#but I love bouncing theories back and forth

[yoiisa]

NOTHING'S AS IT SEEMS ⋆˙⟡ SAE ITOSHI

"So we went on our way, Too in love to think straight, All alone or so it seemed, But there were strangers watching, And whispers turned to talking, And talking turned to screams!" - "Wonderland" by Taylor Swift Tags: TW for mentions of racism! This fic plays into discrimination theory of what happened to Sae in Spain so be cautious, angst, hurt no comfort, breakups sorta??

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I’m writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums.

I bounced back and forth between Rin and Sae for this song a lot, because of the green eye line. I then saw a tiktok edit of Rin to "Dear Reader" off Midnights, so that settled that! Both are pretty pretty sad. Anywho, enjoy! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

When Sae left for Spain, you hadn't stopped him. You'd encouraged him in fact, ready to see how far he'd soar after spreading his wings.

You hadn't gone with him to the airport, but he'd made a pit stop at your house before he went. His arms were tight around you, squeezing your sides and crushing you against his chest. You kissed his cheek and smiled.

"You'll do amazing," you whisper as he rests his forehead against yours. "Just remember, I'm here for you in case it becomes too much."

"I know," he gives you a small smile. He sighs, "I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too," you whisper, pecking his lips, "but it's for the best."

Your voice cracks, but you power through the emotions still. Sae needs you to be strong. The world is crazy. He was going to go through so much on an entirely different continent. He needed you to be stable for him.

Sae shakes his head and nuzzles his nose against yours. "I'll come back to visit, promise."

"I'll be fine with the messages and calls, but I can't wait for you to come back," you say, fisting his jacket in your hands.

"I haven't even left yet," he chuckles.

"You should probably get on that," you sigh, "I think your parents are getting antsy."

Sae sighs and nods. He gives you one last firm kiss, his lips imprinting on you. You didn't know it then, but that sensation would haunt you for years to come.

Oh, Sae. It was never supposed to turn out like this.

You became pavlovian-style conditioned to your phone pings for the first few months that your boyfriend was gone. Even if the notification sound wasn't even for the messaging app, you'd still jump onto the device, anxious to see if Sae wrote to you, if he missed you.

At first, it was regular messages. He would type like he spoke to you and send you photos of everything in Spain. Oddly, it made you feel overwhelmed all the way on the other side of the world. It put into perspective just how big the world is, and how small you were in comparison. How cramped would Sae felt when he would come back? Could he stay here with you again and not feel restless for the need to be everywhere or anywhere else?

Perhaps it was your fault too, that things ended the way that they did. You're man enough to acknowledge it, how your insecurities slowly poisoned your relationship with Sae. Your responses to his photos and videos and summaries of his days, which now had started to become few and far between since he was getting "busier" with soccer, were also becoming curt and dry. You told yourself that you were also getting busier, but deep down you knew it was a lie. You were still boring ol' you, and he was starting to make international headlines as a prodigy of soccer!

You don't know when, but eventually, you stopped talking altogether. Unfortunately, this meant you grew distant from Rin too, despite the young boy not understanding why you seemed to be running from him at every turn. It did hurt, seeing the confusion in those sweet round eyes of Rin's, but it hurt more looking into them and seeing Sae stare back at you.

You'd taken up a sport in high school yourself, desperate for something to add to your college resume. It started as something kill time, but as your third year approached, you found genuine passion in the activity. The bonds between your teammates and coaches, the exhilaration of winning games, it was intoxicating. Suddenly, you could perfectly understand why people, why Sae, had completely given everything up in pursuit of this.

You started doing more research into famous sports equipment brands, such as Nike and Adidas. Eventually, you stumbled upon the Nike anti-racism campaign. The white and black wristbands meant to bring awareness Europe-wide to the blatant prejudice and discrimination rampant in fanbases over there.

Despite everything, you couldn't help but recall Sae. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest, and you briefly hoped that things had improved for his safety and happiness. Even though you two had technically broken up, what with the long and heavy silence you shared, you wished him no ill will. Besides, this website said the campaign was launched in 2005, that was forever ago.

You didn't even know that Sae had come home years later.

You had been walking home when suddenly a giant TV caught your attention. There he was in all his glory, bangs pushed away from his face, his expression bored, his mouth pulled into a frown that looked like it'd been etched into his face. Sae was doing an interview with a representative of the JFU and your eyes caught on his wrist. He'd changed so much, and the years since he was 13 suddenly weighed heavily on your chest.

Sae was all grown up, and so were you, but you'd grown in two completely different directions. You felt like a flower that had sprouted toward the sun, climbing and yearning, but he . . . he was like a root, burrowing deeper into the ground, cementing himself in an environment that made him grow an exhausted look in his teal eyes. You felt bad, and then felt worse as your eyes snagged on his wrist.

Two bracelets, white and black, dangling loosely from his arm. The camera couldn't focus in on them close enough, but you swore you could vaguely make out the shape of a Nike checkmark.

Your heart almost stops.

Your head is reeling the entire walk home, and after dinner you sit in the dark in your bedroom, staring at the floorboards. You'd gotten it all wrong. Sae had also sprouted from the ground like you, but someone had taken gardening clippers and killed his sprout before it could even bud.

Sighing, you take your phone out and hunt down Sae's phone number. It's buried somewhere deep in your contacts, but you finally find it. Your finger hovers over the Call button, and you shake your head. Instead, you decide that a message would suffice.

you: hey! i saw ur back in Japan wanna meet up?

You chuck your phone onto your pillow and spend the next hour pacing your room desperate to avoid looking at it. Eventually, you bite the bullet and flip it over, seeing a few messages from Sae. You need to unlock the chat to see what they say, and within the five seconds it takes, your heart jumps with hope of rekindling something five years gone now.

Where will you guys go on the date? What will you do? Will he be like how he was before, or will you need to get used to his new persona? You could manage with this quieter version of him, you're sure-

Your eyes widen as you read his messages. The first words he's spoken to you in four years.

sae: no, and u should delete this number im sorry its better for both of us if you accept that im gone now i have to go back home to spain in a little anyways

Home. He has to go home, to Spain.

Your phone falls from your hands and clunks against the wooden floor of your bedroom. How could that place be his home? Somewhere where he needs to fight against the cruel and crazed fanatics who hate people like him, people like you-

You shouldn't have rushed into your hope of rekindling something with you. You should've protected yourself more. Whatever, there was nothing to do now but delete his number like he asked.

As you clear it from your phone's memory, your vision blurs and your heart desperately points out that he kept your number saved all this time still. But what does that matter anyways?

a/n: will sofie ever right a happy sae fic? who knows? not me!

[pianokantzart]

What do you think of this theory regarding the villain of Brothership?

The villain's motivation could be summed up by one detail I've noticed. He has two wires on top of his head. One's red, the other green.

Let's say that Concordia is running out of power. The villain needs Mario and Luigi as a battery. He says that it's for the good of Concordia, and that the Bros are only thinking about themselves because they're trying to go home. Not only do Mario and Luigi contradict this by helping the islands, but it's revealed that the villain only wants to use the Bros to power himself and take over.

The game could even have a twist on kidnapping Peach. The villain only wants Peach as bait. The moment he thinks he has Mario and Luigi, he lets Peach go, she's of no further use to him.

Hmmmm, I have some alternate theories of my own.

I love the idea of Peach being used as bait only because the villain wants to get ahold of the heroes (kind of like what happened in Luigi's Mansion 3, but this time with Mario and Luigi as the targets) but I wouldn't count on that happening in Brothership since it's been all but confirmed that Peach won't be kidnapped in this game.

But regarding your first theory, I'd say based on the synopsis and previews that Concordia is thriving in terms of resources, but struggling with social discord (which is ironic, given the definition of the word "Concordia.")

Aesthetically speaking, the residents of this world seem to be divided into two main categories: Outlets, who are friendly, helpful, or otherwise common folk.

And wires/plugs, who are aggressors and troublemakers.

But what if it's not that simple? What if the outlets are producers of powerful magic but can't wield it to its full potential, while wires and plugs are able to wield magic in ways outlets can't, but they can't produce any magic of their own?

With that in mind, I can definitely see our main baddie trying to use Mario and Luigi as something of a battery, since one way or another their combined skills have made them into a formidable source of power.

But if I may speculate, I'm willing to bet that... as you've theorized... Mario and Luigi will bring concord to Concordia over the course of their adventure. Perhaps they might even fix some of the broken relations between the wire-types and the plug-types. I can see the main baddie wanting to see the status quo maintained; a status quo that, up until now, has allowed him to work from the shadows and hoard power for himself. When sending his lackeys out to stop Mario and Luigi doesn't work, he targets them as a personal power source as both an act of vengeance, and a way to make sure he stays on the top of the heap.

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae <3 if you’re open to it, would you write Spencer reassuring shy reader or reader who is still in grad school and is feeling insecure about her intelligence compared to him/the rest of the team. anyway I love how you write Spencer tytyty <3

Thanks for requesting gorgeous <3

cw: vague discussion of homicide crime scene, reader is a bit intellectually insecure, written with a fem reader in mind

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 754 words

You’re talking to yourself. You do this, sometimes, Spencer doesn’t think you even really mean to. It’ll just be a word here or there, a murmured maybe as you ponder a case or shit when you fill out a form wrong and have to get another. You’d done it in front of Derek once, and even he’d had the good sense not to tease you about it; you’re too green, still, too nervous for good-natured joking. 

The police station is mostly empty, the rest of the team having called it a night except for you and Spencer. In the past twenty minutes, as you’ve swivel in your chair and peered at the board with hawk-like intensity, it’s been no, but if…, and unless? Spencer tries not to let it distract him, but it is cute, the way you seem to be talking yourself in and out of theories, using yourself as your own sounding board. He’s never met an intern—a student, nonetheless—less eager to get to their FBI-bankrolled hotel room. 

It’s when you shake your head at yourself, seemingly dismissing an idea, and mutter stupid, that’s when Spencer steps in. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

You jolt and turn your head like you’d forgotten he was there. “Huh?” 

“You seem like you have an idea.” 

“Oh, I was…it wasn’t anything.” You have one foot on the ground, the other pulled up onto your chair with you, and you’re using it to swivel your seat back and forth restlessly. It’s almost funny; Spencer doesn’t understand how anyone could ever be nervous around him, but you are. You are around the whole team. You’re quiet most of the time, looking at them all with wide eyes and palpable awe while they analyze and ideate. It’s sweet, but also baffling, considering you’re fiercely intelligent yourself. 

Spencer smiles at you. Your lips curve in kind, like they’re not entirely sure why but are relieved to do it. 

“I’d still like to hear it,” he says. 

You visibly shrink, leg pulling closer to you in your seat. “I was just, um, starting to think that maybe the way he laid out the second victim could be a sign of remorse, but then I realized it couldn’t be, because of—”

“The dump site,” Spencer finishes with you. 

You nod, looking abashed. “Right. So, obviously not.” 

“That’s not obvious,” Spencer says. He looks at the board, tapping his thumb on his jaw. “We haven’t been looking at the way the second victim was positioned, there could be something to that.” 

You blink. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I—well, sorry. I just didn’t think there was anything to say. I didn’t want to sound dumb.” 

You cringe like you hadn’t meant to say it. Spencer feels his brows twitch together, though it’s not like the explicit admission surprises him when you’ve effectively been saying it in a thousand implicit ways since he met you. He has the strange urge to reach over and put a hand on your shoulder. It's not like him, so he doesn’t. 

“We all have theories that don’t pan out,” he says, “all the time. We just bounce them off the team anyway in case it leads to another idea.” 

Your smile is almost rueful. “You don’t.” 

Spencer actually laughs. “I do. It’s possible you just haven’t been around long enough to notice.” 

Your head tilts sideways as though contemplating this. It makes your body list slightly in the chair, your leg resting against the cushioned arm. You look more at ease than you did a minute before, softer, the furrow of concentration easing from between your brows. Spencer’s chest feels light and airy without reason.

“It’s not dumb, to have an idea that doesn’t turn into anything,” he tells you gently. “No one in our team would think that.” 

“I know,” you say, sheepish now. “You guys just know so much, I don’t know how to contribute.”

“It comes with experience,” Spencer assures you. “You’ll pick it up quickly, I can tell. You already are.” 

You smile again. It’s more relaxed than before, a bashful pride shining in your eyes. Spencer props his cheek on his fist, mirroring it thoughtlessly. You look tired, though no less pretty for it, the beckoning of sleep gentle in your features. If Spencer was less selfish he’d probably tell you to go back to the hotel, but normally he’s the only one who never manages to use his room during these trips. He finds he really enjoys the company.

[aangell333]

Okay your Spencer smut might be the best I've ever read, could you maybe do one about Spencer absolutely manhandling reader and just like really rough sex. Idk maybe some jealousy or a bad case and he needs to take his anger out on you, just whatever you want.

And like just really rough with like edging and overstimulation and dacryphilia and just very very rough. And maybe some sweet aftercare or something like that

I'm in desperate need for Spencer to fuck me till I'm cum dumb :))

Thank you <33

oh

my god.

first off THANK YOU SWEETIE THATS TOO SWEET OF YOU!!

second off i’ve given the reader a thing I personally have where I kinda cum prematurely during sex 🫠 this means I get overstimulated really easily so I think it’ll pair with what you’re looking for :)

this is utter filth guys. also I KNOWWW some things are unrealistic but they’re hot so shove it.

so sorry this took so long and that the ending feels super rushed 😭

anyways enjoy!

you knew this was wrong.

hooking up with your coworker simply because this case was beating both your asses and sex wasn’t exactly presenting itself to you as a little pink box with a shiny ribbon on top.

the two of you had been going back and forth all day, snapping and jabbing at each other. theories were belittled and intellectuality degraded; everyone knew one of you was about to snap. they expected you to end up going through the dry wall or spencer out of the window.

they would never have expected to… explode in this way.

it was dirty. filthy. you both knew it.

and you both loved it.

he followed close behind you as you entered the hotel room and the door slammed behind him before his hands were all over you. he grabbed you by the upper arms, tugging you harshly into the wall. you hit it with a thud, your head bouncing off it.

you barely had time to get your surroundings before his hand was closing around your neck.

“do you get off on some sick power play to diminish me in front of everyone?” he hissed. “i’ve been doing this for years. you’ve been here for two seconds compared to my experience.”

“wow, prison sure did harden you up, huh. word from the team has it you were a little bitch before,” you could barely get your statement out before his hand was tightening, having you gasping for air as your airways closed up.

“shut the fuck up.” you would’ve snapped back, if you weren’t distracted by your buttons flying everywhere.

the two parts of the front of your now-ruined blouse were clutched in spencer’s hands. his face was the picture of rage, anger simmering in his gorgeous eyes and his lips pursed tightly.

“you asshole!”

“no. you need to be put in your place.”

you’d never been kissed with such ferocity. his lips smushed against yours, pressing them this way and that. it was messy, almost gross the way your tongues intertwined and saliva dripped. spencer pulled your hair from the crown of your head, harshly pulling your head back as his mouth immediately latched onto the column of your neck.

as he sucked and nipped, he pushed your blouse further off your shoulders the lower he went. your own fingers fumbled with his buttons, trying desperately to undo them. once your blouse was on the floor, he pulled away from you, throwing you onto the bed.

“dumb bitch can’t even undo some buttons?” he hissed, ripping your shoes off as you hastily unbuttoned your jeans.

“god, reid, shut up!” you wined as you squirmed your hips and pushed your jeans down.

“such a mouth on you.” he tutted patronisingly, rolling the sleeves of his half-buttoned-up shirt to his elbows and freeing his belt from his pant loops. “I ought to teach you a lesson.”

he chucked his belt onto the bed beside you before forcefully yanking your jeans off. he then grabbed your wrists in one hand, restraining you as he flipped you over. before you knew it, he was sat on the edge of the bed with you over his knee.

“reid!” you exclaimed as he folded his belt in half.

crack.

“ah!” your yelp sounded more like a moan, your ass stinging red.

the juxtaposition of spencer’s soothing hand and scrutinisingly-sweet voice overwhelmed your senses.

“aww, does the brat not know how to take her punishment with fucking dignity? this is what rude little girls get, you understand?” his tone boiled rage in you.

“fuck you.”

crack.

“ah!”

“count it.” he hissed.

“wha- what?”

crack.

“fucking count it!”

“one!”

“good girl.” his tone was condescending, as if he was talking to a misbehaving child trying to turn their behaviour around.

you counted every crack to your skin, your flesh burning as the belt came down on it. you eventually got to ten, your ass glowing red and cheeks tear-streaked. yet, by the time you got to ten, your pussy was soaked.

your hole oozed slick with every crack and caress that spencer administered to your cheeks. you whimpered in his lap, pressing your face into the comforter of the hotel bed.

“you dick.” you whimpered with a sniffle.

a smack to your hot rear had your back arching.

“i’ll show you dick.” spencer snarled.

he spread his legs, pushing you off of him and onto your knees between his. the stark contrast of your naked body and his fully clothed one was enough to have you grinding in your seat. spencer undid his flies and opened them, presenting his cock straining against his boxers to you.

he once again tangled his hand in your hair at the crown of your head before pulling you into his crotch. you let out a muffled whine, pushing on his thighs, but he held you still. you couldn’t move your face from his boxer shorts.

“lick.” he commanded, but you couldn’t hear him over your struggle. “I said, lick.”

it was degrading the way he had you lapping at his clothed cock like a damn dog. your tongue picked up bits of lint from the fabric of his boxers and the spot where his tip was leaking precum was damp and salty. it was disgusting. you couldn’t help but love it.

when your hands came up to the elastic of his boxers, he didn’t stop you from pulling them down. his cock stood up, taking your breath with it.

what he lacked slightly in girth, god damn did he make up for in length. he was huge, intimidating even.

“the fuck are you waiting for? what happened to the cock-hungry bitch licking my cock a second ago?” his words probed at something inside of you and you curled your hand around his cock, squeezing.

and god did you want to capture that breathy moan and head tilt that he released and keep it forever.

but his mood quickly shifted as his hands gripped your hair and shoved your face down onto his cock. gags, whimpers and tears left you as he hammered his cock into your throat, his pace relentless and bruising.

“god, this shut you up, huh? I should have you like this more often. bet you’d love it if I shut you up by shoving my cock into your mouth in the middle or the office, huh? show hotch and morgan what a slut you are for my cock. yeah? you want that attention?” he was mocking you! god knows what compelled you to hum and nod in agreement. “fucking whore. oh, look at you! fucking touching yourself?”

his cock was pulled out of your mouth, strings of saliva connecting you to it. ignoring your coughs and splutters, he manoeuvred his leg between yours, angling it so his shin rubbed deliciously against your core.

“wha- what are you doing?” you asked him, voice slightly hoarse.

“if you wanna get off so bad, you can hump my leg like the bitch you are!” he laughed.

anger flooded you, your nails biting into his calf and a frown coming over your face.

“no.”

“oh!”

his leg jolting up to meet your core had you moaning loudly. and you couldn’t help yourself. you started chasing that feeling, hips working overtime as you fully humped dr spencer reid’s leg. that was still covered by his stupid pants!

“aww, aren’t you just a needy bitch?” his tone was condescending, mocking as he lazily stroked his cock like you were simply porn material. you shook your head, prompting him to begin bouncing his leg up to meet your core. “come on, tell me what a needy bitch you are.”

“I’m a needy bitch,” you whispered out.

you found your arms wrapping around his leg as you pressed your whole body to him, still humping him.

“louder.” he ordered.

“I’m a needy bitch!” your voice is pitchy and whiny, almost screaming when he begins rocking his leg up to meet your sensitive clit.

you didn’t have to hump for long before you found your core tightening and your breathing becoming more laboured. you whimpered out how close you were, causing spencer to pull his leg from under you. the loss of balance had you falling into his knee, face smushing against the bony structure.

“wha…” you whimpered sadly as spencer pouted down at you with faux-sympathy.

“aww, is the little bitch all sad she can’t cum?” he asked condescendingly, making you sit straight again.

you sat in front of him on your knees, looking up at him with an angry pout. deciding to take matters into your own hands and stop waiting for his every order, you crawled to turn yourself around, revealing your back to him.

“what are you doing, huh?” he murmured.

you didn’t say anything, only lifting your ass up and down a few times as if you were shaking your ass on a dick. you felt it jiggle, looking back at him with a smirk. his pupils were blown and his hand loose around his cock.

“pet…” he warned and you took your chances.

still on the floor, you fell forward and pushed your ass into the air as you manoeuvred yourself into the deepest arch. you whined loudly as you did so, exposing your gooey, drooling hole to him. where you were sat, a wet patch glistened and the thin string connected to the carpet and your hole snapped. you heard spencer sigh shakily and squirmed on the bed. the sound of a zipper going back up sounded, the rustling of a button returning back to its hole.

only that’s where you’re wrong. he wasn’t squirming, he was standing.

three long fingers pushed easily into your hole, making you scream out. he kneeled over you, almost mounting you as he fingerfucked you. he was relentless, curling and uncurling his fingers at an ungodly speed. your slick dripped down his hand, sprayed over his forearm with the force of his movements and squelched loudly.

“trying to tease me?” he draped his body over yours as he hissed in your ear.

you whined pathetically, hips pushing back to meet his hand. he didn’t stop and you felt your orgasm drawing closer.

“oh god! oh god, oh god, oh god, I’m close!” you yelled out, only for his fingers to remove from your body. “wha- reid!”

“aww, I know. it’s hard being teased, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone as condescending as ever. you whimpered as you felt your orgasm dissolve.

and he plunged his fingers back in your pussy, grinning and laughing when you screamed out and your eyes rolled back. his fingers sped up and up and up until they stopped again.

each time you got close, he would stop touching you all together. he knelt over you and laughed as you begged and babbled pathetically. he was practically mounting you, you hadn’t even realise he’d pulled his cock out.

“you wanna cum, baby?” he asked, chuckling when you nodded and babbled pathetically. “of course you do.”

it was that night that you realised, you’d never experienced true pleasure until you had spencer reid fucking you like a madman.

his pace was relentless, bruising and wild. his hips slammed against your already sore ass and his tip bullied your cervix. tears rolled down your face, making him laugh.

“my little toy looks so pretty when she cries! aw, what’s the matter, princess?” he cooed mockingly in your ear.

“feels- feels so- so good…” you could hardly speak, hardly form a thought. it was too much.

you were cumming before you knew it, coating his cock in your cream. he laughed mockingly at you, hand coming down to draw little circles on your clit. you screamed and spasmed, knees giving up on you as you fell to the floor. he held you up by your hips, almost completely suspending your lower half.

“can’t even hold yourself up.” he grunted.

with one arm wrapped around your middle and the other hand at your clit, he chased his own orgasm in a haze of blinding hot pleasure. yet, you were cumming again before he was, your squirt splashing out onto his legs.

“oh, sweetheart! squirting all over me?” he laughed delightedly. “what a good girl. fuck, baby, I’m- hah- I’m close. gonna come inside. gonna- ha-ah- fill you up- fuck- yeah- claim you-”

his seed spilled into you in thick, copious amounts. you felt him fill you, your tummy swelling a little with the amount he was pumping into you.

“thank you, doctor,” you whimpered out, feeling all hazy and fuzzy.

he was panting above you, head thrown back in exhaustion.

“good girl. my good girl,” he murmured breathlessly. “let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

you’d never been pampered as nicely as you were that night.

*~*~*

“ah! spencer! ah!” derek moaned at you, high pitched and over dramatic, as you place his coffee down on his borrowed desk.

you frowned, trying to keep a straight face.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’d rather you kept your sexual fantasies to yourself. I think that’s something you discuss with reid,” you sniped.

“I think you discusssd a lot with reid last night,” he smirked. “oh my god! just like that spencer!”

“someone clearly wasn’t paying attention. he likes it when I call him doctor.” you say, stalking away.

from his seat opposite derek, spencer grinned at him in a way that clearly said: “yeah. she’s mine.”

@wietske27

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Sonny Carisi: Orange Peel Theory 

This one is dedicated @polkadotpenguin16. Thanks for giving me so many Sonny ideas. I’m sorry I haven’t done any of them yet. But this one popped into my head and I thought it might be a decent substitute. I appreciate your support! <3 

It was a silly thing. You had been spending too much time on TikTok and the orange peel trend was everywhere. It was a simple enough theory. You ask your partner to peel an orange for you and it would show you how healthy your relationship was. Peeling the orange was a small act and something you could do yourself. If your partner was willing to do it for you it showed they cared for you and was willing to help you meet your needs. If they didn’t what they said was an indicator of how they viewed their relationship with their partner.  

The theory suggested that a small act of service, like peeling an orange, could show commitment to the relationship, express kindness without conditions or expectations, and enhance the overall health and happiness of the relationship. That was a lot to expect from a little test but you understood the overall message.  

You had no doubt that Sonny would peel an orange for you.  

It was a given. But the more videos of girls asking their boyfriends to peel an orange with a mixed bag of results on your for you page made you more and more curious about Sonny’s reaction. It had gotten to the point where you had bought a bag of firm shiny oranges.  

Sonny set your phone down on the coffee table as Sonny sits down next to you on the couch. He had only had enough time to take a shower. He looked delectable in his gray sweats, his hair fluffy, gel-free, and still drying. You kept bouncing back and forth between asking or not. “Hey babe?” You hear him hum as he looks up from his phone that he was checking. “You know what sounds good right now?” 

“What’s that sweetheart?” His blue graze meets yours as you feel his attention switch to you and lock. 

“An orange,” Before you could even ask if he would grab one for you he was already pushing himself up to stand. You didn’t know if it was an Italian thing or just a Sonny thing but when someone mentioned wanting food, he jumped to feed them.  

“You skipped lunch again, didn’t you? You really got to stop doing that honey.” You felt slightly guilty as you watched him disappear into the kitchen. It wasn’t fair to make Sonny do this stupid test.  

You know he loved you. 

You had come to a firm decision that you would not ask him to peel it for you. It felt strangely like a betrayal of trust. Only something you would do if you didn’t feel secure in your relationship. You hear his footsteps approaching. “Thanks, baby-”  

You look up to see his hand held out palm up holding a beautifully ripe peeled orange. When you froze and didn’t take it his brows furrowed. “Sweetheart, everything okay?” You shake your head and hold your hand out and Sonny places the orange in your hand. You just stare at it dumbly. “What?” 

“Nothing, I just love you, Sonny.” You press up on your toes and steal a kiss. He still looks confused but smiles warmly at you. 

“I love you too.”   

[lunaeclipse1057-ao3]

My Love Letter To The Community

The QSMP was everything, to me. It was such an amazing thing that not many people could even dream of, yet Quackity and his team had the vision, and not only that, but made it a reality. Thank you, Quackity. Thank you, Quackity Studios. Thank you, CC's. Thank you, Admins.

But most of all, thank you, QSMPblr.

You guys were by far the best part of this experience for me. Every event, every important moment, it was made better for me by the community. The fanart, the theories, the silly little liveblogs we all did for our favorite POV's. I laughed harder at some of your guy's stupid little chat messages or Tumblr posts then some of the actual in-stream moments.

I would not have fallen for the QSMP as hard as I did if it wasn't for the community. Before I joined Tumblr in September, it was just a little hobby I liked to check up on from time to time, but it was you, all of you, that helped me realize what a truly beautiful thing this was.

There are a few people I want to thank specifically. Putting it under a thing cause this is about to get LONG

@okaioh, my fellow Philza main, my best friend in the QSMP community. We bounced back and forth on each others ideas a lot, and you've made me laugh really hard. Thank you.

@rainbowchaox, Death Family truther. I feel like we've interacted a lot, and I've appreciated your company. Thank you.

@ultra-raging-ghost and @q-starhalo, for being my main updates on the insanity that was BadBoyHalo this year. I've really enjoyed seeing you two pop up on my dash. Thank you.

@theroseyhues, for being a new addition to my list of friends, but one I look forward to continue to interact with.

@genevawren38, BOLAS!!! You've been fun to see on my dash recently. Thank you.

@disfrutalakia, for being the only reason I knew anything about the chaos that was the Portuguese this year. Thank you.

@miscellaneoussmp, a new addition to my dash but a very welcome one. It needed more q!Pac. Thank you.

@etoilesbienne, for being the reason I got into Etoiles and learning french. Thank you.

@kadextra, for being you and making me laugh so hard with your reaction images. Thank you.

@cellgatinbo, for being the number one cannibal cellbit truther. I got most of my QSMP news from your reblogs. Thank you.

@isa-ghost, for just chatting with me from time to time and being as much of a c!Phil apologist as I have. Thank you.

@royalarchivist and @mcyt-archives, for being SUCH A FUCKING GOAT WITH THE CLIPS AND VODS, HOLY SHIT! Your blogs never fails to amaze me. Thank you.

@elcucurucho, for making me laugh so much with your funny little shit. Thank you.

@scheepstep, for being another big Death Family obsessor. I only recently discovered your blog but it's really fun to look through. Thank you.

@pixiecaps, my FitMC update blog. You seem really cool, I want to interact with you more. Thank you.

@qsmpincorrect, @qsmptwitchupdates, @qsmppollshowdownblog, and @which-qsmp-egg-would, for feeding us with your content and funny little things. Thank you.

@sweevanna and @lionheartedmusings, for your contributions, not just on the community but on the QSMP itself. Thank you.

And to everyone else. And I mean everyone. It's been real.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Surprise Pt. 5 | Soap x Reader

Summary: The boys learn that they don’t know you as well as they thought they did, while you find some newfound ‘friends’ in an American and his unofficial boss in Urzikstan.

Word Count: ~ 4.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of death, knives, blood, guns, explosions, debris, gas, torture, kidnapping, shooting, choking, heavy topics, biting, it’s a lot yall

A/N: umm sorry ive been gone for a week here’s some food!! *runs away* this is a big switchup though from mainly 141 to Alex, Farah, and a few more pieces of reader’s backstory so lmk any thoughts or theories (yk I love them) hope you enjoy<3 (side quest: find how many characters you can recognize from cod!)

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The first thing Captain John Price registered when he walked into the room, the rest of his Task Force following closely behind, was that they were in some deep shit. They’d just gotten back from a mission. The one they’d been called into during the volleyball game. It had been low stakes, but instead of going back to the apartment, they’d been told to get back to base as soon as possible.

Laswell was pacing back and forth, fidgeting, two things she never did unless everything was falling apart at the seams. The last time he’d seen her so worked up had been years ago. When she caught sight of him, there was no sigh of relief or relaxation, she breathed out four words.

”They got her, John.”

He tried not to let the tension in his body show, tried not to look just how internally panicked he was right now. Simon stiffened, hands balling into fists. Price knew it was a conscious effort to not lash out immediately.

”What.”

Ghosh ground out, eyes narrowed. Soap tried putting a hand on his shoulder, a hand that Simon only shoved off immediately. Laswell just shook her head, looking to be in shock as she only sat down at one of the chairs in the dimly lit room, pulling documents out from a drawer under the long table.

Price was the first to sit, followed by Gaz, then Soap, and finally, Simon who refused to relax, his leg bouncing impatiently under the table, hands on his knees.

Laswell opened one of the files, sliding it around to where they could see it. Lo and behold, it was a picture of you from a few years back, maybe when you’d been 14 or 15. You shouldn’t have been able to get in that early, it shouldn’t have even been possible. You wore a uniform, the file listing you by your first and last name, your callsign in the center. There was no official position or branch like there should’ve been.

“Wasp.”

Price stared at it for a few moments, reading whatever he could glean over in the file before glancing up at Laswell, who in turn pulled another file out. This one looked newer, the corners were not bent or warped yet. When she opened it, there was no picture on file. This time, it stated “Marines” as your branch. Your last name was listed as “Woods” instead of Riley.

To keep Simon from finding you on the database, most likely. Or someone else.

And the thing that caught his attention the most?

The “Captain” title right next to your first name.

”That’s nae possible.”

Soap said, jaw clenched as he glanced at Simon, the man refusing to meet his eye, glaring down at the files.

”It is,”

Laswell said, breathing out a shaky breath. Trying to calm herself, Price knew.

”They found her in a camp at 12, Frank Woods took her in, pulled some strings, and enrolled her early off record. He kept her mostly off base in a safe house until she turned 18.”

Gaz’s gaze was on Laswell now, narrowed, pinned on her. Interrogation was his specialty, after all.

”A camp?”

A nod.

”Essentially a POW camp, her relations to Ghost meant she was a valuable asset to bargain.”

Price didn’t need to glance over at Ghost to see the way he’d nearly stopped breathing, the shock being a common aspect among the group. Gaz let out a deep breath, hand going to hold the brim of his cap, his gloved finger running along the seam.

”Then how the bloody hell is she in high school?”

Simon asked, trying to reason with how this could’ve happened, how you could’ve lied to them, to him, for so long about everything and he’d never even caught on. It hadn’t been a volleyball camp keeping you from attending his mum’s funeral, it had been a POW camp, one you had been in because of him in the first place.

Simon asked, trying to reason with how this could’ve happened, how you could’ve lied to them, to him, for so long about everything and he’d never even caught on. It hadn’t been a volleyball camp keeping you from attending his mum’s funeral, it had been a POW camp, one you had been in because of him in the first place. And the new, somewhat stable foster home you’d been in? A safe house provided by your new foster parent, Frank Woods, an American Sergeant that Simon had heard whispers of.

He’d allegedly been a force to reckon with during the Korean and Vietnam wars, retired now and pushing 60 probably, but no less legendary by military standards.

”She’s 23, Lieutenant. It was a cover mission.”

Another surprise.

Another lie.

“Steamin’ Jesus…”

Soap muttered, the gleam in his eye dimming from what was most likely concern.

”It was an undercover mission, but with her gone, I don’t know how we’ll handle Nova…”

Laswell muttered to herself, catching herself just in time to shut her mouth then and there, probably realizing she’d already said too much, when Price stood up, staring her down.

”Nova? The hell is that?”

He asked sternly, and Laswell gathered the files in her hands, putting them neatly back into stacks, falling back into the controlled woman he usually saw her as.

”That’s classified, John.”

“Considering we’re closely involved with her, I don’t think it is, Kate.”

He saw the slight whiplash it gave her to call her by her first name, which made sense considering it was always Laswell. Her face grew stern, despite the worried frown lines already carving into her face.

”Don’t. We’ll get her back.”

The rest of the boys watched as she walked out of the room, Gaz muttering something sarcastic under his breath, Price pacing, Soap cursing not so quietly under his breath in his full unbridled accent, and Ghost sitting deathly still.

”I’ll talk to Briggs.”

Price said firmly, words stiff as he walked out of the room.

A moment of silence between the remaining three in the room.

Soap was the first to speak.

“Fuck!”

~

The sweet and irony smell of blood filled your nose as you shakily tried to move, limbs trembling for some reason.

Blinking to try and clear the blurriness in them, you opened your eyes, only to begin rapidly blinking as something small and grainy lifted from a sudden draft and blew into your eyes.

Sand.

You hated sand. The way it shifted under your feet, how it got under all your clothing and in your mouth, under your nails, and in your shoes. The grainy, grinding texture of it against your skin when you had a high-stakes mission and had to lie in it, waiting for the perfect shot.

But sand of this texture was in a handful of places, so at least you could narrow your location down a bit. Getting up and looking around would also help.

You were in a small room, from the looks of it, leaning against a wooden beam that dug at the clothing on your back with jagged edges. Textured, colorfully patterned quilts and blankets hung around, and shifting your head to turn right despite how it throbbed, you saw a corkboard filled with pins and images of people, locations, and notes. A few of the faces were recognizable, not in a good way though. Recognizable in the sense that you had seen those faces before you thought you’d killed them.

The sandy floor beneath you had wood underneath, by the feel of it. Your palms pushed against the floor, trying to get the leverage to stand up, only for you to slump against the wood again.

You needed to get up.

This time using your good leg to push against the floor, as well as your palms, you got almost halfway up the beam, nearly standing, when the sand made your foot slide back out and you fell onto the floor again.

A small, breathy chuckle from the other side of the room had you immediately turning your head, the quick movement making it spin slightly, even as you heard the sound of metal moving against the floor as well as only one footstep every few seconds.

“I don’t like the sand either. Hard on my leg, or what’s left of it, anyways.”

The American from earlier came in, maybe Alex? You’d been so disoriented when he’d told you that you could hardly remember. Fragments of foggy bits came to light, but nothing more than that.

His hair was a sandy color, dirty blonde almost, with a mustache and hair that was sticking almost straight up but short enough to not look ridiculous. His one leg was perfectly normal, but on the other, there was a curved piece of metal to replace the lower half of it where a nub was all that was left.

He offered you a hand, one you hesitated before taking. An American soldier wasn’t a threat, or at least shouldn’t be. He pulled you up as you stumbled to your feet.

“Where are we?”

Your raspy voice asked, throat dry. You tried to clear it to no avail. He grabbed a canteen from a table a few feet away, near the corkboard, and handed it to you with the lid already popped off.

“Zaravan City, Urzikstan. We’re not close to much anything, though, this is one of our safe houses.”

He spoke while you chugged the water, it flowing down your throat mercifully and filling your empty stomach, only serving to remind you that you were also starving. Food could wait, though. When you handed the nearly empty canteen back to him with a small sigh, you raised a brow.

“Our?”

A woman’s voice, thick with a familiar accent, spoke then.

“Yes, our.”

She was standing by the corkboard, glancing over the information with a sharp eye, before walking over to Alex. Her hair was dark and thick, tied tightly back into what seemed to be a ponytail beneath her dark garb. A gun hung from her hip, something semi-automatic. You weren’t sure if that was legal or not here, but couldn’t find it within you to care.

“Farah, in case you don’t remember, Riley.”

You were glad she’d told you because you most definitely did not remember her name. Her gaze met yours, and you held it for a long minute, recognizable facial features coming to your mind, like a dream, you could reach but not quite hold. And then—you remembered.

“Karim,”

You breathed, eyes narrowing. General Karim had proven to be more than capable more times than once during the scandals throughout Urzikstan, especially to the boys.

The boys.

You’d nearly forgotten until now, but you wondered just how much they knew. Whether someone had spilled, or Laswell had told them everything. They would probably be biting at the leash, but there was nothing that could be done now, not with the mission having failed.

They were on their own now.

Farah nodded.

“It is not every day we find an American in a Mexican facility,”

A pointed glance at Alex, whose lips curled slightly up at that.

You grumbled, legs still shaky, probably from the gas that had managed to slip in before you’d put the gas mask on doing rounds through your body, the last of it yet to leave. Managing to stumble over to a chair near a small round table in the corner of the room, you sat down, it groaning under your weight.

“Not every day I see a group from America and Urzikstan in a Mexican facility.”

You shot back and watched as Farah and Alex exchanged a glance, a silent conversation happening right in front of you. Rude, but you couldn’t say you hadn’t done the same thing before.

Alex sighed, grabbing the chair with one hand and easing himself down onto it with his leg, propping the prosthetic up on a nearby crate.

His blue eyes met yours as he set one elbow down on the table.

“We were going after Santiago Garza, a key member of their cartel, which we have reason to believe has…”

He exchanged a glance with Farah, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head.

“…access to things he shouldn’t.”

Alex finished. Farah spoke next, already sensing your oncoming interrogation despite not being in control of the situation.

“We answered yours, now answer our question. Why did he want you?”

Her tone was demanding, leaving no wiggle room for you to try and keep anything from her. If this whole arrangement was going to work out, you were going to have to be transparent with them, anyway. Or as transparent as you could be.

“I have a… personal history with the Garza family. Not a pretty one.”

Farah pressed her lips together but didn’t question further.

The American wasn’t as smart.

“What kind of history?”

He asked, brows raised in an almost innocent expression if it weren’t for the gleam of suspicion in his eyes. You shook your head. Not willing to talk about it. Not now. Woods was the only one you’d ever talked to about it, other than David when the bastard was even there.

Which hadn’t been often.

“What’s the date?”

You then asked. If you’d been captured in America, and then taken to a supposed Mexican facility, then to Urzikstan, it must’ve taken quite a while. Not to mention the travel from there to the safe house…

“The 24th.”

Farah answered, hands moving to idly wipe sand off of the barrel of her gun, back leaning against the wooden post. Her finger remained near the trigger. Untrusting.

It had been nearly four days.

By then, someone had to have noticed the body of Nalani in your room, and your obvious absence. A homicide and a missing person’s case as well, most likely. The boys had definitely heard of it then, despite what you assumed was a mission they were on, considering how early they left that volleyball game.

Had Woods been informed? Had anyone on your team been informed, or were they still too deep in their work in your absence?

Alex’s eyes snapped to the window as he heard something rustling outside, and within moments he was down on his haunches, you and Farah were quick to follow as he lifted one of the thin sheets lying over the windows from the bottom, glancing out for a second.

The pain in your limbs was barely even noticeable compared to the mini-adrenaline rush you were flooded with, mind and body sharp and alert. You’d performed while in much worse conditions, you could manage this one just fine, you were sure.

But without a weapon, you were defenseless.

Reaching for a gun that was laid out on the table, Alex’s hand grabbing your wrist stopped you and refused to let you grab it.

“We’ll handle this, stay inside.”

He said in a hushed tone, voice firm, even though Farah was the one with the most authority here over the both of you.

Farah slowly opened the door, peeking out, dark eyes scanning the dusty roads and markets, when several shots rang out, feminine screams following quickly as the sound of people running became all too obvious.

“Al-Qatala.”

Farah murmured, jerking her chin to Alex, before slipping her gun from her side and walking out of the door, the American man giving you one last glance that clearly said “Stay here.” before following.

Racking your brain, you tried to remember anything that might help you. Urzikstan. A small country in Western Asia. Violence wasn’t uncommon, by the sound of it. And Al-Qatala…try as you might, you couldn’t remember anything about whoever they were. Maybe some sort of gang? Probably, judging by the gunfire and angry Arabic being barked out in the streets.

But you weren’t going to be helpless, stuck in this tiny “safe house” that had two entrances and one large window a man could easily fit through. You stood up, careful to stay clear of the window to avoid catching any strays, only to find the gun that had been on the table gone.

Alex must’ve taken it.

They surely had more weapons somewhere, except for the fact that no matter where you searched, there was nothing to be found. Nothing except documents of blacked-out information, pictures on the board, and a small stash of food and water lying around. A lot of dates, too.

It wasn’t an ideal situation, but you could work with it.

A few strands of rope that you quickly picked up were lying around. Every lesson you’d overheard Woods giving to his team, drilling it into their heads, began repeating in your mind. Like a dream, almost.

“Can any of you boys tell me the five rules of guerrilla warfare?”

His voice, sharp and brusque but not hostile, asked the men in front of him.

You were crouched down, hiding in one of the small areas where the metal of the walls dented outwards slightly, giving you an area to lay down and peek through at him.

One of the men raised his hand in a salute, chapped lips opening to speak.

“Hit and run, sir!”

Woods nodded, hand shooting out to point at another man down the line of soldiers. Mostly young boys who stupidly enlisted, living for their country and dying for it. You didn’t see the point, even if Woods did. You’d never seen the point, not even when Simon had enlisted.

He could’ve been one of the dead.

He still might be. You hadn’t seen him in a while.

“Ambush, sir!”

You snapped back into focus at that, eyes watching keenly as the man nodded again. He had a habit of it; nodding very often. Even if you just inclined to take a bite of soup, he’d nod. The praise was sort of nice, you supposed. Even if you barely knew him, just having arrived here a few weeks ago.

They’d found you on one of the starving horses from the camps, near the front of the marching people, leading their way to freedom despite how sickly and beaten most were. You weren’t much better.

And when the bastard controlling that camp must’ve ordered his remaining men to circle like vultures and take out as many of the surviving prisoners as he could?

Everyone alive after the vicious attack had huddled together in a small cave, the people at the entrance usually being shot from overhead planes by the men too cowardly to approach.

They’d found you huddled up, a warm body on top of you, on one of the sides. Thrown you over their shoulder. Taken you away despite your hitting and biting, and brought you here to domesticate you again. They weren’t bad. They were just soldiers. And soldiers were all about duty and honor, two things you couldn’t find within yourself to care about much anymore. You wondered if Simon still cared about them, or if he’d been numb to it for much longer. After the death of his mother, and how pissed he’d been that you’d missed the funeral, you seriously doubted it.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watched Woods nod again. You must’ve missed the others, but you knew them by heart by now. After watching and listening for so long.

Harassment.

Mobility.

And finally…

“Surprise.”

A hand grabbed you by the arm, yanking you forward and through the wall, through the hole you’d been watching from. Woods held you by the arm infuriatingly easily, which made sense considering how much of a runt you were. Or had been at the time.

The metal had scraped against your shoulder, cutting open a shallow scratch from collarbone to right arm. You glared at him, kicking at him even as his soldiers chuckled.

Laughing at you.

You despised how patronizing it felt, leaning forward and sinking your deceivingly sharp teeth into the wrist of his hand that held you. Blood drew, and he didn’t drop you, simply moving to hold you in his other arm, smiling warmly at you as his shoulders shook from silent laughter.

“Feisty, huh?”

He said in an amused tone, ruffling your hair while someone went to grab a medic.

The memory felt warm and fuzzy, a reminder of a long time ago, though it only felt like yesterday.

But you had more important things to do than have an existential crisis.

Spying a fan in the corner, you pried the metal caging off, wrapping both hands around one of the metal pieces on it, and yanking until a piece came off. Jagged and sharp. Just how you needed it.

Wrapping your little pieces of rope around the base to protect your hand, you crept towards the back exit, listening for the sounds of any footsteps nearby. It would be hard to overhear, especially with the sounds of yelling, screaming, and gunfire in the streets. You wondered if your little makeshift friends had joined the dead or not.

A near-silent step, a branch accidentally cracking under his step, and you were on him.

Hit and run.

The metal slid smoothly into his throat, a quiet wheeze being all he could get out before you leaned his body back, watching his eyes glaze over as the blood ebbed and flowed. You pulled the gun from his hands, searching and taking what was left of his weapons as well.

One flash bang.

One knife, the case of which you strapped onto your hip, the flash bang being tucked into it soon after.

Mobility.

You crouched down, glancing left and right on the street, and breaking into a low sprint to a building down the dusty road. A restaurant by the looks of it. You couldn’t read the Arabic on the front, it having been one of the languages you hadn’t learned, even in your training for Special Forces.

More if the men flooded the streets just as you ducked behind the counter. Letting them all know you were here with gunfire wasn’t beneficial yet, not when you were so badly outnumbered. You needed to find the central point they were getting in from.

You needed to move.

Waiting for the men to pass by, you eventually went out of the back exit of the restaurant, passing the cool chill of its freezer near the kitchen before jumping onto a ladder in the alleyway outside, climbing up, and falling prone onto the ground as soon as you were there.

Looking up over the ledge, you could see now how there were so many.

Trucks were spread about the city, men exiting them and taking cover for a few seconds until they got to where they wanted to be, and started opening fire. They communicated through their radios, but why they would be here didn’t make sense.

Why try to raid a city when you couldn’t gain much, if anything from it?

Unless they weren’t trying to gain but to take someone out.

Someone who had always been against what you assumed was their little group. And that someone was none other than Farah, judging by how quickly she recognized them, and the gleam of hatred in her eyes when she looked at them. She’d been a bit too eager to slaughter them.

And with how quickly the men were flooding the roads and streets, and their communication, it wouldn’t be long until they found her.

Unless…

Glancing at the rooftop a few buildings over, you saw none other than a large tower. Not just any tower, but an antenna tower.

You observed the crowd for a moment, scanning, watching everyone, until you saw it. Heard it, rather, the loud boom it made, the man yelling “RPG!”. It was the second story of the building across the street. You couldn’t get there in time, even if you got over there without being killed or without too many civilians dying.

You needed to buy time.

Gathering the fractures courage left in your body, you got onto the balls of your feet, and against everything you’d been told, to stay quiet and unnoticeable, you began a mad dash across the building, jumping, and not stopping to marvel when your feet hit the solid ground of the other rooftop, only running further.

You still hadn’t gotten his attention.

You were almost to the antenna tower. Now or never.

Harassment.

Slipping the flash bang out of your belt-ish thing, you pulled the pin out, throwing it up in the air. You heard it when it went off, your vision blurring white as you dove and hit the floor. He must’ve heard it too, considering that when you glanced over, the large weapon was aimed at you, and when he fired, you saw it sail through the air not only at you but at the tower as well.

Diving over the edge of the building, you heard the blast, and chunks of debris and wire began raining from the sky in your area. Your ankles burned when you stood, legs screaming against any movement. Ash floated into your nose and throat, as well as the smell of fire, and you took off into another run, diving into a building, only to run face-first into another man.

Ambush.

Your fist met his jaw before his bullet met your body, but barely. You both rolled to the floor, kicking and flailing around, landing hits on each other. He jabbed at you with his gun, his knife out of reach. You rolled him onto his back, your knife coming out, only to be knocked away by his calloused hands.

Your arm went around his neck, hand locking into place with your other elbow as your knee pressed on his neck. Your breathing was pants, more gasps than anything as he gave a final few kicks, before going limp.

You picked your knife back up, head jolting up when you heard a familiar female yell just a few streets down.

The members of the Al-Qatala seemed lost, some shouting to others in Arabic, others going on rampages against civilians just for the hell of it, seemingly. You didn’t doubt that Farah had a small army of her own, but they hadn’t been prepared.

Neither had you.

Sinking lower to not attract attention, you crept through the streets, watching carefully, or as carefully as you could through your blurry vision. Sand and dust blew into it, but you couldn’t find the strength to blink it away.

Your head was throbbing again.

You weren’t sure how you managed the journey there, brain taking a temporary lapse in recording memory maybe, but the next thing you knew, you were near an old warehouse.

Talking came from inside.

A raspy voice. Old, but not kind or warm, not like the voices of the old men you were used to. Harsh and sharp. Like a whip wailing as it flew through the air. Cut paths through it.

“Where is it?”

Silence. As you crept up to the entrance of the warehouse, where the door was just slightly ajar, you could see the outline of Farah tied into a chair. Multiple other men inside. Maybe three or four. Pulling your gun slowly out, you set the handle against your knee, putting your eye right on the scope.

“We know you have the gas, Farah, or should I call you Karim?”

Cruel.

Unnecessary.

But it gave you a kernel of information.

Information you would think about later if you had the time. If you didn’t die here.

A harsh hit to the face. Audible.

You could tell it stung, but she didn’t budge.

You lined the scope up with his head, finger closing in on the trigger, holding down, just not enough until.

Surprise.

The blast of the shot alone rang out through the warehouse. Except it wasn’t who you’d been expecting to fall to the ground who did.

It wasn’t who you’d thought it had been. Not Al-Qatala, not Cartel.

No, instead, Philip Graves, director of the Shadow Company, fell sideways in the dirt.

And the men surrounding Farah?

None other than your own team that had been handed off to Graves during your departure.

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@kazuyatokue

@kurokitty6

@popcornlauncher

@karleequinn

@sharkluver

@100percentlazybonez

@kiwibao

@juneonhoth

@theyoungeagle

@kee-0-kee

[gh0st-in-green-c0nverse]

im the person who asked about the vague thing, and i mainly asked cause im terrible at specific prompts/requests(?? is there a difference idk) LMAOAOSOS

BUT BUT HERES THE REQUEST!!!! percy jackson x gn reader hurt/comfort??

TY FOR DOING THIS IF YOU DO LOVELY 🫶🫶🫶

thank you so much!!! and of course!

here’s a little something while I work on pt 2 of golden! sorry for the wait, I’ve been super overwhelmed with school n extracurricular stuff :(( cw: violence and fear

frosted glass (percy jackson x reader)

The fluorescent lights are making your eyes water.

“Look. Look!”

An unforgiving hand grabs you by the face and turns you to him. You meet sea-green eyes, narrow and seething.

“You did this, Perseus. All for that little potion.”

You know you look bad. Your cheekbone is painted an ugly purple, eyes bruised with bags. Crusted blood tracks from your nose. It itches. Your throat burns. “No,” you force out through your teeth, breathing hard. “This wasn’t your fault—”

Knuckles knock against your teeth, sudden and biting, and an ache blooms across your top lip. That’ll swell, you think, and you can feel it start to.

“Just hand it over, and we’ll let you both go.”

Percy doesn’t have the bottle. You do — a small glass vial filled with golden, syrupy liquid. It brings someone back to life, if only for a few minutes. Chiron needs it urgently, but so does this boy.

He looks only a little older than the two of you, with wiry blonde hair and vengeful eyes that glint a brilliant blue. He wants— no, needs to speak with his mother. He’s an Ares kid, if you remember correctly, and a deserter. If you’d had two vials, you’d share it. But in his desperation, his love for his mother had turned into hatred for you, and he was, after all, his father’s son. Rage was in his blood. He punches you again.

Percy lunges forward, but there are arms threading under his and locked on either side of his head, so he’s not going anywhere. He looks so angry it would've scared you if you hadn’t known that he’d never hurt you, not even if his life depended on it.

Your head bounces off the ground as you’re thrown down. Percy lunges again, but this time he breaks free and rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” He’s saying before he even kneels. You were bracing yourself up on your forearms, having fallen face first. He turns you forward gently, helping you into a sitting position.

“Mhm,” you hum. “I’m fine.”

You’re not fully sure where you are. You’d been woken up by a punch to the jaw, and you hadn’t had much time to take stock of your surroundings since then. It looks like the back room of some sort of convenience store; the walls are lined with rusted shelves that are stocked with vibrant packaging. The only illumination comes from greenish can lights.

Percy thumbs the blood from your lip. You wince. “Sure you are, hun.”

“Real cute.” The blond drawls. He’s probably about to make some sort of stupid wisecrack, but then the door jingles. It sounds like the bells that are attached to the front door of stores, further reinforcing your theory.

The boy exchanges a look with his friends. Suddenly, you’re being pulled away from Percy. You kick and curse him in the name of everything under Olympus, but a hand is clamped over your mouth and damn, this guy can’t even be that much older than you, yet you’re completely overpowered. You hate the feeling. A muffled sob tumbles forth.

The blonde stares real hard at you for a moment. “Don’t go anywhere,” he finally says, and slips through the frosted glass door.

“How can I help you?” You can hear him say after a moment.

“Oh, I think you know how.”

The voice is strangely familiar. A dangerous tangle of hope, relief, and fear swells in your throat.

“Pardon?”

“Where are they?”

There’s a pause, and then a dull thud.

Then silence.

Its unbearable, almost. To have help so near. At least, you hope it’s help. If it’s not, you're screwed.

The hand tightens around you, a warning.

You’ll take your chances.

You bite down, hard enough to taste blood. The kid shrieks. You’d almost feel bad if he wasn’t totally beating you up earlier.

The door is kicked open, and you don’t remember much after that.

He remembers it clearly, though. It went something like this:

You stumbled forward and Percy caught you. He tried to hold you up— he really did try, but neither of you was strong enough. The two of you fell together, all buckled knees and shaking hands.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, breathless, as he tried to get a grip on you.

You were in his arms — cold and trembling, he could feel the damp patches in the fabric of your shirt where you were bleeding; but you were clinging to him and he was clinging to you and none of it mattered because you were here. You were here and you were alive, and for a moment, everything was alright again.

[the-wordsmith-streetscarf]

An Assortment of Thoughts about Daredevil Born Again episode 9

Putting my (mostly positive) thoughts here because I wanted to talk about the episode and figure this is marginally better than just bouncing them around in my head.

First of all, to all my fellow whump lovers, we've finally been given a Major Whump Event, and I am quite pleased.

A couple things of note, that I can't stop thinking about:

Matt lying in a hospital bed calling out Karen's name in his drug induced state continues to live rent free in my head, almost twenty-four hours later. It's so cliché, but I'm so here for it this time.

Heather's reaction in the hospital was so interesting to me. Initially I only read it as her being hurt over Matt calling out for Karen, and then annoyed that he didn't want to rest. Which of course is Classic Matt -- a bullet hole in his body? No time for rest, he has work to do. But upon re-watch, the way she steps away from him, body stiff… and the way she points out that the Fisks were the ones being shot at… as though that makes them innocent of any potential wrongdoings... she's annoyed that Matt is trying to villainize the Fisks. Even before she joins the mayor's team, she's firmly on their side. She either somehow doesn't know about Fisk's criminal history, or she's so anti-vigilante that she doesn't care. Almost like her fascination about vigilantes was never about trying to understand them, but rather trying to justify the point of view she already had on them. And by the end, Matt has Fisk in his pocket, further illustrating the growing wedge between Heather and Matt regarding what they believe in and why they can't work as a couple.

Vanessa's cough. That had to be intentional, right? Early in the season, I had a theory that part of the reason she was distant from Fisk at the beginning of the season is because while he was away, she was diagnosed with something, and now that he's back, she doesn't know how to reconcile the two. Of course, the only reason I was thinking this was because I'm still convinced that Foggy is alive and in witness protection thanks to Vanessa, and if the show follows the comics, Vanessa being sick is a part of that. I had forgotten about that theory until that suspicious cough… the one in which Wilson responded with, "I know."

Buck with the Get Well bag giving Ranskahov brothers with the flowers vibes.

Now, just about everything that took place in Matt's apartment…

We were blessed with another classic "Matt Injured and Sprawled On The Sofa" moment.

The back and forth that comes so easily with the two of them. Frank doesn't bother to ask if Matt's okay, just admonishes him for not having any way to make coffee during a power outage. How he asks "did you clock that?" about the van. Matt flipping him off. I don't ship Fratt, but their love language is snark.

Also can't help thinking about how Frank met Matt at his home, not at the hospital. So did he go to the hospital first, realize he wasn't there, and then beat him back to the apartment? Or did he just already assume he'd find him there?

And then there's Frank asking Matt why he'd take a bullet for Fisk, and Matt answering with "that's a good question." I don't have anything more to say about this one yet, but I want to think about it some more.

Now, I've seen some criticism of the choreography, which yeah, I think it could have been better. (Less slow-mo, please). But I saw someone compare it to a specific fight from the OG show that took place in a large open space, rather than inside a confined and crowded space like Matt's tiny apartment. It's gonna be different. It has to be. I think the chaos was intentional and necessary. But the second Matt dropped down from the skylight, I was locked in. I felt like I was watching the OG show for much of it. The chaos… Matt trying to knock out as many people as possible before Frank just kills them, but not trying very hard to actively stop Frank because the stakes are too high in that moment. Matt fighting injured. Matt still adhering to his code, knowing that killing Cole won't change anything, just like "killing" Dex didn't change anything with Foggy. (I'm not entirely convinced Cole killed Hector though. He never actually admitted it. Unless I missed something). Matt and Frank arguing and Frank's continued casual murder "how about him, is he worth it?" * bang * as he tries to push Matt.

On that note, it did throw me at first, how much Frank was pushing Matt, especially when in season 2 of the OG, he said "just this once? you cross that line you can't come back." But…. Matt did cross that line. Sure, Dex survived, but Matt still pushed him. I don't see how Frank would see that as anything else.

Something else to think about: While Matt and Frank are arguing, Matt says he's "always a liability." In the heat of their argument, Matt says "shut up" and Frank does -- immediately. When he tells Frank to run, he does. Neither of them hesitate leaping off the balcony, at least five stories up, as Matt throws an arm around Frank and slows their fall with his grapple. I don't know about the rest of you, but all this screams to me that they've worked together more than once in the years since the original show. Frank knows that when Matt says to shut up it's because he hears something important. Frank knows that Matt is reliable with his grappling hook. Love that way of world building. The show doesn't have to explicitly tell us, we're shown it in how they interact with each other. And my goodness… the fic possibilities this produces.

Though I'm very curious if or how Cole North survived. I think he's supposed to be in season 2?

The og DD theme played when Karen pulled up in the car. Beautiful in more ways than one.

Karen… I've missed her so much. "Will you be my eyes?" "Anytime."

"Do you remember I once asked you what it was like living in the darkness? Remember what you said?" "It's not dark, it's like a thousand suns." (That last one in particular is a scene I want, maybe need, even if only in fanfiction).

I just really like the scenes we got with Karen and Matt. It really feels like they had found a good place with each other in the time between the shows, where they've found a way to be much more open and honest with each other, allowing them to really understand each other. Chaos and mercy and everything in between. Which also just might further explain why Karen left when Matt's grief closed him off to her. The way she talked about Foggy too? Like… ugh, why did they have to break up our avocados!? I know why, but yeah.

Speaking of, AVOCADOS AT LAW!!!! I don't care if it's fan service. I'm a fan. I'm being served.

I appreciate the detail of showing the stars in the sky because the blackout means no light pollution, even if it probably wouldn't look like that. And I can't tell you how much I love the moment where Matt sat listening to the chaos of the city while he was at Red Hook.

I miss Brett, but I don't think the man's mental health could take this. It's a good thing he most likely retired to Florida with his mom.

And at the end, we have The Fisks being comically evil and I'm here for it. They aren't afraid of anything. They're leaning fully into themselves.

Admittedly, I'm disappointed that the end credits scene wasn't a Foggy reveal, in the same vein as the stinger at the end of that one Brubaker comic. (Imagine Foggy reading a headline about Matt Murdock taking a bullet for Fisk, then going missing, and wondering what he's up to, while being told he has to get away from the windows because he has to stay out of sight?) But I'm also somehow not surprised. If he's alive, (which I still 100% believe he is… I think Vanessa intended to kill him, but he was revived in the ambulance and lived, so she tucked him away. Especially after re-watching the last episode and noticed that she was watching Matt when he arrived, and then she told Matt "you need to relax" as he accused her of putting the hit out on Foggy, and of course… the cough) then I wouldn't be surprised if they drag out the reveal until later. But I was half expecting, the way they kept showing Frank look to the side, that they'd pan out and show Foggy in another cage. Glad he wasn't though. That'd be some shitty witness protection. (But I mean, I guess, they are storing rich people in a dungeon.)

But what we did get was Frank's escape. My first thought was: Frank sitting in that cage like "I've been through worse." And sure enough, that cage couldn't hold him. I so love the way he just managed to use his personality to get himself halfway there. All of this Frank stuff has me really looking forward to the Punisher special that we're getting.

A couple more things of note:

I'm so curious what they're going to do with Dex. Not just because we know he'll be in season 2, but because he looked so sad at the end. (And the beginning of the episode). He's been so lost, and now that he's out, he's still lost. And I think Matt saving Fisk really messed with him.

And are we to assume that Josie knows now that Matt is Daredevil? Not that I think everyone in the bar knows, but they did make a point of Josie noticing Matt leave without using his cane. And also those season 2 leaks of DD interacting with Josie may mean something.

And they showed a shot of Kirsten holding onto Foggy's paperwork at the end… I'm guessing she's going to take the reigns on that while Matt and Karen are in hiding, but I can't help but wonder if she knows something more.

Hopefully there's some others out there as excited as I am with what we got and what's to come. It's a weird feeling watching this show in real time when I watched the original years after it ended and the fandom was existing basically on life support. Now there's other people actively posting about it, making gifs. Much of it buried under hate and disdain.

It's not the original show. It was never going to be the original show. And I feel like I keep coming across others who are holding that against DDBA. Does it have its flaws? Yes. Especially when compared directly to the original show. I would have liked less licensed music, slower scenes, and less instances of two scenes cutting back and forth between each other, four more episodes, better fight choreography, I think Muse was underutilized, and I wish we got more out of the side characters like Kirsten, Cherry, and Heather.

But I can't stress how much good we got in this show. More than I'm willing to list because I think the majority of the show is good. Bendis and Waid are wildly different from each other, and I love them both. DD and DDBA are different, and I feel the same. There's an excellent story being told here. A story that takes place seven years after the original, where things are naturally going to have changed from where we left off.

I don't know, I know not everyone has to like it. That's fair. But I guess I'm just tired of being made to feel like I'm dumb or wrong for enjoying or at all liking DDBA. But personally, the finale felt like the closest we've gotten to the original show. And if the last two episodes are any indication, I think the next season is going to be even better. Better than the worst episodes of DDBA season 1, and better even than the best episodes of DDBA season 1.

[yourbestbuddie]

So I was having a conversation with my friend about Eddie and Buck and Tommy (I sent her a theory I had and we were shooting thoughts back and forth), and eventually it evolved into a deep dive analysis of Eddies character and psyche (surprise surprise).

We got to the topic of Buck never really being the first choice.

Until this point the conversation had been anti-Tommy, and I said this, and my friend pointed out that Buck (as of now) wouldn’t be Eddie’s first choice either. We bounced that thought around for while before coming to the conclusion that Eddie’s first choice wouldn’t currently be Buck because he isn’t aware that Buck’s allowed to be his first choice. Eddie is, like, super repressed. He’s all into the idea of finding a wife so Christopher can have a mother. His father drilled all these ideals of ‘be a man’ into his mind since he was a child.

This man is obsessed with the idea of conventionalism. Buck being his first choice (even though he’s his best friend and the person who’s always there for him and keeping him grounded) isn’t nuclear, so he doesn’t allow himself to even consider the idea that Buck could be a first choice, hence the recurring plot of finding a girlfriend (because he wants Christopher to have a mother, and having a wife is conventional and nuclear, and generally expected when raising a kid).

But for Eddie, he never understands why his relationships don’t work (he finds problems with them pretty quickly, but he never gets the whole big picture). He has panic attacks whenever someone thinks Ana is his wife, and forget any of them ever moving in! EVERYTIME it’s brought up, and even when it HAPPENED he freaked out and shut it down.

Eddie doesn’t understand that he already has everyone he’s looking for in Buck. Someone who he can hang out with, someone who gets along with Christopher and be a parent to him. Buck is obviously very comfortable in the Diaz household, and in their dynamic. He cooks them dinner, he helps Chris with his homework, whenever he’s overwhelmed he goes to Eddie’s house. He feels safe there. And Eddie is completely fine with all of this. He wrote Buck into his fucking will as Christopher’s legal guardian after two years of knowing him.

Eddie is terrified of commitment until it comes to Buck.

And he’s too busy with his ideas of conventionalism and what’s been drilled into his head that he doesn’t see that everything he’s so obsessed with finding is right there beside him. More often than not he wouldn’t have to look more than six inches to his side because Bucks always standing practically on top of him.

He ends up sabotaging every relationship he’s in before it can get serious because he doesn’t want to be with them, but thinks he has to, for Christopher. In a roundabout way, Eddie’s first choice has always been Shannon. And I’m not even convinced he was ever in love with her. I do believe he loved her, that’s been shown time and time again, and the fact that he keeps looking for her in all these women, someone to be her for Christopher. He was in love with the idea of her. Someone who could be Christopher’s mother and who could be his wife.

But I genuinely don’t think that he was in love with her, and the fact that they keep digging her hole deeper and deeper when she’s been dead five seasons is an insult to eddies character because fuck he deserves to move on and accept the fact that she’s gone and he has other people in his life and Christopher’s who will support them. I think it made sense for his arc to have it be lasting, I mean that was his wife. He cared deeply for her. But he was going to go through with that divorce, and he was going to be okay without her being a constant in his life again. He accepted that fact before she ever came back into his life. I think they need to stop using her as a plot device and twisting her back into Eddie’s life every time he thinks he’s moved on.

So he thinks he has to fill this Shannon sized hole and is constantly looking for ways to do that without realizing that he doesn’t NEED to and he’ll be supported either way. He already does that with Buck, he just hasn’t realized yet.

He doesn’t think bucks an OPTION which is why until he has that realization buck WONT be an option. It’s like a little locked door in his mind and once he finds the key it’ll all unravel and he’ll realize what he’s been so closed off to even imagine the entirety of their friendship. Then he’ll freak out, but eventually he’ll chose buck because in a roundabout way he always DOES but this time it will be CERTAIN and it will finally all be clear to him.

Anyway, this is my two cents, I don’t care if you agree or disagree but this is what I’ve gathered from what I’ve seen on my screen, and I thought I’d share it.

[niningtori]

see me | chapter two: closer

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after another failed relationship, you're ready to accept your fate as hopeless. choi beomgyu has other plans, though. or, beomgyu's your best friend's little brother and he's tired of you treating him like a kid.

genre: romance, angst, angst with a happy ending, best friend's brother au

word count: 2-3k-ish

notes: as promised, here is chapter two :) i realize most people are actually waiting for chapter three of to know him is to love him, but somebody wanted to read this and i already had it written!! it also made me so happy that someone was interested in the first fic i posted on here 😭 i'm still working on chapter 3 of tkhitlm, but i will be bouncing back and forth between that and see me (which is how i like to write, don't worry). also, feedback is appreciated :,)

after an intervention with jia, you decide you're not going to forgive donghyun for his infidelity. it's tempting to just listen to him and move forward with your relationship, but you decide to put your dignity first and break up with him once and for all. for that, beomgyu is more grateful than you'll ever know.

jia suggests going on a trip with her and her boyfriend, yijun. you decisively reject her under the claim that you're unwilling to be the third wheel, but jia, ever the mastermind, placates you by inviting beomgyu. you're immediately a lot more willing than before. sure, you'd still be an extra wheel, but you could do so with company. you and beomgyu are friends — almost like family. the idea of going on a trip with them is exponentially more appealing when you know he'll be there with you. he could, in theory, bring one of the many girls who are always hanging off of him, but he's been more lowkey lately for reasons unknown to you.

the trip in question is to the closest beach. yijun has a beach house (you often joke about how she hit the jackpot with him) and you're finally ready to unwind and forget about your shitty reality. beomgyu is uncharacteristically quiet for the entire drive there, but you don't push because you assume he's not in the mood for you to. you plan on asking him about it when you get a moment alone, though.

the house has three bedrooms and you're beyond thankful. you'd feel awful if you had to share a room with jia just so you wouldn't have to room with beomgyu. you begin to imagine what would have happened if donghyun had come instead, but you shake off the thought as fast as you possibly can, though it lingers in the back of your mind.

jia and yijun are on the first level while you and beomgyu are on the second. you stare up the long staircase and sigh at the thought of having to heave your suitcase up there after such a tiring drive. then, as if reading your mind, beomgyu grabs your suitcase along with his and lugs them up the stairs without saying a word. you grin and comment on his chivalry and strength. the tips of his ears turn pink, but they are (thankfully) hidden under his long hair.

jia and yijun invite you to the beach, but you decide you're too tired and would rather stay in for the time being. you decide to take a quick nap, or at least you try to, but end up waking up so disoriented you briefly can't recall where you are and why. when you regain your senses and check your phone, you realize you've been out for at least 4 hours and the sky is already darkening. so much for an eventful first day.

with a grimace, you make your way down the stairs and to the living room, half expecting jia to make fun of you, but the only person you see is beomgyu. he's sitting there, posture relaxed while he fiddles with his phone. when you call out to him, he immediately drops it onto the floor.

"shit!" he exclaims.

"sorry, i didn't know i'd freak you out this bad," you remark sheepishly.

"it's okay," he says clearing his throat awkwardly. "how are you? did you sleep okay?"

"i woke up literally not knowing who i was. that's how good i slept." you both laugh at this and he shakes his head.

"hey, where are jia and yijun?" you ask.

"they're at the beach."

"still?"

"still."

"why didn't you go with them?" you question lightly with a tilt of your head.

"i dunno, just didn't feel like it," he lies with a cough. he just really didn't wanna leave you here alone, and if he could spend some one-on-one time with you, all the better.

"well, i'm hungry. do you want to get dinner together?" you assumed jia and yijun were probably out to eat on their own.

"do you mean going out?"

you steal a glance at the mirror hanging above the couch and catch a glimpse of your drool encrusted mouth and bedhead. going out? no fucking way.

"i was thinking of just ordering chinese food?"

"sounds good to me."

when the food arrives, you make beomgyu go out to get it, arguing that you look like shit. he says you look fine and you roll your eyes at this. you took a four hour nap and you'll be damned if it doesn't show. if it was anyone else, you may have been embarrassed about your appearance, but it's just beomgyu. he certainly doesn't care about what you look like.

in between bites of your noodles, you laugh at beomgyu's storytelling. he's not being as quiet as before and he's talking about an unspecified friend's antics with two new situationships, only to find out he's been fucking two so-called best friends simultaneously. you groan at the revelation and cover your face in secondhand embarrassment. he doesn't spare any of the finer details and you're kicking your feet at the awkwardness.

he's acting normal more or less, but you can't help but notice how hesitant he seems at certain points. you're still set on asking him what's wrong, so after you're done laughing and reacting to his enthralling story, you find a quiet moment.

"beomie?"

"what is it?" he asks, smile still present from your infectious laughter.

"are you alright?" immediately, his smile drops and is replaced by a light frown.

"yeah... why wouldn't i be?"

"it just feels like you're not 100% here, is everything okay?" leave it to you to notice the almost imperceptible changes within him. even his own sister doesn't seem to notice how off he's felt lately, but his heart soars at how much you've been evidently paying attention.

"actually, i—" the front door swings open and jia comes in with yijun in tow.

"jesus, did you just wake up?" she asks, unimpressed with your current appearance.

"more or less," you grin. beomgyu can't help but grin too, but his smile falters when he realizes the conversation you two were having was cut short and he's unsure of when you two will be alone again.

"we brought you guys some food, but i guess we didn't need to," she says, eyeing the chinese food messily sitting on the coffee table.

"really? you're the best," you answer.

beomgyu thinks he gives his thanks too, but he honestly can't tell if he said it aloud or not. he's so disappointed because he felt like you two were finally getting somewhere, but he supposes he'll have time to talk to you again during the trip. he just hopes jia and yijun take a hint and fuck off for awhile sometime soon.

they don't. actually, it feels like jia is more glued to you than usual, which could be due in part to the heartbreak you've just borne, but he still can't help but feel indignant. he wants to tell her to kick rocks, but he can't — that would raise too much suspicion. so he sits patiently, like he always has, and waits.

in the meantime, the rest of his crew is blowing up his phone — coaching him on how to make subtle moves on you. sometimes, he stands behind you and grabs things you can't reach on your own, which seems innocuous enough, but he feels so close you can feel his breath on your neck and it takes everything in you not to shiver. other times, he gently touches your shoulder or knee when redirecting your attention. these harmless gestures are meaningless to you, but you have no idea how much courage it takes him to make these moves. you and beomgyu have touched each other before, so it's not like you question a single thing he does. in fact, you've hugged him, even, but that was only ever once and never again. you don't like to relive that memory for reasons unrelated to him, but he remembers everything.

-

being with doyoon was everything you ever hoped love could be. it was patient, it was kind, and it was unbreakable, at least to you. you didn't want to be naive, but after a few months, you already knew you wanted to marry him.

you always felt a little lost. the reason why you even went to college in the first place was mostly because you didn't want to be home anymore, not because of some grand plan for yourself and for your life. doyoon was the exact opposite. he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it, but you loved him for that. he seemed so determined and sure of himself, everything you weren't. being with him made you want to be better. actually, being with him made you better. sure, you still weren't 100% sure what you were doing, but you knew you wanted more. whatever happened, you knew he'd be there to help you figure it out. or that's what you used to think, at least.

for three years, you tried to measure up to him. you wanted to become someone worthy of him to the point where you abandoned a lot of who you used to be. good riddance to bad rubbish, you thought. no need for tears spilled over the loss of someone you didn't even like. jia would worry, though. she said you weren't acting like yourself because you were wound so tight you were no longer the easygoing person you always had been. you were hard on yourself to the point of tears at times, wanting so desperately to be someone doyoon could be proud of, but you fell short every time.

when you didn't get promotions and the internship you wanted, doyoon would always comfort you, but you knew he was disappointed. not with the fact that you failed, but just in you. he said you needed to apply yourself more, so you did. he said you had more potential than you even knew and he didn't want you to settle for anything less, but one day you couldn't help but ask "what if this is all i can do?!"

he was silent for a moment, seriously contemplating your question. you felt an unparalleled sense of dread while you waited for him to answer. why didn't he know his answer? why wasn't it "then i'll love you anyway"? why, why, why? eventually, he replied, and your dread was met with despair.

"then i can't be with you."

he said more after that. something about wanting different things, something about needing to find someone more compatible, something about needing to grow with someone instead of watching them wither. the last one in particular hurt the most. you had tried so, so hard to be someone you wanted to be around, but it was never enough. you felt like everything you did had been pointless and the person you had become was a façade. a really strong person wouldn't crumble the way you did. a really strong person wouldn't cling to his shirt and beg him to see the good in you, and you knew that, but you did it anyway.

when he inevitably left you as you sobbed alone, you wanted to see jia immediately, but she was home for the holidays. you tried calling on your drive over, but it went straight to voicemail. do not disturb, a nasty little feature. she must have been asleep. still, you drove over like a madman and paused several times when you couldn't see through your tears.

when you arrived at the choi's house, you knocked rapidly on the door — basically pounding on it. you sighed in relief when the door opened and you expected to see her face on the other side. what you didn't foresee was her little brother answering instead.

"what's wrong?!" he shouted in concern, taking in your pitiful frame. to this day you don't know why, but you took the 19-year-old beomgyu in your arms and released your sobs onto his chest. maybe you just needed somebody, anybody, to hold onto. and he let you. he pulled you in even closer and shut the door behind you. he shushed you as he gently rubbed circles into your shaking back and let you cry.

when you finally calmed down enough to talk, your voice was still choked and heavy with emotion.

"it's doyoon, h-he doesn't want me anymore. he said he can't be with me because i'm not — because i can't be good enough for him. he said we want different things, but we don't. i'm trying! can't he see that i'm trying?! can you see that i'm trying?!" you asked, not even really making sense, but beomgyu seemed to understand perfectly.

he knew jia had expressed concern for you and your relationship. she said you weren't acting like yourself anymore. she didn't mention that you would have meltdowns over not achieving what you felt you were supposed to achieve, but beomgyu overheard her consoling you more than once. he wanted to grab the phone from her and talk to you himself, but what could he say? that he saw you, the real you? that he could understand how you felt? that he always understood how you felt?

he couldn't before, but there you were, asking him the questions he always wanted you to ask. he wouldn't miss that chance.

"of course i can," he said softly. "of course i can. anyone can see it, and if they can't, they just don't know you." not like i know you.

"then — then why? why can't he understand me?" you seemed so lost he wished he could find the right words to soothe you. it felt like if he just said the right thing, maybe it would click for you that you just had the wrong person. maybe it would click for you that he could be the right person.

"because he's not the right person for you. the right person would never make you doubt yourself. the right person should make you want to be better on your own terms, not theirs. the right person would accept you just as you are even when you want to be something more."

you couldn't help but scoff at this.

"and who is the right person for me? who would want me the way i am right now?" you didn't mean to sound frustrated, but you were racking your brain trying to figure this shit out yourself too.

"i... i don't know." coward, he thought. "but i know he's out there. there's someone out there who really wants the best for you, but will never make you feel small while you're still trying to figure out what that looks like."

"i just want to know when that will be," you cried, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. he almost took a chance to wipe your tears, but he opted to push your hair back behind your ears instead.

"it will be soon, just wait. don't cry. it's okay, don't cry."

you can't recall how long you cried after that, in spite of beomgyu's sincere pleas. after you were all cried out, you put your head on his shoulder and he tried not to visibly stiffen.

"thank you. you know, beomie, this might be weird to say, but i've always felt that you're like..." he gulped and hoped to god you didn't hear it. was this it?

"that you're like a little brother to me, honestly." he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. "i really hope that's not weird, but i really do love you. you're such a good friend to me." he felt like he had been kicked in the stomach, actually.

"any time. i mean it. i love you, too." the sentiment was a little different, but he was still glad to say it.

[rozemarynthyme]

~looking for long-term rp partners~

hi hii! anyone interested in writing fluffy, angsty, slowburn romance?

give me unrequited love, best friends realizing they have feelings for each other a little too late, almost-lovers, slowburns full of pining and longing gazes, enemies to lovers, long lost loves finding each other again, red string of fate tropes– i love them all!

i'm open to (modern/high) fantasy, greek mythos inspired plots, ghibli-like whimsy plots, supernatural, SoL with darker twists to them, fairytale retellings, apocalyptic settings, and so on!

a few ideas (everything open to mumu btw):

☆ a tragic, war-torn second prince x the court jester (bonus points if he is not what he seems to be/is an assassin/enemy in disguise)

☆ a high fantasy rp inspired by the mortal instruments or poj. give me cruelly righteous angels, tricky faes, forgotten gods, witty, dangerous demons, sarcastic and territorial forest nymphs— a world where we can build our own magic systems and come up with rich lore, weave in drama and emotion into over-reaching plot ideas

☆ a popular boxer who is a big fanboy of an underground band and probably has a secret little crush on the guitarist (my oc)

ridiculous rumors floating around about the two, fangirls out there making wild conspiracy theories about them, while the boys have secret rendezvous behind everyone's back, crushing silly on each other but maintaining the 'we're just friends' with maximum dedication (and miserably failing), mutual admiration, painful yearning, longing gazes—please give me pathetic boys in lovee

☆ a slice-of-life plot with an elitist x eat the rich trope (for the main couple). a story centered around an uni setting where its just 20-something year olds being hot messes.

soo down for friend groups who are basically found family, a story discussing real life struggles, mental health issues, possible abusive/strained home life, misunderstandings, ANGST, PINING, slowburns!

☆ a priestess (my oc Celeste) who is on the run with a massive bounty on her head. a living weapon, they call her. maybe there is a prophecy involved, maybe a particular superpower wants to monopolize her powers for themself to commit atrocities or to fulfill an over-reaching goal of theirs.

enemies to lovers, antagonistic characters pit against each other, possible stockholm syndrome, one corrupting the other but the priestess gradually grows to become just as unhinged and dangerous (pliss gimmie an antagonistic power couple!!)

☆ anything you want! tell me about the plot ideas you've been wanting to write! yap to me about your ocs!

if you enjoy ooc chatter, gushing over ocs, making mood boards and playlists, bouncing back and forth with our musings and ideas, and headcanons– please hit me up!

(ps. much appreciated if you could give my pinned post a read before interacting ^^)

[misscammiedawn]

Cammie of the Dawn, I must hear you explain in great detail why you dislike Chris Nolan. It's enrichment.

*Grins*

Ah, Nolan. How we loathe you. Wynn above all but the hatred is in our core.

So the first and foremost is of course that we ran a movie theatre during the lockdown and Nolan famously pushed to force theatres to re-open during the early lockdown days of the pandemic. All so he could release his shit back-and-forth movie on a palindrome date. 7/27 I think it was. As if multiple months cannot accommodate this vanity.

Following the news that summer was infuriating because he was doing things like flying out to screen the film with CEOs of theatre chains to push them to lobby the release. It worked well enough that the company we worked with did open 70% of theatres prematurely. It was an insanely stressful time.

But moreover, he's incapable of telling a straight forward narrative with his in media res bullshit.

He has no respect for women. He and his brother rewrote the plot of The Prestige to kill both love interests as devices for the male lead's angst, Dark Knight kills its only female character to serve the male lead's angst and she spends her last moments comforting a man for the pain of her death, Inception only has one female character (Elliot Page does not count, especially as they male-coded his attire to prevent having to do anti-gravity with his hair) and it's literally a projection of how the male lead saw his dead ex-wife...

And that's without noting how many of the "only woman in this film" characters he or his brother writes are depicted as "bird in a cage" style ladies longing to be rescued from their circumstances. I'd give a by for Murph in Interstellar who is the hero that saves humanity in that film but she's a motivating factor for her father who the narrative revolves around. The woman is the savior of humanity and her sole character trait is "I miss my daddy"

He mixes movies to the point of which we would get daily complaints at the theatre and we had to put up signs like these to basically say "you can't get a refund if you can't hear the film"

He is one of the directors who switches the aspect ratio to and from IMAX in the middle of a scene so the "letterbox" bounces in and out constantly which is massively distracting and ruins enjoyment and flow of any given scene it happens to (he's not as bad as Michael Bay in this regard, however)

And honestly and truly? I hate what his movies have done to critique. I hate that his entire schtick is trying to explain movies to the audience (both Tenet and Inception are an hour of exposition followed by a film) and people who follow the "tell don't show" nature of these monologues got to write essays and make YouTube videos in which they claim superiority for "getting" it.

Inception in particular drives me crazy because...

The film is dull as fuck. This is a movie about invading dreams and the most bombastic out of normal things that happen are the gravity fight (which is awesome, tbh) and a train in the middle of a tarmac street. Everything else is just... werehouses, high end hotels and ski resorts. How the fuck do you manage to make "heisting the inside of a dream" dull? That takes effort.

The rules of the totem are that only the dreamer knows the weight, shape and sensation of the totem. It's why Watanabe knew he was being extracted in the intro scene. The spinning top not falling down breaks the only rule of totems established by the god damned narrative which also happened to be the only bit of world building which is appropriately shown before being explained. It pisses me off because it invalidates one of the only good bits of storytelling in the god damned film.

It suffers an issue you see often where fan-theories proliferate to hold up water because people are dissatisfied with how the story played out. Think like the fan theory in Spectre where the last 20 minutes of the movie after Bond receives a lobotomy are a dream because the movie gets so dumb and action movie cliche at that point that it drove audiences out of the film and they needed to create a theory to hold it together. I HATE when a film has that kind of fan culture around it.

Fuck... this right here is actually looping back to the "his films invite the kind of bullshit critique that cinema sins built an empire on" it baits a person to think and attack like this and I hate it. I hate that it does this to me. I hate him for what he put me through at work, I hate his fandom, I hate his approach to film design, I hate his imagination, I hate his apparent misogyny and copaganda and elitism and lack of respect for the industry and swaths of audience.

I just hate Chris Nolan.

We hate him with all our heart.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

Happy Zhongli Day!!!

1. What left the deepest impression on you when you first met him? Was it how he looks, talks, or something else?

Definitely his voice. Hoyo really knew what they were doing hiring Keith Silverstein to voice him. I listened to all the other languages and although I love all their interpretations of Zhongli, they don't hit quite the way EN does when you first hear him. It was definitely a whoa moment. He definitely has that "old wise man" voice.

2. What do you like most about Zhongli as a character?

He's such a comfort character and everything about him feels safe and grounded, from his skillset, his lore, to the very nuanced things like his voice lines. I really can't make up my mind on him. This character has me constantly bouncing back and forth between unapologetic horniness and pure respectful admiration.

3. What is your favorite Zhongli voice line, and why do you like it?

Every journey has it's final day, don't rush. It's such a vibe. He has so many good lines, but this one I feel like I can keep in the back of my mind as a personal mantra.

4. Does Zhongli resonate with something in real life for you? Has he managed to influence your life in some way?

Zhongli has kind of transcended from just a videogame character into some sort of imaginary role model for me. Ever since I found out that one Olympic swimmer was also a Zhongli enjoyer, I felt so validated. He embodies so many values and virtues I hold dear. I started playing genshin in a low point in my life and it's amazing how a fictional character can encourage you so much. His story and all of his voice lines are so well-written and filled with little nuggets of wisdom that even if taken out of the context of the game, can be very inspirational.

5. What part of Zhongli's design do you love the most? Do you have a favorite outfit?

His cake Just kidding! I love his normal outfit most. No matter if he is going out on a walk or attending a formal dinner, he's got a whole suit ensemble on. I'm not a tedious person irl, but I've always admired people that put a lot of effort into their appearance and presentation. If I have to pick a part, I'd pick his tassel earring. It looks like there should be a story behind it.

6. Zhongli has a lot of lore. What’s your favorite story/feat that he's ever done?

I love the Archaic Petra flower lore. It shows a petty side of his character that I just can't help but adore. Zhongli can be a troll and still come out wholesome.

A flower bloomed in a cliff's impregnable cleft. It is an exquisite life shaped by the essence of Geo. There is a folk saying that goes thus: In times of yore, someone told the Lord of Geo that there was no life to be found in barren stone. Thus did the Lord of Geo command flowers of purest gold to burst forth from the face of an uneven rock. Perhaps the Geo Archon did once work such a great wonder. Or perhaps this is but one of the many tales that shroud this ancient world. But the prosperous harbor that grew out of the lifeless mountains, And that braves the raging waters of the Sea of Clouds— Perhaps that was the brilliant flower, after all.

7. If you could give Zhongli a birthday present, what would it be?

I'd give him a safety charm. lol It's something I actually wrote into one of my fics. Obviously in the game he keeps me from literally dying with his shield. I also bought myself a little Zhongli safety charm too. Safety charms are gifts you give to loved ones that convey your good wishes for them.

8. If Zhongli visited you for a day, where would you take him?

I'd take him sightseeing and show him all the places in my city that tourists go visit. Our city has a lot of those, both natural and urban tourist attractions. My wallet would probably hurt, because knowing Zhongli, he would be eyeing all the souvenirs.

9. If you could talk to Zhongli, what’s one thing you’d want to ask him?

Since Hoyo loves breadcrumbing us, we actually know very little about this 6000 yr old god. There's so many theories about him and none of them are confirmed. Is he just a lump of gold? Even though dragon Zhongli is fan-canon, we already know that the exuvia is just one of his many vessels. Zhongli, what the hell are you and where do you come from????

10. Which of Zhongli’s attacks do you like using the most? How do you prefer to use him in a team? What build do you have him on?

I love using his normal attacks. Hoyo is evil for giving him such sick moves and then making him a support. I bet the person who designed that spear kick feels cheated. I do too!!! ---

Feel free to copy this questionaire from the Zhongli community posts! It was the result of a poll to see what we should do for his birthday~

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/zhonglis-harem

[akumamazoku]

Hi. Again. I freakint love your art. Yes. Anatomy guide and something on the way you use colour perhaps....?

ill try!

so i really do not know how to describe whatever it is i do, but i usually start off drawing something skeleton-esque! getting down the base so i can fix it later always helps me plan out stuff!

arms n legs are around the same length, arms end at top / mid thigh, ears start at bottom of the nose and end around the top of the eye (ofc varies by person) there’s a bunch pf random tips i use to help! id highly recommend just having a picture of a skeleton or some sort of muscular system near you for drawing more complex things, or have references on standby! anatomy is NOT my strong suit so ill usually draw something, and hand it off to my artists twin for her to spot any inaccuracies, and usually she adjusts it for me or tells me how, having someone who knows how to draw as well helps a ton! you can bounce ideas back and forth, as me and goose do, and help fix / find any errors (i know im very lucky to have goose since we help each other a ton, so i can only really say to find friends who can help you or give advice!)

as for color:

you really don’t need to know color theory but it does help, i just honestly pick what i think looks good together lol, but always think about what ur art is trying to convey! is your piece supposed to be sad? use duller, dimmer shades! cool tones typically convey ‘sadness’ best! is your piece happy? use warm colors! bump up that saturation for a heavy, honey-filled feel, or pastels for light, spring-y airness! you can use green for jealousy, or money, or nature! purple for royalty, fear, and exoticness! colors can be used in thousands of ways, so just think a little bit about what you want to convey, and pick colors to your delight! there are no rules to art :’}!!!

[tonydaddingham]

another batshit theory for the ages...

though tbh it's just a summary that interweaves a variety of them. it's long and rambly im sorry

so @booksandmate added this increíble addition to what was honestly meant as a half-hearted shitpost, and then allowed me to pepe-silvia at them in their DMs, but it's been spinning in my head ever since - because if we consider if crowley had managed to reach ten before the lightning strike, and managed to control his temper... well, what would have happened?

but that's not necessarily what im looking at here, specifically. i am however gonna start with ep1 and the lightning strike, because im somewhat dogged by nina's words in ep6 that now suddenly feel like a healthy helping of foreshadowing:

that everything started with the locked-in-the-coffeeshop-incident, which of course was precipitated by crowley losing his rag, summoning (?) lightning, and it bouncing off the café.

noting a couple of things: the lightning definitely appears to originate from crowley, right? it may well be calling like-to-like, but either way the lightning starts in him, and we suddenly then have either a) a bolt summoned from the heavens, channeled through him, and hitting the café, or b) two bolts, one of which relays back and forth from the heavens, and a further bolt rebounded on the café.

but what... is the point? im relatively on the team that it could just be building crowley-lore, playing into the "crowley is a very powerful demon 💅" characterisation, and it has the ultimate byproduct of kick-starting the events of the s2 plot; like @booksandmate said, without crowley counting to ten and controlling his anger, we wouldn't have the above, wouldn't have nina and maggie locked in the café, etc etc. but.

this locking-in business could easily, i hubristically presume (albeit less exciting, admittedly), have been written as caused by something else, or not occurred altogether (and maggie would still have shared with aziraphale that she thinks she's in love with nina, gave her the LP etc)... so why specifically did it require crowley, and such a raw display of 'demonic' power?

with that in mind, do we assume it serves a different purpose, or at least has another layer? well, we collectively seem to be surmising the latter, given god's words in the job minisode:

do you know the rules of the heavens? did you set the constellations in the sky? can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you?

obviously the last two now, in retrospect, seem very significant in the context of what we find out about crowley in both s1 and s2; he created nebulae and hung stars and planets, and now can seem to summon lightning. i originally wondered if it were simply a message to crowley or at least the audience that god was still watching, and had not forsaken crowley at all, but i do now ponder if its something more.

the first one is iffy, but actually... well, it definitely seems that crowley has the better measure of heaven than aziraphale or indeed anyone else has - what its motivations and limitations are, to say the least. even his line about the bees; in this respect, he is deeply perceptive of the intragroup dynamic of heaven in a way that the angels are not. and then, if we hypothesise about crowley in a pre- to post-fall context, that he Only Asked Questions, an action that may turn out to have precipitated the Big Bad, then yeah - maybe crowley does in fact know the rules of the heavens, and learnt it the hard way.

and this doesn't even take into account the whole general parallel between job and crowley in receiving undue punishment "and not even to know why". whilst i do still hold that the minisode flashbacks may well be crowley's POV, that is largely irrelevant; we know crowley displaces his emotions surrounding the fall/god onto his plants in modern day, and we are immediately introduced to the minisode with the display of him doing the same to job's goats.

either way, i think that we can be reasonably certain that whilst maybe unintentional at the time, god's words were a direct mirror to events unfolding/character history revealed for crowley at the very least in s2. even if we step outside taking god's action/inaction literally in job, and see it as a parable, it's a lesson that sometimes suffering occurs for no reason, that the universe is not always explainable and certainly not always good, but trust in god and god's power. icky to think about, at least for me, but the same passage (job 41, god's answers) then brings me to my next thought: the matchbox.

i wrote a follow up to a fab post looking at where i feel the matchbox might come into play (specifically, job 41:19 that is inscribed on the side of it), but here is the précis of sorts:

given that the matchbox features the quote before being dropped in heaven, it was potentially placed there in the pub as a long-standing direction for gabriel 'for when the time came', a mark of omniscience

the passage itself may refer to the leviathan as per job, but imagery-wise refers to the heaven trial in s1, where crowley-as-aziraphale spits out fire at the archangels

it's the last thing gabriel reads before he heads down to earth. he still thinks it's aziraphale (ie. heaven is presumably not aware of the body-swap at that point), and so heads to where he knows aziraphale will be - the bookshop - to seek... protection?

if the message however was put there by god, who is omniscient (and the narrator of s1), they would have been directing gabriel towards crowley, not aziraphale... crowley who is homeless living in his car, but whose own last sanctuary is that same bookshop

and lastly, it seems that it's only crowley that is able to unlock gabriel's memories... we know that crowley definitely has some kind of hypnotic, trance-like power, and this might be key... especially as gabriel then starts recounting memories (and prophecies...?) that he wasn't present for - only god, job, aziraphale and crowley.

(tbh, i then wonder how far the 'signs from the almighty' might extend to buddy holly playing in that bar, for beelzebub to introduce the concept of music to gabriel, 'information in a tuneful way'.)

i also want to pay some attention to the 25-lazarii miracle, because im still obsessed by the idea that the miracle didn't quite work as intended, or at least not in the way crowley ends up describing in ep6. summary:

gabriel took his gabrielness and put it in the fly, and the fly followed him into the bookshop and continued to chill there quite happily for all of s2

michael and shax seem to be able to sense gabriel to varying degrees - michael in ep2, and shax in ep3 - where i think it's possible they're sensing the consciousness of gabriel stored in the fly. in any case, they are all able to perceive and acknowledge jim as a inconsequential human, which in any case goes directly against 'not noticing' him in that form

when aziraphale and crowley do the miracle, they hold hands with jim - where gabriel definitively isn't - and attempt to hide gabriel. but if gabriel isn't in there, and it didn't work on jim, and yet a miracle still registers up in heaven, what did the miracle actually do? did it hide someone else?

if god is somehow channelling themself through jim, as we see in ep2 and ep3, did the boys - in fact - hide god?

but then, now that im thinking about, would a miracle of that magnitude only take 25 lazarii? what if instead it's the son of god, who has the power of words to give eternal life? the power, when he returns, to grant humanity eternal salvation, or eternal punishment? john 6:68 (yes, the verse number struck me dumb for a minute):

hold that thought (sorry) for a minute though, because the lightning strike came before hiding anything... so, does the lightning serve a different purpose, in the wider narrative? well, let's consult matthew 24 and break it down:

lighting strike? ✅* (more on this later on)

carcass around which eagles (or vultures depending on the version) gather? im gonna hazard a ✅

or considering the more metaphorical:

sun shall be darkened, moon will not give her light? bit of a stretch, but darkness fell pretty quick in ep5, certainly more rapid than would be warranted for 6.30pm, and lasted that way, presumably, until the demons had all been eviscerated... so, tentative ✅ (though given the green lighting... it could have all just been the demons, sure)

stars from heaven, and powers of heaven will be shaken? not too sure on the stars, unless you potentially count it in with the above darkness thing, but the metatron making a surprise appearance would suggest that the powers definitely be shooketh ✅

if we look at verse 30, this suggests that this hasn't happened just yet; that whilst we may be gearing up towards the second coming, it hasn't actually happened*, and this is where we'll lead into s3.

but if we continue matthew 24 (discussed in this post and this post too by @paperbunny):

days of noah: okay so yeah this could well be a literal flood, and tbh i still think (i wear glasses, so full disclosure ok) that that little snippet behind aziraphale in the first link looks like an optical illusion of a flood, but the chapter continues to clarify a little more about what was happening before the great flood, that humanity will exist in a similar bliss until the second coming arrives... so, a tentative ✅

eating and drinking ✅ there is a lot of eating and drinking imagery in s2, no doubt, but i feel like the coffee and eccles cakes in ep1, before the lightning, play a potentially major part here* (again, more on this later on)

marrying and giving in marriage ✅ if you take into account the whole maggie/nina subplot, gabriel/beelzebub subplot, and then The Big One that is crowley's marriage proposal in ep6

one shall be taken, the other left ✅ 💀 i don't need to explain this surely

two women grinding at the mill, one shall be taken, the other left ✅ ...ish. grinding maybe as a reference to how maggie and nina end up in the café together, working together, then visit crowley and end up Not Getting Together for Good Reason, but where crowley leaves them is that maggie is back in the record store, asleep (and waiting for nina to heal)

but where i come back to the *s is twofold:

nina says eccles cakes would calm someone down. aziraphale seems to consider it, and believe her. he takes the eccles cakes with him, deliberately hands them off to crowley so he can open the door, and the last interior shot before crowley loses his mind is the cakes, untouched, on the table. we know aziraphale seems to have a knack for unconscious miracles/reality manipulation, so what if by believing the eccles cakes would in fact calm crowley down, they actually magically take on the attribute that they would calm him down? im calling this diversion-from-matthew-24 #1

and then the lightning strike itself; crowley fails to rein in his temper, and the lightning shenanigans happen... but matthew describes that it cometh from the east, and shineth unto the west... but in crowley's case, the lightning strikes the bookshop, which lies to the east (going by the compass in aziraphale's bookshop) (actually technically north-east i guess)... diversion-from-matthew-24 #2.

this where im wondering a few things, as a culmination of all of the above...

did god foresee a good portion of all of this, and the events that follow, and warn gabriel ahead of time to seek out aziraphale and crowley via the medium of the matchbox?

does crowley, having not eaten the cakes, summon lighting because he did not Calm Down, constituting as the first sign of the second coming - and was just a wee bit ahead of schedule?

and did he botch it, à la s1 baby swap, by it hitting the coffeeshop instead of the bookshop (going to the east, not the west)? and is the lightning reaching upwards towards the heavens significant?

did crowley's lightning summon jesus, yank his... spirit? soul? out of heaven, and bring it earthside, and it attached itself to jim, currently a vacant vessel?

aziraphale and crowley hide said jesus spirit inadvertently with the 25 lazarii miracle, expecting to hide gabriel?

when jim goes all purple-eyed-mystic-meg, is that jesus speaking? speaking as an omniscient being with his mother's voice, and prophesying the rest of the second coming with "a tempest... great storms"?

and yet, despite this, all the signs of the second coming continue throughout s2, and possibly even kick-start the last judgement, with the various mentions of people going missing? hell being understaffed?

if you've made it this far, kudos