#once again...this was supposed to be short

[golden1u5t]

intelligence is attractive | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: spencers always had a crush on you but the way you show your intelligence does him in like nothing else. 

"you're avoiding me." spencer's sitting on the edge of one of the queen beds in the crappy hotel room. he's watching as you come out of the bathroom, your bag in one hand and the other taking the hair tie out of your hair.

you glanced at him before walking to your side of the room, you set your bag down on the floor beside your bed. spencer calls your name as you climb into bed and turn your lamp off. you wanted to just close your eyes and go to sleep but you knew to think that would be happening, would be reaching.

"what, spencer? you've been giving me the cold shoulder so what else am i supposed to do?" you let out a breath of annoyance and turned to face him. you could've just turned over and ignored him for the rest of the night, not that you would have been able to get a good night's sleep with all the tension in the room.

"¡ have not been giving you the cold shoulder!" spencer's voice went up in pitch, a tell that he was lying, and he turned his head. you scoffed and got out of bed, walking to his side of the room and standing directly in front of him so he would look at you.

"you have. ever since i figured out that code at the station you've been giving me the cold shoulder. you're upset because, for once, you don't get to show everyone how smart you are?"

spencer's face was turning redder by the second, his eyes seemingly glued to the wall with no intention of looking at you. you stood there for a moment to see if he would say anything but when he didn't, you let out a scoff and turned away. his hand twitched on his leg, he couldn't figure out if he should grab your arm to stop you from walking away or just leave you alone.

before he had a chance to properly think his actions through, he was standing up and catching your arm in his hand. he gently pulled you back closer to him and, again, before he could properly think his actions through, he pressed his lips to yours. when he hadn't felt you start to kiss back, he quickly pulled back and let his arm drop back down to his side.

"i'm not- i wasn't upset at you, i was just-" he quickly stopped himself before he said too much. as he stared down at you, your eyes wide and lips parted, he wished he could just turn back time to before he kissed you and just have dropped the entire situation. of course, he couldn't. spencer took a step back and turned his back to you, his face flushed a shade of red with embarrassment. you weren't going to just drop the situation like he'd hoped.

"spencer?" taking a step forward, you placed your hand on his arm. your voice was gentle as you spoke to him, trying to show him that you weren't upset with him. its true that you weren't upset with him, you were just shocked and still trying to wrap your head around things. "spencer, look at me. please?"

you gave him a moment but when he still didn't look at you, you stepped around him and guided his face back towards you. spencer let out a shaky breath, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he kissed you.

there was a moment of silence before you leaned up and pressed your lips to his, to show him that you weren't upset with him and just because you wanted to feel his lips on yours again. you ran your hands down his arms until you got to his wrist, you moved his hands to rest on your waist. the small movement brought a sudden wave of confidence over him.

spencer walked forward until your legs hit the edge or bed, he gently pushed you back onto the bed. he hovered over your body, his fingers skimming over your bare skin from where your shirt had risen up.

"y/n," your name fell from his lips in a soft manner, almost coming out as an inaudible whisper. you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "do you want to do this?"

you wasted no time in telling him that you wanted him, even arching up into him to accentuate your words. spencer untangled your bodies and moved off of you, you sat up as he stood in front of the bed.

you tugged your shirt over your head just as he did. his hands fell down to tug at the strings that kept his pants secured to his waist but you quickly stopped him, looking up at him for permission to remove them yourself.

spencer shivered under your touch as you trailed your fingertips over the thin line of hair that disappeared into his pants. you wanted to memorize every part of his body, every mount and valley.

finally, you tugged at the strings of his pants until they loosened and fell down his legs. you bit back a whimper as you got a good look at his cock straining against his boxers, your fingertips brushed lower, feeling him think and hot through the cotton that hid him from your sight. a gasp fell from his parted lips as you flattened your palm over him, his hips pushing up into your hands.

"¡ want to take this slow," he breathed out, his voice wavering as you continued to palm him. your gaze was fixated on his bulge, fixated on how hard he was, how you could feel it twitching under your palm. "but i don't think i can."

"then we won't," you mumbled, finally tearing your eyes away from his cock and looking into his eyes. "we don't have to go slow this time, spence."

spencer reached down and hurriedly pushed his boxers down, sighing in relief at the feeling of no longer being restrained. you moved further up the bed until your head was rested against the pillows, spencer stepped out of his pants and boxers and crawled up onto the bed.

he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and looked up at you for permission to take them off, which you granted almost immediately. he tossed them behind his head and pulled your legs up until they rested on his waist. leaning over your body, he captured your lips in a searing kiss.

spencer reached between your bodies and wrapped his hand around his cock, his hips rocked against your core, the tip sliding though your slit until he reached your entrance. he pulled back just for a moment to ask for permission again, which you granted, before placing a kiss on your collarbone and pressing into you.

in one slow, deep thrust, he filled you completely, knocking the air from your lungs. he paused for a moment to give you both some time to adjust to the new feeling of each other.

"oh god." you whimpered, your hands finding their way back into his hair and tugging on it as you got used to the feeling of being so full. spencer grunted as he gave an experimental thrust, his hips retreating and sliding back in with more force once he knew you were good.

eventually, he had gotten comfortable with being inside you, he'd gotten a pace set that both you and him enjoyed. spencer nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck as he rocked into you harder, the bed was starting to rock against the wall with the force of his thrust. luckily, the next pair from the team was a few more rooms down.

"need you." you whimpered, body arching up into him.

those two words washed away all remnants of control he had left. he panted against your burning skin, his hips snapping into yours harder than before as his cock started to pulsate. "say it again." he whined and reached between you to rub at your throbbing clit.

"¡ need you, spencer. please!" your cried in pleasure, your fingers had a death grip on his hair at this point. spencer's hips stuttered and his pace began to falter, he gasped against your skin as he started to cum. shockwaves shot through his body as he continued to thrust into your the best that he could, he pushed through the sensitivity of his cock to bring you to your release.

with his fingers toying with your clit and his cock pushing into you hitting all the right spots, you found your release not long after him. spencers hips slowed to a stop as did your orgasms, he pulled out with a whine and rolled over onto the bed beside you. you rolled over with him, placing yourself back in his arms.

no words were exchanged as you both laid there, suspended in time. pretty soon the beating of each other's hearts against your skin lulled you right to sleep.

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

a Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan AU

Introspection fucking sucks, according to Commander Fox.

The thing about him is, he’s been made out to be a bastard and ever since their batch found their calling or whatever he’s embraced that role.

Every batch needed someone who didn’t secretly want to be cuddled, who pushed others away so he could keep track of the big picture.

Cody had competed for the role for a while. As did Wolffe.

For Cody, his heart, big and fragile once you got to know him, got in the way in the end. He sees the whole picture, craves it so he won’t go crazy from the losses. But he believes in people and their goodness.

Fox doesn’t.

Wolffe made the mistake of getting the galaxy’s best General. General Koon shits rainbows and glitter, from what Fox has been forced to listen to.

Fox has… the Chancellor.

He takes a swig of water and wishes it were something stronger. But Quin is on the other side of Fox’s desk, reading glasses ever so slowly slipping down his nose while he’s crunching and tracking the numbers to prove the Chancellor is, indeed, siphoning credits off the Republic to giftwrap them for the Seppies.

He takes another swig.

Wouldn’t surprise him if Palpatine turned out to be the villain of the whole story.

Brought Fox to drink with the kind attitude, the cruelty so expertly hidden from first glance, cushioned in false promises and support.

Hadn’t been pretty. But it had been easy. You go to the right places, people are only too willing to shell out for some drinks. Entertainment and morbid curiosity what brings a clone to their knees.

Some found the lisp he has because of the scar that ransacks through his lips and tongue endearing but most hadn’t bothered with wanting him talking.

Some wanted to inspect the changes in the Corrie armor up close and cozy.

If shit hadn’t already multiplied, Organa came flouncing into the Guard offices every two weeks with a new design like they were his little dress-up dolls.

The last design, the one that stayed, had a dummy connector installed in the backplate.

Fox hadn’t mentioned it. Had stewed over how the Guard, already isolated from the rest of the GAR, wasn’t even considered for the neural network that would make them more efficient, more deadly if activated. Treated like scum on a pedestal, overlooked and taken for granted.

Fox takes every advantage he can squeeze from that.

Every batch needs a willing loner who’s got the big picture in his head at all times and doesn’t care for the minutiae.

Fox had been comfortable in that role, really. He saw Thorn and Stone and Thire and the rest of them making friends and lovers and heartbreak, and that was the last fucking thing Fox wanted.

And then came Vos. Appearing from the shadows like a designer nightmare.

For such a short time they’ve sure gone through a lot together.

To the point Vos became Quinlan became Quin became Vos again became someone Fox clung to while fighting fucking addiction and the realization that he is stupid enough to become addicted.

No matter what Quin had said, Fox was supposed to be the pinnacle of cloning and artificially creating the perfect soldier. Addiction is a weakness and fault.

Fox almost did something extremely stupid over that one.

Turns out it’s all part of the sentient experience.

Fucking sucks.

Quin had laughed at that, ugly and bruised laughter, continuing to comb his fingers over Fox’s head. “Tell me about it.”

An eloquent way to say Quin was going through withdrawal himself.

They got outside help after that.

“Hey, Depa,” Quin murmurs absently after answering his comm, pushes his glasses up.

“Quinlan, is your line still secure?”

“‘Course. Especially after Fox got his grubby little hands all over it.”

Fox shows him the middle finger of one of his grubby little hands.

“Good,” General Billaba clips out. Quin straightens up, and maybe Fox’s attention isn’t misplaced here. “Good. Commander Cody was activated by the Sith Lord and he’s bringing Obi-Wan to Coruscant.”

Activated.

Quin is silent. Blinks up at the ceiling. “Can you run that by me again?”

“Quinlan, we have reason to be believe the Chancellor is the Sith Lord.”

Hah. Fox got that one right on his bingo card, at least.

Cody got activated.

As they’ve learned, the neural network - battlefield mediation, in fancy Kamino speak - is activated by a designated Force using GAR personnel. Surprisingly, the status is even an optional display on the screens of every trooper’s vambrace. Or not so surprisingly.

Cody got activated by the Chancellor. Who is the Sith Lord the Order has been hunting.

Fox will deal with that later or never, whatever comes first.

He’s comming the Guard all across the planet, checking the weapons on his person, while General Billaba explains the situation. He appreciates her succinct manner, he’s gotta say.

“I’m on the way to detain Anakin. Mace is following the ship Commander Cody captured but we need someone to intercept them on Coruscant before he reaches Palpatine.” She halts for a brief moment. “Obi-Wan seems to believe the Commander has betrayed him when he knows about the neural link inside the clones. We are fearing the Darkness is deliberately attacking and clouding his senses.”

“I’m on my way,” Quin nods, adds with a calculating glance at Fox, “I’m not sure I have back-up.”

“Funny thing about the Alderaan design of the guard armor,” Fox comments, checking the plasma charge on his DC, and vows to give Senator fucking Organa a sliced fruit platter, “the Guard doesn’t have the connector to the neural link.”

He comms their resident medic next and orders every gundark-level tranquilizer delivered to him.

Cody got activated and is following the orders of a Sith Lord.

Stars help them.

[s1m0nth3swag]

Leon S. Kennedy Scenarios

Some sweet and short Leon Scenarios, all inspired by the wonderful @leonw4nter who sent me some of her ideas (gen love you for that)

Three scenarios in this one, all fluffy and cute because Leon deserves happiness, and I will be the one giving it to him !!!

Info about the scenario at the start of each one

[Leon says he isn't hungry, then proceeds to steal your food | Was intended for Death Island Leon, but honestly, I think it'd fit better for Vendetta]

You glare at your boyfriend of a year as you shovel food onto your plate. There was a usual way of going about this. Leon would say he wasn't hungry, that he'd eaten at work, and that you shouldn't make a serving for him as well. Each time, you'd stupidly trust his words, which would inevitably end in him casually helping himself to steal parts of your food, all under the disguise of suddenly being just a little bit hungry. This time, you were prepared. You had prepared a second serving and were ready to defend your food with your life.

You trotted to the couch of your shared apartment, flopped down on it, and swiftly put the TV on. Leon followed after you wordlessly, and you just instinctively knew he was up to something. He always was. He sat beside you, rested his head on your shoulder sweetly - you immediately held your food up as his hand shot out. “You said you aren't hungry!” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you scooted away from the other defensively. “Oh come on, that was so long ago. I just want a little taste!” Leon almost pouts, though the mischievous sparkle in his eyes instantly betrays him. “Fuck off! Get some yourself. There's still more in the kitchen!” You respond, kicking him playfully as he tries to get closer. He puts on his best expression of betrayal, trying to make you feel sorry for him. “That's all the way back there! I've already sat down. It ain't fair!” He exclaims. “Come on, just a little bit, please.” He pleads, resting his head on your knee as he stares up at you. He almost looks like a dog begging for food now. “No, get your lazy ass up and get it yourself.” You simply say, rolling your eyes as you casually continue eating.

Leon stares you down the entire time, waiting for the moment that his usual food manipulation tactic works - you stubbornly stand your ground, though. Each time he opens his mouth to complain once again, you simply shush him and tell him the exact placement of the rest of the food in the kitchen. After you finally set your plate down on the small table beside the couch, Leon huffs as he moves to sprawl himself on top of you. “You're awful.” He pouts, snuggling his face against the side of your neck. “Just get your own food, love. Ain't that hard.” You chuckle and run your fingers through his hair, feeling his following sigh as the air hits your neck. His arms wrap around you tightly as he snuggles further against you. “Isn't fair.” He mumbles. “You're supposed to share with me and shit.” You giggle. “I made you a second serving. You could've taken that, just saying.” Leon doesn't answer, too stubborn to do so as he rests on top of you.

“Next time.” He mutters after a while as you feel him smirk against your neck. “Sure.” You laugh softly. “Next time.”

[Matching Pyjamas with Death Island Leon]

Even though Leon grumbles about being too old for childish things like this, you know that deep down he is more than thrilled as you present him the clothes you had ordered. A set of matching hello kitty pyjamas that you had bought on a whim - you definitely needed to learn how to not spend your money on the most random things (the fact that you had used Leons credit card was a minor issue for that plan though). He looked at you, sighing as he watched how excited you were. “Please Lee, you only gotta wear them this once I swear!” You begged, and you swore it was visible that his facade crumbled down. “Fine, fine. This once.” He gives in, grabbing his set from your hands swiftly. “No pictures, no laughing or I swear you'll regret.” Leon then adds, slightly glaring at you because he knew for a fact that you had taken pictures of him sleeping before - in your defense, the way he cuddled up to you during the night was just too adorable. You quickly nodded, though, even if you planned on breaking that unspoken promise. You were pretty sure Leon knew that already.

He insisted on changing in the bathroom, something about it being a surprise - he probably just wanted to stare at himself in the mirror and rethink all his life choices. You hummed excitedly, patiently waiting as you sat on the side of your shared bed. The second he stepped out you grinned widely, giggling as he came to stand in front of you. “Happy?” He asked, answered by you snaking your arms around him while nodding. “Extremely so.” You sigh, resting your head against the soft fabric of the sleep shirt. “Good. Can we sleep now?” He grumbles, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed. You knew he enjoyed this more than he wanted to let show. “Nuh uh! Gotta take pictures first!” You smile, and Leon groans as he realises that he'd be in for a longer night than he had planned.

[Re2 Leon being head over heels for you (and getting made fun of for it) No Outbreak!]

Leon can't help but grin widely at the text you've sent him, almost like he has to read it over and over again to have it imprinted on his brain or he'll die. He's taking his lunch break right now, nestled into one of the break rooms chairs. You've agreed to come see him and get him something to eat, because he totally forgot his food at home - he definitely didn't not take it on purpose so you'd have to come save him.

The two of you had only been dating for a month or so, but Leon already dreamed of a wedding and waking up next to you every morning - which had happened only once up until now. It had been a stormy day, and during the evening it only got worse, which led to you simply staying over. Leon still got that tingly feeling in his stomach when he remembered how cute you had looked with your bed hair. If he wasn't such a gentleman, or if he wasn't so shy about it, he wouldn't have let you go the whole day. He giggles as he looks back through old messages - he especially likes the outfit checks you sometimes send him, he can't help but grin at the pictures and videos, his cheeks flushing as he thinks about how wonderful you look, no matter what you wear. He comes across the one where you stayed home for a day, and he swears his heart bursts with how adorable you look in your pajamas.

Leon knows he's getting weird looks from his workmates, but he really doesn't care. He's in love, he's allowed to be a little giggly and blushy, even if the others don't agree. Chris looks over his shoulder briefly, sighing a soft “simp”, and Leon shoots him a glare before lighting up at the sight of you walking into the break room. He immediately jumps from his seat, moving to give you a hug. “Missed you, Baby.” He mumbles, face snuggled against your hair, taking in the soft scent of your shampoo. “Can't have missed them much when you're on your phone the entire time looking at their pictures.” Chris speaks, and Leon would be mad at that, if you weren't giggling as hugging him back. “Brought you some snacks.” You hum, and Leon's heart practically stops in his chest with how cute you are - as if he hadn't been the one to tell you to get him food.

Moments later, he sits at the table again, you on his lap, because he insisted that the chairs would be too uncomfortable for you. He munches on one of the sweet treats you had brought him while you spoke about your day so far, Leon was definitely the happiest guy alive right now. He places soft kisses on your neck and jaw every now and then, smiling at you. He'd definitely die happy if it was by your side.

[llondonfog]

Since now we have Tsum Silver in JP, I just want Lilia to go through absolute baby fever. HE NEEDS TO TREAT SILTSUM LIKE HIS BABY ALL OVER AGAIN!!!

" . . . I suppose I might have known," Lilia hums, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he lounges against the doorframe and crosses his arms. "Is this where you've been hiding all along, hm? You've given him quite the scare, you know— he's running frantic all around the castle grounds trying to find where you've wandered off to all on your own."

Nestled between the bat-patterned bedsheets and carelessly scattered homework assignments, Silver's tsum blinks sleepily up at him, the picture of unrepentant, bleary innocence. It makes no move to wriggle itself out of the cozy little burrow, and Lilia's grin only softens. In a funny way, he's all too suddenly reminded of those early cottage days— of Silver buried so far into his quilts during the bitterly cold Briar Valley winter, that stubborn tuft of moonlit hair poking out from the blankets like a beacon, a lighthouse drawing Lilia close until he could wrap the child up in the warmth of his arms instead and pepper his giggling face with good morning kisses.

A strange pang pricks his heart at the memory, and Lilia shakes his head with affected disappointment at the once again dozing creature, rubbing a hand absentmindedly against his chest. "I ought to scold you for distressing him so," he mutters with no real heat behind the words, floating the short distance over to the bed and settling down among the mess. "He's a good child, too good for his own heart. I won't have you causing him any grief, no matter how adorable you are— do you hear me?"

A gentle poke to the tsum's plushy cheek begets no response, not that Lilia was truly expecting any with how eerily similar the creature resembled his son in not just looks, but behavior. It merely snored on in complete disregard to Lilia's words, and yet somehow . . . Lilia could swear it looked even more at peace than it had moments prior. Up close like this, if he ignored the uniform tucked around its tiny body, he could believe that he'd somehow found himself seventeen years in the past. He could believe that they were tucked away in the serene safety of their forest home, and that he was once again watching in the dumbfounded awe of a parent in breathless admiration of their baby's first slumber.

Deep in the pocket of his uniform jacket, Lilia can hear his phone buzzing, texts no doubt from Silver asking if his father has had any luck scouting out the dormitory for his wayward tsum. He'll text him back, of course he will— he doesn't want to prolong his son's distress anymore than it already has. But for now, for a moment, he can't bring himself to glance away from the tsum happily sleeping in his bed— perhaps it just might open its eyes and look at him. Perhaps it might yawn, stretching tiny, perfect little arms and sharing a crooked, perfect little smile under those silvery bedhead bangs.

"Good morning, Toto! I had the most interesting dream last night, do you want to hear about it?"

[hwanchaesong]

Paradox (Enemies to Lovers) Preview

pairing: Nishimura Riki/Ni-ki X F!Reader

synopsis: Romance is poisonous, it slowly kills you with fantasies, it removes the freedom of thinking for oneself. Then again, you're not one to talk when you find yourself alone with the snake himself under the stars.

word count: tba

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, warnings are tba

a/n: this is a teaser for the upcoming Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels series that i've been working on. i hope y'all look forward to it. please don't hesitate to tell me if you wanted to be added to the taglist. tysm 🩷

The deadly steel in your hand is as heavy as your breathing. One pull of the trigger and the mission that you have been preparing for all your life will finally come to an end.

All the suffering, the pain, the frustration, and the hell you've been put through will be paid by the demons themselves.

So, what's stopping you?

"I'm waiting." the rough voice halts your heart rate, muscles gone frigid while your eyes widened, seeing the man in the velvety sheets that was supposed to be asleep stood on his feet.

"Don't move, I won't hesitate to put a bullet through your skull." you warned, not once did you lower the gun in your sweaty palms, but you did took a step back when he tried to close the distance between you two.

He stayed right on his spot, until he sighed and dared to move in your direction despite your threats.

"I said-" you gasped, cutting your sentence short when he swiftly held your hand that is gripping the pistol, only then did you notice how much you were shaking yet his warm touch managed to stabilize you back on earth.

"I'm not an idiot. I knew what you were up to all along." he speaks, straightforward and firm but his gentle tone keeps on burning you, reminding you that he's much more than a revenge to you, "A random girl wouldn't come to me, Nishimura Riki, the heir of the underground, without any ulterior motives."

You managed to let out a scoff, "So you knew what you'll become of after tonight." you tried to sound emotionless, but your quivering lips betray you to no end.

His brown orbs stared right through your soul, and he gave you a light smile when he guided the muzzle right over his chest, the area where his heart beats peacefully. You slowly peered at him when he did the unexpected, the air in your lungs hitching when you saw how the moonlight bathe him in an ethereal glow.

"Remember when I told you that my fate rests in your hands." he whispers lowly, shivers running down your spine when you recollected the promises you both made while you're drowning in smoke and wine.

"Riki.."

One pull of the trigger, so close... you're so close in reaching your dreams. The herculean journey that you trudged alone, even when the soles of your feet were swollen and all your bones were broken beyond mending, the finale is nigh and only a single shot is needed for you to be finally free.

So, what the fuck is stopping you?

"I meant that." he digs the mouth of death deeper into his torso, his thumb caressing your knuckles, he leaned down and you swear you felt him leave a kiss on the crown of your head.

"If burying me six feet under will make you float above the skies then so be it."

taglist

@lilyuwon @ramenoil @itjengirl

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

[piedinthepiper]

Before: Disease ˖ ⊹

Yandere!jimin x bully!reader

Summary: Before everything went down in his doctors office

Warnings: bullying, mention of smut, swearing

Wc: 2.1 k

A/n: someone requested the backstory to disease, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it!

This can be read as both a pt. 1 or pt. 2 to Disease. They can also be read separately, you decide!

Disclaimer: This is 100% fiction. I am in no way saying that this is how any member of bts would act. Nor do I condone the actions detailed in the story. This is purely for entertainment purposes only. If any of the warnings trigger you, or you’re under 18 ¡do not read! I’m not your mother, and I don’t take any accountability for what you decide to read online!

How could you be so perfect? Walking down the halls with your books tucked close to your chest. Talking and casually laughing with one of your friends. You always walked front and center. Like you were the mean girl. But you weren’t. Or you were, but he didn’t mind. You were his mean girl. You were the only reason Jimin hadn’t dropped out of school yet. He actually looked forward to every day now. Knowing that he’d see you. And if he was lucky he would maybe even get to talk to you. Or more you talk to him. Yell at him. Call him names and insult him. That’s what he loved so much about you. Your honesty. Always so straight forward. You were just perfect. Gorgeous. Always in skirts, sometimes they were really short. Not that he looked or anything, he was sure you would kill him if you found that out. But he was a man wasn’t he? What’s wrong about admiring a good pair of legs? You wanted to show them off didn’t you? He wondered if it was for him. If you knew the effect you had on him. The way he would think about you while touching himself. Pretending to fuck you pretty pussy instead of his cold hands. He knew it would happen one day. One day you would realise that the two of you were meant to be. He had known that since the day he met you. He would never forget that day.

“Watch it, nerd.”

The three first words you ever spoke to him. Jimin stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder to see who he bumped into, but also who that angelic voice belonged to. He was met with you. The most beautiful eyes he’s ever looked into. He stood there in awe. Taking in all your features. Eyes trailing up and down your body. Once he reached your eyes again he saw that your perfectly shaped eyebrows were frowning.

“Eww what’s wrong with you?!”

You asked sounding almost disgusted.

“Did you see the way he looked at me? Oh my god.”

You asked your friends who all looked even more disgusted than you.

“You could at least say sorry you know?”

“I- I’m sorry.”

“I- I-. You’re pathetic.”

You mocked him before turning around and walking away.

“Watch where you’re going next time loser.”

One of your friends added before she joined the rest. He didn’t care for your friends. All he could think about was you. Your words who were supposed to hurt him, had another impact. All he wanted to hear was your voice again.

Three years later his feelings were still the same. Your bond had only grown stronger after that eventful day. Your relationship had become a daily thing, and he couldn’t be more happy.

“God you’re such a nerd.”

You said as you sat down opposite of him, throwing your bag onto the floor next to you. He was studying for the next science exam in the library, one of the places he never thought he’d meet you. Not that he didn’t think you read or anything. It just didn’t suit you. You were too gorgeous to be surrounded by yellowing walls and cheap plastic chairs.

“Y/n!”

He said your name a little too excited, and was met with yet another disgusted facial expression.

“Anyways… you’re going to help me.”

You said.

“Sure. I’ll help you.”

You scoffed at his answer.

“It wasn’t a question.”

You added mockingly.

“You see, I need to pass the science exam. And the only one I know that has a miserable enough life to even care about science is you.”

He tried his best to hide his growing smile. You addressed him as someone you know. You think about him!

“I can make you pass.”

“You better.”

You got up from the chair and brushed off imaginary dust from your skirt.

“When you’re finished you’ll switch papers with me. I’ll make sure we’re seated next to each other.”

He was too busy checking out your figure to even comprehend what you were saying at that moment. You snapped your fingers at him.

“Hello? Stop fucking looking at me, freak.”

You said, and brought him back from his thoughts. That’s when he understood the reality of your words. If he switched papers with you he would fail, and he couldn’t put his career at risk. No matter how much he loved you.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

He stated and looked up at you, scared of what you would say next. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Again, it wasn’t a question.”

He got up from his chair when he saw you were about to turn around and leave.

“Seriously, y/n. I can’t fail. I won’t get into-“

“Blah blah blah. Does it look like I care? You’ll do as I say.”

You interrupted him. He gulped at your tone, sometimes you could be really scary.

“But-“

“Listen here, dumbass.”

You suddenly reached over the table and grabbed him by his collar.

“How hard is it to get into your thick skull, huh?You don’t want to know what I’ll do if you don’t do as I say. Alright?”

He nodded carefully, and you let him go. You stayed bent over the table though. Jimin couldn’t help but look at your prominent cleavage. You slowly moved your hand to his face, he was ready to feel the embrace of your hand. He closed his eyes waiting for the moment, but was met with the sudden feeling of his glasses being slipped off his nose. He looked at you again, confused.

“Take this as a warning.”

You said coldly and threw the glasses on the grown. Thankfully they didn’t break. But the feeling of relief suddenly stopped as he watched your foot stomp down onto them. The sound of broken glass was heard through the library. He let out a little gasp.

“See you in a week.”

You said before you walked away, swaying your hips as you exited the library. What the fuck was he going to do?

He knew he had to help you. He didn’t want to end up with a broken nose, even if it meant you would put your hands on him. Besides he’d do anything to help you succeed. Maybe he would even get a thank you? He thought, bringing the science book even closer to his face. You had broken his glasses, a bit unnecessary in his opinion, but he won’t question your judgment. In order to study he had to have the book so close to his face he could feel it brush against his nose. He had come up with a plan though. If he studied even harder he could be able to finish your test super quick, and then he could just fill out the same answers on his own. It was his only option. So now he sat in his dark room with only the small table lamp lit. Book in his face as he desperately tried to remember everything for the exam.

He walked into the classroom, mentally going through all the information he read the night before. He saw you in the back. A finger twirling your gorgeous shiny hair as you looked him up and down. The sight alone was enough for his pants to tighten. He moved his textbooks down to his hips so you wouldn’t see the effect you had on him.

“Nice glasses.”

You sarcastically said. Giving him an evil smile. He pushed his new glasses higher up on his nose as he sat down beside you.

“Not even a thank you? How rude you are, Jimin.”

He almost moaned out loud when he heard his name fall from your lips. You rarely used his name, so whenever he was lucky enough to hear it from you he would usually have to go to the toilet and jerk off. If only you knew what you did to him.

“I’m sorry.”

He mumbled. You just scoffed at him before crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair to listen to the teacher who started speaking.

The exam went great. He had to spend a few minutes on erasing your scribbles on his sheet. It wouldn’t be appropriate to hand in an exam with “nerd” written all over it. But it went well, you didn’t get caught and both of you would get a good grade. He couldn’t be more happy. Until he saw you approaching him. He was sat outside, eating his lunch in his usual spot. You would always eat with the rest of the popular people inside. You would never eat outside in a secluded area on the ground, that’s just not you. You wouldn’t hide, like he did. So he knew you didn’t come to join him. He quickly swallowed before you were able to talk to him. Ready to hear whatever you had to say. But you walked right passed him. He followed you and your friends with his gaze as he saw the three of you heading to the parking lot. He realised that he wouldn’t get a thank you, that he wouldn’t even get to talk to you after he just saved your ass.

“Stand up.”

He suddenly heard your voice coming from right beside him. He looked up to find you with your hands on your hips. A displeased look painted your face. Again, he swallowed before standing up.

“You fucking creep!”

You yelled at him before delivering a harsh slap to his face. He couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. He reached for his cheek that had already turned red. He looked at you and found your face was in pure shock. Did he really moan that loudly?

“Did he just-“

He heard one of your friends whisper to the other. His blood went cold, he had never been so embarrassed in his entire life. Your mouth turned slowly into a devilish smile.

“How fucking pathetic was that?”

You started laughing, and your friends followed. He tried to make himself smaller. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“I’m s-sorry.”

He stuttered out and looked down at the ground. To his horror he found out that his pants was definitely bulging as well. He crossed his hands quickly over the area, not wanting to be tormented yet again. But it was too late. You looked him up and down.

“Please, don’t tell me you have a boner.”

You let out a small laugh, a “eww” was heard from your friend. You stepped closer to him. So close that his back had to press up against the concrete wall. You looked him deep in the eyes, your smile turning into a smirk. God, he felt like coming just from you being so close. Smelling your perfume and feeling your hands on his chest. His breathing rapidly increased.

“Do you think I’m hot, Jimin?”

You whispered to him. It took a few seconds for him to comprehend what you were saying. Too focused on the feeling of your manicured hands on him. Eventually he desperately he nodded.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

You asked with a small laugh. He couldn’t believe his ears. Was this his chance? Was this the moment he finally got you? He nodded yet again. You tsked at him as he felt your sharp nail tracing his cheekbone.

“Use your words.”

You said.

“Y/n, what the fuck are you doing?”

He heard one of your friends say from behind you. He didn’t look at her, only taking you in. He couldn’t believe this.

“Shut up!”

You quickly looked at your friend. Warning her in a mean tone. You turned back to him. Finding his dark eyes.

“Jimin was just about to say something.”

He couldn’t even remember his own name in the moment. Every single one of his senses was filled with you. He feared he would actually orgasm soon if you didn’t back off.

“Please- Y/n. Yes, I want to fuck you so bad!”

He begged. Almost yelling at you out of desperation. In the next moment you were laughing. He didn’t understand what he did that was so funny. Maybe he had been a little too forward, but you didn’t seem to care about that in the first place.

“Oh god. You’re almost cute.”

You said as your fit of laughter came to a stop. You stepped away from him, crossing your arms.

“I would never ever fuck you, pervert.”

Your tone turned from sensual to mean right away. His heart dropped to his stomach as your friends laughed at him.

“You’re so dumb! You really thought you had a chance with me! I wouldn’t even blow you.”

Yet again he felt like he wanted to disappear. How could you be so evil? So absolutely heartless? In that moment he realised what he had to do. He was going to get his revenge one day. Just you wait.

——————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! Do you want to read more?

Masterlist

[hannahssimblr]

“What?”

“I said, you tore me out of this photo. I was there too,” I unpin it and hold it out to point to the crooked edge next to Jen where my eleven year old self once stood, tanned and grinning in red swimming shorts, “There, I was there.”

She looks at it, then me, but says nothing. 

“You can still see my shoulder.”

“Yeah.”

“You tore me out of it.”

Again, nothing. 

I let my arm drop, limply holding the photo between two fingers, speechless I just stare at her as though she might explain herself, give me some reason that makes sense, but she doesn’t, she just stands there chewing on her lip. 

I tug my shoulders sharply toward my ears, “Why did you do that? That was a nice day. We went swimming in the sea, I rescued you from a jellyfish, remember? I grabbed a piece of driftwood and flung it out of the water for you.”

“Yeah,”

“And later your mam brought us back to my house and we had a water fight on the lawn and made ice cream and coke floats,” I hold the photo out to her in a last ditch appeal, “It was a great day.”

“Yeah it was nice, we had fun.” She won’t meet my eyes and looks everywhere but at me, like acknowledgement is unbearable.

“What, Michelle? I don’t get it. What did I do that was so horrible?”

She scoffs and turns away. 

“C’mon, just tell me. I’ve had enough of all this bullshit between us, I’m serious. What is it?”

“Oh come on.”

“No, what?” I toss the photo onto her desk and approach her, my hand on her arm makes her flinch as I spin her to look at me, eyes livid, as I insist upon her, “What?” 

“My God, you’re awful,” she hisses, “Why do you need to hear me saying it? Is it an ego thing? Is it because you’re all single and sad again?”

“What are you on about?”

“You already know what this is all about, it just gives you a thrill to bring it up.”

“No! I don’t know!”

“Oh cop on,” She slaps my hand off her, “That stuff with Holly, you just don’t remember? That’s convenient.”

“Holly?”

“Oh my God,” she tries to twist away from me but I stop her, “What did Holly say to you?”

Michelle glares right into my face with a fury that would make a lesser man cower, but I don’t budge. “Tell me!” 

“That you don’t fancy me,” she grinds out, “and that I’m not even pretty.”

I hesitate. 

She tosses her hand at me and hacks out a laugh, “See, you don’t even deny it.”

“Yeah, I was thirteen and stupid, she was jealous and I suppose I was just telling her what she wanted to hear. Shell!” she backs off and I follow, trying to insert myself into her eye line, “I didn’t mean it, she just didn’t get it, the way it wasn’t like that between us, but I don’t know why she told you that.”

“It’s because she knew I fancied you, and she thought it was funny how you didn’t fancy me back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You didn’t, you fancied Holly.” 

I sigh, “Holly was… everyone expected that of me.”

“What does that even mean?” 

“She liked me, and she was the sort of girl that all the other boys talked about all the time, I felt like I should just go out with her because it’d be the most normal thing to do.”

“Oh my God, that’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know, but I was still a kid and, I don’t know, you, Jen and I had a good thing going, I just didn’t want to risk ruining it.”

“Well obviously you did, by saying I was ugly and throwing your birthday gifts back in my face.”

“I never said you were ugly, and the birthday gifts… she told me I couldn’t have them because they were from you, but I still liked them! Those pens were better than her gift, you know, I didn’t even like the movie she took me to see,” my attempt at a laugh sounds very weird and tight, “It was actually so shit.”

Michelle is unmoved, with her arms crossed over her chest she says, “You read what I said in the card and you still threw it away like it was nothing.”

“No, I didn’t- I skimmed- I barely read it.”

She reels back like I’ve spit in her face, “Is that supposed to be better?”

I don’t answer. 

“‘Dear Jude,’” She recites, “‘Happy thirteenth birthday! I hope you have an amazing day! I just want to say that being your friend is the best! You’re so nice and funny and talented, I’m glad all of the time that you started going to our school because you make our friend group so much better. I hope you like the gel pens, I know you hate drawing with yellow colours because they don’t show up on the page, but I couldn’t exactly take it out of the packet or it would look pretty strange! Maybe you can use them to draw more comics. I look at the one you drew for me with the cowboy cats every day and it still makes me laugh. Is that weird? I hope not. Anyway, I hope you have an amazing birthday because you’re an amazing friend! xxx Michelle.’” She glares at me. The way she positively spat that message at me threw me off a bit, but the essence of it still comes across and makes my stomach sink with shame all of the same. It really was a nice card, and I wish for the millionth time in my seventeen-and-a-half years that I wasn’t such a fucking idiot. 

“I remember the cowboy cat comic,” I mutter, “Do you still have it?”

It seems as though my stupidity is confounding her, “No, I fucked it into the bin. Obviously. I was heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken?” A bit dramatic, surely. 

“Yeah. Holly and her friends bullied me for years, and you just went and abandoned me for them.”

“That’s not fair, I didn’t. You pushed me away, remember? You accused me of choosing them, I never chose them. You chose not to be my friend.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“So stubborn. You can't let this go.”

“Uh! Yeah! Because it’s humiliating.”

“What is? That you fancied me?”

She brings her hands to her cheeks, burning not with rage, but embarrassment. She takes a shaky breath, “did you know?”

“About you-”

“Yes.”

I chew on my lip. Of course I did. It was written all over her, the way she was so eager to sit next to me in class or in the car, squeezing into the middle seat just so that her leg could rest against mine. How she jumped at the chance to help me out with something before anybody else could, her laugh, a little bit harder and longer than everyone else's when I told a joke, but not addressing it was always easier. Maybe I liked the attention a little bit, enjoyed being admired by a cute girl, or maybe it was easier, less disruptive than admitting my own uncomfortable, friendship-group-ruining feelings. 

“No, I had no idea,” I say. 

Her eyes are fixed upon the carpet between our feet as though by looking so intently at the looped fibres she can transport herself anywhere other than here with me and my interrogations. 

“Hey, look at me.”

“No.”

I sigh, “Look, Michelle, I did think you were pretty. That’s why Holly was so jealous. Our friendship made her insecure, and she hated how much I liked hanging out with you. She could sense that I liked you.”

“Oh, come on, that’s the kind of thing you say to those stupid girls at school so that they’ll let you borrow their homework or something.”

“I really did!”

“You used to throw potato wedges at me outside the deli!”

“Yeah! That’s how you show a girl you fancy her when you’re twelve!”

Her laugh is humourless, “Please.”

“I’m telling you I did,” I take her wrist, with her pulse jumping under my fingers and hold her like that, for reasons I’m not sure of, perhaps just for connection. Close like this I can feel the heat of her body. I am desperate to show her how serious I am. “And if I wasn’t so stupid I might have done something about it.”

“Too late.”

“It’s not.”

I bend and kiss her before she can argue any more. Once, just once, but insistently, and I pull back hard with a smack expecting outrage on her face but I find only surprise, desire, and eyes that flick from my eyes to my mouth and back. I kiss her again, slow this time, deep, sure, as my hands hold her hips close to mine, willing for this kiss to wipe it all away, all of the years of hurt and anguish between us, and she lets me kiss her, and she kisses me back with hands that thread through my hair and lips that part so I can slide my tongue inside her mouth.

My knees knock against hers in our clumsy waltz towards her bed and we come down on it together, my body pressing against hers and my fingers finding the warm skin beneath her t-shirt. I draw back to look at her again, dark eyes and full lips and skin, as is mine, blushed amber with the first rays of dawn that stream through the window. 

“Do you want to stop?” I say, and she shakes her head. 

“No.”

And outside, as the sun creeps up over Clontarf, the branches of the cherry blossom trees hold their leafy arms up in surrender. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[hbyrde36]

for @penny00dreadful

Ch 1 Ch 2 <-

Chapter 3: The Emerald City

WC: 3580 | Ch 3/4 | AO3 <-

Steve woke up to snowflakes tickling his nose, and the familiar sound of Robin rambling.

No, not Robin, The Scarecrow, he reminded himself as he blinked his eyes open, because they were still stuck in Oz trying to get back home. 

He never thought he’d be so desperate to see Hawkins again. 

Wait—snowflakes?

“Oh, it does help! Look, they're waking up!” The Scarecrow cheered. “Steve, Eddie, Lion?! Are you alright?”

“Unusual weather we’re having.” The Lion muttered, letting out a huge yawn to Steve's left.

To his right, where he still faced—where their hands were still laced together between their bodies because neither of them had let go even in sleep—Eddie began to stir.

“Steve?”

Steve sat up, pulling Eddie up along with him and into his arms, crushing the other boy to his chest. The snowfall slowed to a stop as they held each other.

Eddie pulled back, running his hands up and down Steve’s shoulders, arms, and chest, as if he was searching him for wounds, before they found their way to Steve’s face, gently wiping away the wetness left behind by the melting snow. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked.

Steve stared back at him, feeling lightheaded and a little breathless, unsure if it was due to the poppies or the way Eddie was handling him like he was something precious. ”I think so, w–what about you?”

“Better now.” Eddie smiled, tilting his head as he fully cupped Steve’s cheek. 

The touch was warm and gentle, and the look in Eddie’s eyes so tender that Steve couldn’t help turning away to blush—the butterflies waging assault in his stomach returning with a vengeance.

The move had him looking back at the others for the first time, and while The Scarecrow was helping The Lion to his feet, The Tin Woman stood behind them, frozen. 

“Damn, the snow—it’s got her rusted again.”

Eddie pushed himself to his feet and offered Steve a hand up. He teetered for a second on the heels, forgetting for a moment that he was even wearing them, but quickly righted himself, and together they searched through the tall flowers until they found the oil can—getting right to work on the Tin Woman’s many joints. 

“Do you think it really was the snow that woke us up?” Steve said, passing the can over to Eddie so he could get the other side of their new friend.

Eddie nodded, pursing his lips as he glanced at the clouds above with suspicion. “I think it’s likely that Glinda had something to do with it. Like maybe she’s been watching us.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He didn’t blame Eddie for being wary after everything they’d been through, but he couldn't help wanting to trust The Good Witch. Maybe it was only because she looked like Joyce, but he was pretty sure she was a genuinely good person. 

“We should get out of this field quickly then, before it all melts, and not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Y’know, I never understood that expression. I mean, it’s ridiculous! Why a horse? Who is looking in a horse’s mouth anyways? And what the fuck does any of it have to do with gift receiving?!”

The short speech had the air of an old Eddie Munson lunch table tirade, and Steve had to stifle a laugh. “I don't know, never really thought about it I guess.”

After one last treatment of oil to her knee, The Tin Woman was good to go, quickly thanking them before rushing off to check on The Lion. Steve shook his head as he watched them together, supposing some things were the same in every universe. 

-

Once they got moving again it didn’t take long to reach the front gates of The Emerald City. Unfortunately, they were locked up tight with no one around and nothing indicating a way to proceed save for a bit of rope hanging next to the entrance. 

After examining it for a moment Eddie shrugged, and pulled, setting off the ringing of a bell. 

A hidden window cut into the thick doors burst open above their heads, revealing a guard in a tall fuzzy green hat, who looked suspiciously like Steve’s ex-best friend, Tommy Hagan, though he knew better by now than to think it actually was.

“Who’s out here ringing that damn bell!”

“Uh–” Steve’s eyes slid sideways, sharing a confused look with Eddie before reaching his arm up high to wave in front of the guy’s face. “We are? Can’t you see us?”

“Of course I can see you.” The guard looked down his nose. “Can’t you read?”

“Read what?” Steve asked.

“The notice!”

Eddie threw his hands up. “What notice?”

The guard looked all around, heaving a put-upon sigh before reaching somewhere behind him, producing a sign that he strung up without a word before ducking away, slamming his little window closed.

“Bell out of order, please knock.” The Tin Woman read aloud.

“Sounded like it worked just fine to me.” Eddie grumbled.

“Stop screwing around and let us in, man!” Steve shouted.

The Tin Woman squeezed past them and rapped her knuckles against the gate three times. “Let's just play their game so we can get inside.” 

The little window popped back open immediately, though the guard looked no less annoyed. “That’s more like it! Now, what do you want?”

“We’re here to see The Wizard.” Steve said.

“The Wizard?” The guard scoffed. “No one gets to see the Great Oz, even I’ve never seen him!”

“Then how do you know there is one?” The Scarecrow asked.

“Well b-b-because,” he stuttered. “It doesn't matter! Get lost, you’re wasting my time.”

“But the Good Witch of the North sent us!”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Steve looked at each of his companions, scrambling for any idea of what might serve as proof, when suddenly Eddie perked up, snapping his fingers. “The shoes! He’s wearing the ruby slippers she gave him!”

The guard leaned over the edge of his cubby hole to look, gasping when he set eyes on Steve’s feet, and completely changed his tune. “Oh, well alright then! Why didn’t you say that in the first place? That's a horse of a different color! Of course you can come in!”

“Enough with the horse metaphors already!” Eddie huffed.

The Scarecrow tilted her head. “I think it’s less of a metaphor and more of an idiom.” 

Eddie scowled. “I thought you didn’t have a brain, Scarecrow?”

The gigantic doors that served as gates to the city finally swung open, granting them entrance to a grand center, where people of all shapes and sizes, dressed in various shades of vibrant green, bustled about.

The guard reappeared to shake Steve’s hand, having come down from his perch, and was now joined by a female guard that resembled—who else—Carol Perkins. Just like their real world counterparts, now that Steve had proved himself to be someone important, they seemed more than happy to be associated—with him at least. 

“So, The Wizard?” Eddie prompted.

“Not so fast.” The female guard said, looking Eddie up and down with clear disdain. “I think we’d better take you someplace to clean up a bit first.”

Steve opened his mouth to tell her where she could shove her attitude, but Eddie spoke first.

“Thanks, but no thanks. We don't have time for a makeover montage. Take us to The Wizard, or—“

“Or what?” 

The one who looked like Tommy puffed up his chest, and Steve had officially had enough. He stepped between the guard and Eddie, jabbing him hard in the chest. “Hey buddy, we’ve fought monsters, okay? We can take two stuck up dickheads, so I suggest you back off and take us where we want to go.”

The guard cast his eyes around nervously. They were starting to draw the attention of passers by now. “Fine, follow me.” 

As the pair led their group across the square, Steve finally let himself relax enough to take a good look around. He marveled at the floor, so dark green it looked almost black, and buffed to such a high shine that he could see his reflection in it as they walked. 

As usual, they didn't get far before something went wrong. 

Frantic whispers broke out amongst the crowd, with many citizens pointing up into the air with worried expressions, making them all stop in their tracks to look up too, just as the words: Surrender Steve & Eddie, began to appear, written in the sky with black smoke.

“Shit.” Eddie cursed.

“It’s The Wicked Witch, she followed us here.” Steve said.

The scattered whispers raised to shouts as everyone around them started wondering aloud who this mysterious Steve and Eddie were. 

“The wizard will explain it!” Someone hollered nearby, prompting many folks to start rushing towards a certain set of doors, similar to the front gates of the city but on a slightly smaller scale.

Steve glanced around, unsurprised to find that their guides, the Tommy and Carol look-alikes, had abandoned them. “What should we do?”

“Follow the crowd,” Eddie rushed out. “We still need to see The Wizard, and they’ll lead us right to him.”

Somehow they managed to push their way to the front of the gathering mass, only to encounter yet another guard with a familiar face and mane of very long dark hair addressing the crowd.

“Okay, my dudes. Just stay calm, it’s alright! The Great and Powerful Oz has everything under control. Just, uh, go on home and chill out or whatever.”

While the inhabitants of the Emerald City dispersed, taking the guard at his word, Steve, Eddie, and their companions continued to approach.

“We need to see The Wizard, right away.” Steve said.

The guard shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, brochacho, but no one gets in to see The Wizard.”

“But they’re Steve and Eddie!” The Tin Woman said.

“Woah, the Witch’s Steve and Eddie?”

Steve wanted to scream—who else could they possibly mean?! But he held back, knowing it wouldn’t do them any good to piss off the guy who stood between them, and the one person in this insane place that could get them home. 

“Holy macaroni, that does make a difference! Wait here.” With a swish of his hair the guard was gone around the corner. 

Steve barely had enough time to wonder how long they’d have to wait, before the guy was back, and he couldn’t quite decide if the quick turnaround time was a good sign or a bad one.

“Okay dudes, good news or bad news?”

The question didn’t bode well, and Steve knew exactly what Eddie would say before he said it.

“Bad news first, always.”

The guard sighed. “The wizard said, and I quote: go away.”

“But–”

“The good news is,” the guard carried on, lowering his voice to a loud whisper, “I heard a field of poppies appeared right outside of the city. Care to partake in a little magical shut eye with a new friend—that’s me—on this fine afternoon?”

Steve turned away before the guy was even done speaking, stalking off to sit on a nearby curb. He’d had enough magical sleep in his life, thank you very much, enough times of falling unconscious only to wake up not knowing where he was. He was done with this shit, it was supposed to be over!

When they defeated Vecna and the Upside Down was destroyed, he thought it was finally his turn for happiness, or at the very least some peace—some normalcy. 

But now? 

Now he was stuck here in this place, he and Eddie both. They’d done what The Good Witch said, traveled all this way, only made it there by the skin of their teeth, and now The Wizard wouldn't even see them?! 

He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. 

Steve dropped his head into his hands, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, and felt the air shift as someone knelt down in front of him. He knew it was Eddie without having to look, the smell of cigarettes wafting over him, and something else, something warm and woodsy and distinctly Eddie, faintly under that. 

“We’re never gonna get back are we?” Steve cried into his palms. “I’ll never get to see Robin again—and Wayne?! God, he must be worried sick about you already. And the kids? We won’t get to see them finish high school, and–”

Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrists, gently prying his hands away from his face. “Hey, Stevie. Look at me, please?”

He did. 

He looked up because Eddie had asked, but gazing into those dark soulful eyes did nothing to halt his tears. “I just wanted to get us home.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Eddie leaned in, resting his forehead against Steve’s as he took a deep breath. “And I miss everyone too, but let’s not give up hope just yet. We’ve beaten worse odds than this, haven't we?”

Steve sniffled, and despite it all felt his lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. Because Eddie was right. They were alive, and they had each other, and that was more than enough reason to still have hope. 

“You know what, man?” The guard called out, looking a little misty eyed himself. “Let me see what I can do, because that was the sweetest shit I’ve ever seen, and love like that shouldn’t go unrewarded. How long have you two been a couple?”

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat as he was forcibly reminded that they were not alone, and how close they now were. He pulled back reflexively, sputtering, “oh, um, well–”

Eddie shook his head, smiling as he rose to his feet to face the guard, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s not, um—w-we’re just friends.”

The guard looked between them for a moment, mouth agape. “Really?”

“Is that… is that allowed here? Two men?” Steve heard himself ask.

“Your Tin lady and Lion friend over there have been making goo-goo eyes at each other this whole time and no one cared, of course it’s allowed! What kind of silly question is that?”

“I guess they don’t have homophobia in Oz either.” Steve said quietly, glancing up at Eddie, who was now eyeing him curiously.

“Okay, well, a friendship like that shouldn't go unrewarded either—so!” 

With a grin, and a nod, the guard ducked away again, and just like the gates out front, the doors to the Wizard’s chambers swung open wide.

For the third time since they landed in this strange place, Steve looked up to find Eddie’s hand already reaching out to help him stand, and as he had each time before, he took it readily, a warmth settling in his chest along with the knowledge that Eddie would always pick him up when he needed it. 

This time, when he was back on his feet, Steve didn’t let go, and with their fingers entwined, he and Eddie rushed over to rejoin their friends.

The five of them set off through the doorway together, walking down a long dark hallway that spilled them out into a throne room, of sorts. Except there wasn’t a throne sitting on the raised dais, or if it was, it was unlike any throne Steve had ever imagined before, with the visage of a giant glowing head floating behind it, the whole scene flanked by two columns of fire. 

“Come forward.” A deep voice boomed like thunder, echoing throughout the room.

Steve gripped Eddie’s hand tighter as they all took a step forward. He kept trying to get a better look at what he assumed to be the Wizard, but between the flames and the occasional bursts of smoke that came from nowhere, it was impossible to get a clear view. 

“I am Oz, the great and powerful. Who are you?”

Steve gulped, beginning to sweat from the heat and nerves. “We’re Steve and Eddie, uh, sir, and we’ve come to ask you—”

“Silence! The Great and Powerful Oz knows why you all have come.”

“If he already knew, then why did he ask who we were?!” Eddie ground out between clenched teeth.

Steve agreed with him actually, but shushed him anyway. 

“And, I have every intention of granting your requests, but first you must prove yourselves worthy by performing a small task.”

“Oh! Like, a side quest?” Eddie blurted out. 

“Bring me the broomstick of The Wicked Witch of the West,” the voice went on as if it hadn’t been interrupted. 

The Scarecrow sucked in a breath. “But, we’d probably have to kill her to get it!”

“Are we sure about this?” The Tin Woman asked.

The Lion ducked his head. “I don’t know how much help I'll be.”

“I mean, me and Steve—” Eddie bit his lip. “We’ve killed before.”

“Those were monsters though, this is—”

“Enough!” The voice roared, effectively cutting Steve off and ending their debate. “I have spoken. Now go! Bring it to me and I’ll give you what you want.”

-

In one last act of kindness, the guard who looked like Argyle led them back out of the city and put them on the road to The Witch’s castle, though only after trying to talk them out of it at least a dozen times. 

It was dark, night having fallen while they were busy trying to see the wizard, and the woods they now walked through were even creepier than The Lion’s. 

The path ahead was unclear at first, and Steve worried they might be lost until they came upon a sign.

Haunted Forest. Witch’s Castle 1 mile.

If only all bad guys gave you clear concise directions.

However the sign also said—I'd turn back if I were you—which did nothing to boost morale.

Honestly, Steve wasn’t really afraid of The Witch, they’d gone head-to-head against much scarier things than her, actual magic aside, but that was part of the problem. When you got past the green skin, she looked so human. He didn’t think he had it in him to hurt her unless she was actively trying to end their lives. 

Maybe he could charm her into giving the broomstick up?

They followed the sign and ventured deeper and deeper into the woods, the eerie quiet only broken by the occasional owl hooting from their perch in the trees. 

The Scarecrow swallowed hard. “You don’t think those owls have rabies, do you?”

“Not them, as far as I can tell, but what about those things?!” The Lion’s voice shook as he pointed up into the sky, what they could see of it between the trees.

Now that he saw them, Steve could also hear them, an army of winged creatures that seemed to be heading their way, emitting the oddest screeching sounds. 

His eyes quickly found Eddie’s, and he saw all the blood drained from the other boy’s face. Logically, he knew it couldn’t be the same creatures that had injured him and come so close to ending Eddie's life, that dimension was gone now and these things were far too big to be those, but the incoming attack was all too reminiscent of a demobat swarm.

“Run!” Steve shouted, grabbing Eddie with both hands and pushing him into action, their fellow travelers rushing along behind. They needed to get away—far and fast. 

It didn't take long to realize they were fucked. 

They had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and their pursuers were too swift to outpace. In the blink of an eye Eddie was airborne, grabbed from above by a pair of small hands. Steve reared back, digging his heels into the dirt, desperate to keep his hold on Eddie's hand. 

Now that one of the things was up close and personal, Steve finally got a look at what they were dealing with, and couldn't believe it. 

Flying monkeys. 

Of course this fucking place would have flying monkeys.

And of course they worked for The Wicked Witch. 

The Scarecrow screamed, loud and terrified, and Steve could do nothing but watch in horror as two of the winged primates ripped her apart limb by limb, her straw flying everywhere, spreading out around her.

“No!” Steve sobbed, wanting to go to her, to try and help, but he could not let go of Eddie. 

At least she had The Tin Woman and The Lion by her side.

Eddie shouted as a second monkey joined the first in their little game of tug-o-war, this one gripping him tightly by the hair, but he wasn’t screaming for help, no, he was screaming at Steve to let go—to save himself. 

Like Steve would ever leave him behind. 

He snarled, doubling his efforts until suddenly his own feet lifted off the ground. 

The monkeys had a hold of him now too, one on each arm. They lifted, and tugged, and pulled, and Eddie was wrenched from his grasp. Steve tried to fight the creatures off at first but quickly gave in, realizing that at least this way he and Eddie would wind up in the same place… probably.

On the bright side, now that they had what they’d come for, all the monkeys seemed to be leaving, following the ones who carried Steve and Eddie to their destination.

Steve just hoped the others had gotten away, that they were alright, and that they would take care of The Scarecrow and put her back together again. 

Chapter 4

Thanks again to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for all your help with this!

[hikarry]

So, I was rewatching season 1 and got stuck in that scene between Shadwell and Aziraphale in the bookshop.

What if Aziraphale never stepped into the circle? What if the fire never really happened?

Imagine:

Shadwell is lost in his shenanigans, ready to banish Aziraphale to whatever place witchfinders banish witches, and Aziraphale is slowly walking backward.

"Oh, but this is utterly ridiculous." He stops on his tracks, looking Shadwell in the eye. "I'm sorry, good man, but I have no time for whatever silliness is happening right now. If you don't mind, I have an Armageddon to stop." Aziraphale snaps his fingers, and Shadwell disappears, reapearing a few streets over at the other side of Soho. There surely he wouldn't get in the way.

Careful not to step on the active circle, Aziraphale leaves the bookshop and flags down the first cab he sees. The driver stops right in front of the bookshop, and he gets in, giving him Crowley's address in Mayfair.

The last time he called, the demon was home, so that's exactly where Aziraphale hoped he remained. With a bit of luck, he hadn't left for Alpha Centauri... Now that he thought about it, he mentioned having an old friend over? As far as he knew, he himself was the only friend Crowley had, so that statmebt now sounded like a load of nonsense. But whatever. He just needed to speak with Crowley, old friend present or not. Heaven clearly wanted the war to happen, and he had been naive to think they would see reason. The only chance the Earth had of surviving now was the angel and Crowley. He could only pray it wasn't too late and Crowley wasn't gone. He knew where the Anti-Christ was, after all. They could stop this!

When the cab stopped on the street of Crowley's building, Aziraphale paid his fare and threw a quick blessing in the driver's direction for his speed and efficiency before crossing the street and entering the complex.

He had been to Crowley's flat once or twice in the last 20 years. All he had to do was go through the entrance, get on the lift to the last floor, and walk down the corridor towards the last door. And that's exactly what he did, always fiddling with his fingers in a show of the nervous energy that seemed to take over him. They were running out of time. The end of the world would occur any minute now, and Crowley needed to be home. They still had to drive all the way to Tadfield's airbase, and the clock was tickling rather ominously inside his head.

Finally in front of the door to Crowley's flat, he knocked. A few seconds passed with no response, and he decided to knock again, stronger now, but he got exactly the same result.

Aziraphale looked around the hallway, taking a deep breath and smoothing his waistcoat, considering his options.

"Crowley?" He ended up knocking again. "Crowley, we need to talk!" Silence. "I know you're cross with me after our last conversation, but you were right. I talked to the Metatron. And they want the war. As I told you on the phone, I know where the antichrist is, and it would be very nice of you if you opened the door so we could get a wiggle on and stop the Apocalypse." Once again, he was met with silence.

Was it possible? Did Crowley actually leave for Alpha Centauri? He was here minutes ago! He couldn't have left already, right?

Oh, bless it all. He wasn't going to waste any more time.

With a final deep breath, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the door unlocked. He opened it slightly, peering inside.

"Crowley? I'm sorry If I'm intruding but this matter is rather urgent." All he got in return was silence. Not a single noise from the demon himself or the so called old friend.

He pushed the remainder of the door open and stepped inside, silently closing it behind him. He looked at the living room, but it was empty of any living soul, apart from the plants on the far wall.

"Crowley?"

Aziraphale called again, now walking towards the office to the left. The door was slightly ajar already, so he spied inside. It looked empty, but he walked in regardless, almost stepping on a pile of goo right there in front of the floor.

"What the...?" He looked down, stepping over the weird substance.

It smelled weirdly of sulfur and...was that Holy Water?

His head snapped to the desk, where he found the thermos he had given Crowley back in the 60s, the cap unscrewed by its side.

Suddenly, he felt his heart stop, and his veins turn into ice. His body gave an involuntary step back away from the smudge, his back hitting the throne as he lifted a now trembling hand to cover his mouth.

No. This couldn't be happening. He would-! Crowley certainly wouldnt-!

A sob escaped his throat as his whole body started shaking.

Oh lord. This was a nightmare. It could only be a nightmare. This wasn't real. Couldn't possibly be real.

Oh Crowley...

Aziraphale's legs failed him, and he ended up on the floor, back leaning against the side of the ridiculous throne Crowley liked so much. Not that he would like anything ever again because he was gone. Crowley was gone. And it was Aziraphale's fault. He was the one who gave him the cursed thermos against his better judgment. And now all his fears were laid bare right in front of his eyes.

Another sob escaped him and he let the heartache take charge, spilling warm tears down his cheeks.

Crowley was gone. The Apocalypse was coming and Crowley was gone. Not to Alpha Centauri but actually gone. Utterly destroyed. And all that remained of his best friend was an unidentifiable goo. Not a trace of Crowley remained.

He hugged himself, hanging his head low, letting the tears fall on his crossed arms and allowing the wretched sobs to take over. He couldn't bear to look at it a second longer. The smell of sulfur and Holy Water was starting to get nauseating.

Well, contrary to popular belief, Crowley was actually very much alive, speeding through the streets on London in the direction of the bookshop. He parked in his usual place and snapped his finger to open the doors of the building.

"Aziraphale?" He looked around, quickly spotting the active circle. Lifting an eyebrow above his sunglasses, he carefully walked towards it, still searching for any trace of the angel. "Aziraphale, are you here?"

The circle was still active with holy energy, so no one had actually stepped through it, and Aziraphale was clearly not in the bookshop, so where could he possibly be?

With a sigh, Crowley turned around and went back to the Bentley. He drove around Soho for a bit, trying to spot some blond curls in the crowd but falling short of success.

"Aziraphale, where the bloody hell are you?" He muttered to himself, carefully scanning the streets, until he gave up, changing his course back to Mayfair.

He needed to regroup. Without knowing where Aziraphale was and without the information on the antichrist he apparently had, Crowley needed to think.

He made his way back to his flat without paying much attention. When he noticed, he was already unlocking the door with his key and stepping inside. And, as soon as he did so, he heard it. Sobs coming from the office. That was...bizarre. Could it be Hastur? Had he figured out a way to leave the answering machine, and now he was crying over Ligur? Crowley almost laughed at himself with such a thought. Hastur? Crying? Now, that would be a sight he would pay to see.

Still, in the name of caution, he slowly made his way to the office, trying to be as silent as possible, when he quickly spotted the angel he had been looking for throught the wide open door, sitting on the floor besides the throne, arms around himself and face hidden while his whole body shook and heartbreaking sobs escaped his vocal chords.

Carefully and confused, he approached, stopping short of the door.

"...Angel?"

Aziraphale's head snapped up, staring at him with wide eyes, his face marked by tears.

"...Crowley?"

"Yeah." He slowly walked his way to the angel, careful not to step on Ligur, squatting in front of him. "Are you alright? What happened?"

He was still staring at him with clear confusing in his eyes, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly until he finally appeared to have found his voice again:

"You-! The-!" Aziraphale's body trembled, looking over Crowley's shoulder and then back at the demon. "You...you're gone!"

Crowley raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

"I just went to the bookshop searching for you, but when I arrived you weren't there already." Aziraphale shook his head, some more tears escaping his eyes along with a single sob. "Hey, hey." Crowley placed his hands on his shoulders, squeezing them. "What's-?" And then that's when it suddenly clicked inside his head. He looked up at the empty thermos on his desk and back over his shoulder to what remained of Ligur. "Oh, Aziraphale. No, no, no." His hands moved up to Aziraphale's face, forcing him to look up at him, his thumb brushing away some of the new tears running down his face. It burned considerably; angel tears were holy water after all, but right now, that wasn't his focus. "That's Ligur. I used the holy water to make a trap for him and Hastur when they came to take me." He brushes his thumb through Aziraphale's trembling lips, leaning in closer. "That's not me, angel. I'm alright."

Aziraphale sniffed, trying to regain control of himself, but failing miserably.

"I-I thought you were dead. I thought you had used the Holy Water. I thought-"

"Shhh." Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel, leaning his face against his, pulling him into an embrace. They had never hugged before, so it felt a bit strange. Awkward even. "I'm right here. That's not me." The angel grabbed handfuls of his shirt and pulled him closer, burying his face on the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths. "Yeah, that's it. Breathe." He ran his hand through his curls, trying to soothe him. "Everything is alright. I'm right here."

After a while, Aziraphale finally calmed down and moved away, just enough to be able to look at Crowley's face. For a moment or two, they just stared at each other. Aziraphale's red rimmed blue eyes looking right at Crowley's yellow ones; his sunglasses had ended up on his head at some point. The angel's eyes slipped down to the demon's lips for a second and Crowley's licked them involuntarily, before his gaze went back to his eyes.

"You were right." Crowley tilted his head in confusion. "I talked to the Metraton. They want the war to happen...The Anti-Christ..." Aziraphale mumbled those last words.

"Right." Crowley stared down at Aziraphale for a couple more seconds before getting up, offering his hand to the angel to help him do the same. "You said you knew where he was?"

[carrotkicks]

MORE reverse au doodles

today we have

fukumori

fukuzawa + ranpo

mori + yosano + elise

yosano and chuuya having a photoshoot

kyouka tries on chuuya's hat

fukumori battle mode

higuchi vs dazai

higuchi and akutagawa

yosano gives kyouka a haircut

kyouka's new look. kenji approves

[yzafre]

Roxas: Had the Halloween town kids throw bombs in his face for multiple missions in a row before finally breaking down and smacking them around a bit.

Ventus: The dwarves were rude and refused to talk to him, immediately resorted to chasing them down and whacking them.

Characterization I see frequently: Ah, yes, Roxas is the one always willing to throw hands and Ventus is a smol sunshine boy.

[tothepointofinsanity]

We all know company CEOs are eldritch horrors in disguise anyways.

(Read tags for notes.)

[sisterdivinium]

"We can't kill this woman, she's astounding" -- I couldn't agree more with what was said of Sylvia by Mr Hayter himself after the revelation that they were going to kill Superion off. Wow.

Then again, this ties in with one of the many things I eventually want to talk about concerning what the show did or didn't do with its older cast and it's very interesting to see that... The older characters really were in peril and escaped death thanks to decisions made in the writers' room later on, mostly because they liked the actors so much. Narratively speaking, within the genre, it was very likely we'd see them go and these comments by one of the writers confirm it.

Good thing the show really didn't care about sticking to the conventional!

[altruistic-meme]

so i need 1600 words by tonight ;;;; oh boy;;;; wish me luck

[password-door-lock]

Glow-in-the-Dark Chapter 1

Unknown x Reader; 4.6k words, fantasy AU, fluff and angst Content Warnings: manipulation Rating: Mature

Unknown sniffles. Apparently, he's even more affected by the raw onions than you are. “Couldn't we just cook them first and then slice them later?” You consider it. “I think that would take a really long time, and besides, sometimes we serve them raw, like on salads. You need to know how to do this.” As bad as you feel about his circumstances, you're not going to coddle him when it comes to tasks around the kitchen. He has to learn basic skills like slicing onions, even if it's inconvenient. “Careful,” Unknown warns, eyes sparkling. “If you keep on annoying me, maybe I'll turn you into a toad.” You snort. “And then you'll have to figure out how to make breakfast for the royal family on your own. Good luck with that.” Or: As if being the sole cook in the royal palace weren't difficult enough, not only have you been tasked with teaching your new kitchen assistant basic culinary skills, but you must also help him to conceal his magic abilities.

Read it on Ao3!