#And occasionally drop by for a rewatch

[amethystina]

I love to see when you post and I get great drama recommendations from you. I recently watched Black Knight and the Ying-Yang Master thanks to your posts and loved them!

I find C-Dramas often give the best dynamics between male characters for BLs because there's so much chemistry and great dynamics even after censorship. It also means that the stories are often better and, for me at least, more interesting, as they often can't just explore the relationship between the characters and instead frame it with the plot. I'm not sure whether you've seen it yet or heard about it, but the new show 'The Spirealm' is great! I wanted to recommend it to you after all the shows you've spoken of. There are so many interesting aspects and details that you can find even after multiple watches that I think you'd enjoy.

I'm so happy to hear that! I'm somewhat famous amongst my friends for pushing recommendations onto them, or at least ranting about the things I've watched in painful detail. My poor wife definitely gets the shortest end of that stick, since she sees me pretty much every day. So she's had to listen to me talk about a lot of dramas and movies she's got absolutely no interest in x'D

She really liked The Yin-Yang Master, though! So it's not all bad. Man, I love that movie so, so much.

While it's terrible that CDramas have to be censored the way they are, I agree that it pushes the creators to explore relationships in a very interesting way. They have to build it into the story in a way that more straightforward BLs can just skip, because they can rely on the physical chemistry to convey the budding relationship.

That said, I admit that CDramas often feel a bit... stilted to me? They're too perfectly choreographed, never a hair or detail out of place, to the point where the characters don't always feel like people to me. Like, they're so obviously characters, not real people, if that makes sense?

That's not to say that I don't enjoy them! Heck, The Untamed is still one of the best dramas I've ever watched, Guardian is one of my favourite dumpster fires, and The Yin-Yang Master movie is one of my go-to's when I need something to completely immerse myself into. But, on the whole, they don't intrigue me the way other dramas or movies might, since they're always so polished. Which means I can't connect with them on the same level as I do with many other pieces of media. I can definitely appreciate the plot, story, characters, aesthetics and so on, but it rarely goes deeper than the surface level. It kind of feels like they're keeping me at arm's length, somehow?

But that's definitely a me problem, since I think it has to do with that thing of mine where I want to analyse every tiny detail. And it's not as fun in CDramas because they make it so obvious that every detail is there for a reason. I mean, it always is in all shows and movies — everything on set is knowingly placed there — but the CDramas don't try to hide it? They even go out of their way to make everything as flawless as possible if they can. And something flawless isn't fun for me to analyse. Like, I can tell that they're putting on a show and that just makes me less interested in trying to find the secrets behind it, I guess?

But, again, that doesn't mean I don't enjoy them! I often do, especially for the aesthetics and the sweeping, dramatic plotlines. But it tends to end up being pretty shallow in my case, since they rarely give me enough to really sink my teeth into. Like, I don't think it's a coincidence that the CDrama I've been the closest to writing fanfics for (Guardian) is also one of the messiest, production wise. I like it when things feel more relaxed and real. Not gritty or anything, just... real.

Anyhow! The Spirealm looks interesting so I'll definitely put it on my list of things to watch! Thank you for the recommendation! :D

And I hope I'll be able to spread even more joy in the future!

[jvhnmitchell]

Do you think John Mitchell should have lived? I think he gave himself the short end of the stick. :(

I might have to think and come back to this w a more detailed and less stream of consciousness response as I'm just off work and v tired but I do think that, while there could have been plenty of other outcomes, the most narratively satisfying and the Most Mitchell decision was the one he made in canon. And George being the self fulfilling prophecy of the wolf shaped bullet was done really well imo.

Mitchell spends all of his time in the show in this cycle of self destruction and addiction and hurting others without meaning to, and that guilt complex has to go somewhere, yknow? He knows that if he lives he's going to hurt them again and again, it's all he's ever done. His resolve just isn't strong enough one way or another. He abandons Herrick again and again, and he can't stay clean no matter how much his friends may try to help him. Maybe with time that he didnt see himself as having he could have properly gotten control of it, but thats only speculation. Not to mention, he seems to see it as a hopeless endeavor, and I don't exactly blame him, after he sees the man who got /him/ clean broke under pressure. The only truly moral decision in his eyes (and I won't even get into his catholic framework here) is to remove himself from the equation entirely. And then even in this decision he can't commit and makes George do it.

Not to mention his survivors guilt, however earned. Throughout the series it just gets worse and worse. As his kills mount despite his efforts, he's left to pick up the pieces, to either come clean or hide until he can't anymore and is forced to admit his wrongdoings. After he personally orchestrates Herrick's death, someone he used to consider a friend, you can see it fucks him up even if he doesnt want to admit it. After the bomb it only mounts, and then there's the box tunnel 20. He just sees his death as inevitable, as earned at this point.

While it is an extremely sad moment, I do also believe that had he lived, there would be another box tunnel 20, and another, and another, ("oh Jesus or a school" etc) and I think Mitchell knew that, too.

Tldr: do I think that he maybe sold himself short on his chances of getting better with a lot of time? Yes. But do I also think that he is fulfilling his pattern of self destruction to an extreme degree and and is enacting his belief that any bloodshed on the way to getting him there potentially decades later is not worth whatever theoretical life he could live on the other side of it? Also yes.

[beth-is-rainpaint]

Media of 2022 (favorites in bold)

Books I finished in 2022 (* = audiobook):

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

*Wholehearted Faith by Rachel Held Evans

This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley

*No Cure for Being Human by Kate Bowler

*Everything Happens for a Reason (and Other Lies I’ve Loved) by Kate Bowler

A Rhythm of Prayer edited by Sarah Bessey

The Lord is My Courage by K. J. Ramsey

A Hole in the World by Amanda Held Opelt

Books I started in 2022:

Blessings for the Long Night by Jessica Kantrowitz

Shoutin’ in the Fire by Dante Stewart

The Winners by Fredrik Backman

Movies I watched in 2022:

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness

Thor: Love and Thunder

TV shows I watched in 2022:

Moon Knight

The Book of Boba Fett

Kenobi

Ms. Marvel

She-Hulk

Rings of Power

Stranger Things season 4

The Umbrella Academy season 3

Tales of the Jedi

Andor

The Handmaid’s Tale season 5

Also I started rewatching Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. again because what else was I going to do? And I made it through 3x17, which I think was an excellent final episode for the year as well as leaving me an excellent first episode for 2023 :)

[6ebe]

nearly finished black sails season 3 🤨🤨🤨

[cosmicanakin]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 ⟢ | dean winchester.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⟣ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. dean winchester x female reader.

⟣ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. a heated argument with dean leads to a vulnerable confession of your long-held feelings.

⟣ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). angst arguments implied sexual tension mild language season 1 dean ( yes that's a warning ) mature themes.

kari's corner ⟢ ݁⋆ back with a new fic whaaaat?! i recently started rewatching supernatural to mend my broken heart after the season 15 finale… they deserved so much better & just thinking about it pisses me tf off. anyway i was listening to stairway to heaven for hours on end while writing this (that song is my childhood.) enjoooooy!

you stared out the window of the impala, watching the roads and scenery fly by as led zeppelin played softly in the background. the familiar rumble of the engine and the comfort of the leather seats usually provided a sense of peace, but today all you could feel was tension.

you and dean had gotten into a nasty argument earlier, one that had been brewing for a while now. it was about his careless flirtation with other women, even when you two weren't officially exclusive. you couldn't help the feelings you had harbored for him over the years, feelings that only seemed to grow stronger the more time you spent together on the road. and it hurt to see him so freely give his attention and affection to anyone but you.

you tried to push those thoughts aside, to focus on the music and the drive. but it was impossible to ignore the way dean kept stealing glances in your direction, the way his hand would occasionally graze your thigh in a move that had become comfortable and familiar between the two of you. each subtle touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, a painful reminder of what you couldn't have.

as the familiar chords of the song played on, you closed your eyes and tried to will yourself to sleep, to escape this tense situation, even if just for a little while. but just as you felt yourself starting to drift off, dean's hand suddenly landed firmly on your inner thigh, sending your eyes flying open as your heart raced.

without a word, dean pulled the impala over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before turning to face you. the intensity in his green eyes made your breath catch in your throat, and you found yourself unable to look away.

"we need to talk," he said, his voice low and serious.

you swallowed hard, every fiber of your being telling you to run, to avoid this conversation at all costs. but you knew it was inevitable, that the tension between the two of you had been building for too long to ignore any longer.

"okay," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

dean studied you for a moment, his gaze searching your face for something you couldn't quite decipher. finally, he let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his short, spiky hair.

"look, i know things have been...tense between us lately," he began, his eyes never leaving yours. "and i know a lot of that is my fault."

you opened your mouth to interrupt, to argue that it was his fault, that his reckless flirting had hurt you more than you cared to admit. but he held up a hand, silencing you.

"please, just let me say this," he pleaded. "i'm not good at this whole...feelings thing. you of all people know that. but i've been thinking a lot about what happened earlier..." he paused, his brow furrowing as he struggled to find the right words.

"i'm sorry," he said finally, his voice sincere. "i never meant to hurt you, i swear. it's just...old habits die hard, you know?" he hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands, which were fidgeting nervously in his lap. "i guess i was... afraid."

your eyes widened in surprise at his confession, and you couldn't help but lean forward slightly, your curiosity piqued.

"afraid of what, dean?" you asked softly.

he let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "afraid of this," he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "afraid of... of letting myself feel something real, something that could actually last."

your heart ached at his words, the raw vulnerability in his voice cutting you deeper than any of his careless flirtations ever could. you knew, deep down, that dean had been through more than his fair share of pain and loss in his life, and the thought of him being afraid to open himself up to you only made you love him more.

"dean..." you began, your voice trembling slightly. "i... i had no idea."

he looked up then, his green eyes meeting yours, and you were struck by the raw emotion you saw there. "i know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "and that's my fault. i've been pushing you away, because i'm scared of what this could be. of what we could be."

you felt your heart skip a beat at his words, hope and fear warring within you. "what are you saying, dean?" you asked, fiddling with your thumbs.

he reached out to you, his calloused hand coming to rest on your thigh again, his thumb brushing against it in a gentle caress. "i'm saying that... i care about you, more than i've ever cared about anyone. and i'm tired of pretending that i don't."

you felt your breath catch in your throat, your eyes flooding with tears as the weight of his words settled over you. "dean... i care about you, too. so much," you whispered, your voice shaking.

a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he reached up to gently brush a stray tear from your cheek. "i know," he murmured. "that's what scares me the most."

you nodded, understanding dawning on you. "because you're afraid of losing me, too," you said softly.

he nodded, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "yeah," he breathed. "i've already lost so much in my life, sweetheart. i don't think i could handle losing you, too."

you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth and comfort of his hand on your skin. "you won't lose me, dean," you whispered. "'M not going anywhere."

he studied your face for a long moment, his green eyes boring into yours, before slowly leaning in. your heart raced as his lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, before deepening into a passionate kiss.

when you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other. "i love you," dean murmured, his voice barely audible but you heard him clear as day.

"i love you, too," you whisper, your fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair.

for a long moment, the two of you simply sat there, lost in each other's embrace, the tension and pain of earlier melting away. but then, a thought occurred to you, and you pulled back slightly, your brow furrowing.

"what about sam?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern. "i mean, we're on our way to pick him up from stanford, and i don't want him to feel... i don't know, awkward or anything."

dean chuckled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "don't worry about sammy," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "he's been rooting for us to get our heads out of our asses for years."

you couldn't help but laugh at that, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to ease. "i should have known," you said, shaking your head in amusement.

dean grinned, pulling you in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than the last. when you finally broke apart, you were both breathless again, your hearts racing.

"so, what does this mean for us?" you asked, your voice soft and uncertain.

dean's expression turned serious, his hand moving to intertwine with yours. "it means that i'm all in, baby," he said, his voice low and sincere. "no more flirting with other women, no more pushing you away. i want this, us, more than anything."

you felt your heart swell with emotion, tears of joy threatening to spill over. "me too, dean," you whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "i'm in, too."

he smiled then, a genuine, warm smile that lit up his entire face, and you couldn't help but lean in and kiss him again, savoring the feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his body against yours.

as you pulled apart, dean's expression turned mischievous once more. "so, what do you say we give sammy another day and find us a nice, secluded spot to... celebrate?" he asked wiggling his brows, a hint of suggestiveness in his tone.

you couldn't help but laugh again at what you were hearing, playfully swatting his arm. "dean winchester, you are such a hornball," you teased.

he grinned, his grip on your hand tightening. "maybe so, but you love me anyway," he said, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that made your heart flutter.

"that i do," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him once more.

as the impala rumbled back to life and dean guided the car back onto the open road, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment wash over you. the tension and hurt of earlier had been replaced by a deep, abiding love and trust, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and dean would face them together.

you nestled closer to dean as he drove, your hand still intertwined with his, and stairway to heaven filling the air, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in the feeling of pure, unadulterated happiness.

[evertomorrowart]

Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

[mandowifey]

What kind of father figure behaviours would Miguel have?? I’m thinking protective af

Oh boy oh boy oh boy BUCKLE UP.

Father!Miguel O'Hara Headcannons

Warnings: ANGST, SO MUCH ANGST, Mentions of child loss, death, violence, this is canon Miguel, reader can give birth but is not gendered. Mentions of trauma, depression, bad brain times. He's a broken man, yknow?

× × ×

First and foremost, Miguel is scared.

This is a man who had lost it all twice. He had watched his child die. He had lapsed so terribly into himself that he was able to rationalize stepping into another man's life and pretending to be him. He isn't right minded, he's broken and hurting.

All that self blame and doubt chokes him sometimes.

He hurts, constantly.

When you tell him you're pregnant, everything goes still. Fatherhood is something that had always been just outside of his grasp, and now it was here right in front of him. He doesn't fill with light, or smile and laugh, but he does look at you like he's seeing a ghost. There is fear in his eyes, not of you or the baby, but himself.

Because what if he fucks this up again?

Miguel can not stand the idea of opening himself to that pain. He already shoulders that guilt every day, rewatching videos of himself with his daughter. Can he even find room in his heart for another child? He almost feels like it is a betrayal, that he was never a good man to begin with if he were so willing to move on.

When your face drops and your eyes brim with tears, he pulls out of it.

One of Miguel's best abilities is being strong for others. He can be what you need right now, and he will.

Cue the absolute nightmare of expecting his child.

Aside from you being sick, Miguel worries, constantly.

The man can hardly focus on his work. He always asks one of the doctors to go check on you or have you in contact with him. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean the multiverse loses its importance. But god is he distracted.

"Have you been eating enough?"

"Taking your vitamins?"

"How much water have you had?"

It'd be cute if you didn't know better.

You know how much he has lost and you know that he is petrified of losing you both too. Not to mention you are certain he feels undeserving of another chance, especially after destroying an innocent alternate universe.

The way he looks at you tells you everything; he thinks you are made of glass. Something fragile that could break any moment. While you try to assure him that isn't the case, he still worries.

Once you start showing, it's over.

He is constantly caressing your stomach, holding you close, breathing you in. He thinks you smell so good pregnant. Miguel loves to feel your belly, cooing to you about how good you look carrying his child. You don't doubt for a second he loves you.

Miguel is protective, most assuredly. When you want to go walking around the base or go grab snacks he is on you like a shadow. Always watching, always protecting. He makes sure the other spider folk don't bump you, and offers to carry you when you mention your feet swelling.

God, he'd love to feed you. Checking on you constantly if you're hungry, offering to run and grab any cravings you ask for.

When you get further along, he likes to talk to the baby. Speaking in Spanish occasionally but mostly asking if they are giving you trouble.

"They are gonna have my attitude, I know it."

Oh boy, when the baby comes?

Ohhhh boy.

First off it is a way bigger deal than it has to be.

That man would be in the middle of a job and get a ring on his watch.

"JESS, I GOTTA GO."

And she looks at him in time to watch him clawing back into a portal.

Him running full speed, throwing himself against walls and scratching down them to get to your room faster.

His mask withdrawing to show messy hair and wide brown eyes, coming to your side and taking your hand.

"I'm here, Im here." As he kisses into your damp hair.

You get to surprise him, twice.

He didn't know the sex, and didn't know you were having two.

When he see's his daughters for the first time, his eyes leak. The smile on his face stretches miles, his arms open as he cradles them into him. Oh he'd be melting.

You'd never seen him cry, but that day he does.

He's so proud of you, telling you how well you did and how much he loves you.

"Okay Miguel, gotta let me hold one." You laugh.

He's inseparable from you. Looking at those babies with such love and surprise, unable to believe that he was a father, again.

When you fall asleep with the girls tucked in your arms, he stays up and pets your hair.

And he promises himself that this time it will be different.

Your babies would be HELLA protected.

Good god, he is like a hawk with those girls.

Always watching, always making sure they were safe. He'd have eyes on them constantly.

Miguel is a good man at heart, and now he wants to make things right. He'd dedicate as much time to your family as possible, asking Jessica to stand in for him as often as possible (until she herself has her child).

He'd want to teach them to be like him. One of your daughters can stick to walls, and the other has tiny claws like he does. You enjoy lounging on the couch while he climbs the walls with the girls giggling after him.

Your family is beautiful, blissful. He protects all three of you.

And while sometimes you have to hold him at night and assure him that its okay to move on, he knows he's doing his best. He wraps you in his arms and looks at the baby monitor screen, watching the girls sleep. He begins to doze as you pet his hair, assuring him they were just fine.

Miguel would fall asleep against you, head tucked in your neck and strong arms locked around you.

And he would believe it was okay to forgive himself.

[boigyu]

FAN WARS. WHEN THE TWO BIGGEST STAN ACCOUNTS FOR LADYBUG AND CHAT NOIR HAVE BEEF

or in which you are ladybug and yeonjun is chat noir, but you two secretly live a double life as heroes and college students; and maybe also run a stan acc for each other's hero persona as a hobby. though, you two don't get along and occasionally fight on the tl (as a joke), despite both owning the biggest stan accs for each respective hero. and one day a particular twitter interaction blows up— causing the two of you to forcefully work it out.

pairing! chat noir!yeonjun x ladybug!reader

genre! fluff, crack, superhero au, miraculous ladybug au, college setting, social media au

warning! cursing, yeonjun is a lil delulu... but it's ok

notes! JUST REWATCHED MLB AND SAW A YEONJUNXCHAT NOIR EDIT. jaw dropped so I made this out of boredom, for the ppl that r waiting on my next ig trend post with the rest of enha LOOK AWAY IM SORRY OK I WILL GET BACK TO THAT. I'll post the next part soon lol just needed to get this outta my system, also I miss mlbtwt OK THATS IT ENJOY

part i . part ii . part iii . part iv (tba)

© boigyu 2024. don't plagiarize, steal or translate my work

[cockslutpadalecki]

I’m so desperate for a Rafe smut where he says “I’ll only put the tip in.” And I have a feeling that you’re the one that could write it😂 just putting that out there

Gimme An Inch

Characters: Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader.

Words: 1.1K.

Warnings: dub-con, drug taking, vaginal sex, cream pie, intoxicated reader (not drugged), 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: This has been sitting in my inbox for almost a year, and it’s all because of my rewatch of Outer Banks that I finally got inspired. So here it is, to celebrate season three dropping this week! Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

“C’mon baby,” Rafe grits out into the column of your throat. His voice is heavy, split through with lust. His fingers roam beneath your skirt, plucking at the hem of your panties.

“Not here,” you husk back, pathetically pushing against his chest. Marginal effort is all you manage. It’s not like you want Rafe to stop what he’s doing… you just don’t want to do it here. 

The bass of the music from the party shakes the ground beneath you, lights from the front porch of Topper’s house flooding the immediate vicinity around it. Rafe’s car is parked just out of the light’s reach, keeping you bathed in darkness, but you’re still worried someone might see. In the open doorway of his truck, he stands in between your spread legs, the cool but contradicting sticky night air swirling around the cab. 

You glance out of the windscreen as he places heavy kisses against your collarbone, trying to suss out whether anyone is watching you. Scattered crowds of people hang around outside, smoking god knows what and the occasional outburst of laughter pulls your attention further from Rafe. Yet it’s quickly dragged back by him pulling your panties down and you focus on him as he stuffs them into the pocket of his shorts.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see us,” he assures thickly, lips hot against your jaw.

“How d’you know?” you reply with skepticism, hands covering his as they delve back under your skirt. He doesn’t even look up to reassure you face to face— merely mutters into your ear that it’s fine. 

Nobody’s gonna care. Loosen up, it’s a party. Everyone’s hooking up.

His words do little to ease your anxiety, but the warmth of his cockhead skimming through your pussy lips divert your thoughts elsewhere. The fear of being caught by Rafe’s friends is suddenly overshadowed by the elephant in the room.

“We can’t,” you protest again, but it lacks the proper sincerity. Your body buzzes with coke and alcohol, veins alight with heat. You want to, fuck, you really want to.

“What’re you so afraid of?” Rafe sighs, impatient. 

“Getting pregnant,” you hiss back. “Have you got any protection with you?”

“Left them at home,” he shrugs like it’s not a big deal. You scoff, but he’s quick to reassure you. “It’s fine, I’ll pull out.” 

“Remember when you said that last time?” you remind him sharply. “I had to take a pill.” 

Rafe smirks. “You don’t normally mind takin’ pills.” 

“Asshole,” you smirk back, familiar heat coiling in your gut as you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance, teasing. You open your legs a little wider to let him move closer, the warmth between your legs now almost scorching.

“Hey.” He leans in, kissing you. Messy and full of intent. “I’ll only put the tip in, promise.”

“K,” you comply. Without a moment to allow you to reconsider, Rafe slides in. Just the tip— like he promised. “Oh god.” 

“You like that, huh?” He licks and nips at your mouth, encouraging you to let him in. Your tongue slides over his, moaning as he pulls out, the head of his cock keeping your pussy gaping. 

He slowly slides back inside you— keeping his promise, just the tip. He pauses briefly, then he goes in a little deeper. 

“Rafe,” you chastise and he apologises into your lips, pulling back his hips until he’s nestled just inside your entrance. In a haze, you flop back onto the front seat, your head swirling with dangerous levels of potent arousal. 

He repeats his movements— shallow thrusts in and out. But it leaves the rest of you wanting more, your core aching for fullness. You keep the plea for him to go deeper behind your lips. You don’t want to go back on your word, knowing that if you do, Rafe will hold you to it for future reference. 

But you let me do it last time. 

You’re spacing out— the drugs and alcohol slowing your reaction time before you realise he’s sliding in deeper. Deeper. Deeper. 

“Noo,” you whine thickly, “you said just the tip.” You try to wriggle up the seat, but Rafe grips your hips too tight. 

“Oh shit baby, I’m sorry,” he apologises on a hazy loop, yet he makes no attempt to stop. You push against his chest, urging him to pull out but he doesn’t. Instead he rattles off, “Fuck baby, I can’t, I’m sorry, you just feel so good.” 

He’s fucking you to the root now. Deep, stomach-aching thrusts that make your eyes roll up to the roof. Stars dance in your vision, but you can’t be sure if it’s actually the night sky you’re seeing through the gap in Rafe’s windscreen. 

“R-Rafe,” you stutter, “you gotta pu-pull out.”

Sparks of electricity short out all over your body, making you forget your train of thought. Why would you want him to sto—oh.

“C’mon baby, don’t make me stop now,” he grunts above you. “Not when you’re so close.” 

His thumb swirls over your clit, pressing gently down on it. Your hips cant towards him, sliding him in deeper and you cry out, coming until stray tears run into your hairline. 

“Oh shit. See.” His tone reeks of I-told-you-so. “Why would you want me to stop when I can make you come like that, huh?”

“C-can’t come inside,” you beg, flutters of heat from your climax still making you dizzy. 

“I promise I’ll pull out,” he tells you again. He readjusts his grip, practically tugging you off the seat and onto his cock. 

“Fuck,” you repeat in a stupor, Rafe fucking you to the point where you think you might pass out. 

“Yes, that’s it, baby.” You hear him say, but he sounds so far away. Somewhere off in the distance, out of reach. The only sensation tethering him back to you is the ripples of his cock as he thrusts back into your gaping pussy. 

“Oh fuck, I’m so close.”

“R-af-pull-ou,” you garble, your tongue too thick for your mouth.

“But I’m so fuckin’ close, fuck right there, oh shit, I’m gonna-” 

His thrusts slow, deepening to the point where he holds himself inside you, hips bruising against the backs of your thighs, before barely pulling out. You don’t have time or the energy to stop him, the sudden heat of his cum warming you from the inside out.

Rafe slumps over you, pressing wet kisses to the curve of your breast as he apologises heavily over and over into your skin.

Just felt so good. 

Couldn’t help myself.

And like an idiot, you take it as a compliment.

***

RC: @infatuatedjanes @mugi-chwan95 @mysweetpoisons @weasleytwinsexpert

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2writes @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

[the-wandering-wonder]

By The River

I was rewatching Lord of the Rings, and oof. I now remember why I swooned over Orlando Bloom so much as a teenager...

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Rating: T (angst)

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: You've grown quite fond of Legolas, but when he disappears without so much as a word, your world is turned upside down.

You walk slowly towards the river Bruinen, occasionally glancing up at the clear night sky. A handful of trees litter the path of the river, marking where the beauty of Rivendell merges with the beauty of the forest. You take in a deep breath as you approach a particular beech tree, one that was slowly becoming your favourite.

You smile to yourself as you hear the feet landing behind you, slowing for just a moment as you see the familiar blond elf falling into step alongside you.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Legolas breaks the silence.

You merely hum in agreement, glancing at him with a soft smile, one that he returns.

You couldn’t quite remember how long you two had shared this routine, but he was always there, every night, ready to join you in your walks along the edge of the forest. Most nights you spoke, joking and laughing, but some nights, you enjoyed the simple silence, interrupted only by animals in the distance or the whistling of the wind. Truth be told (but never to Legolas himself) he was the reason you enjoyed your walk so much.

You eventually find yourself paused at the riverbank, looking down at the moonlight reflecting along the rippling waters. A breeze whips around you and you shiver, exhaling softly as you wrap your arms around yourself. You feel a warm presence behind you as Legolas moves to wrap his cloak around your shoulders, his hands resting on your upper arms. Without thought, you lean back into his touch, letting his warmth wash over you.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head to glance back at him, finding him gazing down at you, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His hand comes up slowly, resting along the hollow of your throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing up against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. He dips his head down, tentatively brushing his lips over yours before pulling back and letting his hand return to its place on your arm. Your lips part slightly, but no words come, so you give him a soft smile instead, letting your head fall back to rest against his shoulder as your gaze returns to the waters of the river Bruinen.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, you find yourself busy, running small errands for the council. But Legolas remains in the back of your mind, his soft kiss replaying over and over. Once night falls, you grab your cloak and slip out for your nightly walk. You quickly make your way to the beech tree, pausing for a moment. When all you hear is the rustling of the water and chirping of birds, you glance around.

“Legolas?” You call out, looking up at the branches.

Your heart begins to race as your elven senses pick up no sign of him. 

“Legolas?” You call out again, silently hoping that he had somehow lost track of time.

No answer comes and you feel your breath run short, catching in your throat as your pulse pounds in your ears. You force down a deep breath before turning to run back into the walls of the city. You make your way to the council room, steadying yourself before approaching Elrond, who greets you with a nod of his head before returning to the map he was studying.

“Lord Elrond,” you begin, bowing your head slightly, “have you seen Legolas?”

“He is gone,” the elf responds, “A messenger came from Mirkwood this morning, and he left.”

You feel your heart sink to your stomach as tears prick the corners of your eyes. Your jaw drops slightly as you turn away from Elrond, clenching your fists by your sides.

“This troubles you?”

“I was just-” You pause, unsure of how to explain yourself to the high elf. “I did not know he was leaving.”

“Do not worry for him,” Elrond says, turning to look at you fully, “he will return in time.”

~~~~~~~~

You try to follow Elrond’s advice, busying yourself with whatever you can find and forcing yourself to focus on anything but the thoughts of Legolas. But days soon turn into weeks, then into months. And the Sindar elf does not return. You eat out of habit, on the days that you remember, and hardly ever venture out of the walls of Rivendell. Some days your heart aches as it did when Legolas first left, other days it feels cold and numb.

One day, Elrond, who had kept a distant eye on you as you grieved, approaches you.

“You should take a walk,” he says softly, “the air would do you good, as would the sun.”

“The river reminds me of him,” you admit.

“An unpleasant memory?”

“No, not at all. I just…I miss him.”

You stare at Elrond with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He lets out a small sigh as he places his hand on your shoulder.

“Then go to the river, sit with the memories.”

Elrond gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before turning to walk away. You watch him disappear around the corner before turning your attention to the waterfalls scattered around the city, listening to the sounds of rushing water. You slowly walk through the city, heading towards the waters of the river.

You eventually approach your tree, reaching out to run a hand along the bark as you look down at the flowing water. In the light of the noonday sun, the colour almost matches Legolas’ eyes. A tear slides down your cheek as you turn to lean against the beech, sliding down to the ground and bringing your knees to your chest. Your eyes close as you lean your head back against the tree, losing yourself and letting time fly by.

You hear footsteps in the soft grass and you leap to your feet, turning to face the approaching figure. The sun glints off golden hair and your jaw drops momentarily before you close your eyes, deciding that your eyes are playing a cruel trick.

“No.” You say softly.

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the figure that now stands before you. Piercing eyes stare at you as golden locks flutter in the soft breeze. Legolas…

“I thought you’d left,” you murmur, “never to return.”

“You truly think I would do that?” Legolas tilts his head slightly, striding forward to stand in front of you.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you reply slowly, “you were just…gone. You never even said goodbye.”

“I tried to find you,” the blond elf murmurs, “but I couldn’t. And it was urgent that I return to Mirkwood.”

You take a step back and swallow as you stare at the river again, fingertips digging into the bark of the tree as it presses into your back. Finally bringing your gaze up to meet his, you see pale blue filled with concern and… was that hurt?

“I would never abandon you.” 

Legolas’ voice comes out as little more than a whisper as he moves in closer, bringing up a hand to caress the line of your jaw, catching a fresh tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you feel his free hand resting ever-so-lightly on your hip. 

“ Melethril…”

Your eyes flutter open as you feel Legolas’ warm breath dancing across your lips, his own within inches. Your hands find purchase on his cloak as his body envelopes yours, your lips finally meeting in a soft kiss. You lean into him as his grip tightens on you, holding you close as your lips mold together. Your lungs begin to ache, but your desire for Legolas pushes all other thoughts back as you cling to him.

Legolas finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take in a breath. He tilts his head back to look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze filling you with warmth. He speaks in a low tone, slowly and assuredly.

“I will always come back to you…”

[doll3tt33]

╰➜ ⊹ ࣪ ˖┆soon to be inactive┆⊹ ࣪ ˖

she/her 𝜗𝜚 libra ☉ libra ☾ sag ↑ 𝜗𝜚 will come back to occasionally post and drop off a bot of the evans if I make any 𝜗𝜚 still a colin girlie

my most recent fic/hc! - my haunted lungs, ghost in the sheets ❥ colin zabel

everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer ❥ colin zabel

‘cause when you know you know ❥ colin zabel

my most recent c.ai bot! - playing dangerous ❥ colin zabel

a day in the life of a cleaner for homelander ❥ homelander

check your window, he’s at your window ❥ tate langdon

Goodbye for now! ♡

Requests are closed cuz I’m moving on with other interests, so this account wont be as active anymore. might come back one day.

a lil’ info:

• If you’re under 18, then it means this place isn’t for you and YA BETTER GET OFF MA PROPERTY!! On a fr note, please do not interact if you’re a minor.

• characters I’m sorta confident I won’t mess up with (aka characters you can request for): Kai Anderson, Tate Langdon, Austin Sommers, Kyle Spencer, Kit Walker, Colin Zabel, Peter Maximoff, Stan Bowes, Luke Cooper, Charles Decker, + characters from The Boys

• characters I’m not so confident with right now: James Patrick March, Jimmy Darling, Warren Lipka, Mr. Gallant.

I’ll need a rewatch to get a better grasp of their character so they won’t be ooc, but I’ll make them available to request in the future!

• general requests are cool! but I really appreciate requests with a specific scenario/AU. This is a kink-friendly blog, so feel free to go wild!

Bots & fics masterlist below the cut!

all of the bots below have detailed defintions and descriptions, along with example messages! So dw, none of them are empty carcasses of an ai bot

angst/dark themes - ✮ sfw - ❀ (might lead to) nsfw - ✧

c.ai filter breaking tut: pt.1, pt.2

Kai Anderson:

𝜗𝜚 Fanfics:

Your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in. ✮

𝜗𝜚 Headcanons:

Kai Anderson SFW headcanons ❀

𝜗𝜚 AI bots:

Being in a toxic relationship with Kai (based off the song ‘Ultraviolence’) ✮

Kai breaking into your home for revenge ✮/✧

Visiting spiritual counselor!Kai to seek guidance ✮/❀

Kai coming up to you at a bookstore ❀

Kai “accidentally” spilling his coffee all over you ❀

⇢ I recommend the bookstore one over the coffee one if u r looking for a standard Kai bot to use, cuz the former’s settings are improved ((but like the coffee one’s still aight ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Colin Zabel:

𝜗𝜚 Fanfics:

Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer ✧

My haunted lungs, ghost in the sheets ✧

‘Cause when you know you know ❀

𝜗𝜚 AI bots:

Getting arrested by Colin… again ❀

Having your first session with therapist!Colin ❀

Professor!Colin teaching you on your first day of college ❀

Peter Maximoff:

Peter challenging you to Pac-Man at the arcade ❀

Chilling with Peter in his room ❀

You’re both lonely on prom night so Peter invites you to join him ❀

Stan Bowes:

You’re the daughter of Stan’s boss and he has to pick you up from a party ❀

Having your first ever dinner with sugardaddy!Stan ❀

Interrupting Stan in the middle of work ❀

Austin Sommers:

paparazzi!Austin who won’t stop pestering you ❀

Kyle Spencer:

Frankenkyle showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night ❀

You’re a new witch at the academy and you’re responsible for Frankenkyle ❀

Studying alone with frat!Kyle at the campus library ❀

frat!Kyle comes up to you at a college party on New Year’s Eve ❀

Tate Langdon:

perv!Tate snapping photos of you in the school’s bathroom ✧

Helping Tate after he gets bullied at school ❀

Tate walking in on you playing a ritual game ❀

Dealing with an emotionally unstable Tate after your break up (based off the song ‘Meant to Be Yours’ from Heathers: The Musical) ✮

Kit Walker:

singledad!Kit hiring you as a babysitter ❀

Kit taking all the blame for you at the asylum ✮

bartender!Kit serving you a free drink ❀

Getting steamy with husband!Kit in the kitchen ✧

Luke Cooper:

Luke getting everyone’s coffee orders wrong but yours ❀

[vidavalor]

Hello lovely! I'm wondering if you have any thoughts about Maggie in Final1 5? Isn't it weird that she wants to go back to talk to Az and Crowley while Nina's working? Something about it feels off to me.

Hello right back. 💕 There's chamomile mint tea and shortbread since we're on a Maggie theme, if you'd like some. Maggie's behavior from that scene on is super fucking weird, I agree.

Before the milk run-- when Maggie becomes the only involved character whom we lose track of a bit during The Final 15-- versus how she behaves when she returns is so strange as to be something that I consider maybe additional proof that things are not at all what they seem to be in The Final 15.

On Maggie and Crowley's weird Final 15 behavior, a possible meaning to all the allusions to robbery in S2, and what Maggie and Nina might be able to tell us about what happened at the end of S2.

TW: brief mentions of show's non-consensual possession/rape analogy.

Think for a moment about how truly weird Maggie's request for her and Nina to go back to the bookshop in that moment actually is...

It's only been a matter of minutes since Maggie and Nina were basically hostages in the bookshop who were almost killed by Michael and Saraqael. Crowley saved their lives in getting them out of the shop maybe, what? It's been a minute since I rewatched that bit of it but it couldn't have been more than 15 minutes prior?

The beings in the shop but for Maggie and Nina are supernatural and so left magically without using the door but while we the audience know that these people are no longer in the shop because we were watching it, Maggie and Nina do not know that. When Maggie suggests to Nina that they go talk to Crowley and Aziraphale, they have no way of knowing if the beings that just tried to kill them are still in the shop. They didn't even see Aziraphale leave with Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing yet because Nina was all "where's the other one?" to Crowley when they arrived back in the shop.

Maggie is literally like: Nina, I know you opened the business you own late and are the only one working right now and have a line of 20 people waiting for their morning, pre-work coffee but what if-- just hear me out-- we just made them wait an indefinite amount of time to voluntarily go back into the place where we nearly died a matter of minutes ago that could still be full of the people who wanted us dead and we did this for no other purpose than just to tell off my beloved adopted godfather and his partner, who just risked harm to save both our lives? And to maybe then also stick our noses into their love lives in return or something?

I mean... WHAT?!?! lol

Consider, even, how even more weird that is when Maggie, just *prior* to having gone to the mini-mart, had never been more on the same page with Nina and never more understanding?

She sacrificed her own want to go sleep behind the counter of her shop to offer to help Nina. It's a big moment of change in their relationship and shows a lot of growth for Maggie. She's gone from someone who is caring but has a tendency to only think about how things make her feel to seeing things from Nina's perspective. She's matured through the season into being someone more ready to be a partner to Nina. Maggie offering to help Nina with her morning rush-- and Nina accepting the help-- is the sweet, romantic moment showing that these two are heading in a positive direction, both individually and together.

When Maggie gets back with the milk, though? After she's been out of our sight for a few minutes? She's behaving very differently.

During S2, Maggie is shown to be a pretty guileless character. She might have the occasional judgemental moment but she's not deceptive or tricky and she really wouldn't hurt a fly. When Maggie comes back from the milk run, though, her insistence on Nina dropping everything and going with her in that moment is not just weird behavior but manipulative in a way that could not be more out of character for Maggie.

Nina has been in an abusive relationship where she was afraid of displeasing Lindsay. Maggie is aware of this, as it's been the subject of multiple conversations between them throughout the season. So, when Maggie gets so bizarrely insistent on Nina dropping her work-- her livelihood, her purpose, her job-- to meet Maggie's demands in that moment? When this isn't an emergency of any kind and isn't at all time-sensitive and there is no objective reason why Nina should be halting her job to do what Maggie wants in this moment? Maggie is being controlling in a Lindsay-like way. She keeps at it, knowing that Nina will give in and agree to go with her because Nina is used to doing that with her partner.

Nina hesitates and isn't sure whether or not to go with Maggie for a moment and I don't really blame her? This is the complete opposite behavior to Maggie before she left for the mini-mart. Maggie is suddenly acting quite a lot like her polar opposite-- the Lucifer-and-Heaven-paralleling Lindsay.

Maggie is also literally on Nina's shoulder like a devil the whole time in the scene in which she's convincing her to step away from the shop and go across the street with her to the other shop for a chat and...

...listen to what we just said there...

...it's a parallel to the thing that Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing is doing with Aziraphale, is it not?

So, what happened on the milk run?

Who did Maggie run into at the mini-mart that we couldn't see in the ending of S2 without it giving the game away? I wouldn't be surprised if, on this mirror-happy show, on the other side of learning in S3 that it was The Devil with the coffee in the bookshop in The Final 15, we also had a scene that showed that, while on her milk run, Maggie had a run-in with Sister Teresa's killer.

Did Hastur possess Maggie as part of Satan's plan? Was the idea to use Maggie and Nina to further trip Crowley and Aziraphale towards disaster to get Aziraphale? If so, it kind of half-worked. I'm not convinced that anything Maggie and Nina said to Crowley really mattered-- I think they weren't telling him anything he didn't already know or feel and that it's largely misdirection for the audience. What was effective, though, was the impression Aziraphale got upon seeing them leave as he was coming in.

Maggie and Nina being back in there at this weird time and then rushing out with smiles and comments like that they were "just leaving" and they were sure Crowley and Aziraphale had "a lot to discuss" seem to have led Aziraphale to assume that Crowley had asked them to come back and to the conclusion that he must have done so to tell them of his intent to ask Aziraphale to marry him. It's Maggie and Nina leaving the shop that reinforce to Aziraphale the idea that, when Crowley stands up afterwards, takes off his glasses, and says he supposes he has "something to say", that Crowley is only trying to communicate a proposal and not a plan.

It's what helps-- big time-- to lead Aziraphale to not listen for a shred of coded language for the entire scene. Neither he nor Crowley are listening for that with one another, which is why neither of them can truly understand what the other is saying, but Aziraphale's part of that is really fucked to Hell by the presence of Maggie and Nina in the shop when he came back. That's all pretty suspicious since Maggie was out of our sight for a few moments and came back fixated on the idea that she and Nina needed to go to the bookshop right that very moment and that it couldn't wait.

The Final 15 is a dark parallel to The Baby Swap plot and Maggie and Nina are full of shadows of Sisters Mary and Teresa to a point that the final shots of both of them in the series are mirror images of the final shots of their S1 characters. Nina looking through glass at Crowley departing is the last shot of Sister Mary both in 2008 and 2019, while Maggie's last shot?

To me, it's one of the most eerie moments in the entire series because of how much it visually resembles Sister Teresa's death.

Basically two minutes after we hear about The Second Coming... in the same season where Maggie and Nina's partial-vavoom gives way to a (possessed?) Gabriel saying: the dead will leave their graves and walk the Earth once more... we are shown Crowley and Aziraphale's apparent adopted goddaughter unresponsive on the counter of her shop.

Is Maggie dead?

Is Maggie asleep, like we were led to believe she wanted to do earlier in the episode? Maybe. Is she comatose/unconscious? Maybe. It's just that, best I can tell, she does not take a breath during the shot which I feel had to be intentional on the part of Maggie Service, and she's in the same position as we last saw Sister Teresa in S1...

Then, there's the robbery theme and how Maggie and Nina foreshadow so much of the end of S2 back in this scene here:

In Good Omens, the shop is the character. Maggie is, symbolically, the records she sells. The show also explains that Maggie's shop used to be a part of the bookshop. Now, there are three characters, not two, who are A.Z. Fell & Co.: Aziraphale, Crowley and Maggie. At the same time, Aziraphale is also The Small Back Room. The shops are intertwined as the characters are, essentially, family in the story. The fate of one is the fate of the other, which makes what Maggie and Nina foreshadow when talking about Maggie's shop while trapped together in Nina's not just the fate of Maggie's shop in S2 but also of the bookshop.

Maggie says that if she can't close the door to her shop, someone could walk in and take records. Maggie is the records she sells so, symbolically, this means someone could take Maggie. We got a bit of a preview of that when Shax appeared to get into her mind during the attack on the bookshop and Maggie also became the one who unintentionally "let the robbers in."

These robbers, Maggie frets... they could empty her till-- take all her money on a literal level... take her mind, or maybe even her life, on another. (Not to mention the now chill-inducing use of money-related words and coins with regards to the paralleling Crowley...) These robbers could take forcible ownership of Maggie's shop-- so, of Maggie. Maggie's shop was born of the bookshop... so, they could take forcible ownership of the bookshop, too.

Not just the physical bookshop, though that, too. The symbolic bookshop. Which is not only Aziraphale but Crowley and Aziraphale.

But, if The Small Back Room was originally part of the bookshop, then the bookshop really isn't just Crowley and Aziraphale-- it's Crowley, Aziraphale and Maggie.

If the robbers come for the bookshop, they've also come for The Small Back Room because it is all born of the same, symbolic shop.

Is that what they did?

Is that why Maggie is last shown to us non-responsive in her shop?

Now, Nina's even more foreshadowing reply:

Nina said that, if she owned a record shop, she'd be more concerned about "someone breaking in and leaving more records behind."

What are records? They're the literal records in the musical and old film sense that Maggie sells, yes, and also Maggie herself. They're also books, like what Aziraphale sells, and Aziraphale himself. But they're also a third thing that's very much of note in S2.

They're also the life's work of a scrivener, like what Muriel does.

Nina foreshadows someone breaking in and leaving "more records behind"... which is exactly what happens in The Final 15.

Elspeth's graverobbing. Bildad stealing Job and Sitis' wine and food. The 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. Aziraphale having the missing Shakespeare Robin Hood play in the box in 2.06. The robbery-based fantasy Aziraphale was telling Crowley in Lockdown: ...the other night, when a couple of young lads broke into the back and tried to steal the cash(cache)box!

The Final 15 is a robbery.

The last two episodes see the shop attacked during The Meeting Ball and into the next morning. Aziraphale is robbed blind of his entire life. Characters are taken hostage. Signals for help are tried and fail. The cop, it turns out, was a stooge for the robbers. Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing broke in through the open door and robbed the place blind, as Maggie foreshadowed. As Nina foreshadowed he would, what did the robber leave behind?

More records. Muriel.

To rob, as we know, is to steal. It's to plunder or strip a place from someone through force and/or violence. That is why it was once, in addition to being descriptive of physical goods stolen from a person, also a word that was used for rape, for which non-consensual possession has been analogous since the show's first episode. That is why some of us think that the music goes insane on the look to Crowley in the scene below. Satan is robbing Crowley-- forcing him to identify him as The Metatron to Aziraphale and the angels and to let Aziraphale go alone with him.

Satan attacked Crowley in front of Aziraphale and, while Aziraphale pretended he didn't see it, he did, which is why he led "The Metatron" straight out the door in an effort to get him away from Crowley. Because, speaking of characters behaving very weirdly... anyone have a better explanation for why guard dog Crowley sat in that chair like he couldn't get out of it and encouraged Aziraphale to go alone with a guy who once tried to kill them? It just doesn't make any sense unless his words are not really his own and there's only one character we've seen do that to him.

And if Crowley's not the only one behaving out of character, then what else happened to Maggie at the mini-mart but something similar?

What happened in The Final 15? Satan robbed the bookshop.

He and The Metatron don't give a toss about the shop itself and plan to destroy it alongside everything else once Armageddon gets rocking. They're there to get Crowley and Aziraphale out of the way for Armageddon by dividing and conquering. Just because we've yet to see blood doesn't mean this wasn't robbery by force.

Satan took hostages at the start-- letting the ones go he didn't care about go and keeping the ones most likely to influence the shop's owner: Crowley and Muriel.

Satan and The Metatron sacrificed Muriel to their plan, not caring if Muriel explodes along with the shop when they kick off Armageddon a matter of *checks watch* basically any minute now after S2. We think Muriel is better off in the shop at the end of S2 but I'm not totally sure they are. I think it actually might be one of the most dangerous places to be in right now. The bookshop didn't burn down this time-- it was burned as safe space in every possible way. It's a crime scene.

The Metatron and Satan are here for revenge. The Metatron is letting Satan have Aziraphale to get Crowley and Aziraphale out of the way for Armageddon. There is no real job offer-- it's all Satan tempting Aziraphale into falling. Satan's revenge on Crowley and Aziraphale is to force Crowley to help him take Aziraphale right out from under his nose. That's the start of it, anyway.

Besides Armageddon and daring to have a relationship and a sense of self outside of the demonic collective of Hell what is Satan really pissed at Crowley and Aziraphale about?

His kid. Adam. Crowley and Aziraphale helping Adam against him.

If Satan has been lying in wait, still very, very angry at Crowley and Aziraphale for turning his son against him and if he's now here for revenge, then who else besides Aziraphale is then most in peril here?

Yes, my Job-and-Sitis-paralleling poppet... your big, cross duck and your kids are most imperiled here and S2 showed us that your kids are not just humanity writ large but, specifically, Maggie. The Small Back Room is of the bookshop that is you and Crowley. Maggie is your Adam. Will Satan come after your daughter? It's a concept posed in your paralleling/foreshadowing story earlier in the season... actually, it was also the entire plot of that paralleling story earlier in the season as well...

I feel like not going with Ennon and Keziah's theories on Satan's behavior is probably the best way to form a Good Omens theory 😂 so I'll stick with the idea that Satan very much would dare leave a revenge body count of Crowley and Aziraphale's adopted kids, as the Job minisode proved he'd do even with the spawn of "God's favorite human", let alone anybody else.

As, speaking of foreshadowing lines, this is really even more S2 than it was about S1:

Satan will even have a whole pseudo-philosophical chat about it with you first, amused that he's standing in a place called Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death and ordering a coffee while the plan is likely for this place, the women making him the coffee, and everyone on this street and on most of the planet to be dead by tomorrow.

Maggie is the only character who actually asked for coffee using that exact word in S2.

[rentsturner]

Obsessed - A.T. drabble

professor!Alex Turner x reader (but its so subtle, it could be any Alex x reader pairing)

warnings: cockwarming, oral sex (m receiving), pet names, praising, teensy bit of facefucking, fluff at the end, soft dom Alex, sub reader (ish)

a/n: @ohladymoon gave me motivation to finish this and helped when I was stuck so thank you <3. Its mostly smut - enjoy

Your books and notes are sprawled out across the table, laptop open on a lecture, your back aching as you hunched over the screen. Actually, it isn’t just your back that is aching. Your head feels like it's in a clamp, your hands are cramping from gripping your pen so tightly, and your eyes are throbbing. You don’t know how long you’ve been studying for, just that you’ve been sitting at Alex’s dining table since 11am, and it’s now dark outside. 

You're not alone at least. Alex is sitting at the other end of the table, reading glasses on as he slowly marks essays, occasionally bringing the end of his pen up to his lips to nibble on it while he’s thinking. His hair is soft and fluffy, not having bothered to put any gel in it when he knew he was just going to be spending the day working with you. 

You haven’t spoken for a few hours, just the odd ‘yes, please’ or ‘no, thank you’ when Alex offers to make you a cup of tea. 

‘Maybe you should take a break, darling.’ Alex breaks the silence. You look up from your notes to see him gazing across the table at yours, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks serious.

‘No, this will only take me another hour or so, it’s fine.’ You’re determined to finish your work, despite the ache behind your eyes.

‘You’ve rewatched the last ten minutes of that lecture about 4 times. It’s driving me crazy, and I imagine you’re not feeling great either.’ He chuckles. ‘Come on, tell me you really don’t want a break.’ 

You sigh. He’s right. The words on the notepad in front of you are merging into one scribbled blur and every word the lecturer says is just going in one ear and out the other. You aren’t getting any meaningful work done. Maybe you should take a break. To be honest, what you really want right now is to cuddle up with Alex on the sofa. 

‘Can we go lie down then? Please?’

‘Sorry, baby, got to finish marking these. Should be another half an hour.’ Alex goes back to looking at his papers, and your heart aches a little bit. You haven’t touched him for hours, and, for the two of you, that’s a long time to go without. You and Alex are usually very clingy, making up for having to hide your relationship in class by always being with each other behind closed doors. You’re practically attached at the hip. You had sat away from Alex today to try to minimise distractions while working, but now you’re desperate to hold him again.

‘But, Al, I wanna be with you.’ You pout, knowing that it’s Alex’s weakness. You just want his attention.

‘Aw, you feeling needy, baby?’ Alex raises a brow, teasing you.

You huff, not talking back because if you do, Alex will probably call you a brat and you’ll be much less likely to get what you want. But you won’t give up completely. It’s a fine line.

‘Just wanna be close to you.’ 

Alex puts his pen down, thinking for a few moments before turning his gaze back to you. He has a little glint in his eye, and you can tell he’s got an idea brewing.

‘Want to keep me warm then?’ 

You nod eagerly, knowing what Alex means straight away. You’ve done this before, when you were feeling especially needy but Alex was in a zoom meeting. 

‘Alright, baby, grab a cushion then, yeah?’ 

You smile and close your laptop, pushing your notes into a semblance of a pile, before going and getting your favourite cushion from the sofa. You shuffle back over to Alex, who’s pushed his chair back from the table to make room for you. You drop the cushion under the table and sink down, making yourself comfortable. 

Alex shuffles himself forward so he can still reach his essays easily, his legs now bracketing you on either side. It’s comfortably dark under the table, the dim light easing the pain in your eyes. You feel sleepy already.

‘Alright, behave now, ok? Don’t distract me.’ Alex looks down at you, his eyes stern, stroking your hair gently with one large hand. He reaches down to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. ‘You ready?’

You nod eagerly, but Alex tuts and shakes his head.

‘Use your words, baby.’

‘Yes, Al. Please.’ 

He nods and smiles, stroking your hair once more before moving his hands to his belt, unbuckling it. He unzips his trousers, his hands moving far too slowly for your liking. 

Finally, he pulls his cock out, pumping it a few times. It’s still soft, but that doesn’t mean that your mouth isn’t watering at the sight of it. 

You look up at Alex, making eye contact with him to silently ask permission. He smiles, and you dip your head, suckling on his tip before slowly taking all of him into your mouth, or as much as you can fit anyway. Even soft, Alex’s cock is an impressive size. 

You hum around him as you feel him pressing hot and heavy on your tongue. His smell and taste is all encompassing and so familiar. You can’t help but bob your head and little, swirling your tongue teasingly around him. You can feel Alex’s cock beginning to stiffen, forcing your mouth to open a little wider around his girth. 

Alex pats your head gently. 

‘Alright, settle down. Let me finish these papers, you relax, baby.’ 

You do as you’re told, relaxing your jaw to take more of him into your mouth, then resting your head on Alex’s thigh, feeling his muscle tense a little under your cheek. He’s warm and solid, the fabric of his trousers silky on your skin.

Your eyes start to fall closed, the feeling of Alex slowly throbbing in your mouth making you feel warm and safe. You love the way this position makes you feel, kneeling quietly between Alex’s legs. You just love being so close to him, and really, you can’t get closer than this. Every few minutes, Alex’s hand dips down to card his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. You can feel your headache fading away, the tiredness you’ve been holding at bay for the past few hours finally catching up with you. You close your eyes.

- * - * -

You wake up to Alex tugging your hair, his breath coming hard and fast as he looks down at you with blown out eyes. 

“Fuck, baby.”

You slowly come back to reality, feeling the drool dripping down your chin and onto your knees as Alex’s now very hard cock stretches your mouth open. You taste the salty tang of his pre-cum at the back of your tongue, his length hot and throbbing in your mouth. You widen your eyes up at Alex, who’s breathing heavily as his hands card through your hair, essays obviously abandoned.

“Have a good nap, baby?” He manages to huff out, and you nod as much as the grip he has on your hair will allow.

“Yeah, well you really seemed to like teasing me in your sleep. Fuck.” his hips buck slightly, pushing his cock further into your throat and you try not to gag, swallowing tightly around his tip instead. He groans lowly, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Think you need to finish what you started, princess, hm?” Alex looks back down to you, his eyes black, pupils blown, a few wrinkles on his forehead as his eyebrows knit together in a slight frown. A few strands of his fluffy hair fall gracefully over his forehead, before he pushes them back quickly with one trembling hand. 

You nod again, before getting to work. The sounds echoing round the room are obscene, suckling and slobbering as you bob your head up and down Alex’s length, hollowing your lips as best you can around his girth. You feel him twitch in your mouth, an accompanying moan slipping out of Alex’s mouth. His grip tightens on your hair, pulling you down further on his cock while his hips begin to grind against your face. Your nose is pressed into his pubes, and you feel yourself growing lightheaded but the sensation of Alex’s wet, hot cock sliding in and out of your lips, hitting the back of your throat is practically heavenly. 

You pull yourself off his length and Alex’s hand on your hair loosened, recognising that you need some air. You wipe the drool dripping down your chin with your hand and then use it to pump his cock, your hand gliding softly over his velvety skin. You dip your head to take his balls in your mouth and Alex gasps as you flick your tongue over them, sucking each one in turn before pulling off with a pop.

Alex heaves in a breath, panting. “Gonna come, baby, need to come in your mouth.” 

You nod eagerly, kitten licking his tip, then relaxing your jaw to take him down your throat again. You barely even need to bob your head before a string of expletives work their way out of Alex’s mouth, a hand on either side of your head as his hips stutter. You feel his seed before you taste it, coating the back of your throat like a balm. You swallow it down eagerly, feeling his cock twitch and throb as he releases his load. 

You keep him in your mouth, licking and suckling softly as he softens slowly. His hands are still trembling, stroking your hair gently as he comes down from what must have been a rather good orgasm. 

“Fuck…” He sighs, his hand coming to grip your chin gently and push you off him. He tucks himself back into his trousers, motioning for you to sit on his lap. Your legs are stiff from kneeling for so long, but as soon as you're settled on his thighs, his fingers begin kneading your muscles, working out the tension and knots that have built up. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his pulse still hammering in his neck. 

“So good, baby,” Alex croons, burying his face in your hair. “So good for me, such a good girl.”

You smile at his praises, bringing your hand to his so your fingers can intertwine, breathing in his scent, the smell of sweat and sex mixing with his cologne. 

“Can we cuddle now, Al?” 

“Course, baby. Want me to carry you to bed?”

thanks for reading hope yous enjoyed :)

[etherealyoungk]

skye !! i was rewatching that knowing bros ep with svt yk and the members were talking abt mingyu being such a flirt, trying to show his arms and abs "by accident" so i was wondering if you could write smth abt that !! like just mingyu teasing op by showing his abs pretending to wipe his face with his shirt and pretending to be tired to stretch his arms bc he KNOWS op is watching him and he just loves that attention (anything really i just love reading abt flirty mingyu)

— 💫

bestie hii! im sorry for getting to this so late :( and i've seen your other requests too, i'll get to them soon! but i LOVE this request so much ahhh

mingyu would be such a menace this way. he has an eye for you and he knows you do too, no matter how much you try to deny it. he always manages to catch you staring at him or looking at him...or his arms *cough* to be exact and that just gives him a ego boost.

mingyu would see you occasionally at college around lunchtime at the cafeteria or library studying or reading. but this time you were volunteering by the sports team in which mingyu was in. you really didn't want to do this but your friend dragged you along, so here you were, holding out towels and water bottles during the game break. and mingyu was oh so smug and happy about seeing you here. and he's not going to stop there oh no. he would flex his biceps and roll up his sleeves to show off his perfectly toned and built arms, making you have to shake your head and snap yourself out of some unhealthy thoughts. he's just doing the most to tease you and it's really starting to affect you.

but you don't wanna give in to him so you try to play it off but your gaze always ends up going back on him and he smirks to himself knowing that. he loves that he manages to get your attention so easily. so during the break he comes up to you for a bottle of water and you offer him a towel too to wipe the sweat but he doesn't take it. he purposely looks at you and lifts up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. your eyes widen and you look away, cheeks heating up.

you clear your throat and shove the water bottle in his hand and go look to offer someone else a bottle, trying to not have the mental image of his abs imprinted in your mind. for the rest of the game, he's going to tease you more, looking at you and winking, and at the end mingyu's just throws his shirt off and is playing and you're trying to avoid looking at him, trying not to blush but it doesn't work because he catches you eyes and smirks like an idiot once again.

after the game, you're heading back to grab your bag and head home when chan asks you to give something to mingyu, saying he left it on the field and he runs off, leaving you with another task. you sigh and make your way to the sports room and find mingyu sitting on one of the benches in a white sleeveless top and his hair damp from a shower. mingyu sees you gives you a small smile.

"hi, um chan asked me to give this to you, he said you left it on the field", you mumble out the words, handing the item to mingyu and turning around, ready to run away but his other hand catches your wrist, not letting you go.

"woah, don't run off like that baby", he says amused.

"im not, just i'll get late for my bus", you counter as you turn to face him agian.

"then i'll drop you home", he says with a wink, making your heart flutter. oh god.

"you were pretty cool out there", you say softly after a few seconds of silence.

"hm in know, i saw you staring", he says with a smirk.

"I WAS NOT i was just looking at you playing", you defend, shocked. like he was one to talk after what he was doing on the field.

"just admit you like me babe", he says, stepping closer.

"i-i you're such an annoying idiot", you say instead and he chuckles. "you're cute when you're shy"

you just look at him and don't say anything, "now why don't i drop you home", he adds with a toothy grin.

[morose-marble]

Just recently rewatched queen of the damned with a friend who was seeing it for the first time and she really succinctly summed up one of the main issues with it, which is that Lestat is made unappealing (to me, at least) because they're attempting to refashion him as a conventional (read: cishet) male power fantasy. He's God's favorite, most specialest boy who gets all the girls and is super strong and cool and talented and stuff. Sure, he's a bit camp in that sheer shirt, but the babes are throwing themselves at his feet!

Now, you may argue that this also partly applies to book Lestat, which is a warranted argument, BUT the key difference is pathetic gayboy energy (this includes bisexuality).

Lestat is a cringe theatre kid who moons over dudes all the fucking time and is a real drama queen about it constantly. He cries at the drop of a hat and loves drama! Stuart Townsend's lestat is not allowed any of it! He's simply a brooding and occasionally smug loner who fronts a nu-metal band!

OH AND nu-metal? Lestat? Lestat doing Korn? I just can't get behind it. He should be allowed platform boots, glitter and maybe a feather boa while he writhes around on stage to sexually suggestive lyrics. The monochrome forcefulness of nu-metal angst and anger just doesn't have enough... Pizazz. Let him be emo with ✨flair✨💅, c'mon now.

Anyway, as everyone knows, the highlight of that film is Aaliyah's turn as Akasha. She really understood the assignment.

[lady-phasma]

Battered and broken

Frank Castle x fem!reader

a/n: This is out of left field but I found this and had forgotten I had written it after a Punisher rewatch in Nov 2023. So I’m putting it out in the world because why not.

Warnings: actually no smut (I know, right?!), hurt/comfort, description of injuries.

Summary: You’re an ex-Navy corpsman (yes, they call women that too in case you weren’t sure) and Frank comes to you for help and some comfort. Takes place after season 2 finale. 3.3k words

The knock on your door is faint, you could have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to it. You close your book and place it on the coffee table as you stand up from the couch. You unconsciously tuck a stand of hair behind your ear as you reach the door. You take a deep breath before looking through the peephole.

No one looking back at you. Only the top of a man’s head, a ball cap, his face toward the floor of the hall. You can tell by the slump of his shoulders he is exhausted. You slide the chain back.

“Come in,” you say as you open the door. Frank steps in sideways, glancing up at you. You let out a gruff sigh. This particular beating looks worse than any you’ve seen yet.

“Hey,” he grunts at you. He tosses his cap onto the kitchen table and pulls a chair out. The feet scrape on the floor. He nearly collapses into it. His body looks so heavy, like gravity has gotten stronger, pulls harder on him than anyone. He runs his hand over his hair and leans forward, nearly puts his face in his hands but thinks better of it when his busted cheek brushes against his palm. He rests his elbows on his thighs and lets his head hang. You quietly close the door and slide the chain back into place.

Your bare feet are quiet on the tile floor but are the only sound in the silent apartment. He doesn’t look up as you approach him. You stand at his side and sigh lightly. You touch the back of his head, gingerly, run your fingertips down his neck. So far, the back of his neck is the only part of Frank not covered in blood. There’s some there too though. You make another pass, equally gentle, but with your entire hand from the top of his head to his neck and let your palm rest against him.

You’re standing close enough to him that he leans slightly against you, shoulder to thigh. You wish you could take the weight off his shoulders but you’ll happily accept any that he’s willing to offer, even if it is only to prop him up. It lasts only for a beat. He can’t share the load. It’s not pride or ego. It’s a mix of fear and compassion. When he straightens up you slide down to squat next to him. You keep your hand on him the whole time, some small comfort for both of you.

“Hi there,” you nearly whisper. You dip your head as you speak, finding his face, assessing the damage. “Hey.” You reach up and gently put a fingertip under his chin. He lifts his head, barely, and meets your eyes.

“Hey,” he replies. He is beyond exhausted and, this time, beyond beaten. You suck in air between your teeth and drop your hand from his chin to his knee. But you smile up at him sweetly, a closed-lip smile that spreads up to your eyes. He almost smiles back at you but winces.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” you tell him as you stand up. You hear him let out a deep breath. You straighten your pj shorts as you pad through the apartment gathering supplies. Occasionally you glance over your shoulder to make sure Frank is still upright. You run through the list in your head and as you circle back through the kitchen you snag a beer from the fridge.

You lean over the table and let some of the items fall from your arms as you use a foot to slide a chair out. You sit down while pulling your chair closer to Frank, face to face if he sits up straight. He hasn’t yet. So you line up your supplies and then crack open the beer.

“Here. Drink this.” You hold the open beer bottle in front of him. He finally looks up and slowly lifts his head. It looks like it takes all of his remaining strength to rase his arm to take the beer from your hand. He takes a swig of it and sets it and his arm on the table. He leans back just a little in the chair.

You turn back to the table and your supplies, grab a washcloth and the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You want him to lean back if it’s comfortable so you stand and step between his legs. He takes another drink of beer and rests his arm on the table again. Then he looks up at you. You have the cloth in one hand, alcohol in the other, and a tightness in your chest from those deep, dark, haunted eyes. That particular expression always makes you ache to comfort him, relieve even the smallest amount of his agony.

“I don’t have to warn you, you already know how this hurts. I’m guessing this is the least pain you’ve felt today.” You smile down at him and push some of his hair back from his forehead with the back of your hand.

Frank’s eyes soften slightly as he looks up at you. You feel his left hand move from his leg to yours as he slips his fingers behind your knee, up the bare skin of the back of your thigh. He’s not going any further, only wants the contact with you, but your skin still breaks out into gooseflesh. His touch is gentle for such large, rough hands. You let out the breath you had been holding and dab the cloth against the mouth of the alcohol bottle. You start at his forehead and move your way slowly down his busted and bruised face until there’s no more white on the cloth.

He only winces a few times and never much more than a reflex and never opens his eyes. Only once did he involuntarily pull away, but his cheek is split wide open, even he couldn’t override his body’s response to the alcohol in the open wound. You hold the cloth away for a beat as his fingers reflexively grip your leg. Then you go back to your job. It hurts him but it has to be done.

“Thank you,” Frank mumbles as you step back to sit down again, his fingers trailing off your skin as you move out of their reach. You toss the cloth on the far side of the table and start to set up the first aid kit and a small bowl you fill with alcohol. You close the bottle and look at him while you unpack suture supplies, bandages, ointment.

“Did you finish it? Is Amy going to be safe?”

He nods. Just barely. Even nodding hurts.

“Do you know where she’ll go?” You doubt it. He doesn’t want to be a liability to the people he cares about. Not knowing is safer, easier.

“Nah,” he answers as he looks down at his clothes, examines his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. He takes a drink of his beer. “Nah, I gave her some cash and got her on a bus.” Another swallow. “Maybe she’ll make something out of her life. Good kid.”

“Yeah, she was,” you nod. “Just misguided. Happens to most of us.” You stand up again and slide some things on the table closer to Frank, gently taking his beer from his hand and setting it out of your way. You step back into your position between his legs and before you can begin he reaches up and holds your hips in each hand. He leans forward and rests the top of his head against your stomach. You run you hands over his shoulders, one up the back of his neck. You make soothing sounds but you never shush him. The last thing you want is to make him feel like he can’t say whatever he needs to. These sounds aren’t words as much as gentle humming sounds mixed with it’s-okay-s. The tender moment doesn’t last long. Frank raises his head and slides his hands down your legs. He’s not holding your legs, only resting his hands against them as his forearms rest on his thighs.

You both know this normally sucks but it’s going to be so much worse without a topical anesthetic. Not that this is unusual for Frank, but this split cheek is awful. You decide to do it first. You choose the smallest needle and thread from your medical kit, the best choice you have for facial sutures but still bigger than you want.

You look down at him, soft smile on your face, and find him watching you. A touch of adoration mixed in with the exhaustion.

“This is going to hurt like a motherfucker babe,” you warn him unnecessarily.

“Don’t drag it out,” he tries to grin in that cheeky way but it hurts too much. “Get on with it.”

So you do. Occasionally, you feel his fingers tighten on your legs but Frank’s overall reaction to these stitches is a narrowing of his eyes, small twitches in his lower eyelids, and muscles flexing in his clenched jaw. The apartment is so quiet that you can hear, as well as feel, the sutures as you stitch him up. Frank’s breathing has a rasping quality that you don’t like in the least. Your corpsman’s instincts run through the list of possibilities and, combined with the shallowness of each breath, you’re pretty sure he has some rib damage and maybe a few hits to the throat.

As you tie off and cut the thread you assess the other wound on his chin. That could use a few stitches as well. You go about cleaning your needle, threading it, and try not to be distracted by Frank’s fingers grazing a path up and down the outsides of your legs. He’s started to relax. The endorphins from the pain of cleaning and stitching are washing over his brain. His breathing has begun to deepen and slow.

You look back at him and tilt his face up to yours by running your fingertip up the line of his jaw to his chin. You work silently, this area less damaged but requiring a bit more concentration. After finishing these sutures you drop the needle in the bowl of alcohol. You assess the smaller cuts and splits on his face and deem butterfly bandages appropriate. You unwrap a few and start closing the wounds on his forehead, his other cheek, above the bridge of his nose. When you finish you lean down and kiss the top of his head and cradle the back of his head in your hands.

Frank’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, over your shorts, to the small of your back. His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top to rest against your bare skin. Unexpectedly, he leans his head forward and you straighten with a little surprise but you don’t stiffen. You let him rest his forehead between your breasts. Through the thin fabric of your tank, his breath is warm against your skin. You gently pet the back of his head and then rest your hands just above his shoulders. His shoulders are shaking a bit, trembling actually. You don’t think he is crying but he’s processing a lot of emotions after a day like this.

You both stay that way for a moment, not too long, and he sighs loudly. You move your hands from his shoulders. When he looks up at you, his eyes are red rimmed but a little less exhausted.

“Alright big man, come ‘ere.” You take a step back and gesture for him to stand up. You smile broadly at him, encouraging him that he can do it, that there is enough energy left in him. Frank groans as he stands but grins at you sheepishly once standing. He rolls his eyes at your mock clapping, praising his effort.

You step closer to him again and the smile falls from your face. You dread seeing how much worse shape his body is in if his face was that bad. It can’t be avoided.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as you move your hands to the hem of his shirt. “I’ll be fine.” But Frank looks away from you and clenches his jaw, chewing the inside of his lip. He doesn’t have much fight left in him.

You continue on your quest and gasp “ouch” when you see his bruised torso. It would be a miracle if he doesn’t have a cracked rib, but it’s probably more like two or even three. You pull his shirt up to his chest and he acquiesces, raising his arms up to help you. He jerks the shirt over his head and his arms out of the sleeves and flings the shirt on the floor. Even his arms are covered in dark purple bruises. You want to soothe him, run your fingers over his injuries, but you only allow your hands to hover above him without touching.

Frank’s face is a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and anger. And it infurates you that the anger isn’t at who did this to him but at himself for being a “burden” on you. You put a mental pin in that discussion, saving it for a better time. He won’t even look at you at the moment so there’s no need to try. Your compassion builds from your stomach and spreads a warmth across your chest as you realize he is actually embarrassed. Does he think that you see these injuries as anything other than his sacrifice? They certainly are not evidence of inaptitude or failure. Surely he doesn’t think that. That conversation will happen sooner rather than later but not tonight.

“Hey,” you prod gently. “Hey?” You wait and Frank eventually turns to look at you.

“Hi there, Mister,” you say as his eyes meet yours. “There he is.” You gently touch his face in the one spot not cut open. “Stay here with me, would ya?”

He tries to return your smile but can barely manage it. He looks down but presses his face into your open hand. He is so epically tired. You glance down at his chest again and know there is nothing you can do with your limited first aid supplies to help him. Maybe wrap his ribs after he cleans up.

“You wanna just do what I tell you for a bit? No argument?”

Frank nods against your hand then straightens up and clears his throat.

“Yeah, sure, whatcha got in mind, doll?” His lips twitch into a lopsided smirk and you would have hit him playfully if there were anywhere to hit him that wouldn’t hurt. You smile at him before squatting in front of him to unlace his boots. No easy feat given how long the blood-soaked laces have had to dry. When you have them loose enough you stand up so he can toe them off.

You casually slide a finger into one of his belt loops and give it a light tug. “Come on big boy.” You flash him a quick smile before leading him to the bathroom.

You can feel him watching you as you walk. You always can. He is hypervigilant about everything but he seems to study your movements, your muscles, any time you move. He’s seen you in less clothing but you like the way your skimpy pjs leave some things to his imagination. Your brain shuts off those thoughts the moment you enter the bathroom.

Frank stops in the doorway and leans against the jamb. You work on readying the shower, getting the right water temp, clean towels. You nod your head in the direction of his pants. “Those. Off.” He groans as he straightens up but you hear his belt, then zipper, as he complies.

The two of you haven’t done this exact dance before but so many variations on it that he know you have to do this for him. He can object, occasionally you let him fall into bed untended to as long as you get his bloody clothes off first. But just as he trusted his corpsman when he was deployed, he trusts you. Marines’ habit of following corpsman's’ instructions is beneficial, especially these days.

You turn toward Frank and quickly survey the damage to his legs. Not as bad as you expected but not great. The bruise on his shin is worrisome but the rest look reasonable, given the circumstances. Your eyes travel back up his battered body to his face as you walk the short distance to him.

“You gonna leave your shorts on while you shower?” you tease. You smile only slightly to indicate that you’re teasing because you aren’t sure if he wants this tonight. Not sure if he wants to be alone, vulnerable and alone, instead of vulnerable with you. You slip a finger under the elastic of his boxer briefs and wait. Wait for him to signal his decision.

Frank raises a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He focuses intently on you ear, then your cheek, then your lips, and finally your eyes. His hand lingers near your neck and shoulder, fingertips barely touching you. His eyes flit back and forth between yours, reading your face, thinking, deciding. You wait. Always will.

“Nah, easier to shower without them.” He is nearly expressionless as he says this, a hit of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Before you can get started “helping” him remove his shorts, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Not quite a kiss, yet. He’s tired. You press forward into his mouth with yours and he kisses back. His lips are slow, tender, and cautious, and not because of the cut on his lower lip. He always starts off that way. As if he were unsure if he will break you, if he will break, or if you will finally rebuff him. You’ve never sure. You slowly, gently encourage him by running the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip while you kiss him back. That does the trick.

Frank snakes his hand from your neck to the back of your head and entwines his fingers in your hair while pulling your mouth harder against his. It’s passionate but not urgent. Nothing tonight is urgent. But this feels amazing, as if he hadn’t kissed you ages or would never get to kiss you again. You feel lightheaded when he pulls back. His hand stays behind your head, thumb rubbing small circles on your neck.

You remembered your objective and start to get him out of his shorts but he stops you and slides them down, steps out of them, and walks to the shower. He almost grabs your hand as he passes but lets his fingers graze your palm.

“I’m here, Frank. I’ll be in the other room,” you announce as you walk out of the bathroom, “but I’m here.”

You busy yourself with cleaning up, putting everything back, anything that doesn’t go into the bathroom. You want him to have some privacy, safe privacy to breathe. You take a drink from his open beer and pick up his shirt and boots. So much blood. You can sort that tomorrow. He’s still showering as you put the chairs back in place under the table. You plop down on the couch, sitting curled up on your feet, and rub your brow. You take a few deep breaths and then another sip of the beer. As you set it on the coffee table you hear the bathroom water turn off. You pick up your phone from the table, check for missed notifications, then silence it. Frank walks out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, as you are placing your phone back on the coffee table.

“Feel better?”

He grunts affirmatively and smiles. He walks over to you and takes a drink from the beer. Before you really know what is happening, Frank lays down on the couch, barely fitting because he lay with his head in your lap.

(May be continued…)