#Maggie’s Musical Mind

[maggiesrecordshop]

Song recommendation!

Hi people :) Here’s a song you should give a listen -

It’s pretty good!

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

art history playlist moodboard – thisby vibes

The Fisherman’s House – Claude Monet // Dover – Richard Wilson // Tarbert Castle, Scotland – Hans Gude // Étretat – George Inness // Neptune’s Horses – Walter Crane // Low Tide at Varengeville – Claude Monet // Rocky Coast Scene at Howth – William Orpen // Castle Urquhart, Loch Ness – Hugh William Williams // The Cliffs of Villiers – Gustave Noel 

[sakuhina]

DOES ANYONE REMEMBER HER

i barely remember anything from the show but i vividly remember loving it and all the songs. there was even a flash game i played all the time

[ks-lair]

Eklegi's Captive Audience

Been a bit since we saw Maggie, seems she's met a friend

Eklegi, a biotech satyr and Jason the drone! Fun loving,quite good with nanites and music... What's not to love?

Maggie certainly seems... taken by the tune. Perhaps he ought to show the tf properties of the nanites next...

check out that link if you want to learn more about my characters!

[skylerlovesyou]

i’m so normal about the lineup for all things go festival in DC. i’m actually so fine about it

[roseyreveries]

Hunted

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part Two <- click!

Summary: Hydra infiltrates SHIELD and takes control of Bucky again, setting the Winter Soldier on course to take out his target: you.

CW: Guns, Violence, Blood, Angst, not very movie accurate, the Avengers being weaker than usual for plot

Directory

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The bass from the radio thrummed in time with my heartbeat as I belted out the lyrics to the song blaring from the speakers. My sister, Maggie, laughed beside me, swaying in her seat, her off-key voice matching mine perfectly. We’d done this a hundred times before—road trips, late-night drives, blasting karaoke-worthy tunes that never failed to lift our spirits. Today was no different; it was just us, the open road, and the kind of freedom that only a highway can bring.

I glanced over at Maggie, her face scrunched up in exaggerated concentration as she hit the high note, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re killing it!” I shouted over the music.

“Please, you’re the one auditioning for a Grammy!” she shot back, winking at me.

The world outside was a blur of cars, the sun dipping low in the sky, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and pink. I felt alive, invincible. But then, out of nowhere, everything changed.

It happened so fast. One moment we were carefree, and the next, I was slamming on the brakes. A figure stepped onto the road, right in front of our car—a man with long dark hair, clad in black, his presence commanding the space like he owned it. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Bucky Barnes.

My heart seized in my chest. His eyes locked onto mine through the windshield, cold and unyielding. I barely had time to register the large gun in his hands before he aimed it directly at us. My breath caught in my throat, the world around me slowing to a terrifying crawl.

“Holy shit!” Maggie screamed, her hands flying to the dashboard as if she could somehow shield herself from what was about to happen.

The next second, a loud bang echoed, piercing through the chaos of the traffic. I watched, helpless, as a disk shot from the barrel of Bucky’s gun, hurtling straight at us. It slammed into the underside of the car with a deafening thud, and before I could even process what was happening, the world exploded.

The blast sent a shockwave through the car, and we were airborne. The car flipped violently, the screech of metal against asphalt and the shattering of glass filling my ears. My body lurched against the seatbelt, the force knocking the wind out of me as the car tumbled. Up became down, and down became up—everything spinning in a disorienting blur of sound and pain.

My vision flickered, the interior of the car now a shattered mess of broken glass, smoke, and twisted metal. I tried to scream, to reach for Maggie, but my voice was lost in the cacophony. The car finally came to a bone-jarring stop, landing upside down on the road.

For a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears. I blinked, the sharp taste of blood in my mouth, my mind struggling to catch up. Everything hurt—my head, my arms, my chest. My vision was blurred, but I turned to my right, my heart hammering wildly.

“Maggie!” I croaked, the word barely a whisper. She was hanging upside down in her seat, her eyes closed, a small trickle of blood running down her forehead. I reached out, my fingers brushing against her arm, desperately trying to shake her awake.

My hands trembled as I reached out to check Maggie for injuries. I forced myself to focus, pushing through the blinding panic. I ran my hands along her arms, her legs, feeling for breaks or dislocations. Her pulse was strong, steady under my fingertips— a small comfort in the midst of the wreckage. I checked her pupils, watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, all the while praying she would open her eyes and tell me this was all a bad dream.

I knew what to look for— what signs meant danger and what was just superficial. Years of training kicked in, the muscle memory of countless missions and drills guiding me through every step. I wasn’t just a regular sister panicking in the aftermath of a crash. I was more than that, had been for a long time now.

Maggie didn’t know the truth. No one did. To everyone else, I was just me— the sister who sang too loudly, who drove too fast, who lived a life that was seemingly normal. But behind closed doors, under the cover of night and secrecy, I was something else entirely.

I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Not just any agent, either. I’d climbed the ranks quicker than anyone expected, my skills and determination earning me a seat at the table alongside the Avengers themselves. I’d worked operations so classified, most people wouldn’t even believe they existed. I’d been trained by the best, learned to fight, to strategize, to survive. And now, all of that training, all of those missions, came flooding back in a rush.

Maggie’s injuries were minor—cuts, bruises, a gash on her forehead that looked worse than it was. She’d be okay, at least physically. The relief was so overwhelming, I almost cried. But there was no time for that. I needed to get us out of here before Bucky— or whoever the hell he was working for— made another move.

I glanced outside, taking in the chaos around us. Bucky was still there, his expression as unreadable as ever, but he wasn’t alone anymore. Other figures moved in the shadows, closing in on the wreckage. I cursed under my breath. This wasn’t just a rogue attack; it was a full-blown ambush. And we were smack in the middle of it.

I reached for the hidden compartment in the console, the one Maggie didn’t know about. My fingers brushed the cold metal of my concealed weapon— a sleek, high-tech piece courtesy of Tony Stark himself. I’d been armed and ready, as always, just in case. I hadn’t expected to need it on a karaoke drive with my sister, but that was the life I led— the life no one knew about.

I checked the safety, my eyes flicking to Maggie once more. She was still unconscious, but she’d be okay. I had to believe that. I had to keep her safe, no matter what.

I eased myself out of the wreckage, gun in hand, and moved with purpose. The agents in the shadows were getting closer, and I recognized the insignia on their uniforms. Hydra. Of course. Bucky was working with Hydra— or maybe he was brainwashed again. I didn’t have time to figure it out; all I knew was that we were in serious danger.

Bucky’s eyes met mine, and for a split second, something flickered there. Recognition? Regret? I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Right now, he was my enemy, and I had a job to do.

“Stay back!” I shouted, aiming my gun at the nearest Hydra agent. They hesitated, their eyes flicking to Bucky for guidance. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging through my veins. I was outnumbered, outgunned, but I’d been in worse situations. I knew how to handle myself. I knew how to fight.

And I was going to fight like hell to get Maggie out of this alive.

“Bucky,” I called out, my voice steady despite the chaos around me. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but they’re not in charge of you anymore. You’re safe, Buck.”

He hesitated, his grip tightening on his gun. The seconds stretched on, an unbearable tension hanging in the air. I didn’t know if he’d listen, if he even could. But I had to try. For Maggie. For all the people who’d counted on me to keep them safe.

For the person I used to believe Bucky was.

His gaze shifted, something softening in his expression. I held my breath, praying for a miracle. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he wore so well.

“Move,” he ordered the Hydra agents, his voice flat, emotionless. The moment was gone. He wasn’t Bucky Barnes, the hero. He was the Winter Soldier. And there was no reasoning with him.

I steeled myself, my grip on the gun firm. If Bucky was going to make me fight, then I would. There was no turning back now.

I stepped forward, adrenaline surging through my veins, and fired the first shot. The Hydra agents scattered, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. They fanned out, ducking behind cars and debris, their weapons raised. I squeezed the trigger again, aiming for the nearest target. The bullet hit its mark, sending the agent sprawling to the ground. But there were too many of them, and I was just one person.

The highway erupted into chaos— bullets whizzed past, shattering the remnants of glass around me. I ducked low, using the twisted metal of our car as cover, my mind racing to formulate a plan. There was no backup coming; it was just me against a small army. But I’d faced worse odds, and I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

I darted out from behind the car, my movements fluid and precise. I fired off two more shots, dropping another agent before spinning to take cover behind a cement barrier. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder that I was still alive, still fighting.

They kept coming, relentless and determined. I counted at least six, maybe more, their dark uniforms blending into the shadows of the wreckage. I fired again, hitting another in the shoulder, but the rest were closing in, tightening the circle around me. I moved quickly, pivoting and shooting, each motion a calculated effort to keep them at bay.

A bullet grazed my arm, the sharp sting slicing through the adrenaline. I hissed through clenched teeth, ignoring the pain. I had no time to bleed, no time to think. I fired again, but my gun clicked— empty. I ducked behind a nearby car door, my fingers fumbling for another clip, but I came up empty. I was out of ammo.

Shit.

I crouched behind the door, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. My mind raced, calculating my next move. I could hear the Hydra agents regrouping, their footsteps growing louder, the sound of their weapons being loaded. I glanced down at my gun, flipping it open to confirm what I already knew— no bullets, no way out. My eyes darted around, searching for anything I could use, but the highway was a wasteland of broken cars and debris.

I was trapped.

Then, with a deafening crack, the door was ripped away, torn from its hinges like it was made of paper. I stumbled back, my eyes widening as Bucky stepped forward, his silhouette framed by the chaos beyond. He moved with a lethal grace, his metal arm still raised, the door now discarded at his feet.

I scrambled backward, my hands searching for anything to defend myself, but all I found were shards of glass and twisted metal. Bucky’s gaze was locked onto me, his expression unreadable, his footsteps deliberate and unhurried. He advanced, and I kept retreating, my back hitting the wreckage of another car.

Just as he reached for me, something red streaked through the air, smashing into Bucky with the force of a freight train. The impact sent him flying, his body hurtling across the highway before crashing into the side barrier with a bone-rattling thud. I blinked, stunned, my brain struggling to process what just happened.

I turned my head, and there he was— Iron Man, standing with his fist raised, his helmet gleaming under the dying light of the sun. The red metal glove that had just knocked Bucky out of the way hovered mid-air for a split second before it shot back to his arm, snapping into place with a hiss.

“Thought you only worked at night,” Tony quipped, his voice crackling through the suit’s speakers, though the concern was evident beneath the sarcasm. He didn’t waste a second, his repulsors flaring as he took off to engage the Hydra agents swarming the scene.

I barely had time to register Tony’s arrival before two more figures emerged from the chaos. Black Widow and Hawkeye moved like shadows, their motions fluid and deadly. Natasha’s guns blazed as she took down the agents closest to me, each shot precise and unerring. Clint loosed arrows at an impossible speed, his sharp eyes targeting every Hydra soldier who dared to step forward.

“Go!” Natasha shouted, nodding her head towards the car where Maggie still lay, her voice sharp and commanding. “We’ve got this!”

I snapped back into action, scrambling to my feet and sprinting towards Maggie. She was still unconscious, the faint rise and fall of her chest the only reassurance I needed to know she was still hanging on. I fumbled with her seatbelt, my hands slick with sweat, and pulled her free, cradling her limp form as gently as I could.

I scanned the road, spotting a bystander— a man in his thirties who looked more terrified than I felt. “Help her!” I yelled, thrusting Maggie into his arms. “Take her to the nearest hospital!” He nodded, wide-eyed but willing, and hurried away, cradling my sister as he dashed toward the edge of the highway where it was safer.

With Maggie safely out of immediate harm, I turned back, just in time to see Natasha sprinting towards me. She tossed something in my direction, and I caught it instinctively— two matte black handheld firearms, their sleek, familiar weight grounding me instantly. My usual weapons. The ones that had seen me through countless missions, each nick and scratch a testament to the fights I’d survived.

“Thanks, Nat,” I breathed, loading the guns with a practiced ease. “I owe you one.”

“Just another Tuesday,” she quipped, her eyes scanning the area for threats as we ducked behind a nearby car, taking cover from the barrage of bullets raining down from the Hydra agents still standing. Tony and Clint were keeping most of them busy, but there were still plenty to go around.

I fired off a few rounds, picking off agents as they attempted to advance. The familiar rhythm of combat settled over me, a strange comfort in the midst of the chaos. I turned to Natasha, my voice low but urgent. “What the hell happened? Why is Bucky like this again?”

Natasha grimaced, reloading her guns. “There was a breach at the tower. Hydra got in, and they took Bucky. Managed to wipe everything— reset him completely. He’s back to being the Winter Soldier.”

My stomach dropped, a cold pit forming as her words sank in. “And now he’s trying to kill me?”

“That’s the part we don’t get,” Natasha said, her tone edged with frustration. “The intel we managed to pull says you’re his primary target, but we don’t know why. Whatever programming they shoved into him, it’s all centered on you.”

My mind raced, trying to piece together a motive, a reason— anything that would explain why Hydra would send the Winter Soldier after me, of all people. I thought of every mission, every time I’d crossed paths with them, but nothing added up. I was high up in S.H.I.E.L.D., sure, but I was far from their most dangerous enemy. At least, I thought so.

“We’ll figure it out,” Natasha promised, her eyes meeting mine, fierce and determined. “But first, we get through this. And we stop Bucky before he does something we can’t undo.”

I nodded, steeling myself. I couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if we failed. I had to focus, had to keep fighting, because there was no other option. Not when Bucky was still out there, lost and controlled, a weapon aimed directly at me.

Natasha and I exchanged a glance, and then we moved as one—emerging from cover, weapons blazing. The air was thick with smoke and gunfire, the acrid smell of burning rubber stinging my nose. But I pushed forward, each step driven by the need to protect the people I cared about, to find a way to bring Bucky back from whatever hell he was trapped in.

The battle raged on around us, a whirlwind of gunfire, explosions, and shouting. Tony blasted through Hydra agents, his repulsors sending shockwaves that tore through their ranks. Clint’s arrows flew with pinpoint accuracy, each one taking down an enemy as he moved with effortless grace. Natasha was relentless, her strikes precise and lethal as she fought her way through the chaos.

But Bucky was the eye of the storm, moving with deadly efficiency. He tore through Hydra and Avengers alike, his metal arm swinging with brutal force. Every hit landed with bone-shattering precision, every movement calculated to maim or kill. The Winter Soldier wasn’t just in the fight—he was dominating it.

Tony launched a barrage of energy blasts at Bucky, but Bucky dodged with inhuman reflexes, closing the distance in a matter of seconds. He tackled Tony mid-air, dragging him down to the pavement with a force that cracked the asphalt. Tony hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, but he was up in an instant, firing another repulsor blast that sent Bucky stumbling back.

“Stay down, Tin Man!” Tony growled, taking to the air again, trying to put some distance between them. But Bucky was relentless. He lunged, his metal fist smashing into Tony’s side with a clang that echoed through the highway. Tony’s suit sparked, systems flickering, but he kept fighting, blasting at Bucky with everything he had.

Bucky ducked under Tony’s next attack, moving in close. His metal arm swung up, catching Tony square in the chest. Fingers of steel closed around the arc reactor, the very heart of Tony’s suit. With a vicious twist, Bucky ripped it out, crushing it in his grip. Sparks flew as Tony’s suit shut down, his systems failing with a flicker of dying lights. Tony fell, gasping as the suit collapsed around him, powerless and struggling to breathe.

Natasha rushed in, her movements a blur as she aimed for Bucky’s legs, trying to trip him up. She landed a hit, her boot connecting with the side of his knee, but Bucky barely staggered. He swung his arm, catching her mid-strike, and sent her flying into the wreckage of a nearby car. She hit hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Natasha tried to rise, her expression set in determination, but Bucky was already on her. He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly before slamming her back down. Natasha gasped, struggling, her hands clawing at his arm, but she couldn’t break free.

Clint loosed an arrow, the projectile striking Bucky’s shoulder with a solid thud. Bucky snarled, releasing Natasha, who crumpled to the ground, clutching her side. Clint fired again, but Bucky deflected it with his metal arm, the arrow splintering against the steel. Bucky moved in, his fist a blur as he knocked Clint’s bow from his hands. Clint ducked under a punch, rolling to the side and grabbing another arrow, but Bucky was faster. His metal arm swung like a sledgehammer, catching Clint across the ribs and sending him crashing into the guardrail. Clint grunted in pain, struggling to get back up, but Bucky was already turning away, his focus shifting.

And then his eyes locked onto me.

A chill ran through me as Bucky turned, his gaze zeroing in like a predator who’d just spotted its prey. I was out of ammo, my guns discarded on the ground, my body aching from the earlier hits. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I scrambled backward, my hands searching for anything I could use as a weapon. But all I found were shards of glass and twisted metal, nothing that could stop him.

Bucky advanced, his footsteps slow and deliberate, each one echoing like a drumbeat in my ears. I swung a metal pipe, but he caught it effortlessly, wrenching it from my hands and tossing it aside as if it weighed nothing. I stumbled back, my back hitting the wreckage of a car, nowhere left to run.

“Bucky, please,” I tried, my voice cracking.

He didn’t respond. He was right in front of me now, his expression blank, his eyes cold and empty. There was no sign of the man I knew— only the Winter Soldier, a weapon with one purpose: to eliminate his target.

I swung again, this time with a jagged piece of glass, but he deflected it easily, sending the shards clattering to the ground. His fist slammed into my side, pain exploding in my ribs. I gasped, falling to my knees as the world spun around me. I was exhausted, every part of me screaming to give up, to lie down and let it end.

But I couldn’t. Not with Tony down, Clint barely standing, and Natasha struggling to breathe. I couldn’t let this be the end. Not like this.

I pushed myself up, using the car behind me for support, and faced him. “I know damn well you’re in there somewhere. This is not you, Buck. You need to wake up. Please.”

For a second, Bucky’s arm hesitated, his gaze flickering. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, unyielding stare of the Winter Soldier. He raised his metal arm, poised to strike, ready to finish what he started.

In that moment, everything seemed to slow. I could hear the faint sound of Tony struggling to get his suit back online, Clint’s pained breathing, Natasha’s quiet groan as she tried to push herself up. And Bucky, standing over me, ready to deliver the final blow.

Bucky’s metal arm was raised, ready to deliver the final blow. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might burst from my chest, every instinct screaming at me to survive, but I was cornered, and there was nowhere left to run. I stared up at him, my breath hitching in terror as I crumbled against the wreckage, tears streaming down my face. The Bucky I knew isn’t there anymore. This is it.

“Please, Bucky,” I sobbed, my voice breaking under the weight of my fear. “Please don’t do this. Please! I don’t want to die.”

My words were a desperate, frantic plea, spilling out in a torrent of terror as I shook uncontrollably. His expression was blank, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he loomed over me. I pressed myself further back against the twisted metal, trying to make myself as small as possible, but there was no escaping him. I could barely breathe through the sobs racking my chest, each breath coming in panicked gasps.

“Bucky, I’m begging you!” I cried, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this. Please… please, let me live!” The words were tumbling out of me, broken and raw, and I was shaking so hard I could barely get them out. “I’m not your enemy! Bucky, please!”

His arm didn’t falter, his face a mask of cold determination. I squeezed my eyes shut, my entire body wracked with sobs as I screamed, “Please, Bucky!” The second I saw his arm swing down, I looked the other way and screamed, “I love you! I love you!”

The words ripped out of me, raw and desperate, cutting through the chaos. I opened my eyes to see what had happened. Why wasn’t I hit? His arm was stopped, freezing mid-swing. His eyes widened, confusion flickering across his features as if he were suddenly woken from a trance. The soldier’s unyielding stare gave way to something else—something conflicted, like he was struggling to understand.

Bucky stumbled back, his hand flying to his head as if he were trying to claw the commands out of his mind. He groaned, a guttural sound of pain that echoed in my ears. I watched, tears still streaming down my face, as he fought with himself, his body convulsing with the effort to regain control. His breaths were ragged, each one a struggle against the chains of Hydra’s programming.

He let out a tortured scream, the sound filled with agony as he staggered back, his fingers digging into his scalp. His metal arm jerked erratically, twitching as if caught between following orders and breaking free. It was like watching someone try to tear themselves apart from the inside out. My heart ached at the sight, every second a painful reminder of how deeply he was trapped.

“Bucky…” I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached out a hand, but he didn’t hear me. He was lost in the battle within his mind, his body shaking violently as he continued to scream, his face contorted in a mask of pain and fury.

His feet shuffled back further, his back hitting a crumpled car as he slumped down, his hands clutching his head. He pounded his fist against the ground, each hit sending cracks through the pavement, each hit an attempt to silence the war inside his own head. I wanted to reach out, to help him, but I couldn’t move, my own body weakened from the fight and the fear.

As Bucky struggled, I heard the distant sound of heavy footsteps— the unmistakable thud of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushing in. My vision blurred, the adrenaline finally wearing off and leaving a dull, throbbing pain in its place. The world around me began to fade, the sounds of Bucky’s anguished cries and the agents shouting orders blending into a muffled haze.

I tried to keep my eyes open, to hold on just a little longer, but my strength was gone. My body slumped, the last of my energy spent as darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw was Bucky, still fighting against the storm in his mind, and then everything went black.

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[somehow-a-human]

Whose POV is it Anyway?

"Your 'Something's Wrong' voice."

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Hallo assorted ethereal and occult beings! I'm back to break down the POV of different scenes in detail! Starting with episode 1, and notably, the coffee shop scene when Crowley comes to meet Aziraphale for the first time in present day & the argument about Gabriel!

For reference & context, I recommend reading these posts:

Whose POV is it Anyway? - Introduction

Lens Filters

Let's jump straight in!

We open Season one's present day with Crowley and Shax on the bench in the park, and in this scene the Black Diffusion FX filter is in Full Effect, and Crowley's sideburns are short.

The color is well saturated, but still cool-toned and bright, indicative of Crowley's POV.

Then when Aziraphale visits Maggie, listens to his music, and Gabriel arrives to Aziraphale, the Bronze Glimmer Glass filter is used.

The lighting is warm, golden, soft & hazy. Aziraphale's POV.

This brings us to the coffee shop scene.

I've stolen this photo from @embracing-the-ineffable 's post about The Appearing Honolulu Roast Sign which you should go check out if you haven't yet. But I'd like to draw your attention to something subtler here, the tone of the top two images and the bottom two. Pull up the episode and watch it if you'd like as well.

When Crowley walks into the coffee shop and sits down, the lighting is warm and hazy, because Aziraphale had been there alone so far. There is then a cut, Crowley's sideburns are short, the Honolulu Roast sign notably appears, but the scene is also noticeably (if you're looking for it) clearer and more vibrant, the warm haze is gone. I think we've switched from Aziraphale's POV to Crowley's POV here, and I think that's then confirmed by Crowley immediately beginning to give Aziraphale a bit of a a read about his "somethings wrong voice". We're broken out of Aziraphale's fairytale filter POV into Crowley's which is a bit colder and more realistic.

They then head back to the bookshop where Crowley discovers Jimbriel.

As soon as they're in the door of the bookshop the warm hazy Bronze Glimmer Glass filter is back and Crowley's sideburns are long. He removes his glasses, he's relaxed, and then he's jumpscared out of his boots by Jimbriel. Aziraphale's POV.

Crowley drags Aziraphale to the backroom and despite the warm yellow paint on the walls, the hazy warm tone is gone and I believe we've returned to the Black Diffusion FX filter, or Crowley's POV. Additionally, his sideburns are short again. Crowley is angry, terrified, and stressed now. He's not the kindest with his words and refuses to help Aziraphale.

When Crowley storms out, his walk back through the bookshop is marked by another POV change with longer sideburns, in the warm hazy tones of the BGG Aziraphale filter, and a notable shot of him retrieving his glasses beside the plate of eccles cakes. Two details that I believe would stand out in Aziraphale's imagination and mind. He would notice Crowley's eyes, and remember the eccles cakes.

Outside in the street, Crowley's sideburns are once again short, and the filter is cool toned again, indicating we've switched to BDFX or Crowley's POV again. He's angry, he's struck by lightning, and gets in the Bentley to angrily drive off.

NEXT

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

[melbatron5000]

Two Crowleys

A while ago, the wonderful mind of @noneorother posted this meta about the puppets in the magic shop.

The observation that there appear to be two Crowleys in the shot of the puppet arrangement had me absolutely scratching my head and thinking they must be mistaken somehow.

(pic from @noneorother)

But then I got my hands on some of the Amazon X-ray extras, and discovered these little gems from the album covers in Maggie's record shop:

Now, going back to our color-coding for a moment, we may not know what all the colors in Good Omens mean, and we may not have all the colors down. But we do know a few, and we know that color-coding in Good Omens does exist, and that it matters.

Auburn and vavoom yellow are Crowley's colors. They are the colors of his hair and eyes. Black and scarlet red are the colors he wears. So those four colors are Crowley-coded colors. Okay.

Thus, these two record albums from Maggie's shop are Crowley-colored. Now, notice something important? Well, two things. The first -- Raga Koboj has TWO little sharp-clawed critters peering out at us from behind blinds. I daresay they are meant to be little cartoon demons, yes? And CT Bazz: Dank Balaclava features a face in a red ski mask. People usually wear ski masks if A. it's cold as tits outside, or B. if they're trying to hide their identity. So both albums feature Crowley colors AND images of hiding -- plus one features an image of twinsies.

The other important thing takes us back to color-coding. What other color do we see here besides our well-known Crowley colors? On Raga Koboj, the auburn and vavoom yellow blend into each other -- creating orange between them. And Dank Balaclava features a cigarette being lit -- with a little flair of orange fire.

(Edit to add: The name of that first album is Raga Koboj, which is a style of Indian music. A very famous tale in India is of the Warrior Goddess Kahli fighting demons who kept replicating themselves. Every time a drop of blood would hit the ground, a new demon would spring up. She went on a rampage trying to destroy them all, and her husband had to throw himself in her path to stop her. Hmm . . .)

This leads me to believe two things: Yes, TWO Crowleys. One Crowley in hiding, the other a twin. And that orange is Crowley's secret color.

Where else do we see orange?

Yep, the pillars in Aziraphale's shop. Which we also know is painted Crowley Auburn on the outside and Vavoom Yellow on the inside. With accents of this nice saffron orange on the pillars.

Want more proof? Okay.

Several people have noted that Aziraphale and Crowley keep to each other's right and left, respectively. Aziraphale on the right, Crowley on the left. In season 1, whenever they are on the opposite sides of each other, something's up. Not wrong, necessarily, but not in proper order. As in the image-swap/body-swap. Several people have also noted that Crowley is on Aziraphale's right far more frequently in season 2. And look here:

Aziraphale looks instinctively to his left when Crowley approaches -- only this Crowley, the twin, is not approaching on Aziraphale's left. This happens in more than one scene.

And when Aziraphale introduces Crowley to Nina in the coffee shop in episode one, he says, "This is, um, Crowley." As if he's quickly deciding how to name this individual who looks like his demon but approached on his right. Aziraphale "ums" and hesitates a lot this season, but he's also lying a lot. Hesitation and "um" is one of his tells.

I believe Aziraphale knows this isn't Crowley 1.0. But he acts and talks to this Crowley as if it's Crowley 1.0, so I don't think it's an imposter or someone pretending to be Crowley who isn't. I think Crowley's split himself in two. Am I sure about that? No. But it's where I'm leaning at this moment.

But Crowley 1.0 isn't missing entirely. Look here:

Aziraphale is looking over his left shoulder for his demon, and Crowley's right there, where he should be.

So yeah, TWO Crowleys.

Now where the heck is Crowley while his twin is out walking around on Aziraphale's right side? I really don't know what he might be up to, but I think he's in contact. Reachable, at least.

Let's look at this one again. Who's this?

No, not the guy in the foreground. The guy in the back. No, not the dude wearing tartan, the other guy. The guy in front of the ORANGE pillar, the guy on Crowley-twin's LEFT shoulder.

Is that Crowley 1.0? Or at least, a way for Crowley to be in touch while he's off doing whatever the heck he's doing? I think it is.

Would you like some more proof?

Okay. How about another record album from Maggie's shop?

Back to color-coding again. That baby-blue/red combo seems to indicate Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship together. The baby-blue is the color of Aziraphale's shirt, while the red is one that Crowley wears, mostly around his neck, although it also appears elsewhere in his costuming.

Au Revoir, Fingers! Crowley's just a head now. But a head has ears and eyes, so Aziraphale can communicate with it. As I suspect he tries to here, before Jim interrupts:

But wait. Back to Au Revoir Fingers for a moment. Red Eye Smile?

And red eyes? Fuck me.

A very few people have pointed out that there are lots of dual red taillights in multiple shots, frequently framed rather carefully. I had dismissed it, as I usually do when something turns out to be freaking important.

Someone's watching. I think it might be Crowley 1.0.

Then there's that bit where he's driving back to Whickber street, after coming back from Hell, and he first zooms around a bus with red taillights and says, "There's only room for one of us in this lane and it's not you," then he changes a pair of red stop lights to green and says "Don't you even think about it. There, that's better." Is he arguing with himself?? Telling the Other Crowley that it's his turn right now, not his? Of course I can't find a GIF or picture of that right now, but you know what I mean, right? Neil had to cut a bunch of material out of the finished show to fit Amazon's time limit requirements. That scene would seem to be an easy cut to make -- unless the scene matters to the overall plot too much to cut.

I also suspect that Crowley might be talking to himself in the book shop at the end of season 2. You know, when he turns Aziraphale's chair around to face the right way, but when Maggie and Nina come in it's facing the center of the room again? I suspect Crowley 1.0 and 2.0 had a chat. I do not know about what. Just sharing information?

I also wonder if Crowley 2.0 might have his own POV scenes -- thus confusing the already complicated POV situation even more. The white head statue sure gets several shots where it's in center frame, as if it is the POV character in that scene.

That's what I got, my fellow brain rotters. There's my evidence.

In conclusion: Two Crowleys. Yeah, I think so. Now, for the big question:

WHY???

What is Crowley doing that there needs to be two of him? And is it just twinsies, or is that someone else pretending to be Crowley and I'm wrong? Aziraphale definitely seems to know that's NOT his original Crowley, but tells the demon important information without hesitation, so I'm still suspecting Crowley twinned himself. But what if I'm wrong? Who is it then? And why are they pretending to be Crowley? And why does Aziraphale seem to know it's not Crowley, but still talk to him like it is?

I have no answers.

Thanks for crackpotting and going nuts with me, yet again. I hope this keeps you up at night like it's done me.

[maggiesrecordshop]

Song Monday!

This is to make up for all my song Sundays :,)

[positively-mine]

Boyfriend Kalego Naberius

a/n: a little something while I'm working on the angsty Kalego fic ☺️☺️ also, if there’s mistake lmk!

an old fashion romantic

and you won’t change my mind about this 🫡

when he gets back from work, he hands you a bouquet of flowers

dropping his work bag and kicking his shoes off, he’ll swoop you into his arms and hug you

and kisses on your forehead

you’ll both stand there, swaying together as he tells you about his day (his class as usual😃)

once he feels that he’s ready, he’ll move you both to the living room to sit

maybeee a few more minutes of resting before you’re both getting up to prepare dinner

no microwaved dinners with this man, he insists on cooking something fresh

(which also means no more maggi and noodle cups)

ALSO

weekly dates are a thing with this man

or if you’re busy, every fortnight (max)

dates are a MUST

trying out a new restaurant, shopping and museum or aquarium dates

if he’s busy, he’ll try to find time to have a date night with you

either a late night stroll, a nice dinner outside or maybe just playing some music and swaying together

there are two ways this can go

If you’re a teacher at babyls as well, late night walks with him

if your workload seems a lot, he’ll complain about Sullivan not hiring enough staff

but in the end he’s pulling a chair to your desk to help you finish up your work

if you’re working at different places, he’s rushing his work so that he can pick you up on time

if anyone tries to give him more work he’s glaring them down

his wake up alarms are also set to ring 1 hour earlier

he can’t help that he wants to bury himself deeper into the sheets with you by his side

it’s 10x harder to get up from the bed now bc it just feels so nice to have someone beside him

becomes a cuddle monster

EVERYDAY

he needs his daily dose

it's only one too many accidents that he realizes he can't wait any longer

the fear in his heart that he would never get to propose to you

so, he grabs balam sensei and drags him ring shopping

it's both not their strong suit so it takes them weeks to decide on a ring

suddenly suggests to you that you both should take a break

have a nice holiday somewhere

you walk and explore all around the place

taking in the sights and basking in each other's warmth

it's only on the last day that he takes you somewhere secluded

highh up onto a cliff where it overlooks the entire place

and proposes to you

the words that are coming out of his mouth are so hope filled for your future together that you can't help but tear up

even he's tearing up (just a little bit 🤏)

and when it all sinks in, he can't help but fall in love with you again all over again, but with the thought of starting a family

[flamevbirdv]

video essayists for these trying times!

I watch a lot of youtube so I thought I could round up some recs!

verilybitchie my favorite of the list. bi, trans lense on queer media. expert on calling out lazy representation. famously known for their video "good lgbt representation is boring" but my favorite is a bisexual history of dracula

The Morbid Zoo incredibly smart and sharp commentary on movies and social media. horror fan, clown fan, twilight apologist. my favorite video of hers is the pale man:physical fascism

Maggie Mae Fish powerhouse of the media analysis sphere. I learn so much every time I watch any of her videos. very clear spoken and funny. if you haven't checked her out yet this is your sign. some of her greates hits are "LGBT in fantasy" "superman won't save the cat" "fight club, an analysis" but loki, stalker & the war on terror blew my mind

Princess Weekes bi black icon. the place to go for videos on pop culture, race, feminism, etc. her video how true crime reveals the corruption of the legal system changed my life, no hyperbole. also check out her video on "purity culture & fandom"

Rowan Ellis queer media and history. recently tackles cultural issues like "the infantilization of millenial women" and "corporate queerbaiting" the problem with activist characters is a personal favorite of mine

Ladyknightthebrave a channel with less videos than most of the folks above but you need to watch her video on holocaust cinema

Quality Culture channel shared by two people who love movies (and music!) and research the shit out of their videos. some I really enjoyed are "death note: finding meaning in a meaningless world" "the iron giant: a study in heartfeel film making" and the conflicting ideals of hayao miyazaki

The Princess and the Scrivener it's been a while since they uploaded a video but if you are a fan of disney, these are your gals. however I have to reccomend their videos on dissability and ableism "the wonder of misscasting" and the shape of ableism a joke on the shape of water, yes this video is that old

BONUS!

Elliot Sang he talks about the real world with probably the most nuanced view I've seen from a youtuber ever. another list of greatest hits: "ADHD: a nightmare under capitalism" " is tik tok ruining music?" and "the problem with video essays" LMAO

[dp-marvel94]

Graveyard of Identities- Chapter 1

Summary:

Danny should feel lucky to be alive. After a month held captive by Vlad, barely remembering his life before, and nearly dying in his escape, he is finally safe, with friends in the Far Frozen. And yet, dread gnaws at him- a massive revelation at the edge of his consciousness, forgotten until the dead of night. It was a lie. All a lie. His past, his memories: all false. Amity Park, his friends and family: all real but… not his. The secret locks in his throat, unthinkable. He stays silent while the yetis welcome him as one of their own. But they do not know. And he can not tell them. He is not the Danny they think he is. He is not Danny at all.

Word Count: 3346

Next Chapter->

Also on A03

Note:

Hello lovely readers! Welcome to my story for Invisobang 2024! It has been a long time coming and I am so excited to finally share it with you all!

As you can see, this story is the second in a series. For those who read "Hope Can Be Heavy Thing to Hold," this is its much anticipated (by me at least) sequel! Part of me doubted this day would ever come. It's been almost 5 years since I wrote Hope and while I always planned that there would be more to the story, life (and other phic ideas XD) kept side-tracking me. My writing has changed and improved at lot since the end of 2019. And I really hope those lessons produced a better story than otherwise.

For those joining from Invisobang, welcome! Please do not feel intimidated by the fact that this is a sequel. My hope is that this will be a enjoyable story, even without that background. (Though if anyone gets curious and checks out the previous work, I will not complain of course XD)

Since this work was written as part of Invisobang, I was lucky enough to work with two wonderful artists. @suzukiblu made this lovely artwork and posted it here . @mysterious-ink-slime made her own piece, link to be added once it's posted. A huge thanks to both of them! Go give their art all the love!

Also, a special note on the title! For years, I had my heart set on naming this sequel after this particular GFM song and now I have! Graveyard of Identities by Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh; you can watch the music video here . This song is about the transforming power of pain, letting the old die, and rising as someone new. To me, it compliments the theme of this story perfectly. Special thanks to CJ and Maggie for inspiring me with their art and listening to me talk about my own.

And the specialist thanks to my sister, @nervousdragonrebelpie , for listening to me ramble about this story for months. This story is much better thanks to her listening ear and thoughtful suggestions.

Finally, thank to all you readers. I love and appreciate all your support and encouragement. And I eagerly await all your thoughts and feelings and screaming at me in the comments. XD Happy reading!

Was this… death? 

Floating sightless, soundless. Almost without thought. Too far away and hazy for fear. Just the numb warmth of darkness. 

Drifting without form, the fragile center lay exposed. Something gently brushed. Cradling mist; Soft pin-pricks of cloud. Smell-sight-taste of green, old pennies and lime. The feelings arose, more shapes of ideas than anything real.

The world shifted, brightening into bleary focus. Something inside stirred, the sensation like blinking without eyes. Awareness flickered sharper and then dim. Sharper, then dim. 

A vibration caught on his consciousness. Many and small and gently plopping like… rain. Rain, streaming down, around, through. Understanding slowly dawned and then… awe.

Green, crisp and bright as a spring day, overcame him. It flowed in, warm and safe and all encompassing. It filled his mind, every part of himself. 

And… Mind. He had a mind, a self. He existed. He was a person. He was still here. Maybe he wasn’t-

Darkness rushed back, like a wave crashing on the shore. A gentle death-like sleep took him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suddenly he was falling. Air rushed passed and bonelessly, he impacted. 

The shock of cold stole his breath more than the crash. Something light and airy cushioned his fall, his face half buried in the chill.

Heavily, his eyes dragged open. White filled his dim vision. In the distance…. The sound tickled his ear, an electric roar. Struggling, his gaze drifted up. Blurry silver and blue shapes quickly approached. 

His mind crawled, thought unreachable. Unable to process, unable to move, mind and body weighed down by crushing exhaustion. 

But confusion chipped at the edge, clawing for purchase. Fear, familiar and ever present, lingered under the surface, though neither rose to awareness, the fatigue too great.

Darkness pulled him down again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beeping near his head crashed through the darkness. He was lying down, soft plushness underneath him. Familiar… too familiar…. 

A slimy voice echoed in his head. ‘Son, you're awake.’ 

The boy’s heart rate spiked, a jolt of panic. Burning red eyes flashed in his mind, a clawed hand squeezing his wrist. 

He gasped, whole body flinching. Blurry eyes flickered open to all consuming white. Dread surged. No. This couldn’t-

The beeping grew louder, followed by the cacophony of pounding feet.

The boy flailed weakly, heavy body struggling to move. In his elbow… something hard and cold. His arm jerked violently, other hand scrambling. A stab of pain, a release of pressure. Cold wetness welled up, a flash of green on pale skin. 

‘Now Daniel. Stop being difficult.’

No, not Daniel. Never Daniel. Danny. His name was Danny.

“Great One, calm down. You are safe.” A calm voice cut through A furry, horned face… wearing a surgical mask?

Panic swelled. Who? Where? What? This wasn’t-

A different, higher voice. “You are safe, Great One.” 

Great One? No, that wasn’t… His mind scrambled for purchase, words and thoughts slipping. 

“His ecto-pressure is dangerously elevated.” “He’s going into shock.” “Sedate him.” 

He didn’t... Where was he? Where was Vla-

The pinch of a needle, jabbed into his neck. No! He would be good. He didn’t need to be punished again-

Consciousness ripped away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An unknowable time later, Danny drifted up through the darkness. Soft and gentle. His heart beat slowly, a calm, even timbre. And he was, at last, aware.

Soft fabric under him, wrapped around his body. The quiet, ambient sounds of lights buzzed in his ears.  Far away water dripped. His own soft breathing. Soft white light ghosted over his eye lids. 

Said eyes blinked slowly, half-lidded. They felt so heavy. An experimental wiggle of his fingers… the boy groaned, sudden sensation hitting him. Everything ached, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Every inch of his skin felt raw and fresh, like it had been removed in pieces and now was newly reassembled. Like a weird gross puzzle.

Danny laughed at the idea and a second later, his lungs spasmed painfully. He let out another, louder groan.

“Great one?” A loud, worried voice cut through the air. 

His heart skipped a beat, the surge of fear returning. He’d woken up earlier, hadn’t he? Laying on his back, beeping by his head, all consuming white. And now… He finally registered the towering figure at his bedside. 

“Who…?” His voice shook, weak and unused. “Where…?”

The figure leaned closer, the face becoming visible. A furry muzzle, sharp teeth, icy horns. 

Danny tensed, a flash of panic. But… the wide, concerned blue eyes. A memory bloomed in his head.

Tightly hugging a white, furry yeti in an icy place.

Instantly, the boy relaxed. “Frostbite?” The names came out with hardly a thought, the knowledge just there in his head.

The yeti’s expression softened, visibly relieved. “Yes, it is me.” A gentle paw gripped his shoulder. “Relax. You are safe.”

Safe…. The word ran in his mind. It felt like an impossible improbability. But… Frostbite was a friend, right? The yeti’s kind eyes and jovial laugh rose in his mind, the image strangely distant. 

Danny let out a breath, a surge of relief coursing through him. But the action made him grimace, nose wrinkling.

“Are you in pain?” Frostbite asked eagerly. “Here, allow me.” He fiddled with one of the tubes attached to Danny at his elbow, just passed the sleeve of what was maybe a hospital gown. A plunger depressed. “That should dull the ache.”

The boy gasped as something cold entered his vein. He blinked rapidly, surprised as the pain dulled to a small pin prick in the back of his mind.

“Wow…. That’s… that’s so much better.” He smacked his dry lips.

“Water?” The yeti offered. A glass with a straw appeared and with a flip of a switch, the bed shifted under him, allowing him to recline.

The cup lifted to his lips, Danny drank shakingly. The cool water soothed his sand-papery throat, a blessed respite after… after….

He couldn’t remember. That sent a stab of worry. But he was here with Frostbite, one of his friends. Allies? The shape of that felt right. He’d gotten here, somehow. Wherever here was.

Finally the boy swallowed. “Where am I?”

“In our medical facility.” Frostbite answered. “You have been in and out of consciousness for quite a while. This is your first time being coherent on awakening.”

Quite a while…. It was coming back to him now. He only remembered waking up that last time, panicked at the sound of the beeping by his head. His eyes flitted to the device… a heart monitor. 

That was… strangely familiar. His stomach twisted with dread, echoes of previous panic. The heart monitor reminded him of before. He had been… somewhere, somewhere bad. His mouth felt dry, the memory just out of reach… 

Danny swallowed. “How did I get here?”

“You triggered a perimeter beacon.” The yeti said, voice taking on a grave tone. “A patrol found you in the snow, unconscious and dangerously unstable. The guards rushed you here and we attended you. It was… We were worried for a long while, that your injury was too great.” His voice wavered with emotion, an air of heavy grief. “That you would… leave us. But…” A watery smile bloomed. “The most dangerous part has passed. You are recovering wonderfully. And you are finally awake.”

“Yeah….” That was… a lot. Danny’s brow furrowed. His mind swam, relief, sadness, and… a mounting unease clashing. 

Frostbite seemed to pick up on the feeling. “What is it, Great One?”

“I don’t…” He bit his lip. “That’s… a lot. Thank you for finding me and saving me. I’m grateful, really grateful. I…I know I’m safe. But…” His insides twisted, a queasy feeling. “I…I apparently almost died and I don’t… don’t remember what happened.”

The yeti’s eyes rounded, the concern turning worried. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Before… the heart monitor beeping near his head, a room with white sheet and fancy wooden furniture. A man with white hair, a smug smile, and red eyes.

“Vlad.” The knowledge hit him like a truck. “I was at Vlad’s mansion!” Danny jolted, trying to sit up more fully with a wince.

“The other half ghost?” Frostbite put a paw on his arm, gently lowering him back to the bed. “You are enemies, are you not?”

“He… he kidnapped me.” More images flashed. The plain, impersonal bedroom. The metal panels of the training room. The trap door in the greenhouse. “Vlad kidnapped me. He was…keeping me captive.” His face wrinkled in a grimace. “He made me call him Dad and train with him and watch football…” 

“Plasmius keeping you captive.” Frostbite looked just as stricken. “That is worrying….”

Danny’s stomach turned, sickened. “He… he hurt me.” Vlad’s hand across his face, electricity searing his limbs, locked in a small dark space. “He did something to my mind.” The jar of Lethean water, the tree with red and blue berries. “I didn’t remember anything. He was trying to brainwash me into being his… his perfect son but…”

He was missing something, something big. The gap loomed, dark and constricting. His voice quickened, from something uneasy and wary to panic. “I can’t… I can’t remember.”

“It is alright.” The yeti tried to soothe. 

The calm voice failed to ease the distress. “I can’t remember.” But… the dark, earthen passage. The lab, bathed in green portal light. Jars and beakers, tables and weapons. The foreboding door. “I was… I was in the lab. I was trying to escape but…” Broken glass and metal, spilled ectoplasm. Vlad’s mocking voice. “He… he interrupted me.”

Danny’s blood chilled, dread dropping in his stomach like a stone. He saw it as clearly as Frostbite across from him.

Vlad’s face set in a sneer, as hellish as the vampire he played at. The taser in Danny’s hand. He jabbed with it but… too late. The man caught his wrist, fingers squeezing. ‘You oppose me at every turn.’

“Vlad… he broke my wrist.” Numbly, the boy stared down at his right hand. The wrist was unwrapped, no sign of the fracture. He felt sick. 

“I tried to fight him.” Electricity pouring from his hands, Vlad twitching on the floor. “But I wasn’t… wasn’t strong enough.”

Harsh, hateful words echoed in his mind, too far away to remember. Tears had been on his face, back there in the lab and…. Now, here in the medical wing. 

Frostbite said something, paws moving toward his face but all Danny could see…

On the floor, Vlad looming over him, his eyes insane, full of dark possessiveness. Agony gnawed at Danny’s heart, the feeling of his world crashing down around him.

“He held me down, electrocuted me.” Danny trembled, the tears falling. “I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. It… it hurt, my core hurt so much.”

A look of understanding, of revelation flashed on Frostbite’s face. But the boy barely registered. Just the comforting furry arms moving to embrace him.

Hands and feet, cold and tingly… then wet. Ectoplasm welling, sickly neon green. “I…I started melting.” Danny froze in Frostbite’s hold, eyes wide and devastated. “Vlad shocked me and I started mel.. melting.” 

His hands and feet dissolving away, staring at the ceiling through his tears. “Vlad… he tried to… to kill me. He tried to kill me.”

That was it. That must have been it, the earth-shattering thing he was forgetting. The green spreading to his shoulders, his hips. His core locking up, shaking with agonizing shocks. 

In his mind, Vlad hovered over him, shouting. A boom, metal crumpling, sudden icy chill. He couldn’t move. Helpless. He was going to die…

In Frostbite’s arms, Danny shook. “I… I thought I was going to die.” Sudden silence. A figure kneeling over him, unseen through his tears. “I was melting… I… I couldn’t move.”

His heart ached with longing. Familiar faces flashed in his mind. His parents, Sam and Tucker, Jazz. “I…I just wanted to go home. I barely remembered them, barely remembered who I was.” The memory flickered, finding his parents’ picture in the book in Vlad’s office, his real name printed in the pages, and the sheer joy that had overtaken him. “I just wanted to go home.” He was trying to go home to his friends and family but… 

In the lab, a mouth hung above him, lips making the words ‘I’m sorry.’

Danny recoiled at the memory, burying his face into Frostbite’s fur. It… it didn’t make sense. Vlad would never say he was sorry. He couldn’t remember… but he was dying, his mind swimming, far away and terrified and- 

“I didn’t want to die!” The boy practically screamed. The force of the words, the sudden realization had him violently pushing himself from the yeti’s arms. “Am I dead?!”

“No. No. No.” Danny pulled at his hair. He’d barely gotten to live and now he was dead. “I can’t… I can’t be dead.”

“No, great one.” Frostbite’s paws appeared on his arms, gently pulling his tugging fingers from his hair. “You are not dead.”

Danny blinked, the panic rushing out of him. His heart, or the illusion of one, still pounded, yet shaking arms gently lowered “But…. but I melted.” He flinched at his own words, the next coming out quiet, pained. “How?”

The yeti chief’s brow furrowed. “You said you were in your enemy's lab when this happened. Perchance, do you remember a portal there?”

The boy’s brow furrowed, surprised by the question. “Yes?”

Frostbite nodded gravely. “I suspect you teleported into the Realms.��� Danny’s lack of understanding must have been obvious on his face, because the yeti’s expression softened, voice soft and slow like he was talking to a hurt child. “Teleporting is one of your abilities, even if it has not developed fully yet. When your body… dissipated, you would have been reduced down to your core.”

“My core?” Danny looked down at his chest, raising a shaky hand to it.

“Yes.” The yeti nodded. “Grievous injuries will condense a ghost into their core. As long as the central part of their being remains intact, a ghost can survive. But,” Worried eyes fixed on the half ghost. “Cores will crack and fade if there is a deficiency of ectoplasm.”

The boy’s mouth felt dry. “Like in the human world.”

“As in the material realm, yes.” Frostbite agreed. “In a last ditch effort to save you, your core mostly likely used the last of its energy to teleport into an ectoplasm rich environment.“

“So I went through the portal.” Danny bit his lip, voice shaky. “But…I don’t remember that. Why don’t I remember that?”

The yeti gently reached forward, pulling the ghost boy once again into his arms. “Most ghosts do not remember the time spent as just their core. It is like… your human sleep, I believe. Or unconsciousness.”

“Yeah…” That made a type of sense. Distantly, Danny remembered darkness, the feeling of drifting, disconnection from his senses. He swallowed. “So I ended up in the Zone. What then?”

“You presumably drifted for a while.” Frostbite motioned to the boy’s core. “The scans of your core we took while you were unresponsive suggested you had recently re-formed. This is consistent with your lack of external injuries. You most likely came back together in the ectoplasmic nebula near our island.”

Danny’s brow furrowed for a long moment, mind processing. Finally… “I… re-formed? What… what does that mean?”

“Your core rebuilt your body using the surrounding ectoplasm.” A large paw patted the boy’s back. “You are fortunate you drifted into a nebula. The plentiful, active ectoplasm creates a rich, bountiful area for injured ghosts to re-form, and for the new creation of many others. And you found yourself so close to friends…” Frostbite smiled encouragingly. “The Divine must smile on you, indeed.”

The half ghost did not feel very encouraged. He stared at his hands, insides twisting. “So this is a new body…” He shakily removed his gloves, eyes trailing over the familiar fingers. The short, round fingernails, the light green skin, every crinkled line in his palm… everything looked the same as he remembered but… “Are you sure I’m not a full ghost?”

Frostbite squeezed one shoulder comfortingly. “Yes, I am sure. I myself saw your internal anatomy continues to reflect that of your human body. And on your core, the ability to transform between your two forms remains visible as well.”

Danny let out a sigh of relief. He looked at his hands again. Suddenly… he needed to be human again, needed to see that he was still alive. His aura flickered, mind searching for the trigger.

“Do not try to change yet.” The yeti gently reprimanded. 

Disappointment rushed through the boy, guilty unease flickering. Had he done something wrong?

But Frostbite continued before he could ask why. “The potential for your human form still exists, but without real world matter to reassemble it, it is inaccessible. We have been providing material world water and nutrients to you intravenously but your body still requires more time to recover.”

“Oh.” Danny nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. Wait..” His eyes widened, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “What do you mean you saw my internal anatomy yourself?” He side-eyed the yeti.

With that, Frostbite’s face turned apologetic. “My apologies, Great One. I mean, we had to perform surgery.” His expression turned serious, crinkled with worry. “Our scans found a foreign object embedded in your core. It was periodically electrocuting you, causing… dissolution in your extremities.”

The boy’s eyes widened, stomach twisting. Frostbite had said at the beginning that it had been touch and go for a long while there but…

“It was worsening so…” The yeti paused for a moment there, arms gently squeezing the shaken boy. “The other doctors and I performed surgery and extracted it.” 

Well, that was a relief. After a moment, Danny swallowed. “Can I see it?”

Frostbite paused, giving him a searching look. “Are you certain?”

Decisively, the boy nodded. “Yes.”

“Very well.” With that, the chief opened his arms, gently placing Danny back on the bed.

The boy had a long moment to blush, just realizing. He’d been sitting in the ghost’s lap for most of that conversation, like he was a little kid. He wiped his face with his hands, trying to shrug off the embarrassment.

Meanwhile, the yeti stood, rifling through drawers. After about several seconds, he returned. Frostbite gravely presented the jar. 

Wordlessly, Danny took the container between his hands. He studied the contents. A tiny metal strip laid there innocently, y shaped and as long as the end of his pinky. “This is it.” A lump formed in his throat. “This is what Vlad used to… to try and kill me.”

The full ghost’s face scrunched up, eyes alight with anger. “I had suspected this device was the cause of your injury. To violate one's core like this…” His nostrils flared, expression positively murderous. 

Danny swallowed, eyes just starting to widen.

Then Frostbite sighed. Again, compassionate eyes turned to the half ghost. “I vow Plasmius will never touch you again, not with the might of the Far Frozen standing beside you.” He shook his head. “Still, I am relieved you escaped.” A paw squeezed his shoulder. “The Divine delivered you to our paws and found you safety. I am much joyed to see you recovering.”

Danny’s heart squeezed, warmed by the words. The boy slumped, heaving a sigh. “I… thanks for taking care of me.” Still… his insides twisted, overwhelmed by it all. 

“It is my pleasure, Great One.” Frostbite beamed.

The boy grimaced. “Can you call me Danny? Please?”

“Danny, then.” The yeti nodded seriously.

The half ghost forced a smile. He really was grateful to Frostbite. He appreciated the comfort, but… 

The boy yawned, a sudden tiredness coming over him.

“Ah, I should leave you to rest.” The chief stood. “Press this button if you are in need of any assistance. Sleep well, Danny.”

“Thanks.” The half ghost nodded. 

With that, the yeti left. The door closed and Danny was alone. Soon, despite his anxiously twisting insides, sleep took him again.

[janeaustenbrandysmuggler]

That comma

Or, connections my brain makes when I don't sleep well for over a week because of a cold - read at your own risk :)

"I went to one meeting ten years ago. They were wittering on about the Christmas lights and passed a resolution condemning the improper use of apostrophes on signs in windows." (Mr. Arnold, s2e5)

This line always makes me laugh because I get super twitchy about certain grammar and punctuation errors. But errors happen, and you can usually tell what someone meant vs. what they wrote, so you correct it in your mind based on what you presume they meant and move on because there are bigger things to worry about in the world. Right?

Maybe we shouldn't always be so quick to presume and move on, though. Sometimes, things are supposed to be written a certain way for a reason. That reason is important, so we're taught the right way to write that thing. We all learn how to do it, and it's generally not something we screw up because there are consequences for doing it wrong. Like an address, for example. Addresses tell something or someone where to go. Maybe to a pub called The Resurrectionist - that one's at 66 Goat Gate in Edinburgh, right? It said so on the record that Maggie gave Aziraphale:

The Resurrectionist

66, Goat Gate

Edinburgh

Except - there's this annoying little comma in there that I've been ignoring for months. Right after the 66. Exactly where it shouldn't be - not if you're writing a street address. So I'm going to stop ignoring it and ask a question.

Is this actually a street address? I'm not questioning that the pub is in Edinburgh - that's well-established. It's that middle line - 66, Goat Gate - that I'm not sure of anymore. I'm having trouble making excuses for that comma.

If it isn't a street address, then what is it? I'm not sure, and I don't know if we have all the information to figure it out. My sleep-deprived brain has come up with a couple of crazy questions and ideas though. Starting with - what if the Clue is actually multiple Clues? What if we've just been thinking about the pub, but that second line contains a separate clue or clues about Edinburgh, so that Aziraphale Knows Where [He's] Going? (see what I did there?)

These ideas do require an assumption that we shouldn't just take season 2 at face value, but they aren't tied to any specific theories like time loops, dreams, etc.

This post from onceuponathyme about references to the number 66 in the show and promo posters, and gallup24's comment that the press pass in Newspaperman!Aziraphale's hat also has the number 66 on it got me thinking about whether the "address" and the hat are meant to be connected. The references to the number 66 could be an easter egg - the Book of Revelations is the 66th book of the Bible. But is it an in-show clue, too? Is the 66 on Everyday single telling Aziraphale to wear it on his hat, maybe as a signal to someone? ("The clarinet, it makes beautiful music.")

Moving on to Goat Gate. It could still be the name of a road. I have two other ideas though:

We've already seen goats turned into crows. Gate is an old term that can mean road or street. Goat Gate = Crow Road? (I don't know that I love this, but I'll put it out there anyway.)

There's also the symbolism of goats tied to Hell, Satan, and Crowley in particular - drconstellation has a lovely meta about sheep vs goats, so I'm not going to go any farther into that. But I do want to stay on Crowley, and the second place we see Aziraphale - the cemetery.

Not quite this, but I can find a gif for just about every other part of the scene except for the line I'm looking for. The one where after a bunch of hilarious noises, he says, "Do I sound like a goat?"

And then, a short while later...

The ground opens up (a gate to Hell?), and Crowley disappears, pulled down to Hell. And then we get one continuous shot of Aziraphale turning around in that spot that starts in 1827 and ends in present day.

We still don't know exactly why Aziraphale went to the cemetery. Maybe "Goat Gate" is the clue that sent him there?

One final thing I noticed in that episode that feels a little off to me now - Crowley's reaction when Aziraphale calls and asks him if he remembers Mr. Dalrymple. "Oh yeah, not a doctor, a mister! Whatever happened to him?" It's surprisingly normal and relaxed, considering what happened at the end of the night, isn't it?

[charlotteharlatan]

A list (non-exhaustive) of why the 1941 flashback scenes are haunting both me and The Narrative, Part 1:

1. Both S1 and S2 have scenes that take place that night - THAT CERTAIN NIGHT - in 1941. It is specifically revisited in S2, which leads the audience to believe that night was of particular importance, both to Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship and to the overall plot of the show.

2. In the same vein of things that are referenced more than once, the song “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” was first released in 1940, and it’s entirely plausible that they both heard it for the first time in 1941 while in each other’s company.

All evidence points to the song being personally significant to Aziraphale and Crowley. We know it as Their Song, and they seem to think of it that way as well - otherwise Crowley’s “no nightingales” comment in the last 15 minutes of S2ep6 would not have struck Aziraphale so hard; we can see by his expression that the words affect him. With that statement, Crowley seems to be referencing not only the song itself, but possibly also a specific memory they share that involves that song.

At first, one might assume he means the occasion at the Ritz at the end of S1, because that song is indeed playing in that scene. However, I think that scene itself is also partially a reference back to 1941, which I’ll get to in a later item.

3. When examined closely, many scenes and plot elements from the rest of the show may be nodding to 1941. When Crowley and Aziraphale discuss ways that humans fall in love in the pub scene in S2ep2, Crowley references being caught under an awning in the rain, a very transparent callback to Eden when they huddled under Aziraphale’s wing.

So, Crowley’s contribution harkens back to Eden, but what does Aziraphale mention? What is called to his mind when he thinks of falling in love? Cotillion balls. Music and dancing. Things he’s read about in Jane Austen novels, the moments therein where the protagonists realize they’re in love. On its surface, Aziraphale’s idea of falling in love seems more like an abstraction than something the angel has experienced himself. Except: perhaps he has. Perhaps, just like with almost everything Aziraphale says and does, we should be looking at it much deeper than surface level.

Maybe he’s projecting just like Crowley is, just in a less straightforward, more opaque sort of way, which you have to admit would be very in-character of him. Maybe he’s thinking of a moment we have not directly seen yet, a moment that has only been gestured to. In other words, “a joke the paleontologists haven’t seen yet,” the paleontologists in this case being, well, us. We know Aziraphale is actually capable of sleight of hand in the right circumstances, so maybe him talking about a ball is only a feint, a flamboyantly waving hand as a distraction to keep our attention away from what the other hand is doing. Maybe he is also recalling a specific memory of himself and Crowley, one that involved music and dancing, and the realization that the feeling between them was love.

So with all that in mind, what moment from the show do we have great reason to believe was Aziraphale’s realization of his own feelings, and to an extent, Crowley’s as well? Yup, you’ve got it: 1941 again. The aftermath of Crowley rescuing him at the church and saving his books. The face that launched a ship. (Sorry.)

4. Backtracking slightly to the topic of music and dancing and The Ball, let’s talk about this: just like Crowley “did a rainstorm” to try to get Nina and Crowley to fall for each other the same way he fell for Aziraphale, The Ball may have been Aziraphale’s effort to recreate the occasion on which he realized he’d fallen for Crowley. Perhaps it was intended to be a “do-over” of past events where they almost connected, with the aim of finally reaching each other this time. We’re all aware by now that while Aziraphale did fully intend to get Maggie and Nina together, he also threw a ball specifically to dance with Crowley.

It does initially seem odd that he thinks Crowley will respond well to such a big, ostentatious party, but perhaps Aziraphale has tried the subtle route before to little avail. Like when, you may well ask?

5. Well, for one: their rendezvous in 2008, right after the Antichrist arrives on Earth, in S1ep1. Crowley has been unsuccessful in convincing Aziraphale to help him avert the apocalypse, but the angel has fewer qualms about a lunch date at the Ritz.

After the Ritz, they go back to the bookshop, with Aziraphale telling Crowley he still has some Chateauneuf du Pape left “for special occasions,” which is an interesting comment - the reason why this is a special occasion to Aziraphale is never named, as Crowley glosses over it in favor of pointing out that nobody will be having any wine anymore if Heaven wins the upcoming war. Aziraphale reiterates his refusal to engage with that topic, and ushers Crowley into the shop.

All this leaves the vague impression that Aziraphale has his own agenda for the evening (because all appearances of passivity aside, the angel almost always has his own agenda). And Crowley, not noticing this or perhaps choosing to not notice it, is throwing a spanner in the works of said agenda by continuing to bring up the apocalypse. And so, stuck at this stalemate, they drink the ‘special occasion’ wine in the shop, and listen to music, and get very drunk. It’s a small detail, but we know the music is coming from the gramophone because it’s the same record Aziraphale was listening to when Crowley called him the night prior.

So, wine and music. Why are these elements significant? It isn’t named, but in S2ep4 when Aziraphale and Crowley have returned to the bookshop after the magic show, the bottle of wine they share in the back room is the same kind, Chateauneuf du Pape.

And while there is noticeably no music playing when the two of them are sitting in the quiet, private, candlelit back room of the shop, the gramophone can be seen over Aziraphale’s shoulder in many parts of the scene, looming over their conversation like a musical Chekhov’s gun.

And here’s the real kicker: the gramophone, as it happens, is normally positioned facing the opposite direction. In bookshop scenes from the rest of S2, even earlier on in that very same episode, we see it facing the usual way, in the direction of Aziraphale’s desk.

This means that it was intentionally turned so that the “mouth” of the gramophone would be visible in this scene, and turned towards Aziraphale and Crowley. You may well ask: “the background of this scene is dark and out of focus, how can you tell for sure which way the gramophone is facing?” If you look closely, you can see the gramophone’s crank is on the right side, visible in some shots past the lip of the wine bottle. If the gramophone were facing in its usual direction, the crank would be on the left and invisible in these shots.

And, to add another layer to it, we know how important cranks are as a symbolic object in this series, how much power these objects can hold in the hands of the correct wielder. Crowley turns a crank to prime the engine of the universe - in other words, to begin the music of the spheres; and much later, he uses the Bentley’s crank when he restarts time on the Tadfield airbase. What if the gramophone’s crank was used in a similar way in 1941, to temporally create a little universe of their own, either metaphorically or literally?

Great care was taken in planning every aspect, every little detail of this show; almost nothing is a coincidence; staging scenes especially is done with the utmost degree of care. All of this to say, we as the audience seem to be meant to relate the scenes from 1941, 2008, and 2023 narratively, even though they take place decades apart. Throughout the years, Aziraphale may be trying - subtly at first, but then less so - to recreate the events of 1941.

Okay, that’s items 1 through 5. I definitely have more but I hit the limit for gifs and images for posting via the mobile app, so I’m going to have to post the rest in at least two more parts. Because I still have ghosts in my head and I must write about it. Hauntings are easier to handle if there’s someone in the house with you who sees the ghosts too.

Link to part 2

[juuuulez]

Hello :) Carl x F!Greene!Reader, Reader and Carl had been pining for each other since they met at the farm but they haven't had a chance to talk about it TO CONFESS so basically more than friends but no label. Back in s5e15 Carl chases Enid when he spots her climbing over the wall. And in the tree scene where they almost kissed, Reader somehow spots them(was on a walk to relieve stress) I am such a sucker for ANGST. You have full reign of how the story will go! Ty v much :))

Little Pleasures.

info: S5Carl x Greene! Reader, technically no pronouns used but u can fill that in mentally, kids being stupid.

summary: You catch Carl and Enid sharing an intimate moment, and can no longer repress your feelings for the Grimes’ boy. Luckily, he intends on making it right.

this was soooo cute to write!!! plss send more request i loved doing this!

You’ve learnt to enjoy the little things in life.

Seeing your sister, Maggie, happy with Glenn filled you with joy. Carol would sometimes bring over cookies, and promised to teach you the recipe. Once Daryl found an old music box while on a supply run, and brought it back for you.

But your favourite little pleasure? Well, that was easily Carl Grimes.

Whenever you were sad, he’d notice, and let you read his comics. He was perceptive like that, and could sense your emotions from a mile away. Maybe he, too, felt this deep sense of sadness, an ache that never went away.

After the death of your father and sister, that ache became all consuming. Some days you couldn’t bare to get up, and yet those where the days Carl turned up, standing on your porch. Throwing stones at your window.

Once again, it was these little things that made life worthwhile. You liked to think that Carl enjoyed your company as much you did his.

Sure, back at the prison Beth had egged you to make a move on him, as it was no denying how the sheriff’s boy made your heart sore. Back then, it was a silly little crush, one you’d indulge in just to pass the time. But now it was impractical. Seeing everybody you loved perish numbed you, and growing attached to Carl would only result in further turmoil.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

So why did seeing Carl with Enid hurt so much?

Whenever you were particularly sad, a walk seemed to help. Except for now, crouched behind a bush watching Carl and Enid hiding in a tree, their faces inches away. It made you feel sick.

Why was he with her? Did she have something you didn’t? Was she prettier? Could understand his comics better?

Your mind ran rampage, the embarrassing feeling of hot tears spilling into your cheeks. This was pathetic. You’d sworn that Carl meant nothing to you, and yet you couldn’t handle seeing him with someone else.

In a hurry, you took off, scurrying back to Alexandria. No more walks. No more going outside. No more little pleasures.

That was until late at night, when the familiar tapping on your window returned.

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

“Stop it!” You shout, moving to pry your window open just before Carl can throw another stone. It makes your insides feel warm and fuzzy, the sight of him standing there, hair messy under his hat. You’d missed him.

“Will you come down?” He asks in a plea, speaking in this whisper-shout in an attempt not to wake the whole neighbourhood. “I haven’t seen you all day. Thought maybe you weren’t feeling well.”

Your jaw clenches, wanting nothing more than to banish him from your sight. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.”

It was harsh, childish venom dripping from your tone as you slam the window shut, the harsh action vibrating against the wall. Sniffling, wiping messily at your eyes, you sat back down on your bed.

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

You groan into your pillow, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your legs against the bedding. Why won’t he give up?

At your lack of response, there’s silence. It sounds like Carl’s gone home. Good. Now you can avoid him all day, all night, and never have to see him that close to Enid again. She can have him.

Only a few minutes later there’s a knocking at your door. You tilt your head out of the pillow, looking across the room. However, before you can give permission, the door is opening, revealing Carl once more.

“I said I didn’t want to talk to you!” You scold him, and in a fit of aggression, throw your pillow over at the boy.

He catches it seamlessly, throwing it into the bed as he approaches you. “Why the hell not? I got a new edition of Hawkeye. Thought you’d want to read it.”

“Why don’t you read it with Enid?” You mumble, turning away from him to face the opposite wall. This all seems so childish and stupid, the exact thing you wanted to avoid by distancing yourself from Carl.

There’s a beat of silence.

The bed dips slightly, a warm presence filling the space next to you. It takes everything within your power not to look at him.

“Enid doesn’t like comics,” Carl tells you, his voice quiet and sincere, like he can sense how upset you are no matter how irrational. “I wanted to see you today. But you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

You roll your eyes, and with one motion, fall back onto your bed with a huff. “I thought I didn’t want to be near you. Incase… I started enjoying it too much.”

You’re met with silence again, like an indication to continue. At least, that’s how you take it.

“Something bad’s gonna happen, Carl. It always does. And I don’t want… to be too sad, when you get hurt. Or when I get hurt.”

There’s a gentle thud as Carl falls back onto the bed, laying next to you over the covers. You don’t look at him, but he’s looking at you.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asks, “It’s okay to be scared… but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do things that make you happy.”

You don’t respond, too embarrassed to admit the feelings that have been eating you up inside. The words you can’t seem to push past your lips, no matter how hard you try.

Luckily, Carl does it for you.

“Do I make you happy?”

It’s an innocent question, yet makes your face flush red, ashamed that he’s been able to pick you apart so easily. If your reaction wasn’t obvious enough, you meekly nod in confirmation.

If you were facing Carl, you’d see the smile that spread across his face.

“You make me happy, too. More than you could understand.” He tells you, an admission that warms your heart.

Finally, you look over at him, and find that Carl is closer than you anticipated. He’s taken his hat off, resting further on the bed, brown hair messily splashed out on the sheets.

A smile of your own makes its way onto your face, feeling understood in a way that’s become so foreign. This couldn’t get any better.

Until it did.

“Can I… kiss you?” Carl asks, an innocent request that reignites that fire within you, the one you’ve been ignoring for so long.

When you speak, it comes out in a nervous whisper, “Please.”

For the first time in months, you’ve found something that truely makes you happy. A little pleasure above all.

The way Carl gently places his lips on yours, hands cupping your face like it were made from porcelain, that you may shatter under his fingers. He’s nervous, but that’s okay. You’re nervous, too.

You could definitely get used to this.

[enid-rhees]

can u make a maggie x female reader smut it can rly be ab anything i js need something w maggie 😭😭

hi anon! and ofc, i adore Maggie so bad, i definitely need to write for her more. thank you so much for requesting, i hope you enjoy! 🫶🏻 this is really short, i apologize for that 😭

— warnings: oral, fingering (reader receiving) [MINORS DNI]

you were in utter pleasure.

one hand gripped Maggie’s hair as she buried her tongue deep inside of you. she licked into every crevice inside of you, not missing a single spot. your hips thrusted into her mouth, and all she did was grip your thighs tighter, and hang them over her shoulders.

you looked so beautiful in front of Maggie, body glistened in a light layer of sweat and your mouth dropped open with constant moans leaving your lips. she couldn’t get enough of you, and she would gladly spend her entire day buried between your legs if you let her.

Maggie reveled in your moans, they were like music to her ears. each one went straight into her core, and she felt herself becoming wetter by the second just by your pretty sounds.

her lips then attached to your puffy clit and you cried out, still thrusting slightly into her mouth. Maggie moaned around your clit, and the vibration sent waves of pleasure through your body. she grazed her teeth over your clit before diving back into your wet hole.

Maggie’s lips were covered in your slick, and she licked them clean every time she pulled away only slightly, moaning at the taste every single time.

there wasn’t anything like the taste of you. you were so addicting to Maggie, she would never be able to very enough you. your moans, the taste, it was all so addicting to her.

“fuck my mouth, sweetheart.” she whispered sensually, flattening her tongue out on your clit. you gasped and pushed yourself into her, and she enclosed her lips back on your clit.

Maggie sucked harshly as you continued to fuck her mouth, back arching off the bed and loud moans filling your shared bedroom.

the pleasure was so overwhelming, but yet you wanted more. it seemed as Maggie read your mind and suddenly entered two fingers into your hole.

“mhm, Maggie!” you screamed out as she repeatedly thrusted her fingers in and out of you. the squelching filled your ears as her pace didn’t let up.

the pleasure started to build up deep inside of you, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your jaw dropped open and your head fell back onto the pillow.

“close, honey?” she asked, her thick accent only turning you on more. “yes! so close, i’m so close.” you whined. Maggie smirked and removed her fingers, but only to insert her tongue back into you and start rubbing at your clit with her fingers.

loud, high pitched moans continuously escaped your lips and echoed throughout your room as your orgasm hit you, the pleasure coursing through your body.

your body practically shook as she fucked you with her tongue through your orgasm, licking up every last bit of you. you laid limp on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you caught your breath.

Maggie moved to lay next to you, pressing soft kisses to your neck and down your chest while you came down from your intense orgasm.

“how are you feeling, honey? was i too much?” you shook your head, “no, you were perfect. so fucking perfect.” you breathed out.

Maggie smiled softly and connected your lips, moving so she hovered above you. you wrapped your legs around her waist, pushing her hips down into yours. gasps left both of your lips as she moved her hips with yours.

“you still want more, hm?” she asked teasingly, sucking a mark into your neck. you moaned softly and nodded, “need you so bad, Maggie.”

“such a needy girl,” she whispered, moving down your body once more.