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addledmongoose · 2 days ago

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Best of 2024 Good Omens Fanfiction

Welcome to my list of the best Good Omens fanfiction I’ve read in 2024! These are my favorites of all the novels, short stories, and series I’ve read this year, and they’re the ones I have or am most likely to read more than once. There’s so much amazing talent in the Good Omens fandom, and I will never be able to read every great story, but I’m happy to have found these fantastic works. (FYI, I added up the word counts of all the stories on this list, and it’s over three million!)

First of all, if you haven’t read the stories on my 2023 Best Of list, be sure to check out the amazing works there. There are a lot of older classics, like Or Be Nice, Slow Show, and Pray For Us, Icarus and some stories written after season two released, like Factory Setting and Married At First Sight.

Secondly, here is the entire list of every recommendation I’ve made in 2024. There are far more great stories than can fit in a single year-end list. I’ll be unpinning that list and pinning up a new one next year.

Last year, I was able to split my list up more evenly into canon adjacent/compliant and human AU. This year, I read a wider variety of stories, many of them quite long, and more series. I’m splitting the list into three categories: canon, human AU, and non-human AU. There's no order or ranking to the list; they were mostly just added as I read them.

There are also no WIPs here; all of the stories are complete. The series are also complete at the time of this list or are a series of standalone shorts that don't need to be read in order. My preferences lean toward funnier, lighter stories and are often heavy on plot. If you’re looking for dark stories with a lot of angst, you won’t find as many here as other blogs might recommend. It’s not that some of these don’t have dark, sad moments or moments of angst, but Aziraphale and Crowley must have a happy ending, and I prefer stories that don’t make me cry or cause a lot of stress.

If you like these stories, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for the authors!

If you hit that "Keep reading" button, strap in! This is a very, very long post.

Canon

They’re still angel and demon. I’m counting Reverse Omens in this category.

The Seventh Prince of Hell (56K; Rated M) by @evilasiangenius

Reverse Omens. This is actually part of a series, but I’ve only read the first book, so I’m not listing it as a series. Aziraphale is the Seventh Prince of Hell. His animal aspect is the octopus. Crowley is an ordinary angel. Both are assigned to Earth. They have adventures!

Genesis 3:(-7)-5.5 -7 And they assembled all the Lords, the Princes of Hell into a congregation together sometime after the seventh day, but not on a day of rest because even the Dark Council has a day off. -6 When it came to pass that all grew weary of the powerful pointing presentations, Lord Beelzebub spake with a loud voice, saying unto them, One of uzz brotherzz muzzt go to Earth as Hell’s Represzentative and thwart the doings of Heaven; there izz no choice now that the Almighty has created humanzz. Who amongzt uzz shall take up the project? It comezz with a great deal of extra paperwork, much travel, and no overtime pay. And we shall not reimbursze anything and there shall be no per diem. [...] -3 And of the seven Princes of Hell, three stepped forward, and only three; not two nor five, which are the other prime numbers near three and definitely not one, which is not a prime at all but the unit. The first was the Second Prince, who is called Asmodeus and is a demon of lust. The second was the Seventh Prince, who is called Aziraphale and is a demon of collecting stuff. And the third was the Fourth Prince, who is not worth talking about because they only appear in this one scene and for no other reason than to have three characters. I think that Prince is the demon of executive dysfunction or erectile dysfunction or something like that. Maybe both.

***

Nice And Ominous: a reluctant eschatology of the Second Attempt (series) (117K; Rated T/E) by @e-rated-beardo

A three-part, post-s2 series with gorgeous art by the author. Part I is Crowley’s POV as he deals with the loss of his angel. Part II is from Aziraphale’s POV as he tries to stop the Second Coming and deal with the loss of his demon. Part III is the thrilling finale (and the happy ending). Expect a lot of angst but great characters and plot.

It was a shit day. All the days had been shit, and there had been rather a shitload of them so far. Tucked away in a disused corner of a car park in a retail park in Croydon, a lanky man cracked his eyes open and scowled out the side window of his car. There were raindrops hitting the glass and clouds massing towards the eastern horizon suggested a storm was on its way. He had slept uncomfortably across the front seats for a good amount of time (it didn’t much matter what exact amount), and despite the car being a vintage and exceptionally attractive specimen, nobody had paid it much mind—and the few people who had had the idea to come over and have a look at the ostensibly abandoned vehicle had all suddenly realised how much they actually needed to go buy a sofa or something at that Ikea over there, right about now, in fact. Untangling his various limbs, the man in the car—who wasn’t exactly a man, as such, but close enough for government work—reluctantly sat up, his boot brushing against one of the empty bottles on the floor. He had neglected to sober up before going to sleep.

***

Too Hot for Heavenly Handling (2.4K; Rated E) by @hollybennett123

Crowley says yes to returning to Heaven. The two enjoy three fornication-fueled weeks before they’re hauled before the Metatron and the other archangels for a disciplinary hearing. Rating-aside, there’s not any actual sex in this story. It’s implicit; not explicit.

I’ve read this story more times than I can count (ok, it’s seven). I nearly choked the first time I read it, because I was laughing so hard. Every sentence is a gem. The timing of the jokes is impeccable. There’s not a single bad line in this entire piece.

“No angel shall pretend to be of a lower status than their actual ranking,” Aziraphale reads aloud. “What does that have to do with — ohhh,” he says, wide-eyed, remembering their ongoing little roleplay. Crowley, an angel of the lowest ranking in their little game, seeking favour from an Archangel; offering to service him in secret so he might earn a series of Heavenly promotions. It had been jolly good fun, actually. “Misuse of Heavenly furniture,” the Metatron continues. “One count. Again, the actual number is unknown. Quite frankly, no one here is willing to research it further to gather any more evidence than the minimum required to bring you before this Council.” Looking back, Aziraphale’s desk has seen quite a bit of action in recent weeks. And the chair. The walls, too, if they count.

***

Aziraphale’s Diaries (series) (11K; Rated T) by @fellshish

A series of standalone fics written as Aziraphale’s diary entries. They don’t need to be read in any order. All of them are fantastic, but I probably laughed the hardest at “Adventures of a mystery shopper in the bookshop.” Aziraphale decides Crowley must be bored after the Nomageddon and in need of work and decides to “let” him take care of his bookshop while he’s away, but then he worries the demon might sell some of his books.

29 August 2018 I’ve informed Crowley I’ll be going away for about three weeks, to perform an exciting and complicated blessing abroad. In reality, I’ve booked the Ritz for myself, where I’ll be forced to act human and eat breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Anything to keep a close eye on Crowley! 30th August 2018 It’s my first day away. I decided to go by the bookshop in an “old and confused man disguise” so I could look through the window. I was just in time (a three hour window between lunch and afternoon tea at the Ritz) to see him read the letter I’d posted a few days ago so it would arrive just as I’d left. It was cleverly addressed “To the owner or the current guardian of this bookshop”. I used all my knowledge of humans, gathered via the cleverest of ways (a lot of reading), to write it.

***

A Special Place In Hell (50K; Rated T) by @hotcrosspigeon and @mirach

When Adam shifted reality and caused Satan to disappear, the nearest supernatural entity became the new King of Hell. As it so happened, a certain angel was standing just a little closer than his demon.

Aziraphale, while not Falling, becomes the new ruler of Hell and must navigate Hellish politics, find a role for the love of his life, and maybe bring some proper tea time to the infernal realm. I stumbled upon this story purely by accident one night, and it was a pure joy to read. It’s one of those stories I wish was a series, because I could read so much more in this world.

"Hello, Crowley, my dear fellow. I would like to discuss a certain issue with you. You see, I somehow got into a very peculiar predicament..." Aziraphale sighed in frustration, pacing in his bookshop. "No no no, that sounds like I got my hand stuck in the sweets vending machine again." He cleared his throat. "Hey Crowley, what's up? Better sit down because I have some news to tell you... And by some news I mean... errr..." The angel groaned. "Oh Heavens, there's just no proper way to say this. Ugh, come on, Aziraphale, buck up! You just need to get to the point, that's all. Say the things as they are. No going in circles around the matter. Nice and accurate, right. Just tell him..." He turned at the sound of the bookshop doorbell. "Hello Crowley! Nice weather, isn't it?" "Wha..?" Crowley raised an incredulous eyebrow over the top of his sunglasses, a drop of water running along the edge of his nose. His red hair was plastered to his forehead. He turned to look out the window, jerking a thumb at the onslaught of vicious hail and rain that pelted the glass and plinked against the pane. "Oh, ha ha , very funny. It's bloody bucketing down, angel! I legged it in here before I got clonked on the head with a hailstone the size of my fist." He stopped and frowned at the angel in concern. "Er... you all right? You're looking a bit peaky."

***

Flowers From Hell (42K; Rated T) by @entanglednow

Crowley creates a hybrid demon flower that turns out to be a little more than he intended. This was such a sweet, beautiful story of found family and love, and you’ll absolutely fall in love with Ivy and want to do everything to protect him.

There's a low, quiet rustle from the atrium, where Crowley keeps his finest plants. The beautiful and often terrified rows of them are always so tall and glossy, and fantastically well maintained. Aziraphale regrets that he hadn't taken more of an interest in Crowley's hobbies. It wouldn't have been too difficult, he imagines, to seek out rare specimens to offer the demon. When he's been given so many long sought after volumes, and unpublished manuscripts in turn. Perhaps he could encourage Crowley to open up more, with a few well thought out questions pertaining to his plants, and their various needs. He knows Crowley has been absorbed in a special project recently, he'll make a point to ask about it today. Aziraphale heads into the stretch of greenery, following the tap of feet on tiles, and the quiet swish of foliage. He catches a flash of red hair at the end of the room, behind a messy spray of deep green leaves, then another flash, of what might be the long, pale curve of a shoulder. "Crowley?" The whole room smells damp, thick with fresh soil and crushed plant matter, and it grows stronger the deeper in Aziraphale ventures. He's sure the room wasn't quite so large before, it's clearly been expanded since he visited last, a deep bed of soil is now packed at the back of the room. "Crowley." Aziraphale eases a large spray of damp leaves aside. "I hope I'm not too early, I was -" Crowley is standing by the far wall, carefully touching the valley in the middle of a large leaf with curious, repetitive motions. He's also quite naked. It's - it's unexpected to say the least.

***

Time Marches Forward (129K; Rated M) by @bellisima-writes

While Aziraphale is in Heaven trying to thwart the Second Coming, Crowley is trying to help a frightened 15-year-old Adam learn to deal with his powers. I consider this the definitive S3 (even having written a post-S2 myself), regardless of what the upcoming finale gives us. Every character is wonderfully fleshed out. The plot is intriguing. I read it as fast as humanly possible, barely stopping to do anything else.

Crowley felt the air in the Bentley shift slightly. “What are you doing here?” Crowley jumped in shock, hitting his head on the roof of the Bentley so hard his sunglasses fell off. Adam was suddenly in the passenger seat, studying him cautiously. “Hey! You can’t just come into my car, uninvited,” Crowley hissed, grabbing his glasses and placing them back on his face. He realized he was still slouching, making Adam appear much bigger than he was. He sat up straight and crossed his arms in an attempt to look more intimidating and less drunk. He wondered if it was wise to try and glower at the Antichrist. “He can, actually,” Pepper said from the back seat. Crowley turned and snarled as he noted the three other teenagers in his car. Wensleydale and Brian sat beside her. “He can do anything.” “Yeah well, that may be so but that doesn’t make it right. Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should,” he looked Adam directly in the eyes as he said this, assuming no one else around him would ever be so blunt. “What are you doing lurking around my house?” Adam asked again plainly. Crowley’s glowering was not working. “Ngk. I didn’t come to see you, if that’s what you're asking. I’m as shocked as you are to find myself here. I was asleep for a few days. The bloody car did it; blame it for the lurking”

***

The Last Angel (162K; Rated E) by @bellisima-writes

Crowley's been Hell's Grand Inquisitor for millennia now. Ever since the Apocalypse, he's managed to carve out a relatively cushy life for himself. Hell won the War, Angels were essentially eradicated and all human souls were Satan's. Everything was fine. Until one day he hears a rumor that the Last Angel in the universe was finally captured. Until Beelzebub is suddenly ordering him to get information from said Angel, information that's critical for Hell's survival. Until the moment he first locks eyes with the last Angel, and everything he's ever known starts to crumble around him.

I can’t come up with a better description than the summary. Much like the author’s previous work, Time Marches Forward, this is plot-heavy, exciting, action-packed, and gorgeous. The characters are detailed and realistic. The plot sings. And you won’t see the surprise until it’s already there.

“What kinds of rumors?” he asked, shifting in his seat to properly face Eric. Words were one thing, but body language was another. As Grand Inquisitor, Crowley learned early on to weigh both when evaluating information shared by a source whose reliability was questionable. Eric was a nice kid, sure. But their reliability would definitely be categorized as questionable . Eric’s mood shifted as they glanced around the corridor. Crowley hadn’t realized how quiet the cells had gotten. The bloody humans were eavesdropping again. He dug deep and pulled up a hiss so loud and laced with demonic power that it rattled every cell door in the entire block. Eric motioned with their hand for Crowley to follow them into a corner and out of earshot of everyone else. As Crowley pulled himself up and started walking he sent searing looks down each row of cells around him. They were all going to have a talk about this later. “What?” he asked when he got close enough to Eric. Still eyeing the cells behind them, Eric leaned in closer and whispered, “Hastur finally found him."

Crowley shook his head. Eric’s shiftiness was starting to annoy him. “Found who?” “The one who killed Ligur. Crowley, Hastur’s finally captured the last Angel.”

***

Kidnapping A Supreme Archangel For Fun And Profit (series) (31K; Rated T) by @waitingtobebroken

Mostly outsider POV. Four short stories told mostly from the points of view of Agiel, the Supreme Archangel’s assistant, and Kric (Eric with a K), the Grand Duke’s assistant as they try to figure out why the Supreme Archangel is so unworried about all the times he’s getting himself kidnapped by the Grand Duke. In the meantime, the two assistants find that maybe they have more in common than they would have expected, being hereditary enemies and all.

Being Lord Beelzebub's demonic assistant had been easier than overseeing the third circle of Hell. Just stay out of the way, don't make eye contact, not that Kric could, having been blessed with a distinct lack of eyes, and do not talk to the Prince of Hell, unless it was a 'Yes, Your Highness' or... No, that was pretty much it. You did not go around saying "No" to Lord Beelzebub. And of course, just as they had finally grown comfortable in their position, had even found the perfect time to ask for an assistant of their own... There had been a change in leadership. And Kric had found themself serving Crowley. The Original Tempter, the Snake of Eden, the Earth Walker. Kric was not impressed. Flash bastard. And suddenly, they were expected to be in the throne room at all times. To answer when addressed. Proper, actual answer. None of that automatic 'Yes, your Highness' they were so used to. The first time His Rottenness had held up two sashes, before the monthly meeting between Heaven and Hell and had asked which one made his scales look more iridescent and Kric had answered in the only way they knew how... Well, let's just say that hadn't gone well. They had been sent to something called Fashion Week. To better their understanding of clothes and colour theory, something they could sense had been invented by a fellow demon. Lord Crowley, most probably, judging by the way His Wickedness had grinned when he had told them that.

*****

Human AU

Fully human characters. No supernatural/magical elements.

Waking Up Slow (88K; Rated E) by @themoonmothwrites

After both being exposed to covid, strangers Crowley and Aziraphale wait out their isolation together (there’s only one bed!) at a cottage by the sea. This is complete cosycore fluff with just a touch of angst (and a happy ending) near the end. This gorgeous story has stuck with me for so long. If you want something that’s just plain pleasurable to read, this is it.

“Lovely view.” The voice was low, with the slightest hint of gravel, and right next to Aziraphale’s ear. He made an undignified noise and spun round in fright. “Where the devil did you-?” he started, high-voiced, before his foot caught on a stone and he lost his balance. The stranger was standing so close that Aziraphale toppled right into him, and the pair of them went down together in a tangle of knees and a solid thunk to the forehead. “Ow,” the man said, squinting up at Aziraphale, gaze unfocused, before his eyes fell closed. “Oh no!” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh dear. What do I-?” He’d left his blasted phone at the cottage, now of all times when he actually needed it! With an unconscious man lying before him! And it was all Aziraphale’s doing! “I can-- I can-- I know what to do!” he told himself, attempting belatedly not to panic. The best thing to do was not to think too hard. Tipping up the stranger’s chin, Aziraphale pinched his nose and lowered his face until his mouth closed over the other man’s.

***

The Prince’s Consort (142K; Rated E) by @ineffable-toreshi

Aziraphale is the crown prince of a fictional nation. Crowley is a Lily, trained in one of Lucien’s brothels and kept a virgin for the eventual sale to a wealthy master. Against the brothel owner’s wishes, Crowley is purchased by the prince’s adviser, Gabriel, as a companion for Prince Aziraphale. Aziraphale didn’t want a purchased mate, however, and decides to court his new consort the old-fashioned way.

The description makes this sound like a darker story than it is; it’s actually a really sweet story with only one bad guy (and it’s not Gabriel).

I wrote a much longer review here if you’d like more details.

“I...I was just wondering, my Lord,” Anthony said, nervously nibbling on his lip and twisting his fingers in his lap. “Why did you choose me ?” Gabriel cocked his head to the side. He leaned back, reclining with his arms thrown up over the edges of the bench, and seemed to think about the question. By the time he finally opened his mouth to answer, Anthony was practically vibrating with curiosity. “There were a few factors,” he explained thoughtfully. “I’ll admit that your appearance was the first and foremost. I prefer women, myself, but I know beauty in a man when I see it. And I’ve seen the types who’ve caught the prince’s eye over the years. I’m quite confident that he will find you more than pleasing, from an aesthetic standpoint.”

***

Keep Digging (7K; Rated T) by Appleseeds

After panicking and losing his nerve trying to ask out Aziraphale, the co-worker Crowley has an enormous crush on, he tells a little white lie that ends up completely spiralling out of control since he can't seem to stop digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. Now he's obtained plans to help him break into a school, inadvertently funded the purchase of explosives, and, knowing his luck, the fake blood will end up permanently staining the tiles. Who knows though, maybe in the end, it'll all turn out to be worth it.

Another one of those stories that are so funny tears stream down my face every time. Even going back through it to find an excerpt had me choking down laughter.

“I actually used to be a music tutor. That was one of the little jokes I liked to tell.” Aziraphale giggled again. Nhhhhh. “Wish you could tutor me…” Crowley muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are you wanting to learn to play a musical instrument?” Aziraphale asked brightly. Crowley’s eyes widened. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. Of course, he wouldn’t have heard it if Crowley had just kept his big mouth shut. “Um. Yeah.” “Wonderful! Which one?” FUCK. How the hell was Crowley supposed to answer that? Whatever he said, he might end up having to get one of said instrument, and he didn’t know much, but he knew musical instruments could be incredibly expensive. There must be something that would be cheap enough to procure if needs be, right? And with that thought, Crowley responded. “The triangle.” Oh Jesus Christ.

***

Temple of the Muses (241K; Rated E) by @ajconstantine

It’s the start of the Season in 1841 Victorian England. Mr Anthony Crowley has left a life of working at a luxurious high end bordello in Paris behind him and is now a courtesan intent on climbing the social ladder in London to increase his status and social connections. After unexpectedly inheriting the title of the Earl of Eastgate, Aziraphale finds himself trying to navigate the complicated world of the aristocracy. Duke Gabriel purchases a month-long contract with Mr Crowley for Lord Fell as a surprise gift to Aziraphale’s astonishment and dismay. He declines to take full advantage of Crowley’s charms but agrees to an arrangement of pretending to be Crowley’s paramour in exchange for lessons on the etiquette and expectations of Society. It’s a practical arrangement, nothing more. Certainly no feelings will be involved...

One of the best, most well-researched stories I’ve read. The historical elements are fascinating, and the world-building is top notch. Set in an alternate 1841 where there’s no stigma on same sex relationships, but same sex marriage is still not allowed. The story alternates between the present time, with Aziraphale and Crowley navigating their growing relationship, and Crowley’s time being trained at one of the most elite bordellos of Paris.

Crowley has a lot of autonomy in this story. He actively chose to become a sex worker. Once he leaves the bordello and becomes a courtesan, he can refuse to sign with a client. And while there are consequences for breaking a contract, a courtesan can walk away from a troublesome client.

“Exactly what position do you think I was hired for?” Crowley interrupted, pulling the shoulder of his robe back up. The Earl looked at him as if he’d asked a ridiculous question. “Valet, of course.” Crowley barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Duke Haven didn’t tell you about me?” The Earl pursed his lips, tilting his head in puzzlement. “Not you precisely. I was at his house last week, and he chastised me when I mentioned that I didn’t have a valet, insisting I needed one even though…” His eyes widened. “Oh no. What… what did you think you were being hired for?” Struck by the absurdity of it all, Crowley fought the strong urge to laugh outright. Instead, he gave the Earl a roguish grin and bowed with a flourish. “Mr Anthony Crowley, at your service, sir. Duke Haven procured a contract for me to be your... courtesan.” Lord Fell's mouth dropped open as he gaped at him in apparent shock. “You— I—” He floundered, at a loss for words as he looked away from Crowley. His eyes landed on the bed. To Crowley’s growing amusement, the Early actually blushed, red staining his cheeks as he swiftly averted his gaze.

***

#RAINBOWROAD (series) (407K; Rated T/E) by @nieded

If you haven’t heard of this one yet, you’re one of today’s lucky 10,000. This is one of the best, most well-written human AUs that anyone has produced for Good Omens (or really, of any romance). It’s a three-book, three-short series set in the world of Formula 1 racing. You heard that right. You don’t need to know anything about F1 racing. You don’t even need to like F1 racing. You just need to want to read one of the best romances ever written to enjoy this series.

Ezira Phale is a rookie F1 driver. AJ Crowley is an F1 veteran and an idol of the 25-year-old racer. Everything changes when Ezira meets and falls in love with Crowley, and the older driver (by about 10 years; there’s not a massive age difference here) seems to return his feelings. I wrote a very long review of the series here, so I won’t go into a ton of detail again except to say, if you love human AU, this should be on your list. The author adds notes at the end of the chapters explaining some of the more technical aspects of the sport, or talking about some of the real racers, and it’s fascinating.

Ezira makes his escape from the after-party after stealing a handful of fig tartlets from the hors d’oeuvres table. He ducks out the service exit before looping back to the front of the hotel. God, he wants to sleep off his tipsiness. It’s significantly cooler at night, and he wraps his arms around his shoulders before slipping inside, making a dash for the elevator. Punching his floor number, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes, waiting to be taken to his floor. Then the elevator jerks as someone jabs their hand between the sliding doors, forcing it back open. Ezira lifts his head and glares at the newcomer before his eyes widen, flushing when he recognizes the red hair and black Renault polo. AJ Crowley throws himself into the opposite corner of the elevator and pulls the brim of his hat down. He turns to look at Ezira from under his cap. "Tough luck out there today, huh?" he asks. Ezira frowns and blinks. And because he’s a little drunk and high on adrenaline, he says, "Didn’t you place seventh? I thought that was fucking brilliant." This earns him a snort, and then a bit of stifled laughter. "You can’t say fuck." "You say fuck in almost every interview you do." Not that Ezira has watched every single post-debrief involving AJ Crowley. This makes Crowley laugh harder, and he wipes at his eyes. "You just look like you should be in a painting or something. You’re like a Hummel." Flabbergasted, Ezira stares. His cheeks grow hot when he realizes AJ Crowley is taking the piss. "I don’t even know what that means." Crowley wipes his eye with the back of his hand and then presses his lips together in a feeble attempt to hold back another fit of laughter. "I’m sorry. I’m just very, very drunk, and was not expecting you to say ‘fuck.’ You look like those cherubs from Italy."

***

Lunacy (57K; Rated E) by @snae-b

@snae-b writes some of the best sci-fi GO stories you’ll ever read. This is hardly the only great story of theirs I’ve recommended; it just happens to be my personal favorite. Crowley is the crew chief of a mining operation on one of Pluto’s tiny moons. Aziraphale is a geologist there to study the structural integrity of the moon. But something seems to be alive, something that shouldn’t be there. This is pure psychological horror, the kind of story where you’re never quite sure what’s real and what’s a hallucination. You’ll find definitely NSFW artwork throughout, so take note not to read it around people you wouldn’t want seeing porn on your screen.

Crowley zones out as they continue their conversation. Things had been weird in the mine today. For the past month really. Tech malfunctioning. Batteries draining when they should have been able to hold a charge for days. Half the lights were on the fritz. As if it weren't dark enough in there already. He'd had to trek nearly a mile into Sheol with only the lights on his helmet to repair them. And his crew had their hands full with extraction, so he’d had to do it alone. The darkness really starts to play tricks on you in there. He spent as much time looking over his shoulder as he did working on the lights. Kept thinking that he was seeing something. Something hiding in the shadows. Something that lived in his peripheral vision. As he tugs a beanie on over his head there’s a light rapping on the wall and everyone glances up to the figure in the doorway. “Excuse me, Mr. Crowley. If you have time in your schedule, I really need to discuss the most recent surface scans with you. Could you come by my quarters before dinner?” Crowley sighs as he snaps on his mag boots. “Yeah. Sure thing doc. I’ll be by in thirty.” The scientist only nods before he disappears down the hall. Dr. Aziraphale Fell. He doesn’t wear the standard issue jumpsuits. He wears thick sweaters and wool trousers that look ridiculous with his mag boots. And when he isn’t wearing them, he can hardly get around. Bumps into everything and everyone. He’s never been off planet before and it shows.

***

Miracles on Ice (131K; Rated E) by @henriettarhippo

It’s the “Blades of Glory” AU you never knew you wanted. Crowley and Aziraphale are men’s figure skaters who get banned from the sport after a fight on the podium. Years later, Aziraphale’s coach, Gabriel, suggests the two of them team up to compete in the Olympic’s pairs event. Only problem is, the two skaters hate each other.

This is very much an enemies-to-lovers story, and Gabriel as their coach and sponsor is the perfect combination of asshole and good guy. He genuinely does care for his two skaters, and he’s generous with his money, but he also has that rich guy attitude of being used to getting what he wants, and he’s not afraid to tell them to stop being dumbasses either.

“Hey angel, was that your routine? Because it looked to me like a lot of swanning about on the ice with a few pirouettes thrown in.” The mocking drawl came from the figure making his way towards Aziraphale on a pair of sharp blades. Clad in skintight black velvet trousers and a black turtleneck adorned with glittering red crystals—to match the striking red curls that stopped at his shoulders—Aziraphale’s skating rival Crowley beamed down at him with a malicious grin. “Also, you’re a bit late. They handed out the women’s medals earlier today.” He pulled down the dark shades he always wore to give Aziraphale a wink. Aziraphale bristled and sat up straighter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. That was textbook precision, and I think you’ll find it was the same scores I beat you with last year in Oslo.” “The hotel had a free bar I don’t even remember Oslo,” Crowley said dismissively as he approached the entrance to the rink. He turned back and gave Aziraphale a grin. “But I do remember Boston, and that victory was almost as sweet as the look on your face when you botched that triple loop.” Crowley let out a laugh at the scandalised look Aziraphale gave him. The loudspeakers started up with the first booming notes of a rock song and Crowley hopped up onto the ice and skated away from him before Aziraphale had the chance to reply.

***

Friends Don't (33K; Rated E) by @missunderstoodlyrics

Human AU. Another fantastic enemies-to-lovers by MissUnderstoodLyrics. This is the newest story on this list.

Aziraphale and Crowley are rival advice columnists whose companies are merged. The CEO, Gabriel, tells them they now have to do a joint video podcast together. The snark and bickerflirting are top notch, and this story kept a smile on my face. They have to keep their romance a secret, because the whole schtick of their podcast is their very public rivalry, but it gets harder and harder the closer they become.

Aziraphale attempted to drown his mirth in his wine glass, which was precisely when Crowley decided to position his mouth millimetres from the angel’s ear. “Blair. Have you met him? Worst. Comb-over. Since. Thatcher,” he whispered and then found himself helpfully patting Aziraphale's back as the man choked and spluttered, his cherubic face turning a delightful shade of pink. “Absolute fiend,” Aziraphale managed once he’d caught his breath, but the corners of his mouth were twitching traitorously. Crowley clocked Michaela out of the corner of his eye; she was leaning forward to shush them. Aziraphale escaped her wrath by standing and marching to the stage, his back straight and shoulders squared. He planted himself solidly in front of the microphone and proceeded to destroy what was left of Crowley’s sanity. “I once met a man-shaped snake,” he stated, his gaze firmly locked on Crowley. “Whose snark was taxing to take With swagger and pose He turned up his nose But his wisdom was rather half-baked.”

*****

Non-Human AU

One or both of them are non-human, or have some sort of supernatural abilities (like magic) but aren’t angel or demon. I’m including omegaverse in this category.

Mark of the Serpent (150K; Rated E) by @naromoreau and @summerofspock

Prince Aziraphale is about to be crowned King of Angelhaven when he's taken captive by pirates. When he's sold as a pleasure slave to King Crowley, ruler of the nation readying for war with his, he is forced to keep his identity a secret as he tries to find a way home and keep peace. But not everything at King Crowley's court is as it seems and Aziraphale will have to face machinations of a Royal Court that are far more complex than he had thought. A Captive Prince AU with an omegaverse twist.

The first omegaverse story I genuinely liked, even though Crowley is pretty awful toward Aziraphale at first. Since then I’ve come to enjoy more of them, but this is the one that got me into the genre. This is another one I’ve written a much longer review about here including an explanation for the “extremely dubious consent” tag.

"What about this one?" the omega king asked, eyes fixed on his face, a strange curl to his mouth. "He's an Angel," Hastur sneered. "Pretty, isn't he? We were trying to pick a variety for your majesty to choose from since you didn’t deign to accompany us, but we didn’t find out his origin until after we brought him. He probably doesn't even speak the language." The words manifested in Aziraphale’s mind, and he immediately saw the genius in them. If he didn't speak the language, he could hardly be appealing as a consort to the king. He would be dismissed, sent back to Tracy's, and given time to heal before making his escape. "An Angel?" the king repeated, something passing over his face that Aziraphale didn't like. "What's your name?" "I’m sorry," Aziraphale stammered in Angelic, sticking to his hastily made plan. "I don’t...I don’t know what you're saying." King Crowley smiled and said, in perfect Angelic, "I asked what your name was." "Oh, um, I- you can call me whatever you wish," Aziraphale said, not wanting to risk even a part of his name. The king laughed. "I'm choosing the Angel. Send him to my quarters." "But your majesty-" The omega king turned on Ligur. "You wanted me to choose a pleasure beta and I did. It's done. Were there any other highly important council matters or can I get back to my day?"

***

Saltwater on Skin (186K; Rated E) by @candyqueenblog

Another one with a longer review here. Ezra Fell is an award-winning novelist celebrating the millionth sale of his newest books with his friends and baby brother, Gabriel, on a rented yacht. He falls overboard and washes ashore on an uncharted island, and while awaiting rescue, he gets the strange feeling he’s not alone.

This is a low angst love story between the human and the naga who rescues him, and you’ll fall in love with the island and Crowley’s four sisters. Gabriel is a peach here, much younger than Ezra and very much the caring baby brother.

And if you’d prefer an Ineffable Wives version of the story, you can find that here. I haven’t read it, but I assume it’s equally good.

Ezra couldn’t stifle the flood of tears as he threw his arms over his head with a scream. Then a pair of rough, but blessedly human hands, covered his wrists. “You… scared?” The stranger’s voice was gravelly, most likely from disuse, but to Ezra it sounded more beautiful than all the angelic choirs. He sobbed in relief. “Oh thank heavens! I thought for sure I was going to-” His words sputtered and died when he opened his eyes to look at his rescuer. It was a man… ...from the waist up. The man’s bare torso was thin, but well defined with long arms lean with muscle. His face was all angles framed by a shock of red hair that curled down his back. His eyes were captivating. They were human enough, save for the iris being the color of spun gold and sliced right down the middle by a slit-shaped pupil. That was about where the human similarities ended. From the waist down the man’s skin melded into a massive snake tail that was wider than Ezra’s entire body and covered in black scales with a red underbelly that matched his hair.

***

FAETED (series) (251K; Rated G/T) by @ineffably-good

The only story in this category that’s not rated E. A three-book, one-short series where Ezra, an English teacher at a public school accidentally ends up in the Fae realms and in the hands of the Unseelie king, Crowley. The world-building is fantastic, and the books use some of the side characters so well, especially Hastur and Ligur, two of Crowley’s most trusted advisers. Crowley is good to Ezra, but he’s spent a thousand years ruling over the chaotic and dangerous unseelie fae, and he doesn’t always know how to handle being in love with a human. And Ezra doesn’t understand the difficult and often prickly politics of the fae, so the two have a lot of misunderstandings to work through. It leads to several fights, but they are usually resolved within the chapter.

The stories are heavy on plot, mostly around the world of the fae, which is one of the things I love most about this series. I could easily read dozens of books set in this world.

Lord Crowley watched as Ezra emerged from the coach, curious to see how this strange mortal would react to his first sight of the Dark Court. Would he blanch in terror? Would he be curious? He didn’t know or understand the creature across from him, but he knew one thing— his reactions, to date, were not what the Prince expected. This was oddly refreshing. It had been so, so long since anyone had managed to surprise him. He watched as Ezra emerged, his fluffy golden hair sticking out in all directions above the dark gray travel cloak he’d donned. He smiled faintly and with studious politeness at the horrifying gremlin who helped him down the steps, brushed the nonexistent dust off himself, and took in his surroundings. Crowley was gratified to see his eyes widen as he looked around. They were standing in the center of an immense cavern, almost as if a mountain had been hollowed out inside by an immense blast. The rock walls climbed up above them and came together at an unmeasurable distance overhead and were dotted everywhere one looked with cavernous openings, some of which flickered with the light from a fire further inside. Creatures here and there, too murky to make out fully, hovered near the openings of some of them, peering down at the return of their Prince with eyes he could not read. Further ahead, the floor cracked into a massive chasm which ranged across the rest of the cavern and was crossed here and there by rickety-looking bridges. It was lit from below by the light of flames and the scent of sulfur. Stalagmites rose from the floor at irregular intervals, some of them paired with stalactites dropping from the ceiling like large, rocky icicles. Their surfaces glittered here and there with what looked like mica or gems. Crowley watched as Ezra took all of this in at a glance. “Thoughts?” said Lord Crowley, sidling up to him. Ezra turned astonished eyes the color of blue sky to him. “It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like this.” Crowley searched his face for mockery or insincerity but found only earnestness. The Prince felt a tingle of pleasure at this, at least for a moment, until he ruthlessly slammed that feeling down inside himself and returned to his usual sardonic detachment. He hadn’t brought the human here to be his friend.

***

If He’s Your Cleric, Why Is He Putting Me In His Bag of Holding? (300K; Rated E) by @noodlefrog-omens

I read this twice in a row. Literally. I stopped it and almost immediately started it again. I played D&D 3.5 for many years, and I absolutely loved seeing a D&D adventure played out in the GO universe. Aziraphale is the cleric of an adventuring party that stupidly decides to abandon him in the dungeon (you don’t abandon your healer!). Crowley is a very hungry mimic who ends up nearly dying in Aziraphale’s bag of holding before the cleric rescues him. (Look, if you’re going to look like a fancy book, don’t be surprised when the man tries to steal you).

Aziraphale still needs to find his adventuring party again, and the mimic decides to travel along with him. Along the way they find kobolds, a doppelganger, traps, and the obligate dungeon maze, all the while getting to know each other. Aziraphale recognizes his feelings toward the mimic fairly early on, but it takes Crowley longer to even understand what his feelings even mean.

The porn doesn’t start until chapter 33 (of 40), and only covers maybe three of the remaining eight chapters. You can read the entire adventure and stop once they leave the dungeon if you don’t want any monsterfuckery, or you could skim past the smut to the ending. I don’t know if the author has any plans for sequels, but if he does, I’ll be right there ready.

In that moment, Crowley knew that he had found the right bait to lure this human right to his doom. He waited as patiently as he could while nearly vibrating himself into a puddle, watching as Aziraphale puttered around the room cooing over all the books and scrolls in the room as though they were living creatures. “Just you wait,” Crowley thought to himself, inordinately pleased to have figured out what made this stubborn human tick. “One of them will be.” “There must be centuries’ worth of knowledge collected in just this one chamber,” Aziraphale said in a reverent whisper. Finally, finally he started touching things in this dungeon. He even took his heavy leather gloves off, tucking them into his belt before running a fingertip along the spines of the books chained to the shelves. Crowley watched him take one right off the shelf and thumb through a few of the pages. “We must have walked right by this room. I don’t know why Sandalphon told me there wasn’t anything behind this door. He must not have looked closely enough.” Aziraphale turned his back to the shelves to glance back at the door, and Crowley took his chance to crawl up the side of the bookshelf and arrange himself in front of the chained tomes in pride of place. It wasn’t difficult to change himself into the shape of a book, but this was always about the details. It was an art form. Which books, exactly, had Aziraphale been drawn to? Old ones with leather covers, mostly. Ones with bits of fiddly decoration on the spine. Ones with a bit of mystery. Aziraphale was a cleric, so he was probably interested in talking to the Gods and shite like that, or at least understanding them. That was an angle Crowley could work with. He gave his skin a supple leather texture, inky black and vaguely shimmery in a way he knew would catch the flickering light being thrown out by that sword. Gold edging and lettering crept across his cover and spine, promising divine secrets and cosmic mysteries to anyone who would just reach out and touch. He couldn’t see himself, but Crowley knew that he was a very sexy book right now. Aziraphale would have to be mad not to notice him.

***

Crowley And The Chocolate Factory (55K; Rated E) by @entanglednow

Crowley has to step up for his nephew Adam when he wins a ticket to tour the famous chocolate factories, run by the reclusive and deeply strange Zira Zonka. It doesn't take Crowley long to decide that he wants nothing to do with the man, who's clearly hiding dark and mysterious secrets.

Do you like your Crowley grumpy and cynical? Do you like your Aziraphale weird? Did you think the one thing missing from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory was sex between Wonka and one of the parents in a vintage Bentley? Then this is the story for you!

Crowley doesn’t know what to make of the definitely strange Zira Zonka, but he finds himself drawn to the man nonetheless. The story is set in modern times, but if you know the original (at least the movie version; I can’t speak for the books), you have a general idea of what’s going to happen to the children.

Zonka releases the arms of his partners for long enough to jerk his cane towards the sky, which erupts in a shower of flower petals and candy - a large proportion of which fall on the immediately excited crowd. Crowley's fairly certain he gets hit on the head by a soft fudge. God, this is humiliating. Zonka dances right and then left while the audience cheers in appreciation. He does another circle, separates from the row to do some unimpressive spins while trying - and failing - to find a good rhyme for liquorice. "My candy emporium has so much in store. Just step right up and walk through the door!" Zonka's gold and white cane snaps up into the air again, this time leaving a burst of light and his name written across the sky in sparkling gold calligraphy. It seems to be a dramatic ending, Crowley certainly hopes it's a dramatic ending. "Half of those lines were a stretch," he complains, but quietly and mostly to himself, because the audience seems to have found the whole thing captivating, Adam included. "And there's only five kids, not six, he can't even count." The Erik's all unlink arms, to thunderous applause from the crowd behind him, and Zonka gives the widest grin Crowley has ever seen. His hands flung on his hips, like the world's most enthusiastic children's entertainer. Crowley half expects him to ask who wants to see a magic trick. "How has this man possibly managed to stay out of the limelight for twenty years?" he wonders. "Or twenty minutes."

***

Villainous (217K; Rated E) by @ineffablepenguin

Once Upon A Time… There was a red-haired sorcerer who lived alone in a high tower, and a blond prince who lived in a palace full of people. And they were both of them desperately lonely. The Kingdoms of Empyrion and the Sorcerers of Apollyon have hated each other for hundreds of years, ever since the Great War. They do not interact, other than to occasionally try to kill one another. And they certainly do not make friends. Crow is an exhausted sorcerer who just wants everyone to leave him the hell alone: for the Sorcerer’s Council to stop harassing him to live up to his potential, and for wannabe Empyrion Heroes to stop attacking his tower to try and kill him. Until one day when he meets Prince Azra of the High Fells, who doesn’t behave anything like he’s supposed to…

This is one of those stories a lot of people recommend for good reason. It’s a fantastic fairy tale full of love and romance between two people who seem destined for one another. The writing is gorgeous, the world-building is fantastic, and there’s really great artwork scattered throughout. Some of the artwork is fairly suggestive, and all of it is stunning.

Crow slowed to a stop, and his gaze flickered bemusedly over him. The man was…not tall. Or remotely intimidating. He stood a couple inches shorter than him, even with the thick boots. Wide eyes shone resolutely grey-blue, the precise shade of his doublet, under a tumble of feathery white-blond curls cut a bit too short to be fashionable. And... his stubbornly-set jaw was rather less chiseled than Crow was used to seeing. No conveniently placed scars, no gritty dents or smudges on that immaculate armour. Heroes usually had cheekbones that could cut glass, but this one’s were rounded, and slightly rosy to boot. Cherubic was the word that came immediately to mind, and Crow nearly snorted out loud. He looked to be roughly Crow's own age, and was staring determinedly, if anxiously at him from behind that enormous broadsword. There was a long, tense silence as Crow and the armoured man sized each other up. The Hero spoke first. “Now see here, villain, I don’t want to have to kill you, so just turn about and head right back where you came from.” His voice was precise and educated, nearly fussy, and while self-assured was lacking in the usual bravado. Crow blinked, taken aback, and the flames in his hand faltered. “You don’t want to kill me?” “Well…no, not particularly.” The confidence wavered for an instant, then solidified. “Which is not to say that I won’t! Rest assured I will if you cause trouble!”

***

The Crawly Chronicles (series) (179K; Rated T/M/E) by @theladydrgn and @sylwritesstuff

When Aziraphale Fell, reporter for The Daily Messenger, is tasked with a simple story on smuggling, he isn't expecting to find out that Lightbringer, Inc. has been experimenting on something that could be an animal, an oil slick, or something else entirely. He especially isn't expecting that being to come home with him and change his entire life.

I’m a fan of the Tom Hardy Venom movies, which made this two-book, two-short series perfect for me. The books follow the plot of the first two movies, though book 2 also starts with the sexual relationship between the two characters.

My favorite parts of the story are of the two learning to live together while sharing a body, and Aziraphale trying to figure out how to handle having feelings for a creature he’s permanently attached to who is so completely alien (literally) that he’s not even sure that romantic and sexual love are even an option.

The food the human was making already smelled good enough to eat to them, and they did not want to wait twenty minutes. This time their control of the human's hand was less subtle as they dipped fingers into the leftover batter and brought a generous scoop of the chocolate mix to their mouth. “Nasty human's is what they were.” Aziraphale froze or at least tried to. His mouth seemed to have other ideas, cleaning the mixture from his fingers. “What- Who said that?” he demanded messily, looking around. “I did.” Aziraphale took several steps back, grasping for the cane he'd left leaning against the counter. The voice sounded as if it were everywhere around him or- or in his own mind somehow. “That's hardly reassuring. Who are you? How did you get into my home?” “Got in the same way you did, human.” They grabbed the bowl of chocolate mixture before the human stumbled too far from it, fingers scraping the last dregs of it to not waste a single bit. The cane fell to the floor. Aziraphale tried stopping himself, but he couldn't seem to make his hands do what he wanted them to do. “Stop! How-” What in the world was happening and how did he stop it? “No. I'm hungry.” “That doesn't make any sense! Stop!” he demanded, struggling to keep his chocolate covered fingers away from his own mouth. “Fine.” They still felt so weak that fighting this human for control was a struggle and a challenge that they did not want to have. It was just so much easier to slip out between their cells and wrap a long tongue around their fingers instead.

***

And finally, if you made it all the way to the end, thank you!

I have three Good Omens novels of my own I hope you’ll check out, a post-S2 with an upcoming sequel; a “they never met”/fake marriage adventure; and a reverse omens (a WIP as of 27 Dec, 2024; chapters are released on Fridays, and it should be completely posted around mid-February 2025).

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #best of 2024

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endlessdreamworld · 8 hours ago

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Baptism by Fire

the sequel to a short AU fic featuring secret priest! Sunday of a small village x baker! gn reader. part one here.

The familiar jingle of the bell above the front door signaled the arrival of a customer in the tailor’s shop. “Coming!” Sunday called, putting a pause to the present project. It was a simple hem for the blacksmith, though it did require some special care given how thick the heat resistant fabric was.

There you were, dripping on the polished wooden floorboards of the tailor’s shop with all of the charm of a pathetic wet cat. And it wasn’t just that. Your uniform had frayed threads that were burned loose from what seems to be a fire. It left you looking like you were covered in wet spiderwebs, the clothing in total ruins. Poor thing’s shaking, Sunday hurried towards you. “How in the world did you manage to both drown and burn your pretty uniform?” He knew you weren’t the type to be wasteful, so this current predicament put him on edge. I need to do something before my sweet dove catches a cold.

Sunday took your hand, being mindful to brush as much of his skin against yours as he could. It was a test just for you, to see if his favorite lamb could resist the temptation of flesh. He didn’t fail to notice the small twitch of your lonely fingers just before he let go and sat on you on a stool, towel already in hand.

“There was an accident at work. A corner caught fire and I had to throw myself in the river or risk hurting myself,” was your out of character confession. It was unlike you to be this careless. “I’m sorry Mr. Oak, but I wasn’t able to save you any of today’s specials because I had to run right over here.” The implication of missed payment went unspoken between you.

Sunday retrieved the towel, and replaced it with some undergarments. “Think nothing of it, or maybe like a gift for being a loyal customer for such a long time. Now we need to get your measurements, don’t we?” He took your hand and led you to the back of the shop where there was a curtain to grant you privacy. You changed into the garments and readied yourself for the impending proximity. He pulled back the curtain, measuring tape already in hand.

The next – eternity. It was nothing short of an eternity of torture. It felt like you were dying every second Sunday’s fingers roamed your body. The brush of measuring tape and the tender pads of his fingers seemed to be relishing in your suffering. God was testing you, you justified. It was up to you to endure this for you and Mr. Oak.

Sunday worked in complete silence, leaving you with only the pounding of your heart and the scratch of ink against paper as he wrote down the shape of your form one number at a time. Just before you went crazy, and opened your mouth to vomit out your sinful feelings, it was over. You passed.

With a spare set of clothes, and a pat on the back, Sunday sent you on your way. It must be hard to make an entire set of clothing from scratch, and it would give you an excuse to come back every few days just to ask about the progress. There was nothing wrong with wanting to know about the status of something that important, right? But deep down you knew you were lying to yourself, and so you had to confess to all of the filth you have buried deep in your heart.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

It was you. Sunday was hoping you’d stop by and tell him the story of what really happened earlier that day.

“Speak freely child, God forgives all who sin.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but you were just as much of a test of faith for him as he was for you.

It took you a moment to find your voice but he couldn’t blame you. It wasn’t easy to confess your shortcomings especially if they weighed as heavy. “Today I lied to the person I cared most about.” He wasn’t surprised to hear this. Sunday knew the moment you spoke to him earlier that morning that you were lying about the circumstances of your garb.

“Confess to me the truth of your lie and all shall be forgiven,” Sunday kept his voice level, maintaining that unusual drawl of his to mask his identity.

“Perhaps it’s more of a fib, but my intentions were to deceive. Today I told him I had a workplace accident, but it was a bit more than that. The baker’s son has been more and more forward with his intentions and he’s become more shameless with his... touch,” the words tasted bitter leaving your mouth and you couldn’t hide the shaking in your voice even if your life depended on it. “I’m afraid to speak out for fear of losing my home.”

A foul serpent in our midst, one that needs dealing with. The viper will be extricated from our hallowed garden by the week’s end.

“Today, he got closer and closer, and I prayed to God to save me. As if by divine intervention my uniform caught fire from a stray ember that escaped the oven. No one thought ill of me when I elbowed past them on my dash to the river. That’s what truly happened. I just wanted to spare him the worry.”

He sighed, “A kind lie but a lie nonetheless. You are forgiven.” That wretch will pay most dearly for making you feel such desperation.

“Father,” you called out, the wood of the confession booth felt claustrophobic. “Do you think this is a sign from God that my feelings are pure? I cried out to Him and he granted me the blessing of sanctuary, an opportunity to spend time with the one I hold most dear.”

You leaned up against the screen of the booth and shut your eyes, recounting the memory. “I feel I was tested today. I didn’t notice how soft Mr. Oak’s hands were until today when he traced them down every part of me. I fear I’ll be haunted by the memory of it until the end of my days.”

Sunday’s mouth went dry at the thought of your confession. “The book speaks of baptisms of fire. God has given you a sign from above that you’ll find salvation in your beloved. You should accept it for what it is.”

“Thank you, Father.” You bid your farewell, your heart much lighter and your head clearer. Yes, he was right, this surely is a sign from above. And so when you returned back to the bakery, you snuck around like a thief in your own home. You grabbed what you needed, the tool of your salvation, and climbed up the ladder to your room in the attic.

This is God’s will. You were told as such. But was the way your heart was racing, and the filthy thoughts that plagued your mind God’s will too? You didn’t know. What you did know is that you were desperate to be delivered from the fate you were given -- indulging the baker’s son or risking homelessness. You find the borrowed clothing you had gotten from Sunday earlier that day on the bed where you left it.

The object you had in your hand that you’ve used countless times felt much heavier, as if consecrated by the weight of what you were about to do. This is necessary, this is God’s will. This is so we can be together, so I can be saved. Your breathing sped up in anticipation and your hands shook. The shrill groan of metal grinding against metal as you opened the object echoed through your mind as you began to wildly cut at the fabric.

Who knew a simple pair of scissors could feel so holy?

Sorry for taking so long! I hope it met your expectations. Tagging everyone who requested a sequel or to be tagged: @yae-yu127 @hersweetsstrawberry @666xist @killergee @anzuwrld @xeltxt @thypplover @mehkers

#yandere x you #yandere x reader #sunday x you #sunday x reader #hsr x you #yandere hsr x you #yancore #male yandere

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peppermakesart · 1 day ago

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Man this is sad, I really enjoyed infinite fusion, and a lot of the reason for that is all the hard work the spriters put into it. Obviously I’m going to side with the artists on this one, but also it’s a shame I’ll never be able to play the game again because I don’t want to have to look at genAI. It’s morally reprehensible, but also I just find it visually repulsive.

I was sent a work email recently about a Christmas charity event requesting donations, and for some reason they had to include a generated image. I personally don’t believe there’s any good reason to use any of that computer generated slop, gen AI images, those apps that people use to write them an essay or pretend to talk to a fictional character, it all just feels gross. I do my best to keep an open mind and not judge people for liking different things, but this AI stuff is different, but it just feels like a mockery of human connection. I feel really bad for the kids who have to live through this. I see stories online about how students’ legitimately written essays are flagged as written by AI, and they’re unfairly penalized. I feel like I have a pretty good eye for it, but I sympathize with all the boomers on facebook getting fooled by AI propaganda because they don’t have the tools to distinguish fiction from reality. I’m horrified by how it’s been weaponizes to sexualize women, especially young girls, in an almost industrialized way that just wasn’t possible before. I really worry how things will go from here, I don’t see our government being able to effectively combat these issues, given the age of our representatives. Did you see that story about the 80 something year old congresswoman who went missing for 6 months and turned up recently in a nursing home? And her aides were hiding it from everyone and signing laws on her behalf. Did you see Mitch McConnell at that press conference the other day where he was completely unresponsive? It feels like we’re falling off a cliff and there’s no one behind the wheel

Sorry for the long rant, somehow this stopped being about pokemon a while ago but I have a lot of feelings on these issues and I feel like a lot of these problems are interconnected

I wasn't planning on posting today, but the Pokémon Infinite Fusion owner/dev just decided to use generative AI. To some people this blatant disregard for the wishes of the artists working for PIF might seem surprising, so I felt like I should clear some stuff up: they've always been like this. Please read this.

Please share this. I'll respond to any questions to the best of my abilities. I also apologize for making this post out of 8 images, but for some other platforms I'm on I can get my message across better this way.

#infinite fusion #Pepper rants

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mikan-sei · 1 day ago

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Beyond the Surface of Suo and Sakura’s relationship

**MANGA SPOILER WARNING**

This is my first post on this website, apologies if theres anything incoherent here. This post is also very simplified and lacks some information as I wanted to keep it as concise as possible. If you would like a full-blown analysis about their relationship, do let me know. I may consider making a complete writeup.

Contrary to popular belief about their “lack of interactions”, Suo and Sakura share many important and pivotal moments together scattered across the story. They may not have that big impactful moment compared to other dynamics in WBK (examples being Chika calling Endo by his full name, or Nirei yelling at Sakura in Noroshi, but we’ll get to that later), however they are important to their relationship and for their individual characters. There’s too many to list here, so I will keep it short.

From the start of Wind Breaker, Suo has always teased Sakura; even lying to him when they first meet:

We all know that Suo is a very unserious guy, and this aspect of his character is highlighted the most when it comes to his interactions with Sakura. He constantly pokes fun at him; blatantly lying to him with the sole purpose to mess with him and just being a general tease.

These aren’t even all the instances when Suo does this! I got lazy while compiling images (yes, theres *that* many moments where Suo teases Sakura), but I hope this paints a good perspective.

This makes Sakura thinks of him as “untrustworthy”, in a more lighthearted sense.

Infact, out of anyone else in the cast, Sakura is the only person who actively questions Suo’s character. (I’m not counting Tsugeura because their confrontation was a one time thing)

But here’s the thing: Even if Suo takes advantage of the fact that Sakura is gullible enough to believe anything just so he can mess with him, Sakura still relies on Suo.

He relies on him to come up with a strategic plan for their war, partners with Sugishita despite his initial reluctance, and even follows his advice on how to fight with others people (which works in his favor immensely during the beginning of Noroshi and while he works with Sugishita)

Theres also another moment I’d like to showcase (which is very underrated imo):

Here, we see Sakura taking the support of Suo’s shoulder in order to kick Endo in the face. We also see Suo defending Sakura a few moments ago as well.

Heres’s the thing: Sakura is an arial fighter. He can easily jump to certain heights by himself, much less be able to kick his opponents mid-air. He doesn’t require any support to lift his body upwards.

So why would Sakura do this?

It’s simple: Sakura trusts Suo, whether it be direct or subconsciously. And as his vice captain, Suo also trusts Sakura. Why would he appoint him as class captain if otherwise?

Their mutual trust plays a massive part in their relationship. There are many instances showing this aspect, but for now I will just analyze this iconic scene:

Both Sakura and Suo immediately jump into action in order to protect their friend, Nirei, from any immediate threat (Endo). They exchange no words, only a knowing glance to each other.

I believe that this page shows the essence of their relationship: Despite their petty banter and occasional disagreements, despite how less ‘open’ their relationship is, they are more often on the same wavelength than not.

They care for and trust each other immensely. However, many of their nuances are in hidden between the lines of their relationship due to the guarded nature of characters.

And it is with all these aspects combined that makes the Suo and Sakura duo appealing to many people.

TLDR: Suo and Sakura trust and care for each other a lot, despite their personal shortcomings and Suo incessantly messing with Sakura.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk. There was so much more I wanted to write about here (such as their flawed perspectives on each other, suo’s perspective on sakura, and how they uplift each other), but unfortunately Tumblr literally refused to upload most of my images and nuked half of this post bc it decided not to save the draft; hence the short analysis. If you have any additional thoughts, feel free to let me know :)

#wind breaker #wbk #wbk spoilers #wind breaker manga #wbk analysis #wb #haruka sakura #hayato suo #sakura haruka #suo hayato

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pparacxosm · 1 day ago

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okay so.

hi lol

the rumours are true, they didn’t want me to return to tumblr but God did. did you guys think i was dead, be honest. how did you think it happened? tiger mauling? did you think i, like, rose to the occasion with the tiger? like did i put up a fight, in your mind? let me know i’m serious

anyway yes. hey all.

happy holidays, happy early new year, and happy belated *checks notes* CEO assassination?

i guess you’re wondering where i’ve been (hadestown reference for all who have the ears to listen; who’s heard the west end recording btw? good right??) and, too, why i left.

concisely, things were a little tough. things are still a little tough. but so persists the body, whether fond thereof or not ! and anyway if i was successful and well adjusted then i wouldn’t be able to write fanfics centred around pathetically hapless young adult main characters so really you guys are very supportive of my potential gap year next year, right? you are, aren’t you? please tell my mom.

i’ve been up to some stuff. i flunked my first year. i ghosted my therapist (shoutout georgia, that was my bad). i proceeded to be admitted into outpatient treatment. trigger warning? you can fill in the blanks. i watched west side story with my little brother on four separate occasions, not kidding. i held space for the lyrics of defying gravity. i missed you all. lots and lots. please don’t think i didn’t.

i’m still not totally well, but i’m alive and i’m happy to be back and do y’all still give a fuck about challengers?? be fr.

because i do !

in fact i have something for you, if you want it. the haters want to say i’m not an art girl sooooo bad. you will be dealt with.

but BEFORE any of that !! i want to know what i’ve missed. please tell me !!! is everyone still here?? did anyone have a baby? did you name it challengers ??

seriously do tell

i am accepting any and all news and, most importantly, any and all recs !!

any writing posted in the last 2 months that moved you, that flayed your heart, that made you shut your phone off at the dinner table, puhleaseee let me know

and that includes your own stuff !! save your shame for the vicar !!! i want all the self-promo, i will take it as a personal offence if no one recommends something of their own to me !!!!

i’ll post the thing i’m working on either tomorrow or sunday (holy day, which is actually pretty topical, you’ll see), but in the meantime i just wanna spend some time reading and interacting with some good shit so nothing is off limits !!

also once again i missed you.

really i did.

and i really really appreciate anyone missing me back

i love you guys, and i love tashi duncan, and i love mike faist. (but if i speak on the josh o’connor developments.. yeah let’s keep it cordial.)

#pparacxosm lore #pparacxosm board meeting

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mysterialistic · 3 days ago

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Is Cheng Xiaoshi's death a paradox?

Why do I say this? Because of this specific line of dialogue said by Vein:

Specifically, I’m talking about about the “grandfather paradox.” This paradox is one of the most common dilemmas in time travel stories and scenarios. It illustrates a problem arising from the effect of time travel on causality—the principle that a cause must precede its effect. The paradox suggests that a cause is eliminated by its own effect, preventing its own existence and creating a loop of reverse causation. For example, if someone were to travel back in time and prevent their grandfather from meeting their grandmother, they would never be born, which would make it impossible for them to travel back in time in the first place.

In this case, Vein knows that Lu Guang altered the past, so he arrives at the photo studio and shoots Cheng Xiaoshi. However, Vein is probably unaware that this very act will ultimately be the catalyst for the time-traveling events in the first place. This creates a classic “chicken-or-egg” problem: Did Vein kill Cheng Xiaoshi first, or did Lu Guang change the past first?

The actions, effects, and consequences are all interlinked, trapping them in a paradox that Lu Guang is desperately trying to break. Yet, his efforts are inherently contradictory—attempting to prevent Cheng Xiaoshi’s death is the very thing that ensures it happens. This vicious cycle highlights the core dilemma of the grandfather paradox: any attempt to change the past creates a self-defeating loop.

And to support my crazy theory, here’s what Vein’s character description says:

Vein knows what will happen. How? I’m not sure, but my guess is that it has something to do with Liu Xiao—perhaps he provides the information, and Vein acts as the executor. Or maybe it’s connected to Vein’s own powers.

[This is a mess. I might be wrong, and maybe this scene isn’t the first time Cheng Xiaoshi died, but I like paradoxes, so I had some fun writing this lol].

#link click #shiguang daili ren #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #shiguang #vein #yingdu spoilers

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dead-dolphins · 3 days ago

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Mountain Girl and Doctor’s son AU

A while back, I came across a piece of art on my Twitter feed that inspired me to make a tweet about it (which surprisingly blew up, lol). In the tweet, I mentioned an idea for a Doctor’s Son and Mountain Girl AU where he gets her pregnant, and the story is just them living a quiet, peaceful life in the mountains. Nothing dramatic, just wholesome vibes.

Since then, I’ve been chatting about it with a friend on Discord, and I even watched this drama called Pachinko. It’s been giving me so much inspiration because it captures a lot of the elements I want to explore, or at least hint at the kind of themes I’m aiming for.

So, this is how it goes, taking, as i’ve said, some things of the drama and adjusted it to be chill and wholesome :D

I’ve been thinking about this idea where I take inspiration from something like the Japanese occupation of Korea, like in Pachinko, but I decided to twist it and make it Marley’s occupation of Paradis instead. (I want to make it clear here that I'm not aiming for a completely faithful representation of this delicate moment in history. Instead, I’m using it as inspiration for a story, much like how many stories draw from historical events.)

In this fic, Grisha is a Marleyan doctor who moved to Paradis for work. He marries his second wife and, eventually, they have Eren. Eren grows up surrounded by his father’s Marleyan teachings and becomes a doctor like Grisha. However, Eren’s training and experience are rooted more in Marley than Paradis, giving him a unique perspective on medicine and life.

Years earlier, while Grisha was researching something in the mountains of Paradis, he met Mikasa’s parents, people who had lived there for generations. Grisha formed a strong connection with them, and their relationship grew over time. Mikasa’s parents, while not directly involved in the events of Marley’s occupation, are well aware of the tensions between the two nations and are cautious but welcoming to Grisha, as he represents a different side of the conflict.

Fast forward to a few years later: Eren, now an experienced doctor in his own right, returns to the mountains of Paradis for a visit. He’s been living in Marley for most of his life, but this time, he’s back to Paradis for some bacteriological research (I think it will be cholera). He's aware of Grisha’s friendship with some villagers there, so he decides to stay with them as long as he researches last.

It’s during this visit that Eren and Mikasa finally cross paths. Mikasa, much younger than Eren, has spent her entire life in the quiet isolation of the mountains. She knows nothing about the outside world. Her world has been shaped by the simplicity of nature and the rhythms of rural life.

Eren, on the other hand, is a product of a world far removed from the peaceful mountains. His life has been filled with the hustle and bustle of Marley, his experiences shaped by his medical career and the tensions between the nations. When he meets Mikasa, he is struck by her innocence and the calm, grounded way she carries herself. He can’t help but wonder what it would be like to live in a world as untouched by conflict as hers.

Of course, they fall for each other. Eren is respectful and curious about Mikasa, while she’s shy, unaccustomed to being around handsome men with such a modern aura. They fall in love, share playful escapades in the forest, and eventually, Mikasa becomes pregnant. True to his character, Eren marries her as a man of respect and that’s all lol.

So, here is an art that I LOVE and kinda illustrate what I want to portray:

Oh! And I have a name for it already: Little Forest.

Any thoughts? :D

#eremika #eremika headcanons #fics rec #little forest #mountain girl and doctors son

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saintatreidess · 16 hours ago

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(MINOR) SPOILERS FOR BOTH NOSFERATU (2024) & THE NOVEL DRACULA AHEAD!

modernity in nosferatu (2024) & dracula

it’s been almost 24 hours since i saw robert eggers’ nosferatu and i’m still in shock by how well crafted this film is. all my expectations for a dracula adaptation have been met. it’s obviously not a faithful adaptation of the novel. but we’ve seen that even adaptations that claim faithfulness end up fumbling what the story is about (cough, cough, bram stoker’s dracula (1992)). so, with that in mind, i think it’s better for a movie to do its own thing as long as it includes the themes at the core of dracula. and this is what nosferatu (2024) does really well.

what i want to talk about here is the topic of modernity in the story. it’s a central theme in the novel. there are a lot of references to late 19th century technological & scientific innovation. the count dracula is wary of modernity. he doesn’t understand it so he almost fears it. there is an opposition between modernity and old/paganism. this opposition can also be interpreted as "west v east".

this is referenced a lot in robert eggers’ nosferatu. when thomas hutter arrives at count orlok’s castle he asks his host about the local population’s superstitions. this angers the count who calls said superstitions idiotic (or something like this, i don’t remember the exact quote). obviously in the movie the main reason orlok goes to the west (germany in the movie, england in the novel) is to get to ellen. but there’s another reason, which is that in the 19th century western world (at least in the cities) pagan beliefs are practically gone. it’s a "modern" world in which people are no longer superstitious. they don’t believe in the supernatural, in vampires.

in his home country, orlok is threatened by pagan beliefs. by moving west, he can claim victims and get away with it because he’s protected by the upholding of modern science and rational thinking, which replaced superstition long ago. in the movie, the germans think that the doings of orlok are the plague. the existence of a blood-thirsty demon is ridiculous to them. this idea is represented by the character of frau harding (aaron taylor-johnson), whose rational mind ends up costing him the loss of his family and his own life.

that being said, in the novel, what ends up causing count dracula’s downfall is his weariness of modernity that i mentioned above. he uses "archaic" means of transportation to escape the hunting team made of van helsing, dr seward, mina & jonathan harker etc. he travels by sail instead of steamboat, carriage instead of steam train, the list goes on. but what allows the count’s foes to defeat him is in fact the belief that modernity/science and superstition are complementary and not opposite. van helsing uses both a scientific and pagan approach to eventually kill the vampire. so, don’t get it twisted, the novel doesn’t try to say that "modernity = good & superstition = bad" or vice versa. rather i think it offers a more nuanced take, suggesting that one doesn’t necessarily have to cancel out the other.

gif credits: junkfoodcinemas

#nosferatu #nosferatu 2024 #dracula #ellen hutter #thomas hutter #bram stoker #robert eggers #mina harker #film #movies #horror #horror movies #cinema #literature #books and reading #books #gothic #gothic literature #19th century

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loojii · 1 day ago

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Hey! It’s me again. I’m the girl who asked to draw your characters….I’m sorry if you’ve already posted this but can I get maybe some basic info about Yina, Prim and Shari? Beautiful characters btw, like you’re now one of my fave artists!

Thank you!!

Every Yina post is tagged with #Yina, every Prim one with #Prim etc! But here are some quick personality descriptions too! (But for other stuff there are the other posts)

Yina a Magicam sport model who works out almost every day to maintain her impressive physique. She is very strong but also very girly. Giggles a lot and is not the smartest cookie. She secretly wants to be seen as girly and cute too, so when the new towel guy at her gym calls her cute she’s head over heals. She’s a bit clingy and can be annoying, but very sweet and would do anything for her friends :) She’s in the same class as Prim and they’re friends!

Prim Very happy go lucky girl who hasn’t lost her child spirit yet. She is a late bloomer so still wears braces. Her fashion sense is horrible, she’s a bit of a klutz, and she talks with a lisp. She’s not ashamed though! She’s friends with a few popular girls, even though they don’t remember her name correctly. She does little errands for them and their homework, but is often forgotten when they go out to get lunch. Riddle convinces her they’re not her friends by offering his friendship instead. After being without friends at school for a bit Yina noticed and started chatting with her. They talk about boys, even though Prims view is much purer then Yinas

Shari only daughter of one of the biggest business partners of the Asims. She is very shy and timid, used to being either alone or having her mother speak for her. She’s home schooled and doesn’t have any friends. Her mother tries her best to make her present as beautiful as can be so they can get marriage proposals. Despite her timid nature she loves dresses and other pretty clothes. They remind her of the princesses of her fairy tale book. One she keeps under her bed because her mother doesn’t want her to read children stories. When her father got her an engagement with the oldest son of the Asim family she was first worried: he loves crowded parties she dislikes loud noises, he has many friends she’s lonely etc. But he showed kindness she wasn’t used to so she now gained her first friend :)

Those were some rambles ✨

#ask #twst oc #Yina #prim #Shari

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kazusys · 3 days ago

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SPOILERS DOWN BELOW FOR FIC ABOVE!

every single time i read one of your works, i am furthermore convinced that you are a GENIUS, no; a PRODIGY.

BECAUSE WHAT???

okay, first, to all the female/any other gendered people who read ‘feminine male reader’ and decided not to read because it’s not your preferred way to read, which i WHOLEHEARTEDLY understand, PLEASE still consider reading this. this is a work of ART, and doesn’t, if i remember correctly, actually refer to you as any pronouns except for excerpts here and there of you and scaramouche addressing your gender. i go by she/her pronouns and i still find this fic to be absolutely GOLDEN.

now, to the lovely spectacular ari…

the best way to describe all your fics would be using the quality/quantity thing, except i'd say they’re both heavily full of hard work put into every single word i read, and in which it is extremely large in counting.

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE the backstory— i’ve said this before numerous times, but i LOVE the way you give the reader their own character and how you write so that it feels like they’re not an npc and actually have some emotions and desires to fulfill!

ALSO, THE STORY WITH THE LAKE & VILLAGE?? and the way you incorporated that story into when scara was running around looking for us? absolute PERFECTION. it gave off the dramatic feelings and built up on the climax— the way you wrote that part is gonna stick with me for a LONG, LONG while.

and the end— scara doubting that you’re dead and the betrayal he feels when he realizes you are in fact deceased, had me thinking that he probably knew deep down that you offed yourself, and is probably going to blame himself as he keeps on living. i mean, he already felt as if he weren’t enough because of his mother and her servants and such— what more that his love left within their own will to leave him because they had nothing to live for on earth?

that’ll really mess someone up, thinking that you weren’t enough because the person you loved with all your heart couldn’t stay to be with you for as long as they lived until they eventually leave inevitably. i truly feel bad for scara :(

i wanna make a pt. 2 to this fic, or req. you to make a pt. 2, because this storyline is actually SO AMAZING. i don’t wanna stress you out though, because writing 10k fics is a lotta hard work and you deserve a long hiatus for all the masterpieces you come up with!!! 💗🙏

OVERALL THIS GETS A SOLID 10/10 (if we’re not going over the limit!) FOR ME BECAUSE THIS FIC IS ABSOLUTELY ICONIC WHEN IT COMES TO ANGST FIGHT ME IF YOU THINK OTHERWISE

(i had to chill on the all caps because i wanted my words to sink in to people :] I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH I COULD EAT IT AND BE FULL FOR A YEAR SISJDHSJSJDJD I’M SO SORRY TUMBLR DIDN’T NOTIFY ME HOW DARE THEY 😭)

love u sm ari ‼️ KEEP BEING AWESOME & BEING YOU!!

The Oddities of Human Nature | Kabukimono

Kabukimono x Feminine Male Reader

Warnings: Wooo, where do we start? Major character death ( Reader ), implied suicide ( It's up in arms, but there are hints in the fic that reader may have drowned themselves in a lake ), self harm implied, sexual assault is loosely referenced ( only one sentence mentions it and I don't go into detail at all as to not trigger anyone ), themes of depression is referenced all throughout this fic, lots of blood is mentioned towards the end and I go into depth ( or try to ) in describing death so gore warning, the timeline is all fucked up but for the sake of the fic making sense, this takes place before Wanderer's three betrayals, reader uses they/him pronouns, finally, long story ( around 10k words ) under the cut. With all that said, happy reading!

A/N: This was a big hill for me to cross, but I'm glad I managed to do it! I juggled a lot of elements that I'm not familiar with so I'm sorry if this is all over the place. That aside, I found that a lot of the songs I listened while I was writing matched this fic pretty well! ( ..I also realized out that I maaaayyy have spilled a a little bit of myself and my personal struggles into Y/n, but don't read into that too much, okay? Okay. ) This fic is on the darker side of what I normally write, but I hope all who peep will enjoy themselves! :D ...Now I'ma go finish this finals project I got before I fuck up my grade-

Tagging: @nursedflowers / @kazusys, and @saioratral

Humans are odd creatures. They do things that may otherwise inconvenience them for absolutely no reason.

They could have a broken leg, but will still find the time to entertain friends by going out. They could be holed up in their room doing important work, but will still stop and greet their beloved when they arrive home. They could stumble upon a body in a lake and still fish it out and attempt to resuscitate it. It's strange, but what's even stranger are those humans. You know, the ones who would do things like that for a complete stranger without batting an eye.

"Are you alright?" A soft chirp echoed—one like a feather that surprisingly didn't get swept away by the harsh winds.

It was nothing like her voice.

Upon looking up, indigo hues fill with intricate floral patterns weaved delicately in a circle. Its varying colors twist and intertwine, filling the circle and providing shade and leaving those who fall under it to marvel at its beauty—which didn't soil or gray despite the downpour of rain that hit it.

That said, having been completely consumed in the art of the umbrella, it took another soft call to snap out of the trance..only to be sucked right back into it upon gazing up.

"I noticed that you have been sitting in the rain for quite some time now. That isn't healthy, you know?" Their voice matched their features; smooth like a porcelain doll, but not nearly as tough as one; gentle, just like the silk that covered their body.

"Do you have nowhere to go?" Upon hearing the question, the boy’s lips—which were formerly tucked into a neat line—dipped. It was unnoticeable against his pale skin, but the tender eyes that stared down at him seemed to be sharp like a hawks' and noticed it right away.

"I suppose that means yes."

Their hand reached out to him after saying that and he found himself leaning away instinctively, making him susceptible to the sky's sorrow which drowned his already slick hair in even more chilling rain.

He's immediately saved again, and this time, he was able to watch his savior in action as they tilt their hand, tilting their gorgeous artwork forward enough to completely shield him again albeit at the cost of their own protection.

The rain took pleasure in dousing their hair, deepening it's color a little from the sheer amount it intakes. Ultimately, it's unable to take all of it and falls down on all sides, dripping down their skin, their eyelashes, nose, and lips, to where all the water meets at a point at their chin and drops from it to the wet soil at their feet like a leaky faucet.

Nevertheless, he watched a smile stretch across their face. A sight that he had begun to believe could only look so beautiful on a wandering snow spirit.

"Please, young sir. Come with me. I have a place that could shield the both of us from the rain for the night.."

And in a trance, he—though tentatively—reaches forward and puts his hand in theirs. The warmth that touched him in that moment immediately shattered the illusion that hypnotized him and he blinks upon finding himself being tugged along by the hand. It brought on a perplexed swirl in the abyss he called a stomach and spurred him to ask the golden question, "Why are you doing this?"

And that question earned him another golden smile, unfortunately only for a quick second when they glanced back at him. It was never answered, and despite that, it didn't bother him.

Nothing did in that moment as the only thing he could focus on was the heat that spread throughout his hand which radiated from their palm.

Humans are odd creatures. They go against the purposes given to them at birth for the simplest reasons.

"You're a man?" Was the question that filled the silence, his words filled with his almost accusing tone at the face of their casual confession.

You didn't mind, putting on the smile of a saint as tanzanite hues scrutinize and judge you as if you were some complex painting in a museum.

"Yes, I am," You answered simply, and he once again, eyes you up and down with eyes full of disbelief. As if you had just revealed that you had a second head or something. You weren't offended. Compared to the other stares you've been given in the past, his seemed rather merciful.

"Why do you dress like that if you're a boy?" He asks after a while; another rather offensive question that he asks with utmost innocence.

"Because it makes me feel nice," You reply simply, and to that, your new friend looked utterly perplexed. As if you had just given him intricate, complex instructions on how to defeat the shogunate. From that reaction, you assume he was probably raised in a rather conformist household.

That said, his genuine confusion felt like a breath of cool air hitting your face after venturing days in a scorching desert, as sad as that is to admit.

"Where are your weapons? Your armor? Your mannerisms and speech let me know you come from a noble home, so where are your servants and concubine? What do you do for work?" He shot out questions as if he only had a few grains of sand left in his hourglass. It was like he feared that if he didn't ask all his questions now—and all at once—he'd never get an answer to them. Not that you'd be so cruel as to leave your curious new acquaintance so bewildered.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't have any such means of protection," You start off slowly, but as your eyes trail down at the two needles in your slender hands—needles which had thin threads of silk woven around the points of them—you found yourself chuckling to yourself, "Though if you'd ask my father, he'd tell you that my reason for that is because I lack the determination and courage to tread the path of a proper warrior — He was a high-ranking samurai for the majority of my youth, you see.."

"As for the servants and..consorts…they're really not my thing. I find bossing someone around and using people to flaunt my own status and wealth to be rather brutish. Though, I will admit I'm quite familiar with the practices. Heh, I was practically raised by my fathers' wives and female servants growing up. Maybe that's why.."

You pause, and in the end, you shake your thought away instead of voicing the rest of it aloud. It wasn't important to the conversation at hand anyways.

"Digressing from that, my ways of making money aren't as noble as my family's either. In fact, one would say it's quite pitiful in comparison; once a week, I go out into the nearby town and I sell my creations. Stuffed animals, knitted clothing, excess crops, and the like. I don't make all the money in the world, but I make more than enough to get by as you can see," And you flick your wrist absentmindedly at one of the corners of your room, mindlessly gesturing at whatever filled the space to better prove your point.

Your guest had been struck silent once again. It seemed he was still rather muddled. You understand it. Like many you've encountered, you were probably an enigma to him, one willing to go against all that has been taught and practiced for centuries just because of simple ideations and pleasures that someone such as yourself should never enjoy in the first place.

..Or so you thought. As you gazed up at your guest, his face made you unsure of what he was truly thinking at that moment. It was something you hadn't seen before—unlike those judge-filled, disgusted, and even pitiful gazes you had been given by many in the past. It sparked your curiosity, causing you to ask him the golden question that had laid dormant at the back of your mind.

"Does any of this.. Do I bother you?"

His response came delayed, but you found his answer that came more valuable than actual gold. More relieving than any cool breeze or sweet treat. More rewarding than any war won or title granted. More comforting than any of the stormy nights that distracted you from your whirlwind of thoughts.

And, oddly enough, such a response was quite simple. Only three words, in fact.

"Not at all."

Humans are odd creatures, but they can be patient and forgiving at times. Plus, being the warm-blooded creatures that are allows them the blessing of a naturally-warm, comfortable body.

"Crap," The cursed utterance left the lips of a mouth who's felt nothing but the bitter tang of frustration coat its tongue all afternoon. The uncivilized profanity did nothing to soothe the taste in his mouth nor did it smoothen out the crinkles made by his furrowed brows. It didn't even relieve the tremble of anger in his blood-pricked hands or the aggression of his movements as his fingertips worked a string of tangles with the needles he was holding.

Knitting is awful. How do people find this relaxing? Ever since he's started, he's felt nothing but vexation, pain, and embarrassment! Not only that, but he's made zero progress after so long that he's practically forgotten what he was supposed to be making in the first place! He hates—no, despises this with his entire being!

"Having a bit of trouble?" He heard you ask, and somehow, half of his stress fell away like a slab of rock on the side of a mountain just from hearing your voice. He doesn't get why you have such powers over him seeming as you're a complete stranger. ..Was your voice charmed by some kind of magic perhaps? Were you possibly a god in disguise?

Whatever the reason was, he found himself praying that you never stop talking if he were to ever find out.

"Here, let me show you a trick," Your breath was fanning his ear before he knew it and your skin was warming his shortly afterwards. He froze in place, still and quiet unlike the noisy rainwater he can hear descending from the skies outside—the rain that has kept him trapped here for literal days now.

He's not complaining.

It was only when your palms found place against the back of his hands that his body relaxed. Your hands were soft unlike the many generals and the blacksmiths he had met before his forced abandonment of his previous life. It felt nice. As if flower petals were cradling his hands.

You smelt just as good as a flower too. He had never been this close to you before so he hadn't noticed it, but now that his back is to you like this..it was as if he was laying in a flowerbed.

Do men always smell this good? He doubts it. Most likely, this scent was completely unique. A fragrance only you could naturally produce. Archons does he wish—

"—and that's how you do it," He blinks, snapping back to reality where he stares down at the cloth now weaved together with expert precision to form a bunny's ear.

You had helped him make a breakthrough at last..and he had been too busy daydreaming about how it would feel to be hugged by you to watch and learn how you even did it.

..But he doesn't feel regret looming when the realization comes nor does his annoyance return. Or maybe it has and it just hasn't set in yet. He can't tell right now, not when he's feeling as if he had just been warmed by the sun after being frozen for a millennia.

"Alright, now you try," He hears your words, but they don't process as fast as your hands leaving him does. Nothing really processes quicker than that. Not his frown. Not his disappointment. Not anything.

But not processing something doesn't make it unclear to others. Upon seeing his downcast expression, your brows quirk up in confusion.

"Is there something on your mind, my new friend?" You inquired, but your question is never answered. Instead, you watch as his saddened eyes turn owlish and his head spins in the opposite direction of you as he mutters something under his breath.

"I'm sorry, but can you repeat that?" You asked softly, leaning closer in order to hear him better.

"Can you..show me how to do that again. Please.." He repeated, and in doing so earned the harmonious gift that was your chuckle and the warmth of your hands on him once again.

"Sure. So what you do is.."

Humans are odd creatures. They'd sacrifice countless hours of their already short life, go to ridiculous lengths doing things, and even put aside their fragile well being to do things that are completely irrelevant just because of their belief that what they do will make someone happy.

"I'm back!" The sweet chirp of your new housemate—which you and the villagers of the neighboring town have begun to call Kabukimono— echoed through the small abode of your now shared home after not having the pleasure to in about three days or so.

After moving in a week prior, Kabukimono had been adamant on pulling his own weight to prove that he was worth keeping around despite you having the compassion to allow him to be a freeloader otherwise. That said, after your own clumsiness in the field left you with a sprained ankle, your kind new friend had offered to go out and sell all of this week’s goods on your behalf and how could you refuse such an offer when he looked so happy and eager to help out little ol' you?

Well, the real answer to that was that he gave you no choice in the matter, but you digress.

"I'm in here," He heard you call from the kitchen and he immediately set off in that direction, just barely remembering to slip off his shoes at the door from how eager he was to see you.

If it wasn't obvious already, it had taken some time—both the journey to and from the village and the actual process of conversing with people and getting them to buy everything—but he believes he did pretty good. At the very least, everything was sold. He even managed to make enough to buy you something with some of the excess money!

"Y/n! I got—! ..Huh?" His words died as quickly as his pace as he stilled to a full halt at the entryway. His eyes grew wide bit by bit as he took everything in.

Banners of silk and thread had been strung along the walls, flashing their abstract patterns of blue and purple at anyone who'd spare a glance. Candles—which are usually set alight atop your nightstand and bookshelf in our room—now clumped and coddled on the table like one big sun with the varying foods surrounding them posing as the stars that helped light up the wooden sky they sat on.

But such a beautiful display was only given a moment's glance as Kabukimono seemed more interested in what you thought was a less-than-average sight; yourself.

Nevertheless, the adoration you felt seeing the sparkle of surprise in his eyes—even if for only a second or so—made you crack a smile as you recited the line you had gone over just about a million times during the time you spent waiting for him to arrive.

"Welcome home, Kabukimono."

He was at a loss for words and not for the reason you wanted him to be. With the intent of easing his perturbed shock, you walked towards him, steady and slow, but all that proved to do was snap him out of the spell your heavy eyebags and dreary, drooping eyes had put him under.

"What is all of this? And more importantly, why are you standing? You're not supposed to be putting pressure on that ankle!" He quickly met you the rest of the way, and to your dismay, he had beat you to the comforting, his hands shooting out to grip you by the hips and ease your bandaged leg of your body's weight.

Ignoring his other questions, you began explaining, telling him, "It's a celebration feast. You told me yourself that you, along with not having a name, you haven’t had a home to call yours yet. I thought it would be good to make an occasion out of you finding one at last."

Kabukimono felt bad to admit this even in his own head, but your words were going in one ear and out the other. Yes, he had asked, but you weren't giving him answers to the other questions he simply found more important at the moment, and because of that, it caused his face to look rather tense. Certainly not cheery like you had hoped.

It seems you have made a mistake. It wasn't a surprise, it was you after all, but the thought still hurt considering how much time it took preparing for this moment.

And so, in an attempt to lighten your thoughts and the overall mood, you ask him, "Aren't you happy?"

And unfortunately, your dear housemate didn't answer in the way you had wished he would, instead replying with, "Why would I? You look like you're about to drop dead!"

"I'm fine," You said; a futile attempt of reassurance when you probably looked like a Sumerian Akademiya student who just finished pulling an all-nighter to write a one-hundred page research paper.

"As if!" Kabukimono said. That's when he slung your arm over his shoulder, forcing your bodyweight onto him without your permission, and began trudging you along in the direction of your room.

"What're you doing—" "Taking you to your room so you can lie down like you probably haven't been doing!"

"Seriously, you should take better care of yourself! Don't tell me this is normal for you.. If it is, I won't be able to let you out of my sight from now on!"

In the end, both the feast and Kabukimono's gift for you had been forgotten. Even though you ended up enjoying it later, your sadness about the initial surprise being ruined was hard to get over even with the delight of a new hairpin being added to your collection..

Humans are odd creatures. Their inability to do much makes them become overawed by the simplest things. Their eyes shine just from seeing a coin flipped in an unorthodox way and they clap and gasp watching the stars twinkle overhead. It’s so nice to see stupid.

“You know how to dance?” The excitable question left your usually composed lips as you stared at Kabukimono with stars in your eyes.

“Well...I used to perform sword dances so I suppose yes,” He clarifies, arms crossed as he stared off at the wall to his left with full interest. His azure eyes darkened as if someone had pulled wool over them only to light up like a room to an oil lamp at the question that followed his response.

“Can you show me?” The way you asked him reminded him of a little kid asking their mother to buy them a toy; full of innocent expectancy. It made his lips thin into a line just hearing it.

It had been ages since he’s danced, and in the past, there weren’t many who gawked at or praised him for his moves. Not his mother. Not any of her servants or soldiers. Certainly not her familiar. At the time, he hadn’t cared about their reactions much at all, seeming as the purpose of his dancing wasn’t for frivolous entertainment, but you, however, were different. You weren’t his mother who had abandoned him. You weren’t the servants or soldiers who never spoke to him. You aren’t his mother’s glaring familiar. You’re you, and the thought of seeing such a lackluster expression painted on your face puts a bad taste in his mouth. It makes him gnaw at his bottom lip from the feeling of a wave rocking unsteadily in his stomach cavity. It made him feel..anxious.

“Ah..” His mouth felt like chalk—uncomfortably dry—as he spoke and his eyes couldn’t remove themselves from the walls he was surely burning holes into with his nervous glare as he tried to find something—anything—to refute you. He, at last, does and sputters it out in an uneven tone, “But..you aren’t going into battle though.”

You hum in acknowledgement, and for a moment, he thought he could successfully negate you from the topic, but then your lips move to say, “Sword dances are to summon strength, right? Though they’re performed for battles, war isn’t the only thing that requires strength. Farming, cooking.. Even getting out of bed in the mornings needs some strength to complete. When put in that way, don’t you think I’m in need of just as much strength as one of the Shogunate’s men?”

“We- Well, a typical sword dance requires a sword and a fan and we don’t have anything like that lying around the house,” He shoots out. His brows knitting at the odd feeling of his skin damp with moisture he wasn’t aware he could produce before now.

“I do have a fan,” You retort, “It’s mainly preserved for hot weather, but it'd be perfect for this occasion! And for the sword..ah! Would a wooden stilt suffice? It’s a little longer than the typical sword, but if I were to shave it down a bit..”

“I..” He looks at you, face uncharacteristically spooked as he repeats himself, sounding like a broken record at this point, “I.. I..” but you don’t pay it much mind as your excitement gets the better of you and you chalk up his reaction as pre-performance jitters before running to find the items needed, leaving Kabukimono no choice but to watch helplessly like some baby kitten.

In the matter of an hour, he was outside. His body donning one of your many creations while holding a summer fan and wooden stick that didn’t come close to matching anything he was wearing. You—smile etched on your face despite feeling as though you were being stabbed all over—sat a little aways from him on the white cushions that had completely covered the green grass, patiently yet eagerly awaiting for the invisible curtains to rise and for his feet to begin to move.

Despite the biting cold, his hands were slick with sweat, forcing him to grip the wood and fan with inhumane force as to not drop it. His breath came out thick and labored, freezing over immediately upon leaving his lips and ultimately coming out as puffy, white clouds. His only saving grace here was that his feet were firmly planted into the dirt circle you paved out just for his little show. It was even rid of the transparent icy layer; an astonishing feat to be done in so little time.

Even from where he stood, he could see the reddening of your face and hands. The slight tremble of your limbs.. You were freezing to death, that much was certain, but you didn’t care. That’s just how adamant you were to see him perform.

And so, feeling as though he had no other choice, he began. His feet started to glide, starting slow as did his arms—languid and mesmerizing—before it began to pick up just a little whenever he’d twirl or spin or hop. He was sure his movements were sloppy, that his improvision to the original dance he was taught shone through like a stain to white cloth..but as he snuck a glance your way, he found himself uncaring.

..Because the way you looked at him was as if you were gazing up at a god who had just saved your life; amazement brightened your hues like comets in the sky as you followed his every move, utterly enraptured by him. He had managed to evoke that from you. Only him.

Ironically, he had found he himself charmed by your expression and microexpressions. Completely hypnotized as he slid and flowed around the small circle, his clothing–the clothing you had gifted to him—fluttering like angel wings which only further added to the beauty of each swing he took with the stick.

But alas, as the dance went on, Kabukimono found himself going into autopilot. Simply going about the motions as he took every chance possibly to glance your way, his eyes like a distant memory—a past life—whenever they locked with yours..

Humans are odd creatures. Deceptive by nature too. Without a perceptive gaze and trained ears to catch onto their lies, they could make you believe anything as the truth.

"Hey, Kabukimono, could you pass me the carrots I cut up over there?" You asked, using your head to gesture over in the direction of where you had left the cut carrots on the low table. Kabukimono jumped to your request; crossing the kitchen, picking up the bowl, and walking back over to where you sat comfortably at the kotatsu in record time.

He hands it to you, and with a flick of your wrists, the orange delicacies had joined the rest of the vegetables in the boiling pot on the table. Kabukimono sits back on his knees as you do this, taking comfort in propping his elbow up on the wooden surface before laying his head on his fist as he watches the slow travel of white steam erupt from the pot into the air. His eyes like staring on like a dormant beast at the boiling vegetables crackling as he sighs dreamily at the smell of heaven they produce.

He didn't need to eat. He had told you that at some point in time along with other things, and yet, you had somehow trained him to yearn for food regardless—to salivate when he saw a tasty-looking dish and even grow excited at the thought of what to cook for dinner. It was such a mundane thing that was once so foreign to him. Such a human pleasure and yet he so eagerly partook in it regardless. All because of you. All for you.

Another thing he does because of you now is small talk. Before, if there were silence between him and another person he'd embrace it without a second thought and wouldn't leave that comfort unless forced to—and even then, only a select few would actually elicit a response from him. Nowadays though, it seems he grows quite restless whenever words aren't filling the air. Though, this applied more so with you than anyone else.

"How did it go in town?" He asked, "You were selling those new cat-shaped stuffed toys you worked yourself ragged making..so? Did anybody like them?"

To such a simple question, your reaction was bewildering. The way your grip tightened on the ladle, the narrowing of your eyes and brows, the tut of your lip.. It all gave a bad vibe.

And so he frowned and asked, "Did they not like them after all? ..Or did something—"

"It's nothing," And you presented him a closed-eyed smile, both your expression and your grip on the ladle relaxing as you went on to further say, "I just..thought about this girl I met at the villager. I assume she was an orphan from her attire and the way she followed me around without a care.. Anyways, she ended up tripping and hurting her knee pretty badly so I gave her one of the cat plushies, free of charge.”

"Anyways, the food is ready so let's drop this topic. After all, we don't want it to get cold," The topic changed as suddenly as it came. Odd, seeming as how you're usually rambling all afternoon and evening about your travel to the village, sparing absolutely no detail about even the tiniest things.

The thought lingered for a time, but as he watched you stuff your mouth and saw your eyes shine joyously at the wonderful flavor that coated your tongue as you began to ramble about your relief about the dish turning out good despite this being your first time trying out the recipe, that thought eventually fluttered away with the wind that came through the crack in your sliding doors that allowed more of the evening oranges and yellows to seep into your home.

You were probably just really hungry and eager to eat, he thought as he finally took a bite of the potato he had picked up with his chopsticks, his eyes closing as he hummed out in delight at the taste.

Unbeknownst to him, your face dropped as soon as his eyes closed, your eyes uncharacteristically fogged and dull, as if it were displaying the thick fog that shrouded your mind, your thoughts, your heart. It was a fog that Kabukimono never caught on to, blissfully unaware of what stained your mind, body, and soul.

Humans are odd creatures. Their outside appearance never matches how they feel or the thoughts that poison their mind. They never voice those thoughts either, making it impossible to guess what’s truly going on with them. There are some who’d bless you with a morsel of their inner world—give you a crumb of the turmoil that constantly leaks in their head—making you feel as though you’ve truly come to understand them when in reality, you haven’t even scratched the surface.

It was the middle of the night. The once navy blue sky that had overcasted the world when the sun first fell was now dark due to even the stars going into hiding to slumber, leaving the moon as the only beacon of light to shed away the shadows. It was pitch black everywhere you turned and cicadas buzzed loudly outside, likely complaining about the sweltering heat of the summer, making it impossible to even hear yourself think. It was like some mundane hell.

So why were you out here?

It happened by chance. He had heard some odd noises and went to investigate it. Not expecting to see a silhouette walking out of the door. Thinking it was some thief, he followed after the person, and as the sounds of the cicadas grew distant and an earthy smell invaded his nostrils, the silhouette became less and less obscure. Becoming as clear as day by the time the person had reached their destination.

That person was you.

“..What is this place?” The question came tumbling out before he could stop himself, his words loudly piercing the quiet of the night. It alerts you of his presence at long last and has your head spinning in his direction.

“Oh.. It’s just you, Kabukimono’.. Heh, you scared me,” You said. Your head turns forward once again as you force your shoulders to relax, allowing the basket on your back to slide down your arms and to the ground. As you slowly set yourself atop the gentle grass, Kabukimono takes a step forward. Then another, and another, until he’s right beside you, who was digging for the items in the basket.

After a moment of silence allows you to, at last, gather everything needed out of the basket, Kabukimono decides to ask his question once again..or he planned to. As he opens his mouth to let his words free, your voice breaks the silence.

“There used to be a small village here,” You told him, your hands beginning to twist two long stocks together, “If you go the opposite way of the path we usually tread, you can still find the remnants of what it used to be.”

“The village's main source used to be this lake. Everyone relied on it for everything. To drink, to cook, to bathe.. Even some of the oddest ways of entertainment came from here..” You laughed, but it was drier than any desert depicted in the novels in your room. It felt wrong to hear—kinda like hearing a baby’s cry come from a grown man—and it felt almost unnerving to have it come from someone like you, who he’s come to associate with the sun itself.

But you were probably really tired. Looking at you, the deep bags that hang your eyelids down indicates you probably haven’t gotten much sleep lately which makes sense seeming as you’ve been running around and, as you told him, ‘preparing’ for something really important.

He wonders what it is you’re preparing for. Whenever he’d ask, he’d never get an answer..

“This lake, though bound by the earth to this one place, saved that village so many times that the townsfolk began to believe that some powerful being was secretly living in the depths of it and protecting them. They began to idolize it, nurture and take care of it, and spoke about it as if this little lake was some otherworldly deity which created tall tales and legends that they’d go on to tell their children…believe it or not, I once took part in such absurdity.”

“So..what happened to the village?” Kabukimono hesitates to ask. After all, the obvious context clues pointed him in a tragic direction, but he couldn’t resist his own curiosity in the end. Not when the look in your eyes—that were lit by the lantern of the water’s ripples—reflected nothing but pure sorrow.

At his question, you took a glance his way. As you broke away from the lake that practically glowed in the moonlight, your eyes were stripped of the illuminating gleam of the waves and casted into the darkness of the night. In fact, if it weren’t for the lake, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see your face at all.

Part of him wished that had happened. If it did, he wouldn’t have been forced to stare into the abyss that had overtook your hues for those small handful of seconds.

“The lake failed them,” You finally spoke shortly after returning your gaze to the water, “A fire of unknown origins enveloped it in the dead of night. It wiped out half the village and forced the other half to flee for safety..some of which came to me, who lived on the outskirts of town.”

“No one knew how it started. After all, fire wasn’t anywhere close to being the most accessible resource they had. It was a luxury, even. It also never spread past the village and by sunrise, it ceased to exist altogether. The oddity of the situation made the survivors believe that it was some punishment from their lake deity,” As you went on, you had been weaving the strands until one end had connected to the other in a circle—though your sloppy craftsmanship caused it to look more like an oval in your opinion.

As eyesore of a sight it was, you persisted. Your hands reach for the clipped flowers beside you, "That thought clouded their minds and the thought of disappointing their all-forgiving god drove them mad,” Kabukimono watched as you spoke, sticking flowers in one by one and twisting it into the circle, making the dank green pop with each pristine white you carefully placed around it.

“Convinced that it was their fault everything was lost, the surviving villagers went about the rest of their days repenting by praying to the lake from sun up to sun down...until the waters rose and they disappeared while being enveloped by the deity's embrace."

The story seemed like something straight out of a fairytale. Nonsensical like a myth that he usually wouldn't believe...but the same could be said about his very existence. With that in mind, who is he to be so narrow-minded? He decided to keep his thoughts to himself, locking them tight behind his lips as you continued.

"The lake failed them. It made a fatal mistake. Saved not one villager from that fire, yet nothing changed. Not their love nor their devotion..if anything it only made them see this lake in an even more divine light...so why didn't the same happen for me?"

The tail end of your sentence made him perk up with unease and as his brows knitted together, Kabukimono opens his mouth as he worriedly asked—or rather, attempted to ask, “What do you mean—” but you shifted the topic faster than he could get the full sentence out.

“ Do you remember the tales I would tell you about my childhood—my brother specifically? ..I ran into him some time ago while I was out selling in the village.”

“Whether they wanted to seize from me the goods I was selling that day—or perhaps mistook me for a woman and wanted to have their fun with me as some men have in the past—they began harassing me quite aggressively,” You started, “They bothered me for quite awhile and grew progressively violent the more I tried to politely get them to leave me be—one of them even snatched me up by the wrist. That’s when he intervened.”

“He didn’t recognize me, not that I’d expect him to. After all, I’ve changed a lot since we were kids..and it seems the same went for him as well,” After placing all the whites of innocence, you went on to grab your smaller, yellow sundrops, your hands meticulously working them in between the white flowers as you continued talking in a cheerful tone.

“Though it’s only been a decade or so since I’d last seen or spoken to him, he’s already been through so much. He told me himself, you see, that he had just returned from the war and was passing through villages trying to find a suitable gift.. Can you guess for what?”

“I don’t know..maybe your parents?” Kabukimono guessed; the wrong answer. You didn’t give him another chance to theorize.

“It was for his wife and daughter,” You corrected, and if once wasn’t enough, you repeat yourself, “He was returning home to his wife and four year old daughter and wanted to get them something special.”

Gaining the courage once again, Kabukimono attempted to question the point of this conversation in the first place by asking, “What’s wrong with that?” He grew hopeful at first when you allowed him to get his words out. Maybe, at last, he could get his questions answered, he thought.

He thought wrong.

“He’s really tall now, you know? —I mean, he was always taller than me, but now he’s like a tree! When we spoke face to face, I had to crane my neck all the way back to look up at him,” His question is, once again, ignored as if he never asked it. He began to frown, not liking the thought of you possibly ignoring him, but that crease in his skin quickly grew less prominent when he caught a glimpse of your joyful smile.

“He’s also got big muscles and a handsome smile,” You add, “That paired with his headstrong, chivalric nature..I’m not surprised that he’s made a name for himself and started a family in such a short time,” Your voice then drops to a murmur as you turn you creation left then right, inspecting it as said, “In only a small handful of years, he’s achieved someone’s dream and so much more.. He’s managed to exceed even the impossible and make everyone proud..he’s truly amazing..”

You grasp at pink petals—deteriorated by the chilling weather—as you fit them as you see fit. Filling in each space like a piece of a puzzle.

“That encounter made me think back to the lake. It made me realize how similar we are. We’re both fragile and delicate and were surrounded by people who’d still expect us to give away our bones despite already relinquishing our flesh and blood…so what went wrong with me?”

“Wh.. What?” He stammered. You lift your handiwork into the air, presenting it to the moon for judgement before you finally repeat yourself..

“What went wrong? I made mistakes just like the lake, so why wasn’t I given the benefit of the doubt? Why did my family–my father–abandon me?”

Abandon. That word stuck to him like a burn to his skin and it felt as if he had just opened his eyes for the first time in a century. It made him realize all the little things at last; how tense the air was, how dim your eyes were, how often your brows twitched, how your eyes seemed like glass balls, how forced your smile seemed.. The illusion he had absorbed himself shattered in that instant, allowing reality to set in like a heavy weight. The person who sat beside him, the one who he’s come to view as the sun that brightened up his day, had looked so different in that moment that he could mistake them for an entirely different person. Did they always look like that? If so, for how long? How long has his sun been this dim? And why didn’t he notice it sooner?

“I’m sorry, that was cruel of me to ask you that,” You profess in a raspy whisper before turning to him, plopping the finished product—a tri-colored flower crown—atop his head as you mutter, “There’s no way you can answer that.. It was my mistake..”

Kabukimono blinks, his eyes looking up as he tries to peer at the crown to no avail. It was like watching a kitten play with a toy; adorable. Kabukimono didn’t catch it, but upon seeing such a cute sight, you bit down on your bottom lip as your eyes narrowed—damn nea glaring—his way. Luckily, you catch yourself before he notices, trying to laugh it off as you look over at the lake once more. Though your laugh was even drier than the previous one that left your lips and came tumbling out of your mouth like gravel.

“You know, you remind me so much of my brother,” You said, “You have so much potential to live whatever life you want, to make everyone happy and still keep yourself intact..I almost envy you.”

Kabukimono—hands delicately tracing the rim of the flower crown on his head—grimaced at your comment. Envy. Such a negative feeling to harbor towards him and for no reason at all. After all, he’s nothing special. If he was, surely she wouldn’t have discarded him and left him to rot alone. Alas, before he can tell you that, you started rambling again.

“I used to make mistakes all the time when I was younger. Especially with swords,” You told him, though it looked more like you were talking to the lake at your knees by the way you were so intently gazing at it, “I just couldn’t get the hang of it. That applied to a lot of things my father tried to teach me… Heh, it makes sense why he gave up on trying after my brother was born.”

“Wh- What are you saying..?” Kabukimono asked. It came out as a hoarse whisper that was easily carried away by the warm winds and far away from your ears. Hence why you continued instead of answering, surely.

“You asked me once about the story behind how my obsession for knitting came about.. Why I enjoy it so much.. Well, the reason I never told you was because the truth is quite silly in hindsight; it was to apologize to my father.”

“I felt sorry for him. After all, his oldest son—who was supposed to carry on and lift a weight off his shoulders–was completely hopeless in every way. I truly did feel bad..and so I thought the least I could do was ease his mind—to reassure him that his useless son could do something right.”

“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that–” “After keenly watching my mother sew clothes and observing the female servants make clothing they could otherwise not afford, I was able to do something out of these impractical hands..” You held your hands up and kabukimono winces at the sight. They look like the aftermath of an intense fight, scars—some new, some old—littered your skin, some even stained it with the ugly dark crust that forms when the skin begins to heal. Did they always look that way? “Would you like to know what I made?”

“I– I’m not—” “I made a fox. A tiny little fox attached to a string,” You said, “I thought it would be cute if he would tie it around the hilt of his sword and carry it around — similar to how one would a good luck charm. I was so excited when I finally finished and ran straight to my father's dojo on the far edge of our home to show it to him.”

“Y/n–” “At the sight of my creation, my father frowned so deeply I thought his face would become permanently creased by it. ‘Is this what you waste your idle time doing?’ he asked me before cutting my little fox to shreds. ‘No wonder you’ve become such a disappointment! You sit around knitting animals instead of dedicating yourself to training!’ he went on to say.”

“He went to grumbling under his breath after that. He kept his voice low, but I still heard what he said.. Wanna guess? He said—”

“Y/n, stop!” The sound of shuffling of him as he stumbles to his feet is loud—though small in comparison to the boom of his scream. You pause, surprised albeit you barely show it—or rather, you’re barely able to force yourself to react—only being able to slowly blink his way in the end as you stare up at your darling housemate, who’s pretty eyes had welled up with tears.

Stop..please..” He pleaded. A sniffle pushing him past the line of embarrassment, causing him to hide his face from you, “I- I beg of you.. Don’t say another word..not if you plan to degrade yourself like this!”

“..Kabukimono, don’t..—” He hears you call from the other side of the barrier he created between the two of you, but he’s finally quicker, interrupting you for the first time tonight.

“Your family abandoned you, but that helped you find your way to me,” He choked, “They didn’t see your worth for what it truly was..but that allowed me to! Who cares what they think of you? How they perceive you? They aren’t in your life anymore, I am! So stop talking down on yourself like they are!” With every word that leaves his lips—that seep through the unseen slits between his fingers—Kabukimono seems to crack more and more until he falls apart, collapsing to the ground in a fit of sobs which causes the flower crown to fall ungracefully off his head.

“I- I’m in your life now, and I don’t care what you’re good or bad at! I don’t have any expectations for you to meet! It doesn’t matter if you don’t meet society’s standards! I don’t care about any of that. I just want to stay by your side! Isn’t that enough? Aren’t I enough?”

“Kabukimono..” You call. A moment of silence passes and a chime of bells in the form of your choked sobs fill his ears as you snivel, “No.. No, no— I- I'm sorry. Don’t cry, please don’t cry..”

He suddenly feels the warmth of your arms surrounding his kneeled being and he finds himself crying harder to the point every sorrowful yell and sniffle rattled his entire body. You had wrapped your arms around him in an attempt to comfort him, but it was rather pitiful and futile, seeming as you were sobbing yourself, repeating, “Sorry.. I’m so sorry..” over and over like it was your matra.

You two stayed like that; sobbing amongst the serene sound of the water until it drowned you two out altogether. After some time, your loud croaks had been reduced to weak whimpering—though if the reason for that was because your voice grew too hoarse to form proper words or another reason was unclear.

Neither of you cared, or at least, Kabukimono didn’t. All that he cared about was the feeling of being tangled in your arms and the sound of your heartbeat singing in his ear—which he had pressed against your chest.

“Promise me,” He whispered, his voice rasp, “Promise me that you’ll be honest with me from now on. A- And promise me not to degrade yourself anymore..that you won’t think about the past..all of it. I want you to promise me that you’ll move on..with me,” He clutched at your kimono, crumpling the flowers on it with his grip as he awaited your response with bated breath.

And when you finally did—when you finally mumbled your response and in the exact way he wanted you to—he felt as though the sun had finally come out again, better and brighter than before..

“I promise.”

Humans are odd creatures. They’re treacherous liars by nature who spew falsehoods for the sake of their own twisted amusement, uncaring of those affected by their games.

“There was once a small village here. If you go the opposite way of the path we usually tread, you can still find the remnants of what it used to be.”

It’s been two weeks since you left for the village to sell goods. You still hadn’t returned.

It’d usually take no more than a few days for you to sell everything and come home, so after said days had passed and you were nowhere to be seen, he grew worried and—in the end—went to the village in search of you.

..But you weren’t there either. In fact, from what he gathered from asking around, you had left the village days ago.

“The village's main source used to be this lake. Everyone relied on it for everything. To drink, to cook, to bathe.. Even some of the oddest ways of entertainment came from here..”

You weren’t here at the village, but you weren’t home either..so where had you gone? The question sunk into him, weighing him down like an anchor and causing his stomach cavity to drop. A feeling of dread set over him as he came upon the unsettling realization; you were missing.

Where had you gone? What happened when you left the village a few days ago? Had you been kidnapped? Grown more frantic with each thought that popped into his head, Kabukimono ran around, asking every villager he came across about you until he finally gained a morsel of information—a speckle of hope—when a man mentioned seeing someone that fit your description walk towards the entrance of the village with an empty, woven basket as big as themselves hanging on their back.

And without much thought, he took off in that very direction, heeding the man no mind any longer despite his warnings about the impending storm that was soon to consume the area.

Kabukimono remained unfazed when the path beneath his feet began to turn dark and slippery, when the graying sky finally shed its tears, when those tears dampened his clothing, not even when he nearly fell into a puddle. All that he could focus on was the possible places you would have gone and why the place you chose wasn’t home where he was.

“So..what happened to the village?”

“The lake failed them.”

“Y/n! Where are you? Can you hear me?” After a while of running with no destination in mind, Kabukimono found it best to call out to you in hopes you’d make your way to him, call his name back, something–anything–that would hint towards you being near.

He raised his voice as high as he could, his voice likely being carried across nations from how loud he was, and yet, he was met with nothing but the deafening sound of thunder roaring to life. It was disheartening, but as he stood amongst the rain, the final wire in his head finally clicked and the memory of you sitting before crystal waters was pushed to the forefront of his mind.

It’s a slim chance, but maybe you had gone there and, for whatever reason, stayed.

In an instant, he was running at full speed once again, steering in the direction his memory remembered best.

“A fire of unknown origins enveloped it in the dead of night. It wiped out half the village and forced the other half to flee for safety..some of which came to me, who lived on the outskirts of town.”

"That thought clouded their minds and the thought of disappointing their all-forgiving god drove them mad..”

He made it to the lake by nightfall—not that he could tell by looking up, seeming as it's been the same color since earlier that afternoon—and as if a light was shining down on it from the sky, the lake gleamed almost magically. Its darkened waters seemed to shine like a ruby even under the thick clouds and he sees the ripples from where he stood in the distance. The waves paving a clear way for him to follow, slowly leading up to the center where he spots something..

“Convinced that it was their fault everything was lost, the surviving villagers went about the rest of their days repenting by praying to the lake from sun up to sun down…”

As he slowly walked closer, familiar strands of hair became noticeable. Though cut into uneven chunks and spread out to be nearly invisible in comparison to the deep red of the water that it floats in, he was sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. That said, he found himself following the strands to the origins of where they once flourished from. His eyes locked on the indistinguishable lump once again and he was sure that it and the reason he came here were unrelated…until something floating beside it caught his eyes.

That something was a hairpin. One with a golden base and purple and red flowers dancing along the edge of it…just like the one he bought you the day you decided to throw him that welcoming party.

“...until the waters rose and they disappeared while being enveloped by the deity's embrace."

“Y/n.. Y/n!” Despite the pressure of it dawning on him felt like two boulders falling on his shoulders, Kabukimono rushed into the water and immediately the white clothing that covered his being stained a murky crimson whilst a putrid smell invaded his nostrils. It made him feel sick—nauseated, even—but he did his best to push it all down as he clumsily swam towards the center of the lake.

It wasn’t true. This wasn’t happening. This surely can’t.. What’s floating amongst the water truly isn’t what he thinks it is.

It isn’t you. There’s no way. You made a promise that you still haven’t fulfilled, after all. You wouldn’t break your promise, not someone like you.

After what felt like an eternity, he reaches the center of the lake which he now notices is more of an inky black and only stretches as far as a few rogue strands. He grabs ahold of the lump, sucking in a breath when his fingertips sink in slightly as if pressing against a firm, wet cushion. It felt disgusting. He hesitates, but ultimately squeezes down enough to pull it along even with the sickening slick gushing at the pressure and making his grasp unsteady.

He reaches land at long last, immediately escaping onto the wet grass and tugging the lump out along with him. It looked less like a lump now, and though swole and looking like some abstract art piece, there was no mistaking it. It was flesh. This was a person, or rather, the remains of one..and they looked eerily similar to you even when all blotched and bloody, there was no denying that.

But even if this was you, there’s no way you could be dead. No, that’d be impossible. You have to be asleep. You had to have decided to take a dip in the lake and fell asleep. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

His shaky palms reach out to you and he touches you with his cold, wet hands that were actively getting more and more drenched with every raindrop that fell on them. He gently swept your hair from your face, tucked it tentatively behind your ear, and cupped your cheek.

His breath stutters. It was as if he was touching pure ice. But that can’t be possible. You’re his sun, his light, somebody like you shouldn’t feel like this.

..Well actually, it makes sense. You fell asleep in the water plus it’s raining. Even someone as warm as you would succumb to the cold under these circumstances. It makes sense. It’s okay. He’ll help you warm up in the comfort of your home as soon as he wakes you up.

He slides his hand down your face—past your now oddly grayed lips and down your neck—until he reaches your bare shoulder, which wrinkles had been exposed due to his rough handlings in pulling you out of the water by the drapes of your clothing. He promises to apologize when you awake. Because you will wake up. There’s no doubt. Because you’re just sleeping.

“Y/n..” He calls softly. Too softly seeming as you remain unmoving. He decides to give your shoulder a gentle shake, calling your name once again, “Y/n.”

“Y/n. It’s time to wake up,” Your lashes don’t flutter. You don’t grimace from the discomfort of his shaking growing more and more aggressive. You don’t do anything.

“I don’t mean to disturb you, but you’ll probably get sick if you lie here in the rain any longer,” The same result. Blood begins to seep under his fingernails from how hard he’s digging his nails into your skin. He continues to shake you anyways, even going on to grip your other, covered shoulder.

“Come on, you can’t sleep around forever. I- I planned to surprise you by making dinner all by myself tonight. It’s your favorite so you have to try it,” His nose was beginning to tingle from the odor that was invading it. Where was it coming from? Why is it so much stronger than before now that he’s closer to you? He forces his mind not to make the connection. Not that there was a connection in the first place. You were just sleeping, after all.

Just sleeping, nothing else.

Kabukimono’s hand trails down your arm, down past your wrist, to your hand where he enlaces his fingers with yours, “Come on,” He said, though his voice was quieter now, more shaky, and his words cracked like glass, allowing his desperation to seep through just a little, “We have to get home..”

“I- I want to go home now, so let’s go..please..” He lifts your hand, raising your arm into the air and ignoring the deep, dark lines etched messily into your skin—the deepest looking one right over the vein of your wrist—and giving it a firm squeeze. You don’t reciprocate the action.

His grip loosens after a while and your fingers slide down his palm and flop to the ground beside you. You had to be really, really tired. But that’s okay, he’ll help you out!

He moves to hover over you, a grim smile etched on his face as he loops his arms around your waist and hoists you up. Your body collides with his as all your weight shifts to lean on him.

He holds you tightly, his head turning so as to not hit his nose against your chest and instead allows you to lean against the side of his face, his ear pricking up at the sweet symphony of...silence.

Sitting there, amongst the loud rain with his ear pressed against your chest—right over your heart—he’s met with deafening silence instead of the usual beat your heart strings typically produce. Your heart wasn’t playing its usual tune. It wasn’t playing anything, in fact, because it wasn’t beating. If your heart wasn’t beating anymore that meant you weren’t breathing anymore either which meant..you..

Tears—ones that he wasn’t aware of—were building up in his eyes, falling like a castle under attack. They slowly descended one after another, quickly fusing with the rainwater and forming as a long, thick stream along his cheek and past his mouth—which he had cracked open to bare his clenched teeth.

“Y/n..what have you done?” He whispered. His voice sounded small like a baby fox’s cry for help; vulnerable and weak. He then repeats himself one last time, slowly, “..Why have you done this..?”

Silence. His teeth crackles under the pressure of him forcing them impossibly closer together.

“Answer me,” He says through gritted teeth before yelling out, visibly and uncharacteristically enraged, “Answer me!”

Silence. He shakes you hard, your head rolling every which way like a ragdoll to the point it’d make one believe that any harder would cause it to roll right off your shoulders. Luckily, for his sake, it doesn’t.

“You promised me!” He shouted, his voice then dipped, “..you promised me..”

Silence. A choke spells his demise quickly after that and his strength suddenly fails him, allowing your body—your corpse—to fall unceremoniously to the ground. He follows suit soon after, and when he does, he lets out a scream. One that clawed its way out from the depths of his chest, spilling his agony out of his throat and laying it bare for the entire world to see…alas, with nothing but the moon to comfort him.

Humans are odd creatures. Ones that cannot be trusted, no matter who they are or what past they may harbor, at least, that’s what Kabukimono.. Kunikuzushi…

That’s what Scaramouche has grown to believe after centuries of nothing but betrayal.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

#guys #we have a golden age of fanfic writers i'd like to think #AND HERE’S ONE OF THEM #ARI YOU ARE ACTUALLY WONDERFUL #I WISH I COULD WRITE LIKE YOU 😭😭#[ ❕ saving against the wind ]#fic rec #LOVE U SO MUCH

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twojamie-o-clock · 2 days ago

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Thinking about how twojamie is literally perfect for time lord touch telepathy & why the trope is so addicting with them…

like both the Doctor & Jamie having a language barrier of some sort wherever their presence is key during the show—for Jamie, we know in early days TARDIS the translation matrix isn’t really addressed (mind I haven’t seen past Pertwee in classic so if this is discussed I’m not aware of it yet lol) shown in the underwater menace, when they try different languages on the Atlanteans—

and obviously when Jamie is returned home he will face the consequences of the rebellion which will inhibit language again. I think this sets him apart from other companions I’ve met so far since - though not really acknowledged - he always has to speak in his second language & of course is already isolated more than other non contemporary companions because as someone from the past he travels with people in his future, always — like in “The Roundheads” we get a glimpse of how isolated he feels from Ben/Polly in his early days, not just for being the new companion but for being from their distant past, and how he struggles to keep up with them (although interestingly not because they have some closer bond with the Doctor as “senior companions” which you see in like every other companion overlap hshhdkfkal)—

(And not completely off topic, but at Chicago TARDIS Hines mentioned how he was very much isolated on set & that Anneke/Michael were not really pleased to have him at the start - just the addition of a new companion nicking their lines & whatnot - especially since some plans toward the Faceless Ones involved booting Craze while Hines filled his role as token male companion so (taken from 1967 Chronicle included interview with Anneke) that probably bled into the acting/eu a teeny bit even if we all still get the strong familial impression from that crew since Polly as a character is so warming with 2 and Jamie; Polly/Ben’s superstitions combined with Jamie’s general exploration of the sci-fi world that is indistinguishable from magic — most prominently “Something At The Door” — is a really fun way to see how their divisions & complete differences overlap into the same shape but I can’t talk about that here lol).

Of course this kind of language/communicating in general ostracization persists (mildly) with Zoe-era since a huge rock in the TARDIS dynamic is Jamie’s even more apparent lack of understanding with the hard sci-fi shenanigans they encounter (the biggest examples being the Dominators/The Krotons/The Edge but that’s another conversation I think I’m getting distracted lmao)

Going back to literal language while this might be a stretch, at least in e.u. media Jamie’s biggest goal with Victoria regarding language is actually learning how to read & write, something he started sooner (when he reads in Evil of the Daleks) but for sure spent much time learning with her until the Doctor inevitably finished teaching him afterwards, as shown in “story of extinction” & “the dark path” & “the lost” and his literacy in web of fear/the mind robber/the story of extinction itself at the end. So these encounters whether verbal or written always involve others, and it’s with those others that he faces those barriers. (I swear there’s a point to this..)

At the same time, the Doctor has always had this disconnect from companions literally with Gallifreyan & obv w/ culture.

And going off of “The Christmas Invasion,” the translation matrix is linked to the Doctor (again if other media between 4-8 or EU discusses this pls lmk lol):

and you could debate the connection between the TARDIS, the Doctor, the circuit, and the choices made in translation but regardless it enforces the shortcomings of verbal communication whether or not by their own design.

So of course if two characters who interact have for the most part been failed by verbal communication they would probably find another way to understand each other. Like. Say. Touch. Let’s pretend that leads into the point about touch as their natural communication pre/sans telepathy. I’m not going to insert every picture of twojamie because if you read this far you probably already have those in your gallery.

I can’t talk about them leaning into one another because of upbringings and circumstance and timing bc this would never end 😭 but point is if they both struggle to express themselves through language then of course when they care about one another and want to express that, the faulty route is not going to be the one they take. They confide in one another through touch and when they feel like they can’t or don’t want to connect, touch is the first thing to go —

& of course this doesn’t last long (just like the silent treatment,, because that’s what this is on some level beyond this uncomfortable betrayal and jarring moment after so much time growing to trust each other & the sudden change of losing Ben/Polly & it’s just us now added to EOTD - ‘I’m not ready to hear your excuses until I’ve been heard’ bc the communication of intent was so key here as well as ensuing actions….gah) because only moments later Jamie initiates touch:

Which is. At the apparent threat. Of course. And which is also just Hines & Troughton. But over thinking it is cool. haha. 💀💀💀 im losing my mind.

The Doctor is of course always a bit disjointed at the beginning but especially since so much of 1’s development is just learning to interact with & respect human beings, 2 has all of that progress behind her and now applies it. With a new body and companions who don’t quite understand how she fits into it. And then there is Jamie who is just as new. So. I think we’ve all already looked at that sort of shared isolation in their own worlds pre-meeting one another and even on the TARDIS. The Doctor leaving Gallifrey obviously, and then the many, many hints in eu/tv that suggest Jamie feels like he has deserted(his attitude through the Roundheads/twg/slave war I guess……and like yeah deserting has the consequences of. Violent Things. But it’s also def an offense to faith/loyalty being challenged when that’s so key to all his decisions pre/during/post-TARDIS), at least until he’s sort of disillusioned by the Glorious Revolution. That they both literally cannot communicate in their first language with the four people they spend a majority of their time with certainly helps the case that not only has language always been an awkward barrier for them but now more than ever for each other.

Two & Jamie being so tactile they come full circle and just ,,, don’t/can’t communicate verbally is so interesting. (I wrote this ramble when I was trying to write a fic LMAO and the touching comes so naturally but getting any dialogue out of them (that isn’t an argument) is. like chewing tinfoil. And maybe that’s a skill issue on my part but still.)

Squinting through aroace touch-starved goggles (what is fandom if not projecting) it’s neat how this ease with physical affection but awkwardness with verbal defines them as a companion/Doctor duo while also setting them apart from the rest? I don’t think the Doctor will ever be tactful in verbal communication and this lack obv intentionally peaks with 13(thirteenjamie rant coming later jshdjsks) but it doesn’t feel like isolation between Two & Jamie the way it does when they interact with others at times because touch is easier for them. I feel like it’s always addressed as “they don’t need to communicate verbally because they are so comfortable in each other’s skins” but then you see how they read each other so well yet struggle to express it verbally—like they just can’t express it verbally so it has to come out through touch.

Not that it has to be a failure or anything — they have their moments in conversation, too—

(The Dark Path^) but that it’s typically painful and awkward for them. So it hits you in the face since intense discussions always seem to be miscommunications and this hurt of not being able to touch (as most of their arguments appear…aghhhhh) The best examples I can pull are from “That Which Went Away” (I have another ramble coming about this short trip bc it changed my brain chemistry,, AITHAJTNWJA okay,,,) where Two senses Jamie’s comfort around the thanes and thinks he’s going to leave them, but when this conversation gets dragged into the air it just reads like any fic discussions between them do - it hurts.

Aughhh idk I think that’s why no matter how much I enjoy reading fics (this like..extends to eu/bigfinish especially short trips bc those 2k word gems are synonymous with ao3 posting regardless of blurry DW canon non-canon) all these sort of healthy discussions (I buy into this too like I cannot write twojamie to save my life but it’s a process lmfao) will always feel the tiniest inch away from The Characterization Ever because. Without dialogue it would be pretty hard to write LOL and so when that’s used to convey what otherwise is just sooooo done through touch it is awkward. And - in published media or not - when it has to come out through words it’s painful.

While we obviously represent telepathic communication with words it’s nice to see it as way more abstract because we don’t think in clear sentences all the time (we don’t. right. like this isn’t my pea brain being a pea brain) so allowing for a deeper connection that also involves touch is the Thing Ever for them. Pulling from published media so I don’t sound crazy again, all stories that hammer in how close & understanding they are of one another use this, the ease of stepping into one another, even if they don’t always involve touch — “The Jigsaw War” for example. (Which would have been cool for like a s6b line where Jamie’s given forged memories of Zoe instead of Victoria, or if Zoe just actively participated in it anyway, like the questioning about the Doctor working for others…but Alr yapped abt that here lmao) so.

What communication allows for this clear ‘discussion’ without actual words while in pristine touch hdhsjslal I wonder. I wonder. This piece of the Doctor’s biology & culture being shared with Jamie is another level entirely of the trust between them of course but that it combined their method of communication with something personal & so so much more functional is why it’s so AHHH. Especially since trust is faith without knowing & the Doctor so often conceals their past, the exposure in s6b is extreme. Honesty (lack thereof) is usually what inhibits them, and once Two loses all control over hiding parts of themself in s6b another aspect like Time Lord telepathy follows readily. (Given that 2 audios concerning this are set in s6b, and another one is very very suited to s6b)

I won’t spoil “The Green Man” 2DA but it does center on touch telepathy and even without the approved telepathy the touch remains in the following audio “the shroud” as much as it can in the beginning.

So time lord telepathy not only resolves this barrier they could feel w/ others & thus each other but also includes their preferred communication & a piece of the Doctor which not many others might be privy to hdhfjsk. It’s a level of proximity that touch & words can’t provide and im. hhhhh. So. Twojamie touch telepathy!!! It was made for them!! And that’s why we eat it up every time. Or we’re just simple creatures.

Okay. That was absolutely pointless.

Just noting — I took a lot of these examples/ideas to the extreme to make a point & they’re definitely more subtle but I cannot. Pick those up well. Without exaggerating. So I don’t think they faced complete isolation or completely different verbal communication etc nothing will be black and white (lol) but I kinda did that here to make my brain jumble seem a bit clearer.

If I think of more examples/ideas to add I’ll just rb with them but lmk your thoughts

Stuff referenced, in case you were interested -

The Roundheads by Mark Gatiss | The Dark Path by David A McIntee | The Jigsaw War/The Edge - companion chronicles | The Green Man/The Shroud - part of the “James Robert McCrimmon” Second Doctor Adventures (I have beef w p1 but the rest r a fun listen) | Something At The Door - Tales of Terror short story | That Which Went Away - short trip from “seven deadly sins” it’s probably my favorite Jamie/Zoe/Two short story I think about it four times an hour | The Slave War - “the quality of leadership” short trip | 1967 Chronicle - modern v of the DW annuals with some quotes from Anneke Wills

#Doctor who #second doctor #jamie mccrimmon #twojamie #I yap a lot #I love pointing out the obvious haha #rambles #time lord touch telepathy #tv girl made ‘For You’ about them btw #—‘still not close enough’#YEAH #THATS THEM #hthsjthsjtnw #I’m sorry this was not coherent at all #😔#second doctor era #not tagging all that media #SORRY FOR ALL THE TYPOS IM SORRY

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sapphiresaphics · 3 days ago

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The reason why I keep bringing up media literacy and bad faith criticisms is because of things like this. Follow along if you can!

^^^———

I saw this post the other day where this person suggested that the reason Vi didn’t get as much character development was because the writers didn’t know what to do with her. That’s a pretty bold statement to make. I’ve certainly not heard any of the writers express that opinion at all. So where did this idea come from? What interview provided us with that look behind the scenes?

Luckily someone asked for a source, and they obliged! And my friends… this gets weirder…

The “source” ends up being this game journalism article:

This is an entire article dedicated to basically interpreting, reframing, and summarizing…. A tweet.

A single tweet by Christian Linke.

An entire article that took his response to a question WAY out of proportion and infused it with more meaning than was intended.

Here’s the original tweet. A user ask’s about VI’s character being less prominent, and his response is basically “we had a lot of characters” which is true. There were a lot of characters to squeeze in appropriate amounts of time for. Vi included. Here’s the original tweet:

It’s really not much at all, is it? This isn’t him admitting they didn’t know what to do with her, or that they abandoned her storyline or anything like that. All he said was there were a lot of characters and as a result Vi got a little less screen time as a matter of fact. Nothing more, nothing less.

But here’s how the game article summarized things:

^^^———

So do you see what I’m getting at here? A fan asks a reasonable question, and Linke gives a very straightforward answer. This is picked up and interpreted by the games journalist reporter and given far greater weight that it deserves, including a flashy headline. People see this and add even MORE of their own personal biases and exaggerated opinions and spread that around… and before long that innocent tweet somehow is “proof they didn’t know what to do with Vi and that’s why her arc was reduced to X thing I didn’t like!”

Swirling around Season 2 of Arcane is this weird game of telephone where with each step of the journey the original message is getting lost and distorted and twisted around. Unfortunately when a quote is this ambiguous, it leaves it open to interpretation. I’ve seen this same tweet be used to explain why every character had “bad writing.”

And the games journalist isn’t technically wrong in their coverage… after all, all they did was post the tweet and then re-summarize the same tweet. But by taking what the fan asked and twisting it into “Arcane lead explains why Vi felt like a side character” as an article headline, they’ve distorted the original interaction and infused it with this twinge of negativity designed to get you angry enough to click on the article.

Arcane Season 2 had a lot of story to tell with a lot of characters. As a result Vi’s screen time was slightly reduced. Doesn’t matter that out of all the characters she has the most screen time across both seasons. Nothing about acknowledging that as a simple fact explains motivations behind the writing of her arc in season 2 at all. It says nothing about her pitfighter phase, her relationship with Caitlyn, or her final battle fight with Jinx and Warwick. But if you were already critical of season 2, this gives you a plausible air of credibility for whatever “reasons” you think they did what they did. And then you just spread this fabrication to the internet where it just snowballs out of control.

So much of the negativity surrounding Arcane Season 2 is the result of this game of telephone and it’s really starting to bother me. And when you label overblown garbage like this as “arcane critical” then I genuinely believe you’re doing this on purpose and you don’t have an original thought in your body. You’re not being critical, you’re just letting your ignorance and biases control everything. This is bad faith argument construction at it’s worst.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane critical is a bad faith hashtag #bad arcane criticism #i’m so sick of these ridiculously bad takes #bad faith criticism #bad faith argument #arcane criticism #arcane critical #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 #vi #vi arcane

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kaleidoscopecth · 2 days ago

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Why Won’t You Love Me?

MDNI

paring: calum hood x reader

summary: your life is falling apart, and in a desperate attempt to find some semblance of comfort in your chaotic world, you end up at the doorstep of one of your best friends.

warnings: mentions of a toxic relationship with luke, mentions of substance abuse, mentions of rehab, weed usage, safe sex teehee, oral (f receiving), fluffy desperate sex, whimpery calum, slight body worship, angst for days, unrequited love

word count: 5.7k

a/n: this story is really nothing like the ones i have up before truthfully, it’s because it wasn’t meant to be published. i wrote this based on some of my own struggles, but i kinda love how it turned out. quick disclaimer, although i use peoples names in this fic, it’s not a reflection of who i think they are as people. this is all in good fun, not meant to be a serious attack on anybody’s character. anyways, enjoy.

as always, thank u to north for editing this ur the best 🫶

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You weren’t entirely sure why you had ended up at Calum’s doorstep. Your cheeks burned, chest tight with emotion as you hesitated, then rang the doorbell.

You had run circles around the idea in your head, knowing how complicated it would be to show up here. Calum was Luke’s best friend, his bandmate, and the last person you should’ve turned to. But the weight of everything—the withdrawal, the breakup, the utter mess your life had become—pushed you forward, even as doubt clawed at your resolve.

Would he even want to see you? Would he resent you for the way you ended things with Luke? You had wrestled with those questions all day, replaying every bitter moment of the breakup. You hadn’t meant to be so cruel. It wasn’t your intention to cut so deeply, but the withdrawal had stripped you of any semblance of patience or clarity.

And then, as soon as you were discharged from the hospital, you had gone running back to Luke. Desperate, aching, hoping to salvage what was left.

But then you saw them.

The door opened before you could spiral any further. Calum stood there, his brown eyes scanning you with a mixture of concern and surprise. “Y/N?” he asked, a small, tentative smile tugging at his lips. “You’re still here?”

His smile brought you a fleeting sense of relief, though you had braced herself for rejection. After all, if Luke could hate you, why wouldn’t Calum? Your mind replayed the raw memory of Luke’s anger when you begged for his forgiveness. The sting of seeing him move on so quickly still lingered in your chest.

It had only been two weeks since your overdose, yet he was already in bed with someone else—Sierra, of all people. You had known from the moment her name flashed on his notifications that her intentions weren’t pure. And you’d been right.

“I’m leaving for rehab soon,” you said softly, your voice cracking. “And I don’t want to be alone on my last night.”

Calum’s expression darkened, his sadness unmistakable. Without hesitation, he reached out, taking your hand and pulling you inside.

You had managed to keep things normal between you after you had drunkenly hooked up last year, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the subtle shift. Calum’s gaze lingered too long whenever you were with Luke, his quiet, intense eyes studying you two with something unspoken and unreadable.

“Wanna go out to the terrace?” Calum asked, his voice soft, a faint smile on his lips.

You nodded, taking his hand as you stepped outside into the cool night air. The breeze was crisp, refreshing, and you relished it as a small reprieve from everything weighing you down.

You curled up on one of the couches, pulling your legs to your chest and resting your chin on your knees. Calum slipped back inside for a moment, returning with a rolling tray and a grinder in hand. You laughed lightly.

“I’m supposed to be sober, you know,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“From oxy,” he countered, smirking as he sat down across from you. “Isn’t there a thing called ‘California sober’ or whatever?”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Shut up and roll the joint.”

Calum grinned and got to work, expertly grinding the weed and rolling a joint with practiced ease. He lit the end, taking a long, slow drag before passing it to you. You mirrored his action, inhaling deeply—too deeply—until you erupted into a coughing fit.

“At least I’ll get a decent high,” you wheezed, shaking your head with a small, rueful grin.

“So, rehab,” Calum said, his tone light but tinged with something else—sadness, maybe, or hesitation. His eyes followed yours, searching, as if trying to grasp what wasn’t being said.

You exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it dissolve into the night. “God, don’t remind me,” you muttered, taking another hit before leaning back against the cushions. “Some facility in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, Nebraska. Flight leaves tomorrow.”

The air grew heavy between you, filled with the distant sounds of the city below. You glanced over to find Calum watching you, his brows slightly furrowed.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said finally, his voice quiet, a casual shrug betraying the weight of his words. “But I guess I’ll see you after?”

Your chest tightened, the lump in your throat rising before you could stop it. You turned to look at him, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Cal,” you began, hesitating for a moment. “I’m moving to London when I get out.”

The words hung heavy in the cool air, their weight settling between you. Calum’s faint smile faded entirely, his expression faltering as your statement sank in.

There was enough space between you that no part of you touched, and for some reason, you hated that.

“You’re leaving?” he asked quietly, his gaze dropping to his shoes. “For good?”

You shook your head, your voice soft. “I’ll be back for filming and work stuff, but I won’t be living in L.A. anymore. I can’t.”

“Because of Luke and Sierra?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You flinched at the name, your stomach twisting with shame and anger. Every mention of Sierra made you feel small, like a fool for ever trusting Luke.

Luke had lied about everything—about seeing Arzaylea before coming to your apartment and claiming to be in love with you, about Sierra, about all of it. If you hadn’t stumbled into his apartment and seen the truth for yourself, you might have still been in the dark.

“Sure,” you sighed, brushing the thought aside. “And my family will be closer. They want to help me stay sober.”

“I could help you.” Calum’s voice was firm, his gaze locked on yours, determined.

Your heart skipped at his words, and unbidden memories of your moments together flashed in your mind—the way you’d gone from indifference to friendship, to that one night that had blurred every line. He’d insisted it remain a one-time thing, but that never stopped him from touching your shoulder softly, or smiling at you like you were the only thing that made the world spin right.

“Cal… no,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I can’t expect that of you.”

A beat of silence passed, heavy and fraught. Then, barely audible, he said, “I’m in love with you.”

You didn’t flinch. You weren't surprised, not really. A sad smile tugged at your lips as you exhaled. “I know,” you murmured. “But this—” you gestured between the two of you, your voice faltering. “How could this ever work?”

He shrugged, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Luke started screwing Sierra despite the fact that she and Ashton had a thing before. It’s not like this would be new territory for us.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “But it’s new for me.”

“So this is it, then? Our goodbye?” Calum’s voice cracked, anger and defeat mingling as his broad shoulders slumped.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You wanted to reach for him, to hold him, but your hands stayed firmly at your sides. A fleeting, reckless thought bloomed in the back of your mind—a glimpse of a life where you could stay, where you could fall asleep next to the boy with warm brown eyes and wake up to him every morning, never feeling the ache of leaving again.

Your throat tightened, the words heavy on your tongue. “I can’t say I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of your truth. “But, God, I wish I could.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken longing, a current of electricity passing between your gazes. Calum’s brows furrowed as he took a hesitant step closer, his eyes glimmering with equal parts hurt and hope. “Why not?” he asked softly, his voice trembling.

“Because it’s Luke,” you said, shaking your head. Your voice cracked under the weight of your confession. “You have no idea how badly I wish it could be you. That I could have you in my head every second of every day instead of him. You’ve never hurt me. You love me wholly. You’d never put that love at risk.”

“Then let me be the one in your head,” he pleaded, his voice low and desperate. “Just for tonight.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled in your chest. You looked at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. He was leaning toward you now, his eyes searching yours, desperate.

“Is that really what you want?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“Please, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Let me say goodbye the way I want to.”

Your mouth went dry, and you weren't sure if it was from the weed or the way Calum was looking at you. The idea—the possibility—was strangely appealing.

“Okay,” you breathed.

Slowly, you moved toward him, swinging one leg over his lap to straddle him. You stared at each other for a heartbeat, your hands gently cupping his cold cheeks.

He leaned in first, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed yours, soft and tentative.

The second you registered the kiss, all of your composure unraveled. You sighed against his lips, threading your fingers into his curly hair as the kiss deepened with a fervor that surprised you. His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer.

Without breaking the kiss, Calum stood, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you as though you were the only thing grounding him.

He carried you inside with steady determination, the world around you blurring into insignificance. When you finally reached his room, Calum kicked the door shut behind you. The soft rattle set off Duke, who began barking incessantly from somewhere down the hall.

You couldn't help but laugh against his lips, the sound breaking the tension for a moment. Calum pulled back slightly after setting you down in the bed, chuckling as well.

“Duke, calm down,” he called out, his voice amused but firm. Then, turning back to you, a playful smile tugged at his lips. “He always acts up when he knows there's something I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” you whispered, your voice low and teasing as your hands slipped beneath his shirt, your fingers trailing along the hard ridges of his stomach.

Calum's response came in the form of another kiss, deeper and more urgent this time. “You,” he murmured against your lips.

The kiss intensified, your lips moving with a quiet desperation that made your heart race and your stomach flutter. Calum's hands roamed your sides with deliberate care, as if he were memorizing the feel of you.

You matched his fervor, your hands trembling as you tugged at his shirt. This felt different—more intense, more intimate—than the last time. There hadn’t been much hesitation then, just two people driven by pure need, but now, you could feel a semblance of giddy awkwardness in the air.

Calum pulled back just enough to shrug off his shirt, the fabric falling carelessly to the floor. His hands immediately found your face, cupping your cheeks as he brought your lips back to his.

Your hands moved across his bare skin, tracing the curve of his muscles, the lines of his tattoos— a detail you had committed to memory. You tugged him down with you, but he stopped, pulling away slightly with a small smirk.

“Nuh-uh,” he teased, his lips brushing yours. “Your shirt's coming off too, Y/N.”

“Then take it off,” you challenged, your voice breathless and filled with need. “Take everything off. I need you.”

Calum's eyes darkened, his expression shifting from playful to serious in an instant. His hands found the hem of your shirt, and with one swift motion, he pulled it over your head, tossing it aside. One hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you close as his lips claimed yours again.

The other hand moved skillfully to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with ease. The garment slipped away, leaving you bare beneath his touch. Calum's lips moved to your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your skin, his hands sliding down your back and pulling you closer.

His mouth trailed down to your collarbone, grazing the delicate skin with soft nips that made you gasp. Slowly, his lips descended to your chest, capturing your nipple in his mouth with a deliberate tenderness. You let out a quiet moan, your hands tangling in Calum's hair as your eyelids fluttered shut, your breath hitching at the sensation.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” Calum groaned against your skin, his voice filled with awe and desire. His eyes lifted to meet yours, darkened with longing, his pupils blown wide. Slowly, he kissed his way back up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss there before nudging his nose against yours in an intimate gesture that made your chest ache.

But then it hit you—a sudden wave of guilt crashing over you, sharp and cold. What were you doing? Were you just using him? Using his kindness, his patience, and the way he cared about you, all because you didn't want to feel alone? Your body tensed, and you froze, pushing him away slightly.

Calum immediately pulled back, concern flooding his features as his hands cupped your face. “What is it?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your eyes darting across his face, searching for something—anything—that might tell you he wasn't as sure about this as he claimed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked hesitantly. “I mean, I can't—I can't give you what you want, Cal. I won't even be here most of the time, and—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “Stop. I want this. I want you.”

Your heart clenched, but you still hesitated, guilt and uncertainty gnawing at you. “Cal, I—”

“Please,” he whispered, his voice dropping to something raw and vulnerable. “Let me have this. Let me have tonight. Just... just let me. Let me give you a proper goodbye. Let me give us a proper goodbye.”

His words hung between you, heavy with longing and unspoken emotion. Your breath hitched, your resolve faltering as you looked into his eyes. There was no hesitation there, no doubt—only a fierce, aching need for you. “Would you let me?” His lips brushed against yours ever so carefully. “Please let me.”

Wordlessly, you nodded, swallowing down your fears, worries, and the ache in your chest.

Calum's smile was soft yet radiant, a quiet reassurance that melted some of your hesitation. You could feel him smiling against your lips as he kissed you again, and before you realized it, your own lips curved into a matching smile. His hands roamed your body with reverence, each touch gentle and deliberate, as if you were something sacred.

With practiced care, he began unbuttoning your jeans, his lips trailing away from your mouth to press heated kisses down your jawline. He lingered near your earlobe, nipping it lightly, and you let out a small, contented sigh. Your hips rose instinctively, allowing him to tug the denim down your legs in one smooth motion.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough with want. “You have no idea how long l've been waiting for this.” His mouth found yours again, urgent and insistent, his hips pressing down against your thigh while his fingers trailed lightly down your chest, making you shiver. His lips wandered back to your breasts, lingering there with soft kisses and teasing bites that made you gasp.

“What do you want, Calum?” you gasped, your hips bucking upward, seeking friction with an urgency that made your voice crack. “Tell me.”

When he lifted his gaze to meet yours, the intensity in his eyes stole your breath. They were dark, glazed over, and filled with raw need. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, as though the world could crumble around you and he wouldn't care. “I want to touch you,” he murmured, his voice rough, the words muffled by the kisses he pressed down your sternum.

“Then touch me, baby,” you urged, your fingers threading through the damp curls on his forehead, pushing them back. Your tone was soft, but your words were charged, dripping with encouragement. “Make me feel so good.”

The soft groan that escaped his lips felt almost involuntary, a raw reaction to your words. It sent a shiver through you, straight to your core. His hand slipped beneath your underwear, his fingers finding your clit with precision. He moved in slow, deliberate circles, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

When his fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, he froze for a moment, as though savoring the sensation. Feeling how ready you were for him, he let out a deep, guttural groan, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice heavy with awe, every word tinged with disbelief. “You're already so wet. Fuck, Y/N... you're perfect.”

His words sent heat rushing through you, your back arching as your body responded to his touch. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to spill, but the way he touched you, slow and deliberate yet filled with need, made it impossible.

He didn't wait, slipping a finger inside you with ease, watching your reaction with rapt attention.

You let out a sharp cry, your back arching instinctively as pleasure shot through you. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, your fingers threading tighter through Calum's hair, holding him close. “Just like that, baby.”

Calum moved with deliberate care, curling his finger inside you, his steady rhythm coaxing soft, breathless moans from your lips.

Every movement seemed calculated to draw you closer to the edge, yet it was laced with tenderness that left you dizzy. The way your body responded to his touch had his lips parting, his breath hitching in admiration as if he couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

“That feels so good,” you sighed, your voice trembling as your nails lightly scraped the nape of his neck. “You're doing so good.”

Your praise sent a shiver through him, and his eyes darkened further, his pupils blown wide with desire. His breath came faster, his hips rutting against you involuntarily as though he needed you even more than you needed him. “You sound so pretty,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with reverence, though there was an edge of desperation to it, almost a whine. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You pulled at his hair, your eyes falling shut in bliss. Calum was working his fingers at a steady pace, moaning as if he too was the one getting off. The fact that he was so worked up by the mere fact that he’d been touching you made a wave of heat rush down your body.

His lips kissed down your torso, leaving no mark of your skin unkissed. “I need to taste you,” he gasped, continuing to inch down your body. He was shaking with anticipation, fingers never faltering. “You’re so wet and so pretty, and it’s all for me. I did that to you.”

You nodded rapidly, another moan falling from your lips. “Need your mouth on me,” Calum’s breath hitched at your words, his kisses down your body growing more sloppy by the second. He didn’t waste any time in pushing your legs open, taking deliberate care to suck at the skin of your hipbone.

You propped yourself on your elbows, watching through half lidded eyes as Calum finally pressed a small kiss to your inner thigh. Already fed up, you let out a frustrated mewl. “Cal, please.”

Calum’s entire body shuddered, and you saw the way his eyes widened momentarily before his mouth latched on to your clit. He let out a moan against you when the taste of you overwhelmed his senses, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes essentially rolled back into his head.

“You’re so dreamy like this,” you gasped, his lips sucking at your sensitive bud enough to make your legs shake around his head. “You make me feel so good— oh, fuck, just like that.”

Calum let out a shaky whine, his hips grinding involuntarily against the mattress as he looked up at you, his wide, awe-filled eyes glistening with unspoken devotion. His movements were uncoordinated, almost frantic, as though he was utterly consumed by you, his tongue lapping and sucking at your clit with an intensity so raw it sent shockwaves through your trembling legs.

“You taste so good,” he panted, his voice unsteady and reverent between his breathless licks. “Your thighs are shaking— fuck, I did that to you. I made you feel like this.”

You bit your lip hard, your eyes squeezing shut as the tidal wave of sensation crashed through you. Every nerve in your body felt alive, strung out on the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. Calum's hands wandered your torso with a desperation that bordered on worship, gripping your skin tightly, as if grounding himself in the reality of you.

Stars burst behind your eyelids as your body arched into his touch, the sensation cresting to an unbearable peak. The sight of him—his flushed cheeks, his lips glistening with you, his pupils blown wide with adoration—was almost too much. You needed more, needed him closer, needed all of him.

Reaching down, you tangled your fingers gently in his curls, tugging him away from your overstimulated clit. Calum let out a soft, almost pitiful moan of protest, his lips brushing against your skin as though he couldn't bear to let go. Still, he obeyed, letting you guide him back up your body, his warm breath fanning over your skin with each ragged inhale.

Your lips met in a kiss so heated it left you dizzy, your mouths colliding with a fervent need that neither could deny. You could taste yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of how completely Calum had given himself to you. The realization sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you.

Calum let out a broken whimper against your lips, his whole body trembling as though he was barely holding himself together. “Y/N,” he choked out, his voice laced with desperation, his breath coming in shallow pants. “I need you. I need all of you. Please. I don't know how much longer I can wait.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart pounded in your chest as you looked into his wide, awe-stricken eyes. His pupils were blown with need, his lips slightly parted as he hovered over you, waiting for permission like his entire world depended on your answer.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, pulling him down into another kiss that was all heat and urgency. “Don't wait anymore. Just fuck me.”

Calum let out a soft, broken sound, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he nodded, his curls tickling your skin. He kissed the sensitive spot just below your ear, his lips trailing down your neck with a desperation that made your body ache for him even more.

When he sucked hard enough to leave a mark, you arched into him, your hands tangling in his hair, too far gone to care about anything else.

“Y/N,” he gasped, his voice raw and shaking as his hands roamed your body, both frantic and reverent, like he couldn't touch enough of you at once. “You don't understand. I'd do anything for you. Anything. Just say the word.”

Your breath hitched at the sheer devotion in his voice, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave. You swallowed hard, your hands moving to cradle his face as you met his gaze. “I just need you inside me right now,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you.

You watched as Calum reached over to his bedside table, pulling out a condom and hardly ripping the packet open with his teeth. Your eyes followed his movements as he rolled the rubber down in his length. Calum let out a shuddering breath, his hands trembling as he positioned himself between your thighs. He hesitated, his gaze flickering up to yours as if silently asking for reassurance. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek with a tenderness that made his breath hitch.

“C’mon baby,” you gasped.

With a shaky nod, he sank into you slowly as though he never wanted the moment to end. A whimper escaped Calum’s lips, a sound so deep and guttural that it made you moan. Your nails sank into his back, and Calum’s head fell forward against your shoulder.

Calum was trembling, his breath coming in ragged pants as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. “You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice tight with strain, barely holding himself together. “I never want this to end.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, the intensity of the moment washing over you as you felt him stretch you in ways that made you gasp.

When he began to move, a sharp hiss escaped your lips, and Calum froze instantly, his entire body going rigid. His head snapped up, wide eyes filled with concern as they searched your face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft but urgent, laced with worry.

You bit your lip, nodding slowly as you forced yourself to take a steadying breath. “Yeah,” you said, your voice airy, cheeks flushed. “It's just... it's been a while, and... you're kinda big.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then Calum let out a soft, startled laugh. The sound was rich and genuine, shaking his entire body as the tension melted from his face. His amusement was contagious, and soon enough, you found yourself laughing with him, the shared moment easing the intensity between you.

Still smiling, you reached up, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him closer until his forehead rested gently against yours. Your laughter softened into quiet breaths, your noses brushing as you lingered in the intimacy of the moment.

“You can move,” you whispered, your voice steady now, laced with trust and anticipation.

Calum exhaled deeply, his eyes darkening with emotion as he nodded, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before he began to move again. This time, his movements were slow and deliberate, his focus entirely on you, his body attuned to yours as you fell into a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.

You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his back as your legs tightened around his waist. Calum's movements grew more purposeful, his hips snapping against yours with a need that was almost overwhelming. His eyes never left your face, drinking in every gasp and moan as if they were the only sounds in the world.

“You're so perfect,” he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. He leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a tender kiss that contrasted sharply with the intensity of his thrusts. “I don't know how I can-fuck, you feel so good. So perfect, Y/N.”

Your body arched beneath him when he shifted slightly, thrusting deeper and hitting the spot that made your toes curl. A sharp cry tore from your throat, your body trembling from the intensity. “You're doing so good,” you gasped, your praise deliberate as you ran your hands down his sweat-slicked back. “You fuck me so good, Calum. Just like that, baby.”

Calum let out a broken moan, his head dropping against your shoulder as your words seemed to ignite something in him. His hips moved faster now, each thrust harder than the last, as if he was trying to lose himself entirely in you. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He hesitated for only a moment before pressing against it, rubbing fast, precise circles that made your breath hitch.

“You're amazing,” he panted, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. His voice was wrecked, thick with desperation and adoration. “I just want to make you feel good. Tell me I'm doing it right. Please.”

You let out a whimper, your body seemingly on fire with the intensity of the pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his curls, muttering unintelligible encouragement under your breath. You looked at him, the way his cheeks were flushed with the exertion and desire, and you gave him a breathless smile. “You’re going so good, Cal,” you moaned. “I’m so close.”

Calum’s movements were erratic and eager, desperate to feel you come undone beneath him. His hips stuttered as he tried to maintain the rhythm that had you falling apart beneath him. He was panting hard, moaning your name in breathless pleas. Your nails raked down his back, only spurring Calum on.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his fingers continuing their assault on your clit that made your legs shake uncontrollably. “Please, I need you to come for me. God, I need to feel you clench around me— please baby, fuck. Come on my cock, I can’t hold on much longer.”

Your breath hitched, eyelids fluttering close as you felt the familiar coil begin to tighten in your belly. Sweat was building up on your skin, but you didn’t mind. “Calum— oh my God, please don’t stop.” The combination of his desperation, his eagerness to make you feel good, and the relentless pace of his hips and fingers sent you over the edge.

You came with a loud cry, your lips shaping Calum’s name, your thighs shaking as another shattered moan escaped you. Your vision blurred, your nails digging into Calum’s back as you clung to him, peppering his shoulder with kisses.

“Oh fuck,” Calum groaned, his voice strained with desperation. “You look so pretty falling apart for me, making all my dreams come true.” His thrusts became erratic and messy as he chased his release, his hands gripping your waist like a lifeline as you clenched around him, pulling him deeper.

“Y/N, I'm gonna—” His sentence broke off into a loud whimper, his face burying into the crook of your neck as he feverishly kissed your damp skin.

“Come for me, baby,” you panted, your voice thick with pleasure as your fingers trailed up and down his back before gripping his biceps for support. “You did so good, made me feel so good. Let go for me.”

His body shuddered violently, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he spilled into the condom with a raw, guttural cry. He whispered your name like a prayer, his voice trembling as aftershocks wracked his body.

Shallow, instinctive thrusts carried him through his orgasm, his movements slowly stilling as the tension drained from him.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing. Your bodies were pressed together, skin slick with sweat, and the weight of him above you was grounding, comforting in a way neither of you could fully explain.

Calum finally pulled away with a soft sigh, rolling off you carefully. His hands were gentle as he removed the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the trash can by the bed. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, your gaze tracing the sharp contours of his body, the way the moonlight filtered through the window and illuminated his tattoos in a soft, ethereal glow.

You knew Calum was beautiful—you always had, even when he’d been less than kind to you. But now, there was something different about him, something raw and desperate. You wondered how they had gone from mutual animosity to Calum being so deeply in love with you that he would settle for just one night of your pretending.

But were you pretending?

The thought lingered in your mind, heavy and uncertain.

“You're beautiful, you know that?” you murmured, your voice quiet but full of admiration as your eyes lingered on him.

Calum turned to face you, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. “I’m the lucky one,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone and then the outline of your lips as though memorizing every detail. Your eyes stayed locked on his, searching for something you couldn’t quite name.

“Stay,” he mumbled, his voice heavy with exhaustion and something softer—hope. “Your flight leaves tomorrow. Just stay the night. I’ll take you there.”

You frowned, your hand instinctively coming to cover his. You didn’t answer immediately, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. This night had been one of the best you’d had in a long time, a reprieve from the chaos in your mind. And yet, that knowledge brought an ache you didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Calum…” you hesitated, your voice softer now, almost unsure. “I don’t know if I should.”

His hand tightened gently against yours as he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss so tender it stole the air from your lungs. His palm moved to the back of your neck, his touch reverent, urging you closer. Your bare chests pressed together, his other hand settling at the small of your back, anchoring you to him.

When he pulled away, the weight of reality sank between you. You were leaving—leaving this moment, leaving him—and as terrifying as the thought was, it also carried a bittersweet freedom. Leaving Calum meant leaving behind the pain Luke had caused, a fresh start that felt both liberating and heartbreaking.

“Please,” he whispered against your lips, his voice fragile, each word carrying the weight of his longing. He held his breath, his eyes searching yours for even the smallest trace of hope.

You bit your lip, the turmoil in your chest almost too much to bear. You knew what you should do, but you also knew what you wanted—at least for now.

“I’ll stay,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “Just for tonight.”

Calum exhaled softly, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as relief washed over his features. For now, it was enough. Just tonight, it could be enough.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

i hope you guys enjoyed, and if you sent in a request just know that i saw it and i’m working on it! there are many writing projects that i’ve been juggling so i’m sorry in advance if it takes a little long for it to be posted <33

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