#suddenly I crave apocalypse aus

[vhoorlpool]

been playing a lot of left 4 dead lately, which made me think— hmm… what if you were surviving the apocalypse with a group of hybrids?

as they say, there’s safety in numbers. at first you were alone, fighting to stay alive in a world that couldn’t— but when a group of hybrids find you cute, what do you expect them to do? leave you all alone?

semi nsfw + fluff under the cut!! sorry if this seems rushed,, work has been killing me lately!! (つ﹏ <。) eep!!

the hyena hybrid who first saw you thought you’d make an excellent dinner. he wouldn’t even be ashamed to admit the countless hours he’s spent trailing after you to commit your routine to memory. but after seeing you try so hard to keep your cute little self safe all on your lonesome makes him feel… seen, in a way. you’re lonely, just like him; no pack in sight. it makes him feel so bad— so please, let him help you!!

he’s a hell of a good watchman, with sharp senses and night vision that helps him scavenge even through the most dilapidated of buildings for your team’s rations. he’s a bit of an asshole, however, always making snide remarks and groping your butt when you aren’t looking; laughing like a madman when the apples of your cheeks bloom that adorable shade of red.

but if anything or anyone happened to hurt you? he’d be on them in an instant, ripping them to shreds with his teeth; snapping bones under the strength of his jaw and bringing back the meat to eat with a deranged little grin.

he’s nocturnal, and a restless sleeper at heart. more often than not he’ll find himself tucked into your side; scruffy mug smushed right against your bosom as he rubs his cheeks against the plush mounds of flesh; making sure you’ll smell like nothing but him in the morning. what do you mean your teats are sore? what? bite marks?! hey, don’t look at him like that!

————————————————————————

oh, but the two of you are so utterly adorable to the dragon hybrid that happened to stumble across the two of you as you slept, unknowing that the abandoned home you’re in is his. his body is big, scales hardened and scarred from age and battle. who else would be so well equipped to protect you? you’re already sleeping amongst his treasure, you both might as well become part of it…

he’s the complete opposite of his hyena hybrid counterpart. he loves to sleep, warm body curled against the two of you as his wings keep you hidden from view; golden eye peeped open as he rakes his talons up, up, up; toying with the both of you and making you squirm against him before leaving you frustrated and pent up as he drifts to sleep. cheeky bastard!

he loves the two of you to death, and would absolutely throw himself into harm’s way to keep you safe. when you’re traveling and happen to be swarmed by a hoarde, expect to be pushed to the side as he unfurls those claws of his; ripping through infected bodies like scissors to tissue paper. he’d rather the sun fall from the smoggy skies than either of you get hurt. if you thought your hyena hybrid companion’s scenting was bad, wait until he’s got both of you smushed against him as he rubs his face against your necks and wrists; big body grinding up against either of you with the promise of a long night to come. (oh, dear… )

————————————————————————

god, do you three ever stop making such embarrassing noises? the moth hybrid finds herself reluctantly attracted to the light and love your trio brings, as cliche as that sounds to her. so when the three of you wake up to a grumbling little lump of fluff curled up between your bodies… no one is certainly complaining about the additional warmth. (well… maybe except for her.)

her nimble fingers are handy when it comes to administering pressure and wrapping your wounds in gauze and bandages when you get yourself in trouble. she’ll tut, chiding you for being so careless with her most favorite person. …what? did she say that? no she didn’t. aren’t you supposed to be resting, and not talking?

she’ll let the three of you begrudgingly rub the base of her wings and the tips of her antennae; though not without eventually melting against your bodies with the cutest sighs. she doesn’t purr, exactly, but you’ll feel a vibration against your chest. the same happens when she’s excited; and the fact that can potentially pleasure her troublemaker trio when times get steamy brings an immense sense of satisfaction to her.

she might be delicate, but not without ferocity. when her darlings are being cornered; she’ll get you out of trouble, come hell or high water. she’ll fly directly into a zombie’s face just to claw at their eyes; making sure they’ll pay for even thinking about coming towards any of you.

————————————————————————

to some, home is a place whether it be a rusted heap of metal or not. but to your hybrids, home is with you, and they wouldn’t want it any other way.

[franksoceanwrld]

GHOST TOWNS

zombie apocalypse au!aegon targaryen x fem!reader.

notes: this is a au of a zombie apocalypse aegon, reader and aegon have a complicated relationship but love each other, i recommend the song ghost towns by radical face. this is kinda set in the walking dead show but no one in the show is mentioned.

summary: you’d do anything for aegon, even give your life to save him.

warning (s): zombies, guns, knifes, gore, death, fluff, angst, idk what else?

masterlist

you looked outside, the heavy rain hit the windows of the truck. aegon was driving, a faint hum of the the song love will tear us apart by joy division played in the cd player of the truck.

its been five months since a outbreak took place, people got bit and ended up crazy. now the world was left in shambles, towns and city’s tore down in a matter of minutes.

you and aegon dated before the outbreak, despite the differences you both had you both loved each other. when the outbreak took place you were at his house, and his mother called, it felt like it was almost yesterday when it took place.

his mother called saying that his father and grandfather were in the hospital, she was going to say something else but the phone disconnected, that was last time aegon spoke to his mother. a few days later, his siblings aemond, helaena and daeron left without saying a word.

aegon and you eventually left his house, trying to find aegon’s half sister rhaenyra but the house was covered in stains of blood you both left the house quickly.

you weren’t that close to your family, but you tried to look for them. you went to your old house but ended up finding the house ransacked and empty. now it was the two of you alone in a cursed world.

aegon and you eventually learned that it was the bite that did it, or even a scratch. don’t get bit!

“what are you thinking about love?” aegon suddenly spoke out, his hands gripping onto the steering wheel.

the two of you had a complicated relationship, you both would disagree on something which led into an argument, aegon was short tempered that was for sure, but he loved you and you loved him.

“hm? oh nothing. how much do we have on gas?” you said looking away from the window to him.

“about half a tank, we’re good. i filled up another gas can in the back while you slept earlier.” aegon looked away from the road to you, his eyes were bloodshot and he had eyebags under his eyes.

“you look tired..let me drive?” you looked at him, your eyes almost pleading.

aegon looked back at the road, a yawn escaping him. “i could use some sleep.” he nodded, before pulling over to the side of the road.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

now it was night, the rain had stopped creating a nice scent of smell in the air. the both of you laid in the bed of the truck, piles of blankets and pillows under you and him, and a blanket over your bare bodies. despite the outbreak, the both of you always found a way to be intimate, and enjoyed it.

you laid your head on aegon’s bare chest, he had his arm around your waist, playing with the strands of your hair as he looked at the stars above.

the silence between you both was comforting, it was like the zombie apocalypse never actually happened.

“i wonder how aemond, helaena and daeron are.” he suddenly spoke out. the two of you hadn’t spoke about family in four months, it was a silent rule the two of you made.

“i’m sure they are fine, maybe they are with your mother?” you spoke, but the mention of his mother made his own body tense up, despite all the things she had said to him, he still craved her attention even if she wasn’t even here.

“i’m sorry-i shoul-” you immediately apologized, and sat up, the coldness picking at your skin.

aegon sighed, running a hand though his face. he sat up the blankets pooling to his waist. “its fine.” he said, but you knew it was a lie, and you absolutely hated when he lied.

“you know i do not like it when you lie.” you looked at him, growing irritated with him.

“i said i’m fine. now leave it.” aegon sighed, laying back down.

“i know you aegon, your not fine.” you said, looking away from him. “but i don’t want to argue with you, not tonight. so i’ll just leave it like that.”you laid your head back on his chest.

“i love you.” he muttered, pulling you closer to him. “i love you so fucking much.”

you kissed his chest, “i love you too.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

it had been a few weeks since then, and you and him found an old hunting cabin.

now you were looking through all the canned foods you had, the two have been living off of canned soups and fruits for the past few weeks.

“damn it.” you mumbled to yourself, there was a few canned soups but it wouldn’t last the next few days. you let out a sigh before closing the cabinet.

“how are we on food?” a voice spoke out behind you, you looked over your shoulder and saw aegon leaning against the wall.

“we’re running low. we probably won’t have enough for the end of the week.” you said, standing up and dusting your hands on your dirty jeans.

aegon let out a sigh, walking over to you. “i saw a supermarket not to far from here. it looked pretty empty.”

“okay.” you nodded, “we could go in the morning, when it’s more brighter.” you put your hands on his shoulders.

“yeah.” aegon nodded. “more safer in the morning anyways.” he put his hands on your waist. “we should get some rest.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

the next morning, the two of you sat in the truck, infront of the supermarket not yet going inside yet.

aegons eyes scanned over the building. like he said it looked pretty empty. “okay, we need to be quick.”

“yep.” you nodded before you opened the passenger door, your knife was in your back pocket, and you had your gun in hand.

the two of them walked began to walk through the supermarket parking lot, both of you were on high alert looking around for anything.

before the two of you entered the supermarket, aegon stopped to look at you. “yell for me if anything goes wrong, okay?” he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, before the two of you walked into the supermarket.

the sunlight shined through the windows, all the front shelves were empty and knocked over, there was some blood spattered on the walls and floors but no bodies.

“i’ll go search in the back.” you spoke to aegon.

“okay..be careful.” he spoke, as he watched you leave him.

you walked down the isle, it was eerily silent, the only noise being your footsteps stepping on glass. the feeling of uneasiness settled in your stomach as you looked around, knowing that anything or anyone could be hiding behind the next corner.

but you breathed a sigh of relief as you saw some canned foods. you picked up a few cans of food and shoved them into your backpack. as you finished you heard a loud crash coming from infront of the store. your mind immediately drifted off to aegon.

your legs started to run as you slung your backpack over your shoulders. once you reached the front of the store you saw aegon fighting off three zombies, their mouths snapping at him.

“aegon!” you yelled, putting your gun away, and pulling out your knife.

aegon snapped his head towards you, “leave!” he yelled, but you couldn’t just leave him, you loved him too much.

“no!” you yelled, stabbing a zombie in the head, his body falling limp on the floor.

you saw a zombie about to bite aegon in the arm but you stepped infront of him, the zombie biting on your arm instead, as aegon too busy to notice stabbing the other zombie in the head, as you stabbed the zombie on your arm in the head, aegon grabbed your arm and you both left the supermarket.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

the drive back to the cabin was silent, aegon didn’t even notice your arm bleeding from the bite and you were to busy thinking of what you were going to do, what you’d eventually turn in the next 24 hours.

the two of you walked into the cabin, aegon put yours and his backpack on the table, both filled with food.

“are you okay? you’ve been quiet since the supermarket..” aegon spoke, looking away from the food and towards you.

“i-“ you stuttered but ended up just showing him the bite mark. “i was trying to help you..but got bite in the middle of it.”

aegon’s eyes widened as he saw the bite mark. “no, no..” his eyes started to fill with tears as he stumbled to you. he looked down at the bite mark again, hoping this was just a bad dream and he’d eventually wake up, but his sadness turned to anger. “i told you to leave me!”

“how could be so careless?!” he yelled. “you were supposed to get out of there! not to get yourself bitten!”

“i couldn’t leave you!” you yelled back, you didn’t even realize tears were streaming down your face.

“well you should’ve!” aegon yelled, tears falling down his face as well. “no, i should’ve gotten bitten, not you!”

“no.” you shook your head, “i wouldn’t let that happen.”

aegon stepped away, his voice breaking “what do we do now?!”

“i cannot turn into one of them aegon.” you shake your head. “i cannot.” you pulled out your handgun, holding it out for him.

“no.” he shook his head, “i won’t-i can’t do it. no.”

you stepped closer to him, “i cannot become one of those things.”

he slowly grabbed the gun from your hands, “i can’t-i love you.” his voice was raspy and cracking, tears still streaming down both of your faces.

“i love you too.” you pressed your forehead to his, closing your eyes. “i can’t become one of those things..”

aegon closed his eyes, and with his free hand brought his hand to your cheek. “i love you so fucking much.” he leaned in and kissed you, mixing both of their salty tears.

aegon pulled back and slowly pulled the handgun to your head, breathing heavily. “i can’t do it..” he muttered, but he had too.

“i love you..” aegon spoke before pulling the trigger, the sound of the bullet filled his ears, and left a ringing sound.

the both of you fell to the floor, aegon put the gun on the floor, bringing your lifeless body and cradling it, burying his face into your neck, sobs taking over his body “i’m so sorry.” he kept muttering, rocking back and forth.

[uhohbestie]

There Are Monsters Nearby [Chapter 23]

🏜 Pairing: Grian/Scar

🧟‍♂️ Tags: zombie AU, zombie apocalypse, lovers to exes, slow burn, eventual reconciliation

📖 Summary: The day after Scar breaks up with Grian, the dead come back to life. Knowing that venturing out alone is a death sentence, the sudden onset of the apocalypse forces them to stick together despite their tensions. In the wreckage of the world, they're forced to survive side-by-side, coming to terms with the fact that—try as they might—there's still no one they trust more than each other.

Chapter 23 - Scar's new friend may have more personality than he bargained for, but struggling with his disability and his grief, he's in no position to turn down help.

📝 Words: 10,901

🔗 Link: Read Chapter 23 on AO3

—

“Alright, now be careful, it’s hot,” Pops says as he slides one of the open cans Scar’s way. Scar receives it gingerly, tugging the end of his sleeve over his palm in a similar manner to how he’d seen Pops do moments earlier before he picks it up, blowing hot steam off the surface.

With gratitude in his chest and a stomach suddenly tight with hunger, Scar digs his spoon into the can, taking a large bite without bothering to test it for flavour.

And almost immediately he spits it back out.

“Oh my god,” he gags, eyes tearing up at the acidity overwhelming his taste buds. “That tastes like cat food.”

Pops meets his eyes and takes a bite himself, face deceptively clear aside from a knowing twinkle in his eye that betrays volumes. “Huh, is that so?”

Scar doesn’t want to know the answer, but he can’t help but ask.

“Is it cat food?”

“I don’t know what to tell ya, man,” Pops shrugs, still shovelling the same, foreign mess into his mouth. “The cans were unlabelled. But hey—food is food, right?”

Scar gapes at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it, I promise. An acquired taste; like beer, or having your steak done rare. Which, by the way, is the only correct way to have it.”

Delicately, Scar sets the can down, pushing it away for emphasis as he admits, “Maybe I’m not that hungry after all.”

“It’s the end of the world and you’re gonna be a fuckin’ gourmand about it, Wheels?” Pops ribs, joking in a way that feels companionable rather than angry. It’s clear that, much like Scar, Pops is a social sort of person, one who’s been craving human interaction and is now extremely glad to have it.

Reluctantly, Scar can’t help but like him, even as he questions his taste.

“Look, I’ve got more shit back at my main base if you’re gonna be a fussy eater,” Pops continues, enjoying the melodrama. “I wasn’t really thinking I’d be taking in a stray, so I’m sorry this is the best I’ve got to offer. We’ll head out once we catch our breath, and you can have your pick when we get there, Gordon Ramsey.”

—

Another new banner this week, we're on a roll! Continuing to dip into the Day-Z references with this chapter, keeping that radio on 99.7

You can read the whole fic thus-far in the link below!

You may not rest now, There Are Monsters Nearby (on ao3!)

[googiewatch]

Because I want more representation, I want more AU stories about autistic people, here are some prompts!!!

Alternative Universes.

Library AU: i can't reach this book and i have to leave this goddamn library with this book read, you are looking at me and giggling a bit, you help me because you're taller and then i realize, you're holding a book about autism and self discovery, and wait you're autistic too?

other route with the first one, ''no no, a person in my family is autistic and i want to help them''' ''then i don't recommend... that book if you're educating yourself about autism''

High school AU: im in the special education classroom trying to calm down from a meltdown, when i see you trying to calm down from a shutdown while watching a video of your special interest,, and when the meltdown passes, i talk to you and you are currently non-speaking, but either way i encourage you to text me about your special interest since it seems that it calms you down.

Alien: yes you may be the alien coming from another planet, but youre so extroverted and it seems that i am the alien here since i cant understand how to talk to people, and how people work and how relationships works and why the hell are you laughing.

Dance AU: my vestibular system is shit yet you are still trying to teach me how to dance, please I CAN'T.

Childhood friends AU: we haven't seen each other in a very long time, but hey i have to tell you that i was diagnosed, i am autistic. youre laughing because you knew, YEARS AGO that i could be autistic, how the FUCK did you knew ??? i couldn't even tell!

Zombie Apocalypse AU: ah yes, the beloved zombie apocalypse where is sensory heaven for me, no sounds, no bright lights since it could attract zombies, no ambulance/police sirens, just plain silence! and please for god's sake do not use a gun to kill zombies!!!

Powers AU: you can turn yourself invisible, and it triggers when you have a strong emotion, you're also non verbal, so, many times i suddenly don't know where are you.

Idol AU: everyone mistakes you by a serious person/rude for not looking at people's eyes, not laughing at jokes (but you seriously do not understand them) at fan meetings, but i just know you're autistic.

Dragons/Monster AU: i have come here to kill you, you nefast dragon/monster! and then i realize you are an autistic shapeshifting human, who cannot controls when you transform (it triggers when you feel a strong emotion aka at meltdowns), and was kicked out from town because people thought you were a demon since you had 0 social skills, and used to be very violent at meltdowns and you didn't knew the social rules in the town, so people thought you were a devil little kid who was there to cause chaos, you were exiliated when you were a teenager, and has been living alone in a cave in the mountain since then. and why the hell are you crying for? weren't you here to kill me?

Soulmate AU: ''You get a craving for whatever your soulmate is eating at the time.'' but you eat -samefood- every single day can you really eat something else please?

Witch AU: you're a witch, im your shapeshifting familiar, and the day goes by because you're so asocial you live alone in the forest so its just you and me, living togetheeeer.

Werewolves AU: im autistic and i fucking love how soft your fur is, and it calms me down in my meltdowns, please live with me, no why would i be afraid of you?

[tacticaltaxonomist]

Could we please have a bit of info on

Savour every bite

Spirit rifle au

Zombie au

Just the titles sound really interesting!

Yes you can, these are some of my favourites!!!

Spirit Rifle: This fic is a direct continuation of "Faded Flesh" by Nouna (with permission, highly recommend I love this fic so much), Soap get's Ghost safe, a smidgen of worldbuilding, and Price finding out about Soap.

Zombie AU: The fic is obvs soapghost and *post 141*. soap n ghost worked together, they had hella chemistry, they love their jobs too much to even *think* about threatening that with acting on that chemistry, so they just left things mutually unresolved. No bad blood or hurt feelings, it never went beyond barely-passes-for-flirting and very occasional eye-fucking. The whole makarov thing is wrapped up and 141 disbanded since it's purpose is done and everyone goes on with their job.  The fic starts a couple years past that and it's also a couple years into stereotypical zombie apocalypse setting, societal collapse, small communities of varying moralities, blah blah who cares. 

The person, infected, *Zombie* if you like, suddenly moves diffrerent though. Stands up straight, looks directly at him. Ghost is close enough now, maybe twelve meters, to make out that it's a man. Tall, dark hair, dressed from neck to toe, even sporting gloves despite the warm weather, all covered except for his head, suntanned skin but more importantly *unstained*.  *Fuck*. "Been a while since I saw a face like that," the man calls out.  There are several things wrong with this. Take a moment to figure what's wrong with this. Ghost's face if covered with a black balaclava that has a skull face painted on it. He's speaking english even though they're in rural germany. His accent is scottish. He sounds impossibly, *achingly* familiar. And Ghost can't reply. He steps closer, cautiously, slowly, he *needs* to get close enough to make out the face. To see if it's really him.   "The quiet type then?" Ghost nods and takes another step.  "How bout this then. The mask-" he drawls it just the same as he had seven- eight-nine? years ago- "take it off." Ghost almost let's out a laugh, and shakes his head.  "Yeah that's fair, wouldn't know who to look for under that thing anyway, yeah?" He's grinning now, his eyes are the palest blue, a deep old scar on his chin, a new one that healed badly splitting his eyebrow and cheek. Brown hair grown out a bit but he clearly kept the mohawk. Soap. Undeniable and beautifully alive. All Ghost wants to do is pull him close, crush him into a hug, a mirror of their 'goodbye'. Reenact the most honest they've ever (wordlessly) expressed their affections for another before separating forever, each headed for different units, different purposes. Until now.  And Ghost can't. Mustn't. It's too dangerous. He can't risk it, he couldn't *bear* it. 

Savour every bite of you: Cannibalism fic, if this is not your jam just move on. Soap is a cannibal, he is not embarassed or grossed out by himself, but he does know that he has to be smart and secretive about it. He rarely indulges. He's well aware it's fucked up, but like, he also doesn't really get it. Ghost has intrusive thoughts about wanting to cannibalise people ever since roba fed him meat, but is very ashamed and unsettled by that craving and never acts (fully) on it. Soaps thing comes out through a bit of torture that their capturer thoguht was so clever, except Soap was very disturbingly excited for it. The rest of the fic is Ghost wrapping his head around all this and eventual Soapghost.

[andrea-lyn]

Happy new year! If the adage is that you spend today doing what you want to for the rest of the year, then I want to keep reading and reccing some fics I’ve loved in the last little while!

So, here’s a mish-mash of multi-fandoms. As always, you can find my master rec collection here. 

Ghosts (BBC)

And So On and So Forth by V_Evergreen

Dying is, of course, incredibly tragic. It is also the most wonderful opportunity.

Father of the Bride by EllianaDunla

Rachel Fawcett visits Button House to feel closer to her father.

Which happens, just not quite in the way she expects.

Project Chatterbox by SqutternutBosh

‘What’s this?’ Alison asks, looking down at the scrappy piece of note paper that Mike has just put down in front of her.

‘It’s a list of ways I can talk to them,’ Mike says, sitting down beside her at the kitchen table.

Raven Cycle

hold me tight, fear me not by audikatia for Northisnotup

When Adam stepped around, he found himself suddenly in an emerald glen of moss-covered trees. More blue roses scattered over the green ground like raindrops or tears.

And there, in the center, was a man pinned to a tree with an arrow through his heart. :: Tam Lin AU

Someone Worth Knowing by SprigsofViolets

Alex Claremont-Diaz and Adam Parrish meet on their first day at NYU. They do not hit it off—cue the academic rivalry. They hate each other until they learn to understand each other.

(I can’t tell you how many times I’ve re-read this one, esp as it hits two of my fave canons in all the right places)

since you've been home, see what you have become by Mici (noharlembeat)

Adam goes touring colleges, and Ronan comes along. And Opal, well. She stays with Declan.

***Greywaren spoilers for the below fics!***

There's No Place Like My Room by Lil_Redhead

Sometimes endings are endings, but sometimes they’re just middles and the real ending is very, very far away.

Or, the days between the last chapters and the epilogue of Greywaren

(This one is still a WIP with one chapter left to post, but it hits all the right notes of post-Greywaren + plot that I was craving after finishing the book)

god only knows (what i'd be without you) by RhymeReason

[Part of Gansey was starting to accept that two of his best friends were most likely dead.]

Or: gansey finds adam and ronan :)

and on the seventh day he rested by Prevalent_Masters

On the seventh day, the Lynch brothers discovered they were friends once more.

Or, the week following the (near) apocalypse.

Roswell New Mexico

Contigo me encontré by beautifulcheat (Katalyst), ladynox

The Lockhart House was once a home, although it was never a happy one. Steeped in tragedy, it still stands today, in the heart of Old Town Roswell, attracting ghost hunters and those seeking to catch a peak of something from beyond the veil.

Contrary to popular myth, it wasn’t currently haunted (except by one paranormally talented docent). It was Michael’s favorite job and the best part of his summer home from UNM. Or at least was until Alex Manes was hired to man the gift shop, complicating an otherwise fun and easy job.

With Love Overflowing by Nestra

"We both agree that this is not the place we belong, right? Please say yes."

Michael tossed his hat on the coffee table and dropped onto the couch. "If you mean that your dad's been dead since CrashCon and some kind of crazy shit is going on, then yeah, I agree."

(This one was for me for Secret Santa, it is just THAT GOOD that I want everyone in the world to read it)

Severance

r/severed by curtaincall for LearnedFoot

Welcome to r/severed! This is a subreddit to discuss the experience of severance and provide advice and support to fellow severed people (and friends and family).

Top Gun Maverick

we're fools to make war by whimsicule

In a Walmart at three am, between beef jerky and tortilla chips, with the lights flickering above them like it’s the fucking twilight zone, Bradley wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone.

or: it's a hundred degrees in texas.

what doesn't kill me makes me want you more by ok_thanks

For Rooster to be his ex-boyfriend, that would require him to have been Jake’s boyfriend in the first place. Which he definitely wasn’t. He was – "Ex-something," Jake coughs. or, the intricate ritual of teasing the guy you've been hooking up with since college that you're definitely not in love with

Men Like Us by DancingDisaster

Seresin men love with reckless abandon. It’s put every man before him in the ground.

Jake refuses to be buried.

[sambuckylibrary]

FICS TO READ ON A RAINY DAY l

Stolen Moments by jemgirl (crime au)

T | 98k | ccntw

“No,” Sam said, chuckling. “I don’t cheat,” he swept his gaze up and down James’ body, “even with guys who look like you. But, I’m bored and a little pissed, so if you wanna sit here and shoot the shit ‘til my man shows back up, I’m game.”

Never one to back to back down from a challenge - especially a challenge who looked like Sam Wilson - Bucky took another swig from his bottle and replied, “Sure, doll. I’ve got nothing but time.”

Steve has Sam. Bucky wants Sam. Sam wasn’t expecting any of this.

The Way Out Is Through by Attaining (zombie fic)

E | 12k | gdv

Sam and Bucky's love story in Wakanda is interrupted when Sam contracts a virus that makes him crave human flesh. Bucky will do anything to keep him safe. And fed.

Instead of The Blip, Thanos' minions brought the zombie apocalypse.

(Aka a Sambucky zombie romance.)

Deception by Siancore (crime au)

E | 79k | gdv

That’s when he saw him, standing by the fucking ice sculpture: The most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on.

Strawberries and Cigarettes always taste like you by winterscaptsam (black mirror lesbian ep au)

M | 10k | nawa

There’s a sweet agonizing simplicity in leaving behind your safe haven, like the thrill of adrenaline, reaching the top of Everest, allowed to admire its beautiful icy view but with the everlasting fear of not making it back down. Maybe that's why it was a natural instinct for Bucky to reach out for the closest thing that felt like home, slowly then all at once falling for the sweet warmth of mahogany eyes, what soon became his safe haven.

You Got What I Need by Six2VII (lawyer/chef au)

E | 37k | nawa

Sam and Bucky are both in a bind, professionally. Nat points out a solution that neither men like. To save their careers they play along or rather, stop playing all together.

ghosts that we knew by wilsonsnest (artist au)

T | 46k | nawa

Sam (reluctantly) agrees to do a commission for Steve's rich but extremely reclusive friend, James Barnes.

Sam just stared at the other man, the feeling of being watched suddenly overcoming him. God, what kind of weirdo didn’t even come to greet their guests? It was one thing to be a rich recluse, but another thing to just completely ignore people wandering around your house.

“Steve, this is really weird.” Sam stressed. “This isn’t weird to you?”

To The Full Moon And Back by glittercake (werewolf au)

E | 24k | nawa

After serving his time in Special Ops, Bucky moves to a two-horse town, deep in the mountains. He buys an old log cabin in a large clearing surrounded by acres of tall, thick trees and dark woods- the only place for miles up there.

As he acquaints himself with the locals, he learns about the small town’s weird obsession with wolves and all the supernatural rumors, specifically around the area of his cabin.

Bucky thinks them all a little off-kilter until peculiar occurrences around his new home piques his interest enough to find out more.

And that’s when he learns that apparently werewolves are a very real thing.

[7-seasof-fandom]

Count to five, then close your eyes

(For my Younger Five AU)

Waves of time and space were surrounding him, ripping everything around him apart. Somehow, it didn't make much of a difference. It didn't fill out the awful, empty hole in his chest. It didn't give him the warmth he so desperately craved. All it did was make the world as empty and cold as he felt, but, hey, that was justice, wasn't it?

He stared blankly at the world, as he tore it apart, his hands only trembling lightly as he tightened his fists. Every edge of regret or second thought he might've had on any other day had vanished along with every notion of trust he ever had had in anyone or anything. The one person he had thought was all he had, had turned out to be the one who had taken it all away from him. In that case, wouldn't anyone else do the same as he was doing? This was justified. It was fair. He had lost everything, now he was taking everything. That's how it works.

"Five?" A muffled voice broke through the sea of destruction. Five found himself realizing to his own wonder that he had never really thought of his powers as destructive. Never really... explored that side of them. Hadn't even realized it was there. You wouldn't think so, right? Nevertheless, here he was, tearing apart space and time itself.

"Five!" The voice had grown louder. He couldn't quite place it. It seemed distant. Like a lost childhood memory. A ghost. There seemed to be a bit too many of those in his life. He looked up, startled to see Diego standing not very far away from him. The man was clearly struggling to keep himself up, as Five's powers were attempting to tear him apart. He almost didn't look real. Looked somewhat transparent. The man called out to him again and only now did Five realize that he had been the one to call those two other times.

Five stared at Diego and Diego stared back. For a moment it was as if everything else stopped. Time itself stopped. Diego spoke and suddenly, time was going way too fast again. "What the hell are you doing?" Five laughed. How else was he supposed to react? He would've assumed it was obvious, especially given the fact that his powers were currently in the middle of tearing everything around them apart, including Diego.

Figuring that Diego would never understand he sneered, "I'm making everyone live in the same emptiness I have to live with." Diego would never understand, so why even bother trying to make him? No one could ever understand, because Five was alone. He always had been. Now everyone else had to be so too. He'd make them all- "I understand." Diego nodded, as if to confirm his own words. "Five, trust me, I understand the pain and I won't pretend to know what you're dealing with, because truth be told, I don't even know what I'm dealing with, but I can imagine it's not as different as you might think it is."

He took a step closer, obviously struggling against the force of Five's powers. For a moment Five found himself fearing that Diego was about to disappear before his eyes, disappear into the void just like everything else, but he didn't, instead he was now within Five's reach and was holding out his hand. It wasn't a command, it wasn't even a question. It was just an offer. Five felt himself loosen his fists slightly, time moving a bit slower around them. "He lied to me." His voice was oddly hoarse, it broke at the end. He hated how weak it sounded. It was a childish statement, he knew, but this wasn't him being childish. Thanks to his... no, he wasn't his dad. Thanks to Reginald, being childish wasn't even an option for Five. "He took everything from me." He added, voice sore, knowing full well that those words could never convey just how much he had just. How much all of it hurt.

Diego gave him a sympathetic look, still holding out his hand. Five's breath hitched in his throat as he realized how transparent it was. The fingertips barely even there. He felt time speed up, as the whole world started spinning. What was he doing? He was supposed to stop the apocalypse. That was his mission. His purpose. All he- "I'm sorry, Five." Five's gaze had been fixated on Diego's hand, but he now snapped his head up, staring directly at the man. "I'm sorry too." He mumbled. As he watched how his powers were tearing into Diego, like starved animals. Five was starving, but the destruction didn't seem to satisfy his hunger. He was starved for something, but it wasn't revenge. What did that matter now though. He had never gotten a choice before, why should he get one now?

"What happened?" Diego asked, softly. Five flinched at the care and gentleness in his voice. It only now occured to him that Diego was always sharp and blunt. Had the animals torn him apart to the point of him being unrecognizable already? It didn't matter anymore. So he answered. Letting everyone ounce of pain and anger seep into every word. "He lied. My parents were out there. He just didn't want me to know that. He wanted me to fulfill the purpose had decided for me." He drew in a sharp breath. "So now I'm tearing my purpose apart. Inch by inch, minute by minute."

Diego just nodded. As if he understood. As if he accepted it. Five wanted to scream. "He was an awful man, Five. I'm sorry for leaving you alone with him for all those years... I d-i-i-idn't r-e-e-a-a-lize-" Five blinked in surprise, having rarely heard Diego stammer before, worried for a second that it was a side effect of him fading away along with the rest of the world. Diego shook his head, taking in a deep breath. "You're not alone anymore, Five." He held out his hand which was almost gone by now. "I promise."

Five looked at him for a second, before finally allowing himself to trust in the comfort of the promise, as he took his brother's hand. Diego lifted his other hand up to wipe away one out of many tears Five hadn't even been aware was running down his cheeks. Everything around then seemed to be calming down and as the void in the world slowly started healing, Five felt his own void fill up a bit along with it, as his brother cupped his face in his hands, making him feel warm and safe for the first time in thirteen years.

Bang.

Five gasped in surprise, taking a step back, as the last waves died down around them and he collapsed against Diego, a strong burn in his side. They both looked up to see Hazel standing there, hand still raised, gun still pointing at the place Five had just been standing moments ago, the realization that be might not be the hero in this situation sinking in. Diego stared at the bloody stain on Five's shirt, which was growing bigger by the second. He instinctively reached for one of his knives, but all of his anger was pushed aside when Five desperately grabbed at his wrist. "Please, Diego." Five tried to choke back a whimper. "You promised I wouldn't be alone."

___________________________

A big giant thank you to my dearest husband @deadliest-little-thing for proofreading this for me! I love ya dude

I hope y'all like it!! :))

As always, feedback and criticism is much welcome and appreciated :)

[starlightxsvt]

Sunrises || Choi Seungcheol au

Pairing: Seungcheol x Female reader

Genre: apocalypse au, slice of life (?), angst, kinda fluff, some action

Warning: zombies, death and stuffs

"Thank you for saving me that day." You murmur to the male sittig next to you.

Seungcheol, in return says nothing, focusing on peeling the apple in his hand.

It was the third day after he saved you and gave you a place to stay. The man didn't offer his name or any other information - though you figured it out from craved wood that hung on his room's door saying, 'Seungcheol's room' - neither asked yours but you enlightened him with it. He doesn't talk much and doesn't like to be talked much but you kept your mouth open anyway.

It was about two months since the strange virus spread and begun the apocalypse and you were lucky enough to have stumbled upon Seungcheol.

"I really mean it." You whisper. "I'm new in this place. Believe it or not but I moved here literally a few days before the apocalypse started."

You didn't get any response to that either.

"Do you have any family? I don't. My mother died long ago and my father's an addict so I basically ran from him."

More silence.

You take in his features which are too concentrated on peeling the apple. His brows were knit to a frown and he chewed on his lower  plump lip.

You swallow, "Who's Sunghoon?" You know you probably shouldn't have asked the question but curiosity got the best of you. You saw the name hanging on one of the rooms which was apparently locked.

He looks up at you, an angry look on his face. "I swear to any higher being up there, if you don't shut your mouth I am going to feed you to the corpses by myself." He stands up murmuring, "This is why I don't like helping people." 

You watch his retreating figure walk inside the house and you sigh, leaning against the apple tree and watching the sunset.

A week later

You thanked the heavens everyday for making you stumble upon a guy who's a farmer. Seungcheol had his own produce, a small field of rice and corns and a few apple and lemon trees. It was safe to say these were more than enough in a time like this.

The electricity is unavailable most of the time but it takes some surprise visits every few days for a few hours. That's when you and Seungcheol wash up and store water.

Your days go by rather quickly thanks to the neat system Seungcheol seems to have established. He had things run so smoothly that it was pretty unbelievable the world was going through an apocalypse right now. You help him around the house, cleaning things up, watering the crops and such. He had his own rules - don't waste water or tissues, don't eat too much, don't talk too much. You tried to follow them at your best but you couldn't stop yourself from starting a little conversation more often that which were only met with silence or threats. But so far, Seungcheol was a guy nice enough and you counted your blessings for meeting him.

A few more days later

When you ran from your place you only took your female necessities. Those were dumb things compared to others who ran away with guns and foods.

You sat in the guest room Seungcheol offered you, thinking about what you were gonna do after these necessities were finished.

Suddenly Seungcheol appears knocking on your door before entering. You turn to look at him as he takes a seat. "We'll be heading out tomorrow."

"Huh?"

"There's a super shop a mile away from here. We're going there."

"Why?"

"Why do you think, smartass? We need to stock up on tissue paper and dry foods. I visited there a couple times after the apocalypse started. Apparently the government and NGO's provide foods and stuffs there for the survivors out here."

"Really?Then where are they? We need to find them. They probably built a shelter, we can go live there."

"Do you think it's that simple?"

"Huh?"

Seungcheol sighs. "They are moving in their own pace, okay? The shelters are probably full now with survivors. When their capacity increases they'll let us know. I have a friend who works at the NGO. If he's okay he'll come for me."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"On the day of the breakout."

"I see."

"Prepare yourself for tomorrow. Since you are living in my place, you are coming with me." He stands up to leave.

"I'm not a wuss, you know." You roll your eyes.

"We'll see."

"Yea. And you know, it didn't hurt to speak with me! We could talk more often Mr. Grumpy!" You call after him.

"Shut up."

The next day

"Listen carefully, don't waste anytime. Just grab the things you need and walk into the car." Seungcheol says parking the car in front of the convenience store.

You nod and watch him load his gun and tuck it behind him.

The store is a mess. Broken pieces and bits of metals everywhere. You both walk in and look for the things you came for. Luck seems to be on your side as you find a couple of dry food packets, some toilet papers and some pads -though they are not the best quality, you have to make do with these. You quickly put them on the tote bag you brought with yourself and turned around.

Seungcheol was on the opposite Isle looking through selves for God knows what. You walk out to the front of the store and see and notice taped there.

Food will be supplied here every week along with other necessities. If you are a survivor please hang in there. Once we manage more accommodation, we will come for you. Regarding the infected, our research says they are deaf, so please use that to your advantage.

You turn around to tell Seungcheol about this but instead you meet the eyes of a corpse. It stands there, a mess of blood and gunk as your soul leaves your body.

It approaches you, making garbled sounds and you take back a few steps. From behind him you see Seungcheol approaching will a huge piece of metal rod.

The corpse doesn't turn back to the noises Seungcheol's feet makes while approaching you through the mess, instead it's focus is solely on you, ready to devour. They're really deaf, huh. It opens its mouth ready to chunk a piece of your body when Seungcheol hits him in the head and bangs a couple more times to make sure it's immobile.

"Quick, get in the car. More of them might be around here."

You two dash back to the car, carrying your goods and he starts the car quickly. You look behind to see more of the corpses appearing from around the store. Dusk was approaching soon which meant the corpses will be more alive and ferocious.

The car speeds through the empty road as you clutch onto your tote bag. "Did you know they were deaf?"

"You didn't?" He throws at you. You roll your eyes at him.

"Thanks for saving me again."

"Maybe next time I won't."

Another couple weeks or so later

"I'm going to the supermarket."

"At this hour? It's almost dusk. Are you crazy?"

You watch as Seungcheol puts on the necessary protection on his arms and legs and checks his gun.

"They people from NGO deliver foods during this time since there is no survivors out at this hour. I'm gonna go there and try to meet the delivery guy. Also I need to refill my car."

"Why?"

"To pass a message."

"To your friend who works at the NGO?"

"Yes. I need to let him know that I'm alive. Then he'll come for me."

"What if he's dead?"

Seungcheol says nothing. You forbid him to leaves a few more times but he completely ignores your pleas saying he has to take a  chance. Before he is out the door, he hands you his gun. "Keep this with you. Until now, they corpses have never been around here so just stay inside the house and you'll be safe. I don't know if you have your memories after you becoming a corpse but if you see me coming here looking like one of them, shoot me."

What? You swallow as your heart tugs.

"Stop talking like that. You don't need to leave. We've plenty of food. We'll get by. Don't do this Seungcheol."

"Remember what I said." He speaks, ignoring you and turns around.

"Wait." You call, tears pooling in your eyes. "At least take the gun with you. You'll need it more than me. Besides I dont even know how to use it."

Seungcheol looks at you for a beat before taking a gun and giving you a small smile - the first one he ever gave you.

You watch him leave as the sky turn in hues of purple and black.

You spend a restless night, sitting in your room watching the sky and thinking about Seungcheol. You think of how he opened up a bit more in the last few days and the moments you shared.

Sunghoon was my brother. He was in the military. We were outside, celebrating his discharge when the infection spread. The corpses got him while he was trying to save me. I failed him.

I waited for him for a long time, thinking he'd come back. He didn't.

Y/n, if I don't return by dawn don't wait for me.

As the night passed anxiety got the best of you. This is it. I lost him. He's gone. I'll have to survive now, alone.

You were about to have a break down as you saw the first streak of light spread through the sky. You walked to the roof of his farmhouse watching the colors in the sky. You start to accept the fact that you're alone from now on. That is until you see Seungcheol's jeep approaching towards the house.

You held your breath and didn't move your position, waiting to see him come out.

You thought sunsets were pretty until you saw Seungcheol's tired figure getting out of the jeep, his eyes meeting yours and flashing a smile, the brightest one probably, at the crack of dawn.

Sunrises were pretty too. Even prettier perhaps.

A/N: Tbh I wasn't so confident in this one but oh well, here it is. Also thank you for loving my previous work, it really means a lot. As for this one, if it doesn't flop, maybe I'll write a part 2 👀.Anyway thanks again! 💖

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The first in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian AU.

Priceless Rewards

It was a beautiful day in the south and Dorian was terribly bored.

Alright, so maybe 'beautiful' was a stretch- but there was no rain, which by Ferelden standards counted for beauteous. Still the sky was dreary- even here in the Hinterlands, the so called 'Heart of the South'. Constant damp livened the vegetation- everything was so green- and so in his way! He couldn't walk two steps without having to wrestle nettles or vines from his robes.

  Why did I agree to this again?

They needed someone not overtly suspicious, he supposed- at least, not suspicious in a particular manner. Dorian could be suspected of many things; by his appearance alone he could be accused of blood magic and perhaps some dubious forms of necromancy. Why else adorn himself in human bones, how else to explain the flash of amber that sometimes possessed his eyes?

Altogether, Dorian ascertained he had to be wearing a whole person- and that excluded his staff, shaped from a spine and skull.

Not all the same person, mind you. Still not a welcoming sight to most.

Granted none were innocent in his eyes- all had threatened his survival in one way or other.

Besides- as long as no one suspected him of working with the Venatori, it didn't matter how he was judged. His employers knew that- and Dorian knew he needed gold and influence to maintain the lifestyle craved by his inner demon.

So there he was, traipsing through the south with a sack full of magical equipment, questing to study Rifts for a group of mad cultists.

  I don't know why they're bothering...

  What did exploding an old woman and her Chantry puppets really achieve?

From his viewpoint, it merely added complication- now there was this 'Herald of Andraste' for the fools to contend with.

  Why can't people just appreciate life for what it is?

He considered to himself with a laugh, kicking aside more vines.

Then again- if the world lacked such madmen, who would risk contracting Dorian for anything? An open practitioner of blood magic, long-disgraced from his house? Of course whenever someone sought him out, their motivations were not exactly chivalrous.

While pondering this he approached a Rift and began work. Recognising him as one of their own, the demons barely glanced.

Speaking of which- he was really in need of proper sustenance. Food and wine can fulfil Desire for only so long- especially while sleeping out in the cold wild and not luxurious sheets.

Technically his employers were to blame- anyone with sense was hiding and anyone who might be some fun was miserable. Not that he faulted the local populace for cowering from demons, Templars, mages, holes in reality and Maker knows what else.

  Well. Us, for one. We're here too.

It was gradually creating an issue. Desire's primary source of nourishment came from the desire of others. For Dorian, this meant fuelling himself through a man's desire towards him. When times were well and the populace cheerful, no matter his place he could easily find a willing participant.

However when times were tougher or in this case, when fear of magic and the unknown ran rampant, meeting someone receptive was trying.

  Actually...when you think about it-

  this whole thing is Halward's fault.

A phrase Dorian said to himself often, spitting his father's name like a curse.

Just as often, he would sense the demon admonish what it viewed as weakness.

  Well am I wrong?

  We wouldn't have met if it weren't for him.

Waiting for devices to conclude their measurements, he plopped onto the grass and reminisced.

Dorian had been just a boy, as belligerent a youth as could be. Or that's how his father would excuse it, he was sure.

Perhaps Halward even liked that about his son- sometimes. When he put it to use, when his belligerence somehow went hand-in-hand with achievement.

Not when it caused him to loudly reject their plans, state he'd rather die than live in denial of himself, then run off into the night.

  If he hadn't found me...everything might be different.

Unfortunately Halward ferreted him out somehow. What happened next was a tangle of memory and emotion- what he did recall, was standing in a circle of fire while a voice hissed through his mind.

  Small. Such a small morsel.

  What does the human think I can do with this?

A sensation like needles puncturing his skull. He'd cried out but couldn't move. The creature burrowed into his consciousness, processed and digested in seconds.

  Oh...?

  So much desire.

  Ambition.

  Potential.

His heart drummed, limbs shaken- but still he was incapable of movement. All he saw was flame and all he heard was this ravenous intruder.

  A small meal...but still a meal.

  I could take it all.

  That's what he wants me to do, you know.

Whether through his own discernment or whatever link was strung between them, he understood what the creature meant. Panic increasing, Dorian's thoughts raced, floundering to convey them-

  So he told you 'oh go eat this desire for me', and you're just going to do it?!

  Aren't you a Desire Demon?!

  Don't you want to experience life?!

  Instead you're just going to- going to-

  have a little snack and slink back into the Fade?!

  When we can both maximise our potential- together?!

The voice fell silent, pensive. Dorian stammered to solidify his point.

  Just- just don't change who I am- that's all I ask.

It had fulfilled that promise- for the most part. When Dorian awoke he'd been in his bed, unchanged in every way that mattered to him.

Turning around, a pair of void-black eyes peered back and he'd screamed.

That was the first encounter with his shadow. It was structured vaguely as he was, had his voice, developed as he did. Yet was just a walking silhouette- that only he could see.

Thankfully his demon's wanderings were on an inconsistent basis.

However it didn't take long for Halward- and everyone else, really- to note Dorian changed in every way they hadn't instructed.

Always a morbid child, fixated on necromancy and the dead. His bond with the demon increased this fixation tenfold. Before then, Dorian sometimes preserved deceased animals and toyed with the idea of reviving them with Fade-Wisps. Now it was an unseemly habit- which his family loathed. Cheerful, bumbling creatures of bone and treated flesh roamed the estate, causing minor chaos and disrupting social events.

Eventually his father screamed at him-

  “Dorian Pavus! Clear this undead menagerie or I will take care of them myself!”

  “I WILL NOT!” He'd shrieked back, tossing mice-bones across his bedroom.

Halward did take care of them himself- to the boy's heartbreak and despair. By that point he knew there was discussion of somehow altering him again- he ran and this time, was free.

  Feeling nostalgic?

Desire lured him to the present moment- sitting cross-legged on a nearby rock-pile, seeming amused in it's posture. His shadow- not nearly as intimidating as it had been to him years ago. Dorian smiled, sighing wistfully.

  “Something like that...I think it's more that I'm under-stimulated.”

His companion mirrored this need with a drawn-out exhale.

  “Yes, yes, I know...but when we're done with this, we'll be paid, and then we can head somewhere people aren't so actively terrified for their lives.”

It hummed lowly at this but issued no official complaint. Overall the creature was content in deferring to his judgement- Dorian had never steered them wrong. They were usually well fed, occupied by an exciting project and comfortable- this whole apocalypse business was an unplanned circumstance. Even Dorian hadn't known the Venatori's goals- merely sought to benefit.

The creature's focus appeared to divert- features unobscured enough to gather simple expression.

  “Hrm? Someone there?” He wondered aloud, glancing. Activity further along- a loose group of people trudging through under-brush, chatting casually though he couldn't hear. Dorian lingered at first but soon recognised the Inquisition symbol- a single, glaring eye.

  “Not the people we should try explaining ourselves to, I think.” He decided, chuckling in exasperation. Dorian scooped up his instruments and willed his form to move; vanishing with a flash of embers, he materialised behind some trees and knelt. One advantage to his demonic condition was an ability to veil himself- as long as he didn't do anything too attention-grabbing. Standing around in the open was therefore not viable, so he watched and waited.

Two humans, a dwarf and an elf. A human woman and the elf appeared to lead the pack, both bearing the Inquisition crest. The group ventured for the Rift and Dorian frowned, wondering for their sanity.

A dazzling beam shot outwards, leading his gaze to the elf's hand- connecting him and the Rift. Next there was an explosion and the party launched into combat, too confusing and swift for Dorian to properly assess. By the end all demons and disruptions were extinguished and the elf stood to one side, surveying the area.

Dorian couldn't make out terribly much- obvious details; the radiance emitted by his hand and the weapon used in lieu of a staff, a sword-hilt with light where there would be steel. Dark hair, pale, Dalish- judging by the blue patterns decorating his face. Much taller than elves inclined towards being- he loomed over his party and seemed awkwardly aware of it, stooping whenever one moved to speak with him.

Each person drifted to scout the clearings edge and Dorian sat perfectly still. None wandered his direction and the elf appeared disinterested, loitering where the Rift had been dispelled.

Until he abruptly turned and marched almost straight for Dorian. Stopping just as suddenly, he peered down at scorched earth left by the maleficar's retreat.

  Maker's breath!

  Don't tell me he's going to notice me because of that?!

He was near enough for Dorian to study closer- light scarring on serious features, frosty eyes that pierced everything they saw.

Intense- but attractive. Perhaps more-so because of that intensity.

For a few heartbeats he was certain he'd been spotted- but the elf swivelled away, muttering.

  “Something wrong?” The woman asked, her voice distinctly Nevarran.

  “Burnt ground. I thought it odd.” He answered, falling in pace with his fellows.

  “Why odd? It would be from a demon, no?”

  “I saw none there when we fought.” His speech was a little stilted- possibly more accustomed to his native tongue.

  “From the Rift, then. It hardly matters.”

Their discussion was swallowed by forest and Dorian sprang forth, unleashing his shock.

  “That's the Herald?!” He exclaimed, laughing in charmed bewilderment.

Feeling eyes upon him, Dorian faced his shadow- standing within the tree-cluster, watching it's host ponderously.

Without speech or much communication at all, he knew they thought as one.

Dorian tossed the bag of instruments to the ground and booted it aside, half-snarling, half-laughing.

  “To the void with this dirty work!” Meeting his companion's gaze, he smirked. “I just thought of a reward the Venatori can't possibly hand over to us!”

Vague contours of the creature's mouth parted, displaying pointed teeth in a grin.

  The Herald of Andraste.

[redevenir]

living alike (pt. i)

joshua x reader

wc : ~ 3800

a/n : It all started with @tearsofsyrup ‘s suggestion for the made-up title fic game and here i am... So thank you! I took the liberty to use the title again, hopefully it’s ok with you? Otherwise just tell me! I have said it before, but I think  shua and dark au... it is the thing, you know. Which is why I strongly encourage you to read paradigm shift (apocalypse au) as well as you hide; i’ll seek (both sexy titles by the way) and to check on these two writers’ other work because they’re excellent.

« I feel entirely dehumanised by the sun now and wish for fog, snow, rain, humanity. » from a letter to Edward Sackville-West, Virginia Woolf.

The soft clunks of water droping from the leaking sink behind you make your hair stand on end. You should be used to it by now, but you aren’t. Like everything else, it makes you uncomfortable. You wanted nothing more than to be buried deep in the swamps of the Administration. Hidden. Except you were a little frog on a desert, except everyone has seen you, and will remember your face. Hiding is no longer an option for you, the only way out is to disappear.

You take one last look at your ransacked room. You break a window for good measure, and head out, living the door open.

The soft thuds of rain against the cars’ glasses. Tight heart, empty lungs, he is the silent audience of an artificial show. A shadow wandering around the streets, the ghost of a ghost. Counting his footsteps. Counting the people on the sidewalk. Counting the cars. Counting the officials around the Prefecture. Thirty more steps to go. Joshua takes a deep breathe into his scarf. It seems no one is paying attention to him. Grey car, blue car. His hands are soaked, buried deep inside the pockets of his rain coat. Nothing can protect him from the summer rains. He takes a brief look above the ground, checks out the position of the sun, goes back to his feet. He needs to move faster. He cannot afford to be out during office hours. Twenty steps. He spots the door to his place and restrains himself from going faster. One excruciating step at a time. All around him, people move, people go from places to places. They listen to the speeches, they read the speeches, they learn the speeches, they believe the speeches. It is already hard for Joshua to breathe, let alone act. A small field mouse trapped in a gigantic machine. There is no room here for him, he feels it, fears because of it. Knows that in an instant everything could spin around him. Field mice are preys. There are so many predators around him, it is only a matter of time. Light turns green, the cars stop. He goes his way. Unsure, uneasy. Five steps. He reaches his door, doesn’t look back, and goes down the stair to his tiny underground studio.

Once he’s inside, finally, he lets out an exhale he didn’t notice he was holding. Double locks his door, puts the chair against it, and turns the light on. Here, underground, there is no sun light to warm up the air. He crosses the only room as he gets undressed, leaving his soggy coat for the clamminess of his quarter, and rummages through his clothes to find a change, replaying his stroll of the day. Nothing new. They are still agitated. Until they calm down there is no need to contact anyone, he decides. He reheats some unsavory stew for the fifth time this week, cleans up his plate, and crashes on the single bed, hoping for time to pass quickly.

He spends an agitated day, running after sleep, running from his thoughts. Even though he never sleeps well, there is always a part of him which foolishly hopes for a good rest. Remembering the kind of sleep he relished as kid, when he didn’t have to think about falling asleep. When laying down in bed was enough to dive deep in a warm unconsciousness, full of foolproof dreams. No matter where his drowsy mind takes him, he feels overwhelmed, on the edge of being assaulted. Faceless and formless assailants gathering in the dark to slaughter him.

Rising up, he picks a bottle of drinking water, ignores the remnants of the garbage stew, plans his wandering for tonight. He never follows the same path twice, in case someone might notice him. He puts on his parka which hasn’t dried, shivers when it brushes against his neck. There is nothing to do about it. Most of the time, Joshua tries to ignore his apartment. It is a disgusting place, filthy the minute he finishes to clean up. It is never warm, nor dry, nor hot. He never sees the light of day, never feels a breeze, for there are no windows down there. It is the best he can afford this close of the Great Palace. A miserable rat hole, nothing close to a nice burrow. It is the price to pay for a night cashier to get involved in bigger schemes. His eyes are priceless now that he has sold their sight. It is the only comfort he has found in doing so. The thrill of being useful – for whom? He has no right to know. But every morning after his shift, he goes out for his stroll, looking for anything out of the ordinary, and when there is, he reports it. One of them comes to the shop every week. Usually, though, Joshua tells nothing to his contact. Things do not change that often. But recently there has been movement. Why, he does not know, but they’ve been agitated, walking faster. Even though no one, of course, will tell him why, he knows something has happened. Something bad enough to be noticeable, bad enough that there has been no announcement on TV.

This is life now, he knows. Waiting and waiting and waiting for something which might never come. Joshua hesitates, then goes out without looking back. Maybe today, he’ll see something worth reporting. It’s raining as usual, but the sun is still up, somewhere behind the gray sky. The street lamps are not lighten yet. As usual, he goes right, then waits for the traffic lights to let him cross. He could not live closer to the supermarket, yet the path still bothers him – the ugliness of the streets, the noises of the city, the sickening smell of corruption and silent violence. He goes his way to the store, spends his night registering meaningless shop lists for night owls craving sugar or salt. His curved lips draw an empty smile to every customer while his mind goes through various scenarios of what might bother the authorities. He has no clue. What could indeed bother them? He is as ignorant when his shift ends as he was when it began. It is not a life. He could find out more, if he were a bit more audacious. But any step out of his supposed way is a risk he might pay with his life. Maybe, walking around the Palace’s streets is enough for now.

He puts his hands deeper in his pockets and waits for the lights to turn green. From the corner of his eyes, he notices a figure running in his direction. They storm before him, and throw themselves on the road. The sound of the car hitting your body is horrifying.

You spend an eternity drowning. Lungs full of mud, every living minute is a suffocation. The crushing weight of an undisturbed blackwater river is grinding your bones into mush, entangled between the roots of indifferent trees. You barely see the light, on the rare moments you emerge from your drowning, vision blurred by silt burning your eyes. You fight and you fight, and every new moon, every new tide brings you a new death.

In flashes you see faces, and you try to remember who pushed you into the river. A thin string of lost rooms and half forgotten conversations torments you, sending you in every direction. You lose yourself into a labyrinth of bewildered and electrifying memories. You try to scream for help but the dark water suffocates you more.

You cease to fight.

You let yourself flow, descending quietly in the abyss, a faint contentment when you touch the ground. An unusual corpse for shellfish and crustaceans to feast on. The soft pulse of your heart clawing his way out of your defeated chest. Far above you, you feel the lazy current going its way, ignoring you. There, cocooned in a silence older than a lifetime, it is easier for memories to come back to you. Faint lights above the school’s playground, burnt smells from the overcooked plum jam, a terrifying voice on the intercom freezing you to the core. You remember the pointy hat of the master, the piles of administrative sheets in his warm office, its walls painted of a deep, ancient red. You remember his whispers in your ears, which you tried so hard to ignore. His discreet threats disguised as indecent offers. Your remember going for his grocery shopping every four days, in the late hours of the quiet city. You remember knocking one of the piles over, and reading them against your best will. A pale breeze of rage brushes your cheek, unable to harm you.

You remember taking it with you, the vivid proof of the crime, on a hasty decision. You remember destroying your dorm. You remember the streets.

The moment you wake up you immediately regret it.

Every inch of your body is aching a thousand burn. You cannot open your eyes, the throb in your head makes you nauseous. Your throat is parched, and the feeble whine you manage to cry out is a pain in itself. Miles away you feel movement, in the distance you hear a voice filled with concerned, asking you words which you can’t separate from each other. It seems a worried litany of disquiet. Suddenly you feel cold and wet on you forehead, a divine relief to the pounding. The voice comes closer and takes your hand. You feel your hand. You have a hand. Panic rushes through your body like it never felt it, you try to move away, to get out, how can it touch you, what is touching you when you can’t even feel yourself?

Weirdly the voice seems to understand. It becomes quieter, soothing almost, ushering things you don’t understand, but it appeases you nonetheless. You feel it close to your hear, you feel its breathe against you. You’re sensitive and it has you tensed immediately, but it doesn’t last for long. A few seconds, the promise of safety. You pass out again.

The next time you wake up, everything is much clearer. You manage to open your eyes despite the soreness of your head. What you see when you do has you freezing up again, afraid you might have lost part of your sight. It is all black and gray. Gray ceiling above your head, a worrisome pattern of cracks. Gray walls, empty of any embellishment. Even the duvet cover is a dirty white. You try to straighten yourself, leaning on your elbow. It has you wincing but it is worth it. You take in your surrounding, even in the darkness of the unlit room. Someone has put your right leg into a splint of fortune, and did the same to your right elbow. You hold your breathe a minute, until you are assured to be alone. Nothing about it is familiar. There is a strong smell of menthol ointment that might come from you – the scent is overwhelming, and you cannot be sure. Your attempt to sit properly ends up worsening the piercing pain in your brain, and you resolve to wait until someone brings you water or food. Without any indication of the passing of time, you lose all notion of it, examining each clue of the room. You have never come here, and it makes you uneasy. You are facing the door and it reassures you a bit, whoever comes here will not have you at their mercy. At last, you hear the creaking of a key into its hole, which makes your heart racing. The door opens behind you in a squeak.

The man is tall, his shoulders wide as he bends a bit to come inside. The youth of his face strikes you the most. He might not be older than you are – and you are rare. The both of you belong to the last generation of children – it is also why, now that all of you are grown-ups, the officials are monitoring each and every one of you carefully. The last trace of unpredictability in the country. And, well, looking at the current situation, maybe they are right. It takes him a while to notice you, and you quietly observe him locking the door, putting a chair against it. Breathing, eyes closed, he relaxes before you. When he turns around, you see him immediately checking on the mattress – checking on you. And his face lightens up when he sees you facing him, rushing to you.

« Oh! You’re up! Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? Hungry? Space? He chuckles. Take your time, he adds with a smile. » He exudes relief. Your throat hurts too much, so you mimic drinking and he’s on it, handing you a full glass of water. Then you point at him.

It is not going well. Your convalescence is endless. Your are weak and shattered to unclean pieces and every morning he comes back from work wondering if you will still be in this coma or if he’ll have to dispose of your body. In retrospect, it was a mistake, but even though he thinks it over again and again he does not see any other outcome. He would never have left you there to rot. What if you weren’t doomed to die? Suicide is forbidden by law. You are suffering enough as it is, despite Joshua’s best efforts to take care of you, he cannot even imagine the tortures the officials would have given you, had they been the ones to find you.

Yet here you are, at the end of a frustrating shift and a lousy stroll. Sitting up in his bed, watching him coming back. An unmatched joy floods through his body as he comes to you, taking a good look at your conscious face. A belligerent stranger, eyes empty and circled of mauve. Clearly distressed and looking weak. Joshua thinks that you being awake is a wonder, he remembers the poor bag of raggedy bones and torn flesh you were when you arrived. When he brought you to his basement. The clothes he has given you hide most of your skin, but he knows your body looks just like your face. A battlefield of bruises and scars and a timestamp to the day you met. For weeks, he has imagined what your first words would be, were you to wake up. What you would do, what your voice would sound like. He would fall asleep to the sound of your haunting rattles next to him, praying they wouldn’t stop before his wake. Nonetheless he has outdone himself. He has brought you back to life. You look bad, but you’re looking at him and he can’ t help but smile in satisfaction. When you point your finger at him, two things hit him.

You can’t talk and you haven’t lived with him for the past week. You know nothing. You don’t know him. He feels foolish to realize it just now. He sits down by your side, filling up an another glass for you. Ponders a bit – in your place, what would be his priorities ? But you’ve thrown yourself under a car and he never has, so he has no fucking clue.

« All right then I’m Joshua. I live here, obviously. Alone. Well, not anymore, since you’ve been there for a while now – the surprise in your eyes aggrieves him. I work at a supermarket down the grand avenue. I brought you here after you… You know. Wait, do you remember what happened to you? You answer him a simple nod. Okay, then, this car hit you, and, well, I brought you back here. You forget your soar throat but he doesn’t need to hear you to read the only word on your lips.

«Well… I know, I know, we are not supposed to interfere but… His eyes roam you, looking for all the mending he has done you. His voice is only a whisper when he finishes his sentence. How could I leave you there? » You clear your throat with pain. Clearly, the water did you do good. Joshua looks up eagerly, to see what you might say first.

«Who else knows I’m here? » Your words are a cold shower. You don’t trust him one bit. He tries to reassure himself, of course you don’t, you’ve just met him.

« Only this one guy – you scoff. I’m serious! There was barely anyone that day and, the driver died, I believe. I didn’t stay to check on him. But, turns out, something else happened that day and we managed to… slip through the cracks, I guess. »

«What? What happened? » He picks his words carefully.

« Someone bombed the Blue Palace. » You remain silent at first. Eyes closed, you take a deep breathe, then another one, until you look at him again, your facial expressions are still too knew you for him to read them. So he asks you. «What? What? »

« You’re saying someone fired a bomb on the Blue Palace? Quick, the shadow of a smile crosses your face. You close your eyes once again, licking your lips as if it’ll help you collect your thoughts. A bomb. On a palace. A bomb. On the exact day I had an accident? He hums in agreement. You lay back on the wall – he hadn’t even noticed how you had bent yourself closer to him, eager for news. Who did it? »

« I don’t know. »

«Wait, you’re saying someone attacked the blues and they haven’t been caught? »

« I don’t know, that’s what I’m saying. You may have not noticed yet, he gives a brief look around him. But I have no TV here. All I know is that they haven’t made any announcement about it. But if you ask me… » He bites his lips, unsure how much he can tell you yet. You give him a short moment, expecting him to go on. You let out a sigh when he doesn’t.

« Listen, Joshua – that’s it, right? From what I see, you could be sentenced to death as much as I do. I have spent hours in the dark, waiting for someone to show up. I don’t care if you did it, I don’t care if you work for the Palace, but please give me something. I need to know. » He comes closer to you.

« I think they have no idea who did it. They’ve been on the lookout for weeks. If they knew, there is no way someone could hide from them that long. He stays quiet, letting you register the information. And I didn’t do it, I swear. »

« I’ve been there... for weeks? » There is no use in lying to you but he hears the miserable realization in your tone and his heart aches too.

« Seven, to be precise. You’ve been really sick, you know. I patched you up as good as I could, and goodness! That DK guy knows a thing or two but even he can’t put a splint on your ribs. You say nothing. You don’t have to tell me everything, but I think it’s better to tell you right now. You… Said things when you were sick, he says. You work, hm, worked for the governor. You were his maid or something. You did his groceries. I have seen you before. » He is not asking.

« That’s right. » You ignore the elephant in the room that is the question on the tip of Joshua’s tongue. Maybe it is too soon. Maybe he doesn’t need to know now. Maybe your action was self-explanatory enough, and the details don’t matter. For today, Joshua decides he won’t push you.

« Who’s that guy you mentioned? » The way you don’t miss a word he says reassures Joshua – at least your head is fine.

« DK? He’s… Well, I don’t know much about him, I give him my reports. » You frown.

« What reports? You need to make report at a grocery shop? »

« I… Joshua shifts. It is going too fast to his liking. You should take it slow, and so should he. He wished to get to know you, and to make both of your comfortable before diving into such matters. He takes a deep breathe. I… Watch the Palace. Well, no, he stutters, I, hm, well, I go for walks around the Palace. Every day. Well, I work night shifts, so, after that, I go for walks. Every morning. And, hm, once a week, more or less, someone comes to the supermarket, and if I’ve seen something interesting I tell them. Usually it’s DK but sometimes someone else comes. I asked him for help when I saw how sick you were. » You chew the inside of your lips for a while and just when you’re about to speak again you close your mouth right away. This goes on for a few minutes, until you hum in acknowledgment. The silence between the two of you is only broken when Joshua hears your stomach grumble and jumps on his feet. « You should have said something! Of course you’re hungry! » He walks the few steps separating him from the cooking area of his quarter – he decided long ago he could not give the name kitchen to it. Kitchens were warm and full of promises. This was neither, just enough to eat some tasteless soups. He swears to himself he feels you watching him as he fumbles in his cupboard. When he turns back to ask if the soup is indeed fine for you, he notices the life back on your cheeks.

You eat dinner together for the first time. It is not quite lively but it is comforting and Joshua pretends he doesn’t notice the few quiet tears on your cheeks as you savor it. You fall asleep shortly after and as usual he lies down by your side, replaying his day.

No one can ever find out about you, he realizes. Not the officials, not his contact. He is playing a wild card which could backfire in so many wrong ways. The easiest way out would be to run away from the city, but it would involve so many people just to get you out, not to mention he has no idea of what he might find there. Joshua is dubious, but even he somehow believes the Palace’s tales. Maybe it is just a desert outside. Then what? What good would it do to them, to die of ignorance on foreign lands ? How much better would it be, to make all this vain efforts, when you might as well be sentenced to a much quicker death, without the discomfort of plotting an escape? Even if it is miserable, and he has even less room that before, Joshua still finds it better to sleep in his own bed. He is good at keeping secrets anyway.

Times passes slowly.

[ellenripleysbelieveitornot]

Crowley took to writing when the moments without Aziraphale seemed to stretch into infinity. There was something about the repetitive scratch of the quill against the parchment that seemed to calm him; maybe it was just the way it seemed to drown out the part of him that had (unforgivably) learned to miss someone.

At first, he was just writing down his thoughts, not bothering with any sort of organization. It was just a way to silence the part of his mind that always managed to drift to the angel.

But then he discovered poetry. It wasn't the art itself that drew him to the craft, but rather the way Aziraphale had smiled when he had shown off his latest acquisition. And, oh, his voice, the way it seemed to flow with the words when he read a sample to him aloud. It reminded him of the way the universe had sang when it was born.

He thought, maybe, if he could imagine Aziraphale's voice caressing his own thoughts in such a way, it might alleviate the ache in his soul, just a bit.

My love is the horizon, Where blue sky meets the Earth. Forever in my sight, But never mine to hold.

It was simple, and it didn't rhyme, but it said more with four lines than Crowley would ever be able to express out loud, and wasn't that the point?

So, he kept at it. Whenever that certain piece of his heart felt the loss of Aziraphale's presence, whenever visions of a bright smile and the sweetest eyes became too much, he'd write down a couple lines, and it brought him a brief sense of peace.

And things were fine that way, until they weren't.

It happened when they were at lunch. Crowley was rearranging the meal on his plate into complicated patterns and shapes, (moving it around and around so it seemed that he was doing something with it, so it seemed that food were the reason he were here, it was an act and one he played well) when Aziraphale pulled out a thin little book, that its cover claimed was a collection of poetry 'lost to time and memory' whatever that meant.

"Crowley, dear, listen to this," Aziraphale said. Then he cleared his throat and began to read.

"By your presence, I am come undone. By your absence, I am torn asunder.

Free me or keep me, What difference could it make?"

Crowley stopped listening. The words. He knew the words. He had written the words. But how?

Someone must have found one of his poems and, presuming the author to be long dead, had it published.

Crowley came back to himself just to realize that Aziraphale was expecting some kind of response from him. "Oh, yeah," he muttered at his plate. "Very nice."

Aziraphale looked affronted. "Nice?!" he echoed. "It's terrible!"

Crowley cringed. He knew he was an amateur, but 'terrible' seemed a little harsh. "Oh, yeah," he agreed anyway. "It's rubbish."

Now Aziraphale looked offended for some reason. What did he want from him? "It's beautiful!" the angel declared.

Crowley blinked. "But you said-"

"It's heartbreaking! The writer loves this person so much it's consumed them entirely. It's- It's- Don't you know how that feels?"

And Aziraphale was looking at him now, a hopeless desperation in those beautiful eyes. But how could Crowley possibly answer that question?

The truth was, he didn't know how it felt, not the way it was written in the poem. It had always been one of his biggest shortcomings, he thought. Try as he might, no matter what words he used, no matter the grandiosity of the metaphors, it was never enough. His feelings could never quite be put to paper. Not in any way that mattered.

"Erm..." he said instead, and Aziraphale's face fell.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. I don't know what came over me."

"'S fine," Crowley mumbled, because his mind was still reeling, and the conversation drifted back to whatever they had been discussing before.

From then on, Crowley was utterly lost. He had written the poems imagining them being read by Aziraphale, but now that he had actually witnessed it, had an actual taste, he became like a man possessed.

Poem after poem poured out of him. Knowing that Aziraphale could read his words, could be moved by them, was intoxicating. If he could just get the pages to match what he felt, then maybe, maybe he had a chance.

I walked the halls of heaven So very long ago I stood within the Presence I lived with grace bestowed

And though it’s true I fell Into darkness from the bright On this loss I do not dwell For you keep my soul alight

And there isn’t any question Believe me, yes it’s true All the glory that is heaven Is nothing next to you

He started gifting his poems to Aziraphale. Not in person, of course, but he'd slide them through his mail slot, he'd tuck them between two books on the shelves in Aziraphale's shop, he left them anywhere the angel might find them and hoped that he'd know they were for him.

I bend my knees in worship. I lift my hands in prayer. I cry out before your altar, But you never seem to hear.

He didn't even know if Aziraphale found them all. But this was all he could do.

My true love is an angel, So perfectly divine I spend my days in worship, Kneeling before his shrine

My true love is an angel Wrapped in heaven’s sweet embrace I'd give my all to serve him And be worthy of his grace

My true is an angel And for this blasphemy I crawl Yet I surely cannot conceive of Any sweeter way to fall.

And then he was handed the Antichrist. And what good were words when faced with the end?

He stopped writing and focused entirely on just keeping Aziraphale by his side. He could live with Aziraphale never knowing of his feelings so long as things could remain as they were.

So, when they did the impossible, when they stopped the apocalypse, he decided to be thankful for what he had, and shoved all those feelings deep, deep down, resigned to never wanting more. He could spend more time with Aziraphale, now, without either of them having to check over their shoulder, and wasn't that enough?

Wasn't it?

No.

But if lied to himself enough, maybe he could start to believe it was true.

Until Aziraphale, with that same determined look on his face that he had gotten when he decided he was going to learn close-up magic, sat him down on the couch in the back of the bookshop and stood before him, wringing his hands nervously.

"Crowley, I need to read you something, and you have to promise not to laugh."

Crowley blinked. "Okay?"

"You have to promise!"

"Okay, I promise!"

"And- And could you take off your sunglasses?"

"What?"

"Please, Crowley, I really need-"

"Okay, okay!" Crowley did. "Better?"

"Yes." Aziraphale frowned. "Actually, no, it's much worse, now I can see what you're thinking, put them back on."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Angel!"

"Alright, alright!" With shaking hands, Aziraphale reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his reading glasses, which they both knew he didn't actually need, but Crowley decided to let that fact go for now. After he had situated them on the end of his nose, he reached into his waistcoat and procured a worn sheet of paper. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it and began to read:

"I fear the way I love you, It's too much for me to bear.

I fear the way I love you, It hurts how much I care.

I fear the way I love you, Your presence is all I crave.

I fear the way I love you, But, now I'm ready to be brave."

Crowley wasn't sure what to say. It had been a while since Aziraphale had shared his favorite poems with him, and he couldn't quite remember how this was supposed to work.

"It's lovely," he said.

"You think so?" Aziraphale asked hopefully, suddenly looking a little less terrified. "It's not as good as yours, of course, but I thought I did pretty well."

Crowley's mind blanked. "Mine?" His voice may have squeaked, but he couldn't be sure over the pounding in his ears.

"Well, yes. They were yours, weren't they?"

Should he deny it? No. He was done hiding. "Yes."

Aziraphale looked... relieved. And that was when Crowley's mind caught up to the second thing Aziraphale had said. "You wrote that poem?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"For me?"

Aziraphale nodded again. "Like I said, it's not much, compar- you promised you wouldn't laugh!"

But Crowley couldn't help himself. The joy and love bubbled out of him in such a way that had to be given form, and laughter seemed to be it. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind, though, once Crowley swept him into his arms and pressed their lips together.

And this? This was poetry.

---

AN: Remember that AU I talked about? I decided to finally put my money where my mouth is. I feel like I should apologize for the awful poetry, so, uh.... sorry.

[generallynerdy]

High On the Burn (Carol Danvers X F!Soulmate!Reader)

Summary: In a post-Snap universe, the last thing (Y/N) (L/N) and Carol Danvers want is to meet their Soulmate. But in a very punctual fashion, fate decides to play with matches.

Requested by Anon: See your Steve Rogers soulmate fic has me hooked on the idea. How about a Carol Danvers x Fem!Reader soulmate fic where the reader is a very powerful Avenger and they meet after the decimation but before it is undone. Bonus points if it's angsty because Carol tries to fight the attraction (on account of being scared to lose the Reader), and for short hair!Carol.

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (L/N) - last name Warnings: i have no idea how far into the aftermath carol cut her hair so sue me, Nova calls the Decimation the Snap bc its a superior name, ENDGAME SPOILERS, cursing, angst, that Gay Shit yet again Word Count: 1,447

Note: i think i accidentally created a new soulmate au but im sure someone has done it before? Where u touch and u pretty much get really high and overwhelmed with positive emotion, but if neither one of u wants to meet the other, then its a whole big bundle of Suffering. I may use it again in the future?? Idk. anyway this is really soft!!

    The thing about the world ending was that it wasn’t supposed to get worse.

    Yeah, the world would fall apart and people would struggle to pick things up again, but no one would ever have to watch half a world of loved ones disappear again. It could never be as bad as the day it happened-- or at least it wasn’t supposed to be.

    For (Y/N) (L/N), things were very different.

    Being part of the Avengers meant that every day was worse. Every day was another day you couldn’t save the world, another day your failure stared you right in the face and asked: “Why? Why couldn’t you save them?”

    The day Tony Stark fell out of the sky was a little victory. Their friend was alive and he had two more with him for the ride. Well, the second part was a questionable victory. For (Y/N), it was a loss.

    It was a gut feeling, the first time she made eye contact with the fiery-- literally-- blonde that brought Tony and Nebula back from Titan.

    (Y/N) hadn’t been around the first time the woman was really there, but as soon as she got the call that Tony was alive, she raced to the compound. She’d been following leads on Thanos, trying to find him, trying to find anything that could help her kick his ass. 

Nothing. There was nothing.

    But when she met this woman’s eyes, there was something. There was a spark, a tiny one, but enough to scare the ever loving shit out of her-- out of both of them.

    Sparks didn’t happen. Not since the world had ended.

    “Hi,” the blonde said, reaching forward to shake (Y/N)’s hand. “Carol.”

    “(Y/N),” she replied.

    When their hands made contact, there was a sharp burn. It was like fire had engulfed their palms and a sword had stabbed through them at the same time. Carol winced and drew back her hand, while (Y/N) practically yelped.

    It wasn’t supposed to be like that-- the burn, the pain.

    It was supposed to feel like a high, like a burst of colour and light and love, reaching into your soul and pulling out a new person you didn’t recognise. Your Soulmate.

    But this wasn’t love.

    This was hatred. This was a glowing ember of hatred, for themselves, for the connection they had.

    Who the hell met their Soulmate after the world ended? After the world ended because they couldn’t save it?

    And suddenly, it was worse.

    The end of the world was worse.

    “Oh, shit,” came from Natasha’s mouth as she watched the exchange.

    There was an awkward silence. The team would’ve dispersed out of respect, but social rules had since changed after the Snap. All things considered, this was probably the first meeting of Soulmates since the Snap. (Y/N) and Carol were the first.

    And privately, (Y/N) hoped they would be the last, too.

    “Hi,” (Y/N) whispered, the first to speak.

    “Hi,” Carol repeated.

    The feeling of being watched, being studied, sent the hairs on the back of (Y/N)’s neck straight up. She felt like a science experiment.

    “I wish I could say it was nice to meet you,” she said, scraping for words.

    Carol opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “You, too.”

    That was the only words exchanged between them for the moment.

    Well…

    For 6 months.

    Despite her initial gut feeling to stay as far away as possible from Carol Danvers, (Y/N) began to miss her. It was a natural instinct to crave her Soulmate, however twisted their meeting was.

    She had met Carol’s eyes for no longer than a second and she missed the feeling of them staring at her.

    It didn’t help that (Y/N) was constantly interrogated by Bruce on how the separation was affecting her. He wanted to see the changes that the apocalypse made on the Soulmate system. Was it so natural that even half the population dying didn’t alter a Soulmate assignment? Had anything changed?

    (Y/N) didn’t know and she didn’t care. Maybe Bruce was using it to distract himself, but she’d rather he didn’t. Just the mention of Carol made her heart rip in half.

    Carol didn’t want her. That was what the burn meant.

    Given, she hadn’t wanted Carol either, not at that moment, but her views had since changed.

    So, she met her Soulmate after the apocalypse and so everything sucked right now, but that didn’t mean she should feel guilty for making an attempt to love her. She was meant to love Carol, Snap or not. The apocalypse shouldn’t get in the way of that. Surely Carol could come to the same conclusion.

    Across the universe, a call rang out from the Avengers compound. A few replied.

    It was like an intergalactic conference call, with (Y/N) taking the place of Natasha and getting updates from the rest of the team. Rhodey mentioned a missing Clint, Rocket said something about a major war breaking out, and the rest was barely paid attention to. Until Carol finished her report.

    “Anything else?”

    “No, luckily, it’s just that,” Carol said.

    (Y/N)’s very presence seemed to make the woman uncomfortable. Or was she afraid?

    Hesitantly, she dared to make things personal.

    “You cut your hair,” she said in almost a whisper, a soft smile painting her face.

    Carol was taken aback by this, but managed the tiniest sliver of a smirk. “Don’t like it?”

    “No, I do,” (Y/N) stammered. “It’s just...different. Good different.”

    As soon as the words left her lips, she heard a snort from the raccoon on the other line. (Y/N), one of the more powerful members of the team, shot one glare his way that made him go silent. He disconnected, followed shortly by the others, especially Rhodey, who shot both of them a knowing, encouraging, look.

    “Carol--” (Y/N) started as soon as they were gone.

    “Don’t,” the woman said. “Please, just don’t. Don’t make it worse.”

    “It can’t get any worse,” she protested.

    Carol sighed. “(Y/N), it can always get worse. I thought you’d know that by now.”

    After a pause, (Y/N) nodded. “You know, you’re right. It can get worse.” Before Carol could be shocked at her sudden admission, she continued. “It gets worse every single day knowing that you’re out there fighting the entire universe and I can’t do anything but call once a month to make sure you’re alive.”

    “(Y/N)--”

    “I don’t know you, Carol, and it kills me,” she added, disregarding her interruption. “I know we didn’t want this, I know we didn’t want this now, of all times, but we have it. We can’t just not do anything about it.”

    “It’s better that way,” Carol protested firmly.

    (Y/N) scoffed. “Why? Why is it better that way? How can it possibly be better to let you die without having known you at all?”

    “Because it hurts less than knowing me!” Carol huffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t wanna have you and have to lose you, (Y/N), and if that takes not having you at all, then that’s what I’ll do. I can’t lose you.”

    “You already have,” her Soulmate spat.

    She had to wipe away a tear that made its way down her cheek, contrary to her wishes.

    “You’ve already got me, Carol Danvers, like it or not. And you’re already losing me,” she said again. “Please. Come back.”

    Carol went quiet, uncrossing her arms and changing to a quiet tone. “Can you promise me you’ll be safe?”

    “Never,” (Y/N) laughed a little. “But I couldn’t do that before this happened anyway. Just come back. Come back here and meet me properly, without the burn, without the dumbasses in the next room watching.”

    Carol laughed at that, eyes softening at the effect the woman had on her. So that was what it was like to have a Soulmate. It cut and it burned, but she was high on it.

    Despite being unable to actually touch (Y/N)-- Bruce had been working on that-- Carol lifted her hand. If she could touch her, her hand would be resting on her jaw, cupping her face ever so fondly. It was a small gesture, but it was something. Though neither could feel it, they may have preferred it to the intense pain of their first touch, that raging fire.

    “Please?” (Y/N) asked one more time.

    Carol practically melted at the break in her voice. “Okay,” she managed, not wanting to admit how the idea made her heart leap. “Okay. I will.”

    “Promise?”

    “I promise.”

(Requests are currently closed. I’m finishing up my old ones.)

Masterlist

[xoteajays]

Circe for all oc asks

@hughstheforcelou

1: List five basic facts about your OC.  - she’s bisexual.  - she’s not only the hufflepuff duelling champion, she’s the best student dueller at hogwarts.  - she’s very confident and particularly girly, caring about her hair a lot and liking lip gloss.  - she has a scar on her left palm from a broken tea cup.  - she had a kind of aversion to meat, bordering on being vegetarian, but then became a werewolf and suddenly found herself craving meat. she’s forever mildly grossed out by this craving.

2: Post a line of dialogue from your OC.  “Remus. He attacked me. It was like he didn’t even recognise me.” - from my technically unnamed circe fic (maybe called ‘second brightest’?) that i started this may as a werewolf au fic before deciding werewolf!circe was canon. 

3: Post a snippet from your writing that describes your OC.  She stands at the top of the stairs. She can hear music already playing down in the hall, the yule ball in full swing. With a breath, she takes her first steps down the stairs, driftingly, almost floating. Her dress skirt swirls around her long legs. It’s a slow draw from foot to face as she walks down. There’s barely a peak of her golden shoes beneath the long hem of her equally golden dress, twisting deeper gold patterns in the fabric. It’s sleek and fitted to her petite form. There’s golden bracelets hanging from her bird-bone fragile wrists, a familiar silver daisy ring glint on her left pinkie. The thin straps of her dress do nothing to hide the pink-white bite scar over her collarbone. Finally, she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Her dark hair curls around her face, bouncing lightly as her head turns, her gaze flickering across the hall until finally, her pale green eyes land on George Weasley. - a yule ball snippet.

4: Post a snippet from your writing in which another OC describes your OC.  Leopoldine was no friend of the hufflepuff, but she had to admit, she had some respect for one Circe Shafiq. At least someone else was putting Pansy in her place. It’d look bad coming from a fellow slytherin, better to leave it to the hufflepuff. Despite herself, Leo finds her gaze turning up and down over the girl. She had nothing on Hermione, but the girl was still rather pretty. Pretty in a yellow-clad, full-of-herself, high-maintenance kind of way from her obviously well-kept curly hair and glossy lips and neatly painted nails. A scathing comment escapes the ‘puff’s lips and Leo has to hide her laugh behind a cough when Draco and his cronies look her way. - technically leopoldine and circe aren’t in the same story, but she is my other hp oc. 

5: Describe your OC’s physical appearance.  okay so circe is a pretty good mix between her father and mother. she has her mother’s features with her long nose and full brows and delicate hands, she’s paler than darya but not as pale as sirius; she also has her father’s very curly dark hair. she caught the recessive genes in terms of eyes, having neither her mother’s deep brown eyes or her father’s grey eyes; she has very pale green eyes. she has a bit of a fang-y look to her teeth at certain angles. circe is also pretty short and petite, she only stands at about 5′5. she’s has a bit of a monobrow and also noticeable hair on her arms, legs, and belly. 

6: Describe your OC’s love life.  circe has had her crushes here and there, but at the beginning and end of it all she was in love with george weasley and no other matched up. she had itty-bitty minor crushes on dean thomas, hermione granger, cedric diggory, a handful of the durmstrang and beauxbatons students, fleur delacour, victor krum, charlie weasley, a handful of her fellow hufflepuffs, and daphne greengrass. 

7: Describe your OC’s fashion sense.  in my head, i want to say circe is fashionable because her mother was a fashionable ravenclaw babe and sirius had his Looks, but my heart says she’s an oversized overalls covering sweaters or tees type of girl. she likes oversized sweaters, anything plaid or tartan, anything yellow, anything floral. she has a lot of jewellery, but most commonly she’ll be wearing an evil eye necklace and a silver daisy ring on her left pinkie.  

8: Describe one of your OC’s bad habits.  she hides what she would call her ‘ugly’ emotions. she doesn’t care about seeing other people show the same emotions but she hides her own. she hides her sadness, hides when she’s hurt, hides anything that would give people an idea that she’s not ‘all put together’. and then when people (rightly) accuse her of hiding her emotions, she gets frustrated with them about it and continue to shut them out unless they continue to press her about it. 

9: Your OC is having a nightmare. What is it?  depending on the year, her nightmares involve: her mother’s death, her father’s death, being attacked by remus as a werewolf, attacking her friends (george especially) while as a werewolf, george dying, bugs. 

10: You are conducting a ritual. What 5 items would you need to summon your OC?  figs, any item of yellow clothing but especially yellow tartan, a daisy ring, honey in a small glass bottle, lavender bath salts. 

11: What does your OC want for their birthday?  she has little want for most things and it genuinely happy with whatever gifts she gets, but ever since her mother’s death, all she’s wanted is her mother’s bee sting cake. 

12: What does your OC give another OC for their birthday?  she usually mulls over gifts for weeks in advance. in the end it comes down to book she thinks they’ll like, cool mugs, or food. 

13: Describe your OC’s living situation.  she lived with her mother until darya died, then she was left to live at hogwarts because her aunt couldn’t take her in and her grandmother died shortly after darya. she spent time at the burrow for a few years at the twins’ insistence, and then at 12 grimmauld place after being expelled from hogwarts by umbridge. after the war, she moved in permanently with the weasley’s until she was old enough to live alone, which she did for a few years before she and george started living together. 

14: What is one of your OC’s secrets?  circe worries about people saying they love her because she has an irrational idea that when people love her (and when she truly loves people), they’ll die. she gets this idea from her mother, her grandmother, her father, remus, and then fred all dying. some rational part of her knows it’s not because of her, but that irrational part wins out far more often. 

15: Your OC is given the chance to go back in time. Where do they go and what do they do?  she’d go back and try to stop people’s deaths. she might even give up going back and saving her father if it meant she could go back to the war and stop remus, tonks, and fred from dying. 

16: If your OC could have any superpower, which would it be and why?  part of her wants her animagus ability back (since she lost it when becoming a werewolf). alternatively, she’d love to be able to breathe underwater. or to maybe glow just a little bit. 

17: How does your OC do during the zombie apocalypse?  i actually have an au about this in a non-magical zombie apocalypse way. anyway, it’s her, the golden trio, ginny, and the twins. circe has a bow and is great for taking out zombies from far away, she doesn’t particularly like guns but does also have a knife for close-up kills. she’s a runner for collecting food and stuff they need because she’s tiny and can easily get into places while also being very quiet about it. 

18: What is your OC’s dream job?  i think maybe she’d be an activist, likely for werewolf rights. she’d maybe even be a writer, giving actual true details about werewolves to dispel all the lies that have been written about them and maybe telling werewolf’s experiences. i can also imagine her as a charms teacher at hogwarts. 

19: Your OC’s life is a musical. What’s the title of their big show-stopping song?  either ‘second best’ in which she’s talking about being second after her father, second to hermione in school, not living up to her mother’s reputation, etc. or ‘not just a pretty girl’ talking about all her other qualities when people put her down to being ‘just pretty’. 

20: Post a picture or gif that describes your OC.  

[ineffably-in-love]

Good Omens Headcanons: Gabriel & Beelzebub

the tired bosses bonding over their employees being a pain in the ass

outside: lawful evil/lawful good

inside: both chaotic neutral

when they want to restart the Apocalypse, Gabriel arrives there first with his fabulous lightning, but he waits for Beelzebub before stepping up to the gang

ergo: just one more canon evidence that they’re 1) clearly already having some kind of relationship and 2) both drama queens and you’re in big fucking trouble now young man

the fucking looks on their faces as they walk, like ‘shit here we go again’

they’re clearly not afraid/restrained to share their feelings with each other, just look at their worried faces during their convo in ep6

why are they standing so close and why are they so intimate with each other answer me neil gaiman i want a spin off

Beelzebub being strong af and able to lift Gabriel without batting an eye is iconic already and I’d like to submit it to Fanon

enthusiastic Gabriel lifting her to snuggle because he’s a big dumb doggo

Beelzebub realizing that she does not care about her buzzing voice anymore when she’s with him

Gabriel having learned the f-word from her

I love people posting about them knowing each other in Heaven, but honestly them just meeting through horrible job experiences is so much more hysterical and relatable

them meeting on Earth to discuss and Complain™ is pretty much fanon by now and I live for it

I enjoy the idea of a Red Telephone kinda thing, but ‘there are no back channels’ so how do they know when to meet for complaining?

how about: angels radiate great love and other positive feelings, and an archangel’s radiation is so strong that Beelzebub could literally find him on the spot whenever Gabriel walks the Earth

e.g. Gabriel is running in the park when suddenly Earth opens and Beelzebub is like yo I had a super bad day and I need to Complain also you’re bloody beaming today turn it down

or, alternatively, Gabriel using a ouija board and it spelling out ‘U-S-E-A-P-H-O-N-E-D-U-M-B-A-S-S‘ (god i love this thank you op)

B teaching Gabe how to dance to Lasha Tumbai

Gabe making other angels suspicious by humming Friends on The Other Side from time to time

we all crave that reverse!AU don’t we? - sweet sweet angel!Beelzebub with short brown hair - but actually she’s just as savage as before - demon!Gabriel still rocking his purple aesthetics - bearded Jon Hamm!! black turtle neck!! scruffy gabriel - but demon!Gabriel is just another doggo... he’s big and dumb and doesn’t talk much - or au contraire: demon!Gabe being extremly slick and dangerously intelligent uuhhh... like a disney villain but rated r - angel!Beelzebub is a scout/actually Isabella from Phineas & Ferb

I know that red/blue pairs are out right now because of the pastel/goth aesthetics popularity, but we know that these two, at their hearts, are a classic red/blue pair

(hot take: the book versions of the Ineffable Husbands are red/blue as well)

Gabe constantly thinking of new nicknames, e.g. Beez, Buzz, Beelz, Lord B, and Beelzebub just rolling her eyes at them

Ineffable Bureaucracy is super valid and I Do See You, but please please consider: Gabe and Beelzebub as the ultimate mlm wlw solidarity duo

exchanging styling tips

exchanging bad coping mechanisms

post-Armaggeddon’t discussions about what the fuck happened

both of them threatening people to call the other one if they’re pissed omg

‘say that again and I’ll call the hell wife!!!’ vs. ‘do you want me to call the archangel you little shit yeah i mean the big dumb one who does as i say hmm do you want that’

the crack is strong with these two, but please consider angst: - both struggling with their identity as the leaders of their fractions because of their comforting relationship with the enemy - Gabriel and some fucked up flower thing god I love this song - Beelzebub gifting him flowers because she knows he loves flowers - but it’s sad because they’re spreading some virus onto his white lilies - angsty aesthetics: long scarf and coats, lone dark alleyways, rain 

B wanting to smack her head against a wall because this archangel is so fucking dumb but also so charming and nice

Gabe seeing that this demon lord is not a bad person

her reaction to him stealing the eyes of elizabeth taylor

H E I G H T  D I F F E R E N C E

[wizisbored]

What are some of your favorite lines you've written for your fics? (Also I'm sorry things aren't going well right now. Sending love 💜)

right its time to go diggin im using this as an excuse to reread everything because i cant think of any lines off the top of my head even though i know theres a shitton

premptively putting a cut here because this will probably end up long as shit and you know what fuck yea to that because fuck yea to being proud of what youve made

SO

hallelujah, first thing i posted:

If those bastards want to make her part of their shitty musical, then she’s going to make it difficult. Or at least inconvenient.

The hive is not inconvenienced in the slightest.’

- idk if this is as funny as i think it is but i find it funny

"Nobody dies with dignity, Emma. There's no honour in the thing, however you dress it up."

- wrote that to sound creepy and now i cant decide whether i actually think its true

But he’s holding her like she’s his salvation, as if it’s his life hanging in the balance.

- salvation is just a good word tbh

It’s hopeless, but she refuses to be killed by a game of fucking ‘got your nose’.

purgatory, intended to be a shitpost but now i unironically think of it as the best thing ive ever written

After a few years (or maybe seconds, it’s not clear) / it takes a moment (or maybe it doesn’t, who knows?) / An undocumentable amount of time passes. /  They might have slipped into an uneasy silence lasting millenia - or milliseconds - if it wasn’t for the jolly tune that suddenly fills the air. / for minutes or years or millenia or maybe even eons / After a brief, indescribably long nap / But the incomprehensible amount of time seems somehow shorter this time.

- 2 in one of fucking with the concept of time and hinting at an unreliable narrator, hell yea. its about the weird atmosphere, baybeeeee

“Does one day of trying the hardest we could outweigh years of not trying at all?” Emma wonders aloud. Paul squeezes her hand.

“I damn hope so.”

He doesn’t ask if she believes in Hell.

- even without context i like this line but in context it really helped set the sombre tone so i could do a full 180 at the end of the chapter

Emma wonders whether they’ve been sent to musical hell for failing to stop the musical apocalypse

- love the implication that there is a hell dedicated to annoying people via musical theatre

“You said- you told her you’d never be in a musical?”

“Yes.”

“And then you died performing a musical number?”

“I- yeah, I did.”

“Brilliant! Now, that is stupid!”

- probably my best characterisation of death, sounds like something that would be said in a stupid deaths bit, i can hear it in his voice

teachers pet

“It’s only blatant if people know about it. So in actual fact this is secret favouritism.”

- hidgens gives absolutely 0 shits about the ethics of the situation good for him

“And if that is kidnapping, well, consider yourself kidnapped.”

- once again ethics simply do not matter

“Oh, where is your sense of adventure? Are you not curious about the results of washing baked beans?”

- this line hants me when im trying to make stew or just have some fucking beans on toast because I am curious about the results of washing baked beans

“Well, if it isn’t, and we both die, then I’ll be quite disappointed. We did spend all evening on this, after all.”

- priorities

finishing what we started, actually originally a scrapped ending idea for igtlt that i liked too much to abandon entirely

“How many bullets?” He eventually asks.

“Enough.”

- they just know what theyve got to do

Only thing left to say is a big ol’ fuck you to… God, everyone else in the fucking world. Oh, and God. Fuck you God, you prick.

- gotta love them tto refs

wildfire, almost 20,000 words of angst that im going to read through because fuck it why not

She doesn't understand the order, at least not yet; a dog doesn't understand the first time she's called to heel. But that can change. Though, from the bared teeth of this dog, the trader guesses it may take a while.

- this is actually something i really like doing in narration, calling a character something in dialogue or comparison and then directly calling them it in the narration

He understands; she doesn't want to show weakness to someone who could exploit her, doesn't want to show gratitude to someone she hates. But the tribeswoman is tired and scared and hurt, and it's obvious. She's broken, at least for today.

The loneliness, however, refuses to wane. It settles in her chest like a physical need, a craving for closeness.

- got inspiration for this description by thinking about hugging my partner while i was stuck in lockdown

"You can say that again," the older woman mutters, shaking her head. "God-fuckin'-damnit, Lauren, why d'you never think about the implications?"

Jemilla turns to her with a questioning look. "Who's Lauren?"

"She-" Molag begins to explain, then pauses. She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "I don't even know."

- crossover jokes hell yea

He’s tolerable, she’s decided, at least relatively so, but not trustworthy. If she could truly trust him then he wouldn’t be involved in all this. If she could trust him, she wouldn’t know him.

The thinly-veiled threat in his grin

She stares up at the man, shaking, whimpering, pleading. Wordlessly begging for him to stop.

- gotta love reaching the breaking point

She probably looks insane, bruised and bloody and laughing quietly to herself in a cage. She doesn’t care. They can think she’s insane, just as long as they don’t think they broke her.

laughing as they rediscover half-forgotten days spent as children let loose in a world that seemed so huge and yet so small at the same time

“You know, kids like Zazzalil - scrawny little things born as Autumn died - they’re not supposed to see Spring.”

- i will see any character without a detailed fleshed-out backstory and say ‘is anyone going to make headcannons about that’ and then not wait for an answer

Maybe the pain will shock her out of her head.

im going to live twice

It feels more like a bag of broken crockery than a human.

- this was the only time ive ever had to describe something really gory and decided to make it as uncomfy as possible

she notices with a concerning level of non-concern

Paul Matthews is gone, boy. And if I catch you using a dead man’s name again, well.

- its about the ✨forced disconnect✨

It stares at him, and for a moment he sees the young man that Benny used to be, silently pleading for the agent to tell him he'll be okay.

"In my defence, that was the Colonel's idea.” The man raises his hands in surrender. “I wanted to call you Lauren. I was outvoted.”

- i will take literally any chance to make a 4th wall joke and that is a threat

“I’ll see what can be done,” he assures it, knowing full well that nothing will be.

- xander doesnt flat out abuse emma in the way mcnamara and shaffer do but hes still cruel in subtler ways

“No chance of being hurt?”

Xander nods. “No chance of you being hurt.”

-  ✨foreshadowing ✨

If only he was free, free to just get up and go find Blue and tell her - actually tell her, out loud, with words - that she’s going to be okay. If only he could say that and have it be the truth.

She holds onto that piano. Right now, as she kneels crying into the tabletop, it's all she has.

- ‘sir thats my emotional support near-complete stranger’

smoke and feathers

Irony can be a cruel, twisted bitch.

- probably the best opener ive written

There’s a sort of pathetic irony in the fact that she slipped on a stone while wading across a shallow stream and broke her neck.

The stars move across the sky, and she still doesn’t know why.

- sounds poetic and all while also being a fuck you to the chorn twist because i hate it

It seems like every time she looks away the moon goes from waxing to waning and back again, time marching onwards in one unending night, swallowing one unending forest.

Even with her limited view of the person’s face, Zazzalil can see the softness in their expression. She’s hit with a pang of longing for Jemilla.

They share those tender looks that make Zazzalil long for home.

The kind of silence only shared between people who can appreciate the simplicity of each other’s presence

aaand thats pretty much all of em. i know when you said ‘some’ you probably meant less than this but i will give a consice answer to a question when pigs fly. i was going to do the double e au too but its past 1 am now and im going to bed. thanks for this ask because whether intentionally or not you just made me read 48,860 words of fic and thats a damn good distraction when things are getting a bit shitty :)