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leahrintarou · 8 months

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🎃 SUNA RINTAROU - SOMNOPHILIA

Warnings: somnophilia ofc, cunnilingus, fem reader, afab reader, soft!dom suna, mention of tatas lol Word Count: 1.2k

"i'll be right back. don't fall asleep" suna says, giving y/n another sloppy kiss to the warm skin of her nape. they'd just taken a shower together and as the water wasn't the only thing heating the atmosphere, y/n insisted that they'd continue their activities outside of the shower. she'd been on her feet all day and wasn't even sure if she could manage to stand up for another minute.

cutting their shower short, y/n and suna made their way back to his bedroom and when he realized that he'd forgotten to get a towel (mainly for y/n), he groaned internally. quickly making his way to the hallway's closet in which stored his array of freshly washed linnen bath towels, suna pulled one from its folded place on the shelf before making his way back to y/n.

to his dismay, she'd already fallen asleep in the blink of an eye. with a grunt of frustration, he decided to ignore his own problem (for now atleast), and pulled the towel over y/n's body as she moved limply in the comfort of the soft fabric. he wasn't upset over the fact. afterall, y/n said countless of times that she was drained for the day and he understood that. suna being suna though, tried to push his luck and sneak in a quick session of pleasure with his girlfriend but unfortunately, that plan failed before it was even set into stone.

he contemplated in whether or not he should take care of his problem on his own, but he was one with holding out for long periods of time which is why y/n never went to bed lacking of any needs what so ever. with that information, he sighed to himself, rolling his eyes before deciding on throwing on some briefs and a t-shirt and laying on top of the plush of his bed. y/n let out a small sound of annoyance at the fidgeting and suna took a glance at the sight next to him.

the towel was barely doing any justice of covering her body and suna wanted to look away. He wanted to not worsen his problem, but he just couldn't. The rising and fall of her chest slowly but surely making the towel slide just below her necklaces pendant and just above the valley of her breast. The ache that settled between his thighs and the peaceful state of y/n made him come to what felt like the biggest crossroad of his life.

With a singular blink and a shuffle of her body, the towel had finally retired of its temporary job. Suna couldn’t help himself at the sight. Laying down, he placed small kisses against her chest and soon made his way up to her neck and then her jaw. "sweetheart.." He mumbled, hoping that maybe she'd wake up at his gestures of affection. y/n hummed and suna smiled against her skin. "can I take care of you?" He questions, sitting up as a palm caressed her bare waist in an up and down motion. "you always take care of me, rin" y/n muttered, some syllables of her words coming out quieter than the others.

"do I? What about here?" And with that, his digits swiftly made its way to place a palm just below y/n's lower abdomen. She let out a small sigh and he smiled. She needed him just as much as he needed her. The only difference in the two was who had more energy and surprisingly, it was suna this time. Swiftly yanking the bothersome fabric of the towel from y/n's body, suna placed small kisses against the plush of her inner thighs. She was half asleep and suna could tell since her body was more vulnerable towards him.

Even in her woken state, y/n wasn't this vulnerable to suna. It might've been a bit too amusing to him but he didn’t think too much of it for his own sake. Wrapping both arms around her thighs before parting them away from each other with a firm grip to the inner-plush, suna took a glance up to y/n as her eyes were half lidded and her lips were slightly parted, irregular breathing patterns pulling a satisfying feeling to suna and it boosted his ego all the more.

His own lips parted and a sigh from a fanned breath escaped the warm cavern of his mouth before his tongue made contact with y/n's sex. Her thighs tensed and involuntary tried to close, but suna made sure of that not happening when the sturdy hold that her had against her nearly cut off her circulation. His tongue laid flatly against her sex, dragging along the area before getting to her bud, he latched his lips around the specifically sensitive area of y/n and with a curious glance, he looked up at her features.

Her eyebrows contorted to a pleasure filled expression and the quietest moan erupted through the fatigue in her voice. His tongue toyed with her bud for what felt like hours. He could do this all night if he wasn’t stopped and this showed to be proven true when a glance at the clock snapped suna out of his daze. Letting out a groan against y/n's sex, suna pulled back, taking a small breath of air before resuming his previous antics. His tongue prodded at y/n's entrance, tasting every bit of her arousal against his tastebuds with relish.

she clenched around him and the ache in suna's member felt a bit more antagonizing. y/n let out a soft moan of his name, eye's fluttering open as the situation began to unblur in seconds. it was the first time that y/n had been woken up like this and to say that this state of hers was a bit more sensitive than usual was an understatement. letting out a whine of his name, suna hummed against her, the low octave of his voice on her bud sending a jolt all the way though her body.

"i got impatient, pretty."

y/n couldn’t even focus on his words since her mind was overwhelmed with the current pleasure felt sensation that she was receiving. "s-stop talking." she forced out, trying to shoot suna a glare when he let out a breathy laugh. "you got it, sweetheart". His voice was calm and innocent as if he weren't doing what he was doing at the moment. Aka, using his tongue to all of its power to bring y/n to a crumbling end of where she couldn’t keep up or hold herself together. He enjoyed things a lot more when she was that way and by the looks of it, she was getting pretty damn close which only motivated him more.

y/n balled the discarded towel in her fist and with a few more fallen moans, suna focused on her bud, bringing her pleasure filled end to surface. Suna forced y/n to keep her thighs open as her hips uncontrollably jolted against his tongue. He pulled back, finally having some kind of mercy on his girlfriend as she continued to let out breathy pants. "I hope that woke you up a bit more" he said, lifting his head as he leaned towards y/n's face.

"why?" She managed to let out, eyebrows contorting in confusion when suna placed a small peck to the corner of her lips before pulling back to remove his shirt. His briefs were soon discarded after, revealing his erect member that so desperately needed some kind of physical attention.

"I still have a problem that you caused and you're going to help me with it."

"rin, I'm tired."

"so am I, pretty…so, let's get this over with quickly, yeah?"

TYSM FOR READINGGG :)

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thebrickinbrick · 7 days

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Preparations

THE journals of the day which said that that nearly impregnable structure of the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, as they call it, reached to the level of the first floor, were mistaken. The fact is, that it did not exceed an average height of six or seven feet. It was built in such a manner that the combatants could, at their will, either disappear behind it or dominate the barrier and even scale its crest by means of a quadruple row of paving-stones placed on top of each other and arranged as steps in the interior. On the outside, the front of the barricade, composed of piles of paving-stones and casks bound together by beams and planks, which were entangled in the wheels of Anceau's dray and of the overturned omnibus, had a bristling and inextricable aspect.

An aperture large enough to allow a man to pass through had been made between the wall of the houses and the extremity of the barricade which was furthest from the wine-shop, so that an exit was possible at this point. The pole of the omnibus was placed upright and held up with ropes, and a red flag, fastened to this pole, floated over the barricade.

The little Mondétour barricade, hidden behind the wine-shop building, was not visible. The two barricades united formed a veritable redoubt. Enjolras and Courfeyrac had not thought fit to barricade the other fragment of the Rue Mondétour which opens through the Rue des Prêcheurs an issue into the Halles, wishing, no doubt, to preserve a possible communication with the outside, and not entertaining much fear of an attack through the dangerous and difficult street of the Rue des Prêcheurs.

With the exception of this issue which was left free, and which constituted what Folard in his strategical style would have termed a branch, and taking into account, also, the narrow cutting arranged on the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the interior of the barricade, where the wine-shop formed a salient angle, presented an irregular square, closed on all sides. There existed an interval of twenty paces between the grand barrier and the lofty houses which formed the background of the street, so that one might say that the barricade rested on these houses, all inhabited, but closed from top to bottom.

All this work was performed without any hindrance, in less than an hour, and without this handful of bold men seeing a single bear-skin cap or a single bayonet make their appearance. The very bourgeois who still ventured at this hour of riot to enter the Rue Saint-Denis, cast a glance at the Rue de la Chanvrerie, caught sight of the barricade, and redoubled their pace.

The two barricades being finished, and the flag run up, a table was dragged out of the wine-shop; and Courfeyrac mounted on the table.

Enjolras brought the square coffer, and Courfeyrac opened it. This coffer was filled with cartridges. When the mob saw the cartridges, a tremor ran through the bravest, and a momentary silence ensued.

Courfeyrac distributed them with a smile.

Each one received thirty cartridges. Many had powder, and set about making others with the bullets which they had run.

As for the barrel of powder, it stood on a table on one side, near the door, and was held in reserve.

The alarm beat which ran through all Paris, did not cease, but it had finally come to be nothing more than a monotonous noise to which they no longer paid any attention. This noise retreated at times, and again drew near, with melancholy undulations.

They loaded the guns and carbines, all together, without haste, with solemn gravity. Enjolras went and stationed three sentinels outside the barricades, one in the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the second in the Rue des Prêcheurs, the third at the corner of the Rue de la Petite Truanderie.

Then, the barricades having been built, the posts assigned, the guns loaded, the sentinels stationed, they waited, alone in those redoubtable streets through which no one passed any longer, surrounded by those dumb houses which seemed dead and in which no human movement palpitated, enveloped in the deepening shades of twilight which was drawing on, in the midst of that silence through which something could be felt advancing, and which had about it something tragic and terrifying, isolated, armed, determined, and tranquil.

#lm 4.12.5 #the brick in brick #barricade day #les miserables #lego

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lvsifer · 2 months

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Paul Atreides denies him an easy death. Feyd-Rautha has to deal with his new position.

tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content (in the later chapters), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, feyd-rauther is his usual little freak self, will include mentions of noncon later on

Read all under the cut:

Paul Atreides denies him an easy death. Feyd-Rautha does not bleed out in front of the emperor and the terrorist’s household, his Fremen filth and whore mother. Instead, Feyd-Rautha dreams of death on the dirty floor of a prison cell.

Blood rusts over his mouth, dries to flakes before his body hits the stone, and Feyd-Rautha tongues at it as his hands try to staunch the bleeding of his wounds. He presses where Paul Muad’Dib Atreides has pushed inside him with his blade, hot from the desert air, a pleasure so close to pain or pain so close to pleasure, Feyd-Rautha cannot name the difference.

He writhes now where he lays in a silence more shameful than defeat. All his life he has fantasised of dying in battle, perhaps in the arena, broken by a stronger hand with the rush of fighting still hot in his blood and the screams of the masses in his ears. Triumphant. Foolish of him. Such wishes come to nothing. This is one lesson the Baron could not teach him, not while he had held Feyd-Rautha under the monstrous wing of his tutelage. Sheltered is what he had been, he realises as flies start to buzz around him, landing on his opened flesh. He swats them away, but they circle him as merciless as any blood-drinking desert bird. No, he rots as any piece of meat left under Arrakis’ pitiless sun.

But he will not die. Or have they thrown him into this cell to find an ignominious end and shame the house of Harkonnen? But what advantage would that bring? Half-delirious, Feyd-Rautha shoves a swath of his leather pteruges over his wounds and pulls it tight against his opened skin to shield it from the flies and what eggs they might burrow into his flesh. A shaky exhale flees his lips as he tries to slow his breathing. What would Uncle say if he saw him like this, disgraced and defeated? Would he have fallen from the favour he clawed his way into? Then again, Uncle is dead. Slaughtered like a pig. The memory stirs Feyd-Rautha’s blood and he moans through his teeth.

The door opens. Feyd-Rautha looks at the upside-down figures, dark-robed, Suk-braids over their left shoulders, a man kneels down beside him, painted lips, cold eyes, and a finger presses into Feyd-Rautha’s mouth with a salve so bitter and tingling he forgets all else for a moment.

Then darkness sears his eyes shut.

When next Feyd-Rautha wakes, it’s in an airy room. Black night outside. Translucent white curtains billow and desert wind scatters fine dust over the luxurious trappings of the room: a massive wooden table shining with polish, jewels set into silverware, finely wrought tapestries depicting one of the Arrakeen beasts, a sandworm—

A figure moves from between the curtains, a slow, irregular step. The tall and lean silhouette of the would-be emperor. Feyd-Rautha feels for his wounds, bandaged, then tests his muscles and grits his teeth as pain shoots through him so incandescent he sees lights behind his lids.

“Cousin,” Paul Atreides says in his slow, dragging voice, a voice that holds witch-power as they all heard when Muad’Dib silenced Shaddam’s Truthsayer.

Feyd-Rautha groans as he tries to sit up.

Paul watches his efforts from above with cold blue-within-blue eyes. Eyes that are not his own, it seems, eyes that shimmer with a strangeness that makes Feyd-Rautha shiver.

Paul slinks closer, desert-creature, false prophet, predator. Killer. Except, of course, Feyd-Rautha is alive and by his wish. Or has he died in that filthy cell?

“You recover well,” Paul says. “But I will need you to heal faster.”

Feyd-Rautha sits up with all his strength, feels one of the stab-wounds’ stitches rip. Blood blooms through the white bandages on his torso. Paul tuts. Then Paul is beside him and pushes him back down, efficient, his hands warm on Feyd-Rautha’s skin, black dusty curls brushing his cheek, and Feyd-Rautha breathes him in, spice and desert and a hint of the acrid stench of stillsuits, and beneath it something boyish and honied. Feyd-Rautha wants to sink his teeth into it, tear him apart.

“Why?” Feyd-Rautha rasps. “Why didn’t you kill—”

“I don’t waste my resources,” Paul says.

The Atreides lets go of him as though he’s handled some unruly hound.

“Resources…?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harkonnen,” Paul says evenly, and after a moment’s hesitation he sits on the mattress beside Feyd-Rautha. The oddness of it strikes him, no-one has ever sat beside his sick-bed, certainly not Uncle, nor maid or doctor. He would have killed any who’d have tried. He looks for a weapon now. His eyes sink to the crysknife at Paul’s hip. Iron tang of blood in his mouth.

“Try it,” Paul says, steel in his voice that he’d already shown when confronting the emperor. Power too, the fierceness of a demigod.

“I just might,” Feyd-Rautha says and finds Paul’s gaze, grins, “Make you kill me after all, cousin.” He bares his black teeth, “All this for nothing.”

And Feyd-Rautha spits his blood into Paul’s face. Paul does not flinch. His blue-within-blue eyes seem to burn in the glint of the glowglobes. He’s beautiful like that, with his blood on his face, and it hits Feyd-Rautha unexpectedly. Time stills around them. Breath does not come easily as he inhales.

“I rule you now,” Paul whispers, dips two fingers into the blood on his cheek and sucks it off his fingers, “Your water is mine.”

A shiver runs down Feyd-Rautha’s spine, humiliation and with it the hook of desire low in his stomach. If Paul notices what it does to him, he does not show it.

“What do you want of me?” Feyd-Rautha curls his fists in the bedding.

“You’ll know soon enough, Baron,” Paul says and stands. “Heal quickly.”

With that, he leaves.

The rush of wind and sand fills the room. The grating of it, abrading all it touches. Feyd-Rautha bites his lip, breathes in deeply until all scent of the boy-prophet has gone and cold darkness envelops him whole.

This planet holds nothing but strangers now. The only family Feyd-Rautha has left is Paul Atreides.

#feydpaul #paulfeyd #paul x feyd #paul atreides x feyd rautha #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #paul muad'dib #dune #dune 2 #dune fic #dune smut #dune fanfiction #paulfeyd fic #feydpaul fic #writing the sin #literally just wrote this in a fit of madness

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slytherinshua · 10 days

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BY YOUR SIDE

genre. hurt/comfort. warnings. takes place in between s1 and s2. yul is still in seoho fortress. stupid worm 👎 yul has to think about how much longer he has until he dies.... a lot. pairing. fiancé!yul x fem!reader. wc. 811. request. no. a/n. yul being in pain w the worm gives me such brainrot cause nursing trope is my fav trope and it doesn't quite count as nursing trope but ITS CLOSE ENOUGH HEHE.

“Shit— It’s happening again!?” You stood up from your seat with haste, rushing to the other side of the table where your lover sat. Yul doubled over in pain, breath irregular and aching. It happened often— ever since the day he had gotten trapped in the training center by the ice stone, he had never fully recovered. Though he tried to conceal his condition so you would not worry, he couldn’t keep it up for long.

You were one of the few people that Seo Yul trusted without a doubt, and the only person he had ever told about his condition. He wanted to make sure that if the condition killed him, at least you knew. You spent every moment with him preciously, wanting to make use of however long you were given with him. Whether it was 50 days or 50 years, you wanted to make Yul as happy as you could.

In front of others, Yul was forced to conceal his pain. You had watched as he kept a straight face in front of his father, mother, uncle, and household servants. It had taken quite a bit of coaxing from you to even get him to not conceal his pain from you.

Your heart shattered into a million pieces seeing him like that; in pure agony, sweat building on his forehead, jaw clenched and eyes shut tightly as he tried to endure it. It was hard to even imagine how painful it must be— Yul barely even flinched from a stab wound. How much more painful must it be that he could barely stand?

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, your left hand finding his, “Squeeze it as hard as you need to.” You told him softly. Thankfully he complied, squeezing your hand tightly, breathing out in short cut-off gasps.

You knew you couldn’t do much— you felt helpless every time it happened. You could hold him tightly and soothe him with your words, and you hoped at least that much was enough.

You watched his breathing steady a little, and you let out a relieved sigh, knowing that the pain was subsiding. You pressed kisses to his temple until he stopped squeezing your hand. He held it gently, his strength completely exhausted.

“You’re okay. It’s okay.” The words were more of a reassurance than a fact. You knew he was not okay, nor would the pain ever stop unless there was some way to get the wretched worm out of his body. You longed to be able to take over his pain, if only for one day. Anything to let him rest.

“Thank you.” Yul uttered once he had caught his breath, letting his head fall until it rested on your bosom. You sunk your fingers into his hair, gently threading them through to relax him.

“I hate to see you in pain… I wish I could take it away from you.” You told him quietly. The moments after were always filled with a voiceless longing for things to change, from both Yul and you.

Yul straightened, shaking his head, “No. Never. It is far too painful for me to even think of you experiencing it too.” He met your gaze. You had rarely seen him look so scared and determined at the same time. “Seeing you in pain would be far worse than the pain I experience now.” You sighed, knowing you could not fight him on this.

“You understand how I feel then…” You swallowed uncomfortably and forced a smile back on your face. Fighting with him over this, even if it was just a small disagreement, was not worth it to you.

He reached for your hands, “I am fine now, my love. Do not trouble yourself over it too much.” He smiled at you, and you could not help but mirror it. Cupping his cheek, you leaned down until your lips connected. Hearing Yul’s contented sigh at the feeling of your soft lips, you smiled into the kiss.

Despite the agonising pain Yul experienced daily, as long as he was still able to hold you close and kiss you like this, he would do it all again without thinking. He could not lie to you and promise to be able to spend decades more by your side. He could wish for that amount of time to stay next to you— to call you his wife— but he’d be dumb to believe that he was going to live for that much longer. All he could do was vow to stay by your side for the rest of his life. Hundreds of years would still never feel like enough when it was all over. He had learned to cherish what he had while he had it. He wouldn’t let you go until he was at death’s door. That way he could die without any regret.

↳ k-drama taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @tempobaekh,, @candewlsy,,

@cosmicwintr,, @blossominghunnie,, @parkjennykim,, @seunghancore,, @emmylksblog,,

@bananabubble

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p1nkcanoe · 2 years

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“dance with me”

[ swiss x gn!reader fluff]

summary: swiss loves the lake. he spends a tender moment with his lover on the dock.

warnings: none

word count: 990

masterlist

There's a lake that guards the abbey and swarms with life during the daytime. Ducks and geese make their wakes in the crystal clear water searching for fish and diving headfirst into the reeds, huge water birds make their homes on the banks, and animals of all kinds and sizes make their way to the lake's edge for a drink of cold water. At night, the surface calms and turns to glass and creates a vast mirror of stars that burn bright on its surface. Completely undisturbed, the lake goes to sleep.

A chorus of frogs wake up once the sun goes to sleep and sing together with the crickets that hide deep in the grass. Their song is seasonal; loud and jubilant in the summer, hushed and mellow in the fall, and put on hold throughout the winter until the ice thaws out. Tonight it mimics blank verse poetry and repeats the same steady rise and fall of croaks and chirps. The leaves must be getting ready to change.

The air is warm but an irregular breeze rushes in off of the lake and nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs. It's more than manageable but your ghoul insists that you stay glued to his side with your fingers tightly interlocked. You trust Swiss' instincts as he leads you through the dark from the stone path to the abbey's time-honored dock. Old wooden boards creak under two sets of feet and smell of cedar and rot. Each step from above sends a set of ripples to cut across the surface of the lake and you watch as the stars dance over the waves before returning to their places in the sky.

Swiss loves the lake. He was summoned upon the same dock he walks on and knows each and every swirl and grain in its weathered wood. If he could live here forever instead of the den he would, but he understands that the abbey calls to him and he must always eventually make his way back home. More often than not he brings you with him- his love, his anchor- and you make sure to dress in your nicer attire no matter the temperature nor the time of day. He does the same. Tonight, the moon looms massive and bright in the sky and clouds are nowhere to be found. The breeze cards it's hands through the airy fabric of your clothes and welcomes you and it's favorite ghoul back to the edge of the dock where you belong. Usually, Swiss would lower himself to the ground and let you lay back against his chest as you watch the world turn overhead and the sun come up, but tonight is different. He has other plans. He releases himself from the tangle of your arms and you reach for him in blind habit as he retreats behind you, his tail petting over your thigh.

"Dance with me," he whispers into your ear, his chest pressed lightly against your back. His clawed hands are careful as they caress the delicate skin of your arms and you shiver under his touch and the bite of the wind. "Please."

"I don't know how," you admit and you're terrified you've disappointed the ghoul, but he takes a deep inhale of your scent instead and places a kiss on the shell of your ear. Your hands fall atop his own and squeeze as he wraps his strong arms around your stomach and pulls your body tighter against him. He's warm. He's familiar. You can't help but smile as he tsks against your hair. "I'll embarrass myself."

Swiss' body begins to sway lightly back and forth, your own moving with him in tandem as he holds you in a makeshift dance. "You don't need to know how. I have you. Just feel me. Follow me."

Your body gives in to him before your head does, and before you know it you're falling into an easy rhythm that feels natural; like you've known it your whole life. Behind you, the ghoul becomes steadily warmer and the scent of chocolate and coffee that he radiates gets stronger. When you lay your head back against his shoulder you hear the low rumble of a purr against your ear. His stubble tickles against where it rests against your forehead. You're both content and engulfed by the arms of a soulmate.

You stand there together, you and him, for a long while, swaying softly to the sound of frogs and crickets and the wind in the trees. It's moments like these that make you understand Swiss' love for the dock and the lake. You've grown to appreciate it's secrets. And it's moments like these that make you remember how you fell so deeply in love with your ghoul. You more than understand his desire to stay here forever.

Swiss must've been thinking similarly, because he unwraps his arms from your tummy and grabs one of your hands to gracefully twirl you around to face him. Now, standing face to face -mortal eyes to golden eyes- he lets go of your hand and reaches up to hold your face tenderly and gently in his rough palms. The claw of his thumb catches gently on your bottom lip and he watches the way that your cheeks flood with blush.

"Oh, my love. How did I ever get so lucky?"

His lips meet yours in a dizzying kiss that takes your breath away every time and you clutch your hands in the black shirt that adorns his chest to keep you from falling away. But you don't have to worry about that because Swiss' large hands are always there to hold you up and guide you to him. He has you. He's got you. He's forever and eternally yours.

#the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #ghost band #ghost band x reader #swiss ghoul #swiss x reader #swiss ghoul x reader #ghost bc #ghost #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls #ghost fluff #ghost x reader fluff #Swiss ghoul fluff

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copperbadge · 1 year

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“Breaking into a cemetery”? Sam, dish the tea, please! (And not into Boston Harbour, either). What sort of sightseeing exigency required burglarizing the marble orchard? And how did you evade the gendarmes? This sounds a bit “Leverage”. (Or something a young Steve Rogers might pull.)

Looking back, I'm gonna say like 70% was me being young and stupid and 30% was probably ADHD-fueled impulsivity.

Copp's Hill Burial Ground sits on the flat top of Copp's Hill, with walls all the way around and entrances on opposite sides. The other two sides have houses butted up against the cemetery on one, and a tall wall with a long drop down to the street on the other. Signs posted outside of it say that it opens at sunrise and closes at dusk.

When I got there, which was early but well after sunrise, the main entrance was still locked. I walked around, looking for another one, and on the opposing side (the Charter Street entrance) the gate was also locked, but the wall is very low and so is the fencing. If you look at it on Google Streetview you can see that for a reasonably athletic person it would be fairly easy to get up on the wall and vault the fence.

I thought, well, it's supposed to be open, so probably I won't get into trouble if I climb in. Ah, youth.

So I did, and I had a very nice time; I didn't disturb or vandalize anything, obviously, I just walked around and looked for the gravestones I'd wanted to find (Prince Hall, the Mathers, etc). I still have photos I took that day:

[ID: A scanned film-camera photo of a cemetery, looking east towards the water, the sun barely touching the tops of the trees; the gravestones are laid out in irregular lines, cut through with brick-paved paths.]

Anyway, I spent a lovely hour or so amongst the stones, and then I happened to look up as a large SUV drove past the west entrance. It slowed down and I felt like it was...looking at me, very clearly visible as the only person in the cemetery. So I started strolling back towards the east entrance. Sure enough, not long after, a police car pulled up to the west entrance, lights going, and I took off running.

I cleared the fence pretty much in a single leap and darted down Charter Street, ducking into an alley where I pulled my coat off and stuffed it in my messenger bag, figuring that would make me harder to identify. The messenger bag converted to a backpack so I did that as well, pulling out the straps and shouldering it. I then strolled Incredibly Casually down the next cross-street to the Old North Church, which was open, and ducked inside just as the cop car rolled past again. I settled down in one of the high-walled pews for about half an hour, just to be safe, and I didn't hear the sirens come past again. It's quite a pretty little church anyway and I had a book, so it wasn't a hardship.

Should I have broken into the cemetery? While it was laughably easy and I had good intentions, probably not. But nobody was harmed, so while it's not a good example to set it's still a fun story to tell, especially in person (I do hand gestures).

#boston #copp's hill #sam's criminal youth

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anystalker707 · 1 year

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From the heart to the blade

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Pairing: Jeff The Killer x [gender neutral] Reader

Special fic request by @eyed-knife [exception bc he is my brother that loser]

Word count: ~ 1 100 Summary: You're simply obsessed with Jeff, but maybe he doesn't share the same feelings. Kind of content: Explicit violence / Obsession / Gore A/N: Not proofread. (Art Credit)

MASTERLIST

The image of him never left your mind, really. He wanted to kill you—that’s a clear fact—, but he didn’t count on the red and blue lights shining into the room through the gaps of the curtains seconds before he could sink his shiny knife into that perfect little neck of yours. As much as he wanted to kill you, it wasn’t like it would be worth anything if he were just to make a quick swing at your neck and not even spend any time observing the beautiful blood spill on the floor. After all, he wasn’t a cheap killer.

What he didn’t count on, however, was the way it would just fucking earn him such an inconvenience. You were everywhere. Weren’t you traumatized or something that he had just killed some people that you knew right in front of you? Spilled their intestines on the ground so carelessly? Hell, you weren’t normal from the very start.

Maybe a trap would work?

The night was illuminated by the full moon, casting light all over the place. Jeff knew you would be there just like every other single time because, now, he made sure to leave behind gentle little tips that he was looking forward to seeing you again.

A sigh escaped his lips, transforming into steam in the cold night air. Jeff tried to polish his knife at least a little bit with the sleeve of his hoodie as he sat on that cold stone bench, making sure it was shiny enough. It’d been sharpened just days before. Perfect for use.

Not a lot of people would show up in such a monotonous part of the city—a park over the desert, troublesome neighborhoods—, so Jeff was sure that the distant sounds he heard were of you approaching. There was no surprise when his doubts were confirmed. He could feel a warm breath fanning over the side of his neck, suddenly sensing that presence right next to him, gaze burning into the side of his head. It was repugnant, but he didn’t think he would have it any other way, with such a precious and careful fan just like you, following every step, admitting all you did for him. How perfect could it be? And also so damn gross.

The corner of Jeff’s lips twitched. Wouldn’t you ever move? Announce yourself? For fuck’s sake.

“So you came,” his raspy voice cut through the silence, hoping you would finally say something.

“Of course,” you scoffed, taking a seat right next to him, grinning wide. Your heart beat in anticipation, the thrill of being so close to him by now. “Who do you think I am? Do you have any victims for tonight? Or are you just finally accepting my invitations to go out with me?”

Jeff scoffed. “Um, a little bit of both, really.”

“And what do you—”

The words died on your tongue the moment that your back met the ground, making you hiss at the pain, your air knocked out of you with the impact. What the fuck was that? Trying to sit up, however, the sharp pain against your neck made you freeze, widening your eyes and finally processing Jeff right there, over you. There’s an arm across your chest along with a knee over your thigh to keep you down along with the knife pressed to your neck. He didn’t even need that, really. You’d just gladly be pinned down by him.

“Give a good reason not to kill you right now.” His voice was low, breath fanning over your face, but the sight of such sleepless eyes gazing at you from so close made your heart skip beats.

“I love you?” You offered your best grin.

Jeff’s face didn’t change, eyebrows furrowed and lips still pursed, even if they were a little off, tugging at some points according to the irregular scars. “A valid reason.”

“Come on!” You sighed, groaning as you rolled your eyes. “You can just— I don’t know, teach me your art of killing... I would do anything to be by your side.”

“Sounds more like a pain in the ass.” He rolled his eyes as well, but it was in a distressed manner. A sharp sigh escaped his nose before he looked again at you. He ran his tongue over the pretty scars gracing the corners of his lips, looking impossibly good the way he delved in thoughts. “I hate you.”

“You hate me?” You chuckled, heart fluttering. “Oh, Jeff, I—”

Jeff’s hand that rested over your chest took a hold of your face instead, digging into your cheeks and pressing them together so your mouth would be open when he kissed you. It was messy, as if to just fill some sort of purpose without caring about its means; he managed to snatch a sound from you when his tongue poked into your mouth, exploring it messily and leaving behind a metallic taste. He didn’t care about you kissing him back either. Not like he made it easy, in the first place, pressing your cheeks together like that. His grip practically hurt.

You gasped for air once Jeff pulled away, a little disoriented after all the kissing. It was way too fucking good, leaving your body all tingly. Before you know it, he is doing it again, nibbling on your lips maybe with a little more force than needed, sending the pain sparkling through your lips now and then, but it all didn’t do anything better than making this sensation stir in your lower stomach.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as Jeff was once more replaced by the cold night air, leaving you there breathlessly.

Jeff huffed, raising his eyebrows as he shook his head. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“You could be a good plaything,” he mumbled as he leant in close, his breath fanning over your face, “but you’re not even that kissable.”

Your eyes widened. “Jeff, I—”

Jeff didn’t care what you would say, but still, the first thing he aimed for was your shoulder, sinking the knife into the flesh with a pleasing sound. He knew that, for you, it would be nothing but an honor to have a slow death in his hands, so he let it happen, making sure he aimed for the less vital parts first in the right place and in the right control; after all, it would be no fun if you passed out in the middle of it, right?

He bit on his lip as his knife pierced through your clothes. Your screams and groans of pain turned weaker each time, but always with that whiny edge that he enjoyed so much and also tugged onto your words whenever you pleaded for him to spare mercy, making that nice adrenaline run through his veins while he positioned the knife right above your chest. The cut was deep enough so he could reach his hand into your torso, soaking his hand with your sticky, warm blood that wrapped itself around your heart just in time to catch it’s last beats.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #laughing jack #ben drowned #slenderman #eyeless jack #masky #hoodie #ticcy toby

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always-outlander · 11 months

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Outlander 7x05 Easter Eggs and Spoilers - “Singapore”

Spoilers below the cut!

Singapore is the name of this episode, and it opens with goats on a cliff face. This is in reference to the Highlander’s whom fight for the British, we later find out. The title is a direct reference to the battle of Singapore and the attack of the Japanese, which Claire describes to Jamie as a parallel with the impending attack on the fort, which informs his actions for the episode.

Lallybroch

Gem and Mandy are playing in a graveyard, as Mandy wanted to talk to Jamie. Jemmy tells Bree that Jamie told him to leave him a stone and built him a cairn if he ever came to Lallybroch. I try very hard to tolerate Sophie’s acting but she’s so wooden at times. Other times she’s fine (mainly in the more emotional scenes) but her line delivery is quite hard to swallow sometimes. She has changed her pronounciation of ‘Da’ like 4 times now, and that’s hard for me to ignore.

Roger and Bree read another letter from Jamie and Claire. The letter is dated June 18, 1777, which is our ONLY way of knowing the timeline and how much time has passed between episodes. In it, Claire writes that Jamie continues to dream about the children and Bree reveals she’s been to the fort before with Frank. Her and Roger decide not to look at the history books and find out what happened there.

Before Bree heads to work, these two have another attempt at a romantic scene that doesn’t quite land (a hard hat in bed and his hands down her pants just made me uncomfortable). These two try but they just don’t have it!!!! And I think Richard Rankin could if he wasn’t opposite Sophie, as he is a great actor.

Jemmy gets off the bus from school and Roger follows him into his hide out (which I think is referenced in the books as a place Fergus used to play). Roger tries to talk to him about it and Jemmy says he got in trouble at school for defending their family in Gaelic. This child actor playing Jemmy is so great!!! He’s doing such a good job!

Ticonderoga

They have now been there for months, and Jamie once again organically finds himself leading men, this time they refer to themselves as ‘Fraser’s Irregulars.’ Claire is practicing medicine under Lieutenant Stactoe, and the fort is under the command of Saint Clair. We also meet General Formoy (who is mirroring the ignorance of the Bonny Prince). Ian has reunited with them as well.

Sugarloaf hill is mentioned as a point the English can attack from. For those unfamiliar with the location of Fort Ticonderoga, it sits on the edge of the New York and Vermont boarders, along a narrow portion of Lake Champlain. The fort is surrounded by water on three sides, and as of now it doesn’t look like there is a Sugarloaf hill near the site. There’s a sugarloaf ski mountain in Maine, though!

Jamie has a dejavuex moment with Formoy when he uses his knowledge to advice against an attack and is found denied and insulted, akin to a goat for being Scottish (like the episode preview implies). Jamie is once again being sidelined and watching history repeat itself with the ignorance of leaders like Formoy and the Bonnie Prince (and simultaneously history is…happening? But where they know the outcome, could you consider that history repeating itself?).

Denzel Hunter and Claire finally meet towards the end of the episode and the two of them help a man named Walter Woodcock together. It’s the dream team finally united! They successfully opperate on Mr. Woodcock and amputate his leg, but only after Denny so kindly recognizes Claire’s struggle to be taken seriously and back door allows for her to help him.

The Hunters and William

Denzel makes a comment about attending medical school in London via a distant relative after their parents died. Their mother died in childbirth having Rachel, and their father died a few years later in a flood having drown. The Quakers who took them in made that connection for Denzel when they learned of a shared last name Hunter, so this scene hammers home the importance of their Meeting (and reminds us that they are now kicked out).

William and Denzel debate over morals and how Denzel can be within his beliefs while practicing medicine. They come upon a man on the road who offers them a place to stay for the night and they are fed a disgusting meal of rat stew. William is shown the realities of the war and he and Rachel speak outside. In the few short scenes they’ve had you can tell William has a crush on her, which is exactly how the books describe their relationship from Williams internal monologue.

While sleeping, the Johnsons attempt to attack William, Denny and Rachel with knives and William is able to show his strength and skills as a fighter. Charles is such a great casting, as he is every bit the young man described in the book and his size and strength is akin to Jamie’s. The Johnson’s have evidently done this many times before so to steal from un expecting visitors.

William feels guilt over taking that man’s life and tells Rachel that he’d never killed anyone before. This scene you can see Jamie’s heart come through in him. He has a flurry of feelings about it that he cannot sort through and worries that Rachel might think less of him due to her beliefs but she reassures him she knows him well enough to know he did it to save them.

When they part William tells them to ask for his uncle should they run into trouble. He gives them the money from Ian and keeps the rosary beads. When Rachel watches him leave with fond eyes Denny reminds her that he is a British soldier, and violence follows men like that. There’s a sweet scene between the siblings where Denny gives Rachel an out, but she insists they stay together.

Loch Errochry

The Land Rover Bree and her boss drive around in is a dream, I want one. The setting is also stunning, having driven through the highlands last year it’s still so hard to believe that country looks like that. Bree meets her new male employees including Rob Cameron (!!!). He immediately locks her into the tunnel like a jackass and Bree discovers the light they gave her has no batteries. She quickly lights a match and finds some lights and proceeds to inspect the tunnel. I’d be clostrophobic down there and it feels like something out of a nightmare watching her walk through the tunnels.

She hears buzzing halfway down and a weird blue light at the end that she has to walk through (the graphics are strange but hey, hard to depict what was written) and it leads her to her escape. It’s implied that somewhere in the tunnel may be a portal for time travel.

Bree tells the kids at dinner about being trapped in the tunnel and how she escaped but you can tell she’s still unsettled by the event. Her and Roger step away from the table to discuss it. She’s worried the men are never going to respect her and Roger reminds her Claire did it at Harvard. A bit of a turn around from him being slightly sexist last episode about her working in general.

While in the office they uncover a hidden drawer in the desk and he gifts her a pen. Doesn’t undo his comments from last episode but that’s just me, and his insistence on her wearing knickers and a hard hat needs to stahhhhhp.

Bree heads to the bar where the men and Rob Cameron are hanging out and tries to awkwardly earn their respect. They all try and play it off as a joke and she tries to insert her dominance. Sophie also can’t say the word “anything” without a Scottish accent.

Young Ian

Joseph Brant of the Mohawk is at Shadow Lake and Ian is recruited to deliver a letter to him. Ian is reluctant because of personal reasons. He asks Claire how baby’s come to be and why he was unable to get his Mohawk wife pregnant. His belief is that his spirit was not strong enough and fears he cannot get a woman pregnant again and would refuse to take another wife. He tells Claire that Jamie told him about sperm and asks her to look at his (had to laugh). When asked, Ian tells her Iseabell was perfect and not deformed, but Claire has a Frank conversation to help Ian understand that it’s not a matter of his spirit but science and gives him renewed hope he may be able to have a child with another woman one day.

When he arrives at the Mohawk camp he sees Emily, who is happy to see him. She tells him she now has two children and is happy. Ian seems to finally be at peace with that, and asks to meet her son (who does not look Mohawk). He tells Ian that Emily’s mother tells him he’s the child of his spirit. Ian gives him the name Ian James and I’m sat here smiling like a fool over how cute that scene was.

Simon Fraser

One of the few scenes we get with Claire and a Jamie this episode, Jamie tells Claire that a Simon Fraser is one of Burgoyne brigadiers on the side of the British. Book readers will know that he is a ticket home to Scotland for them later on, and Jamie tells her it is not the same Simon Fraser she met in season 2 but not the old fox or his son but one of Jamie’s second cousins from Balnain (located outside of Inverness, not far from Loch Ness). It is also now understood that with their troops low on supplies they will need to attack the fort sooner than later. Jamie knows that a Fraser in the camp, the troops will know well enough to attack from higher ground as Highlanders do.

Jamie brings Formoy and the men to higher ground to show them that it is possible to the English can reach them by cannon, and once again finds himself standing across an incompetent soldier (with a terrible accent). These scenes are so short and choppy, and for that I dislike them. It’s not enough time with Jamie (or Claire for that matter) before we are abruptly switched over to another character. The atmosphere of them walking around at the Fort was palpable in the books, and we are missing it so far in the show sadly.

Later on the British set up shop in the exact place Jamie warned of, and Jamie uses his knowledge how Highlander warfare to help lead an evacuation by boat. Claire won’t allow Walter Woodcock to leave the fort because his injury is still too fresh, and sadly has to leave him. She tells him due to his injury the British will have to show him mercy, but also gives him laudanum. I was surprised she didn’t outright show him how to use it if he needed to drift off to sleep. The civilians are all put into boats in the lake and the fort is abandoned. The next sequence of events in the books is fairly action packed so I’m curious how they go about it all next episode.

Ian and Rachel

When Ian returns to the fort, he spots Rachel. A critique I have of this season is that they make the traveling seem so fast, and it’s incredibly hard to keep track of time passed. Ian was just in Virginia, now he’s suddenly back in New York. That said, these two have great chemistry without even trying, and Ian let’s Rachel know Claire is his aunt. It’s implied they will be seeing much more of one another, thankfully. I think the actors have done a great job of establishing the differences between Rachel and Ian and Rachel and William - Izzy plays Rachel differently around Ian and it’s great work on her part.

In the End

Roger goes out into the dark to search for the Nucklavee and we see a camera angle from across the yard watching the front door of the house. I suspect next episode we will actually set eyes on Buck for the first time.

The episode ends when Bree goes to the graveyard to talk to Jamie and brings him a stone. She tells him about her new job, buying Lallybroch, etc. and it fades to black (a weak ending and my least favorite thus far). Nothing happens this episode action wise, and it was mainly an episode used for establishing upcoming plot. The pacing is getting really bad in that such large expanses of tiem are not being explained. How in one episode did Jamie have two conversations about Sugarloaf Hill and the British Invasion, and The Hunters / William Travel by Horse to New York from Virginia, Ian leave camp to go see Emily and return…it’s so many moving parts and it’s not clear how they all make sense. Even having read the books I’m getting confused with how they are choosing to speed things up.

I will say this until I’m blue in the face, but this show works best when Claire and Jamie are together and on screen, and every time I dislike an episode it’s in large part due to a lack of them. That can be said with this episode, but I’m optimistic we will see much more of them next episode thanks for the preview.

Episode 6 Preview

Preview for episode 6 shows what looks to be an action filled attack on the Fort - we see Jamie attacking British soldiers, William in a red coat again, Roger running into the yard angrily, and Ian and Rachel getting closer. Lots of good things that I hope we get proper screen time to dissect.

#outlander #outlanderedit #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #sam heughan #claire x jamie #jammf #caitriona balfe #james alexander malcolm mackenzie fraser #outlander spoilers #outlander season 7 #outlander 7x05 #outlander review #outlander books #outlander ep: Singapore

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humbledragon669 · 9 days

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S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P1 – The Garden of Eden (4004 BC), Mesopotamia (3004 BC), Golgotha (33 AD), Rome (42 AD) and the Kingdom of Wessex (537 AD)

Neil himself tells us (in the Introduction to the Script Book) that he wrote these historical scenes specifically for the show to ensure that the third part of the story was not entirely absent of our hero couple. Personally I think the sequence is one of my favourite parts of the show, not least because we get a pretty much uninterrupted set of Aziracrow conversations. They’re really rich in back story and I don’t think I’d be the only person to say that I’m really delighted they (mostly) made it to the final cut. Let’s get started – the plan is for this part to take us up to the end of the scene that takes place in 537 AD before I take a little break from write ups and dip my toe into fanfics again (I realise that might seem like an odd place to break, but it will make sense when I’m done).

So we’re back at the Garden of Eden, sans Crawly this time. The script version of this scene has Aziraphale locking up the gates to the Garden at this point. Instead, we see him putting a final brick in the Garden’s surrounding wall. I have seen some people say that this is him sealing the Garden shut, and that would fit with the script, but I just can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something inside the wall - the shape of the stone he’s using is irregular compared to everything else, and he seems at pains to keep its outline hidden during his conversation with God (which, interestingly, takes place directly with God and not through the Metatron). If he is indeed hiding something, I would very much like to know what it is.

God’s questioning of Aziraphale in this scene, enquiring as to where his flaming sword is (which it turns out he was specifically given to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden), is in all honesty pretty lacklustre - she leaves without getting any sort of answer from him (not that he’s likely to be able to give one with his beyond half-hearted attempts to find said sword) or giving any indication of her feelings on the matter. Bit odd if you ask me.

Crawly’s opening gambit of the conversation in this scene indicates to us that this is the first time Aziraphale and Crawly have seen each other since the Garden of Eden when he enquires as to the outcome of the angel giving his sword away. Despite 1000 years passing, Crawly recognises Aziraphale and they both remember each other’s names. Not only that, but Crawly still appears to be pretty enraptured – he watches Aziraphale’s face attentively during his attempt at small talk with a sort of doe-eyed flirty expression you might see on a teenage girl talking to their inappropriate (and usually doomed-to-failure) crush:

From this light-hearted adoration, we’re drawn swiftly into an interesting display of humanity of both of their parts. They’re both clearly very uncomfortable with what Heaven has planned.

Crawly makes it clear that there’s a line being crossed as far as he’s concerned here – the killing of innocents is very much NOT OK with him. And Aziraphale agrees with him, but we can see how painful he finds this dilemma: being torn between God’s plans (which must, he believes, be inherently good) and the morality of Heaven’s actions. He tries so hard to toe the company line, but the struggle is written all over his face and in his body language. As a last-ditch effort to prove which side he’s on (because as Crawly points out, this sort of thing is really more his side’s sort of thing), he even resorts to touting the old propaganda about the ineffable plan, but Crawly calls him out on that before he can even say it and Aziraphale knows the argument is lost.

I don’t doubt that we are meant to be reminded of Aziraphale’s actions the last time the two of them got caught in a rain shower when the rain starts in this scene. Unfortunately on this occasion, neither of them are in the position to whip out their wings to shelter one another.

In this scene we discover that after some 4000 years, our demon has changed his name to the one we are more familiar with. Interestingly the second of Aziraphale’s suggestions for some potentially appropriate names he could have adopted (Mephistopheles and Asmodeus) is the name of the king of demons according to Jewish legend. Whether this is a nod to Crowley’s perceived position in Hell’s hierarchy or the pedestal that Aziraphale has mentally placed him on is unclear. What is clear is that the angel seems quite taken with the demon’s actual choice.

Crowley shows his true colours here with the admission that he showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world. This is an absolutely lovely thing to do for a young man who was tasked with carrying the burden of the sin of all of mankind and shows a level of compassion that most human beings wouldn’t be able to match – any doubts that this demon is truly “nice” at heart go out of the window with this revelation.

Let’s address the elephant in the room with this scene – what bug crawled up Crowley’s ass and died? He is in an absolute shitter of a mood here and we don’t get an explanation why. Despite Aziraphale’s clear delight at bumping into him (not surprising really, he looked bored as hell sitting at the table on his own), he seems decidedly unimpressed at the angel’s presence. I’m sure Aziraphale forgetting his newly adopted name (which suggests he was very accustomed to using the old one) and his ridiculous question about whether or not Crowley is still a demon doesn’t help matters, but Crowley is in a pisser before both of those things happen. Despite that, he doesn’t object to Aziraphale sitting down to drink with him, even if his face looks like he would rather be left well alone.

And there’s another, somewhat subtler, pachyderm lurking here too. This is the first time (chronologically) that we see Crowley wearing glasses to hide his eyes. In the scenes we have already seen in Mesopotamia and Golgotha, Crawly/Crowley wanders around, amongst humans, without the trademark sunglasses that we have become so familiar with. I consider this to be an interesting development on two fronts:

I have no doubt that Crowley wears sunglasses, in part, for practical reasons. I don’t think I’m being offensive in saying that if I saw another person walking around with eyes like his, it would definitely strike me as unusual. Some people, particularly at this time in history, might even be frightened by them. My question around the practicality side of this is when and why does Crowley decide to start hiding his eyes from humans? Does he do it to stop them from being frightened or more because he starts to become conscious of people being judgemental? Perhaps it’s a little of both, but mostly I’m keen to know if there’s a particular incident that brings his change of costume about.

We come to discover throughout the series that Crowley typically only removes his glasses in situations where he feels (or wants to make himself) emotionally available. What was it that caused him to start feeling that his eyes were a source of weakness for him? Did something specific happen that made him feel like he needed to start guarding that aspect of him?

I don’t think we are ever given any Clue towards when and/or why Crowley chooses to start wearing sunglasses, but I do feel like both of the above considerations provide hints to his ever-obvious inclination towards “human” qualities.

This is also the first time (chronologically, and at this point in the series) that we see both Aziraphale and Crowley imbibing anything. We’re also about to have confirmation that both of them also eat human food during Aziraphale’s terrible attempt at flirting making small talk.

Note Aziraphale says Petronius (who historically was a novelist, not a chef) does remarkable things to oysters, not with them, which would be more linguistically appropriate. I am also not ignorant of the fact that oysters are almost universally considered to be an aphrodisiac, so Aziraphale’s offer to take Crowley to an oyster restaurant is pretty loaded with subtext, and that sexual tension is about to get ramped up a notch with his offer to tempt the demon into dinner. The knowing look on Crowley’s face at this offer makes it clear that he doesn’t have an issue with that though:

I actually find myself wondering whether Crowley’s statement that he’s never eaten an oyster was really more of a hint for dinner invitation in the first place.

Crowley’s entrance into this scene intrigues me because it appears at first that he doesn’t recognise Aziraphale, despite his visor being open. I’m more inclined to believe that he does recognise him and decides to have a little fun pretending that he doesn’t, just to see if he can get away with it, seeing as he doesn’t look in the least bit surprised when he raises his own visor.

We start to get an idea of just how little Crowley believes in Hell’s ideals here. He’s also starting to realise the futility of sticking to their agenda, pointing out that wherever Heaven and Hell send agents to work against one another, they might as well not do anything at all, or at least that’s the case where he and Aziraphale are concerned. The whole of this conversation is very “work-related” in nature but very importantly it’s the first time we hear of any plans for the angel and demon to work together. It’s no surprise that, what with Aziraphale being the goody-two-shoes he is (no judgement, I am myself one of that tribe), he vehemently rejects the idea of lying in any capacity, not least to his superiors, despite the fact that he agrees with Crowley about their efforts to work against one another being pointless. According to the book, it took them another 500 years to act on this suggestion of working together – the “Arrangement” was first put into action in 1023. Ultimately, Crowley’s idea can only work if they both contribute so for the moment it looks like they’re both left hanging around in “damp places and just cancelling each other out”.

And so that brings me to my planned breakpoint. Again I realise that it might feel an odd place to stop, but I promise it will eventually make sense. And if you’re still with me after all my waffling so far, I commend you – I mostly did all this writing as a way to get the words and thoughts to stop chasing each other around my headspace but if someone else is getting some pleasure out of it all then that makes me happy. I am planning for the next write up to be a little different; covering ONLY the 1601 scene from Hard Times (any hopes that it might be shorter as a result are, I think, ill-conceived) as well as a meta-theory I have based on what happens in that scene. I’m hoping to have a fanfic based on that meta-theory written that I will be releasing at the same time, and there is some historical research I need to do before I can do that so there may be a small delay before I have everything ready to go. I hope you’ll humour me with patience, and that what comes out is worth the wait. See you on the other side!

#good omens #episode analysis #good omens season 1 #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #god is a woman #crowley's sunglasses #crawly #aziraphale loves food

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undertheopensky · 8 months

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Become Like Stone 3

Whumptober Day 20: Found Family/Blanket

Characters: Legend, Four, everyone’s there but it’s Sky POV because he grabbed the reins at the start and refused to let go.

Trigger warnings: Aftermath of torture, look if you read the first one you probably know what to expect

Read on Ao3!

Late to the party? Read Part 1 and Part 2 first!

THIS IS A DOUBLE UPDATE! MAKE SURE YOU DIDN'T MISS PART 2!

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They were too late.

It’s the only thing in Sky’s mind, rattling around like a long-lasting echo, playing over and over again to the sound of Legend’s sobs.

They were too late.

Four is dead.

It doesn’t feel real.

Four doesn’t even look like himself. Bruises, cuts, and terrible burns warp his skin head to toe. Underfoot, sticky blood coats the stone in irregular, violent patterns, mirroring the violence painting Four’s skin. It clings to Legend’s hands and skin the way he clings to Four’s body, rocking back and forth and weeping inconsolably.

Four is pale, and still, and dead.

They were too late.

Legend cries out, high and frightened, and flinches away when Hyrule reaches out. He’s trying to - shield Four, Sky realises dimly, trying to curl over him to protect him.

“Shh,” Hyrule croons, “I’m not gonna hurt him. I’m not gonna take him from you. Can I see?”

Legend moans a denial.

“Please, Ledge, you’re bleeding. Let me see your hands.”

There’s nothing Sky can do here. He can’t save Four, beyond all mortal help. He can’t comfort Legend, shattered after watching his brother die a tortured death. He can’t even help Hyrule except by passing him potions and bandages, and that’s a task better left to Warriors.

The inactivity makes his skin crawl. He can’t just - stand and watch. Catching Warriors’ eye to let him know, he turns and walks out, trying not to feel like he’s abandoning them.

We need to clear this area, Sky tells himself. We haven’t found their packs yet, and we don’t know if there’s monsters around. Now would be a great time to ambush them, distracted and grieving as they are. Sky can preempt any such attacks. It’s good. It’s useful.

The next cell over has two bodies in it - both dead, when Sky checks. More victims, he thinks distantly, staring blankly at their corpses.

It takes a moment to realise why the thought doesn’t fit.

They’re both clean, for one thing - not dirty, not bloody, sporting no injuries but the wounds that must have killed them: the man a blow to the head, the woman a crushed windpipe. They’re also fully dressed, in neat, well-fitted, high-quality garments, where Four and Legend had been stripped to their unders.

They’re not victims. They’re the ones - the ones who -

Legend must have killed them, he thinks, and can’t summon more than a vague sense of good riddance.

There’s nothing in the cell of worth, so Sky turns away to check the ones across the hall - empty, and have been for some time. There’s really not much down here.

From above, the dungeon door groans as it opens, and Sky abruptly remembers the other teams searching the house for signs of Four and Legend, and runs to intercept.

He’s too slow. Twilight is already bodily carrying the sobbing Wind from the cell when he gets there. Sky grimaces in apology.

“Aught else down here?” Twilight asks, low voiced.

Sky shakes his head. “Empty cells. And -” he remembers, and his face goes blank. “I think. Their captors. In the second cell.”

Twilight startles, glancing past him with wide eyes and reaching for a weapon with the hand not holding Wind up. “No, it’s - they’re dead. Already. I think Legend killed them.”

The strange face Twilight pulls is probably a mirror of the one Sky made.

Wind looks up from where he’d been crying into Twilight’s tunic, eyes still wet. “I d-don’t - I don’t understa-and - why would they - why -” His voice breaks. Twilight hugs him a little closer as Wind buries his face back into his side, muffling his sobs.

Sky has no answers for him. The only one who might is Legend - and he’s in no condition for questions right now.

From the open cell, quiet voices stir the air, keeping the hush of the dungeons from becoming eerie. Sky can’t stop himself from glancing over.

Still clinging to Four’s body, Legend has at least let Hyrule get close enough to remove the manacles. He’s also begging him, in a broken whisper, not to touch Four, not to hurt him, to just leave him alone and hurt Legend instead, please don’t hurt him anymore, while Hyrule patiently soothes him and the raw skin of his wrists.

Sky must make some small noise, because Hyrule looks up. “Sky, good. I need you to come hold Legend. He’s not going to like this and I really need him to not interrupt.”

Wars grimaces. “Goddesses, Hyrule. Hasn’t he been through enough?”

“He’ll thank me for it later. Four’s still alive.”

“What?” Sky blurts, eyes wide.

Four is deathly pale under the blood and burns. Motionless, and loose with it, in a way even unconsciousness can’t mimic.

But Hyrule is sure. “He’s not dead, he’s in some kind of magical stasis - I’ve seen it before and I can break it, but we need to be ready to heal him after. Wars, get over here. Sky, hold Legend.”

Legend is too caught up in his own world to see him coming. When Sky grabs him he screams in a voice worn away to almost nothing and thrashes blindly, desperate to get back to Four. “Shhh,” Sky tries, “it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s just me, you’re okay -”

Legend can’t hear him, or if he can, he doesn’t care.

Hyrule’s ignoring the commotion. Having dragged Four away from Legend, he’s laid him out on the stone and now runs careful hands down his body - pausing over the pulse points of his wrists, the thinnest part of his ankles, the soft skin of his temples, before coming to hover over his still and silent heart.

Under his bracer, where no one can see it, the Triforce glows.

“Four? It’s time to come home.”

There’s a stretching, breathless moment where nothing happens. Then Four takes in a long, deep breath, and loses it all again on a whine as it catches on a broken rib. He coughs, and chokes on blood, and Hyrule’s green-limned hands slam into place on his chest. “Potion, now!” he barks, all business.

Wind is screaming out in the hall; Legend is wailing in Sky’s arms, a horrible, broken wisp of a noise that’s hope and despair and pleading all wound together. Sky himself is riding a wave of disbelief. Four’s alive. Hyrule had dragged him back from the brink, where magic had frozen him in a facsimile of death. Now Four is dying again - drowning in his own blood.

Potion in hand, Wars tries to sit Four up. Hyrule stops him. “Nope. Put it straight on the burns.”

Wars shakes himself - really he knows better, there’s no way Four can drink a potion in his condition - and starts pouring it over his skin where the worst of the burns lie stark and oozing. As the magic goes to work, glittering silver under a layer of dark pink, Warriors gets more bottles out of his bag, including one that’s only half-full. Back to back, most people can tolerate two potions at a time, but Four is much smaller than the average person. Warriors dunks a couple fingers in the half-full red potion, and starts smearing it on the cuts on Four’s face. Those are hard to look at - clean, straight, and deliberate. Some look so deep they might go all the way through to Four’s mouth.

Hyrule is fast reaching his limit. He has to pause, gasping and shaking sweat-soaked hair from his eyes, and gulps the green potion Wars hands him. Then he closes his eyes, swallowing and panting against nausea.

Four whines again, protesting the pain he’s still in.

“We’ve got you, Four,” Hyrule breathes, and dives back in.

Four’s injuries are too extensive to heal in a single sitting. Bruises still paint his skin blue and purple and livid red, and the deepest cuts on his legs and back refuse to close. But his breathing is clear now. Not wet and choking. Sky can see the steady rise and fall of his chest from where he’s still holding Legend, who’s - not fighting him anymore, instead just leaning quietly back against his chest. Sky doesn’t know when that happened. Doesn’t even know when his hand had started combing through Legend’s hair. As they sat, and watched Hyrule and Warriors put their brother back together.

Hyrule finally sits back, completely spent. “Do we have… a blanket or something? To wrap him in?”

There’s a rustle of movement as several people start digging through their packs. Sky hadn’t realised - everyone’s gathered around the doorway. Unable to help, but unable to look away. Having one small thing they could do -

Yeah. He gets that.

Four doesn’t stir as Warriors lifts him, Wild helping wrap potion-slick skin in the fabric he pulled from his Slate. It’s unwieldy, but they manage. With Four bundled up, comfortably positioned in Warriors’ arms and head pillowed on his scarf, he almost looks like he’s just sleeping.

Sky’s heart wrenches and tries to fall through the floor.

He’s not dead, he tells himself, Hyrule healed him - he’s okay. He’s going to be okay.

Then he realises - Four’s eyes are open.

He’s not the only one. Wind yells with delight and charges forward. “Four! Ohmygosh, I was so worried!” He grabs Four’s hand, laying on top of the blankets, and beams at him, full force. “I’m really glad you’re okay!”

Four stares at him for a long moment, blank.

Wind’s face starts to fall.

Then, slowly, Four smiles, and his fingers weakly curl.

Twilight takes the opportunity to grab Wind by the shoulders and spin him around. “C’mon, Wind. Let’s get out of here. All of us.”

“I hear that,” says Warriors, following at a careful pace.

Legend jolts, tension running through him, and scrabbles to stand. Sky helps him up, murmuring “Shh, it’s okay, we’re following him, he’s not leaving you. Easy, now.”

Legend looks at him, and for the first time, recognition lights his face.

“Sky?” he rasps.

“Yeah, Ledge. It’s me. It’s us. You’re safe now.”

Legend sways on his feet. He looks so young like this, wide-eyed and pale with tacky blood all over his chest and arms and legs. “Sky?” he says again. “Four is… Four’s okay? I didn’t dream that?”

Sky’s heart breaks just a little bit more. “Four is going to be fine, and so are you,” he tells him, firm as he can make it.

Legend takes a staggering step and nearly falls. Sky catches him. “Four’s okay?” he says again.

“Four’s okay. Here, Twi, gimme a hand, I don’t think he can walk.”

“M fine,” Legend says, still staring blankly down the hall where Warriors is taking the steps as smoothly as he can so as not to jostle Four. He doesn’t notice when Twilight crouches in front of him, offering his back. He does notice Sky steering him to wind his arms around Twilight’s neck. “Wha - hey!” He flails a bit, but he’s got no strength; his limbs are as weak and shaky as his voice. “‘M fine!”

“Ya sure are,” Twilight agrees cheerfully, and carries him off to mumbled protests.

Sky follows them out, but not without taking a last, lingering glance. He hopes, faintly, that one of the upstairs teams had found their brothers’ bags. At this point, all he wants is to get out of here, and never come back.

#whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu four #lu legend #lu sky #lu fic #skies writes #my week continues to be top-tier bullshit

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