#my black series figure saved my fucking sanity on this one

[merlyn-bane]

turns out there is such a thing as 'phase knives' in star war, which seem to be like lightsaber knives but without kyber?? and anyway Obi-Wan definitely dug a pair out of the temple vault personally for his commander as a Totally Platonic Life Day Gift™️

#Cody actually really enjoys close and dirty combat and you can't convince me otherwise #Obi gave him the knives so he can finish droids off easier after he spin kicks and tackles them 😊 #i hate hate hate drawing clone armor I'm sorry #there's too many p i e c e s and they don't play nicely #and anatomy and dynamic posing is hard enough already #my black series figure saved my fucking sanity on this one #commander cody #art #digital art #my art

[sparkbeast20]

You’re my Treasure (Mammon X MC) Pt15 Final

The Blue Lotus petals (series)

As a fan of Beauty X Beast pairing, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. Heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I’ll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them.

(spoiler for lesson 1-60)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7 Pt8 Pt9 Pt10 Pt11 Pt12 Pt13 Pt14

Warning: Swearing, Demonic nature.

Previously

“Okay, now here’s the Plan” Satan start discussing about how to trap Lucifer and make sure that he and Mammon stay in one place and not make the same mistake as before.

“Why do I have to carry the two of ya” Mammon as Levi and Belphie are in his arms. While you are with Beel upfront and Satan with Asmo is behind of two, as Beel following Lucifer’s scent.

“Because your more bigger then Beel right” Levi answer him, and Mammon just groans at him.

“I didn’t realize how soft your feathers are Mammon, this could be great for pillow stuffing” as Belphie said it, he nuzzles his face on to Mammon’s arm. Hiding the fact that he misses his big brother.

“OI! Don’t get any idea!!” Belphie sleepy laugh at Mammon’s bash reply, which Belphie scoffs.

Beel track down Lucifer’s scent in the mountain’s valley near the woods where Mammon’s treasure cavern is, soon you all hear a shrike from the distant, to both Mammon and Satan displease with the latter which clench his fist so tight he dug his nails into the palm of his hand.

“Satan, are you okay…...your trembling” Asmo asks as he feel Satan shaking.

“It’s fine Asmo…... it’s just my instinct kicking in, maybe because we’re in his territory I start acting like this. Shit I didn’t expect this strong of a demonic presence, this ruin the plan entirely”

“So, what now?”

“Our best bet is y/n’s pact with Lucifer, pinning him down long enough for at least on of us cast a chain spell on him, then Mammon can make sure he doesn’t escape”

After minutes of flying, both Asmo and Beel to feel weak and unease, and Mammon sees it.

“Oi, what’s going on with you two”

“I don’t know…... its like my body is getting heavy” Beel can barely say it, he felt like something is causing his body to feel numb.

“I think…... I can’t go on” Asmo started to slowly decent down, as Satan tries to talk to him.

“Asmo! You need to~”

Suddenly both Asmo and Beel felt a surge through their body, they felt that their wings are getting heavier.

“Shit! I can’t move wings” Beel is trying his damnedest to keep flying, eventually he can’t take it anymore and decided to make an emergency landing in one of the path ways between the mountains, and Asmo followed suit with Mammon not far behind.

“Beel! Are you okay!” Belphie immediately rushes to his twin’s side as Asmo can barely stand, while the rest looks around to see where you guys landed.

“Mammon…...” you called out to him, with a worried tone in your voice, as if you felt someone or something is watching you.

“Stay right there, I’ll come to you” Mammon start walking towards you, when he stops and his feathers immediately stand upright, and his wings is spread out in a defensive way.

You quickly turned around to see a black griffin-like demon with six pair wings, a tail with seven peacock feathers on the tip end, familiar horns and eyes with the sclera ink black with crimson red eyes staring directly at you.

“Lucifer…...” you mutter under you’re breathe as your eyes start to shifted, scared of what’s is going to happen.

Lucifer shrikes, launches himself towards you, but Mammon leaps over you, and colliding with Lucifer. The two of them fall on the ground and quickly got up and take a defensive stance as they growl at each other.

“Lucifer! Snap out it. Your better than this. You know us, you know me!” but the only thing that Lucifer did was shrike at Mammon and rushes at him. But then.

“Lucifer. STAY!?!” Immediately Lucifer was pinned on the ground, and try to struggle out of the invisible force on his body down.

Mammon turns around to see you with one hand reaching out and your pact mark with Lucifer glow on the right side of your chest, but Mammon can see that you’re struggling to hold down Lucifer.

The others finally got up, then Satan start casting the spell while the others circle around the two older brothers.

“Lucifer!!” Asmo calls out to him only met with anger shrike, then Levi and Beel start walking close to the two.

Feeling surrounded and threaten by his brothers. Lucifer, let out an eerie shrike causing the other brothers halted in place as they can feel their body twitching uncontrollably as they feel an uncontrollable force making their body weak causing them to fall on their knees all expect Mammon who fought the effect of Lucifer’s shrike, as he makes his way to him.

He sees it in Lucifer’s eyes. Fear, panic and confusion in his eyes just remained when he was like this, not even fully changed yet, and he was terrified. But you were there with him before and after transformation to keep him company and you might know it, but you were his guide back to his sanity when he was lost in his own instinct, now you’re helping him with Lucifer’s own beast.

This time he’ll be the guide for his brother, now he towards over the avatar of pride subdue state, with the attend to remain him of the promise he made with him long ago.

“Lucifer” Mammon calls out to his brother with sincere and honest in his voice “I’ll still stand by you, Lucifer” He stop shrike, and look at Mammon with confusion in his eyes. “Remember what I said to you long ago, I never regret following you and never will we need you Lucifer."

Mammon, will not let this happen, losing him like this. not even in a fight.

But he didn't know that Lucifer can hear him and remember that night.

The night he took Mammon's advice, and that draw him back to his senses, as Mammon continue on.

"And if I have to beat that to your thick head to make you realize that we need you and how much you need me. I know you’ll never say it~”

“I do need you Mammon….” He’s eyes widen to hear Lucifer talk to him, even his like this “I…...I’m sorry…. for lying and…... everything”

He got to him. He knew that Lucifer can hear him.

Mammon chuckles to Lucifer’s apology, to think his never going to hear this from him once this all over.

Meanwhile Levi was the first one to get back on his feet, and witness what he always wanted. The two talking with out turning into an argument. With Mammon comforting Lucifer in his own way.

“Oi, you can’t say things like that here, what if Satan or Belphie hear ya” he getting through to him. “Lucifer, listen. We’re gonna stay in the cave until you get a hold of this. It’s too dangerous to go back home yet. Don’t worry I’m stay and help ya through this” he smiles with eyes at Lucifer.

“Your …... enjoying this aren’t you” even with the demonic voice, Mammon can tell that Lucifer sound tired. Maybe once there in the cave, he can tease his brother.

“y/n its okay, he’s calming down”

“Are you sure” he nodded in respond, so you lower you hand and sigh in relief. Then let the first and second be alone while check on the others.

Once the force of the pact was gone, Lucifer got up with his head hang low. Disappoint at himself for using the book, he thought it was necessary with Mammon’s state. He was wrong, then he looks up to see Mammon who is trouble maker, stepping up took charge, when he was gone. He might be mentally exhausted but he can clearly see how Mammon has grown.

Lucifer walk up to Mammon and lean his head on Mammon's Shoulder, and let out a satisfy squawk. Then he pat Lucifer on the head, just glad that his calming down

“Good to have ya back, brother”

Once he reaches the nest in the cavern, Lucifer flop in the center nest and immediately fell in sleep, while Mammon watch from the mouth of the cavern.

After making sure that Lucifer is fully asleep, he heads towards you and the rest of his brothers to entre way of the cave.

“How is he?” you ask as you walk over to him.

“he’s asleep, he would be tired after all of that flying after changing” he answering you, before puling you into hug and holding you tightly. “Make sure our room is clean, by the time we get back kay’” you hum in respond as you bury your face into him, and start sobbing. “Hey! Its not like I’ll be gone forever. It’ll be a week, or even least with Lucifer prideful head, keeping him in control.”

You look up to him with tears gathering in the corner of your eye. “I know, is just I couldn’t help to feel responsible to cause all of this” tears start fall, but Mammon use the back of his hand to wipe it off.

“y/n even if we didn’t go to the casino that night, I would have done everything to make sure your save and sound, you’re my treasure after all” you blush and hide your face in his feathery chest and he laughs at your action “Hahaha. Now who’s flustered now!”

“Shaddup”

“Oh my, your even talk like him. You really need this time to be apart” Asmo chipper in as he and Beel are getting ready to fly back to house.

“Come on normie! We can’t waste more time here anymore. I’ve missed three days’ worth of events and login~”

“Oi! You’re not going anywhere; you’re staying here with me and Lucifer.” Mammon cuts off Levi and quickly grab him by the helm of his jacket and drag him back.

“This so unfair!?! Why do I’ve to stay?”

“Welp we’re off” Satan grab hold on to Asmo, he and Beel with you and Belphie arm on each of his arm took off leaving a pleading Levi yelling to take him with you.

Once you all are far way from the cave Asmo flew closer to Beel, Satan start talking to you.

“Enjoy the next couple of days with no Lucifer, because once he and those two come home, expect your name to be written on the ceiling”

“Satan!” Asmo butts in “Lucifer wouldn’t do that to our little human, he might be cruel but he’s not that heartless”

Satan looks up to Asmo with a grin on his face, telling him that to eat his own words.

“I can’t believe you would do that to our human Lucifer!?! How could you!”

“Asmo, I will not hesitant to strung you up to, for giving a headache this early in the morning”

“So, Lucifer how’s it feels being back to chaos and piles of paper works”

“You two, better enjoy your freedom now. Because once Diavolo approve the use of the book. You’ll be first two are going to change and I’ll make sure of that”

After returning from that cave with Mammon and Levi, two days ago. Lucifer had been catching up with a week worth’s of reports, bills, and paper works.

Now Asmo is at his side nagging and Satan just being Satan, as he makes his way to staircase where him strung you up by the waist after finding out that it was you who drag Mammon at that Casino in the first place.

As he got there, he saw Beel looking up to where you are being hanged.

“Beel what are you~” he Immediately cuts himself off when he looks up to see that you were gone and the rope is cut. Satan and Asmo try not to laugh at the whole thing.

“Ah? Lucifer” he glances over to Beel who is holding a white feather in his hand. “I find this~”

“MAAAMOOON!”

At the roof of the house was you at Mammon arms just being at each other’s presences as you two heard Lucifer screaming his name.

“Looks like that our que to fly out of here”

“Where do we go?” as you ask Mammon lifted you up in his arms, and quickly shifted into his tame form.

“Where do ya want to go?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, lean in to kiss him on the cheek, then set you head on his shoulder.

“Anywhere, as long your there” he chuckles “ya got it, treasure” and take off, flying to the dark sky. Happy and content.

Fin

Note: I didn’t expect for this story to take this long.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me reader x mammon #obey me monster love #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me blue lotus petals

[whyynotwrite]

It will make your heart race

Summary: You don't even know what is faster, your car or the beat of your heart every time you see him.

Warnings: light cursing and mention of cigarettes (don't know if that's a warning but just so you guys are aware of it!)

a/n: this is just like,, a wip? it'd be a street racing au with members from all the nct units + some skz members. i'm thinking of making it a series and this would be a sneak peek! please tell me what you think or if you want to see more of it, i'm open to all kinds of (constructive) opinions :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And that will be 12 dollars and 50 cents”

Scouring through my front pocket, I found the 50 cents and gave it to the cashier.

“Thanks. Good night!”, I said taking my soda, bag of chips and pack of cigarettes with me.

Halfway to the exit of the tiny convenience store, a hand grabbed my wrist and made me turn around.

“You gave me an extra two dollar bill”, looking at the bill hanging from the boy’s hands to his face, I could see just how tired he was. His disheveled hair, accompanied by a pair of dark bags under his eyes, told me everything I needed to know and more. Looking into his eyes, which reminded me of dark chocolate, I smiled.

“Keep it. I can only imagine how dreadful it must be to work on a Friday night, consider it a treat”

The nameless boy smiled faintly and bowed, murmuring a small thank you under his breath. I bowed slightly and went on my way, as soon as the automatic doors opened a breath of fresh air hit me and I exhaled deeply. There was nothing better than a chilly night’s breeze. The star filled sky looked at me, as if mocking me for my tremendous insignificance, and I smiled back at it. If there is a single thing that I learned in this life, it is that there’s nothing smaller or more insignificant than the human race, and I am fine with that. Sometimes we don’t need to understand why, we just accept it, for the sake of our sanity.

After a few minutes of walking, and finishing my bag of chips, a cat crossed my way. I almost missed it, for its darkness merged with the night. It meowed at me and rubbed my legs, a clear request for affection. I crouched and patted it until soft purrs came out of its mouth, soon enough it laid on its back. Being filled with contentment, I couldn’t help but squeal at it, I was never a cat person, but I just couldn’t resist their kind. Reaching my back pocket for my phone, so I could take a picture of the sweetest cat I’ve ever come across, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine and my heart immediately sink to my stomach. It wasn’t there. A million scenarios rushed through my mind while I scavenged my brain to remember where I last had it. It still was with me when I left Lia’s house, so it must be on the convenience store.

Throwing my head back and grunting out loud, I closed my eyes for a moment to recollect myself. How could I be so stupid. How did I forget my most precious possession on a fucking convenience store?

“I guess it be like that sometimes, huh”, I said to myself while patting the cat’s head one last time.

I got up and did a 180 degree turn to go, once again, to the convenience store. I cursed the whole path there, thinking over and over again how could I be this dumb and how I could already be where I first intended to. The cat followed me close, not letting our distance be bigger than two steps, and I was glad that at least someone wanted my company.

I got to the store and the smell of plastic and hand sanitizer almost made me choke. It was small, so I guess there’s little to none air passage here, making it unbearably hot and uncomfortable. Looking around, I recognized the cashier who attended me standing close to one of the hygiene goods’s shelves, going mindlessly through his phone, and marched towards him.

“Y/N! Hey, I was sure I recognized your voice earlier, anything you need?”, a smiling boy approached me, making me stop.

“Hey Hyuck, yeah, it’s going to sound so stupid but uhm, I think I forgot my phone here”, I scratched the back of my neck out of embarrassment and pointed to the cashier, “I was going to talk to him since he was the one who attended me, maybe he saw it and knows where it is, I don’t know”

Hyuck let out a light laugh and shook his head, “You’re such an airhead. Ren, come here”

The boy snapped his head up and looked at us. When his eyes focused on my figure, they went wide, making my heartbeat speed just a little bit.

“Oh, you forgot your phone! Sorry for not realizing sooner, I only saw it after you left”, he said walking closer to us.

A little smile made its way into his face as he handed me the phone that was carefully kept on the pocket of his apron.

“Oh my god you saved my life, thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do if I had really lost it”, I exasperated as I took it in my hands, beaming at it.

Glancing at the notifications I saw that nothing important had happened and sighed out of relief, I’d be on time for my meeting if I rushed a little.

“It‘s nothing, the least I could do after your treat”

I let a chuckle come out of my mouth and smiled at the boy. Taking a closer look at him I could see just how beautiful he was, the fainted cheap lights of the store didn’t help at all, making everything seem smudged, but even so, he was stunning. His tanned skin matched perfectly with his clothes, making me think he chose them especially because of this. His eyes were so black that it was a hard task to find his pupil, even harder to not get lost in them. I could stay like this for years to come, immersed in the deepness of his soul's windows, wondering how many mysteries and untold stories they held. That is, if Donghyuck didn’t get me out of it.

“Didn’t know you had a cat”, he crouched down to pat the cat’s head, which was rubbing against his legs and a fond sigh came out of my lips.

“I don’t. It just followed me here”, I paused to look at it, making a mental note about how Hyuck looked even cuter when he was around animals, when the memory that I had somewhere else to be hit me.

“Y’know I’d love to stay and talk with you guys but I really need to go”, I said as my hands messed Hyuck’s hair up and laughed when he sent me a death glare. “See you monday Hyuckie, and it was nice meeting you-”

“Renjun”, he said while stretching his hand for me.

I shook it and smiled at him, “Y/N”.

#nct #nct imagines #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct scenarios #nct au #nct x reader #neowritingsnet #renjun #huang renjun #nct dream au #racing au #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct drabbles #renjun imagines

[outroshooky]

whatever in heaven | knj

⇢ genre: series; part three (mafia!au) (angst, fluff, smut)

⇢ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢ warnings: smut (soft d/s dynamics. grinding, oral [m receiving], brief use of the word daddy, marking, gentler dirty talk [praise]) angst (implied usage and mention of knives, nightmare), some fluff. this fic is a bit of a mind-fuck; there are darker themes here, so please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: i’m so excited for you guys to read the next installment of verses & vibes! a huge, huge thank you to my beta readers @sunkoos​ (go check out nas’s work!) and @hobiswitch​; an even bigger thank you to @guksheart​ for not only beta reading this fic but posting this for me because of laptop difficulties!

...which leads me into, unfortunately, some bad news. my laptop crashed permanently over the weekend and i may have lost all of my files. i’m working to get them back, but this also means i have to buy a new laptop. thus, verses and vibes (and my writing in general) may go on hiatus until i can figure out a way to keep writing and posting new content. more updates forthcoming— for now, enjoy whatever in heaven!

“i know not if i could have borne

 to see thy beauties fade;

 the night that follow’d such a morn

 had worn a deeper shade:

 thy day without a cloud hath pass’d,

 and thou wert lovely to the last,

 extinguish’d, not decay’d;

 as stars that shoot along the sky

 shine brightest as they fall from high.”

⤷ and thou art dead, as young and fair; lord byron (george gordon)

It is always the same in the beginning.

He is kneeling on a concrete floor that goes on as far as he can see, cold and callous against the skin that peeks from the stringy rips in his pajama pants. A single light flickers above his head, murky cream, faded with age. His arms are bound behind his back with braided rope, biting vengeance into his tender wrists. His exhalations wisp pale smoke, rushing from his lips to touch the folded legs of a woman sitting just out of the ring of wired lamplight.

The supports of the chair are metal; he momentarily ponders how her skin isn’t dotted with gooseflesh through the thin fabric of her dress, but her cherry-red heels catch the light in a way that has his breath hitching. Something in him presses to reach out to her but he can’t, straining against his bonds like a feral cat caged. He snarls, a gritting sound in the silence of the warehouse, and she hums something seductive in return.

It is a dark heat that kindles in the pit of Namjoon’s stomach when he realizes he is staring at temptation herself, clothed in cherry pumps and scarlet lipstick. She is the antithesis of everything he should have and yet, yet—

He craves her more and more with every second that goes past. He doesn’t need to see her face to know that she is hauntingly beautiful, a devil crafted from memory, sent from hell to tempt him in all the ways she knew how. The blooming lust in his veins climbs with viney fingers straight to his brain, his head spinning, flying high; he barely knows what to believe. Somehow, she’s pulling on the strings of his thoughts, a marionette and his master dancing on the brink. One wrong string and the puppet collapses in a heap of cloth and kindling.

He groans, the sound of frustration and need echoing on and on in the dim room. She laughs velvet rich, sickeningly sweet. He wishes he could rend the binds from his arms, crawl to her, worship her the way she deserves; he shuffles forward an inch, two—

A plain black combat knife skitters to a stop in front of him, twirling once before coming to rest, just grazing his left kneecap. Resting potential against the crook of his leg, and he sucks in a breath when he feels the chilled edge level against the puckered scar on his knee.

She doesn’t speak, but Namjoon knows exactly what she means to say.

Thoughts clamor at the base of his skull, hissing seduction like a writhing mass of coiled snakes snapping for attention. They strike at one another, seeking dominion, and he’s nearly consumed by the din. A choice, cut out for him by the hands of fate, burned in the ashes of every decision he’s ever made. It boils down to this, to him and her and everything in between.

At one pellucid flicker of insanity, his hands are freed.

The ropes fall frayed to the floor and he straightens, rubbing at the burn in his forearms, rolling his neck to loosen the strain. His eyes flicker to her mass in the darkness, the shape of her just touched by the faintest tendrils of light. She is just out of reach, but so close, so far when her head tilts, a hint of fascination. He is mortal, she is eternal— a man reduced at the end of the day, stripped of money and power and the demons that lick at his heels. Greed is his master, but she is his, coveted in the secrecy of this cushioned nightmare.

He knows though, in the deepest reaches of his twisted soul, that only one of them will leave the warehouse alive.

In this horrible, shattered husk of reality, only one of them is destined to live.

And somehow, the choice has fallen to him.

Pick up the knife. Pick it up, feel it in your hands, smooth and weighted, perfectly balanced. Everything you’ve ever wanted is in the palm of your hands. Make the right choice. Do it for me, baby. For me.

Namjoon is pitted against his own self-preservation, warped desires clamoring for attention, needy yet sick. Needy, he is so fucking needy, but for what? Anticipation itches the back of his neck; he can barely think when the handle melds into the curve of his palm with such a sinful fit. The metal glints promise of things yet to come, but when he tilts the blade towards himself, he sees only the industrial struts that crosshatch the ceiling, the dust that hovers thick in the clogged, choking air. Emptiness and fulfillment, hand in hand, only a breath away.

You know what the answer is, Kim Namjoon. Do it. Do it for me.

Does he know? He must know, deep in the recesses of his bones. Deep inside the fucked-up mind of his, playing tricks on him; a trickster, what trickster? The last of his sanity is threatening to drip, melting like liquid wax onto the cool, callous cement. It’s bubbling in his hands, pouring through the gaps between his fingers, but when he shakes his head, a mad dog, it solidifies molten silver, black titanium.

Do it for me.

Do it for her.

He must.

Namjoon’s eyes flicker to her calf, following the silk of her skin to the hem of her saccharine dress; it flutters scarlet just out of reach. He’s on his knees now; there’s something pulling at him, some indeterminable force dragging him through the floor. The blade slips; the knife twists in his hands as he falls forward, and—

The air rushes out of Namjoon’s lungs as he writhes himself awake, mouth agape in an silent scream. He’s wheezing with the first rush of oxygen into his lungs, his lips swollen with gnashing of teeth as he twists away from the warmth settled next to him in the sea of rippling sheets, curling in on himself.

“Namjoon, are you alright?”

The broken man lifts his head, taking in the naked form upright in bed beside him, hair awry, concern bleeding every word.

It’s you.

He’s safe.

Indeed, Namjoon has had many dreams, but none quite like this one.

It is as if the very breath was sucked from Namjoon’s lungs when he first wrested himself awake in a cold sweat. Control is something he craves, something he owns save the late night hours when it is ripped from his hands by the sick desires of his own brain, playing tricks on him. He exercises his grip on every minutiae of his life, but when his eyes flutter shut and his conscience takes hold, it wraps a silken tie around his thoughts and begs him to pay attention.

You’re calling his name in a voice burdened by drowsiness. He knows you were awoken because of him but he can’t seem to think, to do anything else but sit here in this bed, in these rippling creamy sheets, and feel his lungs fill, empty. Fill, empty.

“Namjoon, love, breathe with me, okay?”

Breathing. Breathing is all he has been reduced to, a creature of the night with oxygen in his lungs and demons in his head.

You take his hand in your own, feels the slim digits trembling against your skin. You rub gentle circles into his knuckles and it somehow grounds him in the midst of the chaos, the overwhelming flood conjured from his worst nightmares. He watches as you carefully trace every crooked angle of his fingers with your own.

It is this simple motion that produces new thoughts, a mental clamor not of his own demise but for his own safety, the protection that he seeks. You are so much more than the sum of your parts: you are safety in the midst of a den of ruby-eyed cobras simply begging for a chance to strike. He’s never thought of anybody the way he thinks of you; there is no one else who comes close to you, and that’s saying a lot when it comes to his line of work.

“Namjoon, you’re safe, okay? You’re safe with me. We’re in our bedroom. You’re still the head of the most feared crime ring in the country. Nothing has changed. Yoongi is just outside the door; I’m right here. Nothing has changed, baby. You’re safe.”

Your words are warm against his skin, dotted with the press of lips to his temple, his cheek. You’re burning up against him, sweat beading at the roots of his hair, the silver strands falling low into his eyes. Somehow, the heat only serves to make him cooler, and he’s nestling into your arms before his mind catches up to his body. He’s safe. Somehow, in the roaring din of his mind, he is safe. His demons won’t follow him here, locked outside the door, palms scrabbling at the windows. The windows. Namjoon’s eyes flick to the glass and find the shades drawn, blocking out the ambient light that hovers thick on the other side. Bulletproof, he insisted, and for good reason. But Yoongi would have called if there was a problem, and he’s got Seokjin at the front gate, and it begins to seep in, sweet relief, that he truly is safe.

He is cradled to you like a child, a position compromising for a man of his stature, but he knows you won’t judge. Your hand trails from his thigh to his hip, his ribs to his shoulders, and your fingers nest in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. Lord knows he won’t be able to close his eyes until daylight breaks over the dark oak floor of your shared bedroom, but he hums and noses at your neck. You smell like sage and lavender with a touch of his own cologne, a memory of last night, and he inhales deeply, tries to savor the muskiness.

“You’re okay baby, I promise.” A kiss to his temple, another grounding touch. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you; you’re safe right here with me. Just let me love you, okay baby?”

Love. Love, a concept Namjoon knew better by verbal parry than by any real, tangible memory. It was wielded by a father he barely knew, an absent mother who preferred the company of socialites to the company of her own son. It was really a wonder he found it in him to love at all, really; he’d assumed he’d leave such an emotion to those who built a life out of a 9-5 day and mediocre sex. He’d been proven wrong, however, when you came along— you, once a high-profile escort in the dirty underworld he’d built for himself, proved yourself a worthy companion when you stayed beyond his guttural moans and dirty secrets. It was in fact, a moment like this when he realized he quite enjoyed your company, and there was something more to it than just a good fuck, an easy pussy.

You were the closest thing to real love he’d ever experienced, a home to come back to that wasn’t a prowling security team and a clean gun barrel. He’d exposed the grittiest parts of himself to you, the most private secrets and still you came back for more. You were just as fucked up as he was, really, and that was his favorite thing about you. You’d killed for him and he knew you’d kill again, and that was, very plainly, the matter of things.

Plus, that mouth made him see the stars more times than he’d willingly brag about at the poker table.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, exposed through the lip of your shirt (his shirt, actually). It’s a careful kiss, chaste for him. Your fingers rub comfort into the base of his skull and he swears he could purr, an alley cat sleek and pleasured.

“You doing okay, Joonie?” Your eyes tell him everything he needs to know and he nods, unsure if he trusts himself to speak. Fear still gnaws at his bones, muted terror of a red-heeled succubus and a silver blade that gleams in the lamplight. Somehow though, you know, scraping the blunt of your fingernails against his roots. “You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. I’m here regardless of that, you know me.”

Namjoon noses the column of your neck in reply, folding his sizeable frame until it molds against yours. Some things he’d never let the boys know about, but some things, he thinks, they knew about already. He is hard and cold and calculated yet soft and warm and comforting, a living contradiction unto himself; you’d never believe it if you hadn’t seen it yourself. A complexity of men who prefers to live by the simplest of rules, but you’d learned long ago not to try to understand something that was fucked-up from the start. Some things in this world were just fucked up, and that was the way they were meant to be.

Neither of you know how long you sit there, adrift in messy sheets, dry eyes gritty with the lateness of the hour. Your hand weaves through Namjoon’s hair as the vines around his heart flex, their thorny stems unraveling. He stopped shaking minutes before, but if you know anything about him, the internal tremors never cease, not outside of the safety of this bedroom, impossible with the life he lives.

He stirs a little, murmurs your name against your neck, his lips brushing bare skin and the small freckle that dots just above your collarbone. There’s something so intimate, so human about it, screaming vulnerability that hangs open and aching in the silence. His hands slide smooth across the breadth of your back, your waist, palms settling atop your thighs as he draws back slowly, slowly.

There’s a question in his eyes, one you meet with your own.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates.

“Namjoon…”

He swallows, tilts his head, steals a kiss. “I’m sorry.” Then another.

With the third you’re pulling away, chest steady, finger to his lips. “Namjoon, you’re not thinking clearly. We can’t do this right now—”

“Says who?” He is breathless with the thought. “I wanna make you feel good, baby. You deserve that.”

The sweetest words wrap themselves around the breadth of your bones, melting between the gaps. He’s always been so good with his tongue.

“Namjoon, I wanna make you feel good too, but not when you’re like this.” You shake your head. “Not when you’re waking up screaming about death and knives and all sorts of horrible things.”

His hands brush your curves. “If this bed is an ocean, I wanna drown in you.”

“Joonie…”

It’s so easy to work at you, the sharper edges that he can dissect piece by piece. He knows exactly how far to push, what little to say to reel you in hook, line, and sinker. “Just go with it baby, alright? Just trust me.”

It’s easy to fall into Namjoon, collapsing every time as he folds around you. His head tilts to the side as he leans in, his nose brushing your own. He tastes like mint toothpaste and something uniquely him, an element you can never place but when he’s exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself to you like this. His mouth moves easy against yours, just tender lips, warm kisses. His hand smoothes up your spine to cradle your neck, thumb brushing at the nape, the soft hairs that tickle the back of his hand. “Just relax baby, relax.”

Once more. “Joonie, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

He nods. “I want this.”

He’s never been one for kissing but tonight he craves it, the simplicity of two mouths and hands that fit themselves perfectly against the curves and the edges. Musk curls under your nose as your eyelids flutter shut, dusting the apples of your cheeks a pinkish hue. Your hands meet his chest, burning with heat through the oversized Grateful Dead shirt he wears to bed with you, and they slide to his shoulders when he slips an arm underneath you to tug you closer.

You settle atop the apexes of his thighs, legs folding around him as he gazes up at you. The utmost adoration he has for you, written in the stars and in two hearts that beat as one, rattling against their cages with a need for closer, closer, closer. Fear melts underneath practiced fingertips and patience; he’ll be damned if he doesn’t return the favor. His eyes, usually tawny and mellow, burn blacker than charcoal but sweeter than syrup, running with emotion. It’s evident in every brush of his hands against your bare skin when his fingertips edge under the hem of your shorts, the gleam in his eye that warns of everything that is about to come. One hand supports your back as the other squeezes your thigh, and you can’t help but smirk down at him with the easy smile that tugs at his own kiss-bitten lips.

You aren’t smirking, however, when he leans in and nips a bite at your neck, teasing with his teeth, making you whimper and whine atop him. His tongue pokes between his lips, assuaging the pain, and your own mouth falls open as your fingers clench at his shoulders, nails sliding a lazy path along his spine. He licks once at the bite, then once more until he’s satisfied with the petaled violet that blossoms across the breadth of your throat. He nibbles a matching purple rose on the other side; you can feel the smile on his lips when your mouth shamelessly tips open and you stutter out his name.

“Hm, what is it?” When he draws back, you moan a singular complaint. “What do you want, love? I’ll give you anything you want.”

“W-Wanna make you feel good,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

“I wanna make you feel good too, baby. Let’s just focus on the now, yeah?” Namjoon’s hand squeezes your thigh but you’re already pressing your body flush to his, kneeling over him. You cup his face and he strokes your wrist lightly, the most tentative of touches, thanking god that somehow, in the midst of the lion’s den, you’d found him. He had you and he knew he could trust you, trust the smell of your shampoo and the heat of your skin. “Focus on me.”

You lean down to kiss him, brushing his cheekbones, tangling your hands in his hair, but apparently, Namjoon had other plans. His lips graze your own, trailing the edge of your jaw to pepper the lightest kisses at your ear and move lower, lower. When his mouth lavishes the column of your neck with the utmost pleasure, you can’t help but feel your core ache, the purest whines permeating the thick air as you beg. He’s definitely hard now, weight against the inside of your thigh, and the temptation— no, the need to grind down on him sparked the fuzziest pleasures in your mind, the most sinful ideas.

“Please Joonie, please feels so good, please, w-wanna—”

When Namjoon mouths wet at the shell of your ear you writhe, losing control with each second that slips between your fingers like sand. His lips burn fire against your already heated skin, sizzling and crackling like a live wire under his touch. You hiss and he growls deep in the back of his throat, continues his ministrations.

“I forgot how much you liked that,” he breathes shakily.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you gasp, releasing your iron grasp on his roots. Luckily he’s unfazed; damn lucky you to be with someone who actually enjoyed their fair share of kinkiness. “So fucking hot and you’re so thick, I can feel it—”

When you grind down on him, pressing yourself onto the growing bulge in his slacks and swiveling your hips with practiced ease, he groans feverishly. With every brush of the head of his cock, he’s harder than before, memory weighty in the palm of his hand. He chokes on the breath in his lungs, his nails blunt on your back, and he moans once in content. Feels so fucking good.

“God, baby, you’re gonna ruin me like this,” Namjoon chuckles.

“Maybe that’s the intention,” you trill.

“Fuck.” The word lies heavy in the air, heavy on his bated breath.

You smirk, sinful seduction in his ear. “And what if I did this?”

As his eyebrows furrow, you ease yourself onto his thighs, so strong and sinewy. Your fingertips slip down his shoulders, trace every muscle that strains under his loose sleep shirt. Beneath the fabric is the coiled power of a lethal creature, a tiger poised to devour his prey. And he is utterly wrapped around your finger, letting his head tip back against the headboard with a  sigh. He’s lost in your touches, an angel fallen from heaven, no idea which way is up or down.

You rub circles into his hip bones; he twists under you. Practically begging with his gasps, knowing what awaits him. Your fingers toy with the hem of his boxers and he’s hissing between his teeth. “Baby…”

You hum a response, press a kiss to the shell of his ear.

“Please…”

“Oh Namjoon,” you coo. “You’re a mess, baby.”

He is. Hair sticking to his forehead, sweat gleaming at his temple; he’s a model for destruction, the dirtiest of kinds. Hips arching underneath you, and there’s a wet spot that stains the fabric. He smiles somehow, teeth flashing in the low light. “All for you.”

You withdraw, spit into your palm. “Then you get all of me.”

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, finds his cock, thick and hard. At the first stroke, lazy and full, he can’t stop the raspy grunt that leaves his throat. “Shit, baby. Feels so good.” When you lower your head to mouth at him over his sweats he practically writhes, begging, needy. So unlike him, but a welcome change to see him falling apart, falling apart over you. The fabric is soaked with saliva and dotted with a pearl of cum, a carnal work of art.

You rub slowly down his length, thumbing the swollen head leaking his seed. It’s messy and wet and he’s moaning and it’s all worth it, worth it to see him wrecked like this. His balls are heavy in your palm; when your eyes flutter up to meet his, wide and expectant, Namjoon hisses. That sound enough jolts burning heat between your thighs, twisting devilishly in your stomach. “B-Babygirl?”

There’s question in the word, question that makes you pause. You moan against his clothed cock; he chokes on his words.

“Can I make you feel good too?”

A sloppy kiss pressed to his member. “Later, okay? I wanna focus on you right now, Joonie.”

His hand strokes through your hair, flyaway, disheveled. “You’re so good to me. So fucking good—” He chokes on the downstroke, fingers tightening out of reflex. “Want you so bad.”

You press. “How bad? Bad enough to want my mouth?”

“Shit, your mouth,” he whines. “Want your mouth, want you—”

“Joonie,” you murmur.

His heartbeat resounds like gunfire in the ringing silence.

“Lift.”

He lifts his hips as you tug, pulling his sweats down to his thighs, the fabric ridged underneath your perch. His cock falls free, standing slightly crooked against his still-clothed abdomen, rippling with tension. It twitches under the heat of your gaze, steadily seeping liquid bliss, and your mouth waters at the thought. It’s been so long since you took him like this; when it’ll happen again, who’s to say.

You pepper kisses along his thighs just to hear him whimper, feel the predator writhe in his own constraints. His hands burn their own trails along the curves of your body, spreading heat in their wake as you cave to your own desire, slipping a hand between your thighs when you take him in your mouth with practiced ease. He’s firm under your fingertips, lithe and sleek and powerful in all the right ways, but he falls apart when it comes to you, crumbles like rock under the breath of the tidal wave. He grunts sin from between gritted teeth but whines complaint when you pull back to tease, to draw things out. He’s gentle in his touches but firm in his demands, even through the cottony billows of his neediness.

“I-I’m close,” Namjoon stutters, skin crimson from lavished attention. There’s saliva smeared down your chin and tears twinkle liquid starlight on your lashes, but you’ve never felt more electrified, burning up at the seams for him. From the heated confines of your throat you withdraw his cock with a firm touch at the base, his fingers running through your mussed locks.

“Where do you want to cum, baby?”

He squirms. “Fuck. Wherever you’ll take m-me—” He shudders, ribs heaving. Your fallen angel, shattering under your touch. “Oh shit, I’m gonna cum for you, babygirl.”

“Cum for me, angel. Cum for me...” you murmur, gaze level with his own as you wrap your lips around his member.

“Gonna cum for you, fuck—”

“Daddy.”

The cavernous heat of your mouth is a slick warmth, so wet and warm and utterly divine. He loses himself in it, lets himself go, pushing towards that edge of no return, riding the crest of the wave as it rolls faster, harder, heavier. “‘M gonna fucking cum. Oh god, fuck, shit, babygirl, I’m cumming, I’m—”

A drawn out groan fills the air, raspy and thick and throaty as he thrusts into your mouth once, twice, spills over. He’s bitter on your tongue, acrid but you take it, swallow it all. It’s worth it to see the pleasure overtake him, to see him let go of every capacity and capability to fall drowning, dizzy. Whatever in heaven, above or below, he’s tumbling headlong into it, collapsing into himself like a burning star falling from the cosmos.

He’s the first to break the silence that falls, withdrawing himself and tucking his softening cock back in his sweats with a remarkable amount of composition for a man who’d just seen the very sparks of the universe behind closed eyelids. He chuckles breathless, bated. “Fucking hell, angel.”

You try to speak but merely croak at first, throat grating dry. He hushes you soothingly, easing you back on the pillows now soaked with sweat. “Let me get you some water, yeah? Just stay here for now.”

You whine a complaint— shouldn’t you be taking care of him?— but he’s insistent and already on his feet, legs shaky as he heads towards the bathroom. There’s a pang in your chest watching him go, the reality of the situation settling in, and vulnerability flowers in your heart.

The tap squeaks; the faucet runs. Room temperature water, not too hot but not too cold to soothe the burn in your esophagus. He knows you better than anyone, knows how to take care of you when you fail to take care of yourself, life spent always on the run. You’re the one holding him when his nightmares consume him, the steel that he draws from his belt to wield before him, the ultimate weapon. Yin and yang, black and white, blooming nebula and neutron star. The water turns off, a grating complaint.

It’s been too long; you’ve delayed too much. Play to his fantasy; he has no idea what’s coming.

“If the water’s not enough, I can send Yoongi for some tea— oh.”

Oh.

You are no longer prostrate, the limp rag doll exhausted from her play. No, you are stretched out on the bed, ass up on your hands and knees, silver glinting between your teeth as a pair of handcuffs dangles in the air. You are looking at him with fire smouldering deep in your eyes, blazing a burning glare straight through him.

The predator has become the prey.

“Daddy,” you purr, right on cue. “Come here.”

It’s automatic, the way Namjoon moves towards you, glass forgotten on the nearby dresser. He’s completely transfixed, fascinated by the possibilities, and when he reaches the end of the bed, you stop him with one outstretched foot, bare with the lateness of the hour. “Turn around.”

He’s so submissive, so compliant simply by the force of his own surprise. It’s hard to keep going, hard to push through the adrenaline thrumming through your blood, the underlying current that threatens to sweep you away, too. But you mustn’t listen, mustn’t feel.

“Hands behind your back, Joonie, baby.”

He’s perfect, perfectly whole in the way he follows each command that falls from your lips like silk spun thread. He surrenders himself so willingly to you, it stings raw.

You rise to your feet, level with the back of him. Your fingers make quick work of the cuffs and with a firm click, the deed is done.

With a tender motion that surprises even you considering the brevity of the situation, you wrap your arms around your torso, bury your face in his skin, inhale his scent. Amber and citrus. Musk and spice. Whole contradictions that somehow manage to summarize him perfectly. You whisper against his spine like it’s a secret. “I’m so sorry.”

“What, baby?”

You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, thudding rapid with excitement, wonder at what lies ahead of him. Guilt roars its ugly head and you beat it back with double the force.

You stiffen, step away from him. Four years you’d waited to formulate these words, to hear them drop from your lips, plummeting on high. Four years and now the moment is here, and you swallow past the lump in your sore throat.

“Kim Namjoon, you are under arrest for charges of extortion, murder, murder-for-hire, drug possession, and arms trafficking. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…”

“...Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

You’re sitting in the open door of a police cruiser, more specifically a SWAT cruiser, an aluminum blanket wrapped around your bare shoulders. The air is warm, but you can’t stop shivering.

Seokjin paces fifteen feet away from you, ever more handsome in his suit and tie. Hoseok is finishing his interview of the conclusion, anticlimactic for the better. Yoongi’s legs dangle from the open doors of one of the ambulances called when your colleagues expected the worst. Thankfully, no casualties had occurred but a sprained ankle, a fight between one of your fellow law enforcement officers and that guy that manned the back gate. Everyone can go home, rest easy.

After Seokjin’s interview is yours, and you realize by the time Hoseok is asking the last question that you don’t remember a single word of what you’ve said. Elite agents taking down the biggest crime boss in the country are not supposed to feel so empathetic, so broken. Guilty. Regretful.

Four years, the longest and most dramatic chase of your career. Justice fell, a swift hammer; you’d saved the day once again, added another face to the chalkboard in your sterile office a thousand miles away. You’d won. Hadn’t you?

There’s a faraway look in your eyes that Hoseok somehow understands, a glimmer of something more than success. He straddles the age gap between the members of the team, incorporating Jeongguk’s youthfulness with his elders’ experience, the glue of it all handed the most important task. He calls your name. “You’ve been out of it the entire time I’ve been interviewing you. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

But there’s no bite to the words, no whet of passion. They fall flat below the crackle of radios, the mist that reflects red and blue through the evergreen trees scraping the stars winking high above.

Hoseok puts his pen and clipboard aside. “Hey,” he says. The kindness in his tone pierces daggers through your heart. You somehow would’ve been more comfortable if he had yelled at you. “You did the right thing. He hurt a lot of people. Killed many more, and did so without remorse.”

That’s what you think, you want to scream. Because to you, he is some foreign criminal, far removed from any last dregs of humanity. He is a monster and a crook and a fiend, twisted into something unrecognizable, but you didn’t see what I saw. Did you see the warmth in his eyes when he rolled over and buried himself in my arms all those mornings in bed? Did you see the way he saved those dogs about to be euthanized in a shelter, because those pups reminded him of how he used to feel, staring death in the eyes every day? Did you see the way he loved me?

Hoseok pats your shoulder. “I’ll put in a month and a half of vacation time for you when we get home. Lord knows you’ve earned it. And we can rest tonight, rest for the first time in a while. We’ve got a nice hotel an hour away from here, top floor. We’re not done flushing out the rest of his boys, but that can wait for now. We can handle that on our own; they’re scattered all over the continent anyways. It’ll take time.” He picks up his supplies, turns to move on to Yoongi. The look in the elder man’s eyes, the special ops agent thinks, is exactly the same as your own. What had you two seen in that hellhole?

You tuck the blanket tighter around yourself and nod once. It’s the most you can do.

Hoseok smiles, but it’s not quite the beaming, sunshine-filled glow he usually carries about himself. “You did good work and I’m proud of you. Get some sleep, agent.”

Sleep does not come for a long, long time.

When it does, it eats away behind your eyelids, filling your mind with visions of a man adrift in an ocean of bedsheets, rocking on the waves of an endless concrete floor that goes for miles and miles, whispering promises of things to come that never would be.

Kim Namjoon is sentenced to life in prison for six counts of murder, fifteen counts of extortion, three counts of murder-for-hire, six counts of drug trafficking, three counts of arms trafficking, and two counts of drug possession.

He never makes it to see his twenty-sixth birthday.

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #kpop fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #kpop fanfiction #bts au #verses and vibes #outroshooky

[calamity-bean]

Aziraphale/Crowley Fic Recs

AKA “There is SO much Good Omens fic nowadays, with more being added at SUCH an incredible rate, that I keep forgetting to bookmark things and thus completely lose track of what I’ve read and what I liked and which ones to watch for updates and which ones I might want to read again and etc etc. So, for the sake of my own sanity, I have made A List.”

And I thought, hey, might as well share.

I’ve divided this list into WIPs and Complete Works, but otherwise, it’s a jumble: canon-verse and AUs, short and long, ranging in rating from G to E and incorporating various tropes and headcanons. I tend to gravitate toward happy endings, so there’s probably nothing too dark or soul-crushing, but as always, buyer beware, pay attention to tags and content warnings and your own personal tastes. Works are listed in chronological order of first publishing, simply as a neutral and objective way to list them, and more will be added intermittently as I read new ones or rediscover ones I forgot.

Hope this helps someone find some good reading and directs more attention to some well-deserving work!

-- WIPs --

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (June 15, 2019)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles.

Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning.

Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5.

Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water.

Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

Show Me a Great Plan by WriteDreamLie (June 17, 2019)

A.J. Crowley is an eccentric "business man." A.Z. Fell is a bookseller who refuses to sell any books.

After Fell (unwillingly) helps Crowley out of a sticky situation, the two become oddly fixed on each other. And their relationship could just be the thing that saves them both.

icing on the cake by Etheostoma (June 18, 2019)

Between the black attire, swaying hips, slouching pose, and affected “devil-may-care” attitude that actually belied an incredibly sensitive nature, A.J. Crowley was a walking puzzle—and one that Aziraphale, when he allowed his thoughts free rein, wanted desperately to solve.

That being said, at the end of the day Crowley was also technically his employer, and therefore even the thought of anything more was decidedly not a Good Idea.

Vita Nova by AMidnightDreary (June 18, 2019)

“Angel, bloody hell. Hi. You doing okay? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

It was quiet for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said then, still polite, but a bit perplexed. “Who is this?”

Crowley, upon finding that Aziraphale does not remember him, is very much Not Okay with the changes Adam made after the Apocalypse That Wasn't. He can't do anything but try and make the best out of it, though. (Which is a lot easier than it should be.)

Sparse Clutter by ItsClydeBitches (June 26, 2019)

A fic bingo collection featuring twenty-five, one word prompts. Whole thing is probably best described as "Ineffable husbands stupidity with a hefty dose of gen world building," but I'll chuck brief summaries below as I update!

Strange Pilgrims: Being the Account of a lost Angel, the Journeys of a Demon, the meaning of Free Will, of the Unravelling of a Prophecy, and of Being Unravelled by it in Turn by sousverre (June 26, 2019)

"Aziraphale going missing" would be quite enough drama for Crowley to be getting on with, thanks very much - even without a prophecy that seems to be implying the significance of Feelings, and especially with every gargoyle in London trying to reunite them.

But when he does find the angel, Aziraphale has lost his memory, his wings, and insists that he is happily married to some kind of investment banker.

Right. So the first step is to fix all that, somehow, and then - and then - and then everything can go back to normal, like it was before, which is all Crowley wants.

Right.

How do we fix this?

Put Out The Fire by Aleakim (June 27, 2019)

Aziraphale finds himself in a very awkward position as some sort of spell makes everyone merely glancing in his direction instantly fall deeply and desperately in love with him.

Absolutely everyone.

Well, apart from Crowley, that is.

And while both angel and demon search for a solution to this fairly unique problem, Crowley can’t help wondering whether Aziraphale might finally figure out some things he kept hidden for so very long.

Ink Blots and Forget-Me-Nots by gutsandglitter (July 3, 2019)

Ninth Circle Ink was hardly more than a stone’s throw from the flower shop; Aziraphale knew from past experience that it took less than thirty seconds to go from door to door (forty-five if you had to wait for a car to pass). It had been a perfect arrangement in the beginning, when they were just starting out.

aka the flower shop/tattoo parlor (human) exes AU that nobody asked for!

You Can Have Your Cake by eragon19 (July 4, 2019)

Aziraphale has been working as Anathema's assistant at her wedding planning service for near on a year now. He thinks he's seen it all, from meddling parents to nervous brides, and in one case an ex with a penchant for arson.

What he isn't prepared for is a reluctant groom with a liking for black leather and a smile that has Aziraphale's mind going to places it most certainly shouldn't. Especially since the man is getting married, no matter how awful his fiance is...

To the Stars by StarRose (July 9, 2019)

The happy ending Titanic!Au no one ever writes but everyone always imagines in every possible fandom. Aziraphale is being forcibly sent to America to be forcibly married to Gabriel. Crowley is going to forcibly screw that up.

A Matter of Convenience by ylc (July 15, 2019)

There comes a time when even the most fervent enemies must call a truce and what better way to cement such truce than a marriage? And if the involved parties happen to be the most troublesome members of the ruling families… well, that’s all for the best, isn’t it?

Barriers, and the Breaking Thereof by Cardinal_Daughter (July 16, 2019)

Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Series of one-shots focusing on the lives and developing relationship between Ezra Fell and Anthony J. & Adam Crowley. Human AU.

Lavender, Chamomile, and a Rather Permanent Arrangement by southdownsraph (July 17, 2019)

Crowley owns the flower shop across the street from A. Z. Fell's tattoo shop, and can't help but be intrigued by the slightly eccentric, yet incredibly friendly tattoo artist. When Crowley does finally pluck up the courage to talk to him beyond the occasional pleasantries, he kicks off the beginning of a friendship that could so easily drift into something else entirely.

Pride and Prejudice and Angels by SanSanFanFan (July 20, 2019)

Hampshire, England, 1809

Miss Crowley's plans for a small temptation near the South Coast go awry as she realises that Aziraphale is not only a guest of a neighbouring landed gentlelady but also suffering under some kind of malady.

Match-making! Balls! Fainting! Happily Ever Afters???

Celestial Bodies by LieutenantLiv (August 3, 2019)

The year is 1923. Aziraphale's friends at the gentlemen's club invite him for a weekend away in Devon. He asks Crowley to join. It gets very silly and very messy very quickly.

That's just how things were in the roaring twenties.

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (August 9, 2019)

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

--His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

-- Complete Works --

Anthophilia by FortinbrasFTW (July 7, 2014)

Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The Rose Thief and the Priest by ImprobableDreams900 (January 8, 2018)

When horticulturist A. J. Crowley sees a rare breed of rose in a churchyard, he decides he won't stop until he can get a cutting—even if he has to go through the church's stuffy priest to do so.

Running in the Shadows (Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies) by soft_october (May 10, 2019)

"In plain terms, Mr. A. Fell was a man of impeccable conduct and unusual habits, and in a similar manner to many of whom bore the first two traits, he must also take up the third: dire loneliness. Yet it had not always been thus. Indeed, there once was a time when it seemed as if he should never know solitude or want of suitable company for the rest of his days, but the circumstances by which Aziraphale might have unwound the knot that now bound up his heart had long since dragged themselves, mortally wounded, to die in the shades of regret. Their ghosts hung in his past, growing in consequence with the singular passing of each year until they eclipsed even the death of those who had the foremost hand in their making, and had the effect of separating the sequence of his days of into a gentle, blooming Before, whose painful beauty made the egregious scars of the After that much more appalling."

What Aziraphale does not know is that, from across the ocean, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley is returning to England with his newly aquired wealth, wanting nothing more than to rebuild his life after a terrible shock and, perhaps, discover why he had been abandoned by his fiancé ten long years ago.

You Might Think I’m Crazy (All I Want is You) by soft_october (March 29, 2019)

'“Look I understand, you’ve got to check up on the new occupants, make sure I’m a proper ‘fit’ for the neighborhood or whatever euphemism you’re going to use this time, 'the greater good,' I saw the film, I get it. But I peeked in at the place next door the agent mentioned and if you aren’t bothering him I really don't think you should be-”

“I’m your neighbor,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I own that place next door?”

“Oh.”'

Since the next shop over closed down, Aziraphale's had a peaceful few months, barring those unpleasant interactions with the men in cheap suits who keep trying to persuade him to sell his shop. But now a (handsome) new owner has taken up residence beside him and, horror of horrors, he wants to open up a coffee shop.

A Home at the Beginning of the World by stereobone (June 6, 2019)

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."

creatures of circumstance by attheborder (June 10, 2019)

Anthony J. Crowley, Jr. is the prodigal son of CrowleyCorp, the UK’s most powerful, dangerous, and controversial technology company.  

A one-night stand with a mysterious man who calls himself Aziraphale tips his hopeless life upside-down into a dangerous obsession.

And somewhere else entirely, a girl-shaped creature is presiding over the back room of a bookshop in Soho, where an angel and a demon lay unconscious on the floor…

Bending Space and Time by Draco_sollicitus (June 11, 2019)

Crowley could never have envisioned a miracle quite like making an angel smile.

And when that angel is Aziraphale, well, he'll do whatever he can to experience that miracle again, and again, and again.

(Crowley spends the twentieth century bringing books to Aziraphale in an effort to make his angel smile a little more)

the words of the prophet are written on the subway walls by volantium (June 11, 2019)

Aziraphale and Crowley do the twenty-first century. (Or, Aziraphale and Crowley, dorks in love, post-Apocalypse).

a picnic plan for you and me by theapplepielifestyle (June 12, 2019)

“It’s angel food cake,” he said. He waited. When Aziraphale did nothing but nod politely: “It’s funny, see, ‘cause-”

“No, no, I get it.” Aziraphale nodded again. “Very funny.”

“Oh, shut up, it is-”

“May I ask what brought this on?”

Crowley paused. “Can’t a guy just want to try baking?”

(Or, Crowley makes Aziraphale food after the world doesn't end. It has absolutely nothing to do with how much he wants to make Aziraphale smile.)

with urgency but not with haste by Sanwall (June 13, 2019)

Aziraphale moves to the South Downs and gets bees, and Crowley gets into one of his moods.

The Play’s The Thing by volunteerfd (June 16, 2019)

“Who was at the very first rehearsal, hmm? Who read over Shakespeare’s shoulder as he put ink to parchment? If anything, I know Hamlet just as intimately as I know you.” Aziraphale picked up his teacup again and looked at Crowley over the rim of it. “Maybe even more.”

Crowley was tempted to ask if he’d fucked Hamlet.

****

Aziraphale is cast as the lead in a community theatre production of Hamlet, a lifelong dream of his and a lifelong night terror of Crowley's. But, as the hapless Crowley helps him run lines, it becomes a mystery why anyone would let Aziraphale on stage. Tears are shed, skulls are crushed, monologues are butchered, and through it all, Crowley remains supportive. After all, the show must go on--even if it is the fifty billionth production of stupid, overrated Hamlet.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by 13thDoctor, JHarkness (June 17, 2019)

5 times Aziraphale and Crowley were mistaken for a couple, and the 1 time they weren’t.

A Regular Rip van Winkle by aurilly (June 20, 2019)

After almost an entire century spent asleep, Crowley wakes in 1888 to find the world more changed than he thought possible. His first order of business is to find his angel.

Also concerning the origin of the Baroque gavotte (spoilers: Aziraphale was feeling thirsty).

A bookshop is not a business by anactoriatalksback (June 22, 2019)

In which Aziraphale has no intention of selling books to anyone at all, let alone this infuriatingly persistent customer. No matter how nice his cheekbones are...

like a prayer for which no words exist by lipsstainedbloodred (June 23, 2019)

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley asks before Aziraphale is even properly in the room.

“Hullo my dear,” Aziraphale sounds cheery but also awfully worried, “I hadn’t seen you since - well, since-” Since they’d swapped bodies back; since Crowley had turned tail and ran from St. James’s Park like the Devil himself had been on his heels.

(in which Crowley and Aziraphale do not dine at the Ritz after that nasty business with Heaven and Hell, and Crowley has an existential crisis instead)

far too much in love to see by imperiousheiress (June 25, 2019)

“Hello, can I help you with anything in particular?” Aziraphale asks. And then, he freezes.

Inexplicably, impossibly, it’s the same man who had entered the shop the last time they’d been open. He’s sure of it. The man who he’d felt a rather insistent urge to garrote.

(Or, one of Aziraphale’s regular customers takes a little too much interest in Crowley, and Aziraphale feels somewhat unfamiliarly unpleasant about all of it.)

The Holiest by merle_p (June 26, 2019)

So when Aziraphale hears, through the grapevine, that an exorcism is supposed to happen on New Year’s Eve in Major Gruber’s flat, he knows that despite his general distaste for exorcisms, this is where he is going to be, on the slim chance that the demon Major Gruber and his spiritist friends have found is the same one Aziraphale appears to have lost.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers by Gefionne (June 26, 2019)

Because they can’t see each other more than once every few decades, Aziraphale suggests that he and Crowley write to each other to pass the time apart. As quills for their letters, they exchange wing feathers: a gesture of great intimacy that Crowley is convinced only he perceives the depth of. But time will tell that it’s not just him who sees it that way.

Night and Day by Gigi_Sinclair (June 27, 2019)

Five times Aziraphale and Crowley encountered queer historical figures who know more about them than they do, and one time they actually have a clue.

Needed a break, gone to France x by sleepymccoy (June 28, 2019)

A week or so after the nopocalypse Aziraphale takes a holiday that, unfortunately, sends Crowley into a bit of a tailspin about where they're at

In Holy Matrimony by Myracuulous (June 29, 2019)

From the private journal of Alisha Jones, wedding planner, concerning the nuptials of Anthony J Crowley and Aziraphale and the planning process thereof, containing an account of chosen decor, guest list construction, and the holy war against the Antichrist that nearly ruined six months of professional organization and a very nice dinner.

Acts of Service by seekwill (July 2, 2019)

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

greatest hits by attheborder (July 2, 2019)

“But my dear, I just can’t believe you never told me that you had joined a musical group. I would have come out to support you— at your gigs!”

“First of all, never say ‘gigs’ again. Second of all, not my fault you never noticed when I showed up to dinner with a great big guitar case slung over my shoulder.”

(Aziraphale accidentally discovers Crowley’s secret: he was in a band in the 90s. And he wrote a whole album of love songs…)

Nanny Knows Best by DictionaryWrites (July 5, 2019)

Being a nanny, that should be simple. Simple. Easy as pie.

Crowley wished that were true.

human childcare for the occult (and ethereal) by suzukiblu (July 10, 2019)

The Dowlings miraculously need a nanny and a gardener at the same time, and Aziraphale suggests they flip for it. Crowley takes one moment to picture Aziraphale nannying anyone and calls dibs. It’s not that Aziraphale’s terrible with humans, he’s just, well. Terrible with humans. Truly, truly terrible.

He doesn’t want to deal with Aziraphale getting metaphorically guillotined or kicking up security’s paranoia, basically. A gardener can be a little odd, and no one will notice or care. Except Warlock, perhaps, as the only other person with any real reason to spend much time out on the lawn, but Warlock’s the one they want noticing so that’ll be fine, Crowley’s sure.

Even if it does make him cringe a little, leaving Aziraphale in charge of the plants.

keep me close by Iselmyr (July 17, 2019)

Aziraphale was expecting to see a talented but otherwise ordinary performance of Les Misérables with a genderswapped cast. Aziraphale was not expecting who came onstage.

Crowley was expecting an ordinary second night show, because Aziraphale always goes to opening nights, and Crowley never performs on them.

Except, this once, Aziraphale missed the opening, and came to the second night. Everything else snowballed from there.

lit in the darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain (July 17, 2019)

Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it's hardly the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

Reflect What You Are by Owenjones (July 17, 2019)

It's a year after the almost-apocalypse. Aziraphale makes Crowley go see a therapist.

“Have you been having any issues in particular?”

“Issues? Such as?”

“You tell me.” She could tell he had something on the tip of his tongue.

Crowley sat for a second, then blurted out, “He thinks I’ve been sleeping too much. He’s worried.”

An Answer to Prayer by Jupiter_Ash (July 20, 2019)

Prayers can be answered in a multitude of different ways. When it came to a certain cottage in the South Downs though, no one had expected it to be answered by the squealing wheels of a classic Bentley and Queen's Princes of the Universe.

All Karen wanted to do was sell a house.

The Ineffable Temptations of Oysters by gimpy_terry (July 20, 2019)

Wherein Aziraphale sometimes invites Crowley to dine on oysters with him and Crowley definitely takes him up on that offer.

did you open up your heart there? by weatheredlaw (July 21, 2019)

or were you quiet and afraid? — Aziraphale and Crowley meet over and over and over again. Aziraphale doesn't know what Crowley is, or why their souls can't seem to be parted, but he is a creature of love, and he's not going to argue with that.

A Machine for Living In by pineapplesquid (August 6, 2019)

All Crowley wants is to see the inside of the bookshop so that he can get this design for the building next door done so the clients will be happy and his bosses will stop yelling. What A.Z. Fell wants, apparently, is for Crowley and the project that’s he’s working on to disappear. Permanently.

One of these might be more attainable than the other.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic recs #op #also PLEASE let me know if any of the titles link to the wrong fics #i was doing a lot of rapid copying & pasting #and also if you have any others to rec... feel free to add or let me know!

[blankdblank]

Golden Moment

Requested by - @deepestfirefun

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

…

If you look past the wine bottles and scattered boxes from the takeout left about the new penthouse apartment it was quite stunning. Views for miles and a dazzling sunrise and set casting the furniture inside in varied pastels easing a peaceful end or beginning to the day depending on when the giant slob had to be up for work. A time he called the golden moment. True it had been a hell of a year, loss of his mother through a trying film straining all of him and now he would be living with one foot on either side of the ocean. Work had picked up and it was just what he seemed to need at the time, but now he was truly wondering if it was what he needed after all.

It all began last Tuesday, the end of his first month in this apartment, like all buildings this old there were tales about each and his had one hell of a whopper. Quintuple murder back in the roaring twenties and to be truthful, after getting off his latest thriller the notion of living somewhere that was haunted was embarrassingly appealing to him.

One month and nothing, though Tuesday, as he stood on the phone with his agent about his next bout of scripts to comb through arriving in the morning. In a turn right as the sun was setting across the black screen of his tv he saw her, cast on golden light, a leg propped up with the other curled under, a bowl of popcorn in her lap coated with a small towel to protect her short shorts most likely with a peach bra matching her ankle socks. A silent laugh reflected with her head rolling back sending her pitifully tied back curls backwards towards a couch most definitely too plushy to be his.

A sharp turn around brought reality back to him, the dull grey modern couch too painful to sleep on coated in books, papers and trash, another glance back at the screen as the golden moment passed and, nothing, no woman, no popcorn, no laughter, just him and his manager clearing his throat to regain the attention of his sometimes distractible client.

Twice since last Tuesday he had seen her, always in varying stages of dress, mere glimpses of this mystery woman sharing his space, far to young and modernly dressed to be from the twenties. Young and so out of reach all but stirring a possessive growl from him if he swelled on it long enough that he couldn’t speak with her or knew if she was a figment of his imagination due to his dreams now featuring her with a voice not quite sitting right to what he pictures during your brief passing moments.

The first time reflected in his kitchen, this time cast in pink, a smirk eased onto his lips at her silent bopping along to a song he couldn’t read across those tempting lips while she pulled a mystery dish together. Pausing only to climb onto the counter to fetch something from the top shelf in the corner of the counter. After the moment passed out of its pink coating and her reflection vanished curiously Richard neared his shelves and raised to his toes chuckling as he saw a plastic tub down, inside of which were various well past usage of food coloring for desserts making him murmur to himself, “Just what are you baking there, tiger?”

Somehow the nickname feeling right it stuck and the following night on his way back from a press event he paused seeing her curled up on the same couch reflected in his tv in nothing but a large t shirt hugging her pillow excitedly with a stack of movies on the table before her. Slowly he inches closer trying to read the titles only to lose the light with a roll of his eyes making him turn to bed, “Maybe I am losing my fucking mind.” He rumbled tugging at his tie to loosen it.

The following morning, irritatingly early for his alarm his eyes shifted to his alarm clock then over to the wall of windows overlooking the city stirring a realization of why he had woken up so early. Still in his boxers he raced through the apartment back to the living room where he flung the papers from the end of the couch onto the floor to curl his leg in his settling on the cushion, awkwardly he fidgeted his arm on the back of the couch finally shaking his head as the first light began to fill the room.

Bright orange and just a few feet from him, no longer a reflection his lips parted seeing you still in the same shirt, still clutching your pillow but this time crying, presumably puffy and blotchy cheeked on the back end of ugly crying hastily wiping your cheeks making him lean closer, “Why are you crying?” He purred lowly with eyes and tone dripping with concern.

His only answer in an ethereal yet hiccuped voice, “I’m not crying, you are!” Another wipe of your cheek turning your head to face him and in the final burst of light of the sunrise you were gone again. With heart racing his mind reeled at how stunning you were even as a sobbing mess, again he purred to no one but himself, “Why are you crying?” His head shook but still he couldn’t get those hauntingly lilac eyes and white blonde curls over pitch black brows out of his mind. In a daze he took himself back to bed hoping to sleep off whatever this was.

… *** …

Excruciating as always you woke alone in this apartment. Months you had watched your father fade away through chemo and a rushed trip to the hospital later you were forced to finally say goodbye. Always the smiling one, for those months your family had never seen him so happy, and all thanks to you, each dream, whom and fancy of his was followed. Much to your step mother’s irritation, just a few years after your birth mother had died to some odd bug she picked up overseas they caught too late to even diagnose.

You bore the pain and suffering of others and for all your effort you still lost in the end. Finally he was gone and finally you could cry, you could break down. If this building wasn’t rumored to be haunted it sure was after your months of weeping and mourning alone. Alone in this world save for your brother in law to your late elder sister who died in a car accident months after having your niece, who ironically was just five years younger than you as you were a late surprise from a mid divorce drunken sleepover and then handed over to your father so your mother could travel the world for her job.

You had tapered off into a lull of sadness, still hurting but able to handle a trip into public without bursting into tears. Somehow you knew you could get through this, you knew there were brighter things ahead somehow. The main clue being after years of hard work and having to skip movie weekends with your niece, who was off to a better high school in a different state you could finally break open the box set of the Hobbit films you had purchased weeks ago knowing your first two days of your long awaited vacation from work could be spent in a Tolkien marathon.

Several of your teenage crushes were cast with more than a few new faces to add to the list and for weeks you stared at the set longingly in your paths to and from work. Though in reading up on the cast a familiar face as the lead made your heart skip. Richard Armitage was Thorin, so adorably brooding and huggable even in the battle promo pictures and as your anticipation rose that same tempting man slipped in and out of your every dream.

But the nearer you grew you started to question yourself on how deep you would fall for this series as reflected in the windows you would spot the same brooding figure staring off at the skyline or sprawled across an oddly grey and irritatingly stiff looking couch reading through scripts only to be gone again when you turned your head. First you set your wine down, promising to cut back, even cut drinking out entirely but still you would see him and now more than ever you questioned your sanity as while baking cupcakes you swore you could hear him laugh at your climb onto the counter to fetch your food coloring.

.

The big day came and in your favorite oversized t shirt with fuzzy socks hidden under the fuzzy blanket on your lap. In your arms your big plushy pillow you were hugging tightly as the opening scene began. Through the lands of Middle Earth you were brought back and grew misty eyed a few minutes in and you loved each minute of it until the final section of the final movie began, two pauses later and the stabbing in your chest withdrew. Again at the rising of the sun as you were coated in pastel lights you again saw your dream boat out of the corner of your eye, shirtless and seated on the couch with a cushion away from you his low croon asked, “Why are you crying?”

Between the heartbreak of watching your lovable Thorin die believing his nephew Kili was safe and that Erebor was won and the imagined man who gave life to the heart shattering moment you had just been weeping over you hiccupped back, “I’m not crying, you are!” Turning your head to give your hallucination a piece of your mind about his continued death scenes his normally translucent face a pale complexion with those hauntingly blue eyes staring right at you overflowing with concern. Not a moment later he was gone as the final flicker of sunlight filled the room fully taking your dream boat along with it.

Turning your head you looked back at the screen and sniffles feeling tears welling in your eyes to lower your head to it to cry again at the pain of losing both the character and now your imagined version of the actor as well.

*.*

All day you continued your marathon as Richard continued along his schedule, ensuring he would be back home again in time for sunset. More and more you felt a chill building around you and through the Fellowship of the Ring you had to rush out for countless bags of popcorn as your hunger kept creeping up again and again. Dinner crept around again and as you cooked you turned the screen towards the kitchen to keep watching as you cooked.

Table set and covered in food with an opened bottle of wine at your mental fuck it to having the alcohol stir up your imagination again you sat down inhaling deeply as you raised said bottle to your lips for a bitter sip. Right on time the sun gave one last burst of light and at the rushing Brit to lower into the chair beside you, arms rested on the table as you set down the bottle. A finger on his hand dangerously close to reaching out to brush against your hand if he extended it an inch more.

“Hi,” eagerly he blurted out, “I’m-,”

“Richard Armitage.” You answered for him in disbelief.

An elated chuckle left him, “You said my name right!” A glimpse at the window revealed a truck pulling a crane part threatening to block out the sunlight, wetting his lips he turned to face you again, “What’s your name?!”

“Jaqi Pear.”

Nodding at you he blinked as the crane passed his window cutting your meeting short this time. On his feet he rose and turned to head for his laptop in his bedroom, “Jaqi Pear. Let’s see who you are.”

Behind him at the bottle tapping onto the table you jumped up and rushed after him, “Hey!” Through the short hall you passed through the shadow and came out in the sunset again at its final flicker seeing him at something waist high in the corner of your room with a smirk on his face before he vanished again. “What the-,” sighing you turned mumbling, “Fuck it I need more wine.” Trudging back to your paused film and dinner for the night until credits rolled and you would wake to clean up your night before.

… ***…

The first page instantly filled with links, under the first one a Wikipedia page with your picture and your birthday, “January 14,” his eyes scanned over to the age, “25..” wetting his lips he opened the link in a second tab and read through, ‘moved from a job in the theater to a show out in Los Angelos that got bumped to a network back in New York. This placed the show in a better time slot doubling the ratings and gaining three films for Pear with her character as lead.’ “Hmm..” scrolling through the page he stopped at the personal life section starting with your birth in England to your mother from there and father from the states, your older sister and then it started to grow dimmer. Delving into the burial for all but your brother in law and niece, both of whom pictured with you at each funeral. That portion ended with a picture of your moving van outside his building making him gasp as it was from when you moved to LA.

“So you must have lived here…” continuing to scroll his heart skipped at the image of a badly crumpled bus and a picture of you fifteen feet from it sprawled across the hood of a car with a crying child in your loosely laying arms. The article reading a distracted driver cut off the bus and survivors shared that you saw a boy on his way to school on his own was in the seat where the truck that crashed into the bus was aimed for.

Flipping back to the first tab his heart was pounding reading through how a neglectful social worker had left the boy to head to school alone for a coffee and smoke break after his mother had wrongfully named him in a robbery three states over after he wouldn’t give her more money. Link after link reading the boy was deaf and was chatting with you about your role in a popular show heavy with asl and deaf cast members, mainly children learning from you, a mother of a deaf child that went to culinary school to teach your son how to bake and cook, as per his dream and then went on to open a small school for other deaf children.

Well wishes and pictures of the care facility you were being kept in after slipping into a coma flooded the pages along with pictures and fan pages with daily check ins from your final two family members with speculation what was going to happen about the next film set to start filming in four months.

“A coma…fuck…” rubbing his face he said, “ok, this isn’t so…weird..” groaning he straightened up, “Yes it fucking is…”

…

A sharp sunrise was missed by you both bringing you both in awkward overlapping positions across your prospective mattresses. A call however tore Richard from bed reminding him of his need to buy some essentials at the check in call from his elder brother Chris. The choice to share this phenomena with his family was clearly skipped and all through the busy store his mind worked out just how he would bring up the situation with you. Uncertain of if the topic would make things worse or if it could somehow help you through it.

.*.

The slamming of the door on the floor above you signaled the late departure of your upstairs neighbor still in med school late for yet another course alerting you to the time. “10 already?” You mumbled climbing onto your knees feeling the heavy comforters slide off your back that were helpless at aiding to your frigid state. Heavily you found your feet and groaned your way into your living room where you froze at the new table and newspapers both crumpled and thrown carelessly around.

A grunt left you as you stomped into your living room, “Richard!” You mumbled, somehow the man had gotten a key to your apartment and broken in, quite literally trashing the place and leaving a hideous table in your living room. Storming through it you caught glimpses of his same hideous couch until you turned to face yours completely. Handfuls of the papers were clutched and shoved into your recycling cans until you were left with a clean living room, “I’m gonna find where you live and trash your place. Next Ashton Kutcher will be jumping out of my cabinet.”

Three bags of trash seated around you after your irritating struggle in opening your door and down the hall to the back elevator for the recycling. A short ride later you walked out across the cement poured ground usually grainy and painful on your feet you mentally commented they must have smoothed it finally after so many complaints. As usual a large grey cat popped out of a set of bushes and trotted back with you to the cans where a tall figure made you shriek and drop your bags.

Turning sharply the tall janitor to the side in the dated jumpsuit grinned at you seemingly in relief, “Sorry Jo.”

Chuckling lowly he replied in thick polish accented english, “No, I have sorry. I thought you had left us.”

You shook your head, “No. still here.”

He grinned wider bending to grab and toss your bags In the giant can and said, “Glad to hear of it.”

Curiously you wished him a good day in return to his farewell and then led the cat back to the elevator, inside which you hit the seventh floor and then yours after. The brief stop on seven freed the cat to halt Rio, the patchwork sweater clad man’s search for said cat as he waved to you repeating the janitor’s comment, “Thank you! Thought you’d left us!”

Again you shook your head, “Nope, still here. Bye Tiberius.” The cat meowed in return as the doors shut and you shook your head mumbling, “Strange. I don’t work that often…”

Back inside again however your eyes scanned over the room in shock making you squeak at the next layer of trash, dishes and clothing across the apartment. In a furious rage you blazed through the apartment hurling the clothes into the laundry closet then teetered piles of dishes into the kitchen leaving them in the sink until you were certain of having them all and then jumped into filling one side of the sink for soaking. After a few moments of struggling to find where the man had moved your sponge and scrub brush to you tore through the pile adding them to the racks in the washer for a second round of washing for the stubborn ones.

At the end of the trash bag trail by the door you eyed the final paper you had just found, the title wasn’t what had stopped you but the date. “27th?” Wetting your lips you counted back the days knowing you had gone on vacation on the 4th and were expected back the 20th. Shaking your head you added it to the final bag and then raised the bags in your hands to carry through the door.

Blinking in shock you eyed your only neighbor’s dog with leash in his jaws waiting for his owner to ready the stroller for her new daughter and their walk through the park down the block inside their place taking up the other half to the floor. In the hall flicking his tail around his sides eagerly yet patiently waiting for the pair with a greeting ear wiggle and tip of his snout for you. The weight lost from your hands made you look down then turn around to look through the doors for the vanished bags of trash. Slowly you crept back inside with tears in your eyes seeing the new layer coating everything and your lip quivered as you saw the large table top calendar with the year 2019 in bold across the top. Across the month he marked out  your baking night and a few other sightings, then your movie night marked ‘on the couch’ and then, ‘introduction at the table’ the days were ticked off until he read the 27th ‘apartment cleaned.’

Under your breath you whispered, “He’s doing this on purpose.” The statement so preposterous, as how could the man control time or your sanity now assumed to be shattered as you rubbed your face trying not to burst into tears at the unknown forces acting on you. Against your bodily reaction aching to break free you turned to start cleaning up again as you eyed the new pieces of uncomfortable looking furniture. Wondering how you could be projecting the actor into being, and not just that, but four years into the future.

… ***…

Shopping went smoothly as it could have on this busy days and back through the crowded elevator with his only neighbor, her dog and three girls Richard teetered his way back to his door where he fumbled his key into the lock and gave it a turn. Blindly he eased it open and passed through, wiggling his key free then turned after closing it with his foot.

A few feet inside and his jaw dropped seeing the clean living room. Curiously he headed for the kitchen where he eyed his dishwasher still running with sponge waiting on the rim of the still half full sink. Heavily he set his bags on the counter he unloaded with brows furrowed at all that had been rearranged. Empty bags were added to his recycling bins he turned to his living room glancing at his watch to double check the time.

.

Hours he had sat on the couch and at the timer on his phone he jumped up at sunset and scoured through the apartment in the golden light wondering where you would pop up. At the absence of your appearance he slumped into the kitchen and grabbed his notebook by the couch with a poorly scrawled timetable he marked down you cleaning and missed sunset.

Two more days was all it took and another trip to the store was made, no word of your improvement was given and he didn’t see you anywhere else in his trips through the building. Across his coffee table he copied his notes on you and stared at it daily wondering just where and when you would pop up again. Three audio books were set up on his schedule to keep him distracted until his next film and when he could hear anything from you again. You were strangers and yet here he was aching at the though of anything happening to you. Hoping for the best he snapped back into his new pattern through the days yet always stealing glances at that calendar as the days kept getting crossed off one by one.

.

Though days had passed and again a bare apartment was what he returned to sending him on a path through it for any sign of a message from you. Nothing but the running washer and dryer was all he got.

For a few days he still got no sightings of you but with the magazines and a few empty cups and blankets he tossed around carelessly so it would be obvious if you had missed one another gain. Three more times he found the room tidied up and even his furniture shifted once until he came back to find one of his carelessly tossed blankets with a dip in it where he guessed you had curled up in his absence.

Strolling past the sleeping spot he gripped the back of his shirt tossing it onto the couch in his path to the shower wondering what he would fix for dinner.

*.*

Days you had been fixing up the messes your invisible stranger had been making and never making it past the front door when it was cleaned up. More and more you felt your heart breaking again assuming you had finally cracked assuming a split personality or something.

Each day you felt less and less like yourself and the owner of this apartment at the daily swapping of pieces of your furniture and belongings. Leaving you in this cold empty penthouse where you found yet another mess after turning around from a load of dishes you had just started now gone. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you knelt on the thick flannel you felt too weak and tired to lift and plopped onto your side sniffling as your eyes clamped shit. Mumbling to yourself another tear rolled down your cheek at the warm pine scent coming from the blanket, “Fine, be a slob.”

Another waft of warm pine flooded around your head snapping your eyes open and raising your head your eyes furrowed at the shirt now under it. Hastily wiping your cheeks you sat up and looked to your overtaken bedroom hearing the shower running.

The shower didn’t last long and by the time you made it through the hallway it had turned off. Timidly you waited in the bedroom hearing a ruffling sound, a few steps later the handle turned and inhaling deeply you saw the actor himself ruffling his towel through his hair. Wide eyed at your full almost lifelike appearance he drew in a breath and readied to say something only for you to shout at him, “What are you doing?!”

“Wha-,” His arms dropped to wrap the towel around his waist taking a step closer to you only making you take two steps back. “I’m not-,”

“Why are you in my apartment?!” His brows inched up, “Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you can come into people’s apartments you know!”

“Now,” his hand extended as he calmly stated, “Could you please stop shouting?”

“Get out of my apartment!”

Inhaling sharply he lowly growled back, “This is my apartment!”

“I’ve lived here for nearly a decade! And one day I wake up and you’re, your stuff is slowing up here and you trash the place! Now I know the landlord and he would never-,”

“Will you please stop shouting?!”

Inhaling deeply you said even louder, “I will shout as much as I damn well please to! This is my apartment! I don’t care what you paid I still have months till my lease is up!”

He moved closer again, “Now can we just calmly talk about this?”

“No!” You stomped your foot and he couldn’t help but smirk as it made your pitifully tied back curls swayed along with your baggy sweater making your dark brows press together, “Don’t you dare laugh at me! You’ve been sneaking around my place, moving all my stuff, bringing in all that tacky unhomey furniture and on top of that, what is it with that damn calendar!” Stomping your way back to the living room he gripped the fold in his towel and trotted after you as you kept shouting, “2019?! Brilliant idea for a joke!”

Your finger extended at the calendar, “How much did this one set you back, hmm?”

Wetting his lips he asked, “20-, what year do you believe it is?”

After a scoff from you it was parroted back to him, “I believe?” he nodded, “What year-, it’s 2014! What sort of nonsensical-!”

His finger rose, “2014?”

You nodded, “Yes! Two thousand fourteen. Five Armies just came out with the others in their box set.” Your arms crossed, “What the hell sort of joke is this?! It’s not funny!” his smile in his eyes at having his prepared speech in his mind ready to go dropped at your lip quivering, “It’s fucking terrifying. This is my home. You can’t just show up!”

Moving closer his hand moved to rest on your shoulder only to pass through your arm, the action seen by you at your eyes lowering, a gasp was all he heard before the ring in his ears at your high pitched shriek at your step backwards sending you through the couch making you scream again. Unsteadily climbing over the couch his hand extended as he softly shushed you following after you in your panicked scramble to the glass wall, at which you scrambled to after your backwards stumble to curl up wrapping your arms around your legs folded in front of you. “Shhh…please stop screaming.” He repeated until all that could be heard was your muffled sobs and hiccups for air in between.

Wetting his lips he knelt beside you holding his hands out not wanting to frighten you again, “Please,” forgetting his speech he started to say the first thing on his mind, “I know you’re scared, and this is confusing.”

Your head rose, “It’s 2014!” your voice cracked and you squeaked out, “This is my home!” Tears rolling down your cheeks from your pinking eyes.

“Can-, you said your name is Jaqi Pear,” He nodded and your lip quivered again through a sniffle.

“I already know your name.”

“You said yours is Jaqi Pear, correct?”

“Correct.” You answered mockingly.

“Ok, well I looked you up.”

You scoffed, “You won’t find anything.”

“Not in 2014.” Your brows furrowed for a moment, “Now, you are in, or from 2014. Here, now, this apartment, this furniture, is in 2019.”

Your head tilted, “Don’t-,”

He waved his hands, “Humor me, please,” you sighed and folded your fingers tighter around your knee length sweats, “I don’t know how or why you are here, or now, but I did look you up, you were in a bus crash.”

“Bus-, I’m dead?!” your expression dropped, “I’m fucking dead. And now I’m stuck here.” You gasped, “This is just like the Lake House…You can’t be the dead one….” You cover your face and groan, “I’ll be in some obscure bus crash and I’m gonna die in your arms like Keanu and Sandra.”

With his brows raised he asked, “I beg your pardon, Keanu, and Sandra..?”

Your head rose and you looked at him flatly, “The Lake House.” He shook his head, “Keanu Reeves and Sandra, what the,” Your fingers snapping trying to remember her last name, “Bullock. They both live in the same house, only she moves in years after he built it and there’s a magical mailbox and they write to one another and fall for each other and one day he tries to find her, ironically, the day they first spoke, and he gets hit by a car and dies in her arms.” Blinking at you he sat still you continued on, “And then she tells him not to find her and wait to meet her later-, honestly, how have you not seen it?”

“No, it, sounded familiar, just, I’m a bit fuzzy on it. Must have been years ago.”

You nodded, “I’m gonna die.” Groaning again your head dropped onto your knees.

A growl from his stomach sounded and you raised your head as he stated, “I’m going to get dressed and then start dinner and we can talk some more, if you like.”

Sighing again you looked to the kitchen as he rose and walked to the bedroom stealing glances back at you until he closed the door behind him. Smacking your lips at your own seemingly unending hunger you forced yourself to your feet mumbling and waving your arms dejectedly, “Already clean the place, might as well cook too.” Walking to the kitchen wiping your cheeks along the way.

Behind the door Richard hastily finished drying his hair and short beard and picked out a pair of briefs he added a pair of sweats and a t shirt then hurried as he heard the cupboards opening and closing to the sound of, “Where the fuck did you hide the pans?”

Chuckling to himself he trotted out and wet his lips entering the kitchen, sure to move closer to you slowly so he wouldn’t startle you again, “Under here.” He moved around you opening one of the taller ones under the wine glasses on the top shelf you would have to climb for then chuckled seeing you shake your head at him, “I prefer not to burrow for all my supplies.”

“Ha ha. My sides are splitting.” A smirk eased onto his lips, “What do you want to eat?”

“Pasta was on sale.”

You nodded, “Pasta it is.” You turned to the pantry as he went to fetch the premade sauce in the fridge along with the meat to mix into the sauce he split open and added to his skillet he pulled down.

“Can you eat?” you turned to him with noodles in hand, “I mean, since you got here, have you tried eating?”

Passing him the noodles you turned to the fridge eyeing his selection then tugged one of the grapes free from the bag inside you raised to show him before passing it between your lips. “Hmm.” You mumbled as you chewed.

“Sour?”

“Bland.” He raised a brow, “I think it’s the dead thing.”

“You’re not dead.”

“Oh yes, sucked through time, so much more convincing.”

“You’re in a coma.” Your mouth fell open then you clamped it shut, “You’re not dead.”

“Oh yes, coma, so much more appealing. Why am I here though, in 2019?!”

He shrugged, “You did live here, maybe you just moved and instead of going there you came someplace, homier, you said you have lived here a decade.”

Your hand waved at your side with a nod, “Valid point.” Turning to claim the pot to fill with water you carried back to wait for it to boil. Peering up at him you asked, “So, what brings you here to my ghostly abode?”

Chuckling lowly he replied, “I have a place in an audio book company, Audibles, they give me a few books a year to tape, they’re based here in New York.”

Pt 2

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC

[faketextsfromlastmight]

Best of tags #08

A compilation of my favorite reactions to this blog.

@mangafreakazoid on the problematic aspects of superheroics: (Link)

#bnha#and all super hero media frankly#just take this point and *whoosh* miss it ocompletely#which is a shame! because it's fascinating!#media studies

I’d be willing to bet that Horikoshi has read Alan Moore’s “Watchmen”. The superhero society he describes in “My Hero Academia” is surprisingly layered and complex; it creates a lot of problemetic phenomena and its excesses are frequently called out. I’m not sure the manga is a deconstruction the genre, though. More of a reconstruction. Horikoshi’s part of this generation who digested the grim superhero backlash of the 80′s/90′s and wants to address the criticism rather than handwave it. Basically it comes down to focusing less on what makes a superhero and more on what makes a hero, period. It’s become trendy these days for self-aware superheroes to poke fun at some of the more ridiculous aspects of the genre (if Deadpool’s popularity is any indication) but it’s still very rare to see a comic really delve into how weird a superhero society would be on a sociological level. So far “My Hero Academia” is rather successful in that regard.

@kaeru-hime on a joke about BNHA’s pro hero Shouta Aizawan a.k.a. Eraserhead:  (Link)

#i thought this was a fucking david lynch post at first

Yeah, the thought did occur to me too! At first I felt guilty that David Lynch fans (of which I’m part of, incidentally) would browse through the “Eraserhead” tag and not find posts about the movie they love. But then I remembered that eery sense of confusion and absurdity is exactly what David Lynch would want.

@awesome-milkshake-blog on MHA’s society: (Link)

#bnha#the society in bnha is so messed up#and only the villains acknowledge it

I’m not so sure. We’ve seen a lot of criticism from heroic characters such as Shinsou, Monoma, Aizawa, etc. But mostly they’re isolated Cassandras whose voices are muffled by the noise of the superhero propaganda machine. This benefits the villains as they become the only persons loud enough to stand up to the system in any noticeable way. All For One is a villain, he has no ambition to change society for the better. But he’s clever enough to know that this system creates outcasts. By convincing these outcasts he’s the only one able to defend them, he can create an army. And his terrorism creates paranoia in the public, strengthening his “us vs them” rhetoric. It’s textbook terrorism: he doesn’t often attack strategically significant institutions, he instead attacks what will create the most scandalous media fanfare. So of course his first order of business is to engineer a school shooting, for maximum shock. All For One’s followers think they’re part of some great war, but really it’s more of a media compaign to recruit more members into All For One’s cult.

@khirishima on All Might’s merch:  (Link)

#all might cereal would be delicious though

They taste like JUSTICE!!! With a dash of pure unadulterated cavities.

@im-no-hero-im-alto on Mari Kondo killing Mineta: (Link)

bold of you to assume Shinsou needed to tell her to do it

From what little I’ve seen of Kondo, she seems to have little patience for mysogynists. So my guess is that she brought Shinsou around to plead legal irresponsibility in the murder trial.

@rosetteskye on Dabi saving his backstory for “someone special” : (Link)

Are you implying that Deku isn’t someone special to Todoroki?!

It’s written in-character. Dabi’s dismissive of Deku’s significance, not me. It’s a joke about how revealing your tragic brackstory is a stand-in for losing your/ oh, you’ll figure it out. I’m going to bed.

@scream-mans-friend on All Might cereals: (Link)

#shut up aizawa theyre busy voring all.might

The only thing anyone’s voring today is my sanity.

@my-minds-cabinet on Mineta becoming a priest: (Link)

#he isnt holy enough#in fact hes not holy at all lol

That’s the only happy ending I can imagine for Mineta. He gets injured, finds God in a near-death experience, and vows celibacy. Then again even if you ignore his sexual deviancy there are still several instances in the series where he’s shown to be a manipulative jerk, even towars his male classmates. So at that point the only way to salvage his character would be a major personality change after a brain concussion.

@salty-cold-medina on collective thirsting over Horikoshi Kohei: (Link)

#what is WRONG with y'all

I blame baby-boomers.

@doggo-city on Aoyama dyeing his costume black for Tokoyami: (Link)

If you paint his belt black he will be able to shoot darkness

By My Hero Academia’s logic... this sounds legit.

@principle-of-parsimony on Toga romanticizing gay terrorists: (Link)

#this is honestly how some people act

My personal headcanon is that Shigaraki mostly recruits his League of Villains by logging into Tumblr and finding the worst “hot takes” imaginable. Tumblr is rife with outcasts who latch on morally bankrupt narratives where their community is filled with heroes who can do no wrong. That fits the League of Villains’ recruitment policies. Toga’s behavior in this ficlet was partly inspired by inane comments I read on the “Rejected Princesses” blog (Link).

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #kohei horikoshi #bnha aoyama #bnha yuuga #bnha tokoyami #bnha fumikage #bnha shigaraki #bnha tomura #bnha toga #bnha himiko #bnha minoru #bnha mineta #bnha yagi #bnha toshinori #alan moore #watchmen #deadpool #mari kondo #bnha all for one #all for one #best of tags

[theaudity]

And tonight, it ends...

So, I guess here I am, ready to make a relatively long post regarding my thoughts and feelings on The Magicians going off the air, with just a few final hours to go.

I was a bit late joining the party on this series. and didn’t actually jump in until the first couple of seasons were on Netflix. However, that meant that I did jump in right when I needed this show. I was 23, living on my own for the first time, and failing my way through grad school in a city that I hated, with no friends, no intentions of making good choices, and a case of depression and anxiety that was getting worse by the day. Three guesses which character I latched onto like an aggressive tick?

Quentin Coldwater was, to me, the most honest depiction of living with depression I had ever seen on screen. There was never a bullshit “love makes it all better’ narrative, he was kind of a prickly asshole, and his darkness never quite went away, even when things were just fine. It was real, it was raw, and it gave me hope. I was still in denial about how bad my shit was, and wasn’t willing to consider that I needed actual treatment at the time, so watching this character deal with the same shit I was, and never really being better, but being able to get by, and be supported? That shit mattered. Yes, it’s problematic as fuck, but again, at the time I didn’t think “better” was something that could exist for me, so this was a happy medium that I could work with. And the emotion hook of that character ended up dragging me all the way into a mad run of incredible characters, surreal situations, and let me play in a world where magic was real and every episode made me question whether or not it was worth it.

I’m not going to say that this show saved me from my poor decision making, or made everything so much easier, it absolutely didn’t. But god damn, was it an outlet. It was an aesthetic masterpiece, a televised crack-fic that took itself dead seriously, a whirlwind of drama that constantly teetered on the edge between black comedy and Shakespearean tragedy, and I couldn’t get enough.

Anyways, we all know what happened with season 4, we all lived it. So, I’m not going to dwell too much on it here, other than to repeat that it was bullshit. The showrunners have always been bleak, they’ve always played fast and lose with the line of how much these characters would suffer, but in the end, they let us believe that the ending would be alright, and they lied.

Actually, that’s a lie, I am going to dwell for a bit longer. The showrunners screwed themselves from a writing standpoint. The season 4 finale wasn’t a ‘brave choice’ to ‘subvert expectations about who the main characters really are, and show that no one is safe’. It was the equivalent of them spitting in the face of the audience and saying ‘it doesn’t matter that everything sucks, because you’ll die soon and not have to worry about that’, and fuck me but even though the show has always reveled in the pain of the cast, it’s NEVER gone that far. So what happens next? Well, they made this ‘bold decision’ to kill the main character to tell the audience that he wasn’t the main character the entire time. Unfortunately, what they really did was martyr him, so from here everything has to either a) be the rest of the cast reacting to this huge loss, essentially making him the main character still (by reason of being the catalyst), or b) have everyone move on and go in an entirely new direction, which would feel hollow and pointless. I can’t speak for everyone else’s thoughts, but I feel like they landed somewhere predictably in the middle.

 I wasn’t planning on watching season 5. At least, not for a while. Then I heard that it would be the last one, that The Magicians had been cancelled, and I figured “what the hell. It’s one season, I’ll deal”. And my guys, I just hate to see the show go out this way. For years, this show meant so much to me. Seeing these characters struggle and inevitably grow from those struggles actually mattered. Quentin went from a socially maladjusted nerd to a guy who wasn’t afraid to put his heart on the line for people when it really mattered, Eliot went from an abused kid hiding his identity to a man who was finally brave enough to accept himself, Alice went from being a mousy outsider to being an extremely misguided badass trying to carve out whatever sanity she could in the world, Margo from being a vapid socialite to being a mother-fucking king, and so on, and so on. But now? Everything that’s happened in season 5 just doesn’t feel like it’s mattered. I’ve tried to be invested, I’ve tried to care, but, I can’t.

The worst part is, that these characters, and this world, meant so much to all of us, and it’s going to go out with a whimper and a million unanswered questions. There were too many storylines for a final season happening at once, and (at least to me), none of them felt connected. The only storyline with any thematic relevance so far has been the Dark King, but the writing there has really suffered with all the focus spent on the couple, and the moon heist, and the harmonic convergence, and all these things that just don’t matter at the end of the day. I don’t care about the couple, and I’m still wondering why the writers didn’t just bring the Mcallisters back if they wanted an Earth-bound villain. I’m still wondering why “we want a world so we can have a child” is supposed to be a good enough motive to hack people’s fucking fingers off, instead of having a conversation like normal humans, or why the moon hasn’t acted up before now, or a few dozen other things. And with one episode left, they’re still bringing new ideas into the story, but none of the previous plot threads have been resolved. I won’t be watching the finale until tomorrow morning, and I want this show to have a satisfying conclusion, but my hopes aren’t high.  They aren’t, and The Magicians deserves better.

To the cast and crew, the set designers, the costumers, the production team, lighting and tech, music, all the incredible creatives who made these years possible; Thank you. This show meant a lot to me, and it meant a lot to a lot of people. I know this fandom won’t die, but it hurts to see you go. I only wish I cared enough for it to hurt more.

#the magicians #magicians series finale #magicians season 5 #goodbye magicians #thoughts and feelings

[indigoire]

It Read-through Chapters One and Two, “After the Flood” and “After the Festival”

Starting off strong with child death! Yaaaay! 

Warning for gore, death, homophobia, hate crimes, sewer clowns, and juvenile humor. 

Explanation of what I’m doing here.

The first chapter is pretty much exactly like the first part of the 2017 movie, with a few very key differences. 

For one, Bill is a few years younger here than he is in the first movie. In the movie the kids are around thirteen or so and they make note of this a couple times. In this Bill is only ten, therefore he’s eleven for the rest of the child half of the novel. Georgie is still only six. 

For another, when Pennywise attacks Georgie he doesn’t drag Georgie into the sewers, and the neighbors respond to his screams almost immediately. It’s outright stated that forty-five seconds after Georgie’s first scream a man named Dave Gardener finds Georgie’s body, already dead, arm torn from its socket. People run outside when they hear the scream, they witness Georgie by the storm drain, they know of the attack. In the movie he’s “gone missing”, largely presumed dead, but here Bill and his family know from the outset that Georgie is dead and died violently at that. There is a mention by King that the town tends to get through terrible events and then pretend they never happened in order to get over them, and I think in the film they made this more overt by having the few neighbors around ignore what happens to Georgie. 

I feel like for the sake of the liveblog I should go over what happens in the book for the unaware, but it almost feels superfluous for this first chapter. Everyone knows Georgie dies at the hands of Pennywise, at the claws of It. Even the book lets it slip very early on that Georgie is slated for death, only a few paragraphs in. 

Let’s rewind and properly explain. The book begins with George Denbrough running after a newspaper boat in the rain. George, or Georgie as he is affectionately called, is the younger brother of Bill Denbrough, one of our main characters, if not the leading man. Bill is sick with the flu, so he can’t go and play with Georgie in the rain, but he builds the kid a paper boat all the same, and seals it with paraffin wax to keep it watertight. A lot of the first chapter is devoted to two things: showing the bond Bill and his brother share, and showing that Georgie is already somewhat aware of It’s presence. 

Bill sends Georgie down to the cellar to get the wax, and Georgie goes, but with extreme trepidation. He pictures monsters waiting to snatch him up in the cellar, and King here goes in depth into the smell of the cellar, a smell of “dirt and wet and long-gone vegetables”, the stink of rot, which is the smell of the monster, “the smell of It, crouched and lurking and ready to spring. A creature which would eat anything but which was especially hungry for boymeat.”

Yep. “Boymeat”. Right up there with “manflesh” in terms of descriptive vocabulary. 

But basically, on some level, Georgie knows there’s something lurking in the dark for him, and he knows it’s a childish fear but he can’t quite shake his instinct. 

Sidenote: there’s a reference to the Turtle fairly early on! Georgie finds a flat can of Turtle wax, and stares at the logo for a good thirty seconds. Which, by the way, probably looked like this: 

Anyways, Georgie finds the paraffin wax and runs up the stairs, fearing that something lurking in the dark will grab him by his shirttail and yank him down, but he escapes and goes to give the wax to Bill. 

Just a personal note here, when I initially tried to read this book some ten years ago I rolled my eyes at the conversation between the two brothers, which I remember distinctly being about buttholes, who was the biggest butthole, etc. I mean, they’re kids, it’s juvenile humor, what ya gonna do. The version I have downloaded here has the kids calling each other “a-holes”. So now I have to wonder if my version got censored somehow. Anyways. Nothing to inspire confidence in the rest of the novel like a conversation about who’s the biggest asshole between kids. 

The brothers do have an oddly tender moment, which they both note is out of character for them, with Georgie kissing Bill’s cheek goodbye and Bill telling him to be careful. It seems like they know instinctively that they’re never going to see each other again. 

Georgie runs out to play with his boat, and he chases it happily through the street until it unfortunately goes down a storm drain. Georgie tries to see if he can get it, but only sees yellow eyes staring back, until said eyes solidify as a clown. Georgie describes the clown as a cross between Bozo the Clown and Clarabell from Howdy Doody (both, for the record, are the most terrifying clowns I’ve ever seen, dear lord), but King notes that if Georgie “had been inhabiting a later year” he would have thought of Ronald McDonald first. 

Just real quick gonna throw these nightmares up on screen for y’all:

Thanks, I hate it. 

Here Pennywise introduces himself as Mr Bob Gray, also known as Pennywise the Dancing Clown, so right off the bat there’s some differences. Georgie asks himself how he could have seen yellow eyes when Pennywise’s eyes are a “bright, dancing blue” like his mother’s or Bill’s eyes. 

Like the 2017 movie, Pennywise says the storm blew him and the circus into the sewer, and asks Georgie if he can smell the circus. Georgie can indeed, but he does notice the cellar smell lurking underneath, the smell of wet and rot. 

But he ignores it. 

Instead the clown offers him a balloon and Georgie asks “do they float?” 

And the second he reaches his hand out to grab a balloon, Pennywise latches on, Georgie screams, and knows no more. 

“They float,” it growled, “they float, Georgie, and when you’re down here with me, you’ll float, too—”

It’s noted that Georgie watches the clown’s face change, and what he sees destroys his sanity “in one clawing stroke”. 

So really it’s a good thing that he dies a few moments later after It wrenches his arm off. 

Again, Georgie’s body is found within the minute by a neighbor, and other neighbors run over to see what’s going on. 

The chapter ends with a description of the paper boat floating through the sewers of Derry, as Bill’s family is delivered the news and his mother is sedated for shock in the ER, and “perhaps it reached the sea, and sails there forever, like a magic boat in a fairytale”. 

Sweet sentiment. I’m getting all choked up over here. 🙄

So I figured I’d read on to the next chapter, seeing as the first chapter is so short and so well known. 

God, I wished I had left it at one chapter. 

The next chapter is told through a series of interviews with the witness and suspects to the case of the murder of Adrian Mellon. 

It’s a fucking shitshow of a chapter.

It is DEEPLY homophobic. Every word of it. 

This is how we’re introduced to Don Hagarty, partner to Adrian and key witness to his murder: “This man—if you want to call him a man—was wearing lipstick and satin pants so tight you could almost read the wrinkles in his cock.”

COME ON, STEPHEN. 

Now. I know very very well that this book was published in 1986 and America was not kind to queer people in the eighties. I know that King was capturing that homophobia, not necessarily homophobic himself, and that his viewpoints have probably changed. 

That said, reading this chapter was like a punch in the stomach every few sentences. The cops who interrogate the men responsible for the hate crime against Adrian make it clear that they are both disgusted by the attackers and deeply homophobic themselves. They all say at some point “I don’t like fairies, I don’t care for queers, they’re hardly men” in varying forms of intensity. 

I honestly think I blacked this chapter out when I was seventeen, I don’t remember it being like this. Or maybe I didn’t care so much a decade ago, closeted and repressed, and that’s a scary realization. That your own internalized homophobia might have been so pervasive that you don’t see it in others. That it sounds reasonable when a supposedly sympathetic character says he hopes the murdering homophobes get locked up, prison raped, and get AIDS. 

Sigh.

To sum up: Adrian Mellon is attacked while out with his boyfriend, Don. A group of young men, having been teased by Adrian at the Canal Days festival (though Adrian here makes a blowjob joke, not a shitty haircut joke--he’s too good for this book really), claim that they attacked out of “civic pride” because Adrian was wearing a “I ❤️ Derry” hat. One of the attackers tells Don to get out of there, and he screams for help. The attackers push Adrian over the side of the Kissing Bridge. The attacker who saves Don, Chris, sees Pennywise, and so does Don a little bit later, and they tell the cops that interrogate them. The cops dismiss the clown, at first ostensibly because the witnesses are hysterical, but then later in the chapter it’s revealed that the police don’t want the attacker’s lawyers jumping on the clown thing to prove their clients’ innocence. So Pennywise, even having been seen by two witnesses, is left off the record entirely. 

King also reveals the deeply, deeply homophobic sentiment in the town, the violent anti-gay graffiti all over public property, at the Kissing Bridge or in the public park, the people in the town outright ignoring the attack as it’s happening, the fact that the one gay bar in town is home to some very fearful people who just want to keep their heads down. 

So yes, you can extrapolate that the homophobic stuff expressed in the book is to show that Derry is a hateful place where fear festers and so forth...

But King also goes out of his way to emasculate Don Hagarty and Adrian Mellon every chance he gets, effusing about the dramatic makeup they wear, the nail polish, the bright outfits, the campy attitudes. Adrian is described as five-foot-five and slight. Don is described as shrill and dramatic (his BOYFRIEND was just BRUTALLY MURDERED). Meanwhile the homophobes are described as looking like Bruce Springsteen. Like. 

I really feel for Don, I do, despite the book’s best attempts to make him a walking caricature, a huge gay joke. He says Derry’s like “a dead strumpet with maggots squirming out of her cooze”. He calls Derry a sewer. He’s right on both counts.

Well. On that cheerful note, time to wrap this read-through up! Tune in next time for our introduction to Stan (and probably the last time we’ll see grown-up Stan :D). 

Bye for now.

#IT #It (book) #It (novel) #Stephen King's IT #Stephen King #IT Readthrough #I'm uhh not looking forward to the next chapter tbh #I saw the title and I know what's coming and it's not pretty

[tessatechaitea]

Black Condor #5

Five issues and five pure cheesecake covers.

Crud-for-brains? I'd wager my life savings that Brian Augustyn was an early Adventures of Pete and Pete fan.

The guys on the cover are just four young dude-bros stealing from drug dealers. They burn the drugs and take the money to give toward good causes. And probably also to buy cool shit for themselves. They're only human! Probably. I haven't read far enough along to know what they're really doing with the cash. Black Condor will find out after he beats the shit out of three of them. Sorry. I've been gone for awhile. You wouldn't have noticed since my long absence fell between writing the previous paragraph and this current one. And unless you ran off to take a desperate shit right at the same moment, the time between these two paragraphs was negligible, minuscule (I decided to use both words because I'm so proud of my ability to spell my native language (I considered misspelling "native" and "language" but decided that was a boring old joke which has carried more water than Capri-sun (that's a new joke and it's not very good because it doesn't make sense. But at least it's new))). But I was caught up in playing a stupid computer video game about dungeon delving dice trapped in a horrific game show. Spoiler: the dice never get to fuck. But I'm back now because this is blog is the only thing that keeps me sane anymore. You might think that because this blog was my link to sanity, I'd be more earnest. You might think I'd want to be grim and serious and discuss political, social, and environmental matters with the gravity and seriousness they deserve. But that's all the stuff that's doing my head in. So I'd rather pretend that I'm angry at comic books. Here's a secret for the few of you reading this who made it to this specific paragraph out of all of my paragraphs: I wish I were friends with Scott Lobdell. I bet he's kind of an asshole but he's the kind who, if he was getting his ass kicked at a bar for being smarmy and pretentious and smug (smug because he's a rich writer whom a lot of thirteen year old boys (and men with thirteen year old boy minds) think wrote some of the seminal X-men stories), he'd completely understand if you didn't step in to defend him. He feels like the kind of guy who knows what he really deserves (a righteous ass beating) and wouldn't think the world unfair should he ever receive it. Then he'd probably buy drinks for the people who beat his ass, and I'd look him in the eye and shrug, and he'd laugh, and we'd continue to not mention that time we jerked each other off when we were fucking wasted on single malt scotch and peyote. Black Condor and Ned decide they need to find the girl with humongous afro before she hurts people who don't deserve it the way the color changing white supremacist Nazi rapists did.

What does he mean by "completely autistic"? In 1992, I'm guessing that meant nonverbal with loads of stimming and maybe the ability to play any piano concerto immediately after hearing it once.

Karin was experimented on by Black Condor's grandfather's Society but she failed to gain the ability to fly. She did, however, gain mental abilities as powerful as his own. He's concerned that, being autistic, she'll hurt people with her mind rage. Please. She almost certainly just wants to be left alone by everybody in society expecting her to think and act in a specific way that she can't think and act, nor would she want to if she had the ability. Just leave autistic people alone, normals! They don't need help. Just because your autistic kid isn't giving you the kind of unconditional love you were looking for when you decided to have a kid that you would eventually love only conditionally based on how they loved you doesn't mean the kid needs to change. That's on you and your needs. Maybe just find a way for the kid to express themselves (or not! Who knows sometimes?!) and let them do and act as they please. Unless what they want to do is fuck the dog. I'm not saying autistic people fuck dogs but I am saying we're all individuals, you know? Use your common sense! And if your kid is fucking the dog, autistic or not, don't let them near the dog! The Merry Men on the cover (oh hey! There were Merry Men in the Sky Pirate issue! Brian Augustyn either loves old tales of daring adventure or LSD) have been robbing drug dealers to help fund a homeless camp run by a priest named Gamble. The priest isn't involved in the theft; he chastises them about their plans to get money illegally. But they assure him the money isn't tainted and he decides to believe them when they dump thousands of dollars on his desk. Doing the right thing is hard when doing the wrong thing will solve all of your money issues. If you're a weak minded jerk, that is! I totally would never sell out for thousands of dollars so hopefully nobody embarrasses themselves by offering me loads of money to write positive comic book reviews for their publications. Father Gamble refuses the money because he just can't be sure it was honestly come by. I would be less suspicious of the money and more suspicious of the white college kids trying to donate thousands of dollars to a homeless camp. What's really going on in this camp?! Why are these young men so interested in keeping it funded so it doesn't get shut down? Four probably rich white boys risking their lives to help the downtrodden? Sorry but this is the most aggressively fantastic comic book I've ever read. And I'm not using the informal definition of "fantastic."

"Which member of this organization could possibly be giving all of this information to these white boys and why am I exposing my plan to kill them before plugging the leak?!"

Maybe that's racist suggesting that the white guy in the gang is giving the information to other white guys. But this comic book has already asked me to believe too many fanciful plot points so I'm glad Augustyn decided the white guy was absolutely the inside man. The white guys name is Herbie and his boss, Mr. Soto, already knows he's the leak. I'm glad Mr. Soto is as smart as I am. Or as racist. Probably smart though! They follow him as he's trying to meet up with the college Merry Men to warn them that they're in danger. Luckily for Herbie, Black Condor happens upon the scene as he's searching for Karin. And even though Black Condor doesn't give a shit about this guy and his problems, he figures even a reluctant hero wouldn't just stand by and watch some jerk get what's coming to them. After Black Condor saves Herbie, he has to take him to the hospital because he was pistol whipped. Meanwhile, the rich white kids aren't warned that they're about to die so they drive off into the trap to steal more money that Father Gamble won't be accepting for his charity.

What a dumb asshole! Even the most ignorant of ignorant jerks knows there were only three musketeers! Unless he's so familiar with the book that he's including d'Artagnan along with Porthos, Mythos, and Harpos.

I never read The Three Musketeers because I was born in the late 20th century and exciting stories to thrill young boys wasn't a popular genre anymore because we had Batman and Green Lantern. Although I did once play the text adventure version of the book. When I did that, I poked fun at the idea that the author of it was writing the game so that people would remember Alexandre Dumas and yet it's the only reason I know anything about him! Although now I know a little bit more about him because I Googled his name to make sure I was spelling it correctly and now I know what a fancy lad he was!

Now I want to listen to an audio version of his book where every few sentences, the person reading it just says, "Oooooooh, my!"

The Musketeers (maybe I was wrong to assume they were more like the Merry Men?!) manage to get away with only one of them shot in the ankle (the others weren't shot at all, if that wasn't clear). They decide the best way to save their own lives is to lead the gun men on a chase through New York back to Father Gamble's homeless camp. They already know he doesn't want any trouble so why are they taking this gunfight back there?! What is Father Gamble's hold over these young men?! Luckily for everybody in the homeless camp, Black Condor is there still searching for Karin. He'll save everybody's lives reluctantly! Unluckily for everybody, Karin is also there and the gunfire and chaos freaks her out so much that she has a mind-storm! That's the thing she had before that killed four of her attempted Nazi rapists. And that's where the comic book ends! Lucky for older me, younger me bought the next issue so I wouldn't be stuck with this cliff hanger! Lucky for younger me, older me doesn't have a time machine so that fucker has gotten away with some pretty abhorrent behavior which I couldn't correct by going back in time and punching him in the nose. Unlucky for him, he's going to be a virgin for a long, long time! Ha ha! Take that! Ow. Older me just hurt older me's feelings. Black Condor #5 Rating: B. A solid rating that I probably wouldn't have given this comic book back when I was twenty-one. I don't think I understood just what this comic book was doing and wound up only remembering it as a comic book about a reluctant hero. I didn't realize how much of it was Black Condor trying to live his now much more complicated life while also continuously doing the right thing. Even when he just wants to hole up in the woods and say "Fuck it!" to everybody and everything, he still shows the heart of a hero when he's needed by people nearby. And he's fucking sexy hot too.

#Black Condor #Rags Morales #Brian Augustyn #DC Comics #DC

[niialabellavita]

The three Icons  I would like to watch during Quarantine.

The three Icons  I would like to watch during Quarantine.  

Morticia Addams 

Morticia Addams of course is a fictional character from The Addams family TV and film series. She was created by cartoonist Charlie Addams and was based on his first wife, Barbara Jean Day. Legend. 

Morticia is described as a witch who is very slim, has extremely pale skin, and long straight black hair. She commonly wears black to match her shiny hair. According to Wednesday, her disturbed daughter, Morticia applies baking powder to her face instead of actual makeup. She frequently enjoys cutting the buds off of roses, which she discards (keeping only the stems), likes cutting out paper dolls with three heads and making sweaters with three arms, and cooking unusual concoctions for her husband.

In 2009, she was included in Yahoo!'s Top 10 TV Moms from Six Decades of Television and AOL named her one of the 100 Most Memorable Female TV Characters.

I wish I could watch Morticia right now on her perfectly curated self help/camgirl Twitch account. She’d for sure be on Twitch. Her absence of fear but dark passion during this un-settling time would be illuminating. That pinch of morbid humor personally feels even more needed to stay sane. I would also very much like to watch her gardening suggestions, beauty tutorials, at home craft projects, and self made mask ideas. 

She adored her husband Gomez, as deeply as he did for her and I would pay extra for some late night sex videos and relationship tips from the both of them. Her loyalty to her family goes beyond sanity and I love her for it. I would also love to watch her feed her personal pet Cleopatra, a fictitious breed of carnivorous plant called an African Strangler, to which she feeds hamburgers and other various meat. Or watch her strumming a Japanese shamisen, of course she was musically inclined duh-She’s perfect. 

 She seems to have a healthy but freaky sex life and her kids seem like they could survive anything. I’m not a parent but I’m pretty sure she’d have some great suggestions on how to keep your kids alive without them killing you vlogs.  Oh Morticia, how can I be as strong as you? What is in your drink? Her overall aloof outlook and dislike for happy social gatherings makes her a role model for us all right now. Stay creepy and freaky out there. 

2. Christopher Walken. 

Christopher Walken is an American actor, singer, comedian, director, producer, screenwriter, and dancer, who has appeared in more than 100 films and television programs that I’m not going to list. I’ll give you just a few fun facts. He was Born in Astoria, New York. When he was 15, a girlfriend showed him a photo of Elvis Presley which inspired  him to change his hairstyle to imitate Presley and he has not changed it since. As a teenager, he worked as a lion tamer in a circus. He attended  Hofstra University, but dropped out after one year, having gotten a role in an off Broadway revival alongside Liza Minnelli! Wild!

He initially trained as a dancer at the Washington Dance Studio before moving on to acting. He prefers to be known informally as Chris instead of Christopher. Walken won an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor in Michael Cimino’s 1978 film THE DEER HUNTER.  In 1992, Walken appeared in Madonna’s controversial coffee table book SEX and the music video for her hit single, "Bad Girl" (directed by David Fincher) He’s been married forever with no children.  The quiet couple have a cat named Bowtie, and their previous cat was named Flapjack. They live in Connecticut. 

Lastly, Walken was one of the last people to see actress Natalie Wood alive before her drowning on November 29, 1981, while on a weekend boating trip near Catalina Island.

I would gladly pay for his Patreon account where I assume all proceeds go to helping animals and young artists during this critical time. 

Watching him make pancakes for his wife… Talk about his role in Batman Returns....Maybe even a little dancing around his garden would lift my spirits and boredom. 

His voice is as soothing as it is funny... it makes me frustrated and giddy with his long pauses yet, I’m waiting on every word. I would like him to read short stories and have his cat awkwardly enter the frame to block the camera.  In a time of chaos Christopher or Chris, is my calm. Actually his real name is Ronald. 

He makes me feel at ease. The tall striking man I’ve grown up watching in some of my favorite movies usually playing the villain but he’s really our hero. I can’t decide if he’d be in a bathrobe or perfectly groomed and well dressed for his first episode or perhaps it would vary keeping us all more engaged. 

I love you Walken. 

3._________________________

This next person already makes me feel guilty without even saying his name. BUT, during this time it’s important to try to keep going, keep learning, workout, yada yada yada.  Personally sometimes getting up to shower feels excruciating. I’ve lost my will to sing these days too weak to fight back tears that flood once I open my mouth, so I’ve turned to writing. Something... to try. I’m not great at it but whatever it passes the time. I can write about my ideas and fantasies anything to survive. This next channel pick is the survivor of all survivors who’s self tutorials I will never be able to complete but I’ll watch in awe until I die. 

Bear Fucking Grylls. 

Some Wikipedia shit on him to follow 

Edward Michael Grylls better known as Bear Grylls, is a British former SAS serviceman,  survival instructor, and honorary Lieutenant- colonel, and, outside his military career, an adventurer, writer, television presenter and businessman. He is widely known for his television series Man vs. Wild. In  July 2009, Grylls was appointed the youngest-ever Chief Scout of the United Kingdom and Overseas Territories at age 35, a post he has held for a second term since 2015. I don’t know what any of that means but it seems impressive and that he probably makes his bed every morning no matter what or where his bed is. 

His dad is a conservative politician that taught him how to climb, sail and skydive and most likely forced him to earn a second dan black belt in Shotohan Karate. HE speaks three languages.. I can’t keep going…its all too crazy for a normal human to process. 

The craziest in my opinion; Father of three in August 2015, Grylls left his young son, Jesse, on Saint Tudwal’s Island along the  North Wales coast, as the tide approached, leaving him to be rescued by the Royal National Lifeboat Institution. (RNLI) as part of their weekly practice missions. Jesse was unharmed, though the RNLI later criticized him for the stunt, saying its crew "had not appreciated" that a child would be involved! What the fuck? Imagine if he was your dad? But also then I would know how to hopefully do a bunch more shit or survive if the world turns into the walking dead- which lately I think about often. 

I’m not even going to list his expeditions cause they will make you feel out of shape and guilty for not figuring out how to follow a simple stupid banana bread recipe online -  but they’re very impressive.  It’s all just too much. He hiked the Himalayan mountains, you know he’s that guy, but really THAT TOP GUY. 

I did watch part of his show where he took Channing Tatum into the wild and made him take his clothes off in freezing water to catch a fish by hand.  Loved that. 

But here’s why Bear is my pick- Because we are lazy and capable of so much more. Confined or free Bear is mentally and physically dialed in. 

I’d want to know his real opinion on what our bodies need to survive, house hold jobs, etc. Youtube would probably be his platform which a bunch of random copy cat accounts that think they are better than Bear.  Bear never insults anyone. He believes in us. We can survive if we keep learning and trying. From the master of social distancing and sustainability. His cooking suggestions I’d even try just to avoid another trip to the grocery store to be less wasteful and be more mindful of what I have rather than have not. 

Bear Grylls Boot Camp will save your life or at least help you loose a few llbs.

Who else would you like to see have a channel during this time and why? 

[shadowfaximpala]

Immortals

(GIF not mine)

MASTER LIST

Part 2

Summary:  Hidden in the shadows of your brother's endless mistakes you wanted to finally feel something. An old enemy confides in you after various mishaps and you realise you have more in common than you thought.

Tags:  Reader Insert, Female Reader, Winchester Sister, Series, Season 10 - 11, Eventual Smut

Relationship: Crowley x Reader

Warnings: Blood, Swearing, Drug Mention

Author’s Notes: So this is the second part, I’ll upload as many of the chapters I’ve already written by next week. Then I can start publishing the new chapters that haven’t been posted online yet! 

Requests open for spn one-shots!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lock Down

Sam and Dean had taken every precaution to keep you safe, they had even taken the liberty of putting you in the dungeon which was plastered with demon traps and sigils and to top it all off the very collar the King of Hell had worn so graciously during his days spent trapped there, they didn't know how strong of a hold the demonic blood had over you. Their best guess was it was becoming increasingly more erratic with each passing moment.

“You assholes, let me out!” You spat, feeling more irritated than ever. “I'm not a fucking de-” your sentence was cut short, you were paralysed. Your silence obviously stirred some worry, your brothers burst into the room, calling your name over and over again but try as you might you couldn't respond to their anguished calls.

“Dean, get the holy water...”

A moment later you were splashed with cold liquid, you felt a tingle on your skin. It didn't exactly burn but there was a harsh and warming sensation, like taking a hot shower the water trickled over your skin. "Crap," you muttered inwardly to yourself, "This shouldn't happen..." You couldn't project your voice, so you simply sat staring blankly into the world around you, your brothers looming over you.

“Nothing...” Dean breathed.

“Are you sure?” Sam inspected closely, you could feel his breath on your arm. “I can smell burning...”

“Fuck!” Dean shouted. “I’ll be right back...” Dean’s voice sounded low and dangerous.

Being stuck in your own mind was torture in itself. You’d rather feel something than feel absolutely nothing. For what seemed like an eternity finally you heard voices. Sam and Dean had returned with a guest, his English accent smooth with a rough edge of annoyance.

“And I’m telling you two idiots, I had nothing to do with this.” Crowley... His voice cut through the blackness, he sounded angrier than usual. “Do you even realise how much chaos this has caused me? The only tip off you puppets would have had could only have come from me, and now I've all sorts of uproar down there that I protected a Winchester, let alone her!” Crowley had no idea how much his words cut you when he spoke.

“I don’t give a crap about what you have to deal with in Hell, that’s your business, you’re their King. Just fix it or so help me!” Dean snapped.

“Just shoot some human blood into her veins that usually flushes the demon out... I really don’t see why you felt the urge to call me here.” If you could stand up you would have punched him for that comment, but you heard the exhaustion in his voice.

“Because right now that could kill her...” An even deeper baritone voice cut through the darkness. Castiel. The band was back together! And you were stuck in a hell of your own, unable to witness such a rare gathering of mystically infuriating creatures.

“Problem solved.” Crowley muttered sarcastically.

“I don’t understand, if you wanted her dead why would you go to her brother’s for help?” Castiel asked monotone as ever.

There was a slight pause. “Because if she were a demon then she’d be a bigger thorn in my side,” the demon King replied.

“If anything happens to her, believe me, it will be more than a thorn in your side Crowley,” Sam threatened. You wished you could bash all their heads together.

“Is that so, Moose?” You didn't need to see them to know they were sizing one another up in a metaphorical sense; Sam definitely had him beaten on height...

“Can we focus on the task at hand here?” Castiel cut the atmosphere like a knife through butter, and suddenly you could sense they were dumbfounded again.

“Are you lot missing the obvious here?” Crowley spoke. “How else do you get rid of bad blood?”

“Are we talking literally or in the building bridges sense?” Dean offered up an answer, his anxious anger laced with sarcasm.

“No you oversized imbecile, you drain it.” It really was fun imagining their interactions in your mind, that instance you pictured Crowley pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut. “Are you with me?” He fired up again once he received no reply.

“Yeah, but we’re not just draining our sister’s blood supply...” Another strained pause came from Sam. “Unless we can substitute it with clean blood!”

“Moose and Squirrel save the day once again... You three really are insufferable. I don’t know how Y/N puts up with it.”

“Because we give a damn about each other, you wouldn't understand that you put her in harm’s way!” Dean argued.

“Not intentionally! Yet here I am trying to help you, putting my neck on the line for the bloody Winchester’s yet again!” Dean had definitely touched a nerve, Crowley’s voice was booming off the dungeon walls now. “All because Abaddon's minion’s knew how much-” he cut himself off. You so desperately wanted to hear the rest of that sentence.

“How much what, Crowley?” Dean’s voice grew low again, dangerous and predatory.

“Nothing.” The demon King backed down.

“Yeah, damn right it’s nothing.” Your elder brother spat back.

Shortly after their disagreement you felt something slice your wrist, moments later another stab in your left arm and a needle being spliced in. You must have looked a complete picture, a poster figure for failed suicide, one wrist slashed and an IV drip inserted in the other, hollow cheekbones and sunken eyes. You didn't want to wake up and look in a mirror any time soon...

~*~*~

Slowly but surely that black hue lifted from your vision, nerve endings finding impulse again, followed by movement. Castiel healed your wrist and Dean removed the drip.

“Hey,” you expressed softly as Dean and Cas removed the shackles and helped you up. Dean pulled you into a soft hug, wary of your frail body.

“Hey yourself, we thought we lost you to the dark side!” He held you out at arm’s length to inspect the damage. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks bro,” you laughed. “Know I can count on someone to tell the truth around here.” You looked over at Sam who peeled you away from Dean and hugged you, a little more forcefully than your elder brother.

“He’s lying you look fine, you could do with some food and a shower though...” Sam ruffled your hair affectionately.

Cas went to shake your hand but you pulled him in for a hug, after a few seconds he returned the favour. He smelled of pine needles and a hint of lavender it was oddly soothing. “Thank you,” you muttered into his chest. The Angel moved backwards and his puppy dog eyes told you it was no bother at all.

“Anything for family,” he nodded.

You were surprised to see a dark figure in the corner; you cast a glance in Crowley’s direction. His eyes fixated on you, watching you intently. You wanted to thank him for his good deed, if it wasn't for him your brothers wouldn't have found you in time, maybe not even at all... Heck you wanted to hug him! Before you resigned yourself to the scrutiny of your brother’s watchful eye you plucked up the courage to walk over to him.

“I guess I owe you my gratitude...” you expressed quietly, the demon in front of you offered a weak smile.

“Don’t mention it,” his line of sight flicking between you and your brothers. “One less demonic Winchester means I can breathe a sigh of relief, for now.” You exchanged a small smile with him. You noticed it then, the blood red rose nestled in the pocket of his well tailored suit, questions swirled through your mind but you thought better and decided to drop the topic for another time, Crowley noticed where you were staring and he shifted back slightly. “Well, if you’ll excuse me...” and with a click of his fingers he disappeared.

That night you rested in a cold sweat, nightmares plaguing the forefront of your mind. Dreams about killing your brothers, dreams that you had that cursed mark Dean wore instead of him. Every time you woke your skin still felt someone had poured lava over your body. After hours of tossing and turning you practically threw your body out of bed and into the shower to cool down, setting the temperature to a medium to low heat. The itching hadn't subsided even after your skin was clean of sweat.

You rolled downstairs into the main hall of the bunker, the lights were dimmed and Sam sat with his head buried in a book, his expression full of woe.

“Sammy?” You called in a soft voice. He didn't move or acknowledge your voice, you called again. “Sammy is everything okay?” Still nothing. Motioning closer to him you could hear him muttering to himself, until his phone buzzed on the counter top which jerked him to life.

“Cas?” Sam sounded full of panic. “What’s going on?” Your feet developed a mind of their own and you darted for cover. Something was a foul; you could sense it in the air, like electricity. “Hold on, I thought we agreed on this? You said you’d do whatever it takes...” He looked around hastily and lowered his voice, you could only just hear him a few feet away. “Fine. Just keep looking.” Sam snapped quietly at the Angel. You heard him place the phone on the table and shuffle uncomfortable in the small chair beneath him.

Deciding that he was void of his sanity right now you retreated back upstairs until you knocked over a vase on the landing, a mighty crash echoed off the walls, your foot stung like hell as you muttered profanities under your breath.

“Who’s there?” Sam bellowed.

“Shit!” You hobbled about on one foot, right where the porcelain landed it left a nasty little cut on your ankle and toe.

“Y/N?” Your brother’s voice sounded full of panic. He rushed up the stairs to where you were dancing around. “How long were you there?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“I got a little dizzy and crashed into the vase, so about three seconds, why?” You lied convincingly, if there was anything you learned having two older and overprotective brothers, it was how to tell an expert lie.

“No reason, I'm just worried about you,” Sam on the other hand was the world’s worst liar, his eyes darted from left to right, his fingers would clasp shut into a fist and his jaw would become more prominent like he was speaking through gritted teeth, his motions would become jumpy and he would then move to another subject or divert attention into an action. “Let me take a look at your foot...” He removed his jacket and placed it lightly to your ankle applying pressure to stop it from bleeding any more.

“Sam... You and Dean have been awfully jumpy lately, I know he’s getting worse but... Promise me you’ll accept what Dean asks you to do and stop keeping secrets from me, from both of us...”

Your lanky, shaggy haired brother looked up at you. His jaw clenched and he looked back to your wound.

“I promise.”

Anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “Sammy you’re a shit liar.” You kicked your foot out and pulled it away from his light grasp.

“Y/N, hold on!”

“No, I’ve had enough of the deceit; you and Dean do nothing but lie to me. Dean says he’s fine, but he’s falling apart, you’re protecting your phone, you’re jumpy and skittish, you’re keeping something from us!” You stomped your foot objectively on the floor before walking away to get some shoes and a band aid.

#crowley x reader #crowley x you #crowley #spn #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #spnfamily #reader insert #spn reader insert #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel

[foursprout-blog]

25 Gamers On The Most Gruesome Story That Stuck With Them Long After They Finished Playing

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25 Gamers On The Most Gruesome Story That Stuck With Them Long After They Finished Playing

Unsplash / Nicolas Gras

1. S.T.A.L.K.E.R: Shadow of Chernobyl

“In S.T.A.L.K.E.R: Shadow of Chernobyl, there were several underground research labs full of all kind of spooky and paranormal badness and other sorts of anomalies. It was like exploring a haunted house except the ghosts were real and there’s a psychic force slowly driving you insane. Also it’s pitch black and you can get lost really easily.” — Innalibra

2. Outlast 

“Outlast and Alien Isolation gave me so much anxiety I had to stop playing them.

I managed to complete Outlast and Outlast 2, but I haven’t touched Alien in years. There’s no way I’m going through 20 hours of that shit.” — HearTheEkko

3. Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requiem

“That game fucked with your head so much using the sanity meter. For those that haven’t played it here are some of things that would happen:

When entering a room, the character may turn into a Zombie, and ‘die’ a moment later or after going through some doors.

Attempting to cast Recover may cause the character’s torso to explode, resulting in a (fake) death of the character.

When entering a room, the character’s limbs may explode in a systematic order, going for the head, the arms and then the torso, resulting in a (fake) death of the character.

When entering a room, the character may shrink or grow while moving. This is most commonly seen in the strange curved corridors of the Forbidden City.

When entering a room and when holding a gun, the character can shoot at nothing at random times or turn around and shoot at the camera leaving a fake bullet hole in the screen. (Similiar to the Prologue of the James Bond movies, and in Resident Evil 2.)

When attempting to reload a gun, it may go off in the character’s stomach, resulting in a (fake) death of the character. This is most prominent in Max’s chapter, for he is the only one without a bigger gun than his flintlock pistols. Revolvers in other chapters have been known to cause this phenomenon to occur as well.

When entering a room, the character’s head falls off (but can be picked up), and levitates on screen reciting ‘HAMLET’.

The screen goes black, as if the TV went off.

Bugs may appear to be crawling on the TV screen.

The game will lower the gameplay volume while displaying a green volume bar, similar to real on-screen TV settings.

The screen goes black and changes to video mode, and you will hear your character getting eaten until they ‘die’. (Even without a ‘Break Free’ control stick, the unseen Zombie can still be pushed away)

A false sneak-preview of a sequel to the game, called ‘Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Redemption’ (the original planned sequel to ‘Sanity’s Requiem’) will appear.

Upon saving your game, a message will say, ‘Are you sure you want to delete all of your Saved Games?’ If you say yes or no, the saved files will be ‘deleted’.

A ‘Blue Screen of Death’ will appear.

You will see the image you see when you start up or reset the game, quoting Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Raven’ in Edward Roivas’ voice.

When the controller is left idle long enough, a still ‘screensaver’ shot of Pious will appear on the screen until a button is pressed.

When you open your inventory screen, all your inventory spaces appear empty.

When entering a room, the character may be unable to move or attack, and the player will get a fake system message telling that a controller isn’t plugged in, while the many zombies attack them.

A fake screen message will appear, congratulating the player for finishing the demo of the game.

The camera begins leaning as the Sanity Meter lowers.” — -eDgAR-

4. Doki Doki

“My old roommate was playing this game and I thought it was some dating sim game. So, I left and went to play some game and I hear him yell ‘JESUS FUCKING CHRIST NO!!!’ and was like ‘yo, wtf dude you alright?’

I kid you not he was white as a fucking sheet and literally shut his computer (gaming laptop) and proceeded to go outside. I’ve known the dude for two years and worked with him for one. He hates going outside… But, not after Doki Doki. That shit made him contemplate life.

I’m scared to even buy the game if it did that to an anti-social recluse.” — xItz_Anthonyx34

5. Bloodborne

“Everything about Bloodborne is disturbing and eerie, the atmosphere, the monsters the unpredictability of the world itself, by far the most tense I felt playing a video game.” — Novasex 

6. Until Dawn

“Until Dawn was pretty fucking well done. At times it was like they were trying to hard, but over all one of the best horror anything I’ve played/watched/read.” — murderousbudgie

7. Amnesia

“I got a cracked version of Amnesia from a friend.

Loaded it, stepped into the main hall, heard scary noises. Have never played again.” — iKILLcarrots

8. Condemned: Criminal Origins

“There is no game that has filled me with a worse sense of dread than Condemned: Criminal Origins.

Yes, the graphics aren’t great and there are a few things that aren’t great, such as the story or a couple levels, but still. I have yet to play a game that has such a good sense of suspense, dread, and fear of the unknown.

It has such good enemy reveals, such as the mannequins in the department store. Or the starving corrupted beings in the sewer.

It uses audio and visuals perfectly, and has very good foreshadowing, such as how you can sometimes look behind you and catch a glimpse of the late game enemies, or how it purposefully misleads you for things such as the locker jumpscare, or how SKX isn’t The Match Maker.

Overall, C:CO is a phenomenal game and I highly suggest everyone to play it if they want a great psychological horror game.” — PhReAkOuTz 

9. Subnautica

“I’ve played a ton of horror games – my roommate and I went on a kick where we’d stream ourselves playing every horror game we could find, from big names like Outlast/Outlast 2 and RE7 to lesser known indie games.

Subnautica has honestly scared me way more than pretty much every one of those. It’s just that feeling that there’s something out there, especially when you’re diving into new areas. I’ve literally jumpscared myself by accidentally driving the Seamoth into a tiny fish without noticing – there’s just way more chances to run into something unexpected that won’t be given away by the soundtrack or something else (most horror games really give away their jump scares).

Love that game.” — blay12

10. The 11th Hour

“I always remember the 7th Guest & 11th Hour creeping me out. The way the games gradually descended into the eerie parts made it more disturbing than games that start right out with the horror and jump scares.” — wj333

11. Silent Hill 

“They might not hold up as well now but I remember being scared shitless playing the first Fatal Frame and Silent Hill games as a kid sitting in the dark down in my basement.” — TheLastSpoonBender

12. Dying Light

“Playing Dying Light at like 1 in the morning. Especially when you got to the point when the running zombies were introduced.” — PM_ME_UR_BOOBSICLES

13. Gone Home

“Gone Home. I was so sure my dead sister’s corpse was going to suddenly tap me on the shoulder. Especially down in that stupid basement. I sprinted to all those lamps immediately.” — olive1112

14. Doom 3

“Probably Doom 3, especially in that dark corridor where the babies were crying.” — DejectedHead

15. Riven

“I remember playing this game as a kid and being absolutely terrified when the wahrk swims up to the window. I could never figure out why everything about the game made me feel so creeped out and uncomfortable but I think [the] emptiness and isolation was what did it.” — JosefGordonLightfoot

16. Dead Space

“The Dead Space series, especially the first game. That game made me jump so many damn times. I loved it!” — nope_noperstein

17. Parasite EVE 

“Parasite EVE for PS1.

Playing it as a kid probably has something to do with why it was so scary to me, but seeing people infected with a sentient parasite and grotesquely mutating was pretty intense.” — Serukaizen

18. Manhunt

“Manhunt, that shit was pretty intense when it first came out… Using things like piano wire to not only choke people to death, but to actually saw the guys head off…

Also came with classic lines such as ‘I can smell the shit in your pants’ whilst being hunted.” — Jee187

19. Penumbra: Overture

“Penumbra: Overture is scary shit, and has a terrific story as well. The entire series is great, although Requiem is more like added content than anything.

The SCP games were super low fi but actually pretty terrifying, too.” — ZeusAmmon

20. SCP Containment Breach

“SCP Containment Breach. I am not trying to sound like a manly badass but there are few horror games that can scare me in the same way as SCP Containment Breach. I always quit the game early because I get scared of the sculpture and don’t feel like playing after that.” — Edgyfaggot6969666

21. Half Life

“I couldn’t play Half Life. Never even saw the first enemy. The sounds and suspense stressed me out too much. Dead Space got me too. I’ve played plenty of horror games but couldn’t do those. I’m sure there were a couple others between those two I’m forgetting. Just some of em strike me the right (wrong?) way.” — rectalstresses

22. First Encounter Assault Recon

“I enjoyed the creepy darkness and sounds/jumpscares in the F.E.A.R Series.” — Uppgrade

23. SOMA

“Have y’all played SOMA? It was good but everything freaked me out even days after I finished it.” — Shiruet

24. Resident Evil 

“Resident Evil 7 is so disturbing and graphic. I had to look away so many times.” — ccr3ds

25. Spooky’s House Of Jump Scares

“Spooky’s House Of Jump Scares.

It starts off cartoony with the cardboard cutouts.

But it goes downhill fast.

And they keep doing the cardboard cutouts to keep you on your toes.” — Pasta-hobo 

#Happiness