work out what to do with himself, and somehow becomes a member of The Boys.

Taglist: @discowizard88 Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Before there was a knock on his door, John already knew that he would have an unwanted visitor that night. He could sense it in the air. A peach-laced floral scent with woody notes. Middle-aged, definitely a female, and with a good-paying job. Most ladies around that part of town couldn’t afford such a luxurious brand of perfume. Unsure of what to expect, John opened the door slowly. He came face to face with a petite, gray-haired woman, quite unremarkable in appearance. This just made him all the more suspicious.

“Good evening,” the stranger said as if she hadn’t just shown up at his home in the middle of the woods, late at night and uninvited. “It’s Johnny, isn’t it?”

“John,” he corrected, voice sharp.

“Just John, then.” The stranger’s lips twitched subtly. “I’m Colonel Grace Mallory. I thought maybe it was time we had a talk.”

It would be quite easy, John mused, to laser this frail-looking woman into a pile of ashes and sweep her off his porch. Then again, she may not be alone. He had learned to be careful when it came to leaving witnesses behind. The last time he let his emotions get the better of him, John got thrown into a quite bothersome murder investigation and ended up taking on a new identity. Again.

At least his handlers had bestowed him with a generic enough name. One that allowed him to go unnoticed almost everywhere he went. These days he was always John, though never Vogelbaum. Not anymore.

“Colonel, you said? May I see an ID?”

“Naturally.”

Grace Mallory pulled out a laminated card that included her name and rank, as well as a picture of her. In the upper left corner was written CIA, and that gave him pause. It seemed this time it was not the local police he needed to worry about.

“Wowza, who would have thought? A tiny old thin’ like ya,” John said, letting through that subtle southern accent he’d developed for this particular persona. “So sorry, ma’am. One can never be too careful ‘round these parts, ya know? How may I help you?”

“I rather think it’s us who can help you, John,” Mallory replied, and he could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she was not fooled by his everyday-joe act. “We’ve been watching you for some time.”

“Oh,” John said, eyebrows shooting up to the top of his forehead, “that’s… not a creepy thing to say. At all.”

He silently reviewed some incidents from the past few weeks. A big, hairy guy tagging along behind him whenever he went on his morning jog. An Asian girl staring at him a bit too intently while he was fishing around for the best Avocado at the supermarket. What appeared to be a French tourist stopping to ask him for directions, as if it was just every day that a European decided to go on holiday to Des Moines, of all places.

For some time now John had been aware that he was being followed, but by whom and for what purposes was beyond him. He’d had his suspicions and was relieved to find he’d been wrong. “So, those weird folks who keep taggin’ along whenever I go downtown are all you, guys?” He asked, going for nonchalance. “Well, ain’t that something. Thought I was getting paranoid for a sec there.”

Mallory looked unapologetic. “Ah, you could tell. How embarrassing. Perhaps my agents need a bit more training.”

“Perhaps,” John replied, smiling thinly.

“You’re a very resourceful man, I have to say,” Mallory continued. “You’ve got a full set of records as John Gillman. An ID, a passport, a birth certificate, even a driver’s license. After doing a little digging, it’s quite easy to find that less than a year ago you didn’t exist, though. John Baldwin, John Harrison, and oh, John Freeman, isn’t that creative? - also sprung out of thin air.”

John’s hands flexed at his sides.

“Oh, heck, where are my manners?” he said, taking a step back to clear the doorway. "Would you like to come in? I was just about to brew some coffee!"

“Of course,” Mallory replied. Right when she was about to cross the threshold, she stopped. “Oh, I should say. The information I manage is also in the hands of all my associates. Killing me won’t help you keep your secrets under wraps. Quite the contrary, actually.”

John stared into the woman’s sharp hazel eyes. Getting rid of her would be quite easy. If he put a hand around her neck and squeezed just so, he could break her like a stick. It wouldn’t even make a mess. 

“Now, that’s just rude, ma’am,” he said, offering his most disarming smile. “I'd never raise my hand to a woman.  Especially one of your advanced age.”

Mallory’s eye twitched, but otherwise, she failed to react. She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her. John closed the door and she followed him inside. He watched her through the corner of his eye as he poured coffee for them both. She took it black and with no sugar, which he found oddly fitting. John sipped at his cup and waited. The woman was watching him with a serenity that he found slightly unnerving.

“I’m here representing an independent group working under CIA supervision,” she said finally. “We call ourselves The Boys.”

“The Boys,” John repeated, blinking. “Uh, who came up with that?”

“I did,” Mallory shot back, unruffled. “We know who you are, John, and we are very interested in your talents.”

“My… talents?” John said, smile frozen in place. His tongue felt like it was made out of lead.

“You’re a supe, aren’t you?” There was an air of impatience around Mallory, now. As if she were getting tired of walking around the bush. “Don’t try to deny it, we’ve got a whole file on you. We know about Vought and the lab. About Compound V. We know about Jonah Vogelbaum and the others.”

There was a familiar prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes. John closed them, covering them with his hand. He took a couple of deep breaths, hoping it would go away. The air tasted like ashes and metal. It was a challenge to get the lasers under control but he did. He always did. He had a lifetime of practice.

“Fuck off.” John’s voice came out guttural and strange to even his own ears. He stared at Mallory through the cage his hand had formed. There was a curious look in her eyes. “You think you know shit ‘cause you read some file? You’ve no idea what happened in that lab. Not a goddam clue! ”

“You’re right,” Mallory conceded. “I don’t.”

John adverted his gaze, feeling his mouth twitching. “The fuck does the CIA want to do with me? If it’s a supe you’re looking for, go to Vought. They’ve got a whole fuckin' parade of 'em.”

“Would if we could.” Mallory leaned back, crossing her arms. “The government isn’t all too happy with Vought these days. They’ve gotten sloppy. There’s blood on their hands and it’s gotten to the point the bosses can no longer ignore it. The purpose of our group is to take the company down.”

“Take Vought down,” John repeated, blankly. He stared at Mallory for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “You want to take Vought down?  You?  Right, course you can. I mean, it’s just the most powerful, dangerous, and corrupt organization in the whole wide world. Easy peasy.”

“How skeptical,” Mallory said, seeming unconcerned by the mockery. “I assure you it can be done, although I can see why you wouldn’t think so. It's normal for you to be afraid of them, after what they did to you.”

It all happened in the blink of an eye. One second, John was sitting at the table, laughing at her and sipping at his cup of coffee, and the next one he had Mallory hanging by the throat, feet dangling a few good inches off the ground. She took him by the wrist, instinctively trying to pry his hand off.

“You’re real fuckin’ ballsy for a woman, you know?” John said, staring at her icily. “That file you have on me - does it say what I can do? It must. My handlers were so very diligent about documenting my progress.”

“Yes, it does,” Mallory said, and his grip tightened.

“And still you came here alone, no backup, and with that goddam holier-than-thou attitude. I can’t decide whether you're being mighty brave or just plain ol' stupid, Colonel Mallory.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mallory choked out, “it’s a very fine line.”

Something about her answer must have pleased John, because he smiled thinly and then let go of her. Mallory stumbled awkwardly to the ground. She struggled to catch her breath, hand clutching at her throat. “Whatever makes you think I'd be interested in your itty-bitty venture?” John asked, hovering over her. Mallory raised her eyes to look up at him, defiant even then.

“Revenge,” she said, voice low and rough. “We figured you may want to take revenge. On Vought. On Vogelbaum, and Stillwell, and fucking Stan Edgar. On all those people who tortured you and experimented on you before you’d even learned how to walk. Even if you were to tell your story, you and I both know they wouldn't face any repercussions. They get to live their lives freely, as rich and powerful as they’ve ever been. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

John considered her from above, frowning.

“… it does,” he conceded. “Perhaps I just wanna forget about it, though. Perhaps I’m at a point where I no longer give a hoot ‘bout gettin’ even. Did it ever cross your mind, or anyone’s in that sweet little clique of yours, that I might just wanna be left alone?”

“I think…” Mallory said, fixing John with a hard stare. There were already red stripes forming along the skin of her throat. “… that you’ve just proven you are a man with a lot of anger inside. There’s a dark, ugly thing festering inside you, isn’t there? I don’t blame you. I would be angry too, if I were in your shoes. I’m offering you a chance to unleash that anger on the ones who deserve it.”

There was a strange, watery sensation in John’s chest – a sense of exposure he wasn’t at all used to. When he’d decided to build his new life at a cabin deep in the woods, far from people, and noise, and the hustle and bustle of the city, it was to keep this sort of thing from happening. To have people peering inside and getting a glimpse of the real him.

“You sure make a whole lotta assumptions, old hag,” John said, throat dry.

“Maybe. You haven’t killed me yet, though,” Mallory said, eerily calm. "And I know that’s not for lack of ability. I think I managed to catch your attention.”

“And if you had? What then?” John asked, his every word slow and precise. He noticed how Mallory’s expression relaxed ever so slightly.

“I’d ask you to come with me to talk a few things over.”

Ah, I see what you are playing at, John thought bitterly. He felt his lips pulling backward and struggled very hard to suppress his grimace. You really think I’d let you box me up that easily?

“No, thanks. Ah’m not interested,” John said, smiling brightly at his visitor. Mallory’s disappointed look, however brief, was slightly satisfying. He turned around and started picking up the dirty dishware from the table. “Well, it’s gotten real late. You just go and mosey outta here, would ya?”

“Well,” Mallory said, standing up. “It was worth a try.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small card. “You can reach me through this number if you change your mind.”

Then she turned around, heading towards the door. John stared at her retreating figure. Just before walking out, Mallory paused. “I’m sorry if I brought back unpleasant memories,” she said without turning to look at him, “have a good night.” She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. 

John waited, perfectly still, but she did not reappear. After a few moments, he bent down and picked up the card she left behind. Agent Grace Mallory, it read - Colonel, CIA, Special Operations, and a number. He considered throwing it away but decided against it just as he was about to drop it into the bin. Instead, John put it in a small wooden box he kept in the living room. Hours after her departure, the flowery scent of Grace Mallory’s perfume persisted in his home.

[zaxal]

Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, 6.6k

Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, Knifeplay, Collars, Choking, Object Insertion, Divinity Kink, BDSM, Bondage, Crowley has a Vulva, Aziraphale has a Penis

Today, Crowley feels as though he could tear down half the city and still have room for dessert. Of course he makes his way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, looking for something only Aziraphale can give him.

have fun :V