#mari writes

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

part three

a/n i've been following the halloween event pretty closely for the jp servers, and omg, i have fallen deeper in love with leona! he's just so gentlemanly and honestly, the type of guy you would totally bring home to meet ur parents! plus he looks so damn good! also scully such a cutie patootie! love his little mannerisms and design! i was a little sad that ace and deuce wasn't in, but that just means that they'll both be there for the next halloween event!

edit: so this was meant to be posted like a long time ago hence my og author note, but better late the. never ig. but my point still stands that skully is a little cutie patootie <3

included ignihyde, diasomnia + rollo

tw nothing

want more? here's part one + two

ignihyde <3

⋆ He can’t help it! But the first thing that escape Idia's mouth is ‘Is this poison?’ He can't help it! He’s just a little awkward and has low self-esteem! Idia can’t phantom the idea that anyone, especially you, would take time out of their day to make and bring little, ugly him, food. (his words not mine) It’s literally a ten minute conversation where you have to explain to him that you wanted to this because you care about his skinny ass. And after he gets that through his thick ass head and into his big ass brain, does he explode into hot, hot red. Despite being a literal genius, Idia’s social department (self-esteem? self-love?) is severely understaffed. I don’t think Idia’s all that picky when it comes to food, he’s just not used to eating food out of his comfort zone. But batting your pretty eyes and asking ‘pretty please?’ is enough to get him to bend over.

⋆ If he could eat, Ortho would adore your food! (real talk, i can’t remember if Ortho could canonically eat through like idk a food cavity space thing or if i had just read that from a fic) Would ask for all types of things. But since he can’t, Ortho enjoys your food through Idia. He’s really happy that someone would take the time out of their day just for his big brother. By his data, doesn’t that mean you like his big bro? In all sorts of media, romantic partners make each other food to show their love! If Idia wasn’t such a danger magnetic in the kitchen, Ortho would force Idia to make you food too! So you’ll just have to settle with Ortho as your little helper instead. (he’s so excited to spend one on one time with his future in-law! teehee)

Diasomnia <3

⋆ My, make him food? How courageous you are, little human. Malleus gobbles your food down like it's his last supper. Food created by his child of man? How could he possibly let it go to waste! Compliments you to the moon and back. Though because it is Malleus, he does slip a few critiques. (he can’t help it! He’s a prince afterall) Malleus has never had an edible homemade dish full of love given to him, like ever. (sorry lilia, your food is full of love, just not edible) A warm feeling blossoms all across his body like blooming roses. If his tail was out, it would be swaying to the beat of his racing heart. Malleus didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper in love with you, but here you go, always surprising him. Perhaps, you’ll find a meal on your desk one day by the initials M.D.

⋆ Ohohoho? So you want to challenge a culinary master! Lilia will not be beaten by such a cute little human! You better start running tehehehehe- On another less scary note, Lilia enjoys your food immensely! Of course he could think of a few ways to make it much more protein packed and nutritious but that’s just his inner master chef coming out teehee. Beware, he insists that you must try his cooking, it’s only fair of him to treat you to a meal. Or even worse, insist that you too must cook together. Pray to the seven (or hope that Silver will be conscious enough to drag his father outta there) because you’re going to need it.

⋆ Wonderful… is the only word Silver is able to get out before he falls asleep. When he wakes, Silver is awfully embarrassed. Silver is blown away at your kindness. His face a perment baby pink the rest of the day. You thought of him and no one else. Surely this must mean something right? Still, Silver must do something for you too. It’s only fair. (what a sweet gentleman) he considers making you a treat as well, but considers otherwise. It might be unwise to be in the kitchen with his condition. But of course, it’s not like Silver won’t have any help! All the woodland creatures are more than happy to help Silver win over his crush’s heart! The next day you’ll have his treat flown to you by a couple of blue birds, chipmunks and rabbits gathering at your door with berries of all sorts. Silver thankful for such generous companions. If he had to face you, he might just fall into a coma.

⋆ He can’t help it when he says, “Are you trying to poison me?!’ and ‘Don’t you dare poison my Waka-Sama! I will fight you, human!” Sebek’s like a dog, barking and barking, until he smells the delicious scent of your food and suddenly, he’s stubbornly eating it at the table. Cursing himself for being so weak to delicious food (and your pretty smile) Oh how could he properly serve his Waka-sama if he’s weakened by such things?! THE CRUELTY! He does really enjoy your food. Typically he’s often left unsatisfied, his stomach growling with lingering hunger after his meals. But for some odd reason, every time he’s chowing down on your food, he’s satisfied. His stomach is silent but his chest is warm and fuzzy like dandelions. Are you sure you don’t have any magic? Sebek decides to keep his curiosity to himself. Just like the rest of diasomnia, you’ll find yourself faced with a box filled to the brim with food courtesy of the blushing, stuttering fae in front of you.

Extra <3

⋆ Very rarely does Rollo find time to sit down and eat. Between his studies, his duties as student president and world domination (kidding), he is much too busy to have anything more than a piece of bread and glass of water. You’ll have to drag him to sit his ass down to eat and even then he’ll be scolding you for messing up his schedule. But when the warm and homey scent of your food reaches his nose, his voice falls and mind clears. And all of a sudden, he’s very much aware of the ache in his bones, the growling of his stomach and the tight ringing of his head. Rollo listens to you tell him you made this just for him, heaviness hits his chest at the concern lacing your voice. Any other time he’d scoff and leave, but this is you. His friend. He doesn’t hesitate. The moment your food touches his tongue he’s done for. Perhaps the hassle of life is worth it.

[littleplantfreak]

Netflix and chillin’…and killin’

A Ghostface!Umemiya x Reader NSFW fic for our Toyko Station Server Collab!! hosted by lovlies @hayatoseyepatch and @rindous-starlight

Content warnings: Dark Content, Murder, Stalking, Yandere!Ume, P in V Sex, Dumbification, Dubcon/Noncon depending on how you take it?) Descriptions of Violence, Overstimulation, Slight Corruption, probably OOC, a brief mention of abuse, uhhh read at your own risk ig. Srry if I forgot one. Anything you’d THINK is ghostface-esque is here so //vague hand gestures

Summary: Your boyfriend is such a green flag you overlook all the red ones hidden behind it. Once you find out his secret at an inopportune time, it doesn’t really end well.

word count: 3200ish

You’re taught not to play with your food. You’re also taught not to put a knife in someone’s throat, so really thinking about it…he’s already broken so many rules it shouldn’t matter if he breaks a few more.

He’s got self-restraint, to a point obviously. It took a whole week of stalking to get this guy’s patterns down to a ‘T’ after all, and then another two days to pick the right time both alibi-wise and just convenience really. Where and when the best time to strike is, just how much line on the rope he should let this guy dangle by. How far he can run...the heartbeat in his chest should be pounding just as hard as his feet hitting the floor or it's no fun. The sound of Umemiya's knife wet and popping, straining against chest cartilage and muscle. He loves to play with his food, he decides, and when it comes to you-

“You’re playing with your food again, Haji.”  You smile behind your hand due to your own food in your mouth, looking at him with nothing short of unbridled affection. Giving a little poke into his rice, you steal some for yourself. You’ve never once yelled at him for playing with his food; you actually think he’s cute when he does it. He’s cutest, though, when he’s dazed and thinking about something that’s got his cheeks heating up in a field of rosy red. Sometimes he tells you it's because he's thinking about you, and other times he'll say it's a secret as he throws a wink your way.

“Sorry, I was out of it again, huh?” He asks before holding his own spoon up to your mouth as an apology for losing himself in his own head. He watches you now, carving your face into his memory like he does every time he gets a little emotional at the way you’ve made feelings burn through his chest. You eat from his spoon, thankfully, an even happier smile on your cheeks, stuffed like a chipmunk with food. Cute enough to eat, he thinks.

The restaurant was empty save for you two and an older couple at the bar. Your eyes catch the newspaper the man is reading, and you can’t stop the grimace from twisting your features. If Umemiya followed your line of sight, he knows it would take him to the headline about yesterday’s murder and the killing spree that has been taking place in town. There’s a question on your tongue that you hold, thinking the answer to “Where were you last night?” will be the same as ever.

 'At home, of course!' he'd chirp. Hiragi, his roommate, made something homemade that Hajime brought to you just this morning, saying they made too much once again. So instead, you chew your lip before looking back to see him finishing the last of the food, that flushed look on his face again while his thoughts go elsewhere.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The call comes from a local number. Although it’s stupid to answer when you’re not sure of the caller, your name and number are up on the town bulletin board to tutor any local kids in need of a little extra help. Hajime put you up to it, knowing you need something to take your mind off the most recent deaths plaguing your thoughts. When you answer it, for a moment you’re left with dead air.

“Hello?” Your voice cuts through, ready to hang up. 

“Hey pretty girl,” a voice answers as if muffled by something. You’re not entertained by this. If some kids want to prank you, this is not the way to do it.

“If you’re gonna be a creep then-”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

“What?”

“Your favorite scary movie. Everyone has one.”

“I don’t like scary movies.”

“Living in one good enough for you?” the voice teases.

“What does that mean?” 

“Means you should check on that friend of yours who was stubborn enough to try and get in the way. Ah…did you know your back door is unlocked?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, slowly turning your head to see a white mask flash past your window before you give chase, grabbing the bat you keep near your front door. By the time you make it outside though, he’s long gone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This time playing with his food was a means to an end for Ume. Less choice and more necessity from the way you sometimes looked at him like he might be suspect. Like the blood under his nails isn’t just from a fight or a stray nosebleed, and like you may just bite off a little more than you can chew. Playing with his food just isn’t as fun as it used to be now that he really likes you, but the call was necessary. 

He makes sure to show up right when you call him, telling you he’d been helping Kotoha with closing up the cafe. He had definitely done that, only breaking for a few minutes to climb out of the bathroom window, do the job, and tell you to check on Sakura since he was stupid enough to try and save the most recent victim. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He might be waiting for you to figure it out. That cute little brain of yours is so smart, putting together clues, and chasing his alter ego before coming to a halt at the brick wall he's placed perfectly in your way to drive you up it. It’s fun to goad and mess with you, knowing you trust him a little too much for your own good.

His bandaged hand that Sakura had stabbed him in earlier this week would’ve been overly suspicious to you had he not been your boyfriend. When you remarked about how you’d just have to find whoever it was by looking at every hand in Makochi, all the while tracing his own where skin and bandage met, he thinks he sees something like brief unease cross your face before it smooths over into comfort from your current position once again.

You’re on his lap on the couch after all, one arm on your waist, and his good hand wrapped around your thigh as one of your favorite movies is playing. He would’ve preferred to put on a scary one so he could see a little bit of fear on the face he came to love so much. Picturing your hands squeezing at his arm looking for comfort as you cuddled close was tempting, but your nerves were already frayed enough by the murders plaguing your mind that he thought against it. Plenty of time and opportunities to see it.

When he starts palming the inside of your thigh, your back is practically melting into him. He relishes the little content sighs slipping out along with a small hum or two when he gently pinches the meat of your leg, noting how your opposite foot’s toes curl. He wonders if a little pain is the way to go with you.

Looking back on all the times you’ve gotten a little louder when he’s gripped your hips hard enough to bruise or when you moaned around him as he tugged firmly on your hair in his hands, the vibrations in your throat while his length is buried deep past your lips nearly made him keel over. He's almost certain you like it rough, actually.

Thoughts of you are a near constant to him, when he isn’t trying to get rid of the trash in town. Meanwhile, your own head is whirling, almost too distracted by his hands to follow the train of thought you were originally on.

You’ve been stopping and starting those thoughts again, the ones that get you in trouble causing the hair on your neck to stand up when you think about your boyfriend sometimes. When you get too close to the truth, he’s been opting for fucking those thoughts out of you. It only takes a second to see how the gears turn behind your eyes.

He wonders briefly if he can condition you into getting wet whenever you talk about ghostface with him. If he can have your thighs rubbing and chafing together while you’re trying to hide as he chases you...he snaps himself out of the daydream when you ask something, him not hearing a word of it, but he hums in response nonetheless.

For once, you’re a little irked at that, having been worried for Sakura’s safety the entire week. Although he was only knocked out, the man he was trying to protect was gutted! The sharp tone of his name that comes out of your mouth shocks you both, causing a brief period of silence to shift between you.

"Hajime! Are you listening?"

That's it; his breaking point shatters at the twist in his stomach when he hears you, not unlike a knife. Where did you go in the few minutes he was relishing in the feel of your body on his? He could’ve sworn you were behaving a second ago. The guy he killed was an asshole who hit his wife, the lovely woman who ran the bakery down the street. She’s much better off without him right? He even killed him in a way they’d never accuse her of, even if someone talked and told the police there was marital strife, as they always call it. They hadn't done a thing so far, so what's the problem? She was at her daughter’s house for the whole weekend when he died, and although she’s heartbroken now, Hajime’s sure she’ll perk right up in no time with enough support from everyone!

“Baby. Sweetheart. What you need to do now is relax,” he stresses, palming the front of your pajama shorts, massaging you until your head falls back onto his shoulder. That is not what you need to do, but you can't seem to bring yourself to move and stop him.

“Can my pretty girl take me now, or should I prep you some more?” He asks face fully showing his sick enjoyment over you being nearly ready to gush even after going on and on about his exploits, not that you can see the expression as you are now. The nickname has you stiffening for more reasons than one. The warmth from it flows straight down into your stomach where an inferno’s already been torching your brain into a haze, but a small nag in the back of your mind thinks the lilt in his voice is reminiscent of another you’ve heard recently on the phone with a stranger who called, asking what your favorite scary movie was.

 Before you can chase that thought further, you’re flipped on your stomach, face smushing into the couch as he apologizes for the roughness, though he thinks to himself that he’s not really sorry at all.

A small pluck of his fingers in your waistband, and he drags the fabric down until it reaches your ankles. You don't even register that he hasn't taken them off completely while he thumbs your ass cheek with one hand and the other goes to your lips, scissoring his fingers inside briefly before letting out a groan. You’re so wet for him already; must’ve been ready for a while you poor neglected thing. It makes him happy to feel how good he can make you despite all your pouting about killers.

He gives a quick push halfway in to let you feel the slight stretch of his cock as he watches himself slide into you.

“You’re always so good for me like this,” he sighs. Pulling out, he circles your hole with the tip, teasing you so he can watch the way your hips wiggle just a bit from neediness. Once he hears you whimper at him to please move, the sounding gunshot at the starting line, he’s fully sheathing himself inside, watching your arms go to wrap around the couch cushion as you muffle a cry. 

He takes it slow, with deep thrusts that have you moving against the fabric of the couch before realizing you’re jostling the side he shoved his mask and gloves into at the last minute when you let yourself into his apartment without texting him earlier. He can tell you’re only halfway to being dumb right now, and decides to pick up the pace, wrapping his hand around to toy with your throbbing clit. 

Just as he thinks he’s in the clear, he hears a small thud of his mask hitting the floor and he groans out loud. Of all times, just when your walls are starting to flutter so nice and tight. When you drag your heavy head up to see what fell, your eyes go wide, and he feels you clench on him. In fear, maybe, though he’s not quite sure. With all his ministrations during your talking sessions about the murders, he might've been a little successful at conditioning your body.

“Hajime, what is that-“ your panicked tone has him cursing.

Before you can think to say another word and ruin the nice pace he's been building up to, he pushes in far enough that he knows he’s flush against your cervix, but the high of getting caught and being inside you has fireworks bursting behind his eyes and in his brain. The adrenaline has him pumping into you at a depth and speed you're not used to, squealing into the cushion as slaps ring out in the room. 

“Guess you- hah - found out now huh? Can’t let you go now that you know...just wouldn’t work out, not that anyone would believe you,” he pants and knows there’ll be no response, not when he’s playing your body like a harp making sure to hit and touch all the places he knows you go stir crazy for. 

God, you wish you could focus, but the only thing you can really do is take what he’s giving you as the couch shudders and his one foot is posted on the floor for stability. You try to sound out a no to stop him, your hand going back to still him, but he grabs that arm and holds it behind you in a gentle death grip. It’s turned your body enough that the new angle exposes your face from the cushion, leaving all of your sounds to bleed out of your mouth and fill his ears with music.

Even when you finally hit your high, he doesn't stop fucking you through it despite you crying that it's enough. He stops for a second, and you almost think he’s being merciful before he maneuvers your limp body up back onto his lap, never letting himself slip out.

“Think I wanna try something new, baby,” he pants, smiling into your shoulder as you struggle against him. Those big, strong arms you loved so much are now a vice keeping you in place. He somehow managed to grab the mask before picking you up, and that’s when everything goes dark. Or at least for a moment, it does. The mask has been tugged on over your head, your heavy breathing making the inside feel wet and sticky. His voice is muffled, but you can still hear the words.

“Cum with that mask on so I can think of you every time my knife goes through someone’s chest sweetheart,” he growls and punctuates your pet name with another deep thrust before you can feel him spill into you as he continues stuffing it up into your womb. Your nails digging in his thighs only make him more riled up.

His hands are on your hips, lifting you on him only to slam you back down, and he knows this position would be driving you crazy even if it hadn't already been for the overstimulation. He wonders briefly just how long it’ll take to break you into accepting him before realizing it doesn’t matter. However long it takes, he’ll keep screwing you until you’re docile; he can’t lose you after all. It’d simply kill him.

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hiragi’s livid to say the least. He’s yelling into the phone asking Ume how he could be stupid enough to get caught like that. Umemiya left you to yourself, cleaned and bundled in a blanket after rounds and rounds of sex had thoroughly turned your brain to mush on the carpet. The tears hadn't even dried on your cheeks yet from when he’d finished with you despite having kissed and licked them off with gusto earlier. At least you were sleeping now, cutely curled up in his bed wearing one of his shirts.

Or you were when he left you a few minutes ago, but the glint of his knife in his peripheral has him catching your hand before you can slice his neck, exhaustion clear on your face despite the fear and upset in your eyes too. He’s half hard again seeing your grip on the handle. Not a slasher yet, but he can tell you’ve got potential if he can push you in the right direction. He thinks he might have a chance at turning your noble little heart into something a little more twisted, a perfect match to his own. It’s all for the good of the town in the end, hopefully you can see that.

“Gonna have to call you back, Ragi. My girl’s feeling a little extra clingy right now.” He hangs up before Hiragi starts yelling again, deciding to deal with the problem in front of him before continuing his scolding.

“You’re holding it too tight, sweetness. You need to loosen your grip a bit,” he says, squeezing your wrist. Your gaze is settled on the carpet now, barely able to focus on the scratchiness of it on the soles of your feet. How you got here and what you were even supposed to do now are unclear. Killing Umemiya would stop the murders maybe, but given how Hiragi was on the line, he’s in on it. Two against one never really boded well, and even if you didn’t take that into account, did you even have the guts to go through with your original strike? Or did you know deep down he’d catch your hand and stop you?

Your head shoots up, nearly giving you whiplash when he places the knife’s point at his heart, and when you look at his face you see the boy you fell head over heels for, soft eyes looking at you with nothing but love and affection. The point digs in a bit, more due to his pressure on your wrist than your own, and you bite back a cry seeing blood well around the metal. He’s waiting for you to decide, and when the knife drops to the floor, he wraps you up in his arms, placing wet kisses on your face.

“Everything’s gonna be okay...we'll figure this out. It’s for your own good baby, I promise,” he coos before lifting you up and carrying you to bed. To his delight and your dread, he has you so tightly wound around his fingers, and you both know he won't be loosening the strings any time soon. He simply loves you too much.

When the town’s most famous couple goes missing, everyone mournfully assumes it’s the last nail in the coffin being buried as the serial killer wreaking havoc disappears leaving nothing but a trail of blood into the woods. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

dividers from here and here

[littlemarianah]

I think a lot about Katniss and Peeta pos-mj looking out for each other.

Because they are both completely destroyed, but they both hate seeing their partner suffering. So they do what they can to stand up for the other.

Peeta still has trouble touching her, he still grinds his teeth when he feels her too close, but he can't see her sobbing without comforting her in his arms. He can't see her whimpering half awake in the middle of the night without holding her hands, he can't see her eyes shining for him to come closer and do nothing.

Katniss can't get out of bed, she can't eat, she can't even force herself to take a shower. But her heart breaks when she sees Peeta depressed. When he's not eating , she forces herself to get up and go into the forest. She cooks it and feeds him piece by piece into his mouth. She cleans him and changes his dirty clothes with new ones. Wipe his face with a wet cloth to remove the grime and help him brush his teeth.

They just don't fall apart because they have the other by their side.

The desire to keep their love alive and safe is what makes them get up and do it. Heal slowly, make life better. It's the desire to see Katniss smile again that makes Peeta tell jokes, it's the desire to see Peeta happy that makes Katniss soften.

They do for each other what they can not do for themselves.

[sabotage-on-mercury]

i need your love (and something human)

(exerpt, soon on AO3)

for @tonydaddingham happy birthday my sun! 💖 A bit too late for your birthday, but nevertheless with a lot of love!

England, 1239

Aziraphale's already fragile facade crumbled under Crowley's razor-sharp clarity.

"I guess I'm just tired." Aziraphale closed his eyes.

 His voice faded to an airy whisper under the impact of confession.

"I'm tired. And I can't... I'm so tired, Crowley."

There was no denial, Aziraphale pleading, begging, for something, anything that would lift the weight of all these years, millennia of his existence on his shoulders, something that would ease the tightness in his chest and let him breathe again, a miracle that would make him whole again.

For that was the point. He was an angel, by default and by choice. He knew what was expected of him, and he was happy to do it. And yet he seldom felt less angelic than he did these days.

Crowley seemed to instinctively understand what Aziraphale needed, sitting quietly, watching him with the same unreadable expression he had worn for millennia, waiting patiently as Aziraphale fought the little tremors that shook his body and the tears that seethed below the waterline.

He can't do this anymore.

No. He would. He had to. Somehow.

A minute passed, and a few more, and Aziraphale just breathed, one deep breath after the other, until the storm died down.

Crowley was still looking at him intently, a steep wrinkle in his eyebrows, his lips pressed together so tightly it must have been painful.

Aziraphale tried and failed at a reassuring smile that only drew a sigh from Crowley.

"Angel-"

He shook his head defensively. "No, please, it's alright. It's just that the last few centuries have been... well, they-"

"They've sucked. And massively so," Crowley supplied eloquently.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a scolding look. "They have proven to be a challenge."

Crowley raised an inquisitive eyebrow and Aziraphale obeyed with a sigh.

"I mean... I mean, look at these people," he gestured around the guest room of the inn. "They're always fighting each other. And that's just here. All the fighting, all the hate.  Even when there are no wars, they find ways to make each other miserable. And there's hardly anything I can do about it..."

"Well, not to mention that your side has its share in that matter."

"Don't you dare be smug about it!"

"I'm not. Just stating the facts."

Again, Aziraphale could do nothing but sigh deeply. "I guess there's no denying it anyway, is there?" he asked quietly.

"Little crisis of faith, Angel?"

"I still believe She has a plan."

Crowley groaned lowly. "Because all Her plans always work out so well."

"They do," Aziraphale replied with more certainty than he felt. "In the grand scheme of things."

"Well, that's all right then!"Crowley sneered, reaching for his mug.

"No - I mean yes. " Aziraphale's hands began to shake again. "I hope so. I don't wish anyone any harm," he added helplessly, forcing his hands to still around his mug.

Loud voices and shouting broke out, and Aziraphale's eyes wandered to the group of people gathered around the ingel. Fists were raised, punches thrown, two men stared at each other through gritted teeth, noses almost touching, and before Aziraphale could process, a roar of laughter filled the room, breaking the tension. The two opponents stepped back, one clapped the other on the arm, and the next thing he knew, arms were wrapped around each other and the men began to sway to the song of a drunken singer.

Aziraphale watched the group with a furrowed brow. There were certain things about humans he'd never understand. A contradictory set of rules and behaviours he couldn't wrap his mind around.

And yet. In some ways, their lives seemed so much simpler.

Truly remarkable.

Crowley shifted in his chair, the movement immediately catching Aziraphale's attention and his eyes snapping back to the demon leaning on the table, head tilted and a subtle grin on his lips, making Aziraphale already dread his next question.

"But that's not everything, right?"

"I-"

"Whatever's bothering you. It's not just this ghastly century. Something... personal."

Heat crept up his cheeks and Aziraphale hoped Crowley would mistake it for the play of candlelight.

There was only one proper answer to that question. But the night was dark and he was so tired, the ale was quaffable, Crowley was finally here again, and in the end it wouldn't matter anyway, so he settled for the truth. Or at least the closest he could get to the truth without making a fool of himself.

"I just thought, as tragic as their lives are, humanity has this... potential," Aziraphale let the word slip over his lips like something delicate.

"How mean?"

Aziraphale took a measured sip from the mug.

"All these rules they live by, they make them up themselves. Not that they're always good rules, mind you. But people have the potential to change them all the time. Haven't we seen that ever since we've been here? Societies come and go, countries rise and fall, everything changes all the time. They can decide what they want to do, where they want to live, who they want to- There are far fewer restrictions than-" He interrupted himself. He couldn't even tell if the heat on his cheeks was from the ale or his wicked thoughts.

Crowley's lips twitched. "Do I smell jealousy, Angel?"

"No! No, definitely not." Aziraphale nearly drowned the rest of his ale in a doomed attempt to shut himself up.

"I'm just saying that being an angel comes with certain duties and responsibilities that can't just be thrown overboard."

Crowley leaned across the table and Aziraphale instinctively did the same. White fangs flashed, a smirk danced on his lips and Crowley lowered his voice to a whisper. "That definitely sounds like envy. How entirely... sinful."

"I'm not jealous!" exclaimed Aziraphale, straightening up again. "Just admiring the potential."

He reached for his mug, only to find it empty. Why was his cup empty already?

His fingers began to fiddle with his robe again, straining the scuffed fabric even more.

Crowley was unperturbed, in fact the look behind those dark glasses seemed to burn even more ferociously. "And what would you do with that potential?" he asked with a dangerous lightness.

The sounds in the tavern faded, only the crackling of the fire and the wailing of the wind remained.

"I think..." Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I've never really thought about it. It's neither appropriate for an angel, nor in terms of my decision, so..."

"Hmm." Crowley's drawled as he lowered his head, and for the first time that evening Aziraphale caught a glimpse of his serpentine eyes over the rim of his glasses, glowing in their golden grandeur, and Aziraphale had to choke back a gasp.

"And what if... what if you weren't an angel?"

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes together a few times, trying to make sense of the words. "But I am an angel."

"Yes, obviously. That's why I said what if."

Clammy fingers claw into the white linen.  "I don't think I understand what you're suggesting."

"Just humour me for a second," Crowley's voice was low and calm, the rasp so pleasing to Aziraphale's ears, a warm invitation that Aziraphale was only too happy to follow. "Forget heaven, forget hell. Miracles and blessings and all the rest of it. Just for now, pretend that it doesn't exist."

Worn leather shoes scraped across the uneven floor.

"Well, technically I'm on duty. The assignment -"

"- can wait until tomorrow."

"I don't think that's a very good idea. I can't just ignore - what if... someone is looking for us?"

"Nah. Not today."

"How can you be so sure?"

Crowley leaned in towards Aziraphale, his glasses sitting so low on his nose that his serpentine eyes fully glistened in the candlelight. "Just trust me, Aziraphale."

It was a temptation to capture him in a moment of weakness, Aziraphale was sure. But more than that, it was a question, a plea. Aziraphale felt any resistance he might have had crumble away under Crowley's unguarded gaze. There was really no logical reason to justify his trust, other than that he wanted to. And so Aziraphale nodded.

He cleared his throat. "So what exactly are you proposing?"

"The question is, if only for tonight, you weren't an angel." Crowley hesitated for a moment. "And if I weren't a demon. What would you do?"

"How should I know..."

Crowley smiled softly. "Use your imagination, Aziraphale."

"So..." Aziraphale tried to keep his foolish heart from beating out of his chest, "I could be a human?"

"Well, not very imaginative, but if that's your thing, sure." Crowley swung a graceful hand through the air. "Whatever tickles your fancy."

Aziraphale paused for a moment, his mind wandering.  "I don't think I know how to be human," he finally said.

"You have passed as one quite successfully for over 5000 years!" quipped Crowley with undeniable bemusement over the brim of his jug.

"That's not entirely true. I was just trying to avoid being recognised as an angel." And even that hadn't always been so successful.

Crowley washed Aziraphale's objection away with another wave of his hand. "Same difference." He crossed his arms on the table and leaned closer. "It's just being yourself, minus the miracles."

Aziraphale's eyebrows lifted. "Well, that definitely sounds too simple."

"Don't think about it too hard. This isn't a challenge for you to pass. Just having a bit of fun, and, hell, your Boss knows you need some."

"You know as well as I do that angels, and perhaps even demons, can't just go around having fun as they please."

"Yeah, that's why I said we just pretend for tonight, right?" Crowley arched an eyebrow over his glasses. "As if I didn't know your angelic duties always have to come first, don't they?" he muttered under his breath.

"Quite right," Aziraphale huffed over the uncomfortable knot in his stomach. "I shouldn't let personal feelings interfere with my duties."

"Then don't," Crowley shrugged, his shoulders tightening noticeably. "Just seemed like there were no obligations for you tonight, so why not give yourself a day off, hm?"

"That much is true, but tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow is tomorrow. You can go on being all prim and holy-"

"You mean like it never happened." Oh, that idea tasted bitter in his mouth.

"Sure, whatever. It's just a game." Crowley leaned back in his chair, the glasses obscuring the view of his eyes again, and a tense pull at his mouth. "It doesn't mean anything."

The rough edge of Crowley's voice was a dagger in Aziraphale's chest, cutting off whatever sharp retort he was about to make.

"Indeed it doesn't," Aziraphale confirmed half-heartedly, his fingers twitching and twisting with the lie.

It can't mean anything. That's the whole point. It was the only way this could work.

Oh, this was going to hurt so much. Why did he do this to himself? Surrendering to the idea that he could get a taste of the freedom he longed for, knowing that it wouldn't last forever? Not even for the next day?

Crowley seemed to sense his unease and shifted in his chair. "You don't have to if you don't want it,” he spat. “Was just an idea.”

"I want to." Aziraphale cursed as his tongue outpaced his brain. He was a victim of his own desires, the anticipation tickling under his skin, the sheer desire eating him alive, his common sense worn down by the grindstone of misery and loneliness of the past centuries.

It couldn't last, but did it really matter? Wasn't one night of pretending to be someone else, of feeling alive, better than none at all?

"It's just a game." He was repulsed by the distanced, cold ring his voice left in his own ears.

"Just a game," Crowley repeated as matter-of-factly, and Aziraphale knew that they were already in the middle of the play. "All right. So tell me. What human thing would you like to try out?"

Aziraphale swallowed. His mind was filled with everything he had ever dreamed of, every desire that should remain buried deep in his mind. Was this what potential felt like? How to choose the right one from all these possibilities?

As if he didn't already know.

No. Some things should remain out of reach, even if he were human. If they were human. Who knew if his most secret wishes would even be answered? There were things too precious, too fragile, to be risked just for the sake of a silly little game.

"I think I'd like to try what they have," he replied evasively, gesturing to the group of people sitting by the fire.

"Ale?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "No. Although another round wouldn't hurt." He gestured at their two empty mugs.

"Message received. What is it then?"

Aziraphale studied the group intently, desperately searching for an answer as close to the truth as he dared to say. "Connection," he said after a while. "They don't know each other and yet - they seem quite happy, don't you think? They don't seem lone-. They seem to enjoy each other's company."

Crowley's lips parted in a smile, wide and soft, lacking the usual hint of a smirk he hid behind, a smile Aziraphale hadn't seen in a very long time, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

"Very well then." Crowley relaxed in his chair.  "Who are you?"

Aziraphale frowned in confusion. "You know - I'm Aziraphale?"

Crowley held out his hand across the table. "Crowley. My pleasure."

Aziraphale paused before leaning across the table. "And what do I do now?"

"You tell me."

This was completely unhelpful. Aziraphale stifled a snort. Crowley stood up with a wink behind his glasses and swaggered over to the bar, offering Aziraphale a forbidden view of his backside. Why couldn't he just stop entertaining these crude thoughts?

Why else would he be here, if he was human? His eyes darted around the room as he tried to let the warmth of the fire and the slight dizziness from a few ales ease the tension in his body.

Crowley stepped back into their little corner and placed two fresh mugs on the table, which Aziraphale accepted with a grateful smile.

"I'm meeting a friend," he blurted out, blushing immediately at his sudden display of affection.

"A friend, ah." Crowley dropped into the chair, one arm across the armrest, fingers tipping the mug. "A special friend of yours?"

Aziraphale nearly choked on his ale. What was that supposed to mean? He studied Crowley's face, but even in its relaxed and softened state, his features remained an unreadable mystery to Aziraphale.

His instinct was to deny the truth at once. But he didn't need to, not today, when the truth didn't matter anyway.

"Yes," Aziraphale said quietly, and the warmth in his cheeks spread even further. "He's very dear to me." What a thrilling sensation it was to say those words aloud. He almost burst out into a giddy laughter. What an absolutely ridiculous game.

Crowley tilted his head, a familiar mischievous grin on his lips. "Something more than a friend?"

The trace of a laughter died in his throat and Aziraphale's eyes widened. Was that -? Did he really -? What was -?

"N-no," he choked out. "That's -. No."

"What a pity." Crowley lifted his mug and took a long sip of his drink.

Holy s-. Could it actually be... No, that stood not in the prospect of belief. Crowley wouldn't really be interested in him the way he was... or would he?

Maybe he is not, a voice in Aziraphale's head supplied helpfully. But this was a different Crowley, a stranger version, someone who seemed willing to play along with this game.

And why shouldn't that be enough?

Aziraphale's heart thumped up to his throat, his fingers trembling as he longed for the mug in a pathetic imitation of human self-confidence. He took a sip, licking his lower lip as he caught Crowley's gaze again.

"But he could be. Tonight."

Crowley stared at him, his mouth slightly agape before he cleared his throat, which didn't quite remove the roughness in his voice. "Then your friend must be a very lucky bastard."

"You think so?"

"Nah, don't play modest. You must know what you look like with your hair and that smile and - ngk. Forget it."

Did he really know? Aziraphale felt his blood pulsing feverishly in his veins, the rough but sincere sounding words fogging his mind. 

Crowley looked at him expectantly, his raised eyebrow demanding a response, but there was a look behind the glasses that was all too familiar to Aziraphale. Hope laced with desperation. 

Was this just an act? Or was it always there?

Does it matter?

Aziraphale folded his hands on the table and raised his chin.

"Do you really think I'm so simple that a single compliment is enough to make me fall in love with a stranger?"

A flash of disbelief flashed across Crowley's face before he found his playful grin.

"No, of course not. You would never fall for charm alone."

"Not that you have been very charming so far, for that matter."

"That's fair. But I have a feeling you don't want me to be. You wouldn’t want something as boring as that, would you?"

Aziraphale drew a shaky breath. How could Crowley know him so well? "I suppose you have all night to find out.”

"It will be my pleasure." Crowley shifted on his chair again. “I just don't want to keep you from your date with your friend."

"Lucky for me, he's already sitting here."

[todaywasamaritale]

alright kids, new game

use this for all of your ocs. i do mean ALL of them. then share the just the ones that are accurate

since my sleep deprived ass came up with this spin, i’ll go first:

and an honorable mention for malachi, who tortured a 17-year-old monarch for six months:

tagging @yaboieif, @princeteeb, @jingledbell, @demyxdancer, @rainbowsandwhumperflies, @whumpsoda, and anyone who wants to join in!

[incogxmari]

Dichotomy, Part 1

Dichotomy;

noun, plural di·chot·o·mies.:

• something with seemingly contradictory qualities.

Pairing: Ghost x F!reader

Series summary:

Unbeknownst to you, one night you unintentionally catch the eye of Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley. What first starts out as an idle interest quickly devolves into a dark obsession.

Warnings: brief violence (nothing major or graphic, not directed at reader), some sleazy characters with unsavory intentions.

—

It started out with something that seemed so inconsequential at the time.

He'd been at a pub, one of his local stomping grounds when he was on leave. Simon hadn’t even really taken notice of you at first, not even a blip on his radar. You were a wallflower, obviously uncomfortable to be there and just trying to make yourself disappear. You had a girlfriend with you, loud, bubbly, outgoing, obviously the one to convince you to tag along.

He’d taken one look at the both of you, idly noted you both were pretty little things, before shifting his gaze elsewhere and continuing to sip his beer.

As the night progressed he would every so often find his gaze shifting back to the two of you, noting how while you barely touched your first drink, your friend was well on her way to getting sloshed. It was apparent how you tried to advise your friend to slow down, to take it easy, but it did little good. It wasn’t long before others started to take notice of you both as well, thinking they might land an easy lay.

More than one bloke sauntered up to your table, all smarmy and sleazy. You would shrink under the attention, would politely and quietly rebuff the advances. Your friend was less tactful, telling them to get lost, sod off, neither of you were looking for additional company, thank you very much. It led to some profanities being tossed your way (you would flinch, your friend would sneer), but little else came of it as the pursuers moved along to look for easier prey.

It was about as banal and uninteresting as it could be.

But then you surprised Simon.

You finally succeeded in cutting your friend off and convincing her it was time to head home. She was well past drunk and snickered as you came over to help support her weight after paying the tab. It was slow progress as you both made your way to the door, your friend stumbling along in her heels and giggling up a storm. Movement caught Simon's eye and he immediately locked onto another male that was coming to intercept you both on your way to the exit. To anyone not looking for it, they would miss the nasty gleam in his eyes in favor of the charming smile on his face.

Simon recognized that look, knew it meant nothing good for either of you, and considered whether or not it was worth the trouble to get involved. With a long suffering sigh and a grumble under his breath about how he must be going soft, he stood from his table and started to make his way over in case things turned sour.

He watched as the man stepped in front of you both, probably offering his help. Simon could only see the profile of your face as you turned him down, moving to step around him when he intercepted you both again, this time more insistent and smile less friendly.

Simon saw how this man started to reach out for your friend and suddenly it was like a switch flipped in you.

Your eyes narrowed with a fury reserved for mothers protecting their young, lips pulled back in a snarl. All traces of your once meek posture vanished in an instant, spine straightening as you tugged your friend out of reach, shifting to put yourself between the two.

Something in Simon perked up and took notice at the shift.

"Don’t fucking touch her!"

You barked the order at him with all of the force of a seasoned drill sergeant, and you looked ready to tear out the man’s throat with your teeth if he didn’t heed your demand. Interest sparked in Simon's chest, thick and feverish and dark.

Naturally your exclamation drew the attention of several patrons and they turned to look at source of the disturbance, much of the idle background chatter in the pub going quiet. The added attention caused the man to flush, eyes darkening in a glare as he took a step back, hands up and palms out.

Simon saw through the pathetic attempt to appear non-threatening in an instant. He recognized the look of a predator ready to bide their time when he saw one. (As his targets could attest moments before they became a cooling corpse on the ground, Ghost was a beast that excelled in the delayed gratification of a hunt.)

"Christ, fine, no need to fuckin' scream."

Simon watched as you continued to stare the man down as he stepped to the side to let you both pass. Once he was out of the way, you marched your way to the exit while still being mindful of your friend's unsteady gait. Once you passed through the doorway the other patrons returned to their festivities, interruption forgotten. They paid no mind to how the man slowly made his way to the back door you both had just left through, slinking along unnoticed.

But they also failed to notice the wraith that shadowed the would-be predator out into the alleyway.

Ghost caught sight of you two farther down the alley, making your way towards the parking lot, unaware of the male advancing on you both. It took no effort for Ghost to catch up to the man, to slide up behind him and slip one thick arm around his throat in a swift sleeper hold. The man couldn’t even yelp with the force constricting around his throat, the only sound escaping being a hoarse puff of air. Neither of you two took notice, unable to hear the noise over the music playing from at the patio at the front of the pub.

It was almost cute how the man tried to fight his grip, the desperate clawing at his arms growing weaker as the seconds ticked by. Just as the man started to go limp, Ghost released the hold and shifted his grip to slam his victim face fist into the side of the building with a sickening crack. He watched apathetically as the man crumpled to the ground, blood starting to pool onto the concrete from his broken nose. Considering the force of the blow, the man would be lucky if a broken nose and a shattered sinus cavity was all the trauma he suffered.

Once Ghost was certain he wouldn’t be getting back up, he swiftly rummaged through the man's pockets, knowing that while he was in the blind spot of the surveillance cameras, there was no telling when someone would come through the door next. He quickly found the man's wallet, phone, and keys. He left the keys but took all of the cash within the wallet before tossing it on the ground next to the body. Then, upon spotting the watch on the man's wrist, knelt down and pocketed that as well. Satisfied with his handiwork of the staged mugging, Ghost turned and made his way back into the building, with everyone inside none the wiser.

Settling down back at his table, Simon found his thoughts drifting back to you. What had at first started as passing curiosity then a reluctant decision to get involved had quickly evolved into a personal investment on Simon's part. The dichotomy of you was compelling. He knew that the quiet, soft spoken behavior you exhibited earlier wasn’t a ruse, that much was obvious. But that righteous, protective animosity was also just as genuine.

A faint, barely there smile graced Simon's lips. He found himself keen to solve this intriguing new puzzle you posed.

Unfortunately for you.

———

©incogxmari 2024. Please don’t steal, repost, copy, plagiarize, or translate any of my works without my permission. I do NOT allow or condone my writing to be used in/for AI under any circumstances.

[strsburn]

hii!! can u pls write a drabble for lo'ak x fem va'vi where the reader fell first but he fell harder 😔 like he realized that the reader was so good at handling Tuk and made him think of how good their relationship is and how the reader handles lo'ak's doubts and whatnots. thank uu!!

something there  ♡۰⸼ ۫ lo'ak

thank you for this request anon! i love this idea, and thankfully after being able to buy atwow on digital, i got over my writer's block. hopefully you like this x

Despite the attitude lo'ak often portrayed, he was a family man. Sure, he rolled his eyes whenever his brother pulled him into a side hug, and scoffed whenever his mother tasked him with bringing tuk along on his adventures, but he loved his family. He would do absolutely anything for them.

So, when he witnessed you, a pretty girl, but a stranger no less, indulging his little sister by playing along with her games, and being so genuinely invested in what she had to say, he was intrigued.

He watched with rapt interest as the two of you wrestled playfully, rolling around in the leaves, sending dirt everywhere as you both laughed in content. You, going as far as feigning fear when Tuk hissed playfully, her small fangs not fully grown, posing more of an angry kitten if anything.

"Lo'ak! Come meet y/n, she's so pretty, and cool. She plays with me and let's me win too!" Tuk cheered. Lo'ak had no choice but to come over as you had sat up, and been made aware of his presence.

It was only when you turned to face him, did he realize, you were not a stranger at all. In fact, he knew you. you had been the first female omaticayan to tame their ikran in under five minutes. an achievement that made him envious. you were the clan's best weaver as well, often creating the outfits for the festivities, and you were beautiful. a fact that all the male na'vi were aware of. himself included.

he felt himself stumble at the revelation, and his ears pinned back as you giggled along with tuk at his misstep. tail flicking behind him he tried to remain nonchalant as he neared you, offering a nod that had you raising a confused brow.

"uh..hey." he offered lamely, sending a sharp glare at tuk when she giggled, and made googly eyes, no doubt mocking his expression.

You smiled at him, offering a wave and he mentally cursed when he felt his tail swish happily at your sudden attention. What the hell was going on with him. He had just spoken two words to you, and all of a sudden his heart was fluttering in his chest, as if trying to find it's way back to whoever had stolen it.

Oh.

Oh.

You had harbored a crush for Lo'ak, for as long as you could remember. Often tagging along with his siblings to their home, hoping to get a glimpse of him, and even trying to strike a conversation with him. He never seemed to be interested or even aware of your presence, and you had backed off, assuming your duties, all while trying to get over your feelings.

However, it seemed as if things had flipped, and now he was seeking you out. Finding excuses to spend more time with you, and watching you with such an intense gaze you'd have to look away.

Your relationship seemed to develop, yet neither of you made a move to further it, despite the obvious interest from both parties.

You sighed as you played with a yovo fruit, appetite now dissipated as you had allowed your thoughts to trail too far.

You perked up as a familiar voice called your name, tail swaying with interest as Lo'ak approached you, a nervous gait to his usual smug strut. His tail twitched nervously behind him, and you wondered what could have possibly made him so unsure of himself.

You knew he constantly compared himself to his older brother, and to his dad, to whom he looked up to, and strived to be. It saddened you that he didn't view himself as you did, confident, caring, and a strong heart.

"What is it, ma Lo'ak?" You asked, smiling proudly when a slight coloring appeared on his cheeks at your usual affectionate term for him.

He played with his fingers, before he took a deep breathe, and straightened up. His eyes found yours, and your breathe hitched at the adoration in his gaze.

"Oel ngati kameie." He spoke to you softly, his fingers trailing from his forehead towards you, in the traditional na'vi way. However those three words were laced with everything he didn't say. It was not a greeting, but a confession.

A smile broke out on your face as you repeated the gesture, a smile curling up on Lo'ak's lips as he stepped closer.

"I see you, Lo'ak. I always have."

You pulled him down, and into a kiss.

Nothing had ever felt so right.

[leon-swedfinqs]

Every Action, Crashing Down

Aziraphale had been twisting himself into a panic as he desperately tries to find the right time to break the news to his partner. This was for his safety, this was for the best, wasn’t it?

Crowley has been trying, again and again, to find the right moment, the right words to finally expose what the two of them have been too afraid to admit. Finally, he’s given that chance.

A Good Omens D&D Au take on the final 15 minutes of 2x06. A much happier ending, thankfully.

Read Under The Cut

Aziraphale was at his wits end, it felt like. Like he hasn’t had a chance to properly breathe, a chance to slow down. His chest was heavy with the burden of guilt.

The image of Crowley kneeling on the ground, his skin burned and clothes charred as the recently freed celestial energy seemed to swirl around him and taunt him in mockery. The colorful swirls made his tears look like gold, as he shook and held the recently transformed scale-covered claw against his chest. Adam Young was a few feet away, fallen into a pile made up of his friends, also frozen in fear as they stared at the stars and fire that prevented anyone from getting too close. Aziraphale wasn’t even physically there, instead standing alongside the illusionist’s spirit as he was physically trapped in the town square by a witch finder and the townspeople holding him, bound in rope that ate at his wrists and ankles.

Crowley was freed, in the end. He had approached in his ethereal form and protected him from the light, though Aziraphale struggled to remember how. But even once it seemed like his partner was safe, the two were kept at a distance as Aziraphale was questioned for his affiliation and Crowley was brought back to the Young residence to heal with the boy.

All the cleric could think of was how he was the reason Crowley was inadvertently hurt by him. By his insistence, his stubbornness, his inability to lie and keep a secret. Pulled his partner directly into the mouth of the beast that was his biggest nightmare. One thing led to another, of course, as those thoughts brought on more memories of their previous travels. Again and again and again, it seemed that Aziraphale’s decisions kept hurting him, putting them both in danger, making them lose tremendous amounts of money.

Aziraphale understood that this was flawed thinking. He understood that not everything his mind and memory was telling him was true. His was stuck in his head, he was overthinking it surely.

“If you were putting Crowley at risk, then he would’ve left on his own a long time ago.”

But could that really be true? What if he simply stayed out of pity for the naive and silly cleric with little magic skills and a peculiar religious connection?

These thoughts continued to plague Aziraphale for weeks on end, long after Crowley had healed and was more than ready to go on more quests together. It seemed that the tiefling was eager, in fact, despite what his aloof manner makes it seem like. At every turn he was pulling Aziraphale to do something new, urging towards a more settled down sort of life in their base between missions. It was like a dance the two would perform.

Aziraphale would start and lead with his guilt and concern over Crowley, desperately wanting nothing more than to protect him and offer him security. Keep him from the prying eyes from the townsfolk, to keep him concealed by whatever was searching for him, by trying his best to keep his distance.

Crowley would answer and guide with a rebuttal of sorts. He would derail Aziraphale’s subtle attempts to try to leave or push him away by accepting long term-high reward quests, or making an elaborate dinner to share together by the fire. In the heat of battle Crowley would jump to protect, to assist, even to heal with potions. He was more open, more willing, he kept pulling.

Their actions told opposite stories, their actions told opposite pleas.

“I want to keep you safe. And safe is away from me.”

“I want to keep you close. I want you to be close. You complete me.”

But these words were never once spoken to the other. They just kept dancing.

However, one of the two was the better reader.

The cleric was acting weird, Crowley couldn’t help but wonder on a near daily basis.

During those weeks he spent cooped up in an estate house, going on missions alone to provide money for them to sustain themselves, Crowley kept going back and forth on if he wanted to stay once this was all over. Their arrangement was temporary — they stuck together because it was convenient, because it was easy. They were lacking integral skills in order to survive and thrive as adventurers, they needed the help in order to build up their abilities and become more capable. The more solo missions he takes, the more Crowley realized that he’s more than capable of being on his own. His aim is consistently accurate, he has the knowledge to mix his own healing potions, his stealth skills have vastly improved — why should he even bother staying with someone else? Sticking with another body fundamentally makes it harder for him to hide as he has no choice but to remain low for the rest of his life. Due to this partnership, his name is plastered on job ads, and he’s the regular at many businesses back in their home base village. He’s exposed, open, and vulnerable. Having someone else is just plain cumbersome.

The security and care he felt while he was shielded by Aziraphale’s spirit when it felt like he was about to nearly lose everything he worked so hard for was something Crowley never experienced before. As he was surrounded by Aziraphale’s presence, the light blocked by bright wings and the soft yellow glow of the halo, Crowley finally understood why he subconsciously stuck around for so long.

The dance, their arrangement.

His own actions to keep the music going.

It was an act of love.

For weeks, now that he has a clear head, Crowley has been plotting a way to expose their dance and ask to make it their reality. This comfort, this sense of home, this love, was something he didn’t want to let go.

Crowley had an idea in his head on how this was going to play out.

He was going to make sure to choose a day where it was clear that Aziraphale was in a good mood. A day where he felt more relaxed and comfortable, openly smiling and accepting to small physical touches, willing to go out on brief trips, simply just exist without a guilty expression on his face.

Then he was going to whisk the two of them away for a nice brunch out in town at their favorite bakery.

As his partner would indulge in his favorite pastries, Crowley would (gently) expose their dance and confess how he feels. Of course, the Angel would brightly smile and return the sentiment, and they get to stay together.

The plan was perfect, it was fool proof.

It took a while for him to build up the nerve to even consider choosing a day — it seemed that Aziraphale was all over the place, acting oddly distant and dismissive. It seemed as if he was worried over Crowley, at least from his perspective. He would occasionally catch a few side glances every now and then.

Finally, finally it seemed like he was able to catch the perfect moment.

Aziraphale was trying to plan to break the news to Crowley — he wanted to protect him, to keep him safe, to keep him out of the public eye to keep him hidden. He was practically a walking beacon with his halos and sword, two items that screamed his affiliation. He can’t have the tiefling follow behind him all of the time if all he did was attract attention.

As much as it broke his heart, they had to go their separate ways. While he longed for them to continue traveling together, for them to be together at a deeper level, this was the more logical step for their long-term survival.

He had a simple plan to lay it easy for the rogue.

First, he had to catch him on a good day. One where Crowley was relaxed and comfortable, least likely to explode into a bad mood.

Then, he would make sure that Crowley was sitting down — preferably with a cup of coffee or even whisky to calm the nerves.

Finally, he would admit his thoughts and propose the idea that they should travel alone from now on. Hopefully, Crowley would understand where he was coming from and easily agree.

It was simple. It was perfect.

Now he just had to calm his nerves and go for it.

Later that week, as the two stood together in the kitchen to share their morning tea and toast, both of them clocked how at ease the other seemed. Aziraphale hummed as he stirred the sugar and honey into his mug, and Crowley would quietly sway as he stood besides his chair.

The cleric wasn’t running away.

The rogue wasn’t antsy.

They’ve accepted their plans and were ready to move forward.

After cleaning up the dishes, Crowley quietly slipped out of their small base to head out into town to check on the bakery to double check that it was going to be serving breakfast later that day (and possibly to ask one of the employees to save a few pastries for when they arrive as they do tend to sell out).

“Ah, Mr. Crowley! Good morning to you,” the employee, a lovely half-elf he had come to know as Nina, hummed. “The usual I suppose?”

“Add in a dash of cream with it, please — I need to keep my nerves,” Crowley said as he leaned against the counter.

“Your nerves?” Nina asked with a quirk of her eyebrow. “Is something going on?”

Crowley had practically become a regular at this bakery, with how often Aziraphale would send him there to pick up bread or quick meals for them to share. While he would wait for one of the bakers to gather his order, he would stand up front and get a large cup of espresso and chat with the manager. It was the main way he learned about village gossip — being one of the main baristas, Nina was told all sorts of secrets from customers who would come in and out of the shop all the time. From the conflict in the square over the job board, to the rumors about crushes between shop owners, she has heard everything. Crowley would find himself spilling to her every now and then, with the comfort knowing that his secrets were safe behind her lock and key.

“You know, the, uh…the thing,” Crowley sputtered.

“The…thing?” Nina echoed.

Crowley quickly nodded. “The thing. I’m planning to say the thing. I, nnn, fuckin…I’ve been waiting for the time to say ‘the thing’, and it finally looks like he isn’t two seconds from running to the hills or crumble under some strange pressure I can’t identify. It’s like a reset button was pressed! I need to say it now, or I’m going to clam up, and we’re going to keep going in circles and things are going to keep becoming more and more weird and awkward, and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle that, and-“

“You need to get that gob under control,” Nina said with a laugh while placing a ceramic mug in front of the man. “In order for you to say ‘the thing’, you’re gonna have to save your words for it.”

Crowley took a quick swig of his espresso before heavily sighing. He solemnly stared down at the deep brown liquid.

“We’ve been traveling and working for, what…25ish years? Met when we were both young and stupid, kept moving between towns in search for quests, finally settled down at a home base and have been working ever since.”

“That’s what you’ve told me,” Nina hummed. “You basically made a business front for yourselves and have become infamous faces around here. Like that book hoard we can see through the upstairs window.”

“The ‘library’,” Crowley corrected. “It’s Aziraphale’s favorite loot to collect. I don’t even want to think about what could be on the covers on some of those books or hidden between the pages,” he grimaced. “Our storage room became the library because he just kept getting more books whenever we went out.”

Crowley glanced out the storefront window to eye up his ‘home’. The bottom floor was their “shop” of sorts were people could come in and hire them for the day, or search through the loot they were offering to sell in case they needed any strange objects. Crowley would spend hours sifting through everything to choose stuff to put up front. He would say to Aziraphale that he was doing this to clear up more space in their living quarters, when in reality he enjoyed making arrangements of objects to pair together in a sort of scheme to sell as much as humanly possible. It was like a fun game to him. Behind and above the main store front was where they lived. The place came with a couple of extra bedrooms, but only one was used at a time (they never seemed to sleep at the same time, and when they would sleep both had an affinity for the bed on the top floor, with a window that faced the sunrise). There were readings rooms, a common area, kitchen, everything they needed. It was oddly a very domestic arrangement, one that they never thought they’d find themselves in. Little details filled the corners of this area — plants Crowley would bring back littered every corner and empty space, a large portion of one of the spare rooms was taken up by a large tank that held a snake, and what was called the “office” was littered in papers covered in Aziraphale’s frilly handwriting.

“We have a life here,” Crowley lamented. “A comfortable one. A safe one. Right now, we are living together separately. I…I just…I want this to be us living together. Completely.”

He sighed and glanced down at his cup as he gently swirled it around in circles. He watched as the cream mixed a bit more with the coffee, making the liquid a bit more lighter in color.

“If he didn’t like this arrangement, he seems to be the type that would’ve left a long time ago,” Nina said. “What’s the worst he could do if you asked?”

“Well, he could stab me with a blade, for one. Or blast me with magic. Or stab me with a flaming blade instead, that’s more likely,” Crowley quickly responded. “We’ve never had this conversation before, not even as a campfire sort of chat, so I don’t have a single clue about how he feels about anything romantic, let alone from someone who is probably the same gender, I mean he comes from a very strict religious background and I’m sure you’re aware about what kind of stuff those folks are really weird about, and-“

“Anthony,” Nina quickly butted in to make him stop. “I bet you that Mr. Aziraphale is not like that, I’m sure that he’s completely far from that. I have seen the way that he looks at you, how he talks to you. I see it loud and clear. You guys, you just…”

She sighed and shook her head. As she gently placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, she made direct eye contact with him.

“You two don’t talk about the important things. The really really important things. You talk around the important things and hope that the other person picks up on what they’re trying to say. I’ve seen it while you have your lunches, I’ve heard you complain about it nearly a million times now! You guys need to talk, you need to do ‘the thing’ and say something!”

~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale was wearing a path into the floorboards of the front room. Crowley had suddenly ran off and his thoughts immediately began to spin and scream.

“You’re running out of time, he seemed excited about something, you’re both becoming way too comfortable with this! You are blatantly putting him in danger for purely selfish reasons, you can’t let this go on any longer!”

His thoughts kept berating him with harsh words, kept pushing him with memories of recent events that filled him with fear that even he hasn’t admitted to Crowley about yet.

The cleric had gone out a couple of weeks ago on his own to a market in a nearby town. He did this to give himself some space, he did this to create some temporary distance between him and his partner, he did this…he did this because the distillery that made Crowley’s favorite bourbon finally restocked and he had promised that he would get him some that weekend to celebrate their recent mission. The particular bourbon was the one that Aziraphale had given to him on what he had determined was the tieflings’s birthday ages ago, and was insistent that he keep it despite the fact that he got the date wrong by a couple of months. That drink, both for the memories and the taste, had easily become his favorite and the rogue tried to keep at least one bottle in the building if possible.

While he was out in the market, both buying the bottle and grabbing some supplies he normally can’t find at home, Aziraphale was struck by a horrifying and familiar sight. Across the crowds of villages and travelers was the face of one of his Brothers, the halos shining in that distinct light-purple hue that identified the particular brother. He was standing and talking with someone who was unfamiliar to the cleric, a short dark elf with scruffy black hair, and an official looking uniform with a shining medallion on the lapel. Aziraphale was quick to leave once he willed himself to move again, his heart pounding in his ears as he prayed that the two did not see him as he fled.

They were looking for him, that much was for certain. It wasn’t long before they would find him and whisk him away, putting Crowley and the rest of the village in danger in the process.

Aziraphale stopped, catching his breath as he started to make himself pant in his panic. Taking a quick survey of the area outside of the windows, the cleric noted that his partner was still away to gods knows where. With the allotted time, Aziraphale quickly got down on his knees and clasped his hands in prayer. He bowed his head, halos nearly slipping over his eyes, blinding him in their light, as he concentrated.

“Dear Ecliel, forgive me for my insolence and greed as I have held onto my time for far too long. I admit to this hubris,” he started in a hushed breath. “I have clung to him, I have held him down and nearly dragged him into my own pit of despair and sins because I could not let go. I beg of thee, spare him from my mistakes, bring guidance to help free him from his own chains and bring him a bright and prosperous life away from the demons of the past. Be the guiding star I selfishly tried to be instead. Amen.”

His words echoed into the ether, their message and magic spreading into the air in search for their receiver. Aziraphale sat frozen, letting his confession sink into his soul, his words repeating in his mind lest he forget.

It’s been so long since he has prayed. He hopes that She will finally listen to him and spare him with Her grace.

A creak on the front porch outside of their door made Aziraphale shoot up in a panic and quickly dust off his tunic in order to look presentable.

Bag sitting on the front desk filled with potions and his notebook of spells?

Check.

Sword held in its sheath strapped to his side by a belt?

Check.

Pockets filled with extra cash that he has saved on the side in case of emergencies?

Check.

There was no going back now. This was the next step. This was the necessary step. No more dancing around the conversation.

He had to tell the truth.

After fighting with the door, Crowley stumbled into the main room, bearing a smile on his face and holding a sack of pastries under his arms. As he struggled with his keys to ensure that the door was properly locked, Aziraphale meekly entered the room and stood by the doorway near the front desk, ringing his hands together to try to calm his nerves. As Crowley turned, the two made quick eye contact. The tiefling brightened, Aziraphale winced in fear, as the two stepped towards each other.

“Ah, perfect timing! I stopped by the bakery and talked to Nina, she said that they’ll be cooking brunch today-“

“-Ah, Crowley, I don’t mean to interrupt but there is something that I must-“

“-and I thought, ‘oh perfect! We have completed a bunch of successful missions recently and haven’t had time for a sit down meal’, so I got some-“

“-tell you and I really think we should sit down and have an honest conversation because this won’t be easy for me to say, so just, please-“

“-of your favorites and figured we could go out because there’s been something on my mind and I really think that-“

“-we need to talk.” “-we need to talk.”

As the two kept talking at each other, they kept getting physically closer and closer together. The two owlishly blinked at each other in disbelief as their rants synced up at the same line.

“O-oh, oh goodness, oh dear,” Aziraphale fussed as he started to internally panic. “W-what was it you were trying to say my dear?”

“Ah, um…” Crowley rubbed the paper of the pastry bag between his fingers before ultimately decided to place it down on the counter that ended up beside them. He wrung his hands together and gestured vaguely at the cleric. “You should go first.”

“Crowley, ah-“ Aziraphale started to pick at the skin around his finger nails in an attempt to calm himself. “No, really, it’s okay, f-forget it.”

Crowley raised his eyebrow in suspicion as he felt Aziraphale’s anxiety hit him in waves. He looked flighty again, like he has been for the past week or so. There goes that plan entirely, at least for now. He waved dismissively and let himself physically relax as he already accepted the failure. “No, really, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale immediately deflated at the question. Of course he was able to pick up on his panic, it was probably crystal clear on his face. He took a brief moment to take a deep breath and compose himself as he faced the tiefling.

“I-I, uh…goodness…this isn’t really the right time to bring this up, but honestly there hasn’t and probably will never, uh, be a um…there will never be a good time for this,” Aziraphale rambled. “I have a proposition. An arrangement, I suppose it would be better phrased as.”

Aziraphale gulped as he watched the tiefling narrow his eyes in suspicion and glare at him, an eyebrow raising to prompt him to continue. He just had to keep pushing and say the line. This was for him, for his safety, for his life.

“I…” Aziraphale pointedly made an effort to look away from Crowley’s face. “I believe our time working together, our arrangement, has run its course. I-it’s time for us to travel and work on our own. F…far away from each other. Protect and help more people by spreading out to reach others out there. On…o-on our own. For the foreseeable future.”

Crowley took in a sharp breath through his nose as he processed the clerics words. The other man was biting his lip as he forced himself to put on a pained smile to try and soften the blow of the true meaning behind what he had said.

Oh. Just his fucking luck. Absolutely brilliant.

Crowley growled in annoyance as he grabbed his glasses and tore them off his face, gripping them tightly between his claws. He swiftly turned away from the human, grimacing in annoyance as he tried to ignore his heart breaking into a thousand piece.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He stepped forward, and in an attempt to gain control over the situation, started to speak without thinking.

“M-my dear, please, this is for both of our benefits, for our safety, for your safety, you have to understand-“

“Oh I understand,” Crowley spat. He swiftly turned and made direct eye contact with the other man, his eyes wet with brewing tears. “I understand completely.”

Aziraphale could feel the fire emanating off of the rogue as he stared into his golden eyes, the irises pin-sharp slits that bore into his soul. The air was thick and dense, the tension creating static that kept pricking at both of their skin.

After what felt like minutes of silence as they stared, it seemed the tiefling finally broke as he fell back and physically relaxed, a look of defeat forming on his face.

“Fuck, okay, if I don’t say this now then I will probably never get the opportunity again. So I might as well say it while I have you right here in front of me.”

“Crowley-“

Aziraphale was quickly shut up by the sharp and deadly look the rogue gave him the moment he dared try to speak.

Crowley took a deep breath. This wasn’t the circumstance that he wanted. This wasn’t what he planned. In fact this was far beyond that. But there’s no going back now.

“We’ve been working together for a long time, you and me. A couple of decades now, it seems, though honestly it feels more like thousands and thousands of years. It’s just been us, the two of us, a team, a group, a party. We’ve fought and battled and won and lost, and we’ve settled down in this dinky little shop in this dinky little town. And we’ve been here. Together. Comfortable and settled into our roles separately. And, a-and I would like to spend-mmm…“

Crowley shuttered as he sniffed and looked away. He needed to compose himself. Keep himself together.

“A-and I would like to spend this life together. Comfortably together. We’re a package deal, the two of us. Throw away the past, f-focus on the present. Together.”

Crowley turned and made eye contact with the cleric again as a single tear escaped, sliding down his cheek and getting caught in his scales.

Aziraphale couldn’t breathe as he blankly stared at his partner in disbelief. All this time…all this time he ran away, afraid that his feelings were null, a fantasy, a farce. But now…it was too late.

The silence bore into Crowley’s soul. Aziraphale was staring at him, with pure horror on his face.

“R-right,” Crowley huffed out in a laugh as he shook open his glasses and placed them back on his face. “You don’t need to tell me. I’ll go pack and get out of here.”

He kept his expression neutral as he slipped by the cleric to head up the stairs to their living quarters. Aziraphale had to will himself to move and turn towards him.

“C-crowley, wait!” he desperately called as he started to pant.

It was becoming difficult to breathe. The air was thick and stale, clogging his lungs like he was underwater. What did he do, what did he do, what did he do??

Crowley paused and turned slightly, his expression softened just a smidge as he gazed down at the frantic human standing before him.

“Don’t bother,” he said calmly as he started to continue walking towards the stairs again. “I don’t need your forgiveness.”

“I-I need you!” Aziraphale blurted before he could even think, his thoughts turning a million miles per hour. “Forgive me!”

Crowley paused as he grabbed the handrail, the weight of the cleric’s words falling upon his shoulders.

The desperation. The fear. The care and love and protectiveness over him. The secrets untold just waiting to burst and fall open. It was all so heavy and burdensome.

“You idiot…” Crowley huffed out in a laugh. “Oh you absolute idiot.”

Aziraphale started to shake as he tried to watch his partner, his vision swimming and twisting. What has he done, what has he done, he’s ruined this, he’s ruined everything, he’s ruined it all again and-

The cleric barely processed in his storm of thoughts that the rogue had turned and quickly marched towards him, his expression both broken yet determined and confident.

Crowley gathered his nerves and decided to take initiative as he stepped away from the stairs and swiftly turned, using the burst of confidence he had to turn back and face him.

One step. Two steps.

Claws snagged at the scraggly white fabric and pulled the body forward, causing it to emit a shocked yelp in surprise.

Grabbing the cleric by the neckline of his shirt, his knuckles white and holes tearing in the fabric, Crowley pulled Aziraphale towards him. In the center, the two collided in a kiss like they were two stars smashing into each other, exploding into brilliant light and dust and fire.

The two clung to each other like magnets, refusing to pull apart in this frantic and desperate embrace.

Aziraphale hung onto him, pulling him closer and closer in an attempt to not let him slip away. He held Crowley like he was something he was going to lose, like he was something he had finally pushed away in his dumb-witted attempt to protect him, like he was something he needed to stay together.

Crowley gripped onto Aziraphale’s shirt, keeping his hold strong and tight like he was something that was going to frantically run away the moment he would let go. He held Aziraphale like he was something he desperately wanted, like he was something he wanted to keep, like he was something he wanted to make understand that it didn’t need to disappear, like he was something that truly completed him.

Aziraphale was shaking as he helplessly tried to find a place to put his hands on Crowley’s back, desperate to return the sentiment in order to tell him that this was what he wanted, that he was mistaken, that he was a fool.

Oh, how it seemed that the world spun around them, blurring their separation to make them one ambiguous figure made up of clashing colors. Pointy lines and soft, gentle curves, deep reds and quiet blues, two separate ends of the spectrum that were nearly identical when looked at up close. The fates kept drawing them closer and closer, coincidences had become truths, light and dark had mixed and become a soft gray.

The mass seemed to split as Crowley broke them apart, panting as he tried to catch his breath for the angel had stole it. Aziraphale stumbled back in surprise, desperately trying to breathe as a shaky hand touched his lips, feeling the ghost of Crowley’s presence.

The rogue stared at his opposite as his body buzzed with adrenaline, his mind and voice completely silent and spent. While the angel’s halos were blindingly bright, Crowley did not squint as he studied Aziraphale’s shaking form. In a snap, their eyes met, and Crowley finally took a deep breath in relief.

His gaze wasn’t fearful or regretful. He couldn’t identify any doubt, any questions, any arguments. Aziraphale’s eyes were wet and shining, yes, but it was clear that he was far from upset.

“Please…” the cleric breathed. “Do it again. Please, do it again.”

Tears escaped from him as the angel pleaded. Crowley didn’t even need to think, he didn’t need to say a single word as he stepped close again and reached, gently cupping the cleric’s face in his hands. As their lips met once more, with less desperate ferocity this time, and their eyes gently closed in comfort, Crowley felt Aziraphale’s arms drape over his shoulders, his body melting against his as he finally relaxed.

“I’m not leaving, I was a fool. I’m still a fool. Will you ever forgive me for this mistake?” was what Aziraphale’s heart was pleading.

“Don’t be fearful. Whatever made you want to run, it’s our battle now,” Crowley’s heart called back. “It always has been, it always will be. Stay with me.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

[love-mariiii]

Was It (I) Ever Good Enough

Okay, so this is the first time I am brave enough to publish something. It's a lestappen fic, cuz i love them, it's kinda sad though and also not very long. I wrote this while listening to billie's new album. If any commas are in a weird place don't mind it please, me and commas dont have a good relationship. Also this isn't finished, but I might try and finish it if any of you like it.

Max didn’t think it would come to this. That after everything, this is where he would end up. On his bedroom floor, drunk, regretting every decision he’s ever made, but maybe he should have seen it coming. Charles never was one for commitment when it came to relationships, so why did Max think that it would be any different with him? 

To Max, they were everything. When he thought about them, he could see a future, somewhere in Tuscany, happily married, spending the rest of their days in peace with no distractions from the outside world. He should’ve known that it wasn’t like that for Charles. The start of their relationship was way too messy. But Max’s judgment was so clouded by the fact that Charles liked him back, that all those years of pining weren’t for nothing, that he didn’t even notice it. 

Now he’s drowning his sorrows in alcohol, praying that when he wakes up tomorrow it was just a nightmare. That when he wakes up tomorrow Charles will still be here, next to him. He knows that won’t be the case, he knows that he’ll wake up to an empty bed, an empty house, feeling hollow, asking himself where it all went wrong.

[sapphiretanto]

Just throwing this out here…

If anyone wants me to write about something from TMNT 2012 (whether it be a character or a scene), I would be happy to write an analysis on it. Just message or ask me and I will try to break it down as best I can or get the talking points you want in there

I already have some that I plan on doing that, but if for whatever reason, you want me to talk about it, I will be happy to.

I will not include writing about any bashing of another tmnt show, tcest (yes this includes the romantic pairing of Leo and Karai), NSFW topics.

And please keep it to TMNT 2012. It’s the one I know best about. Thank you!

Topics I Plan to Write About Someday:

Mikey not being a “baby” and an actual menace (/aff)

Leo isn’t an asshole

They Chaotic Sibling Duo that is Karai and Leo

[alrighttevans]

wandering thoughts

She’s haunting him, he is sure of it. How else could she be lingering through his thoughts, burning her way through his mind?

Penelope Eckhart is chasing around Kallisto in his dreams.

read on ao3

Then, what intentions could she possibly have behind her actions?

Had she been dared to confess to him, too stubborn and prideful to decline such a thing? Had she truly gone mad?

Could she honestly harbour feelings towards him?

He couldn't help but ask why. What was there to love about him, about a dog that spent almost a decade rolling in the battlefield? Actually, his life out of the war wasn't much different. It was all about killing and avoiding being killed; every thought, every action, every fraction of his time was about survival. His good-looks, she said, his bravery, his skill with a sword, but all felt like empty words, all too superficial. If those were truly reasons to make people love him, he would be drowning amongst love promises for years now. She wasn't telling him her true reasons, which he desperately needed to hear, he had to know what could possibly have made her love him.

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

requested by:

After reading the pretty boy fics, I got to ask: "How would the dorm leaders (and the rest if you want to write about them) react to being given food from the reader (who cooks and bakes god tier food) who is concerned for their wellbeing?" - anon Headcanons for Dorm Leaders with an s/o who loves to spoil them with delicious homemade meals, sweets and snacks. - anon Could I request something domestic? Housewardens with an s/o that cooks for them almost everyday? -anon

a/n I decided to combine these three requests! I'm not sure if there were anymore of the same variety, so if I missed it, I'm sorry T^T Gonna split this into three parts, so keep an eye out for the other two! I wanted to keep this vague, i didn’t mention any type of specific food, but make it known, i am craving tamales so badly

included: grim, all of heartslabyul and savanaclaw

tw none

Ramshackle <3

⋆ He eats your food every day. Your best customer is the one and only GRIM THE GREAT! Food always tastes good to this little guy, but food made by you? Top tier! Nothing could beat it (the overblot stones probably could) He’s a pain in your ass when you're cooking/baking, constantly trying to get a nibble from your ingredients. His hungry ass is just too impatient. After a long and hard day, all he wants is to lay back and eat some tuna and one of your sweet treats for dessert. It's the best way to end his day.

Heartslabyul <3

⋆ You see once you start cooking for them, you’re not going to stop. Cater and Ace make sure of it. They all love your cooking! They feel so loved and cared for with each dish you lovingly made for them. Does this contribute to their ever growing feelings for you?

⋆ Yes, yes it does.

⋆ Riddle was kinda on edge by it. Not because he thought you were a horrible cook, he’s tasted Ace’s cooking before, but because he didn’t understand the warm feeling in his chest. Riddle’s mother never cooked, instead she had chefs cook the blandest (healthy, she claimed) foods for them both. He’s never felt the warmth and comfort from a home cooked dish. Trey is an excellent cook, and even better baker, but it’s Trey. You were different, always had been to him. Riddle almost moaned at the taste of the different spices and flavors that exploded in his mouth. This boy has never tasted so many all at once. It was truly an eye opener. Riddle asks if you could teach him some recipes.

⋆ So relieved. Trey is just the epitome of a parent finally sitting down after a long day when you come to help in the kitchen or bring containers of food. Trey finds himself visiting you at Ramshackle more often, with the intention of learning or cooking with you. But ends up with you ushering him to sit down and you’ll be back with some fresh soup. He really does appreciate your presence, everything about you is so comforting and lively, so you making amazing food is an added bonus. Loves to learn about different foods from your world, even more so any type of pastry/sweet! Considers asking if you want to do a bake off, but decided not to, because he knew everyone would choose you. (he would do the same tbh)

⋆ If you didn’t have a magicam account dedicated to your cooking before, well now you do! Cater will take photos of every dish you made, going on a long rant on how this is the most delicious food he’s ever eaten. If you let him, he'll post pictures and videos of you cooking/baking on the account. The account is as comforting as your food. Ofc, he has tons and tons of photos and videos on his phone of you. Cater looks forwards to whatever you make, but is especially touched when you bake something that isn’t incredibly sweet or something entirely different then what you made the others. It makes him feel special.

⋆ Ace didn’t consider himself a picky eater, at least not until he ate your food! Boy will not leave you alone. He's constantly begging you to make him food and treats. Saying 'you just killed a poor starving boy, gootbye-' and just crashes onto you. Ace just really enjoys your cooking and he melts whenever you bring him food without him asking (begging). He’s the type of person to sit on the counter and talk while you’re busy doing things all around the kitchen. It briefly reminds him of his own childhood. It’s oddly domestic that it sikes him out for a moment. But then he glances at you and suddenly that feeling is replaced with a warm fluttering feeling in his chest. (don’t question the blush on his cheeks ofc)

⋆ Deuce isn’t one for taking photos but every thing you’ve ever made him has been instantly snapped and sent to his mom. (who loves knowing that her darling son is eating well) He’s not as obvious as Ace, but Deuce tries to slyly suggest that you make him more food. And of course, he’s more than willing to help. Again, unlike Ace who sits and talks, Deuce follows you around the kitchen like a duckling, patiently awaiting your orders. He wants to be helpful! Will gladly take anything out of the oven and carry any heavy materials. Will crash if you hold up a spoon for him to taste test. Isn’t this romantic? He asks himself as he shakily takes the spoon into his mouth. Omg, and if he sees you do your own taste test with the same spoon? Oh sevens, help you both.

Savanaclaw <3

⋆ Another group that doesn’t let you stop cooking/baking for them. But at least you have free access to a buttload of money and two very eager helpers (for very different reasons)

⋆ Leona isn’t a stranger to good, probably excellent, cooked meals. He’s a prince, duh. But when it’s a meal cooked by you? Everything that he’s eaten up til now is straight trash. Pride is one way to describe how he feels, quickly followed by smug. Of course, you’d dedicate your time and energy to cook him a meal. And of course, you poured your love into every step. He’ll eat practically anything you give him, though he will side eye the vegetables and discreetly give them to Ruggie. As for sweet things, he’s not a big fan of sweets. I feel like he’d like savory flavors, maybe a little bitter or maybe a little tart. Or perhaps something with subtle flavors but a hearty texture. I’m just speculating of course, so it’s always a hit or miss when it comes to baked goods with him. Though, don’t worry, nothing you make goes to waste. Ruggie is always ready to swoop in when needed. And as mentioned before, Leona knows ingredients can get spendy, so he’s more than willing to hand you his credit card.

⋆ Speaking of credit cards, Ruggie just always happens to be in the same vicinity when that black card hits your hands. Ruggie wouldn’t call himself the greatest chef, but he is resourceful. With everything you cook, Ruggie shows you how to get the most out of your ingredients. He even shows you some low-budget/free ingredients you can find all over campus and how to make it. Ruggie is honestly a good person to have by your side when it comes to cooking, you learn plenty of new things and you get to share your own knowledge to someone you know will share with others. However, Ruggie isn’t someone that does something for free. So he expects to be taking half of whatever you're making back with him. On a cuter note, Ruggie practically bursts into two when you show up with a container full of warm, mouth watering, doughnuts. Judging by how fast Ruggies tail was wagging, you were afraid that he was about to fly up into space.

⋆ Despite his tendencies to try to keep his emotions to himself, Jack really does appreciate the effort you put in to make his meals protein pack and nutritious. And while he’s not the greatest cook, Jack helps the best he can in the kitchen. Though, he’s a little clumsy (if his culinary crucible says otherwise, no it doesn’t) but he’s eager! Jack is a quick learner so it doesn't take him very long to get the hang of things. Definitely subtly brags about it to the other first years. But if any of them dares to mention how fast his tail is wagging, he gets all pouty with embarrassment. I definitely suggest keeping it to meals and not sweet. Jack is not a sweet guy at all. Though he might indulge if you give him puppy-dog eyes.

[littleplantfreak]

Silly/Clumsy WB boys HCs

I see hcs like this and theyre always fun/make me laugh o(｀ω´ )o

Sakura’s food went down the wrong pipe at a restaurant and when the waiter asked if it was because it was too spicy, he insisted through coughing and tears that that definitely wasn’t the case (he could tell they didnt believe him though)

Tsugeura sometimes lets one rip by accident when he’s exercising. Not even a little fart either, the kind that stops everyone from what they’re doing.

One time Nirei stubbed his toe so hard, he fell and grabbed onto the nearest object. Unfortunately that was the back of Sakura’s pants, making him accidentally moon a few people in class.

Word recall is hard sometimes. So when Choji calls an ambulance a ‘hospital truck’ really what can you do? At least he’s using words. Sometimes he just mimes the shape or action of the thing and insists that you know what he’s talking about. Will draw a picture if he gets frustrated enough, but if it’s something intangible? Well it’s a guessing word game. (Togame is the best at it, but Inugami is on Choji’s wavelength enough that he’s pretty accurate too)

Hiragi calls the first years by the wrong name sometimes, like a mom with too many kids. He’ll yell and say Sugishita when he means Sakura, but he does apologize before yelling again.

Because he’s around older guys a lot, Togame sometime uses really old words or sayings. You haven’t hear the saying “It’s raining cats and dogs” or he’s “bleeding like a stuck pig” in years until you’re stuck under an awning during a passing storm or he comes back from a rough fight, nose still bleeding profusely. Also keeps bag balm/cetaphil, some other really good lotion for calluses and dry skin and just kinda slaps it on whatever shishitoren member he sees who’s hands are cracking, saying that the skin won’t heal as well when they’re older so they better take care of it now.

Umemiya’s got the worst habit of losing, dropping, or sitting on his glasses. He doesn’t realize it until he hears the snap and he’s got them taped up until he can go get them fixed again.

Kaji’s kind of a messy eater. Especially with ice cream or food with sauce on it. Started to get better with checking his face after eating after Hiragi slapped a wet wipe on his face after he devoured a rack of ribs, leaving him looking like he’d cannibalized someone

[littlemarianah]

"Mama, why are your ears like that?” asked the little girl, for the thousandth time. She gently ran my ear, pinching my missing earlobe with her little fingertips as she laid her head on my shoulder, almost falling asleep.

The little boy in my other arm was already sucking his thumb, sleeping peacefully.

I would run my hand through her hair and say to her. "The fire took it, Willy."

"Long before I was born?" she would ask and I would nod.

“long, long before..." I would say.

She would blink her eyes slowly, even though she was so tired, she would continue talking. She dabbed her tiny fingers along the rough scars on my neck. "Here too?" she asked.

“Yes, here too." I would say.

Her blue eyes would look at my scars curiously, she always made the same questions several times, as if she was trying to understand the facts, try to understand how something like this is possible... For a six years old girl, who didn't know anything worse than hurting her elbow.

“Did it hurt?"

“Yes."

Satisfied with the answer, Willow would fall asleep

[mirror-mariposa]

There’s a crypt in the deepest depths of the Deepfrost Citadel. A crypt with an eerie blue glow, filled with icy bones that whisper promises of destiny and greatness.

Tango stays away from it.

He knows a demon tomb when he sees one. He knows not to disturb a tomb with protection seals that signify a great threat.

Deep down, he knows he won’t be able to ignore the siren call of the bones for much longer. Knows that the power sealed in that crypt is stronger anything he can comprehend. Knows that as the Citadel gets colder, and the ice spreads around his base, that the tempting whispers spoken by those bones will only grow stronger.

After all, destiny cannot be undone.

For now, the dungeon is ready for its next victim.

[todaywasamaritale]

what if i give myself away, to only get it given back?

(neris board for @yaboieif and @jingledbell)