#but because if he can kill rusty before the reception he can get home before rush hour

[grinchwrapsupreme]

an episode of the venture bros centered around pete and billy's wedding that they're putting on for the sake of rose but also because they could use the insurance benefits and through the course of the episode they start to realize they do have feelings for each other for real and it's weird and new and billy goes to talk to his mom about it and says, "mom, i think i might be gay" and she's like, "oh sweetie i already knew that 😊" and pete goes to rusty like "hey rust it's so weird but i think i might actually be gay for billy" and rusty's like "white we are literally at your gay wedding are you stupid"

#the venture bros #pete white #billy quizboy #billy whalen #i just enjoy the visual of billy nervously talking it through with his mom and eventually coming out #and it cuts to her with the wedding decor behind her and she's like ????? yeah i know?? we're at your wedding?? #and meanwhile there's a b plot of the monarch trying to sabotage the whole thing #not because he doesn't like pete or billy #but because if he can kill rusty before the reception he can get home before rush hour #and dr mrs the monarch is genuinely happy for billy and pete and she's like 'babe i need you to be normal for once in your life' #meanwhile gary is hiding in the flower arrangement waiting for the signal and the monarch forgot he told him to do that #dean being all misty-eyed and hank being bored stiff so he winds up causing more trouble than the monarch ever could #the idea of all of pete and billy's contacts being forced into one space together and restricted by social rules #and they're all dying to beat the crap out of each other but this is Not the time or place for it but god that guy just looks so punchable #and of course OF COURSE pete would be wearing the most ostentatious tux you've ever seen in your life #just because this isn't a 'real' marriage doesn't mean he's not doing it in style

[slashingdisneypasta]

Greasy Weasel x Reader || Oneshot

Title: Lottie

Notes:

Pay no mind to the title- its just an homage to the original piece this is inspired by/for, for my own happiness ^^

So this is an experiment XD I don't think I got Greasy's character quite right (Even if it IS supposed to build on what little info we have) but I like it... sorta... I like the first bit, anyway XD

Plot: Greasy has known you nearly your whole life (Since you were left on the Toon Patrol's doorstep, anyway, with a note that said you belonged to Smart Ass), he raised you- but what happens between the two of you when you return from the Navy 4 years after shipping off cannot be constituted as platonic, in any way.

Warnings: Age difference, Dads friend/Friends kid (NOT pedophilia, Reader is like 24 in this and there were no feelings from his end until now), possible sexual references (I mean its Greasy so what do you expect), etc.

Glaring over your salad, which you play irritated with with your fork, as you lean back in your chair. "Greasy can we talk, in the hallway?" The fury is coursing through you right now, like the goddamn Nile. Where does he even get off saying stuff like this? He is in no position...

He must- he m u s t detect the absolute blood lust in your eyes as he takes a break from leaning on Chase, to you. But look ashamed at all, he does not as he shrugs - but does not speak. A tell tale sign that he's just as, if not more frustrated in the moment and as such, is so not in the mood to get berated, - and gets out his seat; heading for the hallway.

You watch him go with glaring eyes, not moving an inch, before looking at the rest of the table including Chase and taking a breath. Calm down Y/N, keep the anger to yourself... until you talk to Greasy, at least.

"Sorry about this guys, and Dad... " Your gaze flickers the the hallways door and you hop out of your seat, itching to tear into Greasy for his behaviour tonight, and the past couple days actually. "I'll be right back."

You pass your father on your way out, sitting in a recliner chair with earmuffs over his head to block out his family for a while.

As soon as you reach Greasy at the end of the hall, your face twists into a total scowl; all inhibitions and constraints disappearing.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"I do not know what you mean, bonita." He mumbles around his grit teeth, arms crossed and resistant. You clench your fists, totally frustrated. Bitter, spiteful, awful man!

"The hell you don't. What was all that!? You've been acting like this since I got home! If you didn't want me back here, then you could've just said it! Woulda hurt a hell of a lot less then this."

At least at that, his shoulders relax for a moment- but his expression does not soften. And neither does the steel in either his eyes or his voice when he yells back, throwing an arm out to express his anger. "It isn't that I didn't want you back home, Y/N, its that you brought some inválido, with you! I did not expect that, from you!"

"Chase is not invalid- " You gasp, horrified at the way Greasy is speaking. Where is all the disgust, coming from? Greasy isn't like this, normally... in fact, you don't think you've ever seen him this senselessly an ass. Why!? "And you say that like its some mortal sin! I brought a boy home, I didn't kill someone- which you would not have the high ground over, either!"

"This was supposed to be family time! You've been gone for years and the first nights you're back, its with some chico!? He must mean a maldito mucho to you for you to possibly think he's worth hanging around with us right now."

"First of all, he does mean a lot to me. He's my friend- " Under his hat, you see Greasy's eyes deeply roll- a huff coming out of him as he tightly crosses his arms again. Like yeah right- "No, no. He is. Shut up. And second of all- if you just wanted to be with family then you could have just said! That doesn't excuse your behaviour." You glare ferociously, waiting for the real reason. Is he drunk, or something?? Honest to god you are baffled by the way he's acting- he's usually cooler then this. Out of any of your father's gang, he was the one you never really had to worry about. His antics made you laugh- but this? This makes you want to cry. Or scream.

You've gone for the second option.

"He does not see you as just a friend." He mutters back petulantly, avoiding looking at you now; Pulling his fedora down more over his face.

"So what!?" Even if he does, why would that make Greasy so mad? You cross your own arms. "You aren't my father and its is not your job to protect my 'chastity', Greasy."

He suddenly goes quiet, though the wrath from before is still clear in way his jaw is clenched. "... I know I'm not your father... " He mutters.

Something about that phrase stumps you. Of course he knows, but why does he look so ashamed? You uncross your arms, and take a deep breath.

"... Okay." Your eyes flash, looking up at him again; Anger still not sated. "Then why are you acting insane and harassing my guest!?"

A growl rips out of him and he bumps the brim of his hat upwards so he can look at you again, right in the eye. "I told you, I don't like that you brought him into this house!- "

"That's not it!" Its not. He's acting crazy about a boy who's acting absolutely lovely and polite. Its not.

You just want him to tell you what it really is that you did. You don't want to keep fighting with him, not with Greasy. You want your silly, campy, perverted Greasy back. Not this rotten version in front of you right now.

"It is!"

You press your fists brattily to your hips. "Is not!"

He bares his teeth and leans forward. "Is!"

"Not!-"

And then all the tension comes to a head, and something absolutely mad happens.

The first thing that you notice is the smell of his stupid expensive perfume filling your nostrils and embracing you, then your your hands curled tightly around the lapels of his suit, and finally the feeling of warmth and tingliness all over your body.

Because you're kissing Greasy.

Your perverted Greasy, one of your fathers best friends, one of the men that raised you, your teenage crush. Your kissing him on the lips and he's slowly reciprocating, his mouth moving carefully, but purposefully against your as he moves his body closer.

But there's anger, too. Your teeth are going to ache when you pull back for pressing into the kiss too hard and the tips of your fingers will pang when you let go of him but not quite yet-

Two sets of lips part and Greasy does this thing with his tongue that tears a long overdue moan out of you, and immediately he rears back like he was burnt. And you're left standing there cold again, completely shocked.

And aroused.

But mainly shocked, because you never expected that to happen but it did and now what are you both going to do?

The air is absolutely silent as you both catch your breaths, from the kiss and also from the fight, and hope your hearts stop beating quite so erratically very soon so you can act normal.

Then, because you've waited for this for too long and the moment is too good to pass up, you step over and kiss him again.

And he kisses you back, like he's totally unable to help himself from kissing you.

All the frustrations and tensions of the past few weeks go into it oh my god- you never expected Greasy to be able to kiss totally well, but it certainly does the trick as it has you holding onto him like your life depends on it, chasing your own pleasure but also experimenting- trying to drag pleasant reactions from him. See what he likes, make him moan.

Between kisses, he mutters 'Cariño... ' warningly, carefully. Like he knows he should stop but you're too good.

When you both finally pull back again minutes later, you're both wide eyed again though far less shocked about your actions, then before.

More scared.

"Don't tell Dad."

___REWIND: A FEW DAYS AGO WHEN YOU GOT HOME___

"Guys!" You scream, the moment your eyes land on the familiar group at the docks, utter excitement fills you up and you almost want to cry as you drop your bags with your friend in order to rush over to your family and throw your arms around the first man you reach- Stupid. "I missed you. I missed you, I missed you so much!!" You squeeze him, the familiar soft, worn feel of his shirt rubbing on your face as you cant help but smile.

"Duhh, Y/N!! We brought you (Favourite snack)!" Stupid informs above you, but squeezes you back in a moment, a happy whine escaping him at having you back there with him. And your hugs.

"Ohhh," Now you really want to cry. You're so overwhelmingly happy to be home and to see them again- and they brought you food. "Now that's what I came home for... " You joke, giggling a little bit tearily before pulling back and almost running in to Psycho, who holds up the snack.

You just wrap him up in a quick, tight hug. As always he's the warmest- like a lizard who's been sitting out on a hot rock for hours.

Next you find your father standing expectantly for you, fake annoyed that you didn't come to him first. "Hey, kid. Yeah, I told 'em you'd be none-too happy to see us if we didn't have your damn food. But this is some reception, for a regular pack."

"Hey, Dad." Your voice comes out wobbly and weak but in a good way, as he takes you up in his skinny arms and pink suit holding your head the way fathers do; Like someone with a bat is coming up behind you but he doesn't want you to know and there's no way in hell, that you're about to get hurt on his watch. "I missed you so much."

He sighs, and grumbles something about feelings, before burning his head down into the hug. "I missed you more kiddo."

After you father curtly lets you go, nodding stiffly at you as if it would save him his tough guy reputation, your attention is stolen by a familiar rusty, painful sounding voice. "Hey there, chickadee. No hello for me?"

"Wheezy!" You exclaim, thrilled. He holds up his hands.

"I wont take it personal if you don't wanna a hug me- wouldn't wanna get all smelly."

You roll your eyes, grinning. "Whenever have I ever cared about that."

"Hm." He grins, and you too hug warmly for a moment then you pull back and greet the last of your boys.

"Bonita, its good to see you of course. Nice to see you got into such good shape over seas- almost as good as me." Greasy grins sharply, before you two collide excitedly, so happy to see each other again and you press a quick kiss to his cheek. You picked up the habit when you had a crush on him, in your teenage years. Now its just routine. Yours and Greasy's thing together.

You squeeze his arms one last time, before letting go. "Oh, guys- " Sniffling, all teary and happy, you hide your face and pull yourself together. "Ahh... I'm sorry." Greasy pats your shoulder, as they all chuckle at your show of emotion- not that they're doing hugely better. Psycho blows his nose into his sleeve, teary himself.

Your Dad, although honestly as happy and serene as he can possibly be, with his hands in his pockets and his little baby back, glances off to your luggage still laying amongst bustling travellers a few metres away and the corners of his lips tilt down. "Boys- go get Y/N's stuff. I don't want it gettin' stolen."

Finally, you pull yourself together. "I brought someone I want you to meet! My friend Chase, he's- he's only stopping off here before moving on to his home further inland. And I was hoping he could have dinner with us tonight? Just, cuz, you know, its both our first night back?"

Your Dad squints at the guy who looks like he's guarding our luggage, as Stupid and Wheezy go and collect it. "That green bean there?"

"He's talllllllllllllllllllll," Psycho comments, giggling as he judges Chase.

"Yep, him." You agree, hoping your father is okay with it. you would hate to leave Chase alone in his apartment the days before his flight. He needs a good, family cooked meal for his first night off the ship!

"Yeah I guess." Smart Ass sighs, shrugging and sighing. "I just got noise resistant headphones- I don't gotta communicate with no one."

You grin. "Thank you, Dad!"

"Whatever."

"A boy?" Greasy pipes up, curiously from beside you. You look over and find him sizing Chase up, then turns to you and smiles weakly- a pale imitation of a teasing smirk. "You brought home a handsome boy?"

Rolling your eyes, you pat him on the back before heading over to Chase; not thinking much at all of Greasy's comment of the odd look on his face. "One, he's a man." Greasy rolls his eyes. "And he's just a friend! Wait here guys, I'll bring him over!"

___Greasy's POV___

"Hmmm... a friend." I shake my head, crossing my arms as watch Y/N interact with this 'Chase'. She picks up one of his bags for him and flashes him one of her pretty smiles, and he watches her move on ahead of him back to us. Por supuesto. For sure.

I watch him as a nauseous feeling rolls in my gut. I know that watch. That is not a 'friend' watch. If he was but a friend, he would be more concerned about the loose wooden board he's standing on rather then the chica's behind.

Perhaps I should tell Smartass what that boy is looking at-

As they come over, the nauseous, grinding feeling in me just gets stronger and I decide against opening my mouth to speak. I'm afraid of whatever might come out- I've never been good at withholding my... feelings.

Its only when the boy catches up to her, and us, and he puts an arm over Y/N's shoulders as she introduces us, and I stiffen up like a wooden plank, that I identify the feeling.

Its something I certainly shouldn't be feeling.

Not about Y/N.

The boss will kill me.

Maybe I can ignore it. Wish it away. Its probably just that I haven't been with a woman in a while, now... Si, that must be it. I am desperate. I good night or two with a lovely lady and I'll be fine.

But then the boy kisses Y/N's cheek and I only just manage to swallow the growl that fights to be torn from the back of my throat at the sight, and I realise immediately that this is going to be more complicated then that.

Far more complicated.

"And this is Greasy! Greasy, Chase." Y/N introduces us brightly, presenting him like he's important and Chase good-naturedly offers his hand to me. All I see though is the devil.

"Nice to meet ya! Y/N's told me about you, I hope we can get along." He beams while I glower, not moving at all to take up his hand.

Oh I doubt that we will, 'Chase', I truly do.

"So Chika!" Promptly I turn to Y/N, a smile on my face as I slip between them and wrap an arm around Y/N, leading her up ahead of the others and especially him. "You haven't told us about your travels much- Psycho ate your last postcard. We have to discuss!"

She glances back, concernedly, at Chase but I just prod her to start talking.

Maybe I can right off these feelings as protectiveness... like I'm supposed to be. I watched this girl grow up and I want her to be happy! I'm like... a... father...

My stomach rolls at the idea, but I swallow the horror down. I have to.

#Greasy x Reader #Greasy Weasel x Reader #Toon Patrol #Toon Patrol x Reader #Oneshot #Greasy x Reader Oneshot #Greasy Weasel x Reader Oneshot #Smartass Weasel #Wheezy Weasel #Stupid Weasel #Psycho Weasel

[itsmyara]

Playing Cards (SFW Fanfic)

Pairing: Chrollo/Machi (yep!)

Word Count: 1.7 k

Warning: Hisoka acting psycho.

Note: I've recently talked about Kuromachi with @takkarulz and it reminded me of this VERY old fic. It was supposed to be the first chapter of a story about Hisoka's first mission with the Troupe but I don't think I'm gonna continue it. Oh, and it was originally written in Portuguese, so maybe something got lost in translation. I hope not but sorry if it did!

The prey was aware of the bloodlust that emanated from his pores. Hisoka was bored when he felt that random aura and left in pursuit. Granted, it wasn’t a strong aura, but the relative abstinence made him lower his criteria. Any less-than-a-minute fight would offer some relief. The prey was already running ahead, looking back at him now and then in despair. He was sweating, breathing heavily, tripping over his own feet. It was a shame. Even so, the predator felt that in that aura there was an impulse to try to fight back, a courage that could spring from adrenaline and give him some precious extra time to live.

He focused entirely on instilling fear in him, as a favor to awaken that trace of hidden strength, and as a favor for his own sadism.

Fear and death roamed the desolate streets at night, accompanied only by concrete walls, garbage cans overturned by mangy dogs, and abandoned souls, drunken and empty, who wouldn’t dare to approach the source of that terrifying bloodlust.

Hisoka's expression was already inhuman.

The victim turned a corner, looked around, started to run faster. Perhaps he was close to home and struggled to reach it, with that false feeling that at home he would be safe. Poor fool. The predator licked his lips, he wouldn’t allow the prey to gain distance from him. In fact, he didn’t intend to let him free for too long.

Thirsty for action, Hisoka dashed and jumped to reach him faster but when he was in mid-air, something stopped his body, suspending it far from the ground, and a third presence was revealed. A woman fell gracefully in front of him and as soon as her feet touched the ground, her hands pulled a thread, making him realize that the trap had tightened around his body.

The pink-haired woman boldly stepped between him and his victim, and when she looked up and glared at him, her blue eyes were unfazed by his bloodlust. The victim stopped for a moment to try to understand what had happened, but he wasn't stupid enough to stay.

Soon it was only he and her.

Hisoka smiled and sought a comfortable position within her trap. It was worth exchanging the weak prey for that woman who either mastered zetsu very well or knew how to take advantage of his distraction to catch him. Either way, she was incomparably stronger.

“Well, well... and who are you?” His voice sounded mischievous as his eyes sparkled, studying her carefully.

She kept him in her threads without difficulty, as they crossed the deserted street trapped to the side of two buildings, forming a web that closed around him in the center. A spider web. She was skilled and agile to prepare that engineering in such a short time. Besides this, she also had that delightful demeanor. So under control. So cold. So full of an unshakable self-confidence. It wasn’t someone to be thrown away. Maybe he would keep her to play with, little by little, instead of killing her at once.

“I have a message from the boss,” when she said those words, Hisoka understood and closed his eyes. He definitely would have to save her for later. “Midnight at the sanctuary of St. Levi. If you’re too busy hunting mice, you will suffer the consequences.”

A crooked smile grew on the magician's face. Suffering the consequences was what he wanted the most, but not in the way they used to apply them.

“Will the boss be there?” He asked, but his question was ignored.

“I think you can get out of there alone.”

It was the last thing she said before disappearing into the night.

There was a possibility that Chrollo would attend the meeting, but there was also the possibility that it would end up being just another spiders’ meeting that would kill him with boredom at once. He had recently joined the Phantom Troupe for a single purpose, and so far he had successfully avoided childish robberies and meaningless missions, no matter who showed up to try to intimidate him.

An Ace of Hearts took shape between his fingers and he used it to slash the tangled threads that held him. To his surprise, not all of them broke on the first blow, demanding one or two more hits for him to break free completely.

He thought that maybe this time it would be worth it to show up at the meeting if she were there.

***

Their current hideout was a mansion away from the city and with a reputation for being haunted. The abandonment of the building made it cold and fragile, but there was a certain beauty in all those aged memories left by the corners, and in the way nature was taking over the place little by little. In a few years, the creeping plants will probably take it over completely.

Machi entered through the backdoor absolutely quietly, just in case. Soon she realized that there was someone in the basement and she walked down the stairs, equally silent, to find Chrollo sitting on an old wooden chest. By candlelight, he analyzed something on a table in front of him.

“Fascinating... whoever lived here, was someone impressive. It is not by chance that this house has a reputation for being haunted,” he whispered when she approached but kept his gray eyes fixed on the objects spread on the table.

In that room, Machi noticed opaque crystals, rusty metal objects that were supposed to serve very specific uses, animal skulls with horns, and some books so old and yellow that she thought they would turn to dust if she looked at them for too long. She stood next to the boss and realized that what captured his attention were cards, similar to a playing deck, but more numerous and richly illustrated even though -- like everything in that basement -- they were in dull colors.

“Did these objects serve any ritualistic purpose? They must be flooded with nen,” the energy of the place was somewhat obscure, and she thought that maybe this is why he felt comfortable there.

“I haven’t found any trace of nen in this basement,” he said, causing a brief expression of surprise in her. Fascinating, really.

Chrollo finally looked at her, his expression calm and pleasant. His eyes were more mysterious and dark than the energy of the place. By far more fascinating. Eyes that caused her the same feeling, again and again, after so many years.

Perhaps because she was so close that he could feel that commotion inside of her, or perhaps because he was feeling comfortable in that environment, he placed one hand on her waist, while the other held some cards.

“Sit here with me, as we used to do when I read to you,” he said, invoking the past and leading her gently so that she sat on his right thigh.

The memory stirred the feelings inside her even more. She was so young when she found him, a beautiful, intelligent and kind boy, as young as she was, who talked to her, played with her, and cared for her. Chrollo was always different from everyone else. He had ended up awakening in her still innocent heart that dream that he was a prince charming and that they would marry someday, even marriage being such an abstract concept in Meteor City. It turned out that the commitment she had made to him was far greater than that of a marriage.

Enjoying the moment, she rested her arm around his shoulders and studied the cards ahead more closely now.

“Are these tarot cards?” She asked, vaguely recognizing a couple of drawings.

“Yes, it’s the most valuable thing I’ve found here. The style is so unique, each card is a work of art by itself.”

Her eyes met an Arcana and she leaned over to pick it up, almost instinctively. The Fool, with his extravagant clothes and gestures, looking at the horizon from the edge of the abyss, projecting himself to it with nothing to hold him back -- from the infinite fall or from the flight to the horizon. Her intuition led her to believe it would be the first option.

“How was it with him?” Chrollo asked, noticing the card she was looking at so attentively.

“He's strong, I ended up having to set a trap with more aura than I've expected,” she replied almost automatically, only managing to return the card at the end of the sentence.

“He wouldn't have listened to you any other way.”

"No," she confirmed, and then they looked at each other. “The decision is yours, danchou, but I wouldn’t trust him.”

“This is why you didn't bring him here. You’ve decided to wait until tomorrow.”

Chrollo hadn’t told her to take Hisoka to him, he had left the option in the hands of her interpretation. Since the magician was one of them, he belonged -- in theory -- to that place with them, and it would have been natural for her to invite him. But it wasn’t.

Machi knew that sometimes Chrollo let her interpret his orders because he trusted her judgment. And in addition to not having taken him to the boss, she also left promptly so as not to be followed.

“You have been more receptive to new members before,” he said softly.

And the fact that he pulled her to him gently to place a kiss on her temple softened his speech even more.

“Sorry, he seemed to have a special interest in you,” she spoke in a slightly serious tone. Intuition. Concern.

Something that made him snicker as his free hand touched her hair.

“Don’t worry too much, Machi.”

That was the end of the subject brought up by the card. Soon he would touch her thigh and his hand would roam her body. Soon he would show her how comfortable he felt, to the point of allowing himself to enjoy the tenderness that Machi dedicated to him right from her lips, her skin, and her embrace.

#kuromachi #chrollo #machi #hisoka #chrollo lucilfer #machi komachine #machi komacine #hisoka morrow #chrollo x machi #machi hxh #chrollo hxh #myarawrites

[ineffable-snowman]

I wrote a GO Christmas fic!

or am still writing, to be honest, but here’s the first chapter. It’s a human AU, inspired by too many Christmas romance movies that I’ve watched over the years.

You can read it here or on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245411

Many thanks to the lovely people at the GO-Events discord server who helped me with beta-reading and brainstorming!

Chapter One: December 19th

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

Crowley threw his phone onto the passenger seat. Dead battery. And he was in the middle of nowhere and it was close to midnight. He cursed Lucifer and that stupid job and the stupid snow (and ice storms, road works, poorly signposted roads, and zero internet reception). He was completely lost without his phone. What was he supposed to do? Just keep driving, without a clue where Ashville was? Everything just looked the same: heaps and heaps of snow. Why would anyone want to build a factory here of all places? (Probably low property taxes.)

Crowley got out of the car and kicked the bloody snow at the side of the road only to hurt his foot because it was more ice than snow. He cursed some more. His words formed wisps of tiny clouds in the dark and the cold. A gigantic factory would definitely be an improvement for this area. It would mean a bit of variety in this desolate place. Maybe even a signpost here and there. Or internet reception!

Finally, the glint of headlights in the distance. Crowley waved wildly to make the car stop.

The driver rolled down the window. “Do you need help?”

“Yes. I seem to have gotten slightly lost. Can you point me towards Ashville?”

“Ashville? Never heard of that.”

Neither had Crowley before Lucifer had sent him there. “Do you maybe have a phone I could use?”

“No internet reception here.”

“What about phone calls?” Not that it would be much help. Crowley did not even know Lucifer’s number by heart. But maybe he could call directory assistance to ask for the number of that Bed and Breakfast, what was it called again? Something with ‘Book’. Shit. Of course, he had all the necessary information on his phone and only his phone.

“Afraid not.” The driver got out of his car and opened the trunk to pull out an old roadmap.

“Mm, didn’t know these still existed,” Crowley said but was all the more grateful for such old-fashioned things in this situation. Back in Chicago, the first thing he was going to buy himself was a new phone, at least two power banks, and a roadmap.

Crowley and his rescuer – with a bulky flashlight – poured over the old roadmap until they finally located the small town called Ashville. Without ever having been there, Crowley already hated it. He tried to memorise the map (taking a picture with his phone would have been so helpful…) and thanked the man for his assistance.

After half an hour of driving through more snow and trees, Crowley finally arrived at Ashville. Now he just needed to find his B&B. Well, he would simply do it the old-fashioned way: go to the tourist information or, in the worst case, book another place to stay for the night.

There was no tourist information.

There was nothing that looked like a hotel.

The streetlights had already been turned off as well as all the  lights in all the houses. It was not that late, just half past midnight. Did people even live here? It felt like a ghost town.

Crowley drove down road after empty road until he finally passed a house with the lights still on. He brought the Bentley to a halt and promptly slipped on the icy sidewalk when he got out of the car. “Damn it!” Clinging to the wing mirror, he picked himself up and shuffled to the front door. He was tired and cold and hungry, his bottom hurt from the fall and he badly needed to go to the loo. The lights in this house were his only hope.

A friendly-looking man in reading glasses and a beige cardigan opened the door.

Crowley quickly started talking before the man could shut the door right in his face, “Sorry to disturb you so late at night but your house was the only place with the lights still on, so I thought I’d try my luck. Anyway, I’m looking for a B&B in Ashville – I am in Ashville, right? – called something like Books and Bed and Breakfast. It’s meant to be here somewhere.”

“Did you mean The Book Nook?”

“Yes!” Crowley almost shouted in relief. Finally, something that went right today.

“You’ve come to the right place. This is The Book Nook. Are you Anthony Crowley then?”

“Oh, thank God! Yes, I’m Crowley.” Crowley smiled apologetically at the man. He must have kept him up for longer than usual  because, apparently, in Ashville, everyone went to sleep before midnight. “Sorry for being so late but there was an ice storm around Little Falls and the road was closed in Randall and then I had to go back to Little Falls and crawl along those bloody slippery roads again and try to find another way and I got lost about five times because I didn’t get reception for my phone and then the battery was dead. Anyway, sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“It’s fine, no need to worry. The most important thing is that you arrived here safely. I am Aziraphale, by the way. Welcome to The Book Nook.” The man opened the door wider. Inside looked warm and cosy. “Please, come in. Can I help you with your luggage?”

“No need, don’t have much with me.” Crowley quickly got his suitcase from the Bentley and followed Aziraphale inside. He found himself inside a crammed little bookshop. Not what he had expected.

His confusion must have shown on his face because Aziraphale said, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to sleep between the books. Your room is upstairs and you have a perfectly nice and comfy bed.”

“Great.” Crowley followed him up a winding staircase, which was decorated with a festive garland. Aziraphale led him to one of the rooms and fiddled with the large key (Crowley could not remember when he had last stayed at a place that still used such keys. Key cards were the standard). Finally, he managed to open the door with a resolute yank.  

“There it is. I hope everything is to your liking.”

Crowley could only stare. It looked like a Christmas explosion had happened here. There were Christmas lights on strings wound around the wardrobe and the mirror. Every available surface was covered with Christmassy knick-knacks: Santa figurines, Christmas baubles, candles in the shape of snowmen, even a nutcracker (What on earth was he supposed to do with a nutcracker???). The windows were decorated with glittery stars and the letters forming ‘Merry Christmas’, missing the dot on the i.

Aziraphale looked expectantly at Crowley. Oh, yes, he had asked if Crowley liked the room.

“Yeah, great, thanks,” Crowley answered, staring in horror at the flowery bedspread and the assortment of plush cushions in various sizes, some of them with ruffles and lace. How old was that guy? Or did he rent his Grandma’s old rooms?

“So, what brings you here to Ashville? Visiting relatives?”

Crowley supposed that must be the only reason why anyone came here. Who would voluntarily go to this place? “Nah, I’m just a tourist on vacation.” He was not in the mood for small talk (and he really needed to go to the loo!) but it would not do to be rude to Aziraphale after Crowley had made him wait for so long for him to arrive, so he tried his best to be friendly.

“Vacation, how lovely,” Aziraphale commented.

Was that too obvious a lie? “Thought I’d do some hiking in the woods,” Crowley elaborated. “Just…find some peace and quiet, you know? Work’s been busy lately.” At least that part wasn’t a lie. He probably could convincingly play the exhausted businessman from the city who needed some time away from the hustle and bustle to find his  inner self or some such bullshit.

“Ah, I see. You would need snowshoes if you want to go hiking in the woods, though. The snow is very deep if you leave the road, you won’t get very far without snowshoes. I think I heard Sara say that they had sold out the last ones but I could ask Arthur if he could lend you his, he is about-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I brought my own.” Crowley did not own snowshoes, of course, but as he would never willingly go hiking in the snow, that was no problem.

Aziraphale dubiously eyed Crowley’s little suitcase.

“I left them in the car,” Crowley explained. “I hardly need them here, right?”

“Ah, no.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll leave you alone now so you can make yourself at home. Would you like a cup of tea? Or something to eat? I suppose you haven’t had dinner yet if the journey took you so long?”

Just on cue, Crowley’s stomach rumbled. “Starving.” The only roadside restaurant he had seen during his trip here had already been closed – at 9 pm! Ridiculous, really. “Any recommendations for a good restaurant?”  

“I’m afraid the diner is already closed.”

Of course it was. But another thing worried Crowley much more: “Diner? As in singular?”

“Well, Ashville isn’t that big. There is a pub in Elm Street but they only serve light lunches. And there used to be a lovely restaurant next to the town hall but the owner – sorry, you’re probably not interested in all of this. I have some leek and potato soup left that I could reheat or if you’d prefer sandwiches, I could prepare some quickly-”

“No, soup is fine.” Jesus Christ, Crowley just wanted to go to the loo and he needed to recharge the phone’s battery so he could shout at Lucifer for sending him to this ridiculous place – he did not need leek and potato soup. But asking the guy to prepare him sandwiches in the middle of the night seemed somewhat ungrateful. “Soup is great.”

“Lovely. The kitchen is just over there.” The guy pointed to the end of the hall. “Come whenever you’re ready.” He handed Crowley the rusty key. It had a little wooden guardian angel as a key chain. Then he finally left Crowley alone.

Crowley rushed to the tiny bathroom and groaned when he saw the crimson red and very plushy cover on the toilet lid. He was going to kill Lucifer!

After he had finally relieved himself, he unplugged the Christmas lights (because apparently there was only one socket in the whole room) so he could recharge the phone’s battery. Then he went into the kitchen, which was as crammed and full of Christmas decoration as his own room.

Aziraphale put a bowl of steaming soup in front of him. Leek and potato soup was not exactly Crowley’s thing but he was hungry and cold, so it would do.

“When would you like to have breakfast tomorrow?” asked Aziraphale while rummaging through the kitchen drawers. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you a late breakfast because I have to open the shop tomorrow at half-past nine. You see, the last Saturday before Christmas is always the busiest day of the year. Many people turn to books as a last-minute Christmas present. But if you wanted to sleep longer, I could prepare something for you. Pancakes are easy to reheat, for example, and-”

“Don’t bother, I just have coffee for breakfast anyway.”

“But if you plan to go hiking, you need to have a proper breakfast! Seriously, the cold will wear you out in no time at all!”

It took Crowley a bit of time to calm Aziraphale  down but he eventually convinced him that he would not go for a long hike tomorrow but would just walk around the town for a bit. Then finally Crowley could go into his room. He removed the horrible bedspread (and two woollen blankets underneath it) as well as five cushions. Five! Who on earth needed that many cushions? Most of them not even big enough to rest your head on.

Unfortunately, his charging cable wasn’t long enough – or rather: there was no socket close enough to the bed. So Crowley sat down on the floor next to the socket and texted Lucifer: Just arrived in Ashville. Are you fucking kidding me???? Well, he meant to text him but the message could not be sent because he had no reception. Damn it, this was a town, people lived here! How could there be no reception?

Groaning, Crowley stood up again and left his room. The lights in the kitchen were still on and he could hear plates clatter and water running. No dishwasher, naturally.

“Sorry, could you give me the wifi password?” Crowley asked. “I mean, if there is wifi…”

“Yes, of course there is. But it can be a bit finicky, especially if there are snowstorms. Which is practically all the time in winter. You usually have the best reception at the top of the staircase. The password is,” Aziraphale waggled his eyebrows, “Pri-fiAndPrejudice.” He looked immensely proud of that horrible pun. Crowley could not entirely suppress a snort of laughter. What a nerd.

“If there’s anything else you need, my room is the one next to yours. Don’t hesitate to knock.”

“Isn’t that annoying, always having strangers in your house?”

“Not at all. The house would be too big for just me. And anyway, I don’t have many guests and most of them are just lovely people, so I don’t really mind it.”

Crowley shrugged. He could not imagine living like that. But he also couldn’t imagine sleeping between dozens of tiny fluffy cushions and doing your dishes by hand. Suddenly his conscience got the better of him. It was way past midnight, this guy had offered him soup in his own kitchen – which was not usually included in a B&B – and was now doing the dishes. “Can I help you? I could dry the plates.”

“Absolutely not! You’re my guest and you deserve your vacation. Besides, I’m almost finished here.”

“Ah, well. I’ll leave you a five-star google review then.”

“Oh, really?”

Aziraphale smiled at him and – Crowley was momentarily taken aback. There was no reason to smile like that just because of the promise of a simple google review. Aziraphale’s smile was just like his Christmas decorations: blinding and completely over the top.

“Yeah, no problem,” Crowley said. “Well. Night then.”

Back in his room, Crowley typed in the password and waited for his phone to connect to the ridiculously slow wifi. Finally, it sent the text messages to Lucifer. While waiting for an answer, Crowley checked The Book Nook’s reviews on google. There were only two: one anonymous who had given it two stars and one who had given it three stars and an added comment “breakfast was good.” Crowley frowned. So did that mean the rest of the place was not good, just the breakfast? It felt oddly unfair. Obviously, this place did not meet Crowley’s taste but he could tell that the owner went out of his way to accommodate him. Crowley frowned again. What on earth was he doing here, pondering over google reviews while sitting on the floor because there was no socket next to the bed? It was cold and uncomfortable in spite of the room’s fluffy carpet. This was really absurd. On the spur of the moment, he decided to rearrange the furniture a bit. He pushed the bed closer to the wall with the socket – and almost tripped over the numerous boxes under the bed. Probably where the Easter decorations were stored…

There was a soft knock on the door. “Er, just wondering, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just perfect,” Crowley grunted and then sneezed heartily because his activity had raised quite a bit of dust from under the bed. (He would have to rethink that five-star review.) He pushed the bed further towards the wall until he could sit comfortably on the bed with his charger cable still plugged in. Only to get a notification that his phone was not connected to the internet. Well, he was tired anyway. He removed a Santa figurine and eight wooden reindeers from the bedside table so he could place his glasses and a cup of water there. Then he sank back into the bed. It squeaked loudly.

“Fuck.”

#good omens fic #my writing #ineffable husbands #christmas fic #human AU #aziraphale #crowley

[saltybaltic]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader - SPILLED MILK

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow x FemReader Fanfic

Prompt: A misstep causes one to spill something all over the other

Warnings: Language

Words: 1950

For @barnesrogersvstheworld 3k writing challenge. I know this is HELLA late but I tried and it’s here and I’m sorry I suck! I can only apologise for the poor and shameful quality of this story, it would appear I’m a little rusty and if I’m totally honest, endgame ruined me. I have seen that movie 5 times so far and let me tell you this for free - it hurts just as much each time! Anyway, enjoy this jumble of words I threw together ✌️

The morning had been a disaster from the word go and no amount of preparation or intervention was changing that. You had been positive the whole thing was planned to the very last detail but now as you dashed down the busy streets of New York clutching your portfolio to your chest and frantically pushing people to one side, all you could do was wonder how it had all gone so sideways.

A power cut at your apartment, losing your keys, a traffic jam downtown and an unexpected wrong turn had all lead to this moment; running desperately late for the job interview of your life. Your legs ached and your lungs burned as you checked your watch again and huffed out a breath before picking up the pace. You were now able to see the building just up the street, rushing out an apology to the man you nearly knocked flying as you approached the entrance to the foyer and attempted to straighten out your hair and clothing.

As you pushed open the doors to Stark Tower, you allowed yourself a quick calming breath and a glance at your reflection in the glass before continuing inside and starting your hunt for the reception. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you were relieved to see that you had made it, just. A sense of calm descended on you finally, spotting the receptionist sat behind the desk and making your way over. Unfortunately your positive mood was only allowed to last a moment as no sooner had you taken a step forward you felt the weight of another person slamming into you, quickly followed by a hot liquid splashing down your front.

For just a second you were stunned, jaw slack and mouth slightly agape as you stared down at your white shirt that was now very much not white and instead covered in what appeared to be coffee. You almost couldn’t believe that something like this had happened to you, arms thrown out to the side as your brow furrowed and you looked up at the person stood in front of you holding a rather crumpled looking coffee cup.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!’ You snapped, one brow arching in question as you glared at the other woman.

To your surprise, she breathed out a laugh, lips turning up slightly at the corner of her mouth as she looked back at you seemingly unfazed by your outrage, “Well ... shit.”

“Excuse me?” You almost couldn’t believe her calm reaction to having near enough covered you in her drink. “You just walked into me with your coffee!”

Tilting her head to one side, she didn’t flinch even slightly at your tone, “Well I think an arguement could be made that it was you who walked into me.”

“Is this funny to you?! I have a ridiculously important meeting in like 3 minutes and you’ve covered half my shirt in coffee. How am I supposed to go in there now?”

Your voice had increased in volume and your anger was blatant to anyone close by but her demeanour didn’t falter for even a second, “Look I’m sorry but you weren’t exactly looking where you were going and I couldn’t move out of the way in time.”

Shaking your head furiously from side to side, you pointlessly wiped at the front of your shirt with a napkin from your pocket and muttered under your breath, “Great, so you’re a bitch as well as clumsy.”

This time it was the man stood beside the woman that laughed as he nudged her playfully, “Wow she’s got your number.”

“Shut up Clint.” She warned, the amused twinkle in her eyes betraying her tone as she turned her attention back to you, “Look, do you need some help? There are toilets just down he-“

“I think you’ve done enough thanks.” You cut in, giving her a final glare for good measure before hastily buttoning up your jacket and side stepping around her to continue your journey to the reception.

The pair watched you go, arms folded across their chests and a slight curve to their lips as you muttered a few more profanities quietly with the first couple of steps you took. Clint released a small chuckle, “I thought she was gonna kill you Nat.”

“Me too.” She agreed, turning to Clint with a grin, “I like her.”

His laughter only increased, slinging an arm around her shoulder and turning her away from you, “One track mind as always. Come on we’re already late.”

Somehow you had found yourself sat at a desk, waiting nervously for whoever would be conducting your interview. You couldn’t help but readjust your suit jacket every few seconds in a fruitless bid to hide the large stain on your shirt. Anger still resonated in the back of your mind towards the woman who had put you in such a position but the anxiety that was now creeping in was the only thing you were able to focus on. Your heart stopped and you held your breath as the door behind you clicked open and then abruptly closed, the sound of a heels clattering on the wood floor as someone made their way into the room and settled into the chair in front of you.

“So who do we have here ...” the woman glanced down at the file in front of her as she flattened down the front of her skirt.

In a shocked daze, you couldn’t stop the words as they slipped out, “You have got to be shitting me.”

Slowly she raised her head from her papers, with an arched brow and the faintest trace of a grin teasing the corners of her lips, “Would you like to start again?”

“You ... but ... you.”

“Agent Natasha Romanoff.” She cut off your rambling, looking back down at her papers briefly, “And I assume you’re (Y/N).”

Swallowing down your surprise, you nodded your head slowly as you gave a quiet reply, “Safe assumption.”

“And you’re interviewing for... our opening in A&T.”

Feeling more out of your depth by the second under Natasha’s gaze, you managed another dumb nod, “Correct.”

With a hum of a reply, Natasha looked back down at her files, tapping her pen gently against the edge of the papers as she tucked a curl of red hair behind her ear, “How did you hear about the position?”

“Through an old friend.” You paused to clear your throat in a bid to make your voice come out stronger, “He works in the same department.”

She asked a few more questions, her eyes remaining on the forms and papers as she jotted down the occasional note. It wasn’t until you were finally starting to ease into the situation that she actually looked up and scanned over you with an amused smile, “Rough morning?”

“I...” her question took you aback for a moment, having not expected her to acknowledge what had happened earlier in the lobby, never mind with such a teasing tone, “Guess you could say that.”

“In a hurry or something?”

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as you considered whether she was simply trying to wind you up, “I was running a little late ... yeah.”

“So not great with time management?”

You opened your mouth to respond but abruptly snapped it shut as you realised you had absolutely no comeback for her remark.

“I’m joking.” She stated matter of factly, as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world before her grin broadened and she picked up her pen again, “Not great with social cues.”

“Hang on a minute.” You muttered hurriedly, sitting up further in your chair and placing your palms down on the desk, “I ... that’s not ... I ...”

You trailed off as she simply smiled back at you, a glint in her eye as she settled back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. There was a few seconds of silence as you simply looked back at one another before you blew out a breath, “And you’re joking again.”

“Relax, okay? You’re more than qualified for this position.” Natasha threw her pen down onto the desk, raking a hand through her hair before folding her hands across her stomach, “Tell me why I should recommend you for the job.”

“Because it’s the perfect position for me? I have years of experience in the field? I’ve proven myself time and time again that I can do this job and I can do it well?”

“Are these questions or statements?” Cut in Natasha, “Tell me why we should hire you.”

Taking a breath, you tried your best to come across confident with a small smile and a shrug, “Because I’m the best at what I do. And you need me.”

Natasha returned your smile as she reached across the desk and grabbed your portfolio, tipping it open and flipping through a few pages, “Well ... you’re not wrong.”

“I have more files at home if you needed them, it was just a lot to cram int-“

“This is more than enough don’t worry.” Interrupted Natasha, pushing the folded closed again and sliding it back over to you, “When can you start?”

“Well ... now.”

She laughed, rubbing at the underside of her chin as she thought for a minute, “How about Monday?”

“Are you serious?!” You blurted out, unable to quite believe you were lucky enough to have actually landed the job you so desperately wanted after such a disaster of a morning.

“I’m serious.” She chuckled, “Besides, I kind of think I owe you one.”

She gestured to your ruined shirt and you dismissed her with a bat of your hand, “Honestly, Agent Romanoff if it means getting this job then you can spill coffee on me every morning.”

Standing from her seat, she gestured to the door, “Come on, you’re gonna love the paperwork. And please just call me Natasha.”

A few days later when you arrived at the tower block for your first day of work, you made sure you had more than enough time for your 9am start. However it did nothing to settle your nerves, unable to shake the feeling that you were incredibly out of your depth surrounded by the bustle of agents. You looked around uncomfortably, not really sure if it was a terrible faux pas to arrive nearly forty minutes early for your new job and you were fairly certain you were beginning to attract attention.

A tap on your shoulder startled you, sure that you about to be questioned by security for your prolonged lingering but it seemed you needn’t have bothered as you turned on the spot and were greeted with a warm smile and an outstretched hand offering a coffee.

“Hopefully you won’t end up wearing this one.” Teased Natasha, pushing the drink into your hand before flitting her head in the direction of the elevator, “Come on I’ll show you around.”

And so began your new ritual without even realising it. You eased into life at your new job with the boost of confidence and comfort that a morning coffee with Natasha could bring you. On your second morning she had introduced you to a few other people from different departments. On your third she had taken you out into the grounds to show you all of the best quiet spots for lunch. On the fourth day you simply sat in her office and were joined by the man you had met on your first visit. You learned that Clint was an agent like Natasha. It struck you how close the pair of them seemed, laughing together and occasionally exchanging a private glance that you could just tell said more than words ever could.

It went on like this for a while, not every morning but often enough that you were no longer surprised when Natasha flopped into the chair opposite your desk and pushed a coffee over to your side. Even when you had been at the tower a little longer and were more comfortable so you didn’t necessarily need the support, you couldn’t help craving the company of the other woman on a morning.

It had been five weeks since you had been hired when your attention drifted from the computer screen in front of you to the woman now slouched in a chair at your desk.

“It’s half eight nerd, why are you working already?” Asked Natasha, sliding a drink over to you.

You shook your head and laughed quietly, “I have a lot of work to do this week.”

“You know you’re not the new girl anymore? You don’t have to work so hard to impress now.”

“I know that.” You muttered, eyes still focused on the screen as you tapped away on the keyboard.

“Need help with anything?”

Glancing across from the screen, you couldn’t ignore the warm sensation in your stomach that the wide smile on the face of the other woman brought you. If you were totally honest this had been happening more and more recently and you were doing your best to pretend it wasn’t. You found yourself thinking about Natasha more, missing her company when she wasn’t around, looking at her more carefully when you were together and noticing all the little things about her. She made you laugh without even trying, something that seemed insane to some of your colleagues who apparently found the red head nothing short of terrifying. Time with Natasha had started normal and boring enough; she had made you comfortable in your new surroundings and most of your coffee meetings had involved talking shop or the red head answering any questions you had. You had half expected her to start leaving you to your own devices after a while, sure that she would start to get bored of your company and leave you to it. You were positive it shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did that she stuck around.

A sharp click of her fingers brought you back to reality, looking over and seeing the other woman smirking at you over the top of her coffee cup, “Penny for your thoughts.”

Cleaning your throat, you tapped at the keyboard a few times to close what you were working on and turned in your chair so you were facing her properly, “Just thinking it’s been nice ... starting here and you looking out for me and stuff. I’m really grateful for your help.”

She placed her coffee down, a curious smile gracing her features, “Well ... I know we didn’t get off to the best start but, I like having you around. You’re not a pain my ass like most of the people here.”

You laughed, “Seriously Nat, you’ve made this whole thing so much easier.”

“Good.” She adjusted herself in the chair, sitting up a little straighter and folding her arms across her chest, “Your six week review is coming up.”

You didn’t fail to notice her slight shift in demeanour, “Okay ...”

“And it would normally be me doing it but ...”

As she trailed off you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy at the sight of Natasha exhibiting signs of nervousness and discomfort for the first time since you had met her.

“I think ... I well I-“

“Are they firing me?”

Until now she had been staring down at the desk as she tried to mumble out a intelligible sentence but your words caused her head to snap up so she could look at you, “No! God, no! Of course not, you’re great don’t worry.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She chewed on her lip nervously as she looked back at you in a way that you couldn’t help but feel she was trying to read your mind, “I was going to ask you something this morning ... and depending on your answer, I’m not sure it would be ... appropriate for me to be monitoring you anymore.”

Rubbing at your eyes in thought, you shook your head from side to side, “Please start making sense soon, it’s still early and you’re giving me a headache.”

“Do you want to go out with me?” She had spat the words out before she had a chance to stop herself, “You know, for coffee or something. Instead of me hand delivering it.”

Gripping the edge of the desk, you rolled your chair a little closer so that you could lean on top of the wooden surface, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“If you want it to be.” She answered truthfully, mirroring your position and sitting forward in her chair so that she could fold her hands on top of the desk, “Doesn’t have to be a date. Doesn’t have to be coffee.”

“I ... are you serious?”

She breathed out a nervous laugh, “We’ve been through this, just assume I’m always serious.”

“But ... look at you!”

She shook her head gently, an amused smile on her face as she leaned a little further forward. One of her hands crept just far enough across the desk that she was able to ghost her fingertips over yours, a touch so light that you couldn’t believe how much it had made your body tingle, “Are you going to say yes or not?”

You were sure you couldn’t have looked more stunned if you tried at the idea that this gorgeous woman in front of you had any kind of trepidation about asking someone out on a date. “Of course I’m going to say yes.”

“Say it then.” Her fingers moved again slightly, this time brushing over the back of your hand, but her eyes never left yours.

You smiled, turning your hand over on the desk so that you could squeeze her fingers reassuringly, “Yes, obviously, no brainier.”

The pair of you sat like that for a minute, her hand atop yours and eyes focused on one another, both sporting what could only be described as a cheesy grin before she cleared her throat and rose to her feet, “Right I need to go, but I’ll see you at lunch?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, “Is that where you’re taking me? The canteen?”

Natasha snorted, “You’re an idiot. We can talk about it at lunch yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

Turning on the spot, Natasha picked up her cup and made her way over to the door, pausing for a second to look back at you and smile, “Super glad I spilled coffee on you a few weeks ago.”

“Get out.” You joked, chuckling quietly, “I’m still mad no matter how cute you are.”

She quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “You couldn’t be mad at me if you tried.”

As you watched her leave and basked in the feeling only spending time with Natasha could give, you had to agree she was probably right.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #shotthroughtheheart3k #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow #natalia romanova #natasha romanov #natalia romanoff #x reader #mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert

[aethelar]

Yo- what about Newt being the protective one of Theseus? I mean, everyone is drooling over the war hero and eye catcher Theseus but no one knows of stormy winter nights when he is doubling in pain over the table because cold weather stirs his old wounds, or early mornings when he is sweating bullets and screaming during nightmares, or New Year celebrations he tries to avoid because fireworks remind him of explosions too much... Except for Newt. Newt is always there, an unmovable rock, a

root in the ground, steadying Theseus amidst the storm. Newt is a ray of sunshine and smell of flowers in the dark room, he is the herbal tea and chocolate warming the body and banishing the cold, he is the soft voice guiding Theseus out of his feverish dreams. No one pays much attention to Theseus’s younger awkward brother but they don’t know that he is the one keeping Theseus alive. And when Grindelwald attacks a Ministry of Magic reception and Theseus is caught in the middle, it is Newt who stands tall and shields him from the spells, and it is Newts patronus that guides Theseus out. IDK i have lots of Theseus-Newt feels but it goes both ways- Theseus is very protective of his sunshine noodle of a brother, and Newt is very protective of PTSD-suffering Theseus.

Can I just say this is perfect and I love it. I have very little experience of PTSD so I wouldn’t know how to write Theseus to do it justice, but please consider:

Theseus’ first girlfriend was called Kate and Newt, in theory, has nothing against her. She’s a year younger than him, generally happy, smiles a lot, and Theseus is so delighted to have any relationship at all that he trips over himself to give her anything she could possibly ask for.

Newt is wary of that last part because Theseus gives pieces of himself away with never a thought for what it costs him. He gives and gives and never expects anything back and one day he’s going to run out if Newt isn’t there to watch out for him, but for now, for his first crush and his first love, Newt will allow it.

He allows it up until Theseus graduates and Kate is left at Hogwarts for one last year; he allows it until he can see Theseus stretched thin between his training and his work and Kate still expects to be front and centre in his life and have on permanent call if she needs him; he allows it until Theseus begs off drinks at the pub and stops going to quidditch matches because she doesn’t like it when I’m out without her; he allows it until Kate accuses Theseus of seeing someone else behind her back because she feels he’s never there for her when she needs him anymore despite Theseus running himself to the bone to try and keep her happy.

“Perhaps if you didn’t have four breakdowns a week about how Lizzie’s prettier than you,” Newt remarks idly, shamelessly eavesdropping on their private conversation. “I mean, it’s not like he’s got his own things to worry about that actually matter or anything.”

“Newt,” Theseus growls, “Piss the fuck off.”

Newt shrugs, still infuriatingly casual in the way that only younger brothers can be, and saunters out. “Just saying,” he says as he goes.

“Well don’t.”

She and Theseus break up three weeks later. Theseus is, outwardly, devastated - but Newt’s better at reading him than that and he can see the way Theseus settles, focuses on his studies and relaxes without the stress of a relationship gone sour.

“No need to thank me,” he says, swanning past and stealing the last bite of Theseus’ sandwich.

“Pain in the ass!” Theseus calls after him, and that’s the first one.

The second one is called Paul. He seems nice - he’s a warder, and Newt doesn’t hesitate to pick his brains for all the runic knowledge he can find. He claims to be doing it to test Paul’s patience, and Paul actually seems to hold up pretty well. He also makes a decent cup of tea which is one up on Kate, and when Theseus comes home late Paul’s already got started on dinner, so that’s excellent too.

Then Paul has the audacity, the absolute fucking audacity to get sent on assignment to Wales and fall in love with the son of a client and that’s it, his heart is getting carved out with a rusty spoon, Newt is on the war path and he knows no bounds because how dare

“Newt,” Theseus says tiredly, interrupting Newt’s progressively more high pitched rant. “It’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”

“Shut up,” is Newt’s eloquent retort. He piles another slice of chocolate cake on Theseus’ plate and replaces his cold cup of tea with a fresh one, because broken hearts require chocolate and tea and vengeance. “If I ever see him again I’ll trample him with a hippogriff for you.”

“It’s probably a good thing then that he’s moved to Wales,” Theseus says drily. He wilts under Newt’s aggressively caring attention and dutifully eats his cake.

“Hippogriffs fly,” is Newt’s only answer. “I’m sure Mum won’t mind.”

“Newt, no.”

Newt grumbles and contents himself instead with setting the timer on the oven for the next batch of cake.

Number three is a nameless douche of a one night stand that drops Theseus the next morning, then swings round again two months later because his wife is out of town again so does Theseus want to pick up where they left off?

Theseus spirals himself into a small ball of agony about accidental adultery and Newt force feeds him hazlenut dacqouise and loudly discusses the several ways - several ways Theseus, take your pick, Newt is more than happy to do multiple if you feel like it - that he could commit murder and get away with.

“You can’t just kill my exes,” Theseus protests, but it lacks his usual conviction.

“I’m not killing your ex,” Newt says hotly. “I’m cleansing the earth of scum, that’s what I’m doing. Will you at least tell me where he lives so I can release a swarm of doxies in his bathroom?”

Theseus laughs wetly and doesn’t tell Newt, because he’s not entirely sure if his brother will go through with it or not.

Number four is called Ameena, and for a while there, for a good couple of years Theseus thinks she could be the one. She’s studying to be a lawyer and she’s quick and funny and makes Theseus laugh; she also stays up with him until three in the morning debating world problems and how they’re going to solve them when Theseus runs the auror department and she runs the legal side. She’s never less than sweetness and light to Newt and, though she and Theseus have the odd argument, she never hesitates to say sorry after and buys him a dozen red roses each time to make up.

She’s almost suspiciously perfect, in fact. Newt goes to her graduation and sits in the back with Theseus and squints at her, trying to find her flaws. It’s not until she’s moved from college to job that he spots it - and even then it’s a frustrating one, because Ameena’s flaw is that she works too hard.

“Being a lawyer is a demanding job,” Theseus points out, setting both bowls of pasta on the table.

“Yes,” Newt says, awkwardly balancing two glasses, a fistful of cutlery and a bag of grated cheese in his arms, “But so is being a girlfriend and I just think you matter too.”

Theseus rolls his eyes and rescues the cheese. “Do you want me to start whining at her that she comes home too late and doesn’t spend enough time with me? I love her, and part of that is supporting what she wants to do as much as she supports me.”

Newt carefully doesn’t point out that from where he’s standing Theseus is doing a lot more of the supporting. It’s not like being an auror is an easy job or anything.

“Besides,” Theseus adds. “If Ameena didn’t work late we wouldn’t have brother-nights so often and then what would you do with your time?”

“I have a social life!” Newt sputters. “I totally have things to do!”

Theseus raises an eyebrow and Newt makes dramatic, over the top hand gestures to illustrate how very busy and in demand he is at all points in time (lies, all of it lies) and Newt resolves to try to be nicer to Ameena, because if Theseus loves her this much then she can’t be all bad. Newt is probably just being overprotective.

When Theseus firecalls him at two in the morning it takes Newt a second try before his bleary sleep fogged mind can process.

“She left,” Theseus repeats. “She said - she said it was for the best, she said she didn’t have time for a relationship and it wasn’t fair to me, she, she said -” his voice breaks and he stops, and Newt physically pushes his head back into the fire so he can crawl through and provide emergency hug.

“Rusty spoons,” he promises darkly, patting Theseus on the back and staring murderously into space.

“Newt, no,” Theseus protests. “What if I tried harder, what if - we were talking about kids, what if I promised I didn’t want kids, maybe that’s what it was.”

Newt snorts and hugs tighter. “You so totally want kids,” he says. And Theseus should so totally have kids, because Theseus is the perfect kind of person who’s made to play tiny games of cricket and run a barbecue in socks and sandals and embarrass his family with really bad jokes. Theseus has been handling his wild younger brother all his life, he’s had two and half decades of practice at this whole parenting thing and Newt won’t let him give up his dream for someone else. He won’t.

“But -” Theseus starts and Newt holds a hand over his mouth to stop him.

“It’s the shock talking,” he declares. Theseus makes wide, heart-broken eyes at him and Newt relents. “If you still want to win her back in a week then maybe we can win her back for you but for now, you are going to sit here and I am going to make brownies and then we’re going to watch a film and eat ice cream. Understand?”

Theseus nods miserably.

“You can’t always tell me what to do, you know,” he says when Newt removes his hand.

Newt rolls his eyes at that and goes to pull out the baking pans. “I’m your younger brother,” he says. “It’s what I’m for.”

#missisjoker #newt scamander #theseus scamander #sibling relationship #i know i usually write theseus as dark #but #think how much fun siblings are #because you know newt would be a mad little shit of a younger brother #and theseus would be long suffering and responsible #and it is therefore newt's sacred DUTY to help theseus break the rules #and it's theseus' sacred DUTY to make sure newt doesn't get into too much trouble #and just #there is a lot of potential here for fluff #that's all i'm saying #my writing

[yxlenas]

Damerey, Zip Me

wow this is sad and long and turned into Ben and Poe BROTP?? Military AU, somefuckinghow. Han’s death and the aftermath. Damerey, background kylux (???????) with a baby (???!???!??!??)

He’s always hated funerals.

Poe went to his first funeral when he was eight. It was his own mother’s, and he wore a suit that he shoved into the back of his closet and refused to ever, ever look at again. He cried when he saw her, lying in the casket and looking so much like Shara Bey but also so wrong at the same time, and he didn’t stop crying until Kes took him home from the reception an hour early and held him until he fell asleep.

When he was 18, ten years after his first funeral, Poe joined the Air Force. The tiny suit was still crumpled in his childhood closet. Poe’s lost track of the funerals he’s been to now, the deaths he’s witnessed and the deaths he’s caused.

It doesn’t make them any easier.

Rey is in the shower, and the water must be cold by now but it shows no sign of shutting off. She’s been in there for over an hour. Poe finishes tying his tie. It feels weird, wearing a real suit and not a uniform to a funeral for the first time in 14 years. It feels even stranger when he remembers that the person laying in the casket at this particular funeral will have died of natural causes instead of being blown out of the sky. His stomach twists.

Rey had pulled out of their debrief four days ago, and she hadn’t come back. Poe himself had been yanked out of his seat less than ten minutes later and led to the room where Rey was, screaming and fighting two MPS as they held her back from throttling the comms officer who had given her the news. He didn’t hear much that the comms guy was saying as Poe wrestled his hysterical, thrashing girlfriend to the grimy floorboards of the office, but he did get the important bits.

Han Solo was dead. A stroke, while he sat in his office doing paperwork. It had killed him instantly. There was no pain.

Well, that was a load of shit. There was pain, and pain was writhing in Poe’s chest as violently as Rey was writhing in his lap, sobbing for her dead father so loudly Poe thought his ears would start ringing.

They’d sedated Rey, a shot of Valium in the right thigh, and given him thirty minutes to pack up for both of them. They’d been on the transport back to the states before the Valium had even fully taken effect. Rey cried with increasing levels of exhaustion until they were over the Atlantic and she finally succumbed to grief and the calming effects of the medication.

The shower turns off, and Poe visibly shakes himself back to the present. The door to the bathroom opens and Rey stumbles out, her hair still soaked and her eyes full of tears. Her dress is open in the back, pearls of water dripping from her tangled hair and sliding down her skin.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t- the fucking zipper-Poe, I can-”

And then she’s collapsing like she’s been shot between the eyes with a horrible wail. He scoops her towel off the bathroom floor and wraps her hair up in it as she rocks on the carpeting of her childhood bedroom. There’s a knock at the door.

“You guys ok in there?”

“We’re fine, man. Gimme a second.”

“Poe, we can give her some Xanax if we have to, Mom has some-”

“Ben, I said a minute.”

Poe gathers Rey into his lap and lets her cry. He has no doubt they’re going to have to give her the Xanax. They’d had to last night, when she’d accidentally dropped a mug and shattered it, and the day before, when Ben had come to get them at O’Hare. Rey had taken one look at her older brother and started to sob with increasing amounts of hysteria. She’d been incoherent by the time they’d made it home, and Leia had taken one look at her daughter and handed her a pill. Still, he wants to try to calm her down first.

“It’s alright. Look, I can zip you. See?”

He tugs up her zipper, rubbing along her spine after he finishes. Rey doesn’t settle, not that he was really expecting her to. Poe sighs and unwraps the towel from around her head, brushing his fingers through her dark hair.

“Sweetness, do you have a hair tie?”

A trembling wrist waves in front of his face, and Poe slides the black band around it off. He hums softly as he tugs Rey’s hair into a french braid. Her breathing slides into hyperventilating as he ties off the braid and she whips around, pressing her face into his chest, panting, her whole body shaking.

“Oh, my girl. I know. I know it hurts.”

She lets him pick her up, resting her head on his shoulder. He carries her down the stairs, laying her on the couch. Ben watches from the kitchen. He’s got the baby with him, and Poe worries briefly that Rey’s harsh breathing and high whines will set him off.

“Xanax?”

“Xanax. Ben, do we need to go upstairs, I don’t want to upset Luke-”

“Nah, he just ate. He’s content. ‘Tage is in the shower so I decided to get a jump on the childcare.”

Ben hands him the Xanax and a cup of juice. Rey takes it without a fight, her swollen eyes fluttering closed even as she continues to gasp for air. Ben comes over and sits on the carpet, his son in his lap. The baby’s eyes are open, still a milky blue.

“I’m glad-”

Ben swallows, looking at his sister. Rey is mostly limp on the cushions, her head in Poe’s lap and her bitten nails digging into his thigh.

“I’m glad Dad got to meet Luke. He wasn’t super great at first, about me and Armitage, but he came around. He loved ‘Tage like a son.”

Ben’s eyes water. Poe can’t decide whether to pretend he doesn’t see the tears or extend comfort.

“He loved you too, Dameron.”

“Jesus. Come on, man, at least one of us has to keep it together right now.”

Ben laughs, the sound watery. It’s almost hard to reconcile the man in front of him with the Ben Solo he first met on base, a massive Marine hovering nervously near the group of new Air Force pilots. Poe would learn later that one of them was his baby sister. Poe would learn that AFTER he and Rey began fucking. He had the black eye for three weeks. Ben had the bruise on his cheek from Rey bitch slapping the shit out of him for almost as long.”

“Ya know, it’s a damn miracle the old man lived as long as he did. He almost didn’t come home when Mom was pregnant with Rey like, fifty times.”

“Is that why he retired?”

“Mom threatened to cut off his dick with rusty kitchen scissors if he ever scared her like that again. So he decided enough was enough.”

“Because Chicago PD is so much safer than the fucking Marines. Sure.”

Then they’re both cackling, so loudly that Luke begins to mewl as though he’s displeased that he’s not being included in the conversation. Rey is asleep on the couch behind Poe, tears still leaking from her eyes. Ben lifts his son to his face and kisses the top of his head, downy ginger curls flattening with his breath.

“She’s going to be alright, Poe.”

“Are you sure about that? Ben, I watched her hold someone in her arms as they drowned in their own blood without flinching, I have never seen her like this.”

“Yeah. She’s tough. She and Dad were painfully close, is all.”

“Death fucking sucks.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

In two hours, Poe will go to Han’s funeral. He will hold Rey’s hand, and he will hold Leia’s. He will help carry the casket out into the driving snow, he’ll tuck Luke into his coat when Ben goes to speak graveside with Hux by his side, an intimidating figure on a good day and downright terrifying today. He will shed tears of his own and cling to Rey like someone is going to take her from him. In two hours, Poe will do what he hates almost more than anything else in the world.

Right now, though, he laughs with Ben Solo on the living room floor, and for a second, he can picture everything shaping up to be alright.

#damerey #kylux #poe dameron #ultimate big brother ben solo #Kylo ren has a baby?? #the Sads tm #cecilia writes

[sueboohscorner]

#IntotheBadlands S2 Ep 2 & 3 “Force of Eagle's Claw” & “Red Sun, Silver Moon” Recap & Review

“Red Sun, Silver Moon”

Episode Grade 9

We pick up where we left on in the season finale and with Sunny Identity revealed, the Engineer sets a battle between Sunny and Mouse (don’t let the name fool you that guy was twice Sunny’s size). Sunny and Bajie are shackled together as punishment for Bajie ratting him out. "You’re going to live or die together,” the Engineer taunts. Sunny and Bajie take some hits but manages to block most of them and prevent Mouse from breaking Bajie's leg. 

Bajie and Sunny manage to escape out of the pit, but Mouse catches up with Sunny and Bajie, and during the fight, Mouse pushes Sunny hazardously close to a giant spinning exhaust fan. Bajie gabs Mouse Machete and lodges it in the fan before it beheads Sunny, then they tried quickly to crawls out in-between the giant blades. Mouse grabs Sunny’s legs before he could get to the other side and Bajie pulls hard, and both Sunny and Mouse came through, and the machete drops out, and the fan started to spin again and Sunny fly-kicks Mouse, sending him into the spinning blades. Mouse’s body splashes on the Engineer's face who witness the entire thing and Sunny and Bajie escape.

The Widow's Sanctuary, Tilda is reprimanded by Waldo (who betrayed Quinn and changed alliances) for slaughtering a group of Clippers in Odessa’s honor after the Widow granted them their freedom. Waldo tells her that they are at war and that she should do away with her emotions, using Sunny as a reference. Tilda asks Waldo if he heard anything from the River King, but Waldo tells her that he thinks Sunny is dead, which made her assume the same is true of M.K.

Meanwhile, at the Totemist compound Lydia new home after being banned from the Fort, the community celebrates a wedding. Lydia thanked them for welcoming her back to the group. In the middle of her speech, a spear impales the groom to a tree, and two Nomads kill another Totemist woman and drag her away as the congregation bows to their knees in silent prayer. One of the Nomads holds a knife to Lydia’s father Penrith throat, but he doesn't react, but Lydia jumps in and stabs the Nomad in the stomach. Lydia fights the second Nomad and manages to kill him. Lydia find out if her father was ok, but to her surprise, he reprimanded her for her violent actions on their land telling her she had no right and they would have rather died that soil the lane with blood (ungrateful much).

Now to M.K at the Monastery, he wakes up from a nightmare to find The Master stands over him with an origami blossom and tells him to follow her and Tate notices. The Master takes M.K. to a room filled with mirrors, and M.K. stares at his reflections, the Master explains to M.K that the mirrors hold memories and then crushes the paper blossom in her hand, turning it to smoke and M.K. inhales it, and it sent him to the cargo hold. M.K is surrounded by bloody bodies, and hooded figure grabs him and then take off the hood revealing to be M.K. in his dark state sending him into a shock landing him back in the mirrored room. M.K. wakes up in the Master's personal chamber and realizes he killed the people on the ship, but The Master tells him that it was not him it was not him but the one who takes control. The Master urges him to claim his gift from his dark self before he can ever leave the Monastery.

Quinn promises redemption to the men who stayed loyal after the Fort was compromised. 

Lydia pays Ryder's a visit at his new mansion formerly belonging to Jacobee, Lydia tells Ryder about the Nomad raid and tells him his help would make a good impression on his own worker Cogs, who are religious. She tells him that she is aware that his Cogs have been abandoning his poppy fields to fight for The Widow and offered Ryder her help but Ryder, defensively grabs her and reminds her of her lack of faith in him. 

Ava tells M.K. that Tate ran away, as She inquiries about M.K.’s training telling him that she has never seen the Master take on a novice. M.K. confides in Ava telling her to think about the worst thing she's ever done. Ava admits they’ve all killed people. After a long talk with Ava, M.K. returns to the Master to face his dark self again. This time he's sent to the woods, where he hears his mother screaming from afar. He runs but is stopped by his dark self, who advises him to go back. The two get into a fight, M.K is badly hurt after getting a gut punch making his mouth fills with blood in the present.  The Master strikes him with chi to bring him back from the mirror vision.

Quinn shares the history of baptisms in the Badlands, mentioning that he had neglected the ritual with Ryder, but fate has presented him with a second chance to baptize the Badlands' newest heir. Quinn caught the Loyalist he observes eyeing Veil and stabs him in the eye with a deer antler as a warning to the men. Veil watches as Quin drinks deer blood and brushes some across Henry's forehead.

Waldo brings The Widow news of Ryder’s invitation for all Barons to meet at a conclave. Telling her that if Ryder convinces the other Barons that she attacked the oil fields violated the Foundation Treaty, Waldo warns they can expect an attack. The Widow suggests gaining the upper hand by killing them all first. Waldo advice against the idea is telling her it was reckless and suggests a diplomatic approach, though he stands by the use of violence if the Barons initiate.

The next day, Quinn shows Veil to a tiny room where sunlight pours in through the ceiling. She smiles.

Sunny and Bajie continue their journey but reaches the top of a hill and looks down at a huge wall that runs the entire length of the Badlands. Bajie tells him that they can go through if you know the right people.

I really enjoyed the episode, the scene with Sunny and Money was very exciting, and although Bajie betrayed Sunny, in the beginning, he is growing on me. I am not sure if he will stay loyal to a Sunny bit if he is smart he would, as for Veil I hate that she saves Quinn even though he serves his purpose now protecting her to some extent. I am more Team Widow now that I know her true motive, but I am not sure if I trust Waldo, he just does strike me the person who want a free living. I said this because the advice Sunny last season about having a normal life.

“Red Sun, Silver Moon”

Episode Grade 9

Sunny and Bajie journey continues through the barren landscapes of the Outlying Territories. Sunny suspects that Bajie has no idea where they are, after bragging that he knows of a shortcut through the wall. Bajie tells Sunny of a smuggler named Nos that they could trade something in exchange for passage through a secret tunnel. Sunny does not like the idea of a smuggler. Naturally, it is how he ended up in this situation.

Sunny and Bajie arrives at a stone bridge and is immediately confronted by a swordsman stands in the middle telling them that they brought trouble with them. He throughs his ringed sword in Sunny’s direction and it passed Sunny's head, killing the attacker who was creeping up behind them. The swordsman informs them that there was a hefty bounty on their heads and that every Stalker with a rusty blade is after them. More men attacked, and both Sunny and the man fight them off together, and Bajie chokes one to death. The man tells Sunny to follow him telling him “Live or die, it's your choice.” On the way, Sunny and Bajie discusses their options, and Bajie mentions to him that the swordsman only saved them so he can kill them and collect the bounties for himself. As they looked over at him, they saw his tattoos which indicated that he was a Clipper. Sunny ignores Bajie's fears, and they continue to follow the swordsman.

We them see M.K. training diligently at the Monastery after which he visits the Master and requests to enter the Mirror Chamber once more, but the Master denies the request saying, “You must learn to stop fighting yourself.” She warns that if he pushes too far, the consequences could be deadly and not only for him.

Now to The Widow's Sanctuary were, Waldo, Tilda and the Widow discuss Ryder’s upcoming conclave where each Baron must arrive unarmed with their second-in-command, while Ryder's Clippers will be patrolling the perimeters for Nomads. In attendance should be six Barons. Therefore, The Widow needs at least two on her side. Waldo urges her to start winning some hearts and minds at the reception beforehand. The Widow told Tilda that she would not be joining her because she needed her there to be in charge of the Sanctuary and instructs her to blow up the oil fields if she doesn't return.

We then see Quinn cradles Henry reading him a story as Veil quickly fetches Quinn to perform an X-ray on him to diagnose the status of his continued headaches. Quinn complains to Veil how he was duped by his young bride, Jade, into thinking Lydia tried to kill her. Telling her “Trust is such a delicate thing.” Veil asks what he's preparing his men for, and he said, “We all pay for our sins, eventually.” Veil develops Quinn's X-ray, and hides the original film, which shows a growing tumor in his head, and shows him one of a healthy brain; they give him an opium-laced concoction to drink. 

Sunny and Bajie, freshens up, sit around a fire while Sunny shaves his face. Sunny and Bajie mentions the Clipper of myths of a legendary Regent named Nathaniel Moon who left the Badlands and now hunted fugitives. Moon admits that it was him, but insists he's not out for their bounty. Moon explains why he left and Sunny mentions a woman waiting for him and Moon advise not going back, for her sake.

Back to Vail, as she was about to cut up the X-ray showing Quinn’s tumor, she is interrupted by Quinn's Loyalist Clippers Edgar, who needs stitches.

While Bajie sleeps, Sunny finds Moon training with his sword, and they had a conversation from which Sunny learns that Moon has 999 kills, and I learned that Sunny’s has 404. Moon tells Sunny why he keeps killing telling him he was waiting for someone good enough to be worthy of his thousandth tattoo. Sunny grabs a sword just as Moon points one at him. Moon admires

Back at the Monastery's M.K. hears a scream and follows the sound which leads him to see three Abbots carrying a trunk to a secret chamber and watches from outside the room as the Abbots haul Tate from the trunk and strap him to a table. Tate promises not to run away again, but one of the Abbots still switches on a control panel. Ava appears and drags M.K. away and explains to him that Tate was being cleansed for not following the rules, telling him that they are treats to the people outside. M.K. ask Ava to leave with him telling her that the Master is a liar because she’s simply afraid of them, but she refuses.

Sunny wakes Bajie to leave, but Moon blocks their way and requests a battle with a worthy opponent in exchange for giving them shelter. Sunny tells Bajie to find Veil if he doesn't make it back to the Badlands and gets into his fighting stance. Moon charges after him and the battle begins they fight until Moon loses sword, Sunny kicks him in the face and Moon fell to his knees with his mouth full of blood and thanks to Sunny for the fight as he prepares for an honorable death, but Sunny refuses and turns away. Moon charges after Sunny with his sword, but Bajie hurls a sword, slicing off Moon's hand. Moon bleeds out while Bajie takes Moon's signature ringed sword telling Sunny that it was their ticket out of here. Moon yell out at Sunny that he would leave a trail of bodies before he makes it back to his family.

The Widow and Waldo arrive at the conclave. Ryder and Jade greet them. The Widow smiled and said, “Let the fun begin.”

#IntotheBadlands #Into the Badlands

[andya-j]

It was the job of a lifetime for me, teaching people to speak English in Hanoi, Vietnam, and getting paid big money for it. In 1994, the war seemed long over, but for some, it was never going to end, soldiers becoming redundant, and innocent people becoming landlocked, their way of living and thought forever changed, so much so they could never rest, not until their job was done . Summer was in full swing there and two of my friends joined me, to help me settle in. They had been there twice before. Good old Jim Dyson and His wife John, short for Johnette. They were both older than me by about ten years. I was only twenty-six. An uncle of mine – Tom - had served in the Army during the war, got wounded at the Battle of Long Tan. He rarely spoke of it, but when he got drunk he did, and would troll off into his own little world, speaking in Vietnamese, because he had to learn the language, just in case he got caught. “ Eddie, “ he'd say, breathing alcoholic fumes on me, trying to look me in the eye, “ they tie ya to trees, boy. Then, they cut ya. From ya shithole to ya breakfast. “ Then, he'd look over his shoulder suspiciously, and smirk, “ We really should make a run for it. “ Uncle Tom was killed by a car walking to the shops in 1986. He had been sober for three years. Hurt my family deeply, Hanoi surprised me, because I thought I would be in a city of the past, with people selling rice, working bullock drays, on unpaved potholed roads, with throwback sixties bars, and tiny, pretty women in purple silk miniskirts promising to love me long time. It was nothing like that. The Dysons had warned me. It was very modern and very loud. And, man, it was loud. First day there, I saw a fight in the street. Two taxi drivers got into an argument over a potential fare and one stabbed the other in the back of the neck. The potential fare ran off and got on a bus. I wanted to step in and help the wounded driver, but Jim pulled me back, saying, “ No, Ed. It's their business. They don't like interference. Trust me. “ I trusted him, but I really think I should have helped. We settled into a hotel called the Hanoi Arms and I still had three weeks to go until I settled into the teacher's cottage. The Vietnamese government, crawling along as it was, had found me a permanent place to stay, which I was and will be forever grateful for. It was much like a modern bedsitter unit. It had an expanse to place a bed, a lounge, a desk, and television, which I never had reception for, unless it was a black screen with Viet music playing. The place had a seperate kitchen and bathroom, though. And it had electricity. I met the renevator – Tran – when I turned up the first time, with Jim and John. “ Ready. Ready soon, “ he said, smiling, covered in paint, a man in his late forties. “ You cook here. Big cook. “ He dabbed paint at the wall, then said, “ Here, man cook all time. Good for wife. Wife cook good, man cook better. Must cook better. No cook, no good. No cook, no wife, “ then he chuckled, like this was the local knowledge and a joke to him. Tran smoked a cigarette while he painted, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, never once using his hands to deal with it, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth, squinting through one eye. When the cigarette was finished, he spat the butt with expert aim into a brass pot. I have never smoked, so I found it fascinating, and when I finally moved in at the start of term, there was not a shred of cigarette smoke in the place. I never met Tran again. At the community school, where I would be working, I met the head of education. She called herself Miss Maggie. She was taller then most Vietnamese women, had long and straight black hair, with legs that ran to her neck, and she had the greenest eyes. Jim and John met her with me and they later told me that meeting an asian woman with green eyes is very good luck, like marrying a white woman with blue eyes. It's simply the polar cultural opposites of good fortune. Being only twenty-six at the time, I won't lie, I wanted to fuck Miss Maggie bad. She was hot. With three weeks to go before the start of a new term, Miss Maggie said, “ You should cycle. Go get cycle, love. “ She said love. My heart was beating fast. Then, she said, “ The people there. In the country, they need you. I don't need you here. I need you there. Introduce yourself, Mister Grantley. Be a teacher. “ “ Just call me Eddie, “ I said. “ No, you are Mister Grantley. You are a teacher, like I am, but I am better than you are. You know why? You are here, love, “ winking at me, knowing she was the boss, and that was all of it. Love... That word again. A learned word to soothe the nerves of the caucasian, like junkies use it to appease a dealer they owe money to, or to get product from, or to slide their foot through the door. We were attracted, I could see it, but she wanted me to do my job, earn the money, better her homeland, and prove it. “ Certainly, “ I said. “ It's a very good idea. I'll listen to your advice. Bicycle, was it? “ “ Yes, “ she said. “ Blend in. A motor car distinguishes you at my school. Get a bicycle. I see you have friends waiting for you. You should take them with you. I heard your other friend speaking Vietnamese. Make sure he goes with you. To be a good teacher, Mister Grantley, you must be like the students. If they crawl, you crawl with them, then they learn to walk. “ I understood her logic and that's why I eventually married her. Jim and John were quick to rent bicycles for us and off into the Vietnamese countryside we went, leaving the noise of Hanoi behind. Before too soon the roads became dusty, dirty, pocked with holes, and irrigations. We laughed at how much those road jolted our bones. We stopped at villages, the villagers coming out, speaking to us, telling us where to go, and where not go, offering us their babies at times, freaking us out, always marvelling at the shininess of our bicycles, sunglasses, and watches, touching the fabric of our clothes. At one place, into our fourth day of cycling, at a village I still cannot pronounce, they held Jim and Johnette down, by the side of their toppled bikes, yelling, machetes high, willing to decapitate them both, then the villagers laughed and let us go. We wanted to go home then, but Jim was pissed, “ Fuck these little cunts! Fuck them! “ “ Shut up! “ Johnette shrieked. Then, they came back, and took us, shoved us to the ground again. Right there in the middle of nowhere. “ Be cool, “ I told my companions, “ Just be quiet for a moment. “ ( Please... ), I said in Vietnamese, especially to the older angry man with the machete above me, his dark face scrunched to kill, and me already having wet myself. ( We will ), from remembering all my uncle Tom's drunken Vietnamese. I was here to teach it, not speak it. The angry man with the machete yelled, “ We will? We what? “ I asked, ( Teach speak please? )( Can we please help you? ) ( Hear me? ) He kicked my belly, called me a smarty pants, slapped the back of my head, and snorted that english was easy. The Americans taught him that. Jim was next. He grabbed Jim by the fringe and put the machete to my friend's throat, yelling, “ You! What you do? “ John was pleading with the men roughing her up and Jim was seething with anger, his eyes making it clear. ( I can rip every tooth from your head and fistfuck your mouth for this, ) Jim growled in clear and profound Vietnamese. The machete man let him go and stepped back, understanding exactly what Jim meant. First, he smirked, then he chuckled, slapping one of his pals on the arm, then he laughed at Jim, “ No, you cant! I won't let you! “ Then, everyone was laughing at us. I was thinking they were going to keep us prisoner, rape Johnette, behead us, all the terrible things my uncle Tom told me about, but within in a few hours, they had fed us, given us water, returned our bicycles, and sent us on our way. We were glad to be away from them and Jim and John bickered momentarily, but they made up quickly, and held each other crying. They wanted to blame me for it, but couldn't, because I never invited them. They invited themselves. Two days later, we encountered an old compound that may have served as a military base during the war. The walls were huge and grey, four towers standing high, but vacant. The place seemed deserted, so we ventured inside to look around. We quickly learned that this place had been a prison. There were hundreds of cells with broken doors and rusty bars, an executioner's gallows rotting away. In the massive courtyard we heard a door open at the far end and a small old man was looking at us, just standing there, shaking his head in disappointment. “ Hello! “ John called. The man looked shocked and upset when she called out, then spoke to himself, turning around, and darted back into his room. “ Spritely old fart, “ Jim said. “ Probably has a huge cock, too. “ John giggled and punched his arm. We knocked on the old man's door and it opened slightly, unlocked. “ Hello? “ I quizzed. “ Are you there? Can we please come in? “ There was a breeze and the door opened a little more, so I gently pushed it all the way open. The old man was unravelling bundles of rope, cutting them into lengths with a large knife, mumbling to himself. We entered and he seemed oblivious to us. His room smelled of kerosene. “ Are you the caretaker? “ I asked. John was amazed at the silk tapestry on the wall. Jim checked in a vase and coughed, “ I think those are human ashes in there. “ I was trying to decipher what the old man was saying, but for the life of me, I couldn't grasp his dialect, wondering aloud, “ What do you think he's saying? “ “ Sounds familiar, “ Jim said. “ Some shit about three ropes. “ The old man kept cutting the ropes with the knife, nimble about it, but also quite distressed, like we had made him get out of bed to do something he didn't want to do, as if us being there was a chore, never once ceasing his mumbling that same phrase over and over. I turned to Jim and he had John's arm, backing out the door in shock, motioning for me to follow them, Jim nodding his head, wide eyed in panic. He walked calmly to his bicycle, telling me to follow, don't look back, but I did look back, and as we rode away, I could see the old man wailing silently at us, on his knees, rope in hand. When the compound was out of sight, Jim stopped pedaling, taking a breath. “ That old guy is fucked, “ Jim said. “ I recognized what he was saying from this time I went to Thailand to visit a friend. Some prison guards were speaking to each other in a bar. That old man back there was talking Thai. He was wasn't talking about three ropes. Even for an old man, he is very dangerous. He was a prison executioner and he was saying he needed to hang three more, meaning us. That was a gutting knife he had. He was going to gut us and hang us, Eddie! “ In 1994, the war was long over, but for some...

It was the job of a lifetime for me, teaching people to speak English in Hanoi, Vietnam, and getting paid big money for it. In 1994, the war seemed long over, but for some, it was never going to end, soldiers becoming redundant, and innocent people becoming landlocked, their way of living and thought forever changed, so much so they could never rest, not until their job was done . Summer was in full swing there and two of my friends joined me, to help me settle in. They had been there twice before. Good old Jim Dyson and His wife John, short for Johnette. They were both older than me by about ten years. I was only twenty-six. An uncle of mine – Tom – had served in the Army during the war, got wounded at the Battle of Long Tan. He rarely spoke of it, but when he got drunk he did, and would troll off into his own little world, speaking in Vietnamese, because he had to learn the language, just in case he got caught. “ Eddie, “ he’d say, breathing alcoholic fumes on me, trying to look me in the eye, “ they tie ya to trees, boy. Then, they cut ya. From ya shithole to ya breakfast. “ Then, he’d look over his shoulder suspiciously, and smirk, “ We really should make a run for it. “ Uncle Tom was killed by a car walking to the shops in 1986. He had been sober for three years. Hurt my family deeply, Hanoi surprised me, because I thought I would be in a city of the past, with people selling rice, working bullock drays, on unpaved potholed roads, with throwback sixties bars, and tiny, pretty women in purple silk miniskirts promising to love me long time. It was nothing like that. The Dysons had warned me. It was very modern and very loud. And, man, it was loud. First day there, I saw a fight in the street. Two taxi drivers got into an argument over a potential fare and one stabbed the other in the back of the neck. The potential fare ran off and got on a bus. I wanted to step in and help the wounded driver, but Jim pulled me back, saying, “ No, Ed. It’s their business. They don’t like interference. Trust me. “ I trusted him, but I really think I should have helped. We settled into a hotel called the Hanoi Arms and I still had three weeks to go until I settled into the teacher’s cottage. The Vietnamese government, crawling along as it was, had found me a permanent place to stay, which I was and will be forever grateful for. It was much like a modern bedsitter unit. It had an expanse to place a bed, a lounge, a desk, and television, which I never had reception for, unless it was a black screen with Viet music playing. The place had a seperate kitchen and bathroom, though. And it had electricity. I met the renevator – Tran – when I turned up the first time, with Jim and John. “ Ready. Ready soon, “ he said, smiling, covered in paint, a man in his late forties. “ You cook here. Big cook. “ He dabbed paint at the wall, then said, “ Here, man cook all time. Good for wife. Wife cook good, man cook better. Must cook better. No cook, no good. No cook, no wife, “ then he chuckled, like this was the local knowledge and a joke to him. Tran smoked a cigarette while he painted, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, never once using his hands to deal with it, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth, squinting through one eye. When the cigarette was finished, he spat the butt with expert aim into a brass pot. I have never smoked, so I found it fascinating, and when I finally moved in at the start of term, there was not a shred of cigarette smoke in the place. I never met Tran again. At the community school, where I would be working, I met the head of education. She called herself Miss Maggie. She was taller then most Vietnamese women, had long and straight black hair, with legs that ran to her neck, and she had the greenest eyes. Jim and John met her with me and they later told me that meeting an asian woman with green eyes is very good luck, like marrying a white woman with blue eyes. It’s simply the polar cultural opposites of good fortune. Being only twenty-six at the time, I won’t lie, I wanted to fuck Miss Maggie bad. She was hot. With three weeks to go before the start of a new term, Miss Maggie said, “ You should cycle. Go get cycle, love. “ She said love. My heart was beating fast. Then, she said, “ The people there. In the country, they need you. I don’t need you here. I need you there. Introduce yourself, Mister Grantley. Be a teacher. “ “ Just call me Eddie, “ I said. “ No, you are Mister Grantley. You are a teacher, like I am, but I am better than you are. You know why? You are here, love, “ winking at me, knowing she was the boss, and that was all of it. Love… That word again. A learned word to soothe the nerves of the caucasian, like junkies use it to appease a dealer they owe money to, or to get product from, or to slide their foot through the door. We were attracted, I could see it, but she wanted me to do my job, earn the money, better her homeland, and prove it. “ Certainly, “ I said. “ It’s a very good idea. I’ll listen to your advice. Bicycle, was it? “ “ Yes, “ she said. “ Blend in. A motor car distinguishes you at my school. Get a bicycle. I see you have friends waiting for you. You should take them with you. I heard your other friend speaking Vietnamese. Make sure he goes with you. To be a good teacher, Mister Grantley, you must be like the students. If they crawl, you crawl with them, then they learn to walk. “ I understood her logic and that’s why I eventually married her. Jim and John were quick to rent bicycles for us and off into the Vietnamese countryside we went, leaving the noise of Hanoi behind. Before too soon the roads became dusty, dirty, pocked with holes, and irrigations. We laughed at how much those road jolted our bones. We stopped at villages, the villagers coming out, speaking to us, telling us where to go, and where not go, offering us their babies at times, freaking us out, always marvelling at the shininess of our bicycles, sunglasses, and watches, touching the fabric of our clothes. At one place, into our fourth day of cycling, at a village I still cannot pronounce, they held Jim and Johnette down, by the side of their toppled bikes, yelling, machetes high, willing to decapitate them both, then the villagers laughed and let us go. We wanted to go home then, but Jim was pissed, “ Fuck these little cunts! Fuck them! “ “ Shut up! “ Johnette shrieked. Then, they came back, and took us, shoved us to the ground again. Right there in the middle of nowhere. “ Be cool, “ I told my companions, “ Just be quiet for a moment. “ ( Please… ), I said in Vietnamese, especially to the older angry man with the machete above me, his dark face scrunched to kill, and me already having wet myself. ( We will ), from remembering all my uncle Tom’s drunken Vietnamese. I was here to teach it, not speak it. The angry man with the machete yelled, “ We will? We what? “ I asked, ( Teach speak please? )( Can we please help you? ) ( Hear me? ) He kicked my belly, called me a smarty pants, slapped the back of my head, and snorted that english was easy. The Americans taught him that. Jim was next. He grabbed Jim by the fringe and put the machete to my friend’s throat, yelling, “ You! What you do? “ John was pleading with the men roughing her up and Jim was seething with anger, his eyes making it clear. ( I can rip every tooth from your head and fistfuck your mouth for this, ) Jim growled in clear and profound Vietnamese. The machete man let him go and stepped back, understanding exactly what Jim meant. First, he smirked, then he chuckled, slapping one of his pals on the arm, then he laughed at Jim, “ No, you cant! I won’t let you! “ Then, everyone was laughing at us. I was thinking they were going to keep us prisoner, rape Johnette, behead us, all the terrible things my uncle Tom told me about, but within in a few hours, they had fed us, given us water, returned our bicycles, and sent us on our way. We were glad to be away from them and Jim and John bickered momentarily, but they made up quickly, and held each other crying. They wanted to blame me for it, but couldn’t, because I never invited them. They invited themselves. Two days later, we encountered an old compound that may have served as a military base during the war. The walls were huge and grey, four towers standing high, but vacant. The place seemed deserted, so we ventured inside to look around. We quickly learned that this place had been a prison. There were hundreds of cells with broken doors and rusty bars, an executioner’s gallows rotting away. In the massive courtyard we heard a door open at the far end and a small old man was looking at us, just standing there, shaking his head in disappointment. “ Hello! “ John called. The man looked shocked and upset when she called out, then spoke to himself, turning around, and darted back into his room. “ Spritely old fart, “ Jim said. “ Probably has a huge cock, too. “ John giggled and punched his arm. We knocked on the old man’s door and it opened slightly, unlocked. “ Hello? “ I quizzed. “ Are you there? Can we please come in? “ There was a breeze and the door opened a little more, so I gently pushed it all the way open. The old man was unravelling bundles of rope, cutting them into lengths with a large knife, mumbling to himself. We entered and he seemed oblivious to us. His room smelled of kerosene. “ Are you the caretaker? “ I asked. John was amazed at the silk tapestry on the wall. Jim checked in a vase and coughed, “ I think those are human ashes in there. “ I was trying to decipher what the old man was saying, but for the life of me, I couldn’t grasp his dialect, wondering aloud, “ What do you think he’s saying? “ “ Sounds familiar, “ Jim said. “ Some shit about three ropes. “ The old man kept cutting the ropes with the knife, nimble about it, but also quite distressed, like we had made him get out of bed to do something he didn’t want to do, as if us being there was a chore, never once ceasing his mumbling that same phrase over and over. I turned to Jim and he had John’s arm, backing out the door in shock, motioning for me to follow them, Jim nodding his head, wide eyed in panic. He walked calmly to his bicycle, telling me to follow, don’t look back, but I did look back, and as we rode away, I could see the old man wailing silently at us, on his knees, rope in hand. When the compound was out of sight, Jim stopped pedaling, taking a breath. “ That old guy is fucked, “ Jim said. “ I recognized what he was saying from this time I went to Thailand to visit a friend. Some prison guards were speaking to each other in a bar. That old man back there was talking Thai. He was wasn’t talking about three ropes. Even for an old man, he is very dangerous. He was a prison executioner and he was saying he needed to hang three more, meaning us. That was a gutting knife he had. He was going to gut us and hang us, Eddie! “ In 1994, the war was long over, but for some…

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The Wizard of Oz - Synopsis

Dorothy Gale is an orphaned teenager who lives with her Auntie Em and Uncle Henry) on a Kansas farm in the early 1900′s. She daydreams about going "over the rainbow" after Miss Gulch, a nasty neighbour, hits Dorothy's dog Toto on the back with a rake, causing Toto to bite her. Miss Gulch shows up with an order to take Toto to the sheriff to be euthanized, but Toto jumps out of the basket on the back of Miss Gulch's bicycle and runs back to Dorothy. Fearing that Miss Gulch, who does not know that Toto has escaped, will return, Dorothy takes the dog and runs away from home. She meets an itinerant phoney fortune teller, Professor Marvel , who immediately guesses that Dorothy has run away. Pretending to tell her fortune and wishing to reunite Dorothy with her aunt, he tells her that Auntie Em has fallen ill from worry over her.

Dorothy immediately returns home with Toto, only to find a tornado approaching. Unable to reach her family in their storm cellar, Dorothy enters the house, is knocked unconscious by a loose window, and apparently begins to dream. Along with her house and Toto, she's swept from her sepia-toned world to the magical, beautiful, dangerous and technicolor land of Oz. The tornado drops Dorothy's house on the Wicked Witch of the East, killing her. The witch ruled the Land of the Munchkins, little people who think at first that Dorothy herself must be a witch. The Wicked Witch of the West, who is the sister of the dead witch, threatens Dorothy. But Glinda , the Good Witch of the North, gives Dorothy the dead witch's enchanted Ruby Slippers, and the slippers protect her. Glinda advises that if Dorothy wants to go home to Kansas, she should seek the aid of the Wizard of Oz, who lives in the Emerald City. To get there, Dorothy sets off down the Yellow Brick Road.

Before she's followed the road very far, Dorothy meets a talking scarecrow whose dearest wish is to have a brain. Hoping that the wizard can help him, the Scarecrow  joins Dorothy on her journey. They come upon the Tin Woodman, who was caught in the rain and is so rusty he can't move. When they oil his joints so he can walk and talk again, he confesses that he longs for a heart; he too joins Dorothy. As they walk through a dense forest, they encounter the Cowardly Lion, who wishes for courage and joins the quest in the hope that the wizard will give him some. Dorothy's three friends resemble the three farmhands who work for Dorothy's aunt and uncle back in Kansas.

On the way to the Emerald City, Dorothy and her friends are hindered and menaced by the Wicked Witch of the West. She incites trees to throw apples at them, then tries to set the scarecrow on fire. Within sight of the city, the witch conjures up a field of poppies that cause Dorothy, Toto, and the lion to fall asleep. Glinda saves them by making it snow, which counteracts the effects of the poppies.

The four travellers marvel at the wonders they find in the Emerald City and take time to freshen up: Dorothy, Toto and the Lion have their hair done, the Tin Woodman gets polished, and the scarecrow receives an infusion of fresh straw stuffing. As they emerge looking clean and spiffy, the Wicked Witch appears on her broomstick and sky writes "Surrender Dorothy" above the city. The friends are frustrated at their reception by the "great and powerful" Wizard of Oz  -- at first he won't receive them at all. When they finally see him (the doorkeeper lets them in because he had an Aunt Em himself), the Wizard declines to help them until they bring him the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. Daunted but determined, they set off again.

The witch sends winged monkeys to attack Dorothy's party before they reach her castle; the monkeys snatch Dorothy and Toto and scatter the others. When the witch finds that the Ruby Slippers can't be taken against Dorothy's will as long as the girl is alive, she turns her hourglass and threatens that Dorothy will die when it runs out. Meanwhile, Toto has escaped and run for help. Dressed as guardsmen, the Lion, the Tin Man, and the Scarecrow sneak into the castle and free Dorothy. They're discovered before they can escape, however, and the witch and her guards corner them and set the Scarecrow on fire. Dorothy douses him with a pail of water, splashing the witch by accident. The water causes the witch to disintegrate ("I'm melting!"). The guards are happy to let Dorothy have the witch's broomstick, and Dorothy and her friends return to the Emerald City.

The wizard isn't pleased to see them again. He blusters until Toto pulls aside a curtain in the corner of the audience chamber to reveal an old man who resembles Professor Marvel pulling levers and speaking into a microphone -- the so-called wizard, as the Scarecrow says, is a humbug. He's abashed and apologetic, but quickly finds ways to help Dorothy's friends: a diploma for the Scarecrow, a medal of valour for the Lion, and a testimonial heart-shaped watch for the Tin Man. Then he reveals that he's from Kansas himself and came to Oz in a hot-air balloon, in which he proposes to take Dorothy home.

The wizard appoints the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion rulers of Oz in his absence. Just as the balloon is about to take off Toto runs after a cat and Dorothy follows him. Unable to stop, the wizard leaves without Dorothy. But Glinda appears and explains that Dorothy has always had the power to get home; Glinda didn't tell her before because Dorothy wouldn't have believed it. Bidding her friends a tearful good-bye, Dorothy taps her heels together three times, repeats "There's no place like home," and the Ruby Slippers take her and Toto back to Kansas.

Dorothy wakes up in her own bed with Auntie Em and Uncle Henry fussing over her. Professor Marvel and the farmhands Hunk, Hickory, and Zeke stop by to see how she's doing. She raises indulgent laughter when she tells them about Oz, but she's so happy to be home she doesn't mind that they don't believe her. Miss Gulch is never mentioned again.

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