#maggie did it again folks

[virgo-dream]

Giving Sanctuary by @avelera

Part 01 of the Giving Sanctuary Series

I cannot believe I am finally posting this. Here's why this matters so much to me:

Maggie was one of the first fic authors I encountered while scouring AO3 for Dreamling fics back in September of 2022. She was always incredibly kind to me, and I essentially joined tumblr again to be able to keep up with Giving Sanctuary and Come Live With Me updates and all the other amazing writing advice and meta that she always graces us with. With time, Maggie became a friend that I very dearly cherish, and this fic cover is my way to thank her for an amazing work of fanfiction and for always being so kind and generous with me and so many others in this community.

I made this cover art to use on my kindle, because this is definitely one of the fics I want to have with me to re-read again and again.

Thank you for this fic, Maggie. It was a lovely ride! Can't wait for Keeping Sanctuary! ✨

Also major thanks to @caberneigh for helping me with Hob's hand and other details I could not figure out for the life of me! Big thanks to @littledreamling and @keikiiart for cheering me on while I was working on this. 💖

[hopeinthebox]

i was tagged by the effervescent @cordiallyfuturedwight and i bow to her selections once again. magnificent stuff. somewhat delayed but tagging some favs @aprylynn @thvinyl @banghwa @yooboobies @pauls-mccharmly @kimchokejin @kithtaehyung 💜

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all. until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said. 

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled. 

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him. 

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you. 

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out. 

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten. 

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking. 

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other. 

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away. 

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice. 

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out. 

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner. 

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand. 

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks. 

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally. 

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter. 

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there. 

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’ 

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ 

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him. 

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him. 

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street. 

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping. 

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’ 

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes. 

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down. 

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’ 

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging. 

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope. 

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’ 

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’ 

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name. 

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on. 

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch. 

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim. 

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle. 

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches. 

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot. 

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare. 

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms. 

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach. 

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it. 

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering - 

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child. 

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead. 

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed. 

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable. 

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put. 

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips. 

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed. 

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question. 

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. 

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt. 

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain. 

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp. 

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’ 

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off. 

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘Just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’ 

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock. 

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

[noceurous]

a guide to dating in twenty first century

you met a kind stranger at a bar, next day you ended up on his couch, on your first date…

warnings: implied age gap, hints of abusive relationships (not by joel or reader), hint of dom!joel, no outbreak, usage of pet name(baby), lots of alcohol consumption, can be considered as dubcon but consent is asked and given, mention of food, swearing, talking about marriage, smut (18+), fingering (f receiving), reader is afab and able bodied, she has some hair.

a/n: here it is folks, my first joel miller fic. please give comments/reblogs if you like it.

part i: the ‘first’ date

The song had just started when you entered the garden side of the bar. A rock classic filling the place, still laudable through all the chattering.

Your eyes scanned the area, trying to find your friends. Just before you took out your phone to text, you saw a familiar back of the head turning towards you. 

“Hey!” Maggie raised her hand, she looked gigglier than usual. You have already told them to start without you so her being tipsy was understandable. You started walking towards their table, “You’re late!” She protested as you got in the earshot.

You pulled the only empty chair they reserved for you and hung your bag at the back. You greeted the rest of the table with a smile and a simple nod before sitting down. All of the girls already ordered their drinks, and half way down finishing the snacks.

“And you don’t wear a tiara or a bride sash!” You half-protested as you turned towards her. Acting like you were just a few minutes late, not like it took you extra half an hour to get ready mentally.

“Not my thing.” You chuckled, raised your hand in the air for a waiter to see you. Thinking you were ready to start drinking and catch up with the girls.

—

The first half of the night was good. You fake-smiled and joined the conversations about when is the best time to have a baby, and best place to have a honeymoon. All thanks to your little helper in a glass. As you were about to finish your second one, you felt like you reached your quota about non ending monogamy speeches.   

A girl turned towards you. She was a colleague of Maggie and you only saw her before once at some New Years party. Jen something? Or was it Jess? You were sure it started with J.

She asked as she leant towards you. “So? Who is going to be your plus one?” 

There it was, the question you waited for all night long. You were the maid of honor, also the only single girl in the table. Of course people were going to ask why you had no plus one. 

“Noone.” You explained in one word, playing with the straw inside your glass.

“Oh, really? Are you sure? You can't just go alone! If you want I can set you up with-” Maggie intertwined the conversation, placing her elbows on the table and her chin inside her palms. As she did, all the girls stopped talking again and all turned their heads to you.

“She is not interested Alice. I’ve even told her the only other person who is coming alone is my grandma, and that’s just because she’s a widow.”

“Well you never know. Maybe she’ll find her next true love from the groom’s side.” Maggie rolled her eyes as the rest of the table chuckled at your joke, returning to talk about what they were talking about before. Before Alice, not Jess nor Jen, could ask you something you put your hands on the table.

“Okay, I need to hit the ladies room first. Then we can talk about why I need to find a guy ASAP.” You said as you raised yourself from your seat.

The ladies room was occupied so you had to wait in line with another girl who seemed too drunk to stand on her own. Playing with her fingers, rocking back and forth in her place. "Do you have weed, or something like that?"

You pressed your lips together and shook your head. "No, sorry." The girl huffed and crossed her arms on her chest.

The door opened and the girl in front of you threw herself inside, not even waiting for the other girl to step out properly. You two shared a look, “What is her problem?”

You sighed as you got all alone resting your head on the wall to take a breath. You hated when people became all invested in your love life, or the lack of your love life in better words. 

You spent almost a year to recover from your shitty break up by going on even shittier dates, then you simply gave up. Not like you had too many admirers, since your life was usually spent between work and home.

As you were looking down, somebody’s shoes came into your point of view. The tips of the dark leather boots were pointing on the tips of your high heeled sandals.

“Hi.” You raised your head when you realized he was talking to you.

He was clearly older than you. Salt and pepper hair and a patchy beard and mustache. He seemed cute, and somehow it felt like you could trust him. Like he was over with his bullshitting phase which every guy on your age was into.

He dressed nicely, an old pair of jeans and a dark colored shirt tight enough to hint he was built. Broad shoulders and thick biceps, large colloused hands…

“Hi?” You spoke sooner than you preferred. Sound just one octave higher than it usuallt was.

“Uhm, I don’t wanna seem weird but I noticed ya and heard ya were single so I—” You smiled at the southern accent, it fit him nicely. 

“I don’t want to step over a line, and sorry again if this seems too brave… May I have your phone number?” 

Here it is…

“Oh, well…” You spoke, eyes going between the still occupied ladies room door and the table of your friends.

He raised his hands in the air, taking a step back. Pressing his lips together as he slowly gave you a nod. “I understand completely.”

You felt like someone stabbed you on your chest when your eyes found him back. He looked like a small puppy who got kicked.

What is the worst thing that could happen? You probably gone over many shitty scenarios already.

“Wait-“ You said as you looked at the door again. The girl was taking forever and sure she would not come out anytime soon.

He stopped, raising his eyebrows. Eyes sparkling with a little piece of hope, and you could not find the strength to break his heart in yourself.

“I’d be happy to give my phone number.” He smiled, taking out his phone from his back pocket, opening his keypad before giving it to you.

You quickly tapped your number and called yourself. Your phone buzzed inside your back pocket. As you took it out, its screen was screen flashing with an unsaved number, “Done.”

“I’m Joel, by the way.”

“Hi Joel.” And you gave him your name, the first time it sounded so natural to hear it from someone else.

Like she took it as a que, the girl finally stepped out leaving the light switched on. Joel pointed to the door with his chin, before taking a step back again. “I’ll text you.” He said before leaving.

When you made it back to your table, your drink was gone and so were some of the girls including the girl whose name starts with J. And you just felt a relief that she would not ask you anymore questions about your dating life.

“I thought you left.” Maggie said, finishing her fourth glass. 

“The girl before me took forever.” You explained as you put on your purse, preparing to leave with the rest of the gang. You scanned the room, hoping maybe you would see Joel somewhere in the corner. But all you saw was a guy eyeing you up and down, courtesy of wearing a skirt in the 21st century. 

“Do you want me to call you a cab as well?” You turned to Maggie, shaking your head.

“No. I will take the subway. It’s cheaper. I spent a good amount back there, my credit card deserves a break.” She chuckled as she gave you a kiss goodbye.

On your way back you saved Joel’s number in your contacts. Joel.

Plain and simple, because he was the first Joel you knew.

He hadn’t texted you by the time you made it to your place. You tried your best to not overthink it. Calling it a lucky shot if he remembered to text you the next morning, and focus on anything but him.

You put your phone back on your nightstand after checking it for the 1000th time. Hating for yourself how you always ended up as the person who waits.

On next day at 13:42 your phone buzzed with a message.

After spending the night wondering when he would text you back and trying to distract yourself from wondering…

Hi, it’s Joel Miller from last night. I got your number as you were waiting on line at Ophelia’s ladies room.

You smiled at the formality of the text message. It was probably better than ‘wasssuppp’ the guys around your age sent you.

You quickly started typing a reply. He was still online, you felt that was your lucky shot. Hoping would not wait for 12 hours again for a reply.

Even if he did, you would just give up and throw your phone out the window.

hi joel

You felt a weight was over your chest when you saw typing… under his name. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you saw his message.

How are you? Any signs of hangover?

just tired from last night.

we left the place at 2:24 AM.

That’s bad. I assumed you would leave later than us, so I didn’t want to text you in the morning and disturb you.

The us seemed more important to you than focusing on the fact that he only texted late because he cared.

Because he thought you could be tired, and he just did not want to disturb you late at night—

us?

Yeah, throw your senses out the window… Ask it away…

I was with my brother last night.

You felt shame because of your doubts. What would he say, his wife?

I wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner with me tonight?

I’m a nice cook :)

sure :)

is 19:30 good?

Yes it is. I’m sending you my location.

I can also send an Uber to pick you up.

no it’s fine. you don’t live far.

At exactly 19:33 you rang the doorbell. You fixed your top as you waited for him. It was cute and see through enough for a first date. You’ve also taken your pants showing your ass like a masterpiece from dry cleaners.

Lucky guy…

You didn’t tell Maggie or someone else that you were going on a date because you didn’t want them spiral this into something bigger than it was.

You felt the inside of your palms getting wetter. Your heartbeat sped up as each second he did not open the door.

Should you go back? Maybe you co—

He opened the door before you could gather your thoughts. Smiling when his eyes found you, leaning his head towards the door. “Hi.” He did not look nervous like you, he looked like it was just a Saturday night for him.

“Hi.” You said smiling back, and joined your hands in front of you. Feeling the muscles on your back relax as he opened the door wider for you and stepped inside.

“Welcome. Sorry it took me awhile to open the door, I was waiting for water to boil.” He explained as he closed the door and turned towards you.

You took a better look at the place once you were inside. It did not have much, seemed like he only purchased the necessary stuff. He did not have posters or painting decorating his walls like yours did, or a large bookshelf filled with books.

“You have a nice place.” You said as you followed his guide to kitchen.

He turned on his heels, looking at you. He was wearing a dark Pink Floyd tshirt and blue jeans. You could see his biceps peeking out from the sleeves. His hair was nicely done, beard was trimmed. He looked even better than you remembered.

“Oh thanks, I’ve just moved in here actually, wanted to be closer t’ city.” He said as he pulled your chair for you to sit. “Dinner will be around half an hour, do you want to have something to drink first?”

“Sure.” You said as you sat on the bar stool, watching him to come back with beers. When he closed the fridge door you noticed the only photo placed on it. The magnet was just some dark circle, and your fridge was decorated with cute and funny ones.

On the photo Joel was next to some guy and had his arm placed on his shoulder. The guy had a longer, combed back hair but shared Joel's love for mustaches.

They were both wearing black tux, and had a buttonhole. The guy’s was larger than Joel’s, so you thought it was probably from a wedding.

“Who is that?” You asked as you pointed on the photo. He looked over his shoulder.

“That’s Tommy, my little brother. It’s from his wedding day. 'was a few years ago.” He explained casually, taking a sip from his beer. “I was the bestman.”

“My friend is getting married in two weeks as well, I’m the maid of honor. We were having bacholerrette party the other night.” You felt a twist on your stomach as you spoke. A pressure on your shoulder getting heavier as you spoke. You tried your best not to frown, as you remembered what your ex told you.

You’re overwhelming, all your problems and your whines… All you do is talk talk talk—

“A few weeks later you may have one on your fridge with your friend as well.” You smiled at the thought. Not like there was a space left on your fridge for one more photo.

“Yeah I suppose. I hope we both look good in the photo as you guys do.”

“Hire a professional. That’s the secret. You cannot tell we were both hammered, thanks to the guy.” He admitted and you both laughed at that. You felt lighter as he joked and asked you questions. The knots in your stomach getting untwisted as he spoke. You weren't sure if it was because of beer or his interest even in the most mundane things you told him, but you felt lighter. “Are you excited for the wedding?”

“Not really, they’ve been dating for years. I was wondering when he would ask, rather than if he would ask.” He nodded, checking the food in the pot and he raised himself to stir it.

You gulped when you saw his flexing muscles underneath his tshirt. Your fingers played with the rim of bottle, watching him prepare the plates and his thick arms and long fingers move.

“Tommy was nervous as hell when he proposed. Maybe same thing happened with him as well.”

“Yeah maybe. The idea of marriage can be scary.”

“You think so?”

You are not the kind of girl suitable for marriage.

“Yes, but I also know you do not get scarred that much when you know you are married with the right person.” You were not sure if you were saying this to him or yourself.

“Well, you haven’t seen my brother at the end of the aisle but he is one of a kind guy. But Maria was relaxed, so you might be right.” He said as he came back with two plates of food.

“It looks delicious.”

“Told ya I was a nice cook. Let’s dig in.”

—

The most of the dinner was spent with questions about your jobs and family. Nothing too personal, nothing to make you nervous. Although you had beer for that. The screeching voice of your ex had stopped echoing in your head.

Now you were sitting on his couch, drinking and going over your funny stories to one another.

His knees were touching yours, his hands was close to your thigh, but he was not directly touching you. His left hand’s pinky were barely grazing your upper thigh.

“So the stripper you hired took wallets of three guys from the party and nobody blamed you?”

“Well, I got the number from a guy at work. If anybody were to be blamed, then it would be him. Plus, I’m not someone who loses all his senses when a girl in underwear sits on my lap.”

“You are not?”

“Nawh baby, I’m not a teenager anymore. I can focus when a pretty girl is on ma lap.” You raised your eyebrows, chuckling at his confession.

Baby.

You could definitely go with being called baby.

You wetted your lips as his pinky brushed your thigh, you had to restrain yourself from opening your legs.

“Really? That’s good for you then, we don’t want your wallet to be stolen as well.”

He shook his head, his fingers brushing over your thighs. When you turned your gaze at him your heart skipped a beat.

He looked amazing in the dimmed lights of the room. You got closer to him, wondering what would be his next move.

“Want me to show you?” He whispered and you nodded. A bit quicker than you’d prefer…

He gently pressed his lips on yours. Waiting for a response as his lips lingered on yours. You kissed him back, leaning your body closer to his.

The kiss was slow; he didn’t push his tongue into your mouth right away. Something you were glad he didn’t.

His hands stood on his sides, allowing you to set the pace. You bit down on his lower lip, slowly, signaling him to open his mouth. He grunted, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from touching you. Opening his mouth to push his tongue inside yours, sucking your tongue.

You could taste the bitter taste of the beer, but didn’t mind. Sure same could apply for you as well. Your hands placed on his cheeks, his stubble digging inside your palms.

He slowly placed his hands on your waist, guiding you on his lap. When you were settled, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. A small whimper left your lips, when you felt him getting harder under you.

His other hand moved south, palm following the shape of your ass. Your one hand moved further down, feeling his muscles fletch inside his tshirt.

“You’re good.” You admitted as you broke the kiss for air. His hands still on your body, caressing you. He rested his head on the back of the couch.

“‘Want me to show ya things I’m better at?” His tone was smug. You nodded quickly, letting your body make decisions for you.

He pulled you back to his torso, kissing you rougher than before. His hand was now in front of your jeans, cupping you. You moaned when he pressed his fingers onto tight denim.

A few seconds later you were lying down on the couch with him between your legs and your jeans were already left your body.

His palms were rough as they moved across your legs, moving towards your upper thighs then your panties. “May I?” He said between kisses, waiting for your approval.

You nodded, but he only hooked his fingers on the hem of your panties. “Words baby, use your words.” You felt yourself getting wetter when he called you by that nickname again.

“Yes, please.”

“That’s my girl.” He said as he quickly pecked your lips, sliding off your underwear. His fingers traced your lips, gathering your slick. “Fuck, I didn’t expect you to be this wet baby.” He whispered on your lips.

You felt the heat rising through your cheeks but before you could hide your face Joel already pushed a finger inside you. “Oh!” You moaned loudly, he raised your leg and hooked it on his shoulder.

“I’d love to hear your voice baby. Let’s see if you can be louder.” He said as he started moving his finger rapidly. Hitting your sweet spot with the pad of his finger at each stroke.

Your toes curled and you felt your stomach got tighten with his movements. “Hmph J-Joel!” You held onto his upper arm for support. His lips on your neck, kissing and nibbling. Before giving you a chance to get used to first one, he pushed his second finger inside you. Your grasp on his arm got tighter, leaving crescent shaped marks.

You could feel yourself drip onto his palm, hearing the slick noises as his fingers moved inside you. “I-I’m cl-close.” You admitted, feeling your walls close around his fingers.

“Yeah baby?” He said as he slowed down to look at you, brushing off to hair strands on your face. You nodded, biting down on your lower lip. “Let go for me, okay? Come on.” He said as he got back to his old pace, scissoring his fingers.

When your orgasm hit you, you raised your head to kiss him. Wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you. He gladly surrendered to your kiss, his hand placed on your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

Slowly pulling his fingers as your breaths slowed down. His hand moved to the hem of your top. You felt your heart shrunk on your chest. You placed your hand on top of his, shaking your head.

He pulled his hand back like it just touched fire. Muttering an apology as you raised yourself. “I’m so sorry.” You said, reaching for your underwear and pants to quickly put them on.

“It’s getting late, I should get going.” You explained as you checked the time on your phone.

10:34 PM.

After ten is late right?

He nodded quickly. “Let me drop you off.” He said as he got up from the couch. You noticed his boner once he stood back on his feet. Pressing your lips together to stop your cunt from throbbing at the sight.

You were leaving the guy who gave you a body wrecking orgasm with a huge, thick boner…

“We both drank. I think it is better for me to call an Uber.”

“You are right.” He slurred his words, walking over to you. “Let me walk you out then. I can join you as you wait.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You dropped your shoulders, seeing the guilt all over his face. You nodded, allowing him to walk with you.

You took out your phone to call for an Uber. Sighing with relief when you saw your driver was close to you.

“So that was… good?” You raised your head back to him. Putting your phone back inside your bag. Guilt and tension were all over his face.

“I really had a nice time. I have this thing in the morning and we drank and it’s—” He put his hands in the air. Stopping your mumbling.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” He said, smiling down at you. “I’ll call you then, for next time?”

“Yeah that’d be great.” You answered, eyes going back and forth between him and the road.

Shifting on your feet from one foot to other. His hands were in his pockets. Resting his body on the metal gate, casually checking you up and down.

When you saw your car coming you gave him a small goodbye hug, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I had a great time. Thanks for everything.” You explained again, trying your best to assure him he had done nothing wrong.

“Anytime. Text me once you get back, alright?”

“Sure.” You said as you walked over to your car, looking over your shoulder before you got in. He waved you slightly, you smiled back and he mouthed the words ‘Be safe.’

Once he was out of your sight, you relaxed on your seat. Let go of the breath you were holding since you put back on your jeans.

Your fingers were rubbing your temples. As you quickly recapped the night.

You ended up on a guy’s lap again on the first date. You even went to his place and let him finger you. At least you did not let him fuck you with his seemingly huge cock. That showed self-improvement…

And lastly, you turned down the guy who was the nicest guy you have met.

You knew you kissed your chance to a second date goodbye as the Uber turned around the corner to your street.

[part ii]

[a-tiny-sloth]

Bears in Trees, Starting Fires // Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven Cycle

do you ever listen to a song that fits a character dynamic almost too well?

[ID below the cut]

Image 1: Lyrics from Starting Fires by Bears in Trees reading: I keep lighting fires and I keep punching walls / I keep holding my breath and I keep poking holes

Image 2: A quote from The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater reading: Both of them stopped breathing. Gansey knew he’d gone too far. It was too far, too late, too much. Adam shoved open the door. “Fuck you, Gansey. Fuck you,” he said, voice low and furious. Gansey closed his eyes

Image 3: Lyrics reading: I keep smashing glasses and I keep falling down / I lay in the pieces and I keep rolling around

Image 4: A quote reading: With a sudden twist, he swept all of the figurines from the Queen Anne table. Foxes in breeches and terriers seized in midflight. They all plunged to the floor with a satisfying and diseased smash. He raised his voice. “World’s ending, folks!”

Image 5: Lyrics reading: I'll sleep on my sofa and you can sleep in my bed / I'll never feel whole but you're as close as I'll get

Image 6: A quote reading: Gansey said immediately, “You’re leaving with me.” “It will only make it worse when I come back,” Adam told him. “I mean for good. Move into Monmouth. Enough’s enough.”

Image 7: Lyrics reading: You can be the husband, I can be your wife / We can pretend we can cope with real life

Image 8: A quote reading: Gansey jerked his arm out of Adam’s grasp. Again his eyes darted down the hall and back. “You should look at yourself in the mirror.” Adam didn’t. “We do this, we do it as equals,” Adam said.

Image 9: Lyrics reading: White picket fences and stable jobs / Three little faces and a couple of dogs

Image 10: A quote reading: Out loud, Gansey said, “Fine, then. We’d find another good school. We play the game. We make up a new life for you.” Adam reached past him to find a rag and began to wipe between each greasy finger. “I would have to find jobs, too. This didn’t happen overnight. Do you know how long it took me to find these?”

Image 11: Lyrics reading: You can be the husband, I can be your wife / We can pretend we'll get over our strife

Image 12: A quote reading: Thank God we’re not fighting thank God we’re not fighting thank God we’re not fighting how can I keep it from happening again—

Image 13: Lyrics reading: Having conversations we’ve never had before / You’ll be drinking whisky as I walk out the door

Image 14: This was a conversation they’d had before, and entire days of arguments were replayed in the few moments of quiet. The words had been said often enough that they didn’t need to be said again.

Image 15: Lyrics reading: I walk to the seafront and jump in fully clothed (Ohh) / And I keep wandering aimless, oh shit, I don't even know (Ohh)

Image 16: A quote reading: Gansey couldn’t shake the image of Adam by the side of the interstate, walking, walking, walking. Knowing he was forgetting what he was doing, but unable to stop. Unable to remember Gansey’s number, even when people did stop to help.

Image 17: Lyrics reading: I keep starting fires and I keep poking holes / I keep holding my breath 'cause I am nothing at all

Image 18 : A quote reading: Adam inhaled. Gansey didn’t. He didn’t breathe at all. He just stood, frozen, his hands gripped around his king’s helmet. He told himself to breathe in, and he did. He told himself to breathe out, and he did. He didn’t move, though, and he didn’t speak

[angel-and-serpent]

That Kiss scene

Since none of us will be able to get that scene out of our heads until season 3 is released, here's something to think about.

Aziraphale and Crowley will always complement each other's natures and actions, no matter what. They're the perfect counterpart in all situations, including moments of self-sabotage, unfortunately.

So when Crowley planted that kiss on Aziraphale, it was the parallel of Aziraphale taking off his halo.

Both were trying to protect innocent parties from danger that they inadvertently brought down upon themselves.

Aziraphale was trying to protect Nina & Maggie, after she accidentally invited the demons to come over the boundary. She had good intentions, and wanted to look brave in front of her potential love interest, but had no idea of the disaster she'd caused until it was too late. With no other moves left, Aziraphale had no choice left but to reluctantly use his precious books reveal his halo in order to eliminate the threat against them. By doing so, he made an open declaration of war upon Hell, and invoked the Wrath of The Powers that Be, both from above and below. Just as Maggie hadn't intended to summon the demons into the bookshop, Aziraphale hadn't meant to draw them in, either. It was the only ace left up his sleeve, and we've all seen how well he practices magic.

Likewise, Crowley had also revealed himself to be a (once) powerful angel to others, under equal duress. First Hell thought they had the right to invade the bookshop, now Heaven thought they had the right to invade their new lives. They were an open threat to Their Side, and had wormed their way through to Aziraphale, appealing to his benevolence. One thing Crowley knows, is that sometimes the most difficult thing that he has to save Aziraphale from is Aziraphale himself. The offer from the Metatron is a classic case of Divide & Conquer, and he managed to do just that by swaying Aziraphale into returning to Heaven with a promotion, no less. What else could Crowley do? Therefore, by him giving Aziraphale that kiss, and revealing his feelings for him - something he'd also kept hidden in plain sight for a millenia - Crowley, declared war on Heaven in return.

Such a pity that Aziraphale didn't see it that way...

But I have the utmost faith in these silly sods to work things out and get back together. Not just out of fan service, or even out of plot formula (this is the Bandstand all over again, folks). No, it's because of the undeniable chemistry and deeper loyalty that they have to one another. Aziraphale has made a deal with the Devil Metatron, but his intentions were hardly self-centred. The kiss that Crowley gave him was not a last hurrah, but a last ditch effort of assurance. Both of them wants to protect the other out of love, even if it means subjecting themselves through pain and humiliation. Even at the very end, as heartbroken and betrayed as Crowley felt, he still let Aziraphale walk away to do as he wished, despite not agreeing with his reasoning. Aziraphale did the same in return, with both probably still determined to continue protecting the other, albeit from afar. Is there any greater show of love than such selflessness? They're still in love, even if the big daft babies don't know how to put their Big Feelings into words (or dance) yet.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Hiiii Maggie 💕💕💕

https://www.tumblr.com/dangerpronebuddie/749295203498819584/hold-onto-your-hoola-hoops-folks-i-wrote-this

You mentioned some thoughts about firepilot (bucktommy I think?) on this post. Can you go into more detail about those thoughts??? I’d love to hear them ☺️

-❤️🪐

Hi Saturn 💕💕

Yes, firepilot is bucktommy. So, me and Anna had some ideas last night, based on the picture Lou shared of the neon sign in the bachelor party scene. It's the only evidence we have so far of Tommy being anywhere near it.

The costumes is the major thing here. The fact Buck and Eddie are matching, while they both are in relationships, and while it's a possibility Tommy will be at the party is insane in itself. But considering Buck is in green (his "something's wrong" color), then there's likely something happening at that party that doesn't bode well for him and Tommy. Since there's the blue/green thing for the couples and Buck is the blue character, him being green is... ominous. If we see Tommy in blue while Buck is in green, then that relationship is doomed (considering the BT parallels and the fact he's blue until the relationship starts falling apart and then he's in green for the breakup).

Something really interesting is the fact Buck starts the evening in the green jacket, takes it off by the time Eddie's shirt is ripped off, and then puts it on again to tell Maddie what happened. The focus on buddie and the parallels to madney simply from the promos suggests something is going to happen between them. Charged look? Someone leans a little too close? A touch lingers a little too long? The possibilities are endless. What I'm thinking is he starts off in the green, that "almost" happens and he removes the jacket (metaphorically removing his relationship) and then puts it on again afterwards.

What @lover-of-mine and I were thinking was Tommy possibly shows up to the party, sees them practically attached at the hip, and leaves. A pretty heavy Outside Looking In parallel when Eddie sees Buck in the bar and leaves. Depending how they show us that party, we may not see Tommy there at all. If they play it as Buck and Eddie recounting the events of the night and trying to piece it together, they won't know Tommy was there at all. (Another possible parallel I just thought of would be Ravi pointing out he saw Tommy show up, but didn't stay, just like in 5x11).

It would lead to Tommy acting a little... off. Buck can't quite put his finger on it. Maybe he doesn't remember the almost between him and Eddie. He finally asks Tommy what's wrong and Tommy admits he did actually show up at the party, but saw them and left instead. Sparks a realization for Buck.

It could be addressed in 7x07, since Buck and Tommy are already on their second chance at being together. Or it could span a few episodes. Buck realizes something's bothering Tommy, then finds out and wants to make amends in 7x08 only for Tommy to point out there's no use in it. Buck's heart already belongs to Eddie.

Of course, I forgot to factor in Lou not being in 7x07 or 8 (at least I think those are the ones he's not in?) But even pushing that to the episodes he's in, it's still possible.

[wings-of-sapphire]

ANNY ANNY OHMIGOSH

LIVE CHAPTER 16 REACTION

GO CHECK OUT @annymation’s “KINGDOM OF WISHES” REWRITE

(Spoiler warning for Wish and ig some Hazbin Hotel and The Owl House too since I reference them)

(Regular warning bc MATE THIS IS LONG AS FUCK)

(Oh also swear warning)

That gif of Magnifico in the beginning looks way too adorable to be a psychopath

SCREAMS YES instead of “ow my chest has heartburn” I NEED THE GUT-WRENCHING SCREAMS

LIKE VAGGIE HAVING HER WINGS RIPPED OFF SCREAMS

UGH he’s evil but he loves his wife

WAIT IS HE GONNA BRAINWASH HER INTO BEING A PRINCESS

DRAWING YES IS IT GONNA BE THE MAGIC CARPET

Oh bubbles that works too (also irony)

Imma trust that Valentino made it in a bubble too bc YOU ARE NOT killing off the animal sidekick okay I would rather Magmaya win than Val be killed

YES BABY IS OKAY

Man Dahlia you gonna leave your mother behind?

”ANOTHER PERSON I LOVE” YES GIVE US THAT CONFESSION ASHA

Disney Channel

It’s giving Onward

OOH or Frozen yk Elsa and the staircase scene

NOOO ASTER BABY

“Love of his life” DAM YOU ANNY WHY MAKE OUR BOY SUFFER

Amaya is channeling her inner Gothel rn

Ooh I love Lydia the Bard!

ARGH THEY’RE EVIL BUT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER

Mysterious language? Star dialect?

”Last star I see tonight” ANNY

AHAKSJAKS THIS IN A MINOR KEY

ASTER BABY THE SCREAMS

Oh so they’re becoming Stars interesting

CALLING HER A WITCH OUTRIGHT

Dam Eris was one of my first fictional crushes (bisexual ass) so now I’m wondering if Amaya should be one too

”Hate but also love” it’s giving “Out For Love” by Carmilla

But Magmaya is out for love too… SHEJWJSKJS COUPLE GOALS IF THEY WEREN’T MENTALLY DERANGED

SINGING AT THE SAME TIME >>>>>

THE TROPE EVER

LIKE A MADRIGAL BUT SAME VIBES

Noooo Aster

Hey orchestra of stars above where the heck are you

Aster I love you but they have no humanity left

HE’S DYING ASHA GIVE HIM THE TRUE LOVE’S KISS

YOU BOTH CONFESSED MAKE IT BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Yikes Amaya you’re usually the brains now you’re choosing to spare her?

Ig since you’re in love it would be torture for you but cmon girl

FUCKING “I LOVE YOU” NO WHERE’S THE FUCKING MAGIC OF TRUE LOVE WHY IS HE NOT REVIVING

AGSJAJSKSJS IT’S GIVING LUZ NOCEDA

Oop gotta add a ToH spoiler warning now too ig

Brb

Okay back YK THE LIGHT ORB SHE FADES INTO

AND WE GOT ASHA PARALLEL TO AMITY HOLDING HER SOULMATE’S SOUL GLOW THING

AHSJAJSKS HAVE ASHA GO EDA/ KING FERAL

SHE FUCKING CONFESSED BACK ANNY MAKE THEM ALIVE AGAIN

Omfg battle outfit (AND MORE! THAN! JUST! SPARKLES!)

Omg yeah the dress fits so well with the star-chest thing

SHE HAS PUPILS idk why I was so hyped about that

IT’S GIVING “You’ll Be in My Heart”

VAL BABY

Wait next chapter? This seems like the conclusion Anny I’m scared

Omigosh these two royal idiots in love

I I bet they’re giggling and holding hands while destroying precious memories of their citizens

”Feels something changing” eh? Sorry it’s just canon!Wish didn’t give us much but the novelization is very AshaxDahlia heavy

YES SIMON HELPS THAT WOULD’VE MADE HIS MOVIE COUNTERPART BETTER

HE STANDS UP AND SINGS AND PROVES HE’S WILLING TO GO AGAINST MAGGIE

THE YOUNG GENERATION IS SINGING IT, BREAKING THE CYCLE OF VIOLENCE

Although Asha has her Sabino… maybe ghosts/ spirits of her loved ones? I always imagined the scene “A Wish Worth Keeping” would have her family’s spirits (in blue) smiling and cheering her on… sparkly ofc

YES this scene in the movie was my favorite bc it FELT DRAMATIC

I said before “Knowing What I Know Now” was my fav but Anny I changed my mind “Wish (Reprise)” is my favorite

YES TAKE BACK YOUR KINGDOM FROM THE STRAIGHT WHITE FOLK (Amaya is Greek… what is Magnus? I’m assuming white too)

SWORD YES make it Prince Phillip’s

Gotta admit that falling wish scene in the movie was gorgeous, reminded me of Wall-E

Wait omigosh Asha looks so pretty in that photo where did you get that

*stares at it for hours bc she looks gorgeous*

Referenced as a wand now!

Smiling as she falls bc she knows HER BAE WILL CATCH HER

HOW are they not dead. The gays only have the power of plot armor

So it was nighttime okay

AW HE CARES FOR HER

Yep definitely giving Belos

NOW I WANT TO SEE A KOWxTOH CROSSOVER

Told you idiots you shouldn’t have spared her. Pride really does come before the fall

Seriously Gothel wasn’t a pussy she stabbed Flynn why didn’t you stab Asha (sorry bby just wondering how they’re so stupid)

THAT’S what you’re worried about man

HE WANTS TO KEEP AMAYA SAFE IN HIS ARMS AND PROTECT HER AT ALL COSTS

Lol I’m just imagining a giant whoosh of power and light and Amagnus squeezes their eyes shut waiting for a painful death and then they just. Sneeze. Itchy magic glitter poof

Is this a reference to a past Disney movie? They’re really going the PJO route huh

DAM ANNY THAT’S HARSH

Uh. Wow. Okay Aster I guess they did kill you

Yay we have the citizens standing up!

Wait you make your wish at 18 was this women pregnant really early orrrr

Later? Oh goodness I’m worried for the next chapter

Uh Starsha is being a bit sadistic and Amaya is sobbing for her love…

MAGGIE TURN AND COMFORT YOUR WIFE

Oh btw is Magnus part Spanish? “Mi vida” since Amaya is Greek…

NO NO DANCE PARTY I DON’T TRUST YOU YET

Someone get Gabo some therapy mate

NO WHAT

ASTER WHAT

NO THE STARS WILL COME DOWN AND LEGO BATMAN HIS ASS

VIOLIN-STAR TELL THEM THAT THEY FOUND LOVE AND THEREFORE THEY WILL STAY

WHY DID HE SAY IT SO SOFT AND MATURE WHERE IS MY GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOY

DID HE HEAR ASHA TELL THEM SHE LOVED THEM? DOES SHE HAVE TO DO IT TO MAKE HIM STAY?

”Love is all they needed” Amaya you’re clever but this was all sort of your fault witch

FUCK YOU MAGNUS COMFORT YOUR WIFE OFH WAIT TOO LATE

Tbh I would’ve agreed with Gabo had they injured Val in some way

YEAH THEY DESERVE IT BUT THEY GOT THE PERCY JACKSON HEPHAESTUS CHAIR TREATMENT

Discord DID turn to stone too… how about they turn to stone and THEN get pushed off a cliff

OKAY that was long but it was good

Uh I’m scared for the next chapter? We get Amable’s backstory so do they escape? Will Asha become the FG? Will Aster get LEGO Batman-d by the school marching band of Stars? Is their magic the North Star magic? SO MANY QUESTIONS

Overall though great job Anny! This has been an amazing journey and I can’t wait for the final chapter!

[harlowsbby]

Snowballs and hot chocolate

“So we’re picking teams on the blue team it’s Clay, Jack, Neelam and Nemo and for the silver team it’s Y/N, Urban, Coplean and Sunni. Does everyone understand the rules?”

“No can you go over them again I wasn’t paying attention.” Urban said making everyone groan. “I hope you know just because you’re my girl doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you.” Jack told you, rolling your eyes you pushed him softly making him stumble in the snow.

“Who said I needed you to go easy on me? Are you afraid to get beat by a girl.” He smacked his lips. “Me get beat by you? In your dreams baby besides you and I both know ima come out on top.”

Every year whenever it snowed in Louisville Jack and the guys always had snowball fights, they always took place in front of Maggie’s front yard.

“Are you two done talking yet? The game is about to start so give each other one last kiss and let’s go!” Druski yelled, Druski wasn’t playing but he was coaching and watching to make sure nobody was cheating.

“I’ll see you around loser.” You teased Jack and gave him a little kiss on the cheek before meeting up with Urban and them.

“Do we have a game plan? Or are we just praying and wishing we’ll win.” Sunni asked Urban. “I’m thinking we take out Neelam first since she’ll be an easy target and after Neelam we take out Clay and Nemo.”

“Who’s taking out who though?” Coplean asked.

“I’ll take Nemo, Sunni you take Neelam, Coplean you take Clay and Y/N you take Jack.” Urban told everyone and you all nodded your heads in agreement at his plan.

“Alright, alright the game is about to start but before we start let’s go over the rules, well there isn’t exactly any rules but play it safe I don’t wanna see any blood or anything out here on the battle field, understand?”

“Druski just tell us to start already you always wanna be extra.” Nemo told him, Druski smacked his lips but pressed down on the horn signaling that the game was begun.

“Everyone spilt up and take down your opponent.” Urban told you all, you crouched down trying your best to hide behind objects you all placed in the yard.

You hid behind the trash can and watched how Sunni creeped up on Neelam, you covered your mouth from laughing you weren’t understanding how she didn’t feel him behind her. Before you knew it Sunni had successful tossed a snowball at Neelam.

“What? Where did you come from I didn’t even feel you behind me.” She told him. “You always have to check your surroundings baby doll now excuse me I have to help take out the rest of your team.” She rolled her eyes before getting up and joining Maggie on the porch.

“Y/N, it’s Urban do you copy.” You took out the walkie talkie Urban had given you prior to the game.

“Urban is this necessary? I can hear you loud and clear.”

“It is necessary Y/N do you not know how competitive Jack is? He wins almost every game. Also you need to move you’ve been hiding behind that trash can for awhile someone can easily spot you an- wait wait stop!” Urban yelled into the talkie.

“Urban? What happened?” You said in a worried tone.

“Urban just got hit that’s what happened.” Nemo’s voice came from the walkie talkie you groaned and tossed it to the side, leave it to Urban to get out.

You were finally down to the last three players which included Jack, Clay and You and honestly you weren’t exactly sure how you were the last person on your team standing.

“Oh baby come out, come out wherever you are.” Jack taunted from across the yard.

“Uh oh folks looks like it’s two against one who will come out on top and be victorious will it be Jack and Clay or Y/N.” Druski spoke into the mic and honestly you really just wanted to know who in the right mind gave him a mic.

“You’ve got this Y/N I believe in you!” Maggie yelled from the porch. “You’ve got this Y/N!” Everyone cheered you on, you were trying to think of a plan when finally something came into your head.

Standing up you started “limping” towards Jack and Clay they both looked at each other confused.

“What’s she doing?” Sunni asked Urban but he just shrugged his shoulders he had no clue either.

“What’s the matter baby? You’ve just decided to toss in the towel or what.” Jack smirked but it soon disappeared when he saw the frown on your face.

“I think I hurt my leg I think I must’ve slipped on the snow earlier when I was running.” You whimpered and leaned onto Jack.

“Are you okay? Where does it hurt, do you need me to take you to the hospital.” He was getting worried and going into overprotective mode.

“Do you want me to get mom? She knows what to do.” Clay told Jack and he nodded. “Mom! We need help I think Y/N hurt her leg.” Clay told Maggie.

“What’s wrong Clay?” Neeelam asked him as she stood up in panic.

“Y/N slipped on the snow and hurt her leg we have to take her to the hospital.” Clay said in a worry tone, Maggie tried her best to told in her laugh but she failed miserably.

“What’s funny mom? we need to leave now.”

“No we don’t because Y/N isn’t hurt she faked it.”

“Wait what?” Clay looked at her confused.

“Jack” You cried out and whimpered. “It hurts so much.”

“It’s okay baby my mom is coming we’re gonna take you to the hospital.” He brought you into his chest and coo’d but you were smirking the entire time.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea?” He looked down at you confused. “Why not baby? you’re literally limping you’re going to a hospital.”

“Because.. I’m totally fine.”

“Wait wha-.” Before Jack knew it you had gotten up and took two snowballs out of your jacket before hitting him and tossing one at Clay that hit the back of his head.

“What the fuck.” Clay turned around and saw Jack sitting on the floor laughing while being covered in snow.

“Oh so you tricked us? Wow I can’t believe we lost. How did you come up with that plan?” Clay asked and you smiled before pointing at Maggie.

“Your mom helped me put it together she knew Jack was going to get worried if I said I hurt myself and he did just that, so I won and you both lost.” You taunted them and jumped up and down.

“You might’ve won this time baby but next time you won’t win.” Jack told you but you weren’t trying to hear what he had to say.

“Whatever all that matters is I’m the winner and you’re the loser, now I believe you’re meant to be my little servant for the rest of the day?”

Jack groaned he regretted mentioning that earlier but you did win fair and square.

“Jack baby my feet hurt you think you can massage them?” He groaned and looked down at you. “Right now baby? The movie is halfway over can’t it wait.” You we’re laying down on his lap while you all watched the grinch.

You pouted and shook your head no. “You lost so you need to do as I say remember so pretty please massage my feet.” He groaned but got up and started massaging your feet. “Tis the season to be single.” Druski said and Jack flipped him off.

[styxbugg]

Folks, im thinking about my Local Legend au again…

About how Seamus’ accounts (journal entries probably) are the most accurate. All the other accounts were written after Marty won the duel, so they’re all written in this sort of heroic, sometimes exaggerated, light. But Seamus was the first person to meet Clint (along with Maggie), before he ever did the duel or anything else.

Seamus’ accounts are also the main reason why more modern historians think Clint was younger than they originally thought, since throughout his entries, Seamus mostly only refers to him as a “lad”, “boy”, or “kid”.

His entries are also the reason why people know that Clint came to town specifically looking for the blacksmith. Which is like- the only piece of information anyone has as to what the hell Clint was doing before

[gaybananabread]

for the thing i saw that you were open to magnus chase potentially fierrochase with oranges and cherries? Lee alex ler magnus? You definitely dont have to just curious (for 300 fruit thing)

Fruit(s): Oranges, Cherries

I haven’t read these books in a while, but thanks for reminding me of them! I was younger when I first read these; the gay went right over my head. Also, severe LACK of tk content for this entire series! Now I can obsess over these as well (UvU). Used she/her pronouns for Alex on this one. Magnus strikes me as a shy ler, ya know? Hopefully these peeps aren’t too OOC, same with any lore or character dynamic issues (). Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Alex

Ler: Magnus

Summary: During one of the Hotel’s fights to the death, Alex and Magnus slip away for some calm. Unfortunately for the son of Frey, Alex got geared up for the fight and is feeling antsy. He offers another kind of fight, and while it’s not what Alex had in mind, it's certainly a laugh.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

It was business as usual in Hotel Valhalla; Einherjar running around, trying to pop eachother’s balloons that were attached to their chests, various weapons flying across the playing field. Folks of all ages screamed in frustration as spears, axes, and arrows went through their balloons and hit vital organs. The usual mayhem.

Two residents managed to sneak away from the craziness, locked in a room with a nice, peaceful atrium. Magnus took a deep breath, savoring the quiet peace with his partner. The blonde spared a quick glance at her face before turning back to the trees, blushing softly. “Thanks for dipping with me, Alex. Sorry if I spoiled your fun with Mallory…”

Alex rolled her eyes, pinching the hand she was holding. “You didn’t spoil anything, dork. I’d rather relax with you than kill that loudmouth again. I’ll get her later.” Her free hand moved up to her chest, absentmindedly twisting the changing pronoun pin Magnus had got her on their last trip to the mortal world. That day, it read, “she/her/hers.” She wore it every day, though a certain blonde got punched whenever he brought it up. 

The calm sounds of nature surrounded the pair, bringing a small smile to Magnus’s face. He much preferred the quiet to the chaos, though he had to admit a few of the games were kinda fun. The son of Frey could’ve stayed there all day.

Alex, on the other hand, was really starting to get bored. She was all for supporting her boyfriend, but Gods, they’d been just sitting there for almost twenty minutes. She had no problems ditching the fight for Magnus, but it left her fidgety. The greenette wanted to move, the urge to do something like an itch on her hands she just couldn’t scratch. She tapped a quick, repeating pattern on her arm, trying to distract herself. 

It took the blonde all but four seconds to see how antsy Alex was getting; he nudged his partner’s arm, sighing. “You don’t have to stay here if you’re bored. I’m fine by myself.” The look on his face was a smile, though his eyes gave away how desperate he was for Alex to stay.

That got an eye-roll; how poor was that boy’s self-esteem? Alex wrapped an arm around Magnus’s shoulders, squeezing him a bit harder than necessary into a hug. “Maggie, listen; you’re good. I know you don’t like super loud ‘n crazy stuff, and they’re literally killing eachother while popping loud ass balloons. It’s actually refreshing that you have the sanity to not wanna do it.”

Magnus’s guilt faded, the desperation melting into adoration; what did he do to deserve someone as awesome as Alex? Well, besides saving a bunch of stuff and almost dying for it, but he didn’t count that… “Thank you, Alex. Seriously.” Still, something nagged at him to make it up to his partner. He really didn’t feel like actually fighting, though a silly idea popped into his head. One his partner might enjoy even more than revenge on Mallory.

“Hey, I know it’s not Last Einherjar Standing, but do you wanna do our own thing in here? Like…a fight, but not killing eachother?” A small blush decorated Magnus’s cheeks, making his partner hum. It sounded better than just sitting there, though she could tell there was more to it than that. “Okay…what’s the catch?”

The fact that he only got redder was very telling for the child of Loki. Another silly Magnus idea…but anything was better than nothing. “Well, we could, ya know…tickle eachother instead.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth; why would Alex ever wanna do that? He tried playing it off, hoping he wouldn’t get teased for it. “It’s, uh, nevermind dumb idea-”

“Eh, sure. I’m bored enough.”

Magnus was a bit stunned, to be honest. Alex actually wanted to have a tickle fight? He was shocked for a good few seconds before snapping back to reality. “Oh…alright then. You wanna count it down, or…?”

Alex rolled her eyes, seeing the shock on her boyfriend’s face. Normally, she would’ve teased the Helheim out of Magnus for even mentioning something like that. That day, though, she was feeling kind; kind enough to let Magnus have his fun. While he’d never directly expressed it, it was clear to literally everyone close to him that Magnus liked that kind of thing. Still had appearances to keep up, though. “We can count it if you want. I don't really care.”

A vibrant red hue decorated Magnus’s cheeks, a rare bout of confidence overtaking his thoughts. Things were gonna be fun; if he could win without combusting, that is. 

“Okay…uh, three, two, one…go!”

Not in a thousand years would Alex have expected Magnus to pounce like he did. I mean, she was already planning on letting the blonde win, but damn. Boy was excited. 

Magnus was quick to wrestle Alex down, his mind racing with all the possible ways the greenette could wreck him. Animal claws, bird feathers, multiple appendages… Best to get her before any of those played out. Soon, the shapeshifter’s arms were above her head, wide and slightly surprised eyes staring up at Magnus.

“Dahamn, Beantown! Didn’t think you had it in you~” Alex, ever the tease, smirked up at his boy. While there was no avoiding what was about to come, she could at least see the little flash of red across her boyfriend’s cheeks.

Predictably, the blonde blushed, his confidence faltering for a second. “Quiet…” Okay, Alex was so getting it after that. However, the doubtful thoughts wormed their way back into his head. Gods, he hated his head sometimes… “Hey, are you sure this is okay? Like, you’re fine with me ti-…uh, doing this?”

Alex rolled her eyes, a small groan escaping her. Magnus said “fight,” not feel guilty about everything; was he seriously gonna make her ask? The anticipation was honestly getting to Alex, her heterochromic eyes shining with a nervous giddiness that she would never admit. “Yes, my Gods, just do it already!”

Magnus huffed, feeling himself get a bit red at the annoyed ask. Still, he kept Alex’s arms above her head with one head, the other experimentally kneading at her hip. 

She bit her lip, squirming in his hold as she tried not to giggle. If she really wanted to, Alex could’ve just shifted into a ferret and slipped away; she could’ve won the whole fight if she wanted to. Magnus seemed down though, and while she’d never admit it, she loved the wondrous little gleam he got in his eyes when he was happy. So, for him, she endured. It wasn’t that horrible…

“Aww, c’mon Alex. You were begging me to get started, and now you’re not even gonna giggle?” He dug in, drilling his thumb into Alex’s hip. Hello, confidence! Alex’s strained focus broke, surprisingly bubbly giggles spilling past her lips. Even more of a shock: her cheeks grew red, almost matching her boyfriend’s. “Sh-shuhuhut ihit!”

Magnus was stunned for a second, his mind taking a moment to process the sound of her giggles. So cute…she’d kill him for saying it, but it was true. He had to hear more; the hand traveled upwards, curiously clawing at her ribs. He wasn’t disappointed.

“MAHAHAGNUS! F-FUHUHACK!” Alex arched her back, not expecting that spot to be so bad. She hadn’t really been tickled as a kid, and while that stuff was more common with her friends, most of them were too anxious to really try it. That was…really the first time someone had actually gotten her. She didn’t…hate it? It was a lot.

The blonde chuckled, his eyes sparkling as she laughed. Okay, new favorite sound… Alex had never sounded so carefree. “Wow Alex, such dirty language. It’s just a few little tickles; no need to get so worked up!” Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, Magnus moved his spidering fingers to her stomach.

“Y-yohohohou’re the wohohorst!” It was hard to take that “insult” seriously with all the giggling she was doing. That side of Alex was one Magnus didn’t see often, but he loved when it would show. “Am I? I mean, you did literally ask for it. I’m kinda an awesome boyfriend for giving you what you want, no?” 

Alex groaned through her giggles, mentally rolling her eyes. “Noho, you dohohork!” She wiggled in his hold, but made no real effort to get away. It still lit up her nerves, but the gentle tickling on her belly was actually kinda nice… Well, until Magnus started talking. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a tickle fight? Kinda seems like you gave up, love~”

Her cheeks went red, an indignant grunt flowing with the adorable giggles. “I- thahat’s nohot-... Ihi hahahate youhu…” Alex tried to hide her face in her shoulder, her arms still above her head. 

Magnus gasped, feigning a hurt pout. “You hate me? Wow Alex, I thought we had something…” He sighed, shooting his hand back to claw at her ribs. “Guess I can’t feel bad for doing this anymore.” 

“NAHAHAHO! MAHAGNUHUS, YOUHU AHASS!” She squealed, her face turning an even deeper, lovely and vibrant shade of red. Magnus couldn’t help but coo. “That’s actually adorable, Alex. I mean, I knew you were a shapeshifter, but I never knew your cherry impression was so good!”

“SHUHUHUT UHUHP!” Alex twisted and turned in Magnus’s grip, her face only getting hotter. She really wasn’t used to tickling, and while it was kinda fun, she was nearing her limit. While it hurt her pride to do it, she tapped out. “ENOUHUHUGH!”

The son of Frey stopped almost instantly, his arms wrapping around Alex to pull her into a hug. He was pushing it with all the affection, but he was feeling brave. “Sorry, that was kinda mean. You good? Did I go too far?”

Alex buried her face in his shoulder, giggling off the ghost tickles. “Thahat was- Gods, Mahaggie. Yeah, Ihi’m good…” She took a few deep breaths, her slightly dazed smile becoming something much more mischievous. “Uh…Alex?”

Suddenly, his partner shrank, a small ferret in her place. The fuzzy noodle zipped under his shirt, climbing up his torso and around to his back. He squeaked, squirming as her fur brushed against his poor skin. Finally, she made it to his neck, hopping out and shifting back. 

Alex wasted zero time with her plan. In seconds, Magnus was on his back, his arms stuck firmly above his head. She smirked down at him, a playful smirk on her face. “Here comes the fight, Beantown. Hope you’re ready~”

Magnus gulped, looking up at his partner with wide eyes and a wobbly smile. “Oh Gods…” The rest of the afternoon was filled with laughter, the chaos of the morning’s strange murder-game forgotten. While it wasn’t exactly what either of them had planned for the day, it was definitely the most fun they’d had in a while. Totally worth it…

[shadowmaat]

Good Omens s2: criticisms

Look, folks, I thoroughly enjoyed S2 and am not implying that the whole thing is bad or that it doesn't deserve a third season, I'm just an old-school nerd who believes it's possible to criticize and find fault with something you love. So, spoilers ahead.

My biggest problem remains the Gabriel/Beelzebub story. It doesn't make sense within the context of what we know of the characters. I just can't wrap my head around sanctimonious, rules-obsessed Gabriel falling so hard and so fast for Beelzebub. And that Beelzebub would feel the same way. It took millennia for Aziraphale and Crowley to reach a point where "love" was even a question, never mind deciding on an answer. I'm sorry, but you can't speed run a slow burn.

Sure, you can wave your hand and talk about how "sometimes it just happens like that" but that doesn't feel like it should apply to these two.

If we'd seen more evidence of it being something that has gone on for millennia as the two of them are forced into communication over and over again due to "bureaucratic reasons" it might work a little better. As it is, though, it just feels false. About the only way I can think of to resolve it is to have the two of them pop in again during a pivotal catastrophic moment in S3 and reveal that, surprise! They were never in love (ew) and it was all part of Someone's plan to get them out of the picture so they could work on creating something to stop Armageddon 2 without anyone being the wiser. But I don't think that's what's going to happen. I think we're meant to believe they really did fall in love.

It felt very cliché, and without any of the clever twists or lampshading I'd have expected. It does, however, do a good job of showing what could be possible if angels and demons set aside their differences to work together (and maybe even grow closer). And yes, as a sped-up reflection of Aziraphale and Crowley's own relationship, the parallels are pretty clear. Except for the bit where we actually saw how A&C worked together and influenced each other into becoming better entities, and with G&B we just have to take it, ha, on faith.

Where G&B's relationship was bizarre, the stuff between Maggie & Nina was... uncomfortable. They are, again, a watered-down reflection of Aziraphale & Crowley (more on that in a sec), but this time with the added interference of A&C trying to interfere to make them happen as a couple.

Nina herself called them out on that manipulative bullshit, and she was very right. You can't force people to be together, even if they would be a good match and like each other.

I'm also going to put a big red X next to Neil's name if he was, in fact, responsible for implementing one of my most-loathed clichés: giving a character an absolute dick of a partner in order to A) keep the preferred pair from getting together and B) showing how much better the potential partner is in comparison to the absolute dick. It's bad storytelling. More than that, it does a disservice to Maggie. If she is, as we're meant to believe, a genuinely good person and someone who would be a kind and caring match for Nina, then that should be enough. If you have to compare her to someone else to prove how much better she is then you're lacking confidence in the character.

To circle back to our human duo being a reflection of our ineffable ones, I find it a little weird to see Aziraphale & Crowley's relationship become a focus that's reflected in so many unsubtle ways. That isn't, to me, what Good Omens is supposed to be about. Their complicated (and yet simple) relationship is supposed to be background noise, in much the same way as they themselves are meant to be background characters who are simply bumbling around the main plot. I'm not sure I can properly express why it bothers me beyond that. It just does.

I'm also going to say the most wildly unpopular thing I could possibly say about the second season: I didn't like the kiss. I'm SORRY. I know how important and validating it was for 99% of the audience. I know how many people pumped their fists and cheered. And I 100% understand Crowley's utter desperation in doing it and Aziraphale's "I forgive you" auto-response. I'm not in any way trying to piss on anyone's enjoyment of it. I remember what a huge and hate-fueled debacle it was when the last season ended without any formal physical declarations of love. I just... was a tiny bit disappointed.

One of the things I loved most about Aziraphale & Crowley's relationship was that there was no physical intimacy. In a world where we're constantly inundated in every form of media (and advertising, and politics, and so on) that sex/physical romance is the ONLY way to prove you love someone, it was such a profound relief to see one example where that wasn't true. I know I'm in the extreme minority in my preferences, and I wouldn't expect the show to cater to my individual needs at the expense of a broader, more socially-acceptable message, I'm just sorry to have lost that.

Anyway, it was a bit of a thematically weird season, but there was still a lot to love and I hope we get to see how things turn out in season 3.

[jules-has-notes]

Michaeleficent (Unexpected Musical) — PattyCake Productions music video

Most Disney villains revel in their evilness to some degree, but few are more deliciously vindictive than Maleficent. And few pop superstars have embodied self-confidence and thwarting detractors in their musical performances like Michael Jackson. When the PattyCake guys decided to combine the two for their Unexpected Musicals series, they created a bit of magic of their own.

Details:

title: Unexpected Musicals — Michaeleficent

performers: Leah Lowman (Maleficent); Paul Kaleka (King Stefan); Doris Stein (baby Aurora); Bebe Caliberr Mercy (Aurora / additional vocals); Jason James (Phillip / additional vocals); Hannah Juliano & Eli Jacobson (additional vocals)

original songs / performer: all songs by Michael Jackson — [0:14] "Bad"; [0:25] "Beat It"; [1:09] "Human Nature"; [1:48] "Smooth Criminal"; [1:58] "Thriller"; [2:54] "Will You Be There"

written by: "Bad" by Michael Jackson; "Beat It" by Michael Jackson; "Human Nature" by Steve Porcaro & John Bettis; "Smooth Criminal" by Michael Jackson; "Thriller" by Rod Temperton; "Will You Be There" by Michael Jackson

arranged by: Layne Stein & Tony Wakim

release date: 12 May 2017

My favorite bits:

Leah's fantastic villain laugh

interweaving "Bad" and "Beat It" as a conversation

Phillip and Aurora's meet-cute sequence

Leah giving her best Vincent Price at the start of "Thriller"

cool dragon! 🐲

the excellent use of ♫ "kiss me and free me" ♫

that last shot of Maleficent leaving room for a sequel

Trivia:

The dedication "for Maggie" refers to Maggie Wakim, Tony's younger sister, who is also a singer and actor. She later appeared in the Princess Academy series.

The interior scenes for this video were filmed at the Maitland Art Center historic landmark. With the right set dressing and lighting, the building's Maya-influenced Art Deco stone structure made a pretty decent Medieval castle.

Jason James is the son of Jeremy and Shalisa James from Vox Audio, who Layne and Tony had known through both the theme park and a cappella worlds, and a talented performer in his own right.

Jaimz Dillman once again served as location and production manager, as well as appearing on screen as one of the courtiers.

The PattyCake guys had worked with Paul Kaleka for many years in his capacity as VoicePlay's sound engineer for their live shows and occasional audio mixer for their studio recordings. But this was their first opportunity to feature his acting talents.

Layne and Tony had filmed another incarnation of Maleficent two and a half years earlier in VoicePlay's video for "Once Upon A Dream".

When the Maleficent sequel film was announced, the boys got to work on a sequel of their own. Leah returned for a rendition of Billie Eilish's "Bad Guy" just in time for Halloween 2019.

If you venture into the YouTube comments, be aware that there are a lot of pedants griping about the ending being taken from Sleeping Beauty rather than the live action Maleficent film. (They did it for the portmanteau, folks. No need to be so stringent.)

[episodeoftv]

Round 1 of 8, Group 4 of 8

propaganda and summaries are under the cut (May include spoilers)

Six Feet Under: 5.12 Everyone's Waiting

Nate and Brenda's daughter Willa is born, but 2 months early and at only 2 lb. 4 oz., requiring a prolonged hospital stay. Nate is convinced she won't make it and insists that he can't accept it if she does and is "damaged", shaking Brenda's own confidence. Rico encourages David to sell the funeral home but instead he and Keith buy out Rico's 25% so he can start his own. David agrees to temporarily leave home, and goes to the funeral home. There he's confronted by Nathaniel about considering leaving the business and for his gayness, and is forced to fight his mysterious attacker back, then finally sees his face. Maya is returned to Brenda and Ruth has to face her own problems, until Maggie reveals Nate did see her, happily, as Brenda insisted. Claire takes up photography (of Ted) again and gets a job offer at a New York photo production company, but offers to be there for Ruth until she insists she go and unfreezes her account. Brenda gets a surprise visit from Nate, who finally shows love for his daughter, and someone else. Claire learns the company who gave the job offer has just failed, but Nate encourages her to go onto New York anyway.

WKRP In Cincinnati: 1.07 Turkeys Away

Feeling left out by all the recent changes, Mr. Carlson decides to launch his own Thanksgiving promotion. With the aid of Herb and Les, the Big Guy turns a routine turkey give-away into a comic catastrophe.

A legit contender for the funniest episode of any TV show ever. Pitch-perfect characterization, an absurd but completely plausible premise, and some iconic lines. I don't expect this to win, simply because Tumblr skews too young for enough folks to have seen it, but it absolutely belongs in the bracket.

[fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks]

Long post.

Aziraphale x Crowley fic

During and after season 2 episode 6

Check tags for slightly more info

ao3: Finding the Nightingale

Finding the Nightingale

Aziraphale doesn't know what to do. He knew what to do moments ago, when he had basically been handed the opportunity to fix Heaven and make it absolutely perfect, but then Crowley made it clear he wouldn't have any part in those plans.

And now Aziraphale stands in a blindingly white and silver elevator, next to the Metatron who had given him an oat milk latte that suddenly wasn't sitting so well as it had been moments before.

Then again, consuming any beverages or food lately had been less than enjoyable.

That. Had started before everything went to hell, or wherever was to be the most unpleasant place to be nowadays, after the apoca-maybe-some-other-time.

Yes, that adventure had changed just about everything, even though Aziraphale and Crowley had tried so hard to believe it had changed nothing at all.

They no longer had an obligation to watch over young Warlock, nor young Adam (or rather, Adam Young) for a start. And with everything going on, there hasn't been much time to check on them just because they wanted to.

Crowley always did get testy when he couldn't be sure of the well being of the young folk he pretended not to care for.

And there was, of course, Nina and Maggie, with their budding and discomfortingly familiar, relationship. They had finally started to figure things out, which left an odd, aching, longing feeling in Aziraphale that he had had trouble placing. It didn't help that the two of them seemed to cast knowing looks towards him and Crowley. And who knows what they said to Crowley while Aziraphale was out.

Whatever it was, it clearly scared Crowley beyond measure.

Ever since 1941, Aziraphale had considered the unspoken part of his relationship with Crowley to no longer be entirely taboo. It is fun to flirt with attractive beings that you've shared so much time with, after all. But nonetheless, it has since continued to remain somewhat taboo and very much unspoken. It being unspoken is most likely one of the main things keeping them safe while still being allowed to work as closely as they've been.

Now it has been spoken.

Or at least, half spoken.

The Metatron was so close by. There was only so much Aziraphale could say without putting them both in very real danger.

But, if he's being honest with himself, that was not the only reason he said what he said and didn't say what he didn't say.

Heaven is supposed to be the side of goodness. An unquestionably right and just force under the Almighty's caring rule. Yet Heaven has failed at being any of that.

And perhaps it's foolish to think he, Aziraphale, can govern Heaven any better than anyone else, but he is one of only two non-mortal beings in the world who have worked significantly closely with Earth's inhabitants, God's creations, humans.

Wonderful humans with their music and food and books. Stories they tell and feelings they share all in the goal of better connecting with one another. Someone must look out for their well-being and who would know better about how to do so than those who have lived among them for 6000 years, Aziraphale and Crowley?

Aziraphale thinks to his bookshop, to Crowley's Bentley, to his classical music, and even Crowley's less-than-tasteful bebop. None of it deserves to be destroyed, and the humans who created such things deserve it even less so.

Who would Aziraphale and Crowley even be if not for humanity? Perhaps that is a dangerous thought, as demons and angels were made to guide and shape humanity, not the other way around. But does that make the question any less worth asking?

Another dangerous question. Aziraphale knows precisely what happens when angels ask too many questions, and while he can't find it in himself to believe that asking questions is wrong or bad, he does still need to undo the practices in heaven that say it is. To undo those mistakes.

Crowley should never have had to fall. When Aziraphale first met Crowley, back when they were both angels, Aziraphale thought he was the most beautiful thing to ever exist. Their joy in creating something that would be constantly and (in their mind) eternally grow and change to become more and more gorgeous and wonderful was breathtaking. The droop in their wings when learning that God's plan for it involved it never reaching its full potential, was heartbreaking. Aziraphale wanted nothing more in that moment than to take back what he said so that Crowley could've kept that joy, even for just a little while longer. Later, he would hope he had done so so that he could keep the angel around with him in heaven for at least a little while longer. But what happened happened, and Aziraphale can't change that.

Or at least...not the way he thought?

When the Metatron gave him the change to rule heaven. To change heaven, it seemed like the perfect chance to fix everything.

When Crowley wouldn't come with him, despite his pleas, Aziraphale couldn't understand why because he was doing this for-

But that doesn't matter now.

The Metatron swept Aziraphale away as he tried to stuff the broken pieces of his heart into his inner vest pockets, that he would surely have time to put back together later.

He took him outside and towards the elevator that would take them to heaven, where Aziraphale would be given the power to change everything.

Aziraphale sees Crowley, still there, standing by their Bentley, watching Aziraphale. Waiting for Aziraphale. "How long would he wait for me?" Aziraphale wonders. Somehow, even if he doesn't wait for him, he doesn't doubt that he can fix things between him and Crowley later on, once Aziraphale has fixed Heaven and made it the force of good he and Crowley had once had faith in.

It would be a challenge to do it alone, and it would hurt to come back and face Crowley if he still saw Aziraphale's actions as a betrayal. But Crowley is worth all of it and more. Crowley deserves to be welcome in Heaven once more, just as he deserves to live in peace knowing humanity is safe. Because Crowley deserves the world and Aziraphale would give him that and more.

Aziraphale steps into the elevator and Metatron presses the button marked "H."

It's a long ride up and once the doors had closed, Aziraphale found he couldn't get Crowley's face out of his head. The grief and dying hope that had gone across his face were burning into Aziraphale's heart now.

This is where he starts to doubt as he sees that image of Crowley, hair cut short, with the fitted sunglasses, loose tie, and black suit. His Crowley. He then remembers him as an angel, hair longer but pulled back, robes standard issue, eyes so unknowing and naive to the future he'd watch far away from the stars he created, from the place he once called home.

Aziraphale thought of those eyes. The brown they were when he was an angel was soft and lovely, yes. Aziraphale has and would miss them dearly. But the yellow snake eyes he's been staring into for 6000 years... They were knowing eyes that SAW Aziraphale. Those were the eyes that sought him out, the ones that couldn't look away from him and that he couldn't look away from. Those are the eyes of the demon he loves, here and now and forever. Those brown eyes from so long ago never looked at Aziraphale the way his beloved Crowley's eyes looked at him. The angel he met so long ago didn't love him the same way Crowley loved him. Raphael was a beautiful sight to behold. A beautiful part of Crowley's past.

But nothing lasts forever.

And if there's one thing Aziraphale should've learned by now, all these thousands of years living amongst humanity, it is that change is one of the best parts of both life and humanity.

Aziraphale made a decision.

Heaven could go fuck itself.

The elevator door opened.

The Metatron led Aziraphale to the meeting space with the archangels. They greeted him with polite and tight smiles, clearly less than thrilled about his presence, particularly Michael. Metatron proclaimed that Aziraphale was to be appointed Supreme Archangel of Heaven, which was met with barely concealed horror and disgust.

Aziraphale can only imagine the looks they gave him when Crowley took his place, getting cast into hellfire.

Metatron then held forth the flaming sword Aziraphale had seen not really all that long ago. When it had been used to summon, empower, and ultimately kill War.

"I think it's time you took this up again, Aziraphale" the Metatron said.

Aziraphale took the blade in his hands and saw his reflection in the silvery metal, lit with the white of Heaven's walls. He couldn't help noticing he looked rather washed out.

He set the blade alight with it's yellow and red flames and took in his reflection again.

Red really is quite flattering.

And yellow always was his favorite color.

Aziraphale took his battle stance.

And set Heaven ablaze.

. . . . .

Hours later, the demon Crowley could be found drunk, drinking, and most certainly not crying in a bookshop where the angel Muriel was currently hiding upstairs and reading books that she found surprisingly enjoyable, while giving Crowley space that he had made very clear that he needs right now.

Crowley had tried to just keep driving and driving until he ended up in another universe or even just another country. However, the Bentley had had enough of his moping and too much quiet in the car when there should be commentary from a curious angel being made about some very loud Queen music being played. So, the car ended up driving them back to the bookshop, and Crowley wasn't paying enough attention to stop his car from doing so until they were already there.

The door flung open as Crowley was all but thrown out of his Bentley, towards the shops' doors. He looked at the book shop and noticed Muriel was still inside. "Someone ought to make sure she doesn't actually sell any books," Crowley thought. He took an urgent step forward before he stopped.

How ridiculous is it to care about whether the books will get sold, when the one who's actually supposed to care about them remaining in the shop, not only abandoned them, but is likely never coming back for them except to burn it with the rest of the world as Heaven commands?

Crowley shook himself. Aziraphale may have broken his heart and may have been brainwashed to literal high heaven, but nothing could get that stubborn angel to so much as singe a single page in this shop that already had far too much experience with fire and flame, in Crowley's opinion.

Perhaps if Crowley started setting things on fire in there, Aziraphale would come back.

No, Crowley's burned and ruined enough precious things for one day. And besides, he doesn't really want to relive THAT trauma all over again.

It's still ridiculous to care about this dumb bookshop. He ought to just find a place out of the way to park his car and sleep for a few hundred years, if not forever. Leave all this behind....

Crowley steps into the bookshop.

He tells Muriel to go upstairs and not bother him, he shuts the blinds, he sits on the couch, and starts drinking. And he keeps drinking. This goes on until he can't hold back the tears he's been fighting since his disaster of a love confession to Aziraphale. He then cries until he has properly smudged his sunglasses with tears and found himself curled into a ball on the floor. His sobs start to settle and he takes the glasses off, still keeping his eyes closed. He is tired. He is so tired. But his heart aches too much to sleep or do anything but sit here in the dark and think about Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who left him.

Aziraphale, who thinks God's plan is more important than the two of them.

Aziraphale, who is stupid enough to think he can change Heaven and God and all the fucked up systems that have been in charge of everything since before the beginning.

Aziraphale, who is just enough of a bastard, that he just might actually be able to pull it off.

Crowley had thought stopping the apoca-who? was impossible, but Aziraphale didn't give up and proved him wrong.

Crowley thought Gabriel was lying about his memory loss and was just waiting for the perfect moment to take advantage of Aziraphale's kindness before ultimately smiting them both. Aziraphale gave him his kindness anyway, which led to Gabriel and Beelzebub proving an angel and a demon could live happily ever after.

Aziraphale's stubborn determination to always do the kind and right thing despite the rules as well as his own self-interest is one of the biggest things Crowley fell hardest for him over.

Was it really so hard to believe that it would come through now as well? In Aziraphale's plan to change Heaven for the better?

Maybe if they worked together like all the other times, it would've worked, but Crowley can't and won't go back to heaven to be the puppet whose strings don't fit anymore. And Aziraphale should've known better than to ask that of him. But then, Crowley never really talked to Aziraphale about that part of his life did he?

"Because you and Mr. Fell never really talk to each other."

Oh.

"Oh for heaven's...I mean for hell's...I mean...I mean... Oh for FUCK'S SAKE!!!"

Crowley gets up and gets the alcohol out of his system as he starts pacing around the bookshop, considering just how badly he and his angel screwed things up this time.

"Muriel!" He called.

Muriel briskly hopped down the stairs with a curious, if slightly weary look on her face.

"Yes?"

"I'm going out. Don't sell any books."

"A-alright. Where are you going, though?"

"To talk to my angel PROPERLY!"

Crowley sauntered out the door and across the street to where Aziraphale had been.

"Alright, surely this can't be too hard. You were in Heaven barely a day ago. And I doubt Heaven changes their locks any more often than they change their passwords."

Crowley has built Galaxies, stopped time, driven a car through a wall of fire and came out of it unharmed, talked his way out of countless doomed situations, and even somehow gotten the angel with the purest of hearts to fall in love with him...he thinks. He hopes.

If he can do all that, then he can operate a blessed fucking elevator.

Searching through his powers for the parts that have been laying dormant since the fall, using the imagination that's been a part of him throughout his entire existence, and calling upon the endless well of love in heart that he's been denying was there for millennia, he sends everything he has into defying the rules of Heaven and God and he opens. Those. Fucking. Elevator. Doors.

He breathes a brief sigh of satisfaction before bolting in there and pressing the button marked "H," hoping the bright lights weren't a trick and it wasn't taking him to Hell. Really, he didn't want it to take him to Heaven either, but that's where his stupid angel went, so there he will go too. It's too long a wait to get to the top and his stomach lurches painfully more and more the closer he gets. There's no one else in here this time, so he leans against the wall for a moment to gear himself up for fighting his way through the dumpster fire called Heaven to get to the Love of His Life and save him once more.

What he wasn't expecting from the dumpster fire called Heaven to look like when he opened the doors...

Was it to literally be on fire!

Everywhere he looked, there were slashes across heaven's floors, ceilings, and walls that created pillars of fires, surrounded by celestial beings frantically trying to put them out. And Aziraphale was standing right in the middle of everything, holding the flaming sword, his back to Crowley, wings out and ready for battle. Just past his shoulder, Crowley could see Metatron, looking directly at Aziraphale and trying very hard not to look as terrified as he was.

"You understand this makes you an official enemy of Heaven. You're giving up your title and we will strip you of your angelic powers," Metatron says."

"The titles of Heaven haven't meant much for a while. And I see that now. As for my powers, I wonder if they are changed enough to be out of your jurisdiction. And even if they aren't, you'd have to catch me first."

Crowley is blushing madly behind Aziraphale. His jaw dropped to the floor. He had come to talk, but this seems like a reasonable thing to delay discussions of emotional blahblahblah for.

"You honestly think you can take on all of Heaven by yourself?" Metatron asks as the archangels continue panicking behind him.

Crowley sees Aziraphale's stance shift a bit at that. "Ah, that's my cue," Crowley thinks.

"He's not alone," Crowley snarls. Aziraphale turns to him, and he sees the angel's face light up with tears starting to prickle in his eyes.

"Crowley!" He says in that soft way that hits his heart like two suns colliding.

"Hello angel." Crowley says as he walks up and holds out his hand, looking into his eyes as Aziraphale takes his hand in his.

"You're still only one angel and one demon against all of Heaven. You can't possibly think you can win."

"Yes," replies Aziraphale. "It truly would take a multi lazari miracle," he looks again to Crowley, "to accomplish such a thing."

Crowley grins manically and chuckles as he says, "Or a microscopic one."

The walls of Heaven begin to crack and crumble as the foundations of this ancient place shake and destabilize, the fires spreading in chaotic streaks across this bright white dimension, until brightly lit smoke fills the space and Metatron's cries of rage at his downfall reach every celestial ear.

Crowley and Aziraphale, still hand in hand run for the door and leave Heaven behind.

. . . . .

They run to the bookshop and immediately, though still carefully, put protection spells over the place as well as the Bentley outside. This new level of power they find themselves with is going to prove quite useful.

They stare into one another eyes, hands still tightly grasped. Aziraphale has set the sword down. They take a moment.

Then Aziraphale's smile drops. "Oh Crowley, my dear," he reaches up to gently hold his face, "I-I can't express how sorry I am. I was truly, an absolute idiot, a total buffoon, an- an-, well I made a complete ass of myself."

Crowley's eyebrows raise slightly.

"I- I should've believed you. I should have listened because- because-...Oh."

Aziraphale steps back and thinks to himself for a moment with tears in his eyes, wringing his hands before stopping. He looks up and has come to a decision.

The apology dance.

Aziraphale takes his steps accordingly and sings.

"You were right. You were right. I was wrong. You were right."

He stands and looks at Crowley, still appearing as though he will be letting out some painful sobs and enough tears to rival the Great Flood any moment now.

"Oh Crowley," he steps forward again. "I- I truly am unsure if there's anything I could say. I-"

Crowley takes Aziraphale's hands again before he can think too much about it. And makes a point to catch Aziraphale's eyes, not looking away this time, not hiding his own, There'll be no more running away, not if he can help it.

"Angel," and here Crowley pauses. His voice is cracking, and he's shaking a little. Just because his angel has inspired him to be more determined in fighting for what he believes in, doesn’t make vulnerability any less scary, especially after everything they've gone through.

But still, he cracks on. "Angel, I've- I've already made my feelings clear. And I've also made it clear that I don't plan to go back to heaven. We have another chance to do this and I'm trying really hard to do it properly this time because I think we both messed up pretty badly in regards to this, to us, too many times already."

Crowley takes a shaky breath.

"You are the most important thing in my life... And I wan-." He sighs sharply. "I...want...to spend eternity...with you." A pause to look into those still wet, blue eyes.

"You and my future with you are what I care about most in this universe. And now I need to know where you stand. And this time, I'm ready to listen- and compromise- if you are."

"Oh" Aziraphale thinks to himself. "This is what he was trying to do earlier. This is where I messed up. I didn't listen... I won't make that mistake again."

"I am, Crowley," Aziraphale says. "I am willing to talk and to listen. I- I want to be with you. Heaven and Hell are still looking for opportunities for war and destruction, though, and I don't think I can just let it happen again. But- but I do see now, that I can't just do what I'm told anymore. There will be no easy way out when it comes to saving the world, and I understand that now. And even if - Well, I do still think... if there is ANY way to fix the messes Heaven and Hell have made, it'll have to be a plan we BOTH work together on, won't it?"

"As in," Crowley interjects, "possibly...a new Arrangement?"

"Yes!" Aziraphale exclaims. "Oh yes, precisely. Do you...think we could work on such a thing?"

Crowley tilts his head with a murmur to give the appearance of thinking it over. "Well," he says, "I suppose we could. But only if we continue to work harder to preserve our personal...relationship...first." He let the word relationship roll out of his mouth slowly, like he was worried it would cut him if he let it out too quickly. "And if we stop dancing around each other."

"Yes," Aziraphale agrees, "I must say I did terribly enjoy dancing WITH you much more" and he steps closer, wearing a look on his face that has Crowley stammering. Aziraphale gently brings his hands up to Crowley's face again, his fingertips lightly digging into the hair whose red color was quickly being matched by the blush on Crowley's cheeks.

"I also can't deny that there are other things we've done recently that I enjoyed."

Crowley somehow still gets hit hard when reminded that Aziraphale knows how to drop his voice low like that.

"Though I would like a chance to try it again without my stupidity causing a hindrance. If you'd let me?"

"You're not stupid angel," Crowley says, only slightly distracted from the lessening distance between him and his angel. "You were just hanging around with the wrong people."

"Something, I'm glad to have remedied. But...about that kiss?"

Crowley's breath hitches. He leans forward. "I'm very much up for a redo, if you a-mph!"

Aziraphale couldn't wait any longer, and he's not ashamed to admit that that first kiss has been replaying over and over in the back of his mind constantly since it happened. Even through the grief, regret, and rebellion, he knew that among all the things he had to fix, The Kiss was definitely pretty high on his list of priorities.

Now they were here again. The Kiss: part 2. The first time had been 6000 years of yearning unleashed on Crowley's part and 6000 years of trained repression trying desperately to keep hold on Aziraphale's.

This time, they had come to an agreement. They would have a new Arrangement where they worked wholly together and it would start with this. A kiss more than 6000 years in the making full of a tender yet powerful, everlasting love that will bring Heaven and Hell to their knees, and that will protect Earth with all its might.

An angel and a demon falling in love. It goes against every rule and every plan. It should be impossible. But that must be why Crowley and Aziraphale love humanity so much, mustn't it?

As far as the human race are concerned, nothing is impossible. Especially when it comes to love.

[lettertoanoldpoet]

hej, since I loved all the books that you recommended me a while ago and I trust your taste, I'll try again. If I love listening to boygenius and to their solo stuff are there any other artists that you think I should listen?

hi!! first of all, that makes me so happy to hear. i’m so glad that you enjoyed those recommendations, it’s truly an honour to be trusted about something like this. (there’s nothing i love more than talking about my favourite music and books!!)

one of my all time favourite albums is silver tongue by torres, it’s a masterpiece, and if you’re into (sapphic) indie rock, i think this would be right up your alley. for the same reason, i’d also recommend valentine by snail mail.

if i remember correctly, the boys mentioned drawing inspiration from a song from flock of dimes’ album head of roses when they were making the record, and i think that’s an incredible, yet criminally underrated, album.

in the end it always does by the japanese house is one of my favourite 2023 releases, and if you like the boys’ music, you might like this album too.

there’s a lot of overlap between boygenius and muna fans, and maybe you’ve already listened to them, but if not, i’d highly recommend going through their discography - especially their debut album, about u.

if you’re into boygenius’ folk vibes, i’d really recommend songs by adrianne lenker, which is one of the most beautiful albums ever made, in my opinion. and if you’d like to listen to something more americana/country-esque, some of my favourite albums in the genre are expectations by katie pruitt (who also did an incredible interview with jb on her podcast, the recovering catholic), saint cloud by waxahatchee, and in these silent days by brandi carlile.

first aid kit is another band that i adore, i saw them live earlier this year and they were FANTASTIC. and if you’re a fan of female vocalists who do the most gorgeous harmonies, i’d really recommend them. especially their albums palomino and ruins.

i also just have to mention the national. i know they’re a major inspiration for lucy, jb and phoebe, and they’ve all played with them on different occasions (phoebe is even featured on some recent the national songs!). all their albums are masterpieces imo, and my personal favourites are trouble will find me and high violet.

finally, i also want to recommend tomberlin, samia and maggie rogers - all of whom i think are artists you might be into if you like boygenius.