#did i just write dialogues | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jgrills · 7 months

Text

Ghostface hobie (readers a survivor)

"Stabbing Fest"

Tw: stabbing, MENTIONS OF GUNS, blood and injuries, ghostface, character deaths, chainsaw, cussing, honestly, this is more of reader fighting their betrayer.

Got inspired by @breeandhermunches and her e42 and 1610 ghostface miles fic.

reader survives.

6:30 pm.

It was an exhausting school day, good thing its Halloween night, now you can chill out and watch a (horror movie you like marathon).

Your phone rings as soon as you snuggle into the couch blanket. You groan and check who it is..

It's Mekell.

You answer, and immediately get your ears bursted with a loud "Hey!!" From them.

"Yes?" Your voice is groggy, still comfortable in the covers.

"I know exams were exhausting, but can the group come over?"

"Why are you just now deciding to tell me?"

"I'm sorryyy, the plans just came in late, so can we?"

"I swear.." you sigh

"Come on over, just don't mess shit up"

"Okay, we'll be there!"

6:56 pm

Shortly after they arrive, everything's going well, laughing, grimacing at the gorey scenes, but mostly yelling at the characters for being dumb.

"Fucking dumb bitch, go the other way!"

You snicker at Kay's comment, as she dramatically groans and leans on Maya , when the character on the screen gets stabbed.

You notice Mari, just admiring her features, she had looked even more different more different than when you first saw her. She had a afro-mohawk, several piercings, just overall beautiful.

You guys talk for a while, just talking about school, what grades you got, and just relaxing.

it's been a while since you've been able to hang out with them.

9:30 pm

All your friends are asleep, except Mani and Maya, Mani seems unnerved, looking at Maya with a suspicious look. Maya just looks back in worry, shaking her head.

The tv blares with a loud sound, you recongnize the yellow bottom banner.

"BREAKING NEWS: TAY'SHAWN HARRISON, HAS BEEN MURDERED IN HIS FAMILY HOME ON QUEENSWAY GROVE"

"Shit.." You hear Mani murmur. "He just texted me too, rest in peace."

"Poor Tay'Shawn, today was his and his girlfriends anniversary.."

You see Tay'Shawns family on the tv, looking absolutely horrified and crying as they speak into the mic.

The house phone goes off. Mani and Maya look towards the phone.

"I'll go get it"

You pick the phone up, putting it to your ear.

"Hello? Is (your name) here?"

"This is them"

"Look, I..just want you to tell Mekell about the group chat, she didn't invite me to it."

"Why? There's a reason she wouldn't invite you."

"Speaking of Mekell, she talks a bunch about you"

"What does she say about me?"

"She says your (insert personality), and that you like scary movies."

Since the call is on speaker, Mani quickly wakes the others up, telling them a possible killer is talking with you. They all get up, and go to several hiding places around the house.

"She..does?" You're feeling unnerved as the strangers voice suddenly got deeper, and with more of an accent.

"Yeah, (your name)"

...

How does he..?

You hang up quickly, putting the phone back.

"Man-"

"Nope, I know, but keep the phone on you incase that fucker tries to mess around." Mani whisper-shouts at you from upstairs. "Maya's with me also."

"Thank you Mani, I can always trust-"

Phone rings.

"Now, let me ask a question" The stranger asks on the other line.

You stay silent.

"Did you lock the back door?"

Fuck.

FUCK.

You quickly downthe stair- Mani stops you. "Do NOT go down those stairs, I know that tatic"

Drip.

Something lands on your forehead.

You put a finger to it, looking at it..

It's blood.

"Mani.."

"I know" She wipes the blood off your forehead and leds you somewhere else.

"Not gonna answer me now?"

"Wait, huh-"

"Okay then, sucks Mekell will go the same way Tay'Shawn did." Horrible screams and stabbing noises come from the other line, something bubbling, choking sounds, likely from blood, then no more.

You go up the steps.

You put the stranger on mute.

"Mekell?!" You open the door and..

You see Mekell, or..what's left of her, she's torn up, her eyes dull and she stares ahead, her left arm chopped up, being able to see the bone underneath, and a knife in her throat.

"Mekell.." You sob, holding a hand to your mouth, Mani slowly brings you away.

"I know, I know.." She mumbles, bringing you away from Mekell's bloody body.

10:47 pm

Nothing has happened since you've handed up and saw your best friends body. You can't get a hold of your parents, you only have their gun for comfort.

"You don't need to hug it that tight you know, it could be a prank" Maya murmurs.

"Nigga, what did you just say? A PRANK? A FUCKING PRANK? HE LITERALLY JUST KILLED MEKELL, AND YOU THINK THIS IS A PRANK?!" You yell at her, Mani holding you back by your shoulders.

"That's not what I meant, I know she's dead, just get over it."

"Just shut the fuck up Maya" Mani grimaces at Maya, and Maya quickly shuts up. Mani continues comforting you, and you put the gun on the island table, you soon go to sleep.

12:00 AM

You're in your bed, gripping a gun to your chest, looking at that door-

You hear steps, firing off 2 shots.

"Did you just fucking shoot at me?"

You go downstairs, and keep your gun pointed ahead.

Revvvvv...

What's that noise..

Revvvvvvvvvv.... (my poor sound text of a chainsaw)

You go and see who it is..

MAYA?!

Maya stands there, looking downwards, pulling the string to rev up the chainsaw.

"You helping us? Cus i know he's in the house."

"Yes"

You hear the sound of clothes rustling,

Firing off two shots and getting closer, the figure stabs you in the stomach, and slashes you on the collarbone, seeming to dissapear in the shadows as he laughs.

It's a charming laugh..

You keep the knife there, not wanting to bleed out.

"Shit! Mani!" You run back into the house, through the back door.

The powers out, and you can't see shit.

Someone pins you to the wall and digs the knife deeper as you let out a scream of pain. Maya doesn't seem to come to your rescue though.

You kick him away, running to another room.

Where the hell is Mani??

"Mani!!" You yell out, desperately putting your hand over the wounds.

Mani comes out, prepared with a knife.

"What?!"

"Oh thank god" you slump on her, she grabs you close in response.

She sits you on the couch, patching you up, the best she can anyway.

"You keep a close eye on Maya, she's been acting weird."

"Why do you say that?"

"Saw her talking to someone on the phone-"

"Back already, (your name), you must really want to die"

You fire shots where the voice came from, you get a kick to your shin, and Mani jumps into action by stabbing the figure in the chest, but she gets stabbed in the neck.

Seems effective, she falls down beside you, and Ghostface goes somewhere else.

"Mani.." you look at her, tearing up as she looks up at you, her eyes softly dull meanwhile.

"You better kill him and Maya, or I'll haunt you, you hear?" She laughs, choking a little, then letting out a sigh. Mani gives you her families knife.

"Why are you-"

"Don't question it, take it, kill Maya and Ghostface, cya in heaven or hell.. (your name)." She gives you a two-finger-salute, and she goes limp. You hug her cold body, then get up.

Your sweater, now riddled with blood, holes, and the shoulder of the sweater loose, draping over your right shoulder.

12:45 AM

You walk into the kitchen, and walk in on Ghostface stabbing Maya, her screaming and crying for you, you help, stabbing him and throwing him to the kitchen floor, seeming to knock him out. You drag him outside, and tie him to a tree by his waist, you also grab his knife.

You go back to where Maya is, she's standing up, and she hugs you, getting her blood on you.

"Maya, are you-"

"I lied."

"About what?"

"I planned this all out, I'm not really injured" Maya grins sickenly, looking at you through her locs. "How did you think Mekell and Tay'Shawn got all torn to shreds?"

"How could you.."

"How couldn't I?" She grips your face, inching you closer to hers, smiling creepily. "You were all so vulnerable, and honestly, all those years of friendship didn't mean shit, I just wanted a reason to kill you in the end."

"That how you really felt.." you mumble, grabbing ghostfaces knife from your pocket.

"Yep" She hugs you closer, and she stabs your chest. You gasp, bloods pooling already.. but quickly look at Maya with your own knife.

1:20 AM

It's a bloodbath, you and Maya are in a whole stabbing competition it seems, you have the lower hand, while Maya has the upper hand. She's made 2 lethal hits.

Neck and stomach.

You cough up some blood in a towel and rush towards her. I haven't made any lethal hits yet.

You manage to pin her down and keep stabbing her in the chest, she screams and cries, no one comes to her aid.

Like she did to you.

In a few minutes, she bleeds out on the floor, the marble having a stain on it, and some splatters on the floor and your face.

"Seems like you did the job for me" Hobie grabs your waist and kisses you.

You keep looking at her body though, feeling a sense of bloodlust rush through you.

It's just a dream...

right?

@chessbox, fics can be translated (ask first), I don't allow my content to be posted on wattpad/tiktok/youtube without MY permission.

I'm so sorry, this was genuinely unnvering, have a drink from me after that!

(^^)~☆

I actually apologize with what I just wrote.

#Ghostface hobie #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x you #Is this good??#The dialogue was kinda shitty though.#I was about to give up on this #When I remembered to listen to Playboi Carti #then I didn't give up #I ALMOST did ☠#I spent so much time on the plot #I'm so sorry #This came out TERRIBLE #The fuck did I just write #WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST WRITE #THE FUCK #what the actual fuck #what the hell #Chessbox🗯

98 notes · View notes

stobinesque · 11 months

Text

@steddie-week day 3: first kiss | 2.1k words | G or T

Steve and Robin were about halfway through a rewatch of Clue when the phone rang, and Steve was across the living room before it was halfway through its second ring. “What’s wrong?” He asked without preamble. His heart was already racing; too anxious to consider the possibility that it could be someone calling for his parents—or even that it might be a non-emergency call. It was past ten already, and most of The Party should have at least been pretending to sleep by then.

“Steve?” The voice on the other end of the line was a bit distant—drowned out by the staticky sound of rain hitting pavement.

“Eddie? Are you alright? Where are you? Did something happen?”

Eddies’ van was out of commission, so he’d been relying on rides from Steve and the rest of the Corroded Coffin crew to get him to and from places for the past few weeks. If he was out somewhere and in trouble, he was stranded there.

“Yeah—I-I mean, no. Nothing—nothing happened. Just—could you come get me?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

“I’m out at The Hideout.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten—maybe fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I said I’d be there in ten, Eddie.”

“Okay.”

Steve hung up the receiver and turned to make for the foyer to find Robin standing behind him—jacket on, back slung over one shoulder, and a pair of his shoes in one hand. “Picking Eddie up?”

“Yeah.” Steve took the shoes from her hands gratefully, and started pulling them on.

“Can you drop me off on the way without slowing yourself down?”

“Yeah, I budgeted Robin home-delivery time just in case.”

“Well, hop to it then, dingus.”

~*~*~*~

When Steve pulled up in front of The Hideout after dropping off a surprisingly acquiescent Robin (Eddie needs you more than I do right now, dingus), it was to find Eddie sitting atop one of the wheel stops of The Hideout’s small lot, looking like a drowned rat.

Eddie was up and yanking open the door to the beamer before Steve could so much as put it in park, and Steve pulled out of the lot as soon as Eddie had his seat belt buckled across him.

“You okay, mann?”

Eddie shrugged.

“What happened?”

“Don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

“Sorry to interrupt movie night with the missus.”

Steve laughed. “She already forgives you. Provided that you were actually having a crisis and not just faking one as a ploy to get me alone with you.”

That startled a laugh out of Eddie in turn, and he turned in his seat to shoot Steve a mischievous grin. “Now, does that sound like something I would do, sweetheart?”

“According to Robin? Yes.”

“Ah, I see who the brains of the operation is, then.”

“Was that in question?”

“Well—whether or not there was a brain behind you and Robin’s whole deal was a little up in the air.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Silence fell between the two of them, and twenty seconds in Eddie started rooting around in Steve’s glove compartment.

“Dude. What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a tape in here that doesn’t suck, man!”

“What are you talking about? We have, like, half the same taste in music!”

“Yeah, but the only thing you keep in your car are mixtapes! And I’m sorry, Steve, but some of the things the kids have made you are—objectively speaking—extremely cursed.”

“You could put in the one Robin made.”

“It’s hilarious that you think there’s only one Robin mixtape in here. But also: I’m not in the mood for Cyndi Lauper.”

“Cyndi Lauper’s not in the mood for you,” Steve snarked under his breath—more because he knew that’s what Robin would say if she was in the car with them than for any other reason. Raising his voice so that Eddie knew it was meant to be heard, he added, “I think there might be one from Jon in there?”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Eugh. No thanks. My night’ been shit enough.” He kept rooting around for another minute or two, until— “Aha!” he emerged triumphant, an sparsely labeled tape held aloft in one hand. It looked like one that Steve had made for himself years ago—long before he’d gone knocking on the supernatural’s door. If he was guessing right, it was a mix of Queen, Bowie, and Fleetwood Mac. “How have I never found this one before?” Eddie asked.

“Because in spite of your loud protestations to the contrary, you usually just let whatever music is playing in the car happen to you.”

Eddie gave a considering hum as he stuffed his find into the tape deck. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

The two of them fell silent again as “The Chain” poured from the speakers, and the rest of the ride passed without conversation, the only sounds between them besides the music was the steady beat of rain against the windshield, and Eddie’s fingers drumming along to the beat of the song.

~*~*~*~

Steve killed the engine as he pulled up in front of the Munsons’ trailer.

“Thanks for the ride,” Eddie said, pulling a strand of hair out to cover his mouth as he did so.

“Yeah—any time, dude.”

Eddie made to get out of the car, but froze in place as he leaned half-in, and half-out. “Could you—wanna come in?” There was a put-upon air of casualness to his tone in a way that made Steve suspect that he was being asked to stay the night. He wasn’t sure why Eddie felt so shy about the request, though—it wasn’t like this would be the first time.

“Oh. Yeah, man. Of course.” All he ever wanted was to be helpful. So Steve took his keys from the ignition, and trailed after Eddie as he led them both inside.

Eddie started peeling out of his soaked clothes before the front door had finished closing behind them, and made a beeline for his bedroom so he could pull on a pair of boxers and a bleach-stained t-shirt, before flopping down onto his bed. Steve followed after him, toeing his shoes off inside the door, and crawling into bed beside Eddie once he was finished changing.

"Wanna talk about it now?" he asked, as Eddie tucked himself up against his side.

Eddie shrugged. He took one of Steve's hands into both of his own and started idly playing with his fingers. "Bad date."

"Oh yeah? People aren't going mad over a metalhead who was only recently cleared of all murder charges?"

Eddie shoved at him. "Low blow, Harrington."

Steve stole his hand back to hold both of them up in surrender. "Sorry, man."

Eddie yanked Steve's hand back and held it covetously in both of his own, and Steve reached down with his own free one to tangle it into Eddie's wild mane of curls, which were still damp from the rain. "Whatever, dude. It wasn't that. He just…he was just kind of an asshole.” Eddie shrugged again, sounding a little resigned. “The regular kind."

Steve was silent, but ruffled his hand through Eddie's hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"I just…I don't know. I don't know why I even bother trying to go out on dates at this point.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's like…I don't know. Just feels like I'm chasing after something I'm never gonna find."

"I get that," Steve said, tone soft and understanding.

"Really? Figured you'd have people falling all over you."

Steve snorted. "I don't think I've gone on a date since I went to the championship game with Heidi back in March."

Eddie jerked a little in Steve’s grip. "Why not?" He sounded…genuinely very confused.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, I just…haven’t really felt like it. Honestly, I’d already felt like I was circling the drain back at that point.”

“...Huh.”

They both went quiet, Steve still running one hand through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie still tangled his fingers through those of Steve’s other hand.

“So, how do you…?” Steve trailed off with a frown, unsure of how or whether he should finish his question.

“How do I…?”

“How do you, y’know, find guys? To go out with? Who you aren’t scared of knocking your lights out, that is.”

Eddie shifted in Steve’s arms to get a better look at him. “Wait, wait. Have you not been on a date with another guy yet, Harrington?”

“No…?”

“Then how did you—?”

“How did I, what?” Steve felt a little on edge; a little on the defensive. Like there was some unseen standard he wasn’t living up to.

“How’d you figure out you were into them, then?” Eddie sounded a little bewildered. A lot incredulous. “Figured you were the victim of a drunken make-out discovery or something.”

Steve laughed, because that did sound like him, but— “Nope. Never been kissed.” He tilted his head toward Eddie with a little smirk. “By a guy, that is.”

Eddie propped himself up on one arm and stared at Steve like he was a puzzle to be solved, and there was a glint in his eye that made the hair along the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. “D’you wanna be?”

Steve’s heart skipped a bit, and his hand stilled in Eddie’s hair. “Uh…what do you mean?”

“Do you wanna be kissed? By a guy?”

Steve laughed, feeling awkward. “Are you offering?”

Eddie shrugged, just a touch too casual. “Sure, why not?”

“I don’t know. Wouldn't it be weird?”

“Doesn’t have to be weird if you don’t make it weird, man.”

Steve turned that over. It’s not like he and Eddie didn’t already spend most of the time they spent alone together tangled up in one another. There was a quasi-romantic edge to their friendship that Steve wasn’t really used to—well. Except for with Robin. But that was different, for obvious reasons. And, granted, the dynamic between him and Tommy had been…intense, but it still hadn’t felt like this.

Regardless—kissing Eddie wouldn’t change anything about their friendship if they didn’t want it to. “I guess you’re right.”

Eddie half-turned in Steve’s arms. “Yeah?”

Steve repositioned himself so that they were facing each other, hitching one shoulder up in a nonchalant little shrug. “Sure, why not?” he parroted back.

Eddie smiled, and it made his whole face go soft and gentle in a way that had Steve’s stomach twisting up in knots. Oh, he’s beautiful.

Eddie reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear, and then let his hand drift along the line of Steve’s jaw until he was gently gripping his chin between two fingers. Steve’s lips parted in anticipation, and the two of them breathed into the silent space they’d created between them. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and his arms breaking out in goosebumps.

It didn’t make any sense though. It wasn’t like it was his real first kiss. And he’d known he was attracted to men for ages, even if he’d never acted on it. It wasn’t even exactly news to him that he found Eddie attractive. But…none of their interactions had been this charged before.

Eddie closed the space between them, and pressed a gentle, but firm kiss to Steve’s lips, grinding the trajectory of Steve’s thoughts to a halt. It was a simple kiss. And it could have remained like that—soft, sweet, and almost chaste—except that Steve couldn’t hold back a sharp gasp in response, as his breath hitched in his throat.

He should pull back. He knew he should pull back—but he’d always been greedy, and Eddie was making no move to put any distance between the two of them either. So Steve surged forward, capturing Eddie’s lips into a more passionate kiss, and savoring the small whine it elicited. Eddie gave as good as he got, winding an arm around Steve’s waist, and slotting a thigh between both of Steve’s legs with a force that startled a little “Mmpf!” from him.

All in all, the kiss probably lasted little more than a few moments. But for all Steve knew, whole civilizations could have risen and fallen in that soft, gray space of time he and Eddie had their lips pressed together.

He wasn’t sure who finally broke away, but once they did, both of their breaths came short and heavy.

“That was…really good?” Steve said, a high-pitched note of giddiness and wonder in his tone.

Eddie smiled with cheshire-style grin, eyelids heavy and low. “Yeah? Wanna make it even better?”

Steve smiled right back. “I think I might.”

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie week #steddieweek2023 #steddie fic #once again just past the cut off in my timezone #also once again did not think I was gonna do anything for this day but then had an idea pop into my head at like...7pm #this one is mostly dialogue folks!#open ended as to whether or not this is capital r Romantic or just moves into a fun and genuinely platonic/qp fwb situation #as someone who falls in love/lust with friends super easily either works for me #i wanted to explore the quasi-romantic/sexual friendship that often exists within queer friendships #read writes

231 notes · View notes

mugentakeda · 2 months

Text

the tapping of his fathers pacing on the tile is almost enough to drive him mad.

“don’t let your brother’s incessant whining cause you to falter. this is merely a short visit to discuss the matter at hand, and then you’re on your way right back to ba sing se. he will try and whisper doubt in your ear.” the firelord stops to shake a finger at him. “do not listen to him for anything! i will help you in the best of my ability to have this taken care of.”

“i’m not,” iroh snaps impatiently, digging his palms into his eyes. “i’m not listening to him, father. he doesn’t care for lu ten and he doesn’t have to. he has his house and i have mine. empty words have little meaning to me at the moment.”

his father purses his lips. the sting of his stare digs down to the core.

“you say that,” azulon snaps, “but i believe this to be a family affair. its possible lu ten was taken advantage of because he was too busy protecting ozai’s wife and ozai’s children to protect himself. if that’s true, then ozai owes him. i don’t give a damn if he cares about him as his nephew or not. lu ten honored his house, so he shall honor lu ten in return by shutting his trap for once.”

iroh doesn’t have the strength to respond. he’d left ba sing se in a rush after receiving the news, and ordered the shipmen to get him back home on the double. he’s sick, he’s tired, he’s terrified and angry, and he misses his son something awful. the last thing iroh cares about right now is what ozai does or has to say.

there’s a heavy, sad sigh from above him. azulon slowly makes himself comfortable on the sitting cushion next to him, grunting as his bones creak. he sets the knocked over teacup straight again and refills it. the familiar heat and fragrance does nothing to soothe iroh, however.

“there is nothing i can say to make you feel better as of right now,” his old man mutters, sitting the teapot back down with uncharacteristic gentleness, “nor can i say anything sure about ursa or the children. but lu ten, he…. he is a remarkable young man. thick skinned and ornery. lightning generation at only 21, can you believe that? he beat you by a whole year. you must have faith in him.”

“it’s not about having faith in my son, father, of course i have faith in my son. but i have no faith in whoever has- has stolen him from me!” iroh suddenly exclaims, gesturing wildly. azulon flinches as his hands come dangerously close to knocking over the tea again.

your boy flagrantly disrespected you and stayed home to laze around, ozai had hissed, his narrow eyes locked straight up at the throne. both were kneeling before their father’s throne, side by side. i don’t know why you even bother. if he thinks he’s so grown up then he can save his own skin.

iroh didn’t bother to respond. he has nothing to say to his brother even on the best of days. all his life, he’s been nothing but a background character to iroh. always insisting on holing up in his room or office, never joining family dinners or celebration banquets. never one to offer his congratulations, but expects his older brother to offer his. yet, he always liked to think his word was of any significance to iroh. that he was always to be heeded. respect to his elders only means something to his little brother if there’s something to be gained.

flagrant disrespect. lu ten did not disrespect him if iroh never directly asked or ordered anything of him in the first place. he implied it, and lu ten pushed back. it hurt, but it would’ve also been the boys first true venture outside the fire nation. so iroh understood the hesitancy.

iroh would’ve just had lu ten by his side in his war council anyway. he would’ve never seen the battlefield or the city until iroh leveled it. not a spot of green would be spared by his men.

he had envisioned himself shooting a hole right through the flimsy palace wall with his lightning, and his son by his side. winning.

nothing has gone the way you made it out to be, great spirit. i don’t feel very lucky, as of late. the evening sun peaking through the tall windows of the corridor offer his thoughts no response. the general sighs heavily, and continues on his way.

the royal procession had gone through the beach house, along with the rest of the island. not a trace left behind. no sign of a struggle, either.

the procession claims it’s like they vanished out of thin air, sir, jee had whispered.

delicate situations such as this one call for holding the ones you trust most closer than ever. thus, iroh took only his personal guards from ba sing se back with him. jee is a rugged and introverted man, one that iroh knows can keep a secret, so he has been acting as his messenger man and valet for the time being.

another member of his most trusted circle is one of his longest working servants, one that belongs to iroh’s house personally. her name is su, and she is a stout woman around his father’s age. stern and silent, but trustworthy. she was the one that kept a close eye on lu ten from a distance during the periods of time iroh wasn’t around in his youth. she had been the midwife at his birth, she had been the one to pick the wet nurse.

and she had slipped iroh a journal outside of lu ten’s room. leather bound and stained in a deep red, with delicate embroidery of lotus flowers decorating its cover. it looked like something the lady ursa would gift him.

i came across this left behind in lady ursa’s garden, your highness, she had murmured fiercely. i snatched it right up and held it for you upon your return, lest it fall into the wrong hands.

the dark, warm silence of iroh’s own chambers is a small comfort, but the cold leather of the journal in his hands chains him to the cruel reality.

one of the vows iroh made for himself when lu ten came into puberty was that he would never violate his son’s privacy. he’d like to think that his son’s life possibly being in danger is a good enough reason to break it, but it still feels… wrong. especially now that he’s an adult himself.

it’ll be like eating a dollop of wasabi, he tells himself. spicy and painful one moment, then fading tingling the next.

with a sigh, he cracks it open to the back page. a few lines of familiar scrawl.

and the reason i torture myself trying to ignore all these things about him that bother me is because….

he looks away, shame crawling up his back. the candle sitting at the corner of his desk flicker along with his irregular, fear ridden heart.

a dollop of wasabi, he reminds himself. he opens his eyes again with a long breath and looks back down at the journal once more.

…well, that’s the crux of it. i just don’t know how to finish that sentence anymore.

that tells him a whole lot of nothing.

iroh flips the page back again, and is immediately overwhelmed by completely filled pages. then startled, by the sheer amount of times his own name pops up to his searching eyes among walls of scrawled text.

unease curls in his gut, like a dragon slowly rising from a slumber.

the ink doesn’t look too old. and su had said she found it in the lady ursa’s garden. and then jee said the royal procession claimed the fours’ trip to ember island was only to last three days, tops.

and as far as iroh knew, lu ten had been keeping quietly busy after iroh’s departure to ba sing se. lu ten willingly buried himself in paper work, always hunting for things he had the power to make into his business. training with lightning generation was grueling, and took hours, on top of the meditation necessary. and it takes a clear mind to even work with lightning, so…

had he done something recently to upset lu ten, and didn’t realize it? what things about iroh did lu ten torture himself trying to ignore? dramatic wording like that is difficult to overlook.

the general thinks back to how well his son can hide his emotions. lu ten’s court face beats even ozai’s, so it made him a gnarly pai sho opponent, but… he never did the backhanded comments. he can lie, but he’s a man of action before a plotting one. so you’ll never see the storm coming until it hits you directly in the face.

the letters he got back from him in ba sing se were… neutral. unbothered. he hadn’t seemed very troubled at the palace gates during his departure, either. tired and a bit wary, maybe.

but now that he thinks about it, the way lu ten looked at him had been… strange. his eyes had an emotion swirling in them that the general couldn’t read.

he rapidly rolls over the most recent letters in his head, the days right before leaving, trying to think of what he might have done to set lu ten off-

…the tiff they had on the evening before iroh’s departure.

he had forgotten about it completely.

spirits, he’d forgotten about it by the time he stepped foot on the shore. the elation of finally arriving at ba sing se, the first big step toward fulfilling the biggest thing he’s wanted to accomplish his entire life, the ultimate win, decades of planning and dreaming, inspired by agni herself…

he’d been caught up in the heat of the moment.

it didn’t even turn into an actual argument, that’s how small the tiff had been- a few things thrown back and forth during their private dinner, and the rest of it had been spent in awkward silence. iroh had let his hurt get the better of him, and he got testy.

the only thing that spoiled his ongoing luck, his relief of finally being able to go and crush his country’s most stubborn opponent, to make the second biggest win since sozin- was his own son not joining in, or showing any interest.

and that wasn’t even it. the closer iroh and his advisors got to bringing their planning to a conclusion, the more withdrawn lu ten became. whenever iroh brought it up, his son would close like a firelily in the night.

i assumed you were above teenage rebellion, iroh had muttered. i understand you want accomplishments of your own, but-

teenage rebellion? you’re joking, right? why do you always insist on- on patronizing me whenever we don’t agree on something? if you think you’re gonna guilt trip me into changing my mind, you’ve got it all wrong.

the disbelieving, ever so slightly shriller tone lu ten’s voice took on reminded iroh of his mother. she always had the habit of raising her voice a few pitches when she got upset. it reminded iroh of a coyote-eagle, once upon a time. the older lu ten got, the taller and leaner his face and physique became, the more time they spent apart, it’s like a vivid repeat of his mother. he even became a hand talker when iroh hadn’t been looking, just like fuhua.

(are habits hereditary, or had fuhua died after running away, and came back to haunt him?)

it’s probably best to start a bit further back in the journal. it might provide the context this father needs. he flips the pages for a few moments, and stops at random.

i spoke with a gentleman from the earth kingdom today during my observational trip through the colonies closest to the homeland. if you didn’t look close enough, you would’ve thought him to be any old fire nation fisherman, but i know green eyes when i see them.

his wife was a sailor that hails from caldera city. they met across the seas, in a neutral port town. they have two young twins, just barely older than zuko and azula. isn’t that something?

now, that is something iroh never bothered doing when he was a young man- it’s only now that his joints won’t let him run around chasing skirts anymore that he’s become a people person. but he’s proud of his boy for taking that initiative and having such a sense of responsibility, to go and mingle with the common man. an empathetic ruler that’s popular with his people will have the surest and furthest reaching authority, after all. iroh couldn’t name a single councilman off the top of his head that would be willing to even breathe the same air as a commoner, much less a colonial mutt.

however… this isn’t a colonial. he’s too keen on the idea of his family members’ abductors being petty, revenge seeking crooks from the earth kingdom to be okay with the idea of his son even conversing with one. for all they claim to be true and steadfast, them sneaking in and attacking an unarmed woman and her young children in their beach house just to get back at iroh is all too realistic of an idea.

but lu ten wasn’t unarmed. lu ten is one of the strongest men in the fire nation, and iroh isn’t even being biased about that. it takes prodigy to conjure lightning, and mastery to control it. and lu ten was very protective of ursa and the children- almost too protective. back in the day, during celebration parties at the palace, lu ten would damn near prowl around a pregnant ursa to fend off the careless crowd, lest they bump into her and jostle her. and he’d only been just a young teenager himself, so it was like watching a polar bear puppy that thought itself a snarly guard dog.

then a few years ago, there had been an incident where lu ten claimed zuko’s instructors were smacking him around. he’d grabbed both of the men by the collar and dragged them both viciously through the palace and right out the door- only after the sharpest scolding iroh’s ever heard since his mother was still alive. he’d never seen his son so angry. he’d chuckled at the way those old instructors had babbled apologies and fell to lu ten’s feet, while patting ursa’s back gently as she floundered.

no, it’s doubtful that an old fisherman had anything to do with it. earth kingdom or not. this is just something he needs to talk to his son about once he’s found. it would take a group of very strong benders to take lu ten down, at the very least.

he was wisecracking and friendly. we talked about his business, the officials that take care of the town and the surrounding environment, how he met his wife. he even shared his lunch during our time together- grilled fish, fragrant with sumac and citrus, and a chilled earth kingdom style mint tea. it was refreshing and unique, and i want to do it again. you’d think the fire nation would pick up these little things as it expands, but it just drowns it all out. i’m not sure if that’s a good thing. what made the food good was its earth kingdom style and seasoning, after all. what made the man interesting was his earth kingdom raised manner.

…what made lu ten think it was a good idea to write such things in a journal, and then be so careless to just forget it in ursa’s garden? he’ll have to thank su for her keen eye. if someone lacking critical thinking happened to pick this up and turn it in to his father, he’d have to deal with his son having allegations of sedition on top of everything else.

iroh, personally, is more than happy to let all traces of chilled tea get drowned out. it’s a frequent and light hearted debate between a father and son, the do’s and don’ts of tea. iroh is a stickler for tradition and enjoying the natural flavors. the fire nation boasted only the most fragrant flowers to enhance only the most delicate flavors of only the finest tea blends, after all.

his son claimed it all tasted like dinky dirt water, and stubbornly stuck with his cold hibiscus teas with herbs, and his heavily spiced and creamed saffron teas. it had been a big joke back then, but now… not so much.

a whole lifetime of a father making his son tea, sharing one of his passions. conversations over tea, tea for soothing a sore throat after screaming matches with councilmen, tea to wash down sea water accidentally swallowed at the beach. traditional methods, ceremonies, porcelain pots precious enough to buy a whole town- but it’s dirt water. yet an old fisherman from their greatest enemy shares ice water with a few mint leaves in a tin cup, and its unique.

and he wants to do it again.

the personal betrayal somehow hurts more than the blatant treachery written out plainly on the paper.

to be honest, i think that it’s a great shame that a good man like that has to be careful on his own property-property he paid for with his own money and built with his own hands- due to being from the earth kingdom, even if he has a strong marriage to a fire nation citizen. i thought about it for a long time, and realized that even if he wasn’t loyal to the crown, i didn’t mind. i don’t get angry at the idea, and i don’t think i ever have. i didn’t even think about it until i left. he made good company, offered to share his food with me, and introduced me to his beautiful children as if i was his new neighbor. i think community like that is something the fire nation needs. especially the nobility, who you’d think all have iron sticks shoved up their asses.

interactions like that are the most important ones to me, because they challenge me the most. i hate to cheapen that by thinking i just enjoy being challenged to spite my traditions and elders, or to be contrarian. that’s what coming of age means to me- looking inward, and asking the big questions.

…this can’t be why lu ten has been so distant lately.

the general slowly shuts the journal in dull horror. how long has this sickness had time to fester his son’s soul?

he swallows hard, and gingerly slides the journal in the folds of his robes. under no circumstance can anyone get their hands on it.

and later, when his gut quits churning and the candles around him quit threatening to set his room on fire, he’ll read this whole journal, front to back. brand every sentence, every symbol into his eyes. then he’s gonna burn it, bring his son home, and ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

the next morning, after letting the foul scent of burnt leather fade from his chambers, iroh finds jee.

“what can i do you for, your highness?”

“i need you to bring me the finest bounty hunter money can buy,” iroh murmurs. there’s a madness in his eyes and in his grip now that he’s had time to ponder the contents of his son’s journal, and what they entail. “and no matter what, it stays between us. i do not care what measures you must take to keep it that way.”

jee swallows hard and salutes with purpose. the poor man must be able to his see stress all over his face, but he’s barely containing himself the way it is.

this was no kidnapping. the blasted earth kingdom has everything to do with it, naturally, but it was no kidnapping.

jee returns to him that evening, followed by a lovely young woman, head to toe in black leather. her gait oozes confidence, and her narrow eyes scream danger.

this is definitely not the kind of finest iroh meant by finest bounty hunter money can buy, but he’ll take it.

“…i’ve, uh. fulfilled your request, your highness,” jee says. he looks flustered, and is clearly refusing to even glance at the woman.

“with a few breaks in between, i’m guessing. your collar is uneven, soldier,” iroh deadpans. he’d call it a shame if he wasn’t curbing an episode at the moment.

jee makes a faint noise of distress and fumbles with his uniform, blushing a deep red. iroh realizes that was the wrong thing to say at how the fair lady scowls at the crude jab.

she shoves past jee with an aggressive shoulder clip and crosses her arms before the general.

“i was promised a shitload of coin in exchange for some missing royals,” she says, voice clipped. “i don’t like to work with your kind, but good money is good money. and i can promise better and quicker results than any phony bounty hunter in the world- my companion is a shirshu. she can sniff out a rat from a whole continent away.”

a shirshu, eh? it would seem my luck has made its return after long last.

“impressive,” iroh praises truthfully. he’s a weak man for crass and foul-mouthed women. “i’d like to take a look at this beast, and then we can discuss the details and prices. i also hope you’re alright with keeping this transaction under wraps, my dear.”

she sneers. “you can call me june. and i’d highly suggest keeping a few steps away from my nyla, for your own good.”

jee clears his throat. “i’d listen to that one, sir. her creature is something else.”

iroh hums pleasantly, and keeps a few paces behind june as they go. a strange calm has washed over him now that the universe finally makes sense to him again; he has a few more people he’d like to question, and he’ll be all set. then sooner, if he’s lucky, rather than later, his sister-in-law, his nephew, and his niece will all be found and returned home, safe and sound. his son will be in his arms, whole and unharmed. ba sing se will simply have to wait.

and if they’re lucky, the dragon of the west won’t have thought up a better solution to finally grinding their sorry ashes into their own dirt by the time he gets back. but regardless, he will win.

#somehow this did not leave off on a redemption-esque note. My bad #I PROMISE IM GONNA ABIDE BY THE POLL RESULTS OKAY #this part can honestly be called Irohs Cognitive Dissonance: The Thrilling Saga #also im sorry about the lack of focus on irohs relationship with zuko and azula.#i know it tracks in canon (azulas doll gift) but im still. Kinda unsure.#im honestly better at just writing irohs dialogue vs his thoughts #and this being him before he starts changing makes it even WORSE #so i hope. i did him some justice. Awks #also i hope you guys liked the implication of june and jee making out sloppy style.#even if iroh kinda ruined it.#idk where that even came from it just happened #i hope u guys are seeing all the azula-iroh parallels about Winning and Luck. thats all intentional #runaway fire fam au #alicias writing stuff

45 notes · View notes

sailing-through-hawkins · 7 months

Text

of strangers and chasers

✧ written for 'charm' ✧ word count: 548 ✧ rated: T ✧ cw: none ✧ tags: cowboy au, wandering newcomers stobin ✧ @steddiemicrofic ⁠(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*✧

It's a crowded night at the saloon, but Steve enjoys the company.

He watches Robin laugh with the pretty redhead, Victoria ("But you can call me Vickie," she shyly said to Robin as she led her to a table), her nose scrunching up sweetly. They sit together in their own little world and he thinks, maybe this town is the one for them.

"Thought you said y'all weren't like that."

Steve turns to smile at the bartender and her amused expression. "We aren't," he says simply.

"That mean you free for the night, stranger?"

"'Fraid he's got plans, Abigail," a new voice says as a hand grasps Steve's shoulder. "Plans we should be gettin’ to, eh?”

Abigail rolls her eyes as Steve turns to face Eddie, going back to serving the other customers at the bar. Eddie still has his hat on, the material coated in sprinkles of leaves and thorns.

Steve has to hold back a laugh. “Had fun?”

“You tricked me.” Eddie squints, leaning into Steve’s space. “Why?”

Steve shrugs, hiding back a smirk. “Just wanted some time with the townsfolk, y’know, without any breathin’ goin’ down my neck.”

"Oh, I know. Been watchin' you charm the whole saloon at this point."

"Charm - I was just talking to them -"

"You don't just talk to people, darlin'," Eddie murmurs, pooling into Steve's space, crowding him against the wall. "You listen. You make these folks feel like they're the only person in the whole world, lookin' with those pretty eyes, smilin' that little smile. You don't do nothin', just be and tha's all they need to hope you'll take their hand tonight."

"Getting possessive there, Munson," Steve leans his head against the wall, letting the lowlight warm the stretch of his throat. Eddie's eyes flash dangerously but he doesn't move. "Anyone would think you had somethin' to claim here."

"Somethin'...someone," mutters Eddie as he stares down at Steve's neck.

Steve snickers as he pushes himself off the wall, smoothly pressing their chests together. He stares into Eddie's eyes with heavy lids, breathing in the air he exhales. They stand like that for a moment.

“Should keep you in the murkiest cell we got for that nasty trick you pulled,” Eddie says under his breath, eyes unblinking as they gaze through Steve. “For a week, maybe two.”

He smirks again, reaching up and picking a single, small rosebud that was stuck on the brim of Eddie’s hat, the thorns too small to prick through skin. He holds it up between them and says, “C’mon, deputy. Ain’t I good man deservin’ of another chance to prove my worth?”

Eddie stares at the rosebud as Steve settles it into the folds of his neckerchief, cheeks glowing pink under the dim lighting. “Prove your worth,” he manages to choke out a strained laugh. “It’ll take more than one night to do that, stranger.”

“Good thing I’ve got so much time then, huh?” Steve chuckles when Eddie’s eyes shoot up to stare at his in shock.

“Yer – stayin’? I thought –“

“We ain’t in a rush.” Steve pats Eddie’s neckerchief down. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to lock me up. Or was that just hyperbole?”

“No sir,” Eddie fumbles. "I mean -"

Oh, Steve does enjoy the company indeed.

#sailor✧writes #steddie #writing #microfic #steddiemicrofic #au content: cowboys #GUESS WHO DID ANOTHER ONE #this month's prompt is just too inspiring idk #thought up the dialogue and i was listening to southern gothic music and this happened #i need to have more vickie in my writing tbh i enjoyed her here even for a few lines #me writing eddie fumbling over steve for the twentieth time: i wonder if there are any patterns in my writing

85 notes · View notes

paperhats-and-evil-schemes · 11 months

Text

Me: //brushing up on my old Paperhat fanfics to make sure I'm getting details right for the new one//

Me @ my past readers:

#paperhat #villainous #OP #HOW DID ANYBODY ENJOY THESE??? LMFAO #THE GRAMMAR IS AWFUL I REPEATED SO MANY PHRASES WAY TOO MUCH WTF #SO MANY UNNECESSARY EPITHETS #THE CRINGE DIALOGUE #WTF #THE AMOUNT OF BULLFUCKINGSHITTERY THAT PPL LET ME GET AWAY WITH BACK THEN. ASTOUNDING.#IF I DIDNT HAVE SUCH A HARD TIME LOOKING BACK ON THESE DUMB THINGS ID GO BACK AND REWRITE THE SHIT OUTTA EM #GOD #AWFUL #Like sure I get that the concepts themselves work fine but wow reading these back makes me physically cringe #Just from like... how bad on a technical level that the writing //itself// is #Look I know that cringe culture is dead but THAT DOESN'T HELP STOP ME FROM FUCKING CRINGING AT THIS GARBAGE #Yeesh. Oh well. I guess I was never a professional or anything lol. But WOW #I mean I'm glad that people enjoyed them back then regardless of the flaws but man. MANNNNN......#I can do better #One day I will prove it lmao #Whenever I get around to finishing another goddamn fic lol

236 notes · View notes

angheling · 21 days

Text

Here’s a little doodle dump of Tonis I put together because I love him

#Trigun #Tristamp #Trigun Stampede #Trigun Fanart #Rosa #Tonis #Zazie the Beast #Vash the Stampede #Mishmashed whatever info on him across Tri-canons I could get ahold of with some of my own hcs #So he’s interested in sporting short spiky hair with an undercut like his 98 and Trimax counterparts did because #Tristamp Vash sports short spiky hair with an undercut and he thinks he’s so cool and he wants to be just like him #He asks his mom to buy him a real gun only to be told no like his 98 and Trimax counterparts did but he’s also asking for one #just because he wants to be more helpful to his mom as she’s progressing through her pregnancy and his dad’s no longer #around because he kept being utterly useless around the house up until the day his mom finally kicked his lazy ass out #by bringing in more or much bigger wams he ever could with his net and cage #But his mom still doesn’t want to because she wants to keep him as far away from the violence prevalent across NML especially #at his age as possible seeing as she explicitly told him to scram before going after Vash along with the rest of the town for his bounty #in Tristamp unlike in 98’ and Trimax where even the kids took part in the chase #Not very good at writing dialogue so I thought maybe I could just draw the gist of it instead dunno how I did there but that’s #basically what’s going at the bottom left and upper right corners

44 notes · View notes

sentientsky · 5 months

Text

"I forgive you." It came out like a blood clot—like an artery dripping gore—like an oil spill. Crowley felt his shoulders rise, fall, fall, fall. The air between them hummed, the tension of six thousand years turning every atom electrified and silently screaming. Breath shuddered out of him, human and terrible and hollowing. He had never been more grateful for the swallowing darkness of his glasses, for the way they hid the centuries of pre-emptive grief and wicked terror. The air was suffocating, the once familiar bookshop turned catacomb.

And then, hating himself for it but seeing no other way forward, he spoke the words aloud. "Don't bother". And then he was out in the middle of Soho and the breeze was harsh against his too-warm skin. Stepping out into the sun felt like rising to the surface of some great ocean—the gasping, desperate feeling in his lungs, the sudden crash of noise. A woman across the street called for her wife. A car horn. A dog barking. Laughter, cruel and far-off. He pulled breath into lungs that didn't need it, winced as he felt slivers of cold drive into the soft flesh of his throat.

So that was it; five and a half million years of want and need and burning, aching somedays, cyphered pleas for "our side". All gone in the space between shaking half-breaths and a kiss still seared against his lips.

Fuck it.

He'd ruined it the first time, had forced them both to look directly into the sun, to face the thing they'd been dancing around for the better part of six millennia. He could do better—would do better. At a music café some years ago, a human had been playing the piano—something soft and slow. A jazz number, if the demon remembered correctly. But the remarkable thing wasn’t the song itself, but that they were playing it with their eyes closed. Aziraphale had pointed this fact out to Crowley, excitement lilting in his voice (even then, the sound had thrilled him, sent a stab of warmth through his heart). It was only after the final note reverberated through the room that the artist opened their eyes, blinking in the sudden rush of stage lights. Aziraphale, ever the music connoisseur, approached the musician. The pianist had explained that, for them, reading music never came easy. Rather, they learned by touch, by the way the keys felt on their fingertips. In fact, the only way they could play a song was with their eyes closed. If they watched their hands as they played or thought too hard about their next move, they got confused and tripped over the notes. Muscle memory, they’d said. It was muscle memory—the galactic familiarity of finding the space between seconds and prying—that guided Crowley now. He hadn’t done it since Not-Armageddon, but it came easily to him just the same. Time, you see, operates kind of like sound, like music; it loops and sways and carries forward in waves. If you know where to look (as the demon did), you can disrupt the flow, send it back towards the shore.

And this was what Crowley did now. Drawing his hands through the ripples of minutes and seconds and hours and millennia, time stilled around him. It was natural. Easy, like breathing or sleeping. Or loving Aziraphale. Slowly, the world turned backwards; humans retreating from whence they came, cars driving in reverse, the wind blowing in the opposite direction. If Heaven had taken notice of their "half-a-miracle", Crowley expected them to be able to see this from every edge of the universe. He likely only had one shot at this.

The world aligned itself once more, and time returned to its regular, steady gait—a rubber band snapping back into place. Something hummed in Crowley’s chest. Something bright and burning and the shape of a neutron star. Hands shaking, he reached for the handle of the bookshop and pushed. The bell above the door rang, clear and and too-loud in the morning air. Aziraphale whirled around, a trembling half-smile on his face. Oh. Oh, somebody, this was going to be harder than he thought. It felt like all the oxygen, all the courage, had been punched clear out of him "Crowley!" A beat, a shuddering breath. "Angel". He pressed his still-trembling hands into his pockets and strode forward. "Oh, Crowley, dear, I've been looking for you. I have excellent news." His stomach did a little flip, something deep within him growing hollow and fearful. "We have to talk," he managed to choke out around the heart still lodged in his throat. "Yes, I quite think we do. I have something to tell you." Aziraphale strode forward, all grins and beauty like a flickering star, all plasma and heat. He could practically feel the agitated warmth roll off of his angel. Crowley shivered. "I just met with the Meta—” "No. Wait," the demon held up a hand, pausing the rushing torrent of Aziraphale’s words. "Just let me say my thing, please." "My dear boy, just—oh, what is that lovely human expression—"

"Hold that thought," Crowley muttered. His eyes burned behind his glasses. Aziraphale looked pleasantly taken aback.

"Yes, how did you know? I—" "No." The angel's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "No?" "No," he repeated, enunciating each letter with perfect clarity. He was going to do it right this time. He was going to keep him from leaving. He could be good. Right? "I’m gonna speak, and I want you to listen to me without interrupting, m'kay?" Words were building in the basin of his sternum now, pushing up on his airways. He was going to have to say it outright this time; no more waltzing around this frenzied galaxy of emotion. Willing his hands to steadiness, he pulled his glasses from his face, and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. Aziraphale's breath seemed to catch for a moment, meeting the ferocity of the demon's gaze head-on. A deer in headlights. And then, "Crowley, I really—" (Eons hurtled through his mind in a split second, the serrated knife's-edge of want like a being all its own. Aziraphale in the garden. Aziraphale in the tavern, on the cliffside, on the West End stage, in the Bentley, in the bookshop, in the very marrow of Crowley’s bones.) "I love you," he rasped, ichor writhing in his veins.

There, he'd said it., said it fully and completely, without so much as flinching. It was the same love he'd expressed for the past several thousand years in a million little, unspoken ways: an ox rib, a revolution, a church, a burning bookshop and the bottom of a glass and a lost best friend. A yellow Bentley, a lifetime of tethering his life to Aziraphale's, of trailing after him like a moth to flame—like a dog to its owner. "I love you," he pushed on. They were both looking directly into the sun again, Crowley urging them to stare straight into the heat of it all. The words were spilling out of him now, a heaving, thrashing current falling to the bookshop's hardwood floors. "I love you and you can't go to Heaven." Aziraphale froze, pupils blown wide and unblinking, for just a moment. Tension stretched out like a thread between them. And then he pulled in breath like a drowning man (who wasn't really a man at all), and tears were gathering in the corner of his eyes, and oh god, he'd made his angel cry. Fear and guilt and horror slammed into him at a million kilometers an hour and left him halfway between dizzy and nauseous. His fingers tensed at his side, desperate to do something, fix what he'd so obviously broken. Heaven would be on the front step any moment. It was too late, wasn't it? It was always too late. "Crowley—what?" Aziraphale breathed, mouth twisting into a brutal, terrible, heart-wrenching sob. Crowley ached, panic lancing through him like a knife. "I—I really, I can't. You could come with me." He stepped forward, moving to place his hands on the demon's shoulders. Crowley leaned into the touch, almost unconsciously. "Don't go," he croaked, tears beginning to prick his own eyes once again. This time he didn't reach for his glasses, didn't try to hide his fear. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And then Aziraphale could hate him and his desperate, hungry, reverent love in the aftermath. "Don't go where I can't follow. Please".

His angels blue-grey eyes searched his own, and the weight of his gaze was impossibly heavy, pressing down on his chest like a river-smoothed rock. "Crowley, please. I don't understand. The Metatron said—" His palms found the sides of Crowley's throat, thumbs resting gently on the side of his jaw. Crowley sucked in a breath. "Angel," The scent of earl grey—of old books and soft tartan chairs. Aziraphale's hands were shaking. "I know what the Metatron said," he intoned, soft as rainfall. "You can't go. It's not—they won't change. You're better than that." "But you could be an angel. With me," he murmured, soft thumbs running across sharp cheekbones. "Be my second-in-command." "Don't want to be. Want t' be an us," he felt tears—traitorous, burning tears tip over the edge of his lashes and fall against his face. "Crowley, darling, please." A beat. "I love you." The bottom of the world dropped out from under him in that moment. Aziraphale loved him. He loved him and he'd said it aloud and now it was out there in the world and it was as though every nerve on his body was on fire. His angel pushed on, "Truly, I love you. I need you with me. Please, come with me. We can do good, I know it." He could never say no when his angel asked something of him. Especially not when his kind, gentle hands were holding him like something good, something precious. Especially not when Aziraphale had just admitted to needing him, had injected the word with so much warmth he thought his all-too-human heart might beat clear out of his chest. But there was a first (technically, second) time for everything. He drew in a heavy breath, and tilted his head, breaking his angel's hold on him. Aziraphale's hands—now empty, still shook. He made a soft whimpering sound, and Crowley ached to kiss his fingertips, banish the fear. But instead, he looked up towards the ceiling, to a God who was not there—who maybe had never been there at all. He felt the Heavenly Host drawing near, a sense of hollow emptiness, the scent of absence. This was the time of last-ditch efforts, of holding his heart out and hoping Aziraphale might take it as it was, bruised spots and all. "I can't. I won't. I need to be here, on Earth, with you." "Crowley, please. I don't think you understand what I'm offering you," he huffed. A residual shard of anger stabbed at him then, and he turned his gaze sharply back to the angel before him. "Oh, I understand perfectly well, angel. I'm fairly certain I understand better than you do." Aziraphale's mouth drew into a thin line, tears welling fresh in his eyes again. And still, Crowley ached. A beat. Something in the angel shifted, then, turned on its edge—the walls beginning to go up again, and it was just like it had been not fifteen minutes ago. He was watching the same moment play out over and over again; some cyclical, torrential nightmare. "I would like you to come with me, but," Aziraphale paused, voice breaking in the middle. "But I'm leaving, with or without you." And there it was, like it was predestined. Despite the love, despite the want, despite every shared bottle passed between them, every half-accidental touch and glance and whispered word—despite the way he would’ve let Aziraphale run a sword through his chest... It wasn't enough. It was never enough. They were re-enacting their old magic trick, right there in the bookshop, this time with Crowley staring down the barrel, letting Aziraphale pull the trigger. Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear. Aziraphale wasn't shooting past his ear. His bloody ribcage felt as though it might splinter apart. Wingbeats in the distance, a grief wide enough to drown the sea. Crowley reached down, pulled his sunglasses from their resting spot against his clavicle. And then the hunger in his eyes was once more hidden, and he was walking towards the door like a man headed to execution. "Crowley—" Aziraphale nearly keened, the wall crumbling for a split second. Without turning, Crowley said the only words he could think of. "I forgive you."

#did i steal some lines from one of my own fanfics??? yes. yes i did #because im tired and i don't want to come up with more metaphors for time warping rn. so hush <3 #good omens fanfiction #good omens angst #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 300 WORDS LONG #FUCK I FUCKED UP IM DEHYDRATED AND IM SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING AN ESSAY WHAT THE FUCK #idek what this is i literally have not edited one tiny little bit of this. i just came up with everything as i went along so i apologize #ignore the fact that the dialogue/pacing/ideas diverge from canon shhhhhh im too tired to look at source material #ehhh dunno how i feel ab this but whatever here's something (???)#take a shot every time i say chest or heart or ache or tremble #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziraphale #aziracrow #go2 #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #crowley angst #final fifteen #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable divorce #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #gomens

67 notes · View notes