#but in case a miracle happens and this is RIGHT

[shiki-jin]

YOUR CELESTIAL MAJESTY • SAGAU

(part 0 here)

was listening to TruE on loop while writing the last part of this, it's genuinely such a good song ugwvdya

also can you spot the contradiction ;D it's plot relevant i promise

not proofread, dont bully me ill write a thesis on why youre a meanie

—

you had long deleted genshin, since you had other things to do. you had wanted to go back to the game for a while now, now that you were less busy, but there was just one little problem.

it was now taking up nearly triple the amount of space that it was when you uninstalled it. around 300 whole gigabytes.

jesus christ, what phone can even handle this???

your phone, apparently. because as you opened the game to see if maybe a miracle would happen and that if maybe they would just, like, remove half of the things in the game, it just… kinda loaded?

no installing new files, no checking for anything, no nothing…. just an immediate pan to the gates of celestia.

you decided to check if it was the right genshin since this was just way too weird, but countering your judgement, every link you found led you to the same game, leading you to believe it not to be a bootleg or an illegal version.

guess i’ll trust it then.

you clicked on the gates which opened smoothly, and your screen turned white. then, the symbols of the seven elements appeared in gray.

and then the game just… opened. no loading time, once again. no getting stuck on the geo symbol, nothing. nada. just a smooth entrance into what you had to assume to be teyvat — but your surroundings didn't really support that claim.

the grass was brown and just looked off, the sky was gray. a darker shade than, say, mond’s walls, but it was like one of those game crashes.

well, except you could still move around.

you moved your current character around (the traveller? since when were they the only one in your team?) and decided to open the map after not figuring out where you could possibly be.

hold on, this is springvale? since when?

eveything looked dead, like it had been rotting for a century. you tried to ignore it though, and teleported to the inside of mondstadt. surely this was just some glitch, right? one that would fix itself if you teleported?

maybe the world loaded incorrectly, maybe the fact that nothing took time to load meant that it couldn't load, maybe this or that, maybe…

maybe this really was how the game looked normally. you hadn't done any quests though, so you wondered if it could be restored.

you took a screenshot of the your surroundings — the stone, worn down and dirty. the houses which looked to be in a horrible state, and… the npcs, all sickly and pale, like they were starving.

you went to reddit (yes, reddit), and posted the screenshot, asking if it was normal.

you closed the game and decided to take a nap, too tired to really deal with this shit any further.

while you slumbered, people replied to your post.

╰┈➤ lol me too anon, me too

╰┈➤ isn't the game closed or wtv? how'd you get this wtf

╰┈➤ they're trolling

╰┈➤ o makes sense oops

╰┈➤ So we’re all still mourning huh

╰┈➤ jokes aside that's a super impressive edit ngl

you remained unaware of the truth, but you'd find out soon enough.

actually, you'd find out now, apparently…

what the fuck?? why is my bed so hard now?

you groaned and forced your eyes open, seeing a dark, nearly black sky.

the only light was a single star, lingering right above you.

“since when was i outside...?"

a voice spoke to you, answering your question.

“you always have been, have you not? but would you like to head inside, my lord?”

... huh? i recognize that voice...

—

p.s. place your bets on who it is, i’m thinking of one specific character but if there's a fan fav i'll make it them instead since i haven't written anything beyond this point (⁠・⁠_⁠・⁠;⁠)

p.s.s. don't expect updates to this series too quickly, i wish i could write as quick as i think of ideas but sadly that's not the case orz

[osirisiii-bc]

Secondo Emeritus - Naples

Primo | Secondo

Naples. My beautiful Naples. My beloved, adored Naples. It is the city where I studied and grew up in and it is also literally filled with mysteries and legends. I thought Naples would have been the perfect formation place for a young Secondo Emeritus. Let’s see what may have influenced and inspired him in his religious journey.

1 - The musical church. 

Ghost’s music has always been heavily loaded with the Devil’s Tritone: also called Diabulus in Musica or Devil’s Interval, it is an unsettling dissonance produced by an unusual arrangement of notes that gives that spooky, devilish tone to music. In Infestissumam, it was featured on 9 out of 10 songs. The use of the Tritone was banned in Medieval times (In Ghost, its use dramatically dropped with Prequelle, with only 2 out of 10 songs featuring it). So what if I tell you that, in contrast, in Naples there is a church that functions as a musical score, whose music protects it from evil?

Basically, there is a church in Piazza del Gesù that has a particular pointy ashlar on the external facade. Under the side (the one facing the ground, so if you look up from the street you can see them) of each of these little pyramids are carved symbols, which turned out to be Aramaic letters that were later translated into musical notes. So, it turned out that the whole church is a big score, and it’s playable. The whole melody, called Enigma, was played for the first time inside the church to celebrate the discovery. You can hear the music here (sound quality is not the best).

Will it protect the church from Ghost’s music?

2 - The skull cult.

Naples has very intricate underground galleries, almost all visitable. One of these is Cimitero delle Fontanelle, a famous catacomb where the remains of about 40.000 people who died from plagues are stored. It is said the “anime pezzentelle” cult was born here: it is a particular relationship each Neapolitan establishes with a chosen skull. You literally adopt an abandoned skull, which according to our tradition is the seat of the soul, and your duty is to care for it, protect it and also create a special niche for it. In exchange, the soul of that skull will protect you.

A nice place for a Bone Daddy.

3 - Pretty and Evil like Mergellina’s devil.

Knowing the passion our Secondo has for women, here is a story about a very devilish one.

In Santa Maria del Prato church, in the Mergellina area, there is the only representation of the devil as a woman in a painting.

The legend has it that said woman was the beautiful Vittoria D’Avalos, who seduced the Bishop Diomede Carafa, who commissioned the painting in 1542 to represent his victory against the woman’s lust (we're all believing him, right? 🙄).

Now that story has a way of saying that refers to femmes fatales as “Pretty and Evil like Mergellina’s devil”.

I’d say she may be considered among the first-ever Sisters of Sin. 

4 - Who gives life can also take it.

Infestissumam is filled with references to birth and Jesus, turning it into the birth of the antichrist and creating a narrative that is completely opposite to the birth of the Son of Man. Now, in Naples, there is a statue that embodies both concepts.

Back to Piazza del Gesù: On a very high pedestal in the center of the square stands a statue of the Virgin Mary, the Mother. That's all... until you position yourself at a specific point in the square and look up to see the statue transformed into the Reaper. His face is hidden by the cowl, staring straight at you, with a sickle at its feet and a snake crawling on it.

Depending on your point of view, the giver of life becomes the taker of it.

5 - Body and Blood… but especially blood.

What never stops to fascinate me about the relationship of Neapolitans with religion is the very thin line between devotion and pure blasphemy. It is the case of the “miracle” of San Gennaro’s blood. It happens twice a year and it consists in bringing the Saint’s blood in a liquid state again (after centuries it is obviously solidified). The particular thing is that during this ritual, the worshippers (and the priests too) literally insult the saint to convince him to make the miracle happen, because if it doesn’t work, it means that something terrible is about to happen.

(Last time it didn’t work was right before the Covid pandemic 🙂)

I’d say this could have been a great inspiration for Body and Blood and Idolatrine.

Honorable mention to the fact that I have lived 32 years now on this Earth and I never attended this event even though I would like to.

Bonus: Now, I said that Dante would come back in the chapters, and he is. In fact, not only Virgilio died in Naples (and he is the protector of the city) but, apparently, the gates of Hell Dante mentioned in his comedy were located on the Averno lake, near Pozzuoli, not far from Naples.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Constant Faith and the Life it Brings

Part 2 of Constant Faith | Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!worship pastor!reader

Summary: After your church is robbed, Tim learns how you got into faith and helps you learn to share your story.

Warnings: mentions of armed robbery and past arrests, basically a testimony based on the request, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

A/N: I loved writing this!! The worship pastor!r dynamic is right up my alley and I definitely sprinkled little parts of my own testimony and time in church in here.😊

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The days following the robbery are strange, but you believe in promises and know that God and Tim keep them. As Tim helps the robbery unit work the case, you meet with different church members to pray together.

When Sunday rolls around, and the sanctuary is still treated as an active crime scene, your pastor welcomes everyone into his home for service and fellowship. You lead worship as usual, but hearing all the voices mixing and praising God together, trusting that He has the situation in His hand and would use it for His purpose, is a unique and beautiful experience. One you wouldn’t have had without a walk through the valley of the shadow, you think as you finish a song.

As you go home Sunday afternoon, you think about everything that has led you to this exact moment in your life and your faith. There are parts of your testimony you don’t like sharing with just anyone, not because you doubt what God has done for you or want to keep His message to yourself, but because it brings up memories that remind you of a painful time. Living through an armed robbery and experiencing how much your church family loves and cares for one another, however, gives you strength and encouragement that your story could help others who are in similar circumstances. That inherent need to help others who are hurting, to be there for them, is precisely what led you to become a therapist when you’re not singing at church.

Tuesday morning, your pastor sends out a video message with excellent news. He tells you and the rest of the church members that the offering collected on Sunday not only met their usual numbers but replenished the money that had been stolen. You’re unsure if God encouraged everyone to give a bit more and support His house or if one generous donor knew what had happened. Regardless, the church isn’t in fiscal danger, which is great but not the best part.

“The L.A.P.D. contacted me this morning to inform me that the thieves were apprehended and offered a full confession,” he adds. “In addition, they have recovered everything stolen from the safe and it will be returned to us in due time. Now if that isn’t proof that our God still works miracles, I don’t know what is!”

“I think that was the best run-through we’ve had in weeks!” Jerry applauds. “Not that they’re usually bad, you know.”

“We do,” you promise with a smile. “But, I agree, that was great! We’re back in the sanctuary Sunday, so let’s have a great service and welcome everyone back into church.”

You watch the worship team gather their things and leave, but you look up at the empty cross on the wall. Your Bible is lying with your things, and you squat to pick it up as Jerry exits the audio booth.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah, I’m good. I think I’m just…”

“I understand. You’ve got keys, so take your time. We’re all here if you need us.”

You nod your thanks and wait until he leaves to sit in the front pew. Holding your Bible in your lap, you close your eyes and begin praying. You thank God for everything, including Tim, and you pray for him, too. He’s a big part of your life, even if he doesn’t know how much he’s done for you.

“Can I help you, Officer?” Jerry asks as he exits the church. “Or are you here on personal business?”

Tim is waiting beside his truck, dressed in his patrol uniform. He looks up when Jerry exits, and Jerry hides a smile at Tim’s disappointed look. Most of your church family knows about Tim, and Jerry knows who the officer before him is and what – or who – he’s there for.

“Just waiting for her,” Tim says.

“She’s in the sanctuary; may be a few minutes. You’re welcome to go in if you’d like.”

Tim looks over Jerry’s shoulder to the door and nods. He thanks Jerry and watches him walk away. You’re more at home here than anyone else, yet Tim doesn’t feel as if he’s trespassing when he walks through the front door and navigates to the sanctuary entrance.

The pew dips beside you, and you look up from your Bible quickly and see Tim looking at the stage. He doesn’t speak as he joins you, but his hand is stretched toward you.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Your finger holds your place in the New Testament, the fitting story of Jesus and the “den of thieves.” Tim shakes his head and tells you to take your time. He sits back and closes his eyes. Maybe Tim is praying or giving you the privacy he thinks you need. Either way, you appreciate him and are glad he’s beside you.

“I- thank you for working so hard and catching them,” you begin. “On Sunday, we received enough money from tithing to make up for what was stolen. Between that and the arrest, I should be, I don’t know, jumping for joy or something.”

“But?” Tim presses kindly.

“It reminded me of my past,” you whisper. “And I’ve just been thinking that I can do more- that I should do more.”

“Do more how?”

You look at Tim, and his eyes are already on you. His focus on the here and now is appreciated, but he can’t understand what you mean until you tell him about your past. More than Tim, you can’t do what the Lord is calling you to do without learning to share painful memories.

“I had a really bad childhood; my upbringing, I guess you could say, was rough, Tim. Growing up, I never felt like I belonged or was loved, even in my own house, around people who were supposed to love me and protect me. So, I learned how to look out for myself and provide for myself, but I didn’t always do it right.”

Your eyes drop from Tim’s to look at your Bible instead. Tim keeps his eyes on your face as you speak, and his hand inches closer to your side.

“When those men came in here and demanded to know where the money was… part of why I stayed so calm is because I’ve been that person before. I was behind the gun once and it landed me in juvie at 17. I didn’t know why they charged me as a minor. I didn’t understand anything until I found this.”

You point to your Bible and pause. Tim doesn’t press, though you’re sure he has questions about your previous arrest. Because you went to juvie and were a minor with no prior record, everything was expunged, and most people would never know it happened.

“Someone introduced me to the Bible,” you continue. “I was carrying around so many sins, and they were a burden that never lightened. Initially, I thought it was desperation or boredom, anything other than a need for a Savior. I started reading and it felt like every sentence was written to me specifically. The thief on the cross beside Jesus, the gift of the Holy Spirit, and forgiveness of sins while healing physical infirmities… everything Jesus said and did felt like an invitation. I started praying and I felt that burden start lifting. After I confessed every sin, even the ones no one else knew about, I gave my life to Christ. At that moment, I started praying that God could use me and my past to help others who are hurting.”

You take a deep breath and apologize again. Tim finally moves his hand into yours, and your eyes drift to his.

“That’s what led you to become a therapist? LA’s best grief counselor,” Tim guesses.

You smile and chuckle as you nod.

“You’re good at your job, I’ve always known that. But the fact that you let a situation like that lead you to help others is exceptional. Not many doctors pray for their patients; I’d charge extra for that.”

You push against Tim’s shoulder as your smile grows. “If they’d told me that reading the Bible would lead to having two jobs without facing the price of sin, I wouldn’t have believed them. The worship pastor idea came in later. The day before I was released I read Acts 16. Paul and Silas sing praises in prison, and then there’s an earthquake and the doors are opened. No one leaves, but the jailer sees the doors and prepares to kill himself. Paul and Silas stop him and lead him to repent and be baptized. So, after nights of praying and praising in a cell, I knew I needed to keep doing it.”

Tim has been quiet since the moment he walked in. Though you don’t regret sharing your testimony with him, you begin to worry that he won’t want anything to do with you now. Learning that your girlfriend went to juvie for armed robbery isn’t easy for most people to move on from.

“I understand if you want some time,” you murmur.

Tim’s eyes are still straight ahead. You realize he’s looking at the pulpit in the center of the stage. He squeezes your hand gently, and you take a deep breath. You won't blame him for needing space, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt.

“I had a rough childhood, too. My dad was angry, and he got violent because of that. I actually thought for a while that he killed someone," Tim says.

His voice is rough, but you know why and you're here for him. You lay your other hand over Tim’s and turn to face him. His eyes are still forward, and you understand it can be easier to talk about stuff like this without looking at your audience.

“He was having an affair with a woman who was being abused. She killed her husband and my dad covered for her. That- that moment when he confessed and he seemed like a good man… it went against everything I had ever seen. He was a monster, and everything that I am is despite what my dad did.”

Tim turns toward you, and you see tears gathering in his eyes. It hurts to relive past pains, but your entire life is founded upon a belief that you don’t have to do it alone.

“I don’t want time or space. Your past made you the woman I love, and the strength and love you found during your darkest night… your story is special.”

“I could do more,” you whisper. “I don’t tell enough people.”

“You told me. That’s a start, right?”

You nod and lean your head against Tim’s shoulder. Your Bible folds closed with your movement, and you remember that your unshakeable faith will get you through the hard days to come, and telling your story may allow someone else to see the strength Christ offers.

“You’re amazing,” you say against Tim’s shirt. “Everything that you are, all that you do, shows that your past doesn’t define you.”

Tim turns to kiss your head and wraps an arm around your back.

“Did you come to give me a ride and a hug?” you ask.

“Yes. A ride home and more than one hug.”

[saylor-twift]

hello i’m back from the dead, here’s a little something of reader being delusional in honor of tortured poets department. how could i not, i’m literally saylor twift.

Down Bad▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 4:20

word count: 1859

“Playing it cool” is quite possibly one of the stupidest pieces of advice anyone could ever give. It’s practically human nature for people to do the exact opposite of what they’re told, no matter how much they don’t want to. It’s much more appealing to adhere to the phrase, “If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself”, and as someone as independent and stubborn as you were, it was all too easy to tune out what anyone else had to say about your situation. Were you making any progress? Of course not. But for the time being, you were perfectly content to simply admire your muse from a view. (Not really, it was difficult as hell. But that’s really all he’d allow from you.)

There was one question though that plagued your mind: why then, if you’d been able to manage conversations with him just fine in the past like any two friends would, was it so difficult to even walk past him now that your true feelings had been realized? Shouldn’t you have some sort of advantage, having known him for so long? And to make matters worse, recently it had been feeling like the two of you were complete strangers. It truly felt as if he was avoiding you like the plague- it was a miracle if you were able to even spot him from a distance strolling down Treasures Street. If you happened to make eye contact, it would make your face burn and your stomach tingle with butterflies to an almost embarrassing extent. You kept telling yourself that next time you saw him, you’d talk to him. The plan was that if you could slowly bring yourself closer and closer to him, you’d be able to experience the slow burn romance of your dreams!

Unfortunately though, as well as unsurprisingly, every time there was a ‘next time’, you felt yourself too afraid to make any sort of attempt at conversation. You had begun to worry that you’d possibly done something wrong, because he was giving you the impression that he wanted nothing to do with you. Quickened steps when he saw you approaching, or a nasty habit of breaking eye contact the second it was created were just a few of the new behaviors you’d noticed. Is it possible, then, that he’d caught on to your feelings, and is avoiding a confession at all costs? No, that can’t be it. You hadn’t done anything that would warrant any sort of suspicion from him. (Outwardly, at least. Your daydreams reminiscent of those of a crush-stricken middle schooler would say otherwise.) In any case, it was getting harder and harder to stay optimistic when with every passing day the two of you grew more distant.

One day, you keep telling yourself, you’d have the courage to make a move on the cold, sarcastic, and unapproachable young man. After all, you were convinced the two of you were destined to be together. It was just a matter of time before it happened, right?

Until suddenly you were struck painfully in the face with a harsh reality check. You watch him exit the large wooden doors of the Akedimiya, as he usually does at this time of day. You’d decided to wait for him, in hopes you’d be able to gather your courage and greet him. And then maybe, he’d continue the conversation, just like old times. You stood outside, meanwhile leaning up against one of the large stone pillars and nervously anticipating his arrival. He’s uncharacteristically late today. Usually, he’s the type to remain in his classes for absolutely no longer than what is necessary. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve somehow got the time wrong, or maybe his schedule. Today was Friday, right? You were certain his lectures ended at exactly this time every Friday. (You absolutely did not have his entire class schedule memorized, what kind of an obsessed weirdo would do that?) After an agonizing amount of time later, awaiting his arrival with bated breath and nearly on the verge of chickening out and returning home where your nerves wouldn’t be attacking you every waking moment, the wooden doors swing open. And lo and behold, there he is: your beloved Hat Guy. Only… he’s not alone?

Walking side by side, the Wanderer strolls out into the sunshine next to a lovely looking brown haired girl, also adorning the typical Akedimiya attire. She yaps on about something to him, all the while with a large grin on her face. One that you cannot deny is a beautiful smile. But the strangest part is, he doesn’t seem to be ticked off by her presence in the slightest. If anything, you swore you could see the slightest hint of a smile tug at his lips. (However, if you could read his mind, you’d find that he was actually imagining what it would be like if he could make her explode solely using the powers of his mind. That’s how bugged he was. But alas, your delusions always seem to get the best of you.)

Why on Teyvat was this random girl from the Akedimiya able to hold casual conversation with him, of all people? Seriously, her and not you? You’re the one who knows everything about him, you’re the one who’s seen him at his worst, the one who knows his past, and everything he’s become because of it. All of this and yet, you still can’t bring yourself to just fucking talk to him anymore.

You’re so in love with him it physically hurts. The feeling wraps itself around your very heart, beating frantically, with searing hot metal wires and won’t let it breathe for even a second. What’s the reason? You’re not even sure. He’s an asshole. He’s a loner. He’s a Harbinger. You pause, realizing the path your thoughts have taken. Was a Harbinger, actually.

Oh yeah.

That’s why you love him.

Because he’s changed. Despite his pain and sorrows, despite all of the betrayals and all of those people he’s hurt in turn, that’s not who he is anymore. It’s not who he wants to be. You can see it in the way he smiles when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching. And not the sadistic little smirk he usually shows, no, but a genuine smile that rests upon his lips as he watches the children laugh and chase after each other along the streets during midday. And oh, how you wish he’d smile at you like that! But here you are, witnessing him as he gives that very same smile to the beautiful brunette Akademiya girl at his side. (He absolutely was not smiling.)

But you suppose it does make a bit of sense, doesn’t it? He couldn’t possibly have any interest in you, you who’s certain to hate him for everything he’s done. You, who’s seen what he was like at his utmost vulnerable. He couldn’t love someone who could use that to their advantage. He wants a fresh start, doesn’t he? And wouldn’t that include meeting brand new people who only know him for the self he presents for them, and not the bloodthirsty, heart-stricken puppet of the past? What if, what if it truly wasn’t meant to be? What if despite all the love you harbored, even if it was so much it was spilling out the cracks of your very soul, he wouldn’t be able to notice? What if his own heart was breaking out of its protective shell and reaching out to someone new? What if that someone new was the girl currently at his side right now? (Oh boy, calm down, will you? You’re getting ahead of yourself here. You don’t even have any idea what they’re talking about.)

Watching them walk together, you just can’t bring yourself to walk up to him anymore. All of that previously collected, albeit false confidence, vanished in an instant. And so, with a confused, dazed, and lovesick heart, you turn around and walk away in the opposite direction. You were so certain he could be the one. What if you truly couldn’t have him? You supposed, for a moment, it would be the same thing as death. There wouldn’t be much of a difference, would there?. That’s where you catch yourself. A bit much, isn’t it? Not death, you reason, but definitely something very painful. What happened to the composure you usually held? All down the drain now, it seems. Your eyes well up in tears, even though a part of you knows you shouldn’t be reacting this way. The sun blazes against your shoulders, almost mockingly, against your delusional, lovesick, and oh so very down bad self, as you make your way down the paved steps from the Akademiya.

——————————————————————

“A partner project? You can’t be serious. Please, remind me, how would putting me in this situation be beneficial to either of us?” Asks a very vexed Wanderer, standing before the god of wisdom herself in the middle of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, only a few hours prior.

“I hardly see you interacting with other people. Aside from me, of course! I truly believe that expanding your horizons to new relationships could help you to open your mind! Don’t tell me you really have no interest in making friends?” Nahida chirps, hopping down from her platform. A swing made from vines of dendro energy, dissipates into the air at her absence.

“I fail to see how writing an argumentative essay alongside another person is a friendship-making strategy.” He retorts back, crossing his arms.

“How can you know if you never try? I’m not saying you have to be lifelong friends with your partner, but you should get to know your peers. Nearly the entirety of the Akademiya is dying to get to know you!”

“Just because I’ve acquired a group of crazed fans does not mean I have to entertain them. And especially not because you think I need friends.” That last word lingers on his tongue. Friends. Speaking of, didn’t you once say you considered him a friend? Despite his words, the thought doesn’t make him as sick as he thought it would. Not really sick at all, actually.

“Won’t you try it, just once? If not for you, then for me?” She pleads. How odd to have a god ask you for something, he thinks. Although, considering his relationship to Nahida, it’s really not all that strange.

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” She replies, giggling proudly.

And so, with a huff and a sigh of indignation, Wanderer agrees with much trepidation to go along with Nahida’s odd little plan of a partner project. So long as he gets it over with quickly, it can’t be too bad. And maybe if he finishes in time, he’ll be able to see you again. It has been quite some time. And although he tells himself he doesn’t really want to see you, he’s beginning to realize that statement probably isn’t true.

Just a little bit.

Definitely not.

You’ll figure it out one day, just wait and see.

[possiblyawesometmblr]

i'm allowing myself exactly one (1) moment of pure delusion:

jon martin jonah. thanks for your time.

[chipthekeeper]

drawing random lines with red yarn from whatever is going on in Ahsoka to the nightsisters to the zeffo because I didn’t learn my lesson tying the yarn from the zeffo to the Nameless

[gallawitchxx]

🥳 ((cc: @whatwouldmickeydo))

[hazeljack]

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[myunconquerablesoul]

His Favored.

r.sukuna x fem!reader

Warnings: historical au, mentions of violence (towards an OC, but never us. Not even Sukuna is allowed to abuse us!), mentions of blood, mentions of wanting to kill someone, mentions of someone hanging, nudity (reader is a concubine), it gets steamy in the end, but nothing too detailed. (I think) Sukuna is soft(?) in this one.

Wordcount: 3.445 (I would like to say I'm sorry, but I'm not)

Fanart

The servant lays in a bloody mess before you. He was not dead, but you were sure he wished he'd be by now.

Sukuna is staring directly at you. His attention was no longer on the poor soul.

His hands grip your cheeks, and the others hold your wrists. 

"I told you," Sukuna says, voice low, "to not speak to that servant, or there would be consequences."

He lost his temper today. He has seen you talking to that lowlife, hidden in one of the many hallways in his estate. And as if that wasn't enough, that peasant tried to pull you into his embrace. Forcefully.

Looking back, it was a miracle for him to be still alive.

"Now, why would my concubine disobey my orders just like that?" It was simply inexcusable to him for anyone else to speak to you the way he did when it wasn't any secret that you were, clearly, the curse's favorite.

"The servant... he..." He saw your eyes drifting to the servant again. Nervous. You were in an inner battle with yourself. He had secretly planned to whisk you away from Sukuna's estate so you could have freedom and independence.

You'd felt his kindness and sincerity toward you in the short time you'd known him. You knew he meant well, but it was already too late.

Sukuna, on the other hand, felt that you were hesitating to tell him. Not only that, but you were trying to protect that poor excuse of a man.

It made him want to kill him right on the spot. 

Then he abruptly let go of you and turned his attention back to the poor soul. You felt the shift in the atmosphere immediately. You knew that if you did not do anything right this instant, the man's head would be rolling around the floor within seconds.

You were trying to figure out what to do. 

If you asked for it to stop, your master would get the wrong idea and kill the man without hesitation. You were sure of it.

"My lord," You had to try to defuse this situation. "may I ask for us to speak privately?" If not for the sake of the man on the floor, then for your sanity. 

"I will tell you everything, but please... alone." Sukuna stopped in his tracks upon hearing your request. 

If it were anyone else's request, no, others would not dare to. They only dare to speak to him when he addresses them. But you, you were always a particular case for Sukuna. 

For a moment, you were met with nothing but silence. You feared that you had made everything worse and sealed the servant's faith. 

But then, without warning, Sukuna turned back to you, grabbed you by your wrist, and led you out of the throne room.

You did not dare look back to see if the servant was alright. Knowing it would end in unwanted bloodshed.

"Uraume!"

You haven't even noticed Uraume standing there. But you weren't given the time to properly acknowledge them, as your shared master dragged you forward.

"Ensure that the filth's wounds are taken care of, and lock him in his room until I decide what will become of him!" He spat.

Sukuna leads you to his room.

It wasn't the first time you were here, but the first time you didn't know the outcome of what would happen. 

The curse let go of you after sliding the Shoji shut. He leaves you standing in the middle of the room. Sukuna's dark eyes meet yours.

"Explain." He didn't yell. 

For a moment, you believe you would've preferred if he did. It was a painful reminder of how patient he was with you. Of how much you could get away with.

"The servant wanted to take me away from here. I told him that I wanted to stay. But he kept pressuring me."

Sukuna leans against the wall, staring at you with a dangerous, hungry light in his eyes. The fact that you wanted to stay was good. He likes it when you're obedient.

"I never wanted to leave you, my lord." You got down on your knees and bowed until your forehead touched the ground. "Please, you have to believe me."

Sukuna looked at you for a long moment. He lets out a low growl, stepping up to you so that he towers over you. "Prove it, concubine."

"He wrote me letters. I can show you." You were still looking at the floor. You knew you had to be careful. If you say something wrong, misstep, or accidentally anger him more, the servant won't live to see the next day.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at that, curious. "Show me."

"They are in my chambers."

Sukuna steps back, ordering you to stand and lead the way to your room.

"Here."

Sukuna sat on your bed as he took the letters and unfolded them. But before skimming each word, he takes a good look at you. 

You stood there with all your might. There's not a bit of fear in your eyes, just concern. 

Ever since your village offered you as an addition to his harem, the curse felt that there was something about you. Sukuna felt a strong pull toward you, an attraction he had never felt for someone else.

"The servant, Yuto, told me a week ago that he fell in love with me and asked for my hand." You studied Sukuna momentarily, wondering if mentioning his name was wise.

Sukuna, however, didn't pay any mind to that. Instead, he tried his best to conceal his surprise. 

He thought that you would try to protect the lowlife. Try to convince him to let him go, but you tell how things were - nothing but the truth - without concealing anything.

"I told him that I didn't feel the same way. But he wouldn't give up. I didn't want to cause too much attention towards this."

You didn't feel alarmed per se. It was just very out of character for the curse to react the way he currently was. He was too calm about all of this newfound information.

Sukuna chuckles at that. "Or were you too afraid?" tone mocking.

"I was afraid of what you would do to him." He raised a brow at that. So, you elaborated a bit more. "He does not deserve to die because he fell in love."

When he hears your words, his eyes darken again. Sukuna eyes you, and you can tell that his thoughts seem elsewhere.

"You're right." As you watch him, he gets up from your bed and approaches you to stand directly before you, towering over you.

"One does not deserve to die for simply falling in love, dear concubine."

Standing before you, you could now practically feel the bloodlust radiating from him. 

"But trying to steal someone else's property, especially when said property belongs to me, the king of curses, is where every human with minimum survival instincts may draw the line." he spat, full of venom.

You averted your gaze from him. You knew he was right. You, too, could not understand where Yutu's boldness came from.

But then again, love does blind people.

"That bastard deserves to perish for even thinking he had a chance to get away with it." now that was more like the Sukuna, you know. 

You felt smaller with every passing second, and you could no longer think of a way to save the servant's life. 

When you looked down on one of your master's hands, you could see the letters in a tied grip. The papers were utterly wrinkled. 

Not that it mattered.

"Or is it perhaps that my dearest concubine grew close to that poor excuse of a man and began to like the idea?" 

Your eyes snapped to him in an instant. "I didn't grow close to him. I didn't even like him." you desperately needed him to believe you.

"If that were the case," Sukuna counters, "why did you keep these letters?" 

You immediately began to shake your head. "I never let him believe he had a chance. I always told him that I belonged to you, my lord." The way Yuto kept insisting the past week made you uneasy; even remembering it made you feel uncomfortable.

Sukuna then gently stroked your hair - a silent apology after noticing your growing discomfort. 

He didn't mean to talk to you in that tone, but the mere thought of you being possibly interested in someone other than him-

"I kept the letters because I wanted you to believe me when I told you."

The curse nods, seeming to accept what you're telling him. It pleased him that you were thinking about telling him. "Good girl." His fingers slip down to your chin, stroking it gently.

"I wanted to tell him to stop today, but then you saw us, and- you know the rest."

Sukuna nods, his fingers still caressing your chin. "Indeed... but I want us to go over our boundaries again, dear concubine. I should not have to remind you what happens when you speak to other men besides me."

"No, my lord." you felt the room lighten up again, and for a moment, everything seemed to return to normal. "You should not worry; I will never accept a man who claims to love me. I know my place." you tried to brighten up the mood. But then-

"And if I was the one who loved you?" he asks, tone turning dangerous. "What if I was the one who desired you? Would you have given me your hand?" Sukuna looked at you with his intense eyes again. Something hidden behind them, something you could not read, but your heart answered before your mind could comprehend what was happening.

"I would."

Sukuna considers you for a long moment, his gaze boring into yours. 

"I know you to be loyal and obedient, and because of that, I am not as concerned... but I need you to make this promise regardless." Sukuna leans closer to you, his eyes dark and fierce. "If another man speaks to you, you will tell me. No secrets, no hiding that from me."

You nod at that, still not trusting your voice enough. The thought that the king of curses could be jealous and possessive of you made you smile a bit.

Sukuna smiles at you and strokes your cheek and hair. "Good girl, you look beautiful when you smile."

He still didn't know what to do with the servant, but he knew he had had enough of this useless conversation.

His tone shifts again, voice low. "Let us not dwell on this further. Shall we go to bed?"

"Whenever you please."

Sukuna laughs softly, his tone playful and flirtatious. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," he teases you as he pics you over his shoulders and takes you back to his chambers.

Of course, he could stay here and take you right then and there, but he wanted to spend the night in comfort with you. 

"Here, let me help you out of these things."

"Yes, my lord."

Sukuna removes your dress, leaving you in a thin chemise. He moves behind you, his hands slipping to the laces of that piece of clothing, his breath warm on your skin.

It feels all too domestic to romantic. And somehow, you can't seem to shake something off your mind. You weren't sure what would become of the servant. But something about your conversation with your master seemed to be off. 

"My lord, may I ask something?"

Sukuna hums. "Ask away, dear concubine."

How should you put it? This road you were taking could lead to death, but on the other hand, you needed to know. So you took a risk.

"You asked me if it were you who'd love me."

Sukuna momentarily stops what he's doing. "Yes, I remember..." a dangerous glint enters his dark eyes again for a moment, but it vanishes as quickly as it does. "Continue, dear concubine."

"I- if.. if it's not too bold of me to ask."

The last concubine who dared ended up hanging in the backyard as a reminder of your status - a reminder never to seek more. It would be best never to forget that your only purpose was to satisfy your master's needs.

"Speak. I'm listening," Sukuna tells you softly, hands returning to work on your laces. His eyes trail down the curve of your neck to your back, lingering momentarily.

He knew where this was going. Today was indeed a day full of surprises. 

"Do you?" there it was. a silent question. He never thought that you would pull through.

Sukuna's fingers freeze on the remaining laces of your clothes, his hands stilling. "... Do I what?" he asks cautiously.

"Do you love me?" The curse didn't know what to say first. He could deny it and proceed as if nothing happened, but the way your voice calls to him like you were hoping for some miracle.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally replies to you. "...I do."

"You- you Do? But- you have so many beautiful concubines at your service. So many women who'd willingly offer themselves to you…" your voice lost confidence, turning smaller with every passing second.

"None compare to you," Sukuna promises, voice soft and genuine. "None have a hold on my mind like you, my dear concubine. I do not feel for them what I feel for you."

Sukunas's hands slip to your waist and work on your laces again. "Do you think you could come to love me as I have you?" he asks.

It takes you a moment to respond. Sukuna is uncharacteristically patient with you. 

"When that servant first told me about his feelings for me, I told him that my heart already belonged to someone else." you reply breathlessly.

"And who, pray tell, would your heart belong to?" Sukuna murmurs, voice low. The laces are almost finished, the thin chemise the only thing separating you from Sukuna's touch.

"Can I be so bold?" 

Sukuna hums, a low grin curving his lips. "Yes."

He pulls the last lace free, the garment falling at your feet. "Tell me, dear concubine, whose heart do I have?" he questions eagerly, turning you around and looking straight at your eyes.

"Mine."

Sukuna smiles at you, his eyes shining brightly. "You are truly a good girl," he exclaims, a voice full of affection. "But that answer proves what you knew all along, doesn't it?"

Sukuna begins to move against you, his hand now caressing your cheek, and he leans down towards you as if expecting you to kiss him. His dark eyes are locked on yours as if looking for your consent.

You give a slight nod.

Sukuna cups your face in both hands, his fingers gently pushing your hair out of the way. He moves slowly, not breaking eye contact until your noses and lips are all but touching. His breath is warm against your skin, your heart racing.

"Is this what you want, dear concubine?" he whispers, low and sultry, full of desire for you.

"Am I allowed to speak what I truly want?"

Sukuna chuckles in response, voice low and breathy. "You do know that I allow you to say whatever you'd like, don't you?" he questions you, still close to you that the two of you are almost kissing. "So, speak your mind, dear concubine."

"I- I want to be more than just a mere concubine to you, my lord."

Sukuna stares at you for a long moment, eyes heavy with consideration. "And what more would you like to be to me, dear concubine?" he whispers, looking down at you. "Do you wish to ascend past this place of yours... to be on equal footing with me?"

"I would never dare to ask such things."

"But, if I were to offer them to you, would you accept... dear concubine?" Sukuna's voice is low and husky.

There's promise there, hope, and a little bit of lust. You've been a good and loyal concubine, not one to ever ask for more than what you've been given, and he rewards loyalty.

"What if I allowed you to become my equal?" it all sounds too good to be true. 

"Then- then I would be selfish and accept."

"There is nothing wrong with being a little bit selfish," Sukuna reminds you, his fingers running through your loose hair.

"You deserve this, my dear concubine. You have been loyal and obedient for as long as you've been here. You deserve to be treated as my equal."

Sukuna's eyes gleam, his gaze lingering on you in a way you hadn't known him to do before.

"You are more than just a servant," Sukuna says, voice low.

"I'm willing to give you a new title, my dear concubine..." he pauses, taking a deep breath before he continues.

His gaze is locked on yours, his eyes sparkling with love and lust. "I want to make you my wife."

"W- wife? As in- in your lady?"

"You will be my lady, yes," Sukuna tells you, voice huskier as he speaks. "My dear, loyal wife. And I will be yours. You will be queen alongside me."

"Your body belongs to me," he adds. "But in every other regard, you will be my equal. We will walk among the humans together, as their rulers, in love, in trust. And I will grant you anything you desire... no matter how dark."

"I- I don't know what to say."

"Then do not say anything," Sukuna tells you. He lifts your face towards him until your lips are almost touching. "Show me with your actions how you feel about this, dear concubine."

"Show me what you feel," he adds, voice low. His gaze is heavy with desire for you, and your heart pounds in your chest, heat rising to your cheeks at his words.

Sukuna is kissing you passionately, his hands tangled in your loose hair and pulling you closer. You can feel the force behind the kiss, the want and need from the curse, which sends your body into chaos. He moves a hand down, driving up your body with purpose. They continue moving upwards, over your ribs and chest, to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently before they caress you.

"I want this. Everything you're willing to give. I want to be selfish. I want you, please…"

Sukuna responds to your words by deepening the kiss and pulling you even closer to him. He's no longer in the mood for words, his hands sliding up your curves to your neck, pinning you to the wall. 

He's gentle, despite the force of his kiss, and he makes sure he doesn't hurt you — but there's no denying he wants you, and you can feel the lust spilling from him as he pushes his body more and more onto yours.

Sukuna groans into the kiss. Your mouth is against his, your lips and his moving back and forth to satisfy this thirst between you two.

He breaks from the kiss and stares at you with soft eyes. His smile is heavy and filled with love, and he leans to press another kiss against your lips. "Then, from today on, dear concubine, you will be my wife."

"You are mine," Sukuna says to himself, too lost in this moment. "My wife, my love. No longer my concubine, my subject, but my equal."

He trails more kisses against you, those of love rather than lust. They are soft and gentle as if he's promising you only the best.

When the two of you are breathless, Sukuna carries you toward the bed. Your heart flutters within your chest as if you're in a dream come true. He lays you upon the bed, and his lips are again moving against yours, soft and gentle, full of love, as if he's worshipping.

He pulls back to look down at you, his eyes heavy. He is long gone. Body and mind filled with nothing but pure ecstasy. "Mine."

"Always yours, my lord." The curse's tone was possessive and full of devotion. It made you breathless to think that was all for you.

Sukuna's eyes locked with yours, his every movement designed to be as erotic as possible. His kiss is heavy, and how he moves against you is enough to force a moan from your lips. His fingers explore your body, moving lower slowly so that you are practically panting by the time he reaches his destination.

"Let me love you in every way possible."

[iamadequate1]

OK, this common refrain:

Just move on! You OFMD fans are so annoying!

Ridiculous.

What is happening with OFMD right now is UNPRECEDENTED. This isn't a cute little cult show: this is a juggernaut for Max. It's its #1 original show right now (using the metrics available right now since Max hides numbers). It's 30x in demand than the average streaming show. It was Peabody nominated. Max spent significant money on a FYC campaign for it. Its audience grew between S1 and S2, and S1 was already beating off Marvel and Star Wars shows on the charts. It can pull thousands of fans into conventions. It had a Times Square billboard just in October. Most of Max' social media interaction is from OFMD. If reports are to be believed, the S3 scripts were readied and they were already scheduling time for filming, releasing announcements, and interviews. It has succeeded in every metric a show can be measured in, and passed these expectations beyond any studio's dreams.

But it was derailed last minute by a tantruming CEO, a CEO whose incompetence is bleeding hundreds of millions out of the company and is destroying the reputation of and industry confidence in the company. The company stock has fallen over 6% since the OFMD announcement two days ago (not the sole factor but one of the biggest factors). If a show like OFMD cannot succeed at Max, no show can succeed at Max. If Max cannot support this show, it cannot support being a streaming service at all.

Is there a show cancellation that has ever compared to this?

This announcement is not because a fringe minority in and outside the fandom thought S2 was "bad", or that some people didn't like certain plot points of S2 (no hiding it here that I'm not a fan of certain fanons, though I enjoy all characters). Taika Waititi was excited and onboard; he wasn't "bored" and decided to move on. They didn't cram the original ending into S2 just in case. There is still story to be told, and this series earned the right to be able to finish that story. Ed and Stede are still in the shaky beginnings of their relationship! They need to dance, have domestic moments, have affectionate moments, get married (what was the point of David Jenkins hyping matelotage at every step?)! How does our pirate community actually move on with their lives past the English encroachment (personified in Ricky)? This isn't a video game, and the story didn't end because they reached a "Get to The Revenge" checkpoint. What personal paths are our beloved crew members going to go on? There is still so much story, and we didn't have a clean break.

We're telling ourselves that fan campaigns have worked before. These examples, the shows were all deserving, but they were not the juggernauts that OFMD is. Firefly, for example, was 98th in Nielson ratings, and it was nowhere near the biggest audience for FOX shows. Imagine if FOX had randomly decided to cancel its top rated scripted show for the lulz. Would FOX have ever recovered or been able to court new talent? (ETA: 2002 FOX. 2024 FOX already can't court talent. A rather expensive spectacle show like 911 smoothly and immediately transitioning to another, more stable network is not why I'm here.)

The streaming competition is tight right now, and Max had a miracle in OFMD, all without even bothering to promote it. OFMD has a passionate audience. It has deeply resonated with thousands and thousands of people, and it is not silly to have emotions about creative projects because that is the entire point of creative projects. We have invested real time and money into this. We've created a community. We believe in David Jenkins and all involved, and these are real people we want to support because they brought joy into our lives. The respect and comradery this crew has with the fanbase is refreshing and rare. They revel in the fans' returned creativity and passion where most others have chosen to mock instead.

I am not going to just accept the whim of some random guy in a suit. I'm not just going to shrug and say "Got me there!" I'm not going to be ashamed of having passion, any excitement, any thrill at a unique work that is unapologetically sweet, joyful, and sincere and gives us the beautiful diversity we see in our lives. If this can happen to THIS SHOW, this juggernaut, there is no point in ever being invested in a new creative project again, and that is not a world that I'm willing to accept.

I am going to fight and keep fighting for as long as it takes. If this annoys you, learn how to use mute and block functions and don't expect me to change because it's your first day on the Internet. Why shouldn't we expect excellence in media we invest in? Why shouldn't we be angry that studios are trying to collapse into one with mergers and reduce all output to five IPs with cookie cutter releases? Why shouldn't we expect that a show that has met all expectations to be rewarded by the studio for the value it added? Why should we be expected to just shrug at every cruel decision like this (a decision that doesn't even make financial sense) and hand over our money to some passionless, generic alternative? Why should we just consume whatever terrible product the studios spit out at us instead of fighting for ones that deserve to thrive?

It is not hyperbole that this is a turning point in the industry. We just spent the summer with studios demanding AI be able to replace all pieces of the creative process unchecked, and now we have an absolutely unprecedented strike down of a creative and unique show at the top of the industry because there were a few more (entirely imaginary) pennies to be had. This is inexcusable.

This is a long haul situation. Zaslav blindsided us, so alternative streamers wouldn't have even been on the radar at the beginning of this week. David Jenkins and company also can't make comments on any possibilities we have since they have to keep working relationships in this industry and they need contracts finalized first.

There is always hope, no matter how slim.

Don't give up, and don't give in.

Remember to @renewasacrew

[vidavalor]

Hey, so...

Have you all noticed *how* Crowley and Aziraphale are drinking in 1941? And by this I mean... that they barely are? <wink>

Crowley has been drinking for millennia by this point. He gets drunk as Bildad the Shuite in 2500 B.C.. Aziraphale has been drinking since sometime prior to the scene in Rome, which is also when we see them drink together for the first time. *This* scene is 1941 so countless years and meet ups between Crowley and Aziraphale have taken place since and considering how these two drink together in other situations-- like how completely wasted they were in the "eleven years ago" scene in S1-- this one here in 1941 is *interesting.* Why?

Because friends, that is *one bottle of wine* on the table beside Aziraphale and I can still see wine in it above the label, which means what's currently in their glasses is less than the first half of the bottle... which means the glasses they are sharing now that Aziraphale just poured are their first drinks of the evening... and neither of them are really drinking much of it. That signals an intent not to drink very much at all-- the open bottle probably being plenty for the two of them. They're going slowly, without an intention to get drunk, but not really just to savor together a particularly interesting vintage. They don't seem to be noticing or tasting the wine at all. Aziraphale poured them both a good amount but not overkill but both of them so far in this scene just take cautious, *small* sips of the wine... and they don't need to conserve it, ok?

It's not the war. It's canon that Aziraphale has a case of Chateauneuf-de-Pape that he picked up in the 1920s sitting in the back of this shop at this very minute that he doesn't bust open until "Eleven Years Ago" in the future of S1 and Crowley is a bootlegger in this moment in history lol and also they're both literally magic. They could miracle wine from halfway around the world if they wanted to. There's wine to drink if they want to get drunk...

...and they both have silently agreed that they don't want to.

It is the *only* time that they drink together in a scene that we've seen where they have a mutual agreement to not drink that much. Even when Aziraphale *didn't drink*, he still got *food* drunk while Crowley was drinking in the Job minisode.

But when they're having a drink together in 1941, both of them are very clearly, by a kind of unspoken agreement from the vibes in the room, *not really drinking.* Just a little. A few sips that will lead to a glass or two a piece total, at most-- that bottle split between them would be a lot from the air of and the pace of them in this scene.

And I mean... forgetting for a moment that Aziraphale will get drunk without issue in other scenes, we all know Crowley, right? This Crowley...

In S1, part of *God's narration* lol includes that Crowley and Aziraphale had been drinking for six straight hours in the bookshop together in "Eleven Years Ago." Rome is one thing because they had just had just met up so we don't know how sloshed they got over oysters at Petronius' new restaurant (and would seem likely that they did) but in every other scene when they drink together, basically, they drink quite a bit and both of them usually wind up drunk, especially Crowley.

So why is 1941 different?

Because they're drinking like people who both want to mess around, that's why.

Yeah, people mess around while drunk and I'm sure the same can be said for any of the few Effort-curious angels and demons outside of these two but Crowley and Aziraphale are not a casual hookup to one another-- they're in love, they're best friends, and they haven't been together before after literal millennia of pining and yearning for it. It's not something that's happening while they're drunk. They want to be sober and for it to be special and the evening here in 1941 has really got everything lining up for a perfectly romantic night, if they want it to be. All the rescuing one another and little glances and now Aziraphale's asked Crowley back to the bookshop for a late night drink and they're both drinking like they want it to be tonight.

They're both silently telling one another they want something to happen by the fact that they're drinking with no intention to get drunk. They want to be present. They want to remember. They want each other's explicit consent so they're barely drinking the wine so that it's evident that if things get intimate, it's not because either or both of them are drunk, and no one has to stop over concern over that.

Aziraphale is looking at Crowley looking all dashing, unusually quiet for him, maybe a bit nervous and still hiding a little behind his glasses-- Hell's biggest lush taking the world's smallest, barely-there sip of that wine lol-- and is like how many more tiny sips do we need to take before I can crawl onto his lap...?

Aziraphale's like omg, the sex is going to be amazing... thank God I don't yet know in this moment that something-- like some Zombie Nazis, probably-- will stop us and we'll still be on trying to kiss one another 80 years from now...

[daxerian]

Mama y Papa

Carlos Sainz x Reader x Lando Norris

Warnings: my grammar😻, sickness and fluff

Words: around 4k I think

A/n: I am so sorry I was gone for a month but girlie was sick and wanted to spend time with her friends and family🤞🏼

Y/N was talking to Carmen about life you know? Work, their relationships, family, etc.

It was a pretty deep conversation until they heard "Y/nnnnn?"

Of course, it was Lando asking his 'grid mum' for something to help him with, which was no problem from her side but when she saw Lando holding a bottle of water and looking a bit annoyed, she couldn't help but chuckle.

"Oh, Lando what's wrong?" Carmen asked smiling knowing that the 2 had a mother/son bond that will never be broken.

"I can't open the bottle and I couldn't find Carlos" Lando answered Carmen. "Hand me the bottle darling" Y/N said while waiting for Lando to give her the bottle. She opened it like nothing and handed it back to him, "There you go" Lando just looked at the bottle for a few seconds and then took it, "Thank you Y/N" "No problem Lando"

----

It was around 1 am when Y/N found herself looking at the wall cursing herself out for drinking coffee at 7 pm. At least Carlos is having the time of his life sleeping and clinging to her body.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when somebody decided to call her. She only wondered, who the hell would want to call at this hour? Surprisingly it was Lando, she went into an instant worry in seconds and picked up almost immediately.

"Lando, are you okay?" The worry in her voice was incredible because people wouldn't worry like that when their friends called at night, well that was not the case for Y/N and Carlos Sainz.

"Can you pick me up? I'm near the coffee shop you like and it's freezing and I don't have a jacket or a sweatshirt" Lando answered her, "I'll be there" She hung up the phone a started to wake Carlos up. "Carlos, wake up! Carlos!" once he did wake up he asked his wife "What's wrong mi amor?"

"It's Lando" and that sentence was all it took for Carlos to fully wake up. "Well, why are you still laying in bed? Let's go" Carlos hurried his wife out of bed because if something would happen to Lando he wouldn't survive it. He promised himself that he would take care of him the second he met him.

---

It was the day after the British GP and Lando wasn’t feeling well, was it because he went out clubbing to celebrate? Probably yes.

He tried calling Carlos and Y/N but they weren't picking up, that was the moment Lando accepted his fate. He had to go through the pain alone. Until a miracle happened. Carlos called back.

"Lando, are you okay?" Carlos asked curious, "No, I feel horrible and I've been throwing up" Lando admitted, "You've been what?" it was Y/N's time to ask Lando questions, "Have you taken any sort of medication? You know what, we'll go to the pharmacy and grocery shop so I can make you soup okay?"

Y/N told Lando the plan she created in seconds because there was no way she would let Lando deal with it by himself. Carlos hung up the phone and followed his wife asking her more questions like 'What do we need?' type of questions.

20 minutes later the couple was in Lando's apartment. Y/N made some soup while Carlos had Lando laying in his lap talking to him on the couch. "Lando you will take this after you eat okay?" Y/N showed him the medicine, "Mhm" he answered with this tired tone to his voice which Carlos or Y/N didn't like.

Lando fell asleep on Carlos' lap, and the couple was now having this genuine conversation. "He's like a few years younger than us but acts like a teenager" Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at the last part, "Oy mi amor, he's our son at this point no?" and Carlos was right "Our firstborn!" Y/N added.

---

Carlos, Y/N decided to take Lando with them for their vacation. They decided to visit New Zealand first, and after that, Carlos and Y/N will be going on a big family vacation to Ibiza.

They went to a restaurant because they got hungry and when they arrived Y/N was ready for this;

"Y/N can you please order for me?" Lando asked politely, "Tell me what you want to eat then". "This pasta and this mixed drink please" Lando pointed at the menu while telling Y/N his order, Carlos just sat back and quietly enjoyed the moment because even though Lando is old enough to be enjoying life on his own, he would rather spend it with the people he idolizes. Carlos and Y/N Sainz.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Thinking about yanderes who know you better than anyone ever did. They know you better even than you know yourself, that's how in touch they are with your life.

I see them as the subtle types, the ones who would perhaps silently admire you from a safe distance. You look charming in the cafe you're sitting in, chatting away with a friend or two about some shared hobbies. He can't help but to stare, but it's only for a few moments! He knows better than to look for too long, he doesn't want to appear like some sort of creep now, does he? He sips on his drink quietly as his eyes ever so slightly go back and forth towards you and the door, ensuring a safe escape route, just in case things go south but they never do.

You're too lost in your own little bubble to notice him.

From that day onwards he starts to... Well, he's not sure how to put it into words.

It's natural for a person to have a crush but what he feels towards you is something much more intense to ever be in the realms of normalcy. If you've ever spoken two words with him would be a miracle but actually remembering him would be downright impossible because he is just not willing to show himself to you. He stalks all your social media, friends and family included. He is informed of where you went to school, your birthday, what jobs your estranged cousins may have. If you're the type to post stuff online, his life is made that much easier. He screenshots everything you post, no matter how silly and commits it all to memory in case he may need it.

If you don't, then it's a bit harder but he manages. He has a good head on his shoulders, even if that same head is telling him to stop doing this, this isn't right but his bleeding heart is screaming at him to please keep going, please, if I'm not keeping an eye on them 24/7 I think I might die.

No human being should ever know someone so intimately but he does not care. Even if you're not 100% in his life, he is content with whatever this is.

One day, he might grow a pair and properly introduce himself to you.

And it would be so cute if you got along just perfectly because you just so happen to like the same things too... He's always prepared.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ 𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈 (haikyuu), 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 (moriarty the patriot), 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 (genshin impact), 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆 (honkai star rail), 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐘𝐀 (seraph of the end), 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐄 (bungo stray dogs), 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐘𝐀 (my hero academia)

[prismatic-bell]

It’s 4am and I’m having emotions about calling Mesopotamia “the cradle of civilization” so y’all are just going to have to bear with me.

Like okay, there are technically six so-called cradles of civilization: Mesopotamia, ancient Egypt, ancient China, ancient India, and two civilizations in south and Central America called the Olmec (Mexico) and Caral-Supe (Peru). But the one we all learn about in school is Mesopotamia, bleeding into Egypt.

But.

The oldest of those is the Fertile Crescent (Egypt, the Levant, Mesopotamia), clocking in around 12,000 BCE. That’s the 121st century BCE, if you’re wondering. “Behavioral modernity,” I.e. the thing that separates Homo sapiens from Homo erectus and Homo heidelbergensis, began 160,000 to 60,000 years ago. Homo sapiens was found in most of Africa before ever beginning the migration to other continents—by over 80,000 years, in some cases.

And we all know how Africa got treated in the post-Roman era.

How do we know there was no cradle of civilization in Africa? Like. It’s generally taken that “cradle of civilization” means cities, agriculture, and usually-but-not-always a writing system. We also know that if all humans on earth disappeared right now, in 15,000 years the only sign we were ever here would be a millimeters-thin line of plastic in the geologic record. And that’s in a world where we have stainless steel, concrete, the ability to carve in stone…

What I’m saying is, the oldest piece of string in the world is 50,000 years old and it was found in a cave. Huge swathes of Africa used to be green and lush. If some group ten thousand years ago decided to build a settlement out of mud bricks and tied-up pieces of wood in the African jungle, we’d never know today. The entire thing would have washed out and rotted away centuries ago. “Okay but agriculture—” one, not all agriculture is white people agriculture, and some of it is so different we wouldn’t recognize it at all (consider the terraforming east coast Native tribes did in North America that was so different from European farming methods it was taken as divine intervention in primeval forest). And two, I forget how many years it’s estimated to take before our fancy modern crops return to their wild roots once we’re gone, but I’m pretty sure it’s less than a hundred. We literally would have no way to tell anything was ever there.

And let’s say something did, by some miracle of preservation, survive to the “modern cradles of civilization.” Would it have survived subsequent wars and colonization? How about the changing climate as continents broke apart and ice ages came and went? Would we even have found it, given how gigantic it is and how little regard it’s received through the years?

Like. I could be totally wrong. But I also don’t see why it’s impossible for a civilization to have popped up in Africa like thirty thousand years ago for a century or two and then everyone went “ah, fuck this” and went back to being nomads. It happened at Cahokia. The city was abandoned and we don’t know why, but we do know there’s no evidence the mound-builders ever tried to rebuild somewhere else. And right here in my proverbial backyard, in Arizona, we had the Sinagua tribe, and in like the 1500s or so they just…dipped. There was a whole city built into the side of a cliff (two of them, actually, a few miles apart) and for unknown reasons they were abandoned. Archaeological evidence suggests the Sinagua moved northeast to join the Yavapai and Hopi tribes, but we have no idea why they left the Verde Valley. Water was still plentiful and even if Beaver Creek had started to dry up in summer—which is what it does today—only five miles away was a second city built around a sinkhole that’s still full of water today year-round (although it’s not potable by modern standards due to arsenic content in the water). Both were abandoned sometime in the 1400s for unknown reasons, and before you say “white people,” I will remind you white people didn’t come to America until 1492 and the site wasn’t discovered until over 100 years after it was abandoned.

So yeah. Maybe ancient civilizations in Africa so long ago, or so thoroughly erased by racist Europeans, that we’ll never know.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[thewulf]

With My Life || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Hotch x Bau!reader where readers boyfriend turns out to be the unsub. Maybe like a case where the bau gets attacked and threatened personally and the unsub generally knows alot abt them... Read Rest Here

A/N: Inspo struck and I had to go! Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Word Count: 4.1k+

You sat down at the conference room table in a rush, coffee in hand, with damp hair and all, “Sorry, sorry. The line at Starbucks was a little slow this morning.” Sitting down you looked quickly at the case file location before a male voice next to you brought your attention to him. A local case. Very interesting.

Derek peaked up from the case file with a sly grin on his face, “Priorities? Right Y/N?” He asked looking right at you looking at you with a devilish smirk. He always had to be the one making a comment.

Sticking your tongue out at him you wanted so desperately to flip him off, but your boss was staring right at the two of you, and you knew better. So, you just turned back to the case file mumbling, “Shut up.” Earning a snicker from the man to your side.

You didn’t see the soft smile he shot you, your eyes were glued to your next case reading all about it. You might not have noticed but half the team certainly did. It was the most obvious thing to them. Aaron adored you. Hardly ever yelled at you. Certainly, never reprimanded you. The team knew of your boss’s big obvious crush he had on you that you had yet to notice. He wasn’t even good at hiding it. Which was ironic because you were a good profiler. A damn good profiler. Maybe even a better agent as a whole. You just got it.

So, when an odd feeling ripped through your body as you read more and more details. It’s only when you got to the page full of victims your fears were confirmed. A page full of women who looked eerily familiar to you. You hadn’t even realized the groups eyes were trained right on you.

Derek nudged your side hearing your barely there gasp, “What is it, pretty girl?” He asked, the flirting had become second nature to you it only became concerning when he didn’t flirt with you.

You looked up suddenly so aware of every pair of eyes right on you. It would have been a damn miracle if you wouldn’t have blushed, “The victims, they uhm…” You cleared your throat before looking right up at Aaron, “They look like my sister.” You let out a nervous breath clenching your hands tightly.

Spencer looked over at you quickly, “Does she live here? Local?” He asked.

You nodded quickly, “Yeah. Just down the road from me.” You let out a shaky breath seeing how close all these girls lived to her.

A stark silence took over the group. Nobody knowing really what to say. It was unlikely that your sister had anything to do with it. Likely just an odd coincidence. She happened to look like the victim the unsub was after. It still made you horrifically nervous though. She was in danger. Never in your life would you have thought that.

“Interesting. Noted.” Spencer gave you a half smile before turning back to the group spouting off a few theories. Making sure none of them included your sister. Ever grateful you were for the boy genius you were.

This was weird. The whole thing was weird. Too close to home. Everything about it seemed oddly familiar too you. The routines of the unsub struck a nerve with you like none of the other ones had before. This case was different.

The unsub was speeding up at a rapid pace. Six months down to three down to one.  He was now down to two weeks between kills, on his fifth girl. The fifth girl that just unfortunately looked almost damn near identical to your very pretty sister. A fifth life that hung in the balance.

You were driving from the crime scene of the fourth victim dropping off some samples to the lab when Hotch called. You answered thinking nothing of it. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to call. It was the easiest way for your team to communicate when out in the field. Especially when you as scattered as you were right now.

“Hey Hotch.” You hummed getting back into the SUV after dropping the samples off. The best part of local cases were the home beds and knowing where everything was. It was hard learning new places every week.

“Y/N. What do you know about these red beads. Second crime scene they’ve been found at. You mentioned something about it when we were back at the BAU?” He thought to call you when they found it. You’d seemed weirdly off by the whole thing. Especially when you read the detail about the beads. It couldn’t be. No, you refused to believe it.

“Red beads?” You repeated him. A chill ripped down your spine in realization, “With gold detailing?” You asked without him telling you. That sinking feeling you got from earlier on in the week coming back. Could it be your boyfriend, Nick? The guy you’d been seeing for the last two years of your life?

“Yes, little veins of gold.” He confirmed. That detail was left out of the crime scene notes. You shouldn’t have known that. Not without somebody telling you. But you knew because you bought him that bracelet not a year ago. He fell in love with it, so you bought it for him, as a gift. You loved doing little things like that for him.

“Nick.” You breathed out a pained cry realizing who was doing this. Your boyfriend? Your fucking boyfriend was murdering girls who looked like your sister for almost half a year, and you hadn’t even noticed. The vomit wanted to hurl out of your stomach as the sick realization crossed over you. The kisses, the cuddles, the sex was with somebody who did this to women. Yeah, it was far too much and the contents of your stomach were unfortunately winning the mind battle.

Hotch was still on the line when you pulled your SUV off to the side of the highway to let yourself puke. It was too much. Far too fucking much. Hurling the contents of your lunch up off the side of the highway was certainly not in your plans for the day. But here you were, hurling up the contents of your lunch thanks to Nick, your not so sweet boyfriend. A literal fucking murderer. Your hurled up nothing but you still fell ill. You felt disgusting. You shared a bed with a man who got off on hurting women? Insane. This whole thing was insane.

Hotch’s panicked yells from the inside of the SUV made you get the hell back up, “Agent Y/L/N, for the last time, are you alright? I’m calling an ambulance out if I don’t…” He sounded exasperated with the situation, desperate.

You cut him off abruptly letting out a panicked, “No, no Hotch I’m fine.” It was a blatant lie, but you didn’t need a fucking ambulance. Dramatic ass man that he was you didn’t need medical help.

He let out a gruntled, “What the hell was that Y/N?”

You certainly weren’t going to admit that you’d just puked, no, that was gross.

You looked behind you making sure you could get back on the highway, hightailing it for his parents’ house. You had a sinking feeling you knew exactly where these girls were being hidden, right under your damn nose.

Spit it out, Hotch was waiting, “The unsub. It’s Nick. My boyfriend. It’s him. He’s the one doing this.” Letting out a shaky sigh you bit your lip, hard, to bite back the tears. It’s like he wanted you to catch him. But why?

A sharp intake of air is all you heard from the other end of the line. You’d done it, you’d rendered Aaron Hotchner speechless. As wrong as it was a ghostly smile appeared on your lips. It was your turn to be the fucked up one of the group.

“How do you know?” He asked not quite believing you just yet. It seemed, too good to be true?

“The beads. I didn’t think anything of it at the last crime scene. But the same one showing up this time around? He has a bracelet with those same beads. I gave it to him. And…” You paused pretending you weren’t about to keep going.

“And?” He egged you on as you got closer to his parents home.

You let out a few ragged breaths. You felt manic now. Your life was beginning to crumble all around you, “I think..” Another breathe was needed before you continued. Hotch let you take your time, as desperate as he was for information, “I think he’d obsessed with my sister. I just, never saw it. Or I ignored it.” You admitted while continuing to look ahead.

Your heart was broken as you admitted it out loud. How you never put it together was beyond you. Had you really wasted years of your life with a psycho self-absorbed murderer that wanted your sister and not even you? If you had any contents left in your stomach they’d definitely be rising by now.

You spit out the address at him, they were ten minutes tops. But you were only three minutes away. You could do this. You were an agent first. Somebodies life was on the line. A family needed to be spared from the horrors it could be.

“Agent Y/L/N, stand down! Do you hear me?” Your boss yelled through the phone as you parked the SUV in the driveway like you had so many times before.

Your eyes darted back and forth between the entrance of the garage and the call you were on, “Yes Hotch, I hear you.” You wanted to dart out, but you had to follow orders, had to.

It was a painful wait. Silent with Hotchner on the other end. He wouldn’t hang up and he wouldn’t let you either. You were find waiting until you heard a pained yell coming from a female voice. You shook your head in horror. You were right. Fuck, you were right. This was certainly the beginning of the end now.

“Hotch!” You let out a whisper-yell.

“What?” he asked from the other end of the line in his usual stoic tone.

“I heard screaming, I have to go in.” You already threw the door open pulling your gun away from your hip.

“No! Stay back. Do not go in. Do you hear me?” His voice sounded firm but shaky. Was he nervous?

You wish you could’ve slapped some sense into him though, “Hotch! I’m here. She’s dying. Please.”

“No.” He nearly growled.

“Screw it.” You jumped out of the SUV running towards the screaming girls cries. You couldn’t help the guilt that was slowly consuming you alive. You couldn’t let a fifth girl die right under your nose. A complete and utter fucking failure you were.

“Agent Y/L/N!” You vaguely heard before you opened the door to the creepy ass basement you usually avoided at all costs.

Drawing your gun, you creaked down the steps of his parents garage’s basement. A place you’d long since thought abandoned. A perfect place to hide his victims away. You let out your last sigh before going completely quiet. A cry broke out and an angry yell followed. That didn’t sound like your Nick. Who was down there?

You made it to the door. You could do this. Breathe. Opening it slowly you cursed when the creakiness rang out. Should’ve thought of that.

“Who’s there?” Your boyfriends voice rang out.

Damn. It really was him. Go time. You walked through pointing your gun right at him. The last person you’d ever thought the gun would be drawn on, “Let her go Nick.” Your voice sounded surprisingly calm as you spoke.

He ran over to the poor girl who look like she’d been tortured for the last few days. He picked up a rusty knife holding the jagged blade to her throat. Your back straightened as your steadied your aim on his chest.

You held the gun steady in your hand as you held it up to him, your boyfriend, the supposed love of your life, “This is disgusting, Nick. Drop the knife.” Your hand wanted to shake so bad. Breathe in. Breathe out. Let the training kick in. Don’t think.

He let out a sick laugh bringing the knife closer to the poor girls neck, “You would never do it, my love. Not after all these precious years spent together.”

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Had he really been doing this for almost a year? Targeting women that looked just like your sister because that’s who he wanted? Her?

“You don’t know me at all Nick.” A cold voice came from you. The voice that took over when you needed her too.

“Baby…” He grinned knowing just how to rile you up.

“Drop the knife, now.” You nearly growled stepping a bit closer. Your eyes were narrowed in on the knife pressed to the crying girls neck.

“Y/N…” He tried to press on. Whatever he was doing was working. He was getting under your damn skin. Where was the fucking team?

“I said, drop the knife.” You were so thankful your voice didn’t waver. God did it want to. Your heart was pounding so rapidly in your chest it felt like you’d just ran the damn D.C. Marathon moments prior though.

It happened so fast. You were trained better than this. But it was him. You were taken so off guard by the whole situation. It fucked with you so deeply. On another level. You were distracted.

You heard the sound before you felt the pain. Your instincts kicked in and you aimed for center mass. One shot. Two shots. Then three rang out before the pain in your lower abdomen took over. You clutched your stomach as your body caved in on itself. Your hand was warm, wet, and sticky. A bloody combination if you’ve ever known one. The fucker had shot you with his other hand snaked around the girls waist.

You dropped you gun kicking it away, just in case, before hobbling over to the shaking girl, “Are you alright?” You asked while clutching your stomach with one hand. While the other you untied her from the seemingly dead body behind her. The dead body of your murderous ass boyfriend.

Once she was freed you nodded to yourself seeing him laying there in a puddle in his own blood. How could this have happened? How did you miss it? He played you more flawlessly than even you could have imagined. Finessed for everything you thought you were.

A cry ripped from your throat as your body hit the floor. You scooted away from him so quick, with every ounce of energy you had left. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing as you waited. The girl had made her way upstairs, but you didn’t have the energy, not anymore. You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there before a soft pair of hands grabbed your face bringing it from the drooped position it was in.

“Y/N. Are you hurt?” Aaron’s blurry face clouded your vision. You were hurt beyond imagine. How were you supposed to come back from this one? In one swift moment everything you’d been building had been leveled.

Blinking slowly, you nodded down to where your hands were grabbing at your side. Crimson red blood coated your hands as your tried keeping the wound closed with pressure, but you were coming up far too short.

He sucked in another breath before he threw your hands to the side pressing his much larger hands into your body with ease. A pained cry automatically seemed to rip right from your own throat as his hands pressed to stop the bleeding. He shouted for a medic to muffle your cries from your teammates who were clearing the room. They kept busy knowing Aaron had you under control. Seeing one of their own down was horrific enough. They had to finish the job and get out. You were in good hands with Aaron though, they knew that.

A wave of utter sadness washed over his face as he witnessed your state, “I know, I know, shh sweetheart. It’ll be over soon.” He held the pressure knowing it was crucial to your consciousness, but it hurt like hell. He knew all too well, being shot countless times before and all. The shock never seemed to get easier even if you knew what was coming.

You nodded biting back the tears that so desperately needed to fall. You felt like a pathetic little baby right now, how did people handle this so well? It felt like a fire was being lit within your insides. Aarons hands felt like the flint that kept starting the fire over and over again.

He called for a medic again before the pain was beginning to become too much for even the adrenaline to overcome. It felt like hell was burning inside you and your body wasn’t able to handle it for too much longer.

He cursed seeing your eyes opening and closing far too slowly for his liking, “Do you trust me?” He asked you squatting down, so he was level with your failing body.

“With my life Aaron Hotchner.” You answered honestly. Because you did. He loved you and you loved him. The same could be said for everybody on the team but the two of you were a bit different. Shared a deeper bond. Two twin flames that danced around each other so flawlessly every time they were around each other.

He nodded feeling his own heart pick up. The admission felt so authentic. So pure. Like you’d never told a lie before. He placed an arm beneath your knees and another behind your back, “This is going to hurt.”

You nodded quickly, “Okay. I trust you.” You assured him. Because you did. You trusted him with every fiber of your being. You’d known him for years. Loved him for the same amount of time. Fell in love with him not too long after Haley passed. You fell in love with the broken man who picked himself back up for his son, for his team, for you. The one who put everybody else in front of himself. The one who you wanted the most. It was Aaron Hotchner. It was always going to be him.

Without so much as another word he lifted you from the wall you were seated against. You bit you cheek stifling the cry that wanted to come out. He was right, it hurt like hell. Damn the sick man for getting one last thing on you before he died. Before you killed him. Damn. You killed your fucking boyfriend. Three shots and he no longer existed on this earth. The man you thought you were going to marry. Have kids with. Gone. In an instant.

He began to walk up the stairs. His eyes shuffling between your concentrated face and the stairs below him. He’d be damned to drop you now. He’d also be damned to let the woman he loved die in front of him. Not again. That was a promise he made to himself not long after Haley passed. That would never, ever happened again. Not in this lifetime.

He walked you right up and outside to the first ambulance he found. He watched as you answered their questions without going into too much detail. He watched as your mind was seemingly in another place. He never let go of your hand though. Giving it gentle squeezes as your voice caught in your throat. Hotch all but demanded to sit in the ambulance with you even though it was against protocol for them. Being in the FBI did have its privileges as he flashed his badge to the crew.

“Y/N.” He grabbed your hand again once the man was done hooking you up to the heart monitor.

Your eyes snapped back to this reality. Head turning to him you gave him a lazy smile, “Hotch.” Answering him you let the smile drop. You weren’t happy. Not in the slightest. But he always seemed to draw a smile right to your face. No matter the mood you were in.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, giving him a silent answer.

He shook his head, “You don’t have to lie. Not with me.”

You looked down and away. So, fucking ashamed, “How did I miss it? How’d he do all that without me knowing?” You asked him. It’s all that was on your mind. How had you failed four girls? Ruined four families lives.

He shook his head again quickly, “You’re seriously blaming yourself for this?”

“Yeah. Fuck Hotch…” You couldn’t continue as the hot tears finally escaped. A sob spilled from your throat. Hotch earned an ugly glare from the medic as he told you that you needed to calm down.

“It’s okay sweetheart.” He squeezed your hand knowing he needed to draw your mind away, far away from where it was stuck, “It’s easy really. To hide it.”

“What?” You sniffled looking at him with a confused gaze.

He brushed away a few more straggling tears on your cheeks before answering, “To hide the whole thing from you. You’re gone all the time. It’d be so easy. Don’t beat yourself up. Please?” You’d never seen him so desperate, so needy for a conformation.

“You’re just saying that.” You could never accept it. You only would accept you distinct failure here.

“Afraid not. You’re one of my best agents. It’s a lot easier to hide things too once they’ve got your trust.” He laced his fingers in between yours instead of simply holding your hand.

A delightful chill ran up your arm at that. A spike to the heart rate monitor gave you away. Your worst nightmare was suddenly coming to life. With raised eyes your turned back to him almost afraid to see his reaction. He was amused. A big smile adorning his usual stony face. His smile erupted into laughter seeing your wide-eyes expression.

“Thank you Aaron Hotchner. For this. For everything. For believing in me.” You sighed, “And I’m sorry for disobeying your orders.”

He looked down unsure of what to say, “I’ll never condone it, but I understand it.” He gave your hand a squeeze before deciding to cross the line that he vowed to never cross. But you needed it. He could see the desperation in your eyes, “You have to know how much I love you, Y/N. Inside and out you are one of the best people I know. I would do anything, say anything, go anywhere to protect you. I love you so dearly. The team loves you. You are so much more than this. More than a man who targeted a gentle soul. Please, don’t carry this burden. Let me help you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” He spilled it out on the table in front of you.

You watched him in awe as he let it all out there. It was almost too much to believe as you listened to his words, “You love me?” You asked.

He nodded with fervor, “Love you. Loved you. Will always love you.” He looked right into your eyes forgetting the two medics in the ambulance with them, “In love with you.”

The damn heart monitor went off signaling you registered his words even if your face was still in shock, “In love with me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” He nodded his head wanting to be closer to you. It certainly wasn’t the place he imagined confessing his love to you, but time was of the essence. He couldn’t let you slip away like he’d let you before.

You nodded, “Yeah.” You answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He smiled for the first time that night, “We can talk about it later, when you’re feeling better.”

You gave him the most skeptical look, “You hit your head or something Hotchner?” You laughed giving him an out.

He shook his head brushing a straggling hair away from your eye, “Do you trust me?” He asked, repeating his question from earlier.

“With my life, Mr. Hotchner.”

He laughed seeing you so playful again. It provided him with such a relief he couldn’t conceptualize until that smile crossed your face again, “Then trust me when I say this. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time. We’re going to get you feeling better than we’re talking about this, alright?” He all but demanded.

“Sir, yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile on his face, “You’re going to be alright, Y/N.”

You looked over at him with a smile that felt so real, “I know. I’ll be just fine with you by my side.”

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[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 1: The Story of Job

I'm absolutely not the first one to talk about this on here and I probably shan't be the last either. Alas, here's my take on why all of the minisodes in Season 2 should be enjoyed with great care – and taken with a grain of angelic salt.

I'm gonna split this into 3 parts, aka the three minisodes we are shown, since I tend to get a bit waffley in my posts and want to still be able to include all the little details. Once I've written them, I'll link Part 2 & Part 3 here as well!

Alright, let's get into it under the cut of doom.

Episode 2 opens with the Story of Job. Right off the bat, I noticed that it sort of looks like an old film playing. At first I didn't read that much into it, but once we see the cut-away to Aziraphale at the bookshop, currently reading that part of the Bible (presumably), I immediately thought: "Oh! It's because it's his memory. He's remembering how it went down and therefore it plays like a figurative film in his head."

This, I then came to realize, is a very crucial difference to all the flashbacks of S1, which were exclusively told and narrated by God. May her intensions be as ineffable as they are: She did tell us all of these stories from an objective outsider's point of view. Now, however, it's Aziraphale who's re-telling those stories to us from memory.

And if there's one thing that's for certain, it's that a memory is something entirely different to an objective narration of a story. Just think about how you yourself remember things. Especially things that happened years, maybe even decades (or, in an angel's case, millenia) ago. What is it, that you really remember? Can you know for sure, that a conversation was held with those exact words? Are you 100% certain that the clothes someone wore weren't different? Had it really been snowing or would that make very little sense given what you're remembering happened in May? And did it even happen in May? Or does that just happen to be your favourite month, the current weather, your preferred style of clothing and what it was that you would imagine someone would have said to you?

What I'm trying to say is: The further away it is that something happened, the more your brain has to fill in the gaps. This is why, for example, your parents will remember the family summer holiday entirely different when you ask them about it 20 years later.

"No, it was Sarah who puked on the car ride home!" "Nonsense, Sarah never puked as a child. Bobby had that gone-off pizza, he's the one that was sick the whole ride long!"

We've all been there. Bobby made it out alive. Don't buy gas station pizza.

Alright, back to the plot: Naturally, Aziraphale is not actually human, so it is a pure assumption on my part that the way his memory works is similar to ours. However, the whole topic of "memory" is actually quite a recurring one on Good Omens.

Crowley seems to have lost his in the Fall, yet somehow managed to get most of it back. Not all of it, though, he clearly has some major gaps ("You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat!"). Beelzebub helps Gabriel store all his memories in their little fly container before they get wiped entirely too, by the Metatron and/or Saraqael. Crowley and Aziraphale (and possibly Jimbriel) perform a miracle together that makes everyone in Heaven and Hell forget who Garbiel is or what he looks like. And we know that the Book of Life apparently has the ability to completely erase someone from existence – ergo also erasing them from everyone's memory and making it is as though the person had never been in them at all.

So, clearly, angels and demons being able to remember, forget, reconstruct and, if you're the Metadork, wipe memories, is very much canon. Apart from that very last one, it does make them quite human-like in a way. We too can forget or (wrongfully and incompletely) reconstruct memories, due to things like trauma, illness or simply a lot of time having passed.

So, just like Crowley remembers going into battle but doesn't remember Furfur being there, or just like Jimbriel has entierly forgotten who he is but still remembers the tune and lyrics to Buddy Holly's song Everyday, and just like archangel Michael was miraculously made to forget Gabriel and yet says "Don't I know you?" when seeing him again – just like that, Aziraphale's memories of the story of Job, the story of wee Morag and the story of the magic show in 1941, might not actually be the whole truth.

So, time to look at where the furniture isn't.

Now, it could very well be that the costume designers of S2 thought: "Fuck it, let's go crazy" – but given that this show has a track record of meticulously making sure to stick to accurate and cohesive character design, doesn't it strike you as odd that Crowley would go from this look at the Flood in Mesopotamia, 3004 BC:

... to the (very iconic, don't get me wrong) Bildad the Shuhuite drip in 2500 BC:

... back to this at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 33 AD:

I mean ... I mean– come on, that seems like a bit of a far stretch, even for someone as enthusiastically experimental with fashion as Crowley.

And it's not just that: Where did the sunglasses come from, all of a sudden? And why do they look like some sort of obscure, ancient optometrist's device? It's a known historical fact that the Romans were the ones to have invented sunglasses, somewhere around 50-ish AD. Which actually matches perfectly with when Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome 8 years after the crucifixion (51 AD).

So, where do the weird spectacles come from, over 2000 years too early? Maybe from Aziraphale's brain filling in some gaps? Hasn't Crowley always worn those ridiculous sunglasses? Was it Rome? Or Golgotha? Wessex? Oh, blimey, what does it matter!

And it's not just Crowley: Aziraphale's own clothes, as well as the other angels', seem to be very different from the rather plain linen we see him wear before and after the story of Job.

They're laced with golden embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. The remind almost of the clothes angels are depicted wearing in biblical and historical drawings. Ornate and decadent. Not at all like we see Aziraphale in the other flashbacks of S1.

Even Bildad the Shuhite's hair within the minisode keeps changing, going from all pouffy and voluminous to rather deflated and straight-looking:

The costume department either had to fix up two seperate wigs or manually straighten out the volume of the one again to give it a more sleek look. I'm not a professional in this field, but if there's anything I've learned from watching hours of behind-the-scenes material of movies and shows, it's that very little about costume, character, prop and set design is purely coincidental.

You know what it could be, though? An accurate representation of how memories aren't linear, historically correct and objective representations of a certain event, but rather an ever-changing, jumbled mess of impressions, emotions and exaggerations.

More specifically: Aziraphale's impression, emotions and exaggerations.

Like "remembering" Crowley with sunglasses because he's been wearing them for so long.

Like "remembering" himself wearing more luxurious, angelic clothes because that's how he thinks of the difference between Heaven and Hell.

Like "remembering" the permit as a ridiculously long scroll that folded out over an entire valley.

Like "remembering" Job's children to be weirdly sassy in an almost Aziraphale-esque way (Enon: "Don't be silly!") for the fact that Job would have probably taught them to be more humble and obedient in the presence of a literal angel.

Like "remembering" eating an entire fucking Ox after having just one bite of it while Crowley watched him lustfully, sipping on his wine.

Like "remembering" Crowley calling him 'angel', despite them having barely known each other back then.

There's a reason why the flashbacks in S2 seem so much more alive, quirky and, at many points, confusing and all over the place. Because they're not objective stories being told by a third party. They're Aziraphale's. So much of his own thoughts and feelings at the time get projected onto them because that's simply how memory works!

It's subjective. It's unrealiable.

It's not that I'm calling Aziraphale a liar. He's no more a liar than your parents are, mixing up Sarah and Bobby. Or you, remembering snow instead of sunshine. Memories aren't lies. They can simply be faulty, focus on things that you thought were more important and leaving out or changing things that weren't, to you.

The real challenge in all of this, is trying to filter through Aziraphale's stories to see what it actually is they're telling us. Where it is that the furniture isn't. And I think in this case, that's 6 main things (eff you, God, I know you like sevens, but I don't care):

God and Satan (still) talk to each other We see that Aziraphale is quite surprised when Muriel mentions that the whole Job thing is God's bet with Satan. But clearly, despite having made him and the rest fall, God still converses with Her number one traitor about whether or not the humans simply love Her because she gives them nice things or because they truly believe in Her.

God and Satan (and Heaven and Hell) can and do collaborate with each other when they feel like it So much for choosing sides, huh? Truthfully, this is not the first time this is shown to us, but still. It's another piece of evidence on the growing pile.

Aziraphale understands the World and humans way better than any of the other angels "Well, you see ... Citis is 58 ..."

Aziraphale, despite having troubles voicing it, absolutely disagrees and even condemns God's plan of destroying Job's children (and goats and camels and––)

Aziraphale is willing to lie and thwart the will of God Also not the first time we're being shown this but again, piiiile of evidence.

Angels don't automatically Fall simply by doing the above To me, this is one of the most important take aways. It's already hinted in S1 as well that 'Falling' seems to have been a one time even back when the first war broke out in Heaven. And I actually believe that ever since then, no other angels have Fallen again. Aziraphale is the best example for this. He has gone against God's plan numerous times and even lied to her very face (voice?) about it. And yet, nothing ever happened to him. Why exactly that is the case remains a topic for another meta (that I might or might not be working on already, teehee).

Alright, that concludes this first look at the Job minisode! If there's anything I missed, feel free to share it with me. I'll try and add Part 2 (the story of wee Morag) and Part 3 (the magic show of 1941) soon.

Update: Part 2 and Part 3 have officially been written, you can find it them right here:

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Hugs and kisses, (God)!